The Naughty Nine: Where Danger and Passion Collide

by Nina Bruhns

  “I do not know. The police will identify the bodies, but there is no indication they are tied to any of my known enemies.”

  “What about this new threat? The one you’ve hired Dolores and me to handle?” Frankie asked, moving around the couch and sliding onto the leather cushion beside her.

  Perez shook his head. “We have no proof they are anywhere near this island. Stealing a shipment and stealing my child are two different things.”

  “But you have to suspect someone,” Frankie insisted. “Has anyone tried to take your daughter before?”

  With a single-worded order, the room cleared.

  “I am reluctant to speak of my personal life to business associates, but since you risked your life today to save my daughter, I believe I can share my suspicions with you. I do not believe the attempt to kidnap my daughter is related to my profession. There’s hardly been time for Ochoa’s men to retaliate, especially since I haven’t yet made it known that his death was on my order. And the three men at the marina—no one recognized them.”

  Marisela watched Perez closely, alert to any sign that he wasn’t telling the truth. “Is that so unusual? Your enemies come from around the world. How could you possibly know them all?”

  “I can’t, but these men were not professionals. The plan was weak at best, as if thrown together at the last minute. Opportunistic. They were sitting ducks in that truck once they reached the pier. They did not anticipate resistance.”

  “They nearly succeeded. You can’t ignore that,” Marisela countered.

  “I have no intention of ignoring that I almost lost my daughter today, señora, “he snapped. “Security has been doubled on the island and for the time being, Jessica will remain on Isla de Piratas, even when school is back in session next week. She’ll take her lessons here. I won’t risk losing her.”

  Frankie broke in, his voice calm and deep. “You can’t keep her prisoner forever. She’s nearly an adult. She’ll soon make her own choices, ¿verdad?”

  Javier sat forward, his hands folded loosely in his lap. “You both tell me things about my daughter that I already know. Can you tell me anything I do not—some wisdom you’ve learned during your extensive stay on my island?”

  None of his sarcasm was lost on Marisela and she displayed the right amount of contrite apology in the tone of her voice and tilt of her head. “I’m sorry, Señor Perez. We shouldn’t presume.

  Javier nodded, then waved her apology away. “No, you shouldn’t, but I’m honored that you do. Obviously, you care about my child.”

  Marisela crossed her legs, trying to look casual, trying not to appear as if she cared too much. “She’s a special girl. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but she reminds me of myself, when I was her age. Frivolous, but smart. Lonely. Desperate for her father’s approval.”

  Javier shook his head, but Marisela could see his belief in his sad eyes.

  “Señor,” Frankie said, “who would have something to gain from taking her? To date, you are the most powerful arms dealer in this part of the world. Antagonizing you will not weaken your power. Your enemies would know this. At this point, all but Ochoa are working to get into your good graces.”

  “¡Exactamente, Rogelio! Only one person would be so uncaring about Jessica’s safety,” Javier answered, disgust thick in his tone. “I’ve known ruthless people in my lifetime, but even you in your profession have never met anyone as cold and cruel as the person I suspect.”

  “And that is?” Frankie asked.

  Perez grabbed the decanter of whiskey, poured a glassful, and downed the amber liquid in one choking swallow. “Her mother.”

  Marisela had to remember to act surprised. “Her mother is alive?” she asked, her voice halting. “I just assumed…”

  “Yes, she’s alive. She’s Americana, lives in Boston. Elise Barton-Ryce, socialite and professional bitch. She likes people to think she has a lot of money, a lot of class, when in reality, she has neither.”

  Perez stood and refilled his glass again, glancing through the archway that separated the living room where they conversed from the hallway that led to Jessica’s room. He undoubtedly did not want his daughter to overhear this discussion.

  “I don’t understand, señor. She doesn’t have money?” Frankie asked. “Then how could she pay someone to take your daughter?”

