Enemy Mine (5 page)

Mac wanted to pull away as Garcia reached out with his strong, athletic hand to touch the little girl’s back. The moment he did, the little girl cried out and clung even more securely to Mac.

“She’s okay,
Patrón.
Ernesto found her. I told him I’d carry her back to the villa. Look, she’s stubbed her toe pretty badly. Can I take her over to the dispensary so Dr. Macedo can treat her? In this jungle, infection can set in and become deadly. I think she tripped over a vine on the trail.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” Garcia patted Sophie’s small shoulder. “She’s wet, too. That damn nanny! I’m tired of her whining and excuses. Now I must look for another one.”

“I’d get someone with a military background this time,” Mac said. “You’ve had trouble with nannies since I started working here.” Señora Renaldo was the second one to be dispensed in such a way. All it took was for the spoiled Tiki to complain to her daddy about her mean nanny, and the woman disappeared—for good.

“Perhaps you are right.” Garcia lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. He motioned for Coulter to walk toward the door. “
Sí,
take her to the doctor. I will accompany you. Therese is with Tiki, now. Poor little
nena,
baby. She is crying because she misses her Sophie here.”

Gritting his teeth, Mac nodded his head. He shifted Sophie to his left side so that Garcia couldn’t keep reaching out to pet her as if she was were a dog. “I’m sure Tiki is upset.”

Tiki was spoiled as hell, like Garcia’s twenty-four-year-old drug addict wife, Paloma. The woman was either high on heroin or drinking tequila until she passed out in a stupor. Paloma had a body that wouldn’t quit, which was why Garcia had decided to marry her. How Tiki ever got born was something Mac didn’t understand, because the woman was clearly an addict bent on dying from an overdose.

“I like your idea, Mac. Perhaps I should be looking for a nanny with a military background. Perhaps that is where I made my mistake.”

Mac knew that Garcia had already lured three or four South American women trained in child care to his compound and put them through a life-and-death test to see if they passed muster. Of course, not many lived to tell about it. The few that did survive suddenly found them
selves in Garcia’s employment with no way to escape. In essence, the surviving nanny with martial arts and weapons skills was as much a prisoner of Garcia as was Sophie. Only they didn’t know that was going to happen. Once in the employ of a drug lord, one never left unless in a body bag.

“Hmm,” Carlos murmured as he walked through the open door and out into the parking area, “perhaps I need to expand my search, for a different kind of nanny.” He turned and waited for Mac to catch up. Together they headed for a single-story dark green stucco building against the north wall of the complex.

“So far, you’ve chosen all Spanish women. I know England is renowned for its trained nannies.” Mac was making small talk. He knew next to nothing about child care.

The sky above was still gray, with low-hanging humid clouds, but at this time of morning it was always like that. Around noon the clouds lifted, burning off in the powerful equatorial sunlight. The sky would turn a hazy blue—just right for flying. Mac would give anything to be flying right now, just to escape being around this bastard.

“I know!” Carlos snapped his fingers and turned toward him. “I hate the English! They’re so arrogant. They think they are a superior species compared to the rest of the world. But what do you think about a Canadian nanny? Perhaps a woman with a military background? Canadians aren’t pretentious. I don’t want a supercilious snob looking after my little Tiki.”

Shrugging, Mac let the guard stationed at the dispensary open the door for them. Carlos walked through
first. “Sounds okay to me.” Mac felt sorry for whomever Garcia would find. His field operatives would put out feelers, lure the poor women down here.

Carlos hailed Dr. Pablo Macedo as they walked into one of the examination rooms. Mac gently set Sophie down on the gurney. As he smoothed her straight, dirty hair back from her face, he smiled down at her.

“Sophie, the doctor will help your toe. He’s a good man and he won’t hurt you.” Mac kept his hand cupped around her small shoulder.

Sophie gave a quick glance at Garcia, who stood near the door, smoking his cigarette. A feral look blazed in her huge blue eyes. All Mac could do was pat her back and try to give her some form of solace. He knew children had a strong sixth sense. They were like primal animals and reacted instinctively to danger. There was no question that Garcia was a danger to Sophie.

“She seems taken with you, Mac,” Garcia said, studying him intently through the haze of cigarette smoke. “I’ll tell you what. I am going to take you off the flight roster. I want you to temporarily be Tiki and Sophie’s bodyguard for me. I know, I know, you’re not a nanny, but I want this little one to know she has a friend at the villa until she can make friends with Tiki. Yes?”

Mac stood there, thunderstruck. One part of him thought it was a great idea because he could protect Sophie and try to help her adjust to her imprisonment. The other part—dealing with spoiled Tiki and drunken Paloma—didn’t sit well with him. Still, little Sophie looked so forlorn. He might not be able to rescue her
from this ugly situation, but he could provide her some badly needed care and comfort.

