Feel The Heat

by Cindy Gerard

  “Don’t be afraid of this. Don’t be afraid of me. There are much bigger things to fear.”

  He set her away from him then, searched her eyes like he was looking for the Holy Grail there. “But there is something, one thing I desperately need to know.”

  She held her breath, waited, and finally he asked, “You must tell me what B.J. stands for.”

  She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it sure as the world wasn’t that. Her face must have registered her surprise because he immediately broke into a grin.

  What an unusual man, she thought in that moment. With one well-timed burst of insight, he’d put things back in place between them. Gave her an opening to fall back into their verbal sparring because he sensed that she needed that common ground to steady herself.

  “Nice try,” she said, and actually found herself smiling back.

  “Bobbie Jo?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Bethany Jill? Belinda June?”

  “Don’t you have a meeting to attend?”

  “You’re no fun, Chase.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and headed for the bathroom.

  Nope. No fun at all, she agreed, and watched what was possibly the nicest ass and the most intriguing man she’d ever known disappear behind the bathroom door.

  Rafe blew a plume of cigar smoke—Honduran, Cesar had told him, custom made—into the air in the dimly lit room. This was Cesar’s inner sanctum, part library, part office. Cesar sat behind a huge antique mahogany desk. Floor-to-ceiling shelving behind the desk stored everything from priceless bound volumes to a small original Picasso and a few Chagalls. Next to the desk stood a workstation complete with computer, fax, printer, and modem.

  The small talk was over. Rafe understood that even before Cesar finally mentioned the pink elephant sucking up all the oxygen in the room.

  “So, Raphael, you have been alive in the United States for fifteen years. Yet you have never been in touch. Never returned to Colombia. I have many questions.”

  “I would expect you to,” Rafe said as he rolled the tip of the expensive cigar in an ornate glass ashtray, then tapped off the ashes. “For many years, fear kept me away. I knew that if I returned, I would also be killed. As long as whoever killed my father thought I was dead, then I was safe in America. But then I matured, became involved with my own business, and time passed, you know?”

  He drew on the cigar again, pausing to let the smoke drift toward the coffered ceiling. “I have been wanting to return for years. I want to claim my place in the family business, Tío Cesar. I have always wanted that. But I wanted to wait until the time was right. I wanted to bring something of worth to the bank and all its highly profitable auxiliary businesses so they would understand that I can be a viable member of the business.”

  “And besides your father’s name, what does Raphael Mendoza bring?”

  “A profitable Las Vegas–based operation.”

  Cesar’s eyes reflected exactly what Rafe wanted to see. Interest.

  “My business is small in contrast to yours but lucrative, just the same. I can offer this to the family. I can offer a conduit to a market that could multiply by thousands of branches with the connections I have in Nevada.”

  Cesar said nothing, but Rafe could see he had his attention and his interest. After a long, thoughtful moment, Cesar lifted a hand in a gesture for Rafe to continue.

  He’d taken the bait. Now Rafe just had to reel him in.

  “You do realize, it is not my decision,” Cesar said after Rafe had outlined his fake Vegas operation and his plans for expansion—with the help of an infusion of capital from his uncle’s business, of course.

  “I want you to see this.” Rafe produced a totally bogus annual business report. “Look it over,” he added. “And I expect you to check me out. You could start with him.” He gave his uncle the name and number of the financier Ann Tompkins had cut the deal with.

  Rafe knew he was on board then. If Cesar wasn’t interested, he would have given him a flat-out no.

  “I know that Emilio will have the final word,” Rafe said as Cesar thumbed through the report.

  Cesar didn’t bat an eye when Rafe mentioned Emilio Garcia, the godfather of the cartel. The man whom Rafe and B.J. had come down here to find.

  “I will arrange a meeting,” Cesar said, and that was the end of the discussion. “Now, we’ve kept the ladies waiting long enough. Please, go ahead and join them at the east pool. I’ll be there in a few moments.”

  Right after he searched the web for information, Rafe figured, and hoped to hell that Crystal had planted enough bogus intel to convince Cesar that the line of bullshit Rafe had just fed him was the truth.

  “Uncle Cesar,” Rafe said, hesitating at the door. This wasn’t part of the plan. This was personal. So personal it had been eating a hole in his gut for years. “My father… my family. Who took them away from me?”

  Cesar blinked slowly, leaned forward behind the desk, and propped his elbows on the leather blotter. “Their murderers have received what they deserved. I saw to it personally. You must trust me on this,” he added, apparently seeing the lingering question in Rafe’s eyes. “Just as you must trust that some things are best left buried.”

  Buried with his mother and his baby sister, who were innocent of all crime. Buried with his father, who was ultimately responsible for their deaths.

