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“Yet, you flew back here from God knows where.” Her brows slanted in confusion. “Why? Jason isn’t here.”
“I needed to get some … equipment before I take off for Caracas,” Cal admitted. He placed one of the mugs in front of her. “I have no sugar.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She dunked the tea bag into her mug. “I have excellent timing then. Delgado wants me to meet with him in Caracas.”
“Where in Caracas?”
“You’ll find out once we get there.”
“No, Julia,” Cal said grimly. “I want you to leave me the file and recorder. Then first thing in the morning, you’re going to put the government money back where it belongs. I’ll take care of everything else.”
“I really wish I could leave this to you. I’m intelligent enough to realize that I’m way out of my league with this espionage business. But you heard them. They’ll kill Jason if I don’t show in Caracas.”
“You’re not going,” Cal repeated, his voice hard, his features set.
“Yes, I am,” she insisted, trying not to let him hear the fear in her voice. Whether she liked it or not, she had to go. “Please don’t force me to hire someone else.”
Cal reached across the counter and grabbed her arm. “You have no idea what Delgado is capable of.”
“No, but you do.” She glanced down at her arm, but didn’t tug free this time. “And I have firsthand experience of what you are capable of.”
Julia heard Cal’s sharp intake of breath. But she hardened her heart, and finished her argument.
“I pulled Delgado’s file, Cal. I’m hoping you’ll fill in the gaps.”
Cal dropped his hand from her arm and grabbed his cup, ignoring the handle. He took a long sip. “Okay, so what do you know?”
“Cristo Enrique de la Delgado. Age fifty-five. Cofounder of the Trifecta Cartel. The largest drug cartel in South America.”
“That’s public knowledge—”
“At one time, Delgado was one of three partners,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. “The others being his best friends, Esteban Alvarez and Felipe Ramos. All three men were born aristocratic but relatively poor. According to Colombian social standards, at least. Rumor has it that while in their early twenties, the three men decided to break into the drug-dealing business during a horse race in which all three lost their shirts. Hence, the nickname Trifecta Cartel. With their contacts in the upper echelon of society, success was inevitable.”
“Because you know his background, doesn’t mean you understand the man,” Cal retorted, not realizing until too late that he’d said something similar when he betrayed her months before.
“I’m learning to,” she commented, her tone stiff, telling him she remembered also.
“Ramos is now deceased,” she continued. “Murdered four years ago. His yacht blown apart from plastic explosives, killing everyone onboard including his three children, his wife, top lieutenants … and his mistress. A few months later, Alvarez was shot by an unknown assailant. Godfather style, in a restaurant. Somehow, he managed to escape with a bullet in his neck. The injury caused permanent vocal damage.
“At one time, Alvarez believed Ramos’s death was carried out by Delgado’s enforcer, Solaris, but was never able to prove his suspicions.”
Cal’s eyes narrowed on the name for a brief moment. Julia would’ve missed the movement if she hadn’t been watching him so close.
“Do you know Solaris?” she asked, going with her instincts.
“No.” The word was clipped, but the jade in his eyes sharpened into glass slivers.
She didn’t believe him. With a slight lift of her shoulder, she let it go. For the moment. “Since then, Alvarez and Delgado have split the business, absorbing their late partner’s share and went their separate ways.”
“Jon Mercer’s people have been keeping them under surveillance,” Cal commented. He took another swallow, this time his eyes rested on his tea, masking his thoughts. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Delgado has been married twice. His first wife, Camilla, died in a car accident just after their daughter, Alejandra, turned four.”
“Yes, and some believe that Cristo killed Camilla because a doctor told him she could no longer have children,” Cal inserted.
“Alejandra is now twenty-five, graduated from Harvard Law School and just passed her New York State Bar examination.” Julia paused. “She actually seems quite normal.”
“Define normal.”
She ignored him. “No indication or evidence that she is involved with her father or the family business.”
“That’s smart, not normal.”
“His second wife, Rosario, is still alive,” she said. “They’ve been married fifteen years this past November. A society girl who likes to entertain.”
“And sample her husband’s merchandise,” Cal added dryly.
“If you follow the South American society papers,” Julia agreed. “Cristo seemed to have mellowed in his second marriage. It took five years for Rosario to give birth to his son, Argus.”
“She almost didn’t make it. Rumors were already starting that Cristo was getting ready to replace Rosario for a younger, more fertile model when she confirmed her pregnancy.”
“No information on the boy, other than he’s ten,” Julia explained, keeping her voice neutral.
“Cristo keeps his son under wraps. Cut off from the outside world.”
“Argus means everything to his father.” Fear chilled her. Julia gripped her mug with both hands but its heat did little to warm them. “Shall I go on?”
“Do you know Delgado’s shipping itinerary? Who his suppliers are? Where his compounds are located? Why he takes pleasure in watching people die?”
“Do you?” she shot back.
“Your ex-husband did. And now he’s dealing with the consequences.”
“He’s dealing with.” She pointed a finger at him. “You’re using the present tense. You don’t believe Jason is dead, either, do you?”
“I told you, I’m supposed to verify his death,” Cal said, then sighed. “Even with Delgado’s nasty habit of uploading his executions for public consumption, Cain hasn’t been able to find any clips of Jason.”
“Which only supports my theory that Jason isn’t dead.”
“If Jason is still alive—and that’s a big if—Delgado isn’t advertising it yet because he wants something more important. And apparently, he wants it from you.”