“Well…I…”

“Look how she adores you,
compadre.
” Carlos grinned and flipped his manicured hand toward Sophie. “Right now what I need is for her to befriend my beloved Tiki. I’ll get a babysitter within twenty-four hours. You’re too valuable a pilot to remain on the ground for long.”

“I’m not real good with kids,
Patrón.
All I know how to do is fly.” That was a lie, but Mac could never let the drug lord know the full scope of his skills. Not yet.

“I understand that. And I do not expect you to be a bodyguard for too long.”

“And if Tiki goes crying to you, are you going to take me out in the bush like you did the nannies?” Mac grinned, but he wasn’t kidding.

Carlos’s eyes lit up with amusement. “No, no, do not worry about that. You are my best pilot! I don’t get rid of people who do their job right. And if Tiki cries, we will deal with those situations as they arise? I’m sure my contacts in Canada will find qualified nannies in a week or two. This is only temporary, I assure you.”

Because of the way Sophie clung to the front of his damp flight suit, the look of sheer terror in her eyes, Mac gave in and nodded. As if on cue, Macedo, the doctor, entered the room with his nurse and wife, Luisa. “Yeah, okay, Boss. I guess I can babysit for a while.”

“
Bueno!
Good. Well, then that’s settled. Bring Sophie over to Tiki’s playroom when she’s done here. She needs a bath and change of clothes. You’ll see to that,
sí?
”

Nodding, Mac kept the grimness he felt out of his
voice.
“No problema, Patrón.”
As he moved aside for the doctor, Mac hoped that the next nanny would be found very shortly and pass the harrowing tests. He was already desperate to be taken off this unexpected assignment.

K
ATHY HOPED LIKE HELL
the sweat trickling down her rib cage wasn’t staining the pink blouse she wore beneath her conservative business suit. She sat in a skyscraper in downtown Lima, Peru, and peered nervously out the window. The dreary clouds that blanketed the city six months out of the year seemed depressing and ominous to her.

Two weeks. God, two long, torturous weeks to get this far! She sat in the plastic red chair outside the office of Señora Marita Olivares. To her knowledge, this woman was a “front” for Garcia’s empire, involved with hiring employees. She handled personnel work in his legal businesses, which were fronts for his illegal activities.

As she waited, Kathy mentally went over how she must appear to others. She’d taken great pains to research what a British nanny would look like. Thus, she’d chosen her neatly tailored gray suit, a no-nonsense blouse and plain black, low-heeled leather shoes. Nothing fancy. To complete her prim appearance, Kathy had woven her blond hair into a braid down the back of her head. A few errant strands fell across her brow. Well, she wasn’t perfect.

From Calgary, Alberta, to here, she’d been “shepherded” by a man who pretended to be employed by Señora Olivares. But Kathy felt sure he was one of Garcia’s goons. Not wanting to appear anxious, Kathy forced herself to relax, although that was the last thing she wanted to do. Being a kidnapper and now a spy to help Sophie. That was the toughest thing she’d ever done, aside from lying to her family. Her lack of official training could put her in jeopardy, and this fact compounded her anxiety. While Commander O’Conner had helped her set up this mission, Kathy had to ensure that her fake life history was tacked down to a gnat’s ass via a paper trail. This way Garcia wouldn’t find out she was a spy. Still, she worried. What if she slipped up? Forgot a name? A place? A school? It would be so easy to do. Ordinarily, she was one brazen, confident pilot, but this situation had pitfalls she’d never encountered before.

The door opened. An elegant, short and thin woman with black hair wrapped up in a French twist stepped into the office. She was dressed in a tasteful silk burgundy suit, which embellished her mature beauty. The gold wire-frame bifocal glasses dipped down on her aquiline nose and emphasized her narrow features. But it was the woman’s eyes, gravely serious and chocolate brown, that sent Kathy’s heart skittering.

“Ms. Lincoln? I’m Marita Olivares. Welcome.” She shook Kathy’s hand. Smiling, she said, “Please come in for your interview.”

“Yes, of course. It’s nice to meet you,” Kathy said, and released her warm, bejeweled hand. She noticed the
woman had a British accent, and this surprised her. Ms. Olivares was not what she appeared, and that put Kathy even more on alert as she rose and walked confidently into the woman’s office.

Señora Olivares’s office was constructed completely of expensive mahogany, from the walls of bookshelves to her massive rectangular desk, behind which she settled herself. Kathy sat down in a green wing chair, her knees together, hands clasped in her lap. She watched as Señora Olivares quickly opened her file.

“So…you are from Calgary? In Canada, Ms. Lincoln?” She peered over her bifocals at Kathy.

“Yes, born and raised there, ma’am.” Another trickle of sweat started down her ribs. The gray blazer hid her perspiration, thank God.