  He breathed through the knot clutching at his chest and left the room, shutting the door behind him. His hands were shaking as he turned the knob; his heart raced on a runaway ride to nowhere. For most of his adult life he had thought of extracting revenge. For the past several years, when time and technology had permitted, he had quietly investigated the Munoz bank and the Garcia drug cartel, searching for clues as to who had been responsible for murdering his family. The lack of information hadn’t surprised him. The cartel was cloaked in secrecy.

  “Their murderers have received what they deserved. I saw to it personally. You must trust me on this.”

  His uncle had felt the need to insist on trust. Why was it, then, that Cesar had not looked him in the eye when he’d said it?

  22

  Rafe almost choked on his wine when he spotted B.J. as she emerged from the double French doors of the house. The woman knew how to make an entrance and this one was on par with a pole dancer out to collect a helluva lot of tips.

  Hips swaying, boobs bouncing, dressed in little more than three triangles and some string, she sauntered across the huge, tiled patio toward him and his aunt and uncle.

  Her four-inch heels were made of some kind of clear plastic or acrylic material with a big fuchsia flower attached to the strap at her ankle; her wide-brimmed floppy hat and sunglasses matched her teensy weensy hot pink bikini, and the gauzy white translucent swim poncho was less coverup than it was tease.

  Madre de Dios, was she trying to kill him or help him?

  He glanced at his aunt and uncle. The faces greeting B.J. as she made her long, hip-swaying way across the tiled patio were not happy faces.

  “Look at the three of you,” she cooed with a huge smile as she joined them at the table. “What a lovely family picture you make. You’re still a handsome son of a gun, you know that, Cesar? Muy macho,” she assured him with a flirty smile. “And, Aliria, I would just love to get you to my hairdresser. Why the things she could do—”

  “Brittany,” Rafe said sharply. “We’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

  “Well, darling,” her smile grew tight with annoyance as she circled the table and planted a kiss on his cheek, “you wouldn’t have wanted me to make an appearance unless I was all put together. It took forever for this nail polish to dry.” She splayed her fingers in front of his face, then leaned down and nibbled on his ear. “It’s passion pink. Because I know how much you like my little pink—”

  “Brittany.” He silenced her again, smiling apologetically at his shell-shocked aunt. “We’re having dinner. This is not a pool party.”

 
She stood up straight, then affected an injured but valiant smile. “Oh. When you said to meet by the pool, I naturally assumed … well. It doesn’t matter what I assumed now, does it? I didn’t realize I was supposed to dress for dinner. I’ll just go change.”

  “Brittany, wait.” He snagged her arm.

  She jerked out of his grasp. “I said, I’ll change.” She shot a glare at Rafe while he wondered what in the hell she was up to.

  “Excuse me,” she said curtly to Cesar and Aliria. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  For the longest moment, all Rafe could do was watch the sweet bounce of her almost bare ass and wonder about the things he did not know about B. J. Chase.

  He finally shook his head to clear it and found both Cesar and Aliria staring at him as if they were trying to figure out what in the hell he saw in her.

  “Women,” he said, offering up a sheepish smile. “Who can figure them out?”

  It was all about timing. As soon as she hit the house, B.J. slipped out of the ridiculous heels—if she ever ran into Reed again, she had a lot to thank him for— sprinted up the stairs to their bedroom, and changed into the green silk slip dress she’d laid out on the bed. She ditched the hat, jammed a flower from the bedside bouquet in her hair, grabbed a pair of white heels, then ran back down the stairs, where she ducked around the corner and headed straight for Cesar’s office. If her cell phone was anywhere, she suspected she’d find it there. Earlier, she’d turned on the transmitter she’d hidden in her purse to notify the BOIs that they were in and so they could get a fix on their location. But they needed to check in with Crystal and see if there was anything new to help them.

  She’d been waiting for just the right time to slip away after tracking the pattern of movement of the household staff. She’d figured out that this was their break time, which they spent out back at a small sitting area reserved just for them. It gave her this small window to check out Cesar’s office.

  “Damn,” she sputtered, trying the office door. Even though she’d anticipated it would be locked, she’d still hoped for a break. Slipping a hairpin out of her updo, she went to work. It was a simple interior lock, not designed for heavy-duty security, and it took her all of thirty seconds to spring it.

  She slipped inside, closed the door quietly behind her, and headed straight for Cesar’s desk. It, too, was locked, but after checking all the usual hiding places, she found the key tucked in a small box affixed to the bottom of the center desk drawer.

  “Bingo,” she murmured when she found her cell phone in the first drawer she opened. “Be there, Crystal,” she whispered after sending the first text, then held her breath while she waited for a reply.

  Her heart kicked with relief when no more than thirty seconds later, Crystal answered. Less than two minutes after that, B.J. had replaced the phone, locked up the desk, and let herself out of the office. Then she breathed deep to collect herself, slipped on her shoes, and headed back for the pool and her waiting “fiancé.” He wasn’t going to like the news Crystal had passed on.

