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The tightening of his jaw told her she’d won. Still, she pushed a little more. “I have to be in Venezuela in less than forty-eight hours. We’re wasting time bickering over this, when you have no choice but to come with me.”
“This is turning out to be one hell of a payback.” Cal yanked a hand through his hair. “The promise I made to Jason didn’t include getting you killed.”
“Then don’t get me killed,” Julia reasoned, crossing her arms to mask her shaking limbs.
“Bloody hell.”
CAL SETTLED BACK INTO HIS SEAT, shifting slightly to accommodate the limited space of the airplane’s coach section.
He insisted that he and Julia board separately, both under aliases. He’d chosen a seat toward the back. One that gave him a full view of the passengers, but far enough away from the engines so his hearing wouldn’t be impaired.
The fact that he owned a Learjet—a benefit from solid family investments—didn’t improve his mood. But flying privately posed more problems then he was willing to deal with.
The passenger beside him—a solid man in his fifties with a beard and smelling of garlic—snored through an open mouth, making Cal rethink what he could deal with.
His gaze scanned the section. Many families, a few couples, even one or two single mothers traveling with babies. The rest seemed to be a spattering of solo men and women. Most of the men dressed in cotton slacks and sport shirts, the women in trousers and simple tops. Business casual.
He’d worn an oxford-white shirt tucked into tailored black slacks. And because of his fake identification, an Air Marshal-approved pistol tucked into its holster at his ankle.
Business ready, he thought coldly.
Julia sat a few rows ahead. An empty seat divided her and an older woman with a fluff of white cotton for hair.
Her head rested against the window of the plane, still. Most likely asleep.
The sunlight spilled through the small, square porthole, setting dark strands of hair into a golden fire.
It had been like that the first time he’d seen her in Jon Mercer’s office. Cool. Efficient. The lights catching her just right, dazzling him. Then she smiled. A full-on mischievous smile that revealed a sexy little dimple at the side of her mouth.
He rubbed his chest, trying to ease the tightness. It had been the first time in his life Cal had been sucker punched.
Uncomfortable with the memory, he shifted the gun to his pocket and unfolded himself from his seat. Within moments, a female flight attendant approached.
“Can I get you something, Marshal?” She was an attractive woman in her late twenties, with a short bob of blond curly hair, and an invitation in her baby blues.
“The lavatory?”
She gestured to the back of the plane, used the opportunity to take a lingering look. “If you need anything else, let me know.”
“I will,” he promised easily.
Cal reached the bathroom, closed the door, then turned the lock. He pulled out his satellite cell phone.
Quickly, he punched in the number.
“MacAlister.”
“It’s West.”
“It’s about damn time. What the hell is going on, West?” Cain nearly shouted the words. “You had specific orders. Bringing Julia Cutting on this operation wasn’t part of them.”
So Cain had been keeping Julia under surveillance, then. It was the only way the Labyrinth director would have known about their pairing up. “I have the situation under control. We’re still a go on locating your missing equipment.”
“You were supposed to notify me if Julia made contact. Why didn’t you?”
“She didn’t find me to work out a deal. She needed a bodyguard for her trip to Caracas.”
“Don’t trust her, Cal.”
“Julia isn’t a traitor, damn it. She’s a pawn and you know it. She’d never roll over on Jon Mercer, Cain.”
“All I know is that I’m missing a state-of-the-art technical component.”
The DEA’s new Drug Enforcement Retriever. Nickname: MONGREL.
The United States government had developed a drug detector that could find a smuggled shipment of narcotics by simply analyzing compound structure found in the air or in the residue from fingerprints and most other surfaces. The prototype could read a millionth of a gram. A particle so small that up until now could only be seen under a microscope.
It was a breakthrough in high technology that could disrupt drug shipping for months, even years until the drug cartels could counter its effectiveness.
Unless they had the prototype.
“Julia Cutting is my primary suspect,” Cain insisted. “I’ve seen women betray their husbands, their own children for power. The President of the United States is nothing.”
“She admitted to taking ten million out of the government coffers. Not to heisting the MONGREL.”
“What ten million dollars?” Cain let go with a string of obscenities. “How did she do that?”
A small smile twitched across Cal’s lips. Cain didn’t like being outmaneuvered. Simply because that meant he wasn’t an expert strategist.
“Check the government account books and find out,” Cal advised. “It’s ransom money, Cain. I heard the tape Delgado sent her.”
“Delgado doesn’t need ten million dollars.”
“I agree.” Cal rubbed the back of his neck. “I haven’t figured out what he really wants yet. He might suspect she has the MONGREL, but my fear is he hasn’t laid the past to rest. If that’s the case, she’s walking into a death trap.”
“You both are, so be careful,” Cain warned.
“I left the recorder in the top drawer of my nightstand. Get it and have Kate analyze it. Julia erased most of the instructions. See if Kate’s people can retrieve them for me. I want to know exactly what Delgado wants.”
“He wants the MONGREL. And Jason Marsh supplied the means if he gave it to Julia. Roman is fit to be tied that Jason walked out of his security lab with the prototype.”
Roman D’Amato was Cain’s brother-in-law, and an ex-Labyrinth agent. After marrying Cain’s sister, Kate, Roman created a worldwide security corporation that specialized in state-of-the-art technology.
“Roman can have him, after I’m finished with him.”
“You mean if there’s anything left,” Cain commented wryly. “Once Delgado gets the prototype, it will circumvent any hope we have to contain his activities and bring him down.”
“Whatever Delgado is after, it’s not to use Julia as a hostage,” Cal continued, not willing to argue Cain’s point quite yet. “He obviously needs Julia to arrive in Caracas on her own, otherwise he would have had her snatched from her apartment.”