“Your accent, if you do not mind me saying so, sounds very Americanized, Ms. Lincoln. Not Canadian.” Her arched, thick brows rose in question.

“My mother was American, my father Canadian. He met her on a business trip to the States. They fell in love and the rest is history. I was born in Calgary and have dual citizenship as a result.” Kathy allowed a slight smile. “So, if my English sounds flawed, that is why.” She saw Señora Olivares’s mouth twitch. Was that a good or bad sign?

“I see here that you have been trained in early childhood education at the British Nanny Institute in Toronto. Two years of training and you were an A student.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What kind of employment are you looking for, Ms. Lincoln?”

Taken aback, Kathy quickly said, “Permanent only, ma’am. I want to fit into the family and work with the little ones.”

“I see…”

This was torture.

“I thoroughly checked all your credentials last week, Ms. Lincoln.”

Kathy’s heart thudded in her chest. She kept her face carefully composed. Having sent her résumé two weeks ago, she expected to have her references verified. But still, as she watched Señora Olivares tap her bloodred polished nails over the personnel file, arched brows drawn downward, Kathy’s fears mounted. What the hell did that look mean? Had they found her out? Had her cover been blown? A hundred other worries floated in her head. Kathy saw no guards in the office, but she was sure the goon that had escorted her was out in the hall. Out of sight, but close enough to shoot her or bury her if Señora Olivares gave the order.

“Do you prefer working with a particular gender, Ms. Lincoln?”

Shrugging, Kathy said, “I love all children, no matter what their age or gender, Señora Olivares.”

“I see. Well, I am fascinated with your other livelihood before you took child care training. You were in the CAF? The Canadian Armed Forces? Isn’t that a bit of a change in career paths?”

Kathy didn’t know how to read the woman’s inscrutable look. Her brown eyes were flat and reminded her of a snake eyeing its next meal. “I suppose it is, ma’am,
but when I was eighteen I had a lot of wild oats to sow. My parents felt it best that I spend three years in the CAF, enlisted ranks, to get over that.”

“And you agreed with their plan?”

“I thought it would be interesting work. I’m very physical by nature and I wanted a job that would test me.”

“I see you worked in security?”

“Yes, ma’am. In the civilian world my career would be that of a police officer.”

“I see….” More tapping on the file with her claws. Another inscrutable look.

Kathy sat very still, unable to gauge the woman. Her instincts told her to stay quiet.

“And so, you took many police courses while in the CAF? Such as karate? Firing weapons of all kinds? Or were you in the office typing?”

Kathy smiled slightly. “I was a field operative in security. I was cross-trained in hand-to-hand combat, and I am proficient in all the weapons I listed on my résumé. I did not sit in an office.”

“Excellent. Well…” Señora Olivares raised her head “…the family I represent is looking for a bodyguard
and
a nanny, Ms. Lincoln. And they want someone who desires long-term employment. They pay handsomely, and you will travel the world with them.”

“That sounds exactly what I’m looking for,” Kathy said. She noticed that throughout the two weeks she’d spent getting to this point, no one had ever mentioned the family’s name, which she knew was Garcia.

“Before you meet my employer, he insists upon a small test to see if you can meet the requirements for
this position. He needs assurance that you are highly competent and skilled in these areas.”

“Okay.” What tests? Kathy had taken a ream of written tests last week. They were all psychologically oriented and examined by a male psychiatrist in Garcia’s employ. She’d bluffed her way through the paper chase and past the shrink, who had reminded her of Freud in more ways than one. More tests? What kind now? She was sick of them. Seeing Señora Olivares smile for the first time, her hands folded over the file, Kathy got a bad feeling. Her smile never reached her eyes, which remained curiously flat yet very probing.

“My employer wants a young woman with a background like yours. Because he is very rich, he worries for his daughter’s safety and the possibility that she could be kidnapped. My employer desires someone who, at an instant’s notice, can take his child to safety wherever they are, be it in the jungle or the city.”

Kathy nodded, unsure of where this conversation was headed. In all the research on Garcia, no mention had ever been made of these “tests.” There was a growing coldness in the pit of her stomach. Forcing herself to remain relaxed and attentive, she said, “Of course. I’ll take the tests. I’m aware that very wealthy families in South America are at risk for kidnapping and that kidnappers try to take a child first.”

“Exactly,” Señora Olivares murmured. She closed the file with finality. “I will ask Teres to take you to the Lima airport, where you will be flown by helicopter to my employer’s villa, near Agua Caliente. It is his favorite country home. Someone at the villa will give you the
instructions for these tests. Once you pass them, you will then meet your employer, Ms. Lincoln.”

What was she getting into? For a moment, panic hit Kathy. And then she settled down.
Focus.
Focus on what was important: getting into Garcia’s villa, getting close enough that she could kidnap his child and make him suffer as her family had. Kathy compressed her lips and said with confidence, “That’s fine,
señora.
I’m more than ready for any tests.”