  While Crystal had nothing new on the investigative front, her other bit of news wasn’t good. Whoever was pulling the strings back in the States had found the safe house. Only because Green was so skillful was he able to get Stephanie out of there alive. Now they were on the run.

  “Tick. Tock.” Crystal had written in her text.

  Yeah. No one knew better than B.J. that the clock was ticking.

  No one, possibly, but Rafe, who searched her eyes with a scowl when she joined him and the Munozes at the table.

  “Happy now?” she asked, and executed a little twirl for him.

  “You look lovely.” Rafe held out a hand for her, then gave her a reassuring squeeze before pulling her against his side. “And we have a surprise for you.”

  Brittany quickly forgot that she was in a bit of a snit. “Really?”

  “There’s going to be a party in our honor.”

  She all but squealed in excitement. “You know how I love parties. Where? When?”

  “The day after tomorrow at a business associate of Tío Cesar’s.”

  She made her eyes as big as her smile. “Business associate?”

  “Emilio Garcia,” he supplied, and if possible her eyes grew wider. “When Uncle Cesar informed him that I was alive and in Colombia, Señor Garcia insisted he be allowed to throw a welcome home party.”

  “I understand he’s a very important man.” She flashed a conspiratorial smile at Cesar. “Muy importante,” she added in her clumsy Spanish, her expression relaying how pleased she thought they should be that she’d made another attempt to speak their language.

  “It will allow you an opportunity to meet many friends and family,” Aliria said, ever the gracious hostess. “In the meantime, let’s eat our dinner, shall we? I’ve had the chef prepare something special in honor of Raphael’s return.”

  “That is so sweet,” Brittany said. “Raphael deserves something special, don’t you, darling?” She pressed a kiss on his mouth, then made a huge production of waiting by her chair until Rafe rose and pulled it out for her.

  Satisfied that she was properly arranged and looking gorgeous, she smiled around the table, then lifted her wineglass in anticipation of a toast. “Isn’t this just so lovely?”

  “You did what?” Rafe demanded, hoping he hadn’t heard her right when B. J. told him she’d broken into Cesar’s office.

  They had excused themselves shortly after dinner, Brittany pleading a headache. Now they stood in the bathroom with the shower running full blast to ensure they couldn’t be overheard. Which was a damn good thing because he was close to yelling.

  “Are you going to tell me that if the opportunity came up, you wouldn’t have done the same thing?”

  He glared at her.

  “I didn’t think so. Well, I created an opportunity.”

  In spades, he thought, thinking about the way she’d looked in that bikini. Especially how she’d looked walking away.

  “Look, I told you—I call the shots. You don’t go all Rambo on me, you got it? If you’re going to pull something like that, I need to be in the loop.”

  “Fine. Point taken. It won’t happen again. In the meantime, do you want to hear what I found out or not?”

  Cristo, the woman had balls. He covered his mouth with his hand, skated it up over his head, and clutched the back of his neck, trying to settle himself down. Finally he nodded.

  “And they’re both okay?” he asked after she’d told him about the text conversation with Crystal, who had relayed news of Stephanie and Green’s narrow escape.

  “Apparently, but it was a close call.”

  He turned his back on her, paced two steps away, then turned back. “We’ve got to get in touch with Nate and the guys. See what they’ve dug up. Something’s got to shake loose on this. We’re running out of time.”

  “I know,” she said. “I was thinking that ‘Brittany’ could insist on a shopping trip to Medellín tomorrow. She’ll need something snazzy for the big party—and I can make a side trip to an Internet café. Crystal can either put me in touch with the guys or give me a report on what, if anything, they’ve found out.”

  Rafe thought about Cesar. About the way he hadn’t been able to look him in the eye when he’d told him he’d dealt with the men who had killed Rafe’s family. And Rafe knew that Cesar was too shrewd to take the story of his Vegas operation at face value. If he hadn’t already, Cesar would soon be running a check on Rafe’s Vegas alias. Until his uncle was satisfied with the “truth” of Rafe’s story, Cesar would continue to watch him like a hawk. “Brittany,” too, but to a lesser degree and mostly because B.J. had done such a good job of presenting herself as an obnoxious airhead.

  “He’ll insist on his own chauffeur taking you. And he’ll watch every move you make.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to slip away.”

  Yeah, he thought. She would. She was capable and smart and, damn, he wished he could
get the picture of her in that tiny scrap of a bikini out of his head. Wished he could shake the constant images of them naked in the shower together, and in the bed. The amazing taste of her.

  “My cousins are coming tomorrow,” he said, because she was too close and he was too hard and if he didn’t focus on something else, he was going to break his promise about respecting her boundaries until this was over. “It should be an interesting reunion.”

  “No doubt,” she agreed. “What’s the plan at Emilio Garcia’s?”

  “Same as it’s always been. I’ll look for an opportunity to get into his office, attempt to access his files, and hopefully find the info we need.”