“Not with the surveillance I had on her.”
“Your surveillance didn’t keep Delgado’s men from leaving the tape recorder, Cain.”
“I’ll find out why,” Cain promised. “Delgado must suspect Julia has the MONGREL.”
“How?” Cal asked.
“Good instincts. Jason. Or tip-off from our ranks,” Cain growled. “I’d bet Kate’s fortune on the last.”
“Not yours?” Cal smiled. Kate and Cain were siblings. Both with raven-black hair, slate-gray eyes and a hell of a Scottish temperament. And both, along with their brother, Ian, were heirs to the MacAlister Whiskey fortune.
“Hell, no,” Cain grunted. “Look, I’ll deal with things here. Your attention needs to be there. Once Julia Cutting finds out I’ve sent you over there to kill her husband, she becomes a major liability for you.”
“Ex-husband,” Cal corrected with a hard edge. “Leave Jason and Julia to me, Cain. That’s what you pay me for.”
“You’re sounding like she’s got you wound up again, Cal,” Cain remarked, then paused for a moment. “Julia Cutting’s sudden involvement doesn’t change our original operation. Don’t make me regret putting you on this. Do your thinking out of bed and get the job done. Find our mole. Find Jason. But most of all, find the MONGREL.”
“I will.”
“You’d better,” Cain ordered, his tone unbending. “Or I’ll find someone who can.”
Chapter Four
“Taxi, Miss?”
“Sí. Gracias,” Julia answered the airport skycap, her smile now more tired than triumphant.
They’d flown through the early hours of the morning, arriving midafternoon in Caracas. Lack of sleep made her eyes gritty, her head ache. Ignoring both, she adjusted her bag strap farther onto her shoulder and stepped to the curbside.
Cars honked, prodding the pedestrians into motion who ignored the green glare of the traffic lights.
“Is this your first time in Venezuela?” The skycap was an elderly man with a shock of silver hair on a round face. His black eyes seemed softer than most. Kind.
“You are alone?” The man spoke in English, rolling his R’s in a lyrical manner. He glanced around her for a traveling companion.
“Yes.”
“Please. You will want to take this taxi.” The man waved to a small white car on the other side of the street, ignoring the row of taxis behind him. The driver next in line honked in protest, but the skycap merely turned his back on him and nodded toward the taxi making a U-turn in front of them.
“Renalto is a friend of mine and honest. He knows the city well. He will take you wherever you need to go.”
Julia regarded the older man for a moment, her smile no longer tired, but grateful. “Gracias,” she repeated and handed the skycap several pesos. “Much appreciated.”
Renalto parked in front of her and jumped eagerly from the car. He smiled, revealing a gold tooth that flashed in the sunlight.
“Buenos días.” He came around to her side and opened the back passenger door on the sedan.
“Buenos días.”
“You take care of the lady, Renalto. She is here for business, not your shenanigans.”
“I am always the gentleman, old man,” Renalto replied, his grin wider. “Unless the ladies prefer otherwise.”
“This one does not,” Julia remarked, unable to curb the laughter that filtered through her words.
“I am still at your service, señorita.” Renalto bowed at the waist. “You see, Leopold, I can be a gentleman.”
The older man shook his head even as Renalto reached for her carry-on case.
Julia stopped his hand. “I’ll keep it, if that’s all right.”
“Of course.” Instead, he waved his hand toward the passenger seat. “Welcome to Venezuela.”
“Ms. Cutting?” A man approached, his black hair slicked back on his scalp, his black suit—too dark for the heat of the day—tailored to emphasize the steroid-enhanced muscles beneath, matched the dark sunglasses that covered his eyes but didn’t quite cover the pock-mark scarred cheeks.
Without warning, he pulled a pistol from beneath his suit coat and clubbed Renalto on the back of his head. The driver fell into the side of the taxi then hit the pavement.
The man pointed the weapon at Julia. “Come with me.”
When Leopold stepped forward, Julia instinctively blocked him with her arm. “Don’t,” she warned Leopold, her eyes not leaving the gunman. “And if I refuse to come with you?”
The man in the suit waved his pistol toward Renalto. “Leave him or join him. Your choice.”
“We’ll pass, Jorgie.” Cal stepped behind the man, grabbed the gun. Before the man could react, Cal jerked the man’s wrist sideways. The bone snapped, the man grunted with pain and dropped the gun. Cal rammed his elbow in the man’s face, felt the cartilage give way, the blood spurt. “The lady doesn’t like violence.”
Cal kept the pistol and shoved the man aside. “Let’s go.”
“The driver,” Julia warned. She knelt in front of Renalto. “He needs our help.”
“I’m okay, señorita,” Renalto whispered, wincing. Then he reached for his head. “Go with your friend.”
“I will take care of him,” Leopold interjected, already reaching for Renalto’s arm to help him up.
Cal opened the taxi’s passenger door and shoved Julia in, then tossed his bag in after her.
“Put your seat belt on,” he ordered.
After slamming her door shut, he reached into his pocket and flicked a business card on Jorgie. “Tell your boss I’ll be in touch.”
Without waiting for a reply, Cal slid behind the steering wheel.
“Are you all right?” Cal glanced at the rearview mirror, threw the car into gear, then pressed his foot against the gas.
“Yes,” Julia answered, ignoring the tremor in her fingers and snapped the seat belt in place. “What did you give him?”
“A warning.” They shot forward into traffic. Cal swore and swerved past an oncoming car. “Hold on.”
“You called him Jorgie,” Julia said observingly. “Is he one of Delgado’s men?”
