Black Ops Bodyguard

by Donna Young

  “I didn’t have proof. And I wasn’t about to share Jason’s dossier with the police.”

  Fear twisted his guts into a rigid knot. He’d walked away from her for this very reason.

  Cain MacAlister, the current director of Labyrinth, had promised to keep Julia under surveillance. What the hell happened? “And you’re sure the letters are legitimate?”

  “Yes. I’m sure.” This time she didn’t mask her impatience. “I also understand the reason for it, but I don’t have to accept their decision.”

  “As a government operative, Jason understood the risks that go with the job. He accepted them every time he took an assignment,” Cal stated.

  “Don’t talk about him in the past tense, Cal. He’s not dead.”

  They reached the lobby’s elevator and she hit the call button. “The intruder left a picture with the file. He’s holding an American newspaper. Yesterday’s newspaper with the current headlines and the date.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything.” The elevator slid open and both of them stepped in.

  “Drug cartels are not forgiving, Julia, when they find a government agent among them,” Cal remarked. He jabbed the button for his floor. “A child can digitally change the face of a newspaper with the right computer program.”

  At least that wasn’t a lie. And if his intel was correct, they were dealing with one of the most powerful drug cartel lords: Cristo Delgado.

  Delgado took pleasure in what he called “public relations.” Many who died by his hand, did so slowly and on camera. Later, Delgado arranged for the footage to be circulated over the internet to discourage anyone else from trying to infiltrate his business.

  Cain MacAlister’s people could not find any footage on Jason.

  The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped out into the private entry of Cal’s loft.

  Julia hugged the teddy bear to her chest. Something sharp—a yearning—jabbed at her gut.

  Grimly, Cal reached for his keys. “Hold on.” He opened the door and stepped inside for a moment.

  Julia stood in the doorway, familiar with the procedure as he turned on lights and punched in the security code on a wall keypad.

  A scant minute later, he returned from checking the rooms.

  “Expecting company?”

  “You showed up, didn’t you?” Cal quipped, then took the bear and set it down with his bag. “Just making sure no one else felt the need to find me tonight.”

  The light gave Julia a chance to study Cal. Just over six feet, she had to tilt her head back to get a good look at his face. He had light brown hair, worn a tad longer than what was expected on the Hill. The small brown locks curled over the collar of his white dress shirt.

  He was lean, but not lanky. More solid, sculpted. Almost as if he was modeled from the Greek statues at the Smithsonian.

  Muscles flexed, then shifted beneath the charcoal suit coat, hinting at the controlled movement beneath.

  Longing twisted deep in her belly. Refusing to be distracted, she locked her spine straight and brought her eyes back to his features.

  His hazel eyes, unflinching, seared hers.

  Julia broke contact first. She glanced around the apartment.

  The first time Cal had brought her here, she’d expected sleek, streamlined decor and was mildly surprised at the cozy tapestry pillows, the tapered walnut coffee table and oversize chairs that flanked a sand-colored leather couch. Overstuffed and fairly new. English country.

  A touch of home, she’d thought at the time, surprised at the sentimentality from such a cynical man.

  “Did you bring the file?”

  “Yes.” Julia reached into her suit pocket and withdrew the folded pieces of paper. “But it only explains the mission. Not what went wrong.”

  His eyes settled on the papers for a moment, before shifting back to her. “I need to make some tea. Would you like some?”

  “Yes,” she said, surprised. She’d expected him to want something sharper, like a brandy or even some wine.

  “What is it?”

  Annoyed, she realized if she were to pull off her plan, she needed to do a better job keeping her expression unreadable.

  She lifted a casual shoulder. “British or not, I’ve never known you to drink tea.”

  “A habit I picked up recently. My jetlag demands something traditional.”

  She followed him to the kitchen, which was more modern in style. Black granite counters, steel appliances stood in contrast to the warmth of the living room. Fit the man more in her mind, but so did the contrast themselves.