  Perez glanced down the hall before he answered. “She has enough for chapuceros like the ones you encountered today. Her trust fund would give her that. But she has expensive tastes and my sources tell me her financial resources are limited. And for all her faults—and believe me, she has many—I doubt she has adequate contacts to find anyone better than she did.”

  Well, he was wrong there. Not that Marisela was going to point that out.

  “Why would she try and kidnap her own daughter?”

  “I don’t allow her access to Jessica. She got pregnant by accident, I assure you. She was disgusted by her condition.”

  “Why didn’t she have an abortion?” Marisela asked.

  Javier shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine. She’s Catholic, but I doubt God has any influence over her. I can only thank El Señor that she didn’t, because now my daughter is with me, where she belongs.”

  Marisela shifted forward. She’d never trusted the woman, and here was her chance to find out the scoop from someone who really knew Elise, even briefly—even if he had a clear bias against her.

  “Maybe she really wanted the baby, but was too proud to let you know.”

  Javier spit on the floor, then made a gesture Marisela didn’t recognize, but could easily interpret nonetheless.

  “Or maybe not,” she mumbled.

  “Believe me, señora, there is not a maternal bone in that woman’s body. I went to Boston when Jessica was born. I only had to watch Elise for a few days after she returned home from the hospital to know my daughter would not receive the care and supervision she deserved. Nannies and servants! That is not how you raise a child!”

  Marisela and Frankie exchanged a look, but said nothing more. They knew the rest of the story. Javier took the child and so far as Marisela could see, had done a damned good job of raising her. He’d clearly had help, but Marisela had seen Jessica and Javier together. There was no stiff distance dividing them, just the to-be-expected high emotions of a teenaged daughter on the verge of womanhood and a father who wanted to keep her safe.

  “Has this woman tried to take her before?” Frankie asked.

  Javier shook his head, his nostrils flaring as he paced from the doorway.

  “She never lifted a finger to get Jessica back, nor did she ever contact me, ask me for a visit. She wrote to Jessica once, asking her never to contact her, but I intercepted the letter. She didn’t care about her child. She never cared.”

  “Then why would she care now?”

  Marisela watched Javier stalk around the room like a caged animal. The veins in his neck and temples engorged as his muscles tightened. And yet, his voice was an even whisper when he finally spoke again. “Trust me, she has her reasons.”

  He knew something—something he wasn’t willing to share.

  “Then take care of her,” Frankie suggested, crossing one leg casually on the other. A subtle change in his attitude drew Marisela’s attention to his body language, to the lean cut of his slacks and the sharp polish and tapered heel on his ankle boots. From the grim line on his mouth to the square set of his shoulders, Frankie oozed cold intentions.

  They were, after all, killers.

  “You would do this?” Javier asked.

  Marisela adopted Frankie’s icy mien. Dolores and Rogelio wouldn’t hesitate to offer this solution. The fact that Javier Perez didn’t smile conspiratorially or jump on the opportunity cut like a hot knife through Marisela’s heart. He was not the man she expected him to be when she’d signed on to the mission. Then again, how good or bad he was as a man or as a father shouldn’t matter. She had a job to do. She had to keep her eyes on
the prize.

  Marisela slid a glance at Frankie, her tiny frown purposeful.

  “The girl doesn’t know her mother, ¿sí?” Javier mused. “She cannot miss a woman she’s never known….”

  Javier’s rationalization ended, stopped by his daughter’s gasp. Behind him, Jessica stood, wide-eyed, her mouth frozen in a little O of shock.

  “Mija, por favor,” Javier pleaded, crossing the room quickly to his daughter.

  “No! You’re talking about murdering my mother.”

  Marisela stood. “You misunderstood, Jessica.”

  “No! Inma told me. You’re assassins. Both of you. Oh, my God! You’d kill my mother if he asked you to, wouldn’t you? If he paid you. Wouldn’t you?”

  Her eyes glazed, thick with tears aimed directly at Marisela—at Dolores. At the woman she’d considered a friend.

