Cherry Adair - T-flac 03 (23 page)

He might have known, despite their wild lovemaking, her defenses would be firmly back in place the moment it was over. As for her telling him she trusted him, hell, he'd never heard a lie emphasized with such veracity.

He wanted to tell her what a fool's mission she was on. If Montero did indeed hold her sister, there wasn't a snowball's hope in hell the girl would be salvageable. That was providing she was alive. The odds were stacked against Lauren. And if Delanie allowed herself to acknowledge what she already knew about Montero, she'd pray her sister had died quickly. Damn quickly.

Something about Delanie reminded Kyle of his grandmother. Not in looks, but in temperament. Grammy had had the same stick-to-it-ness as Delanie did. Martha Washburn had
also
been stubborn, opinionated, and pigheaded. She'd also loved her family above all else. Hell, Kyle bet Grammy would have killed to keep her loved ones safe. And if anyone had dared to kidnap a member of her family, his grandmother would've been here on Izquierdo just as Delanie was now. Without question.

Kyle rubbed his jaw, and heaved a sigh. Yeah, two peas in a pod. God, he missed the old broad.

He took a turn over San Cristobal's two airports in the hope the dogs had been called off. They hadn't.

An assassination attempt was grounds for instant death in this neck of the woods. No questions asked.

Both small airports were crawling with soldiers and police, spotlights and dogs.

Out of options and out of time, with just enough fuel left, he woke Delanie, and reluctantly headed back toward Izquierdo.

He had a bad feeling. A
very
bad feeling.

They got back to the compound well after dinner and saw no one on the way to their room. Delanie, drugged with fatigue, stumbled into the shower while he summoned a servant and ordered a light meal for her.

By the time she emerged, silk robe clinging to damp skin, the meal had arrived. A vaporous cloud of steam followed her into the bedroom. Tendrils of wet hair, loosened from a haphazard topknot, were plastered to her neck. She smelled enticingly of his soap and her own strawberry shampoo. She eyed the
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wheeled table and its white linen and silverware with disinterest before pulling the bedcovers down.

"My stomach's hungry, but my mouth hasn't got the energy to chew." She yawned, got into bed, and curled her arms around her bent knees. Her eyes appeared exceptionally dark surrounded by smudges of exhaustion. She yawned again. Heat shot unexpectedly to his loins. She made even the act of yawning sensual, and looked so damned seductively sweet and sexy sitting there watching him with that slightly unfocused gaze.

"Have something before you keel over. You haven't eaten since this morning." He gave her a considering look when she scowled and shook her head. "You have to fuel your body, Delanie. Doctor's orders.

Come on." He nudged the cart closer, removing the domed silver covers. The savory smell of the spicy soup made him realize just how hungry he was himself.

"Want me to feed you?" He unbuttoned his shirt, then picked up a roll and bit into it.

Swinging her legs free of the covers, she used both hands to draw the cart closer and picked up a spoon. Nudging the note he'd received, she asked, "A summons from our host?"

"Yeah." Kyle tugged off his shirt, holding the half-eaten roll between his teeth as he did so. He finished eating it before he continued. "Wants that report." Her eyes followed his hands to his belt buckle. He'd dropped his pants and shorts before she apparently remembered the dry spoon in her hand and averted her attention. He bit back a smile.

"Eat. I'm going to take a shower."

She snapped him a rather limp salute. "Aye-aye, mein Capitan."

Walking naked into the steamy bathroom, he chuckled. "I think you have your metaphors mixed, but I like the sentiment."

After a leisurely shower and a change of clothes he'd come out of the bathroom to find her in the same position he'd left her in. Supporting her heavy head with a braced hand, she pretended to nibble at the salad, he suspected just to have something to do until he left the room.

"Okay, let's skip dinner." He shifted the cart out of the way, and she glanced at him, her eyes glassy. "As exhausted as you are right now, I'm afraid you'd drown in the soup."

"I'm fine." She sounded as indignant and petulant as a five-year-old.

