Black Ops Bodyguard

“That’s your plan?” Cal raged. Of course, she’d jeopardize her career for Jason. Whether she loved him or not, Jason had an inexplicable hold on Julia.

Jealousy snapped at his heels, making his next words terse. “You’re traveling into Venezuela without letting anyone know your whereabouts. You plan on dealing with Cristo Delgado and his men by promising money that you aren’t delivering and hope he’ll just hand over your husband?”

“Ex-husband. I haven’t used my married name in years—” Julia stopped, her eyes narrowing. “I never told you Jason was in Venezuela or that he was taken by Cristo Delgado’s men. You haven’t even looked at the file yet.” She glanced back into the living room. “Or have you?”

“Who else would he be dealing with if Ernest Becenti was involved? Becenti is the DEA’s administrator,” Cal argued, cursing himself, not liking the fact that anger and fatigue got the best of him.

“Try again, Cal,” Julia snapped. “You already knew about Jason’s disappearance, didn’t you?”

The teapot whistled. Forcing himself to calm down, he took the pot off the burner and poured the hot water into the cups and added tea bags. “Cain MacAlister called me. He requested that I check into the situation.”

Even though Cain was technically Cal’s boss, the two men shared a history that put their friendship far ahead of the working relationship.

“So Cain thinks Jason is alive.”

“No,” Cal replied, then settled for a half-truth. “I’m to confirm his death. Big difference.”

“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.”

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.”