M
AC
C
OULTER WAS GETTING
desperate. He’d more or less volunteered some of his rare “free time” to check in on Sophie. It tore him up daily to see what the child was going through—alone. Never had he felt so damn helpless. He couldn’t rescue her without showing his hand. And his handler didn’t have any ideas how to get Sophie out of there, either. To ease his guilty conscience, Mac dropped in often to visit her.

He sat in the playroom with Sophie in his lap and Tiki rocking on her beloved, much-used wooden rocking horse over in the corner. For the past two weeks, Sophie had clung to him, and Mac knew that he represented safety in a world gone mad around her. The child cried herself to sleep every night, and this tore him up. During the day, Sophie was glum and refused to play with Tiki, who was thrilled her new, living “doll” had been delivered to her. Keeping Tiki otherwise busy with her hundreds of toys was the real challenge.

Repeatedly, Garcia’s daughter would come over, pull on Sophie’s hair and scream at her to play. Mac would then get up, patiently remove Tiki’s fingers one at a
time from Sophie’s long blond hair and tell her that she couldn’t do that. Oh, the temper tantrums. And Tiki, who had been raised by a series of nannies, had her reactions down pat. His ears ached from her high-pitched, endless shrieks. What Mac wanted to do and what he could do to reprimand Tiki was a real walk on the edge of a sword. Tiki was utterly spoiled. No one dared to discipline her, not even her teacher or himself. Sophie, who was grieving over the loss of her parents, had retreated deep inside herself, so no matter what Tiki did to her, she wouldn’t respond.

Mac looked out the window. From the second-floor nursery and playroom area, he could see the helicopter landing pad, a slab of concrete colored green to match the surrounding jungle. Garcia had told him last night that a potential nanny and bodyguard had been found.

When Señorita Adelina Martinez, the British educated Brazilian teacher, entered, he hoisted Sophie into her arms. Adelina, a fifty-year-old spinster with gray hair pulled severely into a chignon, gave him a look of surprise. Her thick glasses made her watery brown eyes seem buglike to Mac. Yet she must have the patience of Job, because she’d been hired by Garcia when Tiki was three years old. Somehow, the woman persevered with the petulant child.

Out of desperation, and a need to get out of there, Mac decided to assert some authority. “Can you take care of them for a few hours,
señorita?
I have to fly the chopper in a little while. I’ll be back, of course.”

“Certainly, Mr. Coulter.” She gave him a slight smile. “I’m sure the babysitter could use a rest.”

The knowing glint in her kind eyes made Mac grin. “Yeah, something like that,
señorita.
” He patted Sophie’s shoulder. The girl had come to trust the teacher, as well. “She’s not eaten her breakfast yet.”

“Poor child.” Adelina twittered and she touched Sophie’s cheek gently. “I’ll see what I can do while you are gone, Señor Coulter.”

“Yeah, fine. Tiki threw oatmeal at Sophie earlier. I had to clean her up and get her a set of fresh clothes.”

“Tsk, tsk, that wasn’t right, now was it?” Adelina held Sophie away far enough to look at the little girl’s pale face. “Well! We must remedy this, young lady. And I’ll make sure our sweet Tiki doesn’t throw any more food at you, either.”

Go for it,
Mac thought as he left. Adelina, because of her British training and therefore the best, in Garcia’s eyes, had a cool, calm manner when dealing with the truculent Tiki—one that garnered a fair measure of success. Her elevated status in the household was evident, for she was just about the only one of the staff who could manage the uncontrollable and lonely Tiki. What Mac would like to do was swat Tiki on the rear and make her behave, but if he did that, all hell would break loose. No one ever laid a hand on the child.

Hurrying out of the villa, Mac saw Carlos Garcia near the dispensary. The morning was gray, the clouds hanging low over the jungle, as always. The temperature was climbing already, the humidity high and making him sweat.

Carlos saw him and stopped. “Tiki is with Adelina?”

“Yes, sir, she is.” Mac halted and pointed toward the
Bell helicopter sitting on the pad. “I need some flight time, Señor Garcia. I’ve only flown twice in the last two weeks and that doesn’t help keep my flight skills sharp. I understand you’ve got a nanny to pick up in Lima this morning? I’d like to have that mission.” Mac stated it as a fact, leaving no room for Garcia to say no.

Shrugging, the man said, “Of course. Do what you like. This is the third nanny I’ve seen in a week. I’m giving up hope of ever finding a woman who can be good with a child
and
be a bodyguard.”

“Yes, sir.” Mac was going to change the odds on this one. He was going to get out of this babysitting gig one way or another.

“Her name is Katherine Lincoln. She’s Canadian. Señora Olivares said she has had CAF police training, so I’m hopeful her survival skills are superior to the other two.”

I do, too.
Mac nodded and said nothing.