  The stuffed bear drew her gaze. Another contradiction.

  Ignoring the small ache in her chest, she picked up the bear and squeezed. A soft lullaby through the thick fur of its belly.

  “Cute,” she murmured and turned it over, noting the Velcro seam. “I’d make sure they have extra batteries. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to get used quite a bit.”

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  “It really is perfect, Cal,” she told him sincerely. “Regina is going to love it.”

  “Jordan mentioned that you and she had become close over the last year.”

  Cal grabbed a streamlined, silver tea kettle from the stove and filled it with water.

  “We did. Actually, it was your doing. The few times we joined them for dinner, Regina and I really enjoyed each other’s company. After you and I split…” Julia shrugged and propped the bear up on the corner bar stool next to her. “We still manage to call each other once a week or so now that they are in London.”

  She settled herself on another stool at the counter. “Are you up for a trip to South America, Cal?”

  “Why?” He grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and placed them by the stove.

  “Jason is in South America. Alive.”

  “Whether he is or not, I’m the wrong person to help you.”

  “You’re exactly the right person, actually.” Julia struggled to keep her tone even. “I’m calling in Jason’s favor.”

  Cal’s eyes flickered over her. “What favor?”

  “Don’t play politics with me.” She gave him a long, cool look. One that sent many aides scurrying from the Oval Office. “Before Jason left D.C., he told me to contact you if anything happened to him. He said you owed him a favor and that you were the only one I should trust.”

  “Trust to do what?” Cal questioned, swearing silently. “What are you planning, Julia?”

  “To rescue him.”

  “Even if I owed him, I’m a diplomat from England and there is little—”

  “I read your file,” Julia said, taking a little pleasure in cutting him off. “You’re ex-MI6. And now work for Labyrinth. Although, why you changed sides isn’t stated. And neither are your Labyrinth missions.”

  “How in the hell did you get a hold of my file?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Julia nearly smiled at that. He sounded so indignant. Good. It didn’t hurt him to realize she had a few tricks of her own. “You’re the one who keeps reminding me who I work for.”

  “My association with Labyrinth has nothing to do with Jason,” Cal pointed out. “And it doesn’t change the facts.”

  “This might.” She pulled a recorder out of her pocket and placed it on the counter. “Listen.” She hit the play button.

  “Ms. Cutting, I’m going to get right to the point. I have your husband, Jason Marsh.” The words were brisk, businesslike, the tone deep with a gritty, Latin accent. “He is not dead, but he will be if you do not meet our demands. Arrange for ten million American dollars to be deposited in an offshore account of our choosing. You will be given the details once you secure the money. You will have three days to meet with me personally. Do not test us on this. If you notify your government of this request, we will kill him. A hotel reservation has been made in—”

  Julia pushed the stop button. “Sounds like bad guys don’t differentiate between ex-husband and husbands, either.”

&nbs
p; “He could be lying,” Cal suggested. “The odds are that Jason is already dead.”

  “I’m willing to go against the odds.” Her chin shot up, defiant. “Are you going to help me?”

  “Possibly.” When he reached for the recorder, she snatched it away.

  He sighed. “Even if you did meet them, there is no way to call their bluff. No one has access to ten million in such a short time. Not these days.”

  Julia shoved the recorder in her pocket. “I do.”

  Chapter Three

  “If you have ten million dollars, you didn’t come by it legally.” Fury set Cal’s shoulders into harsh, unyielding lines.

  “It belongs to the government,” Julia acknowledged. And Cal knew the admission cost her. “I’ve already transferred the money into a dormant government account. Right before I took an extended vacation.”

  “Tell me how you going to prison for embezzlement helps Jason?”

  “No one’s going to prison. I don’t intend on giving Jason’s kidnappers the money. The transfer can easily be considered a mistake later on. An accounting error. I’ll get no more than a slap on the wrist.”

  “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 explai
ned, 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.”