"You'd say that if you were a suttee and the flames were dancing around your feet." He stripped off the damp robe, swinging her silky legs back under the covers. Her acquiescence was a mark of her exhaustion. "Close your eyes because you want to."

"I can take care of mys—"

She was asleep midsentence. Stubborn little witch.

She'd had one hell of a day. It was impossible to miss the dark shadows under her eyes and the soft droop of her slightly swollen mouth. She appeared as fragile and vulnerable as he'd ever seen her. He hardened his heart and went to report the success of his trip to his host.

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«^»

The air-conditioning chilled the room to an unnatural fifty degrees, presumably so Montero could enjoy the snap of the roaring fire in the white Carrara marble fireplace in his pseudo-English library. Kyle strolled to the bar where Montero stood smoking a cigar, elbow propped on the rich, mahogany surface, Brioni-shod foot braced on the brass foot rail. Montero spoke softly to Bruno, who played bartender for the evening.

The sharp fragrance of Isabella's distinctive perfume mingled with that of cigar and applewood smoke.

Kyle figured she'd departed moments before his arrival.

Montero held up a crystal glass. "Whiskey?"

"Yeah." Kyle took the drink, waved away the offer of a Montecristo, and sank into the closest leather armchair.

"The newscasts were predictable. Caesar apparently had a mild heart attack." Montero's teeth gleamed in the firelight. "You were absolutely right,
amigo
, when you predicted they would withhold the assassination from the public. How soon do you think they will announce his death?"

"Hard to say. Feelings are running high as it is. He was a popular man, my friend." Kyle shrugged. "I guestimate by late tomorrow."

"As long as it's done by Monday." Montero leaned back, puffing his cigar. "On the news, they claim twenty thousand troops were called to full alert."

He smiled when Kyle snorted. "Indeed. The general public does not need to know that the number is closer to two thousand."

Kyle turned the glass in his hand. "I've paid off our insiders. The riots and looting will begin tomorrow just before noon. They'll order a curfew and a ban on alcohol immediately. Velasquez will be ready to step in the moment Palacios's death is announced. The hospital personnel can't be kept quiet for long.

Someone will reveal that the president isn't there," he reminded Montero blandly.

"So," Montero said with relaxed satisfaction, "everything goes according to plan. It went well?"

Kyle arched a brow. "Of course." He took a swallow of his drink, the smoky flavor smooth on his palate. "Exactly as predicted."

Montero closed his eyes against the smoke of his cigar, then observed Kyle through the thin haze. "You are the only man I could have trusted with such a delicate job. Thank you,
amigo
."

"
De nada
," Kyle said dryly.

Son of a bitch was as cold and deadly as ice. Kyle kept his expression inscrutable and his anger hidden.

There was no room now for either a false step or inattention.

"And the viruses? Everything is as it should be?"

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"Of course. I took the live cultures to the lab before coming up to the house. I'm ready to start production when we know the size of our first order."

He wondered what Delanie would have done had she known the deadly viruses were on the chopper with them. "What time are the final bids expected Thursday?"

"Lunch, our time. The first round will go to the highest bidder. That will set the watermark for future purchases."

"Excellent. I'll start production first thing Monday morning," Kyle said easily. Monday morning Montero would be awaiting arraignment.

"In fact," he said with a thin smile, "your gift arrived in the second shipment, too. I have it in my room. I'll give it to you tomorrow."

"You bought me a gift?" Montero asked, obviously pleased. Like a child at Christmas he demanded,

"What is it?"

"You'll have to wait," Kyle told him coolly. "It's packed with some last minute additions I needed for the lab—I'll give it to you at breakfast."

"You are a tease,
amigo
. Very well, I will await my gift patiently." Montero sighed elaborately. He changed the subject with a roll of the smooth cigar between his fingers. "And the girl? She was with you when you iced Caesar?"

Kyle crossed his ankle over his knee, leaning back against the supple leather of his chair. "Naturally I didn't take her with me. Why? Did you want her to watch?"

Montero was edgy; it was plain to see in his soulless black eyes. He sure as hell hadn't suddenly developed a conscience about offing the president. This was about Delanie.