“The ten million dollars.”
Cal snorted. “To Delgado, ten million is pocket change. Besides, he could get the money from you without bringing you to Venezuela just by transferring the funds.”
“I’m sure he’ll show his hand, once I meet with him,” Julia insisted.
“The hell you will. You have no experience in the field.”
“I might not have experience, but I’ve had training.”
“Basic defense training in case of a terrorist attack is not jungle warfare.”
“That’s why I’m asking you to be my bodyguard.”
Cal’s head shot up, his eyes found hers.
“That’s all, Cal. You know Delgado and you owe Jason. That makes you the logical choice.”
“I owe Jason, not you.”
She had a debt to pay herself. “Jason told me to call in the favor if I needed to.”
“It would be suicide to take you with me.”
“If I die, I won’t hold you responsible.” Anger flushed her face, made her eyes sharp, her jaw stubborn. “You’re not the only one who owes Jason, Cal.”
Frustration settled in Cal’s gut, a ball of fire that fed on his jealousy. He didn’t want to know why she owed Jason. Didn’t want to acknowledge Jason knew Julia on a more intimate level.
“So? Are we doing this together?” She stood, bracing her hands on the counter and leaned in. “Or do I go with someone else?”
His body tightened, aware. Her scent pulsed between them. A seductive balance of lavender and the moist winter air, warmed now by the heat of her body.
Tempting fate, he breathed her in until the scent took on a power of its own. It sizzled and snapped, hunting until it found a conduit in the thick of his blood. Setting it pulsating.
Cal shifted, bucking for control. Allowing some of the frustration to break through. “All right. Just for the sake of argument, we consider the possibility of you joining me.
“If we’re going to work together, we’re going to have to come to an agreement.” His eyes skimmed her face, rested briefly on her mouth, before trailing back to her eyes.
“What agreement?” she asked, her eyes narrowed, suspicious.
Cal let himself react, let his voice drop to a husky murmur, and let the desire burn through the twist of knots in his gut. Deftly, he stepped around the corner of the counter. Satisfied when he saw her big brown eyes widen in surprise.
“What are you doing?” She backed up until she hit the stool behind her.
It was a risk. He was moving fast.
His hand went to her hair, brushed the wisps of silk away from her cheek. Her skin warmed beneath his knuckles. Need blurred into necessity.
“I’ve missed you, Julia.” His fingers stroked a thick lock against her neck. He felt her shudder slide over him, her silent groan slip through him.
Julia twisted her head away. “If you’re trying to intimidate me—”
“A day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought about you.” That, at least, was true.
“Don’t you dare try to con me, West,” she snapped back. But her breath caught, made her words just this side of breathless. She tried to move past him, only to have his arm block her way. “That line worked … once. A long time ago. It won’t again.”
“This is no line. It’s a preview.” He shifted forward, leaving mere inches between them. “Of what working together might mean.”
He could take her mouth with his. Lord knows he’d wanted to, many times, since they’d slept together the year before. He’d spent hours during the longer, drawn-out meetings in the Oval Office, remembering, fantasizing. “We’re going to be in tighter spaces than this if we hike through the jungle.”
“What do you mean, tighter spaces?”
His hands cupped each hip, then exerted enough pressure to close the distance between them until her body fit his. “Much tighter than this.”
“You can’t scare me, Cal,” she whispered, but her gaze dropped to his mouth. Her heart beat wildly against his chest.
“Don’t bet on it. Most times I scare myself.”
He heard her slight intake, saw the flutter of her lashes. Something moved in him. Something dormant that he’d thought long dead. Had wanted long dead.
He jerked away. Unable to take the last step. “Go home, Julia.”
She grabbed the counter, to steady herself. Or stop yourself from stepping toward him, her heart mocked. “I told you—”
Her gaze dropped to his hand, saw the recorder clenched in his fist. Rage boiled, and with it the humiliation of what almost happened, what she’d almost allowed.
She clamped her emotions down between tight jaws and ignored the tears that pricked at the back of her eyes. “Of all the low, despicable—”
“It was either that or beat it out of you.” He waved the recorder in her face.
“You have no right—”
“This isn’t about rights. It’s about survival, damn it.” Cal rewound the tape for a few seconds, then hit play. “A hotel room will be waiting for you in …”
When the recorder went silent, Cal’s eyes snapped to hers. “What happened to the rest of the message?”
“I erased it.” The satisfaction was there, taking the edge off the humiliation. But not the anger.
“Of all the stupid things to do,” he bit out. “How in the hell am I supposed to help you if you aren’t straight with me?”
“Do we have an agreement?”
“You have no idea what you are asking.”
“I’m asking you to do the decent thing,” she shot back. “For once.”
He let out a hiss between his teeth.
“Someone broke into my apartment. Do you think I’m safe here? Next time they might be waiting for me,” she continued, making her play.
“All I have to do is tell Cain MacAlister about the ten million. He’ll lock you up.”
“Go ahead.” She brushed the threat aside, buried the fear deep. More than her pride was at risk. So much depended on this. “Whoever gave me Jason’s file is high up in the government. Only personnel with top clearance have access to that file.”
“You had access to mine.”
She ignored him. “That same person could be driving this deal. They’ll find out if you have me arrested. And I’ll give you good odds I’ll be dead within a few days. Cell or not.”