Kyle caught the glance Ramon gave Bruno over his shoulder. "I sent her shopping. She had no idea."

There was something he needed to resolve. "Just out of curiosity, what the hell were you thinking, drugging her? She's a goddamn loose cannon as it is. I was put in the position of having to haul her horny ass into San Cristobal earlier than planned. I don't like being manipulated, Ramon. Even if my partner is extraordinarily inventive," he added.

"It is our new product. She received just a
muestra
. A little sample. Effective, no?"

"Effective, yes," Kyle agreed, letting a little of his savagery leak into his tone. "It's effective as hell.

Would've been nice to have had some kind of warning though. I don't appreciate being used as a guinea pig,
amigo
." He gave Montero a lazy glance. "We will, however, make a fortune from the stuff. Has it been street tested?"

"No, not as yet. The cook has only just perfected it."

Kyle knew of Dr. Montgomery, a professor of chemistry and biology lured away from Stanford to work for Montero in the "kitchen" on Izquierdo. His first job was turning the raw cocaine into white powder.

He was as crooked as a donkey's hind leg. By next week he'd be manufacturing license plates.

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Montero rolled the stem of the snifter between his long elegant fingers. "Unlike Rohypnol, the user is perfectly aware, and can enjoy the effects. There is the possibility of some memory loss, but we aren't sure how extensive that will be. The cook felt there might be some other minor adverse side effects." The drug lord smiled.

"The good news is that it is, of course, highly addictive after perhaps three or four uses. Unfortunately at the moment all of our test subjects have had a disagreeable tendency to become dribbling idiots after prolonged use." He waved away the inconvenience with his cigar.

"There's no limit to our customer's appetite for new and creative drugs. Dr. Montgomery is working on the minor side effects of our new product. We can't have our customers incapable of accessing their own money, can we?"

Fury pounded behind Kyle's eyeballs, although he knew he appeared perfectly relaxed and only slightly interested. Every instinct in him demanded he crush this scumbag beneath his heel.

Long before Saturday.

"Who was used for testing?" he asked.

"Locals.
Putas
, many
gamines
, no one of consequence."

Rather than obliterate the bastard's face, Kyle rose slowly and sauntered over to the bar. "Should make us a dime."

Montero laughed. "Oh yes. We shall call it Impulse, I think." He laughed again, delighted. "It can be taken in either pill form, a bubble pack our marketing people are suggesting, or a powder in a time-release—"

"This is all fascinating data," Kyle interrupted, resuming his seat and appearing bored. "But I'm not particularly interested in the marketing angle. Not until the product starts making money. Where are we manufacturing?"

He was going to take great pleasure in taking out the drug lab when he disposed of the biochemical lab.

"Here on Izquierdo. I planned on taking everyone to inspect the lab tomorrow."

"How close are we to distribution?"

Montero beamed. "I am assured, no more than a month."

"Perfect," Kyle said, genuinely pleased. Not a damn thing was on the streets yet. In four days the factories would be rubble. "It appears, my friend, that you are achieving everything on your wish list." He toasted his partner with a raised glass.

"Our wish list surely?"

"My list gets shorter by the moment," Kyle assured him in a soft feral voice. Time to do a little shaking.

"You do trust Kensington and the others then?"

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"Naturally, I—"

Kyle inserted a disbelieving snort. "Surely you realize the tong has more than a healthy interest in Sugano's presence here? Are we really so sure of the people we've used to infiltrate the organization?

After all, neither of us speaks the language. How the hell can we be sure…" he allowed his voice to drift off.

"What are you saying? We can't trust our associates?"

Kyle shrugged, "Distrust has kept me alive. I'll watch your back,
amigo
. You watch mine."

"What about the girl? You took her with you into a situation that could have become volatile if she'd talked to the wrong people."

"I took her because you'd pumped her full of your new aphrodisiac, and it was in my best interests to do so. I believe," Kyle said coldly, "we've been over how I feel about being interrogated. It was your mistake bringing a woman here at the most critical time in our plans. And the only reason I got stuck bringing her back was because she was waiting for me when I got to the chopper with the National Guard riding my ass."