  Marisela’s mouth dried and swelled, as if stuffed with cotton doused in a bitter swill. Instinct caused her to reach out to Jessica at precisely the same moment the girl’s overwrought emotions sent her running from the room.

  Javier caught Jessica’s arm as she jostled past.

  “Let go of me! You want them to kill my mother!”

  “She’s already dead to you, mija.”

  “No! She’s dead to you! To you, she’s never been alive. But she’s my mother! If you hire assassins to kill her, I swear, when I turn eighteen, I’ll leave and I’ll never come back.” She panted and struggled, but once certain her father would not release her, she visibly drew her anger inward. She stood as tall as her petite frame would allow and Marisela watched as the girl’s limbs froze and her eyes turned to clear blue ice. “I swear to God, Papa. If I have to move to the other side of the world, you’ll never see me again.”

  With a sharp, deliberate tug, she shook her arm free and walked purposefully to the archway, as much a determined woman as the mother she’d never met, the mother she clearly didn’t remember, but cared about nonetheless. The minute she was out of their sight, her footfalls pounded against the tiles in a frantic run. She finished her escape with a gut-wrenching sob and a slammed door.

  Frankie shoved his hands in his pockets. Marisela would get no help from him. She had to undo the damage before Perez sent them packing simply to placate the daughter he loved so intensely.

  “Señor Perez, I’m so sorry.”

  He shook his head, but didn’t reply. She had to think quickly.

  “I’ll speak with her,” she offered.

  He held up his hand. “No! I should never…” His voice trailed off as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, as if looking to heaven for guidance. “You saved her life today. I will not forget.”

  “And less than an hour ago, your daughter looked to me with respect. Por favor, allow me a chance to regain her trust.”

  Perez stared at her, weighing his options with every wordless moment. He no longer looked like the man she’d met on the terrace of that slick Miami hotel. She saw none of the infinite confidence, none of the limitless power.

  With his daughter, he was just a man who didn’t know what the hell to do.

  Finally, he released his arms and crossed the room. “Are you a good liar? You’ll have to be to placate my daughter.”

  Marisela fought the emotions churning inside her. Dolores would have undoubtedly grinned at such a question. Could she be so cocky when she wasn’t sure that her efforts would placate a daughter who didn’t know the full truth about either of her parents?

  Marisela smiled and patted the man on the arm.

  “Don’t you worry, Señor Perez. When it comes to liars, I’m one of the best.”

  Dirty Little Secrets: Chapter Eighteen

  “Mi corazón, it’s late. You should wait until morning.”

  Frankie crossed the room and touched Marisela lightly on the arm. What he really wanted to do was shake some sense into her. Marisela was taking this role too far. Her emotions for the young girl were clouding her judgment. The real Dolores Tosca wouldn’t give two shits if some hormone-crazed teen thought she was Jack the Ripper. In fact, the coldhearted bitch Marisela was pretending to be would probably relish destroying some girl’s romantic fantasy about the world and the cruel people in it.

  Of course, he doubted Javier Perez knew that much about the Toscas to see Marisela’s concern as out of character. Their professional résumé didn’t include much about their private lives and in Frankie’s experience, most assassins weren’t so different from the neighbor next door. They blended seamlessly into regular society when they needed to, not unlike most of the sociopaths he’d met in prison. And despite his misgivings, Perez seemed to be buying Marisela’s concern hook, line, and sinker.

  The man looked downright torn. When not surrounded by his butler and bodyguards, even Frankie could see the man’s vulnerability where his daughter was concerned. Obviously, one of Perez’s enemies had sensed the same weakness. Or perhaps, a traitor from within? Frankie should have seen this possibility from the beginning—when his daughter was in the mix, Perez didn’t act predictably. The entrepreneur who ran a billion-dollar arms ring and the father who cared about the daughter he’d stolen from her crib were different sides of the same man. Chances were, Marisela had recognized that contradiction a long time ago—and she was using that knowledge right now.

  Still, they had only so much time left tonight or they’d miss their scheduled communication with Titan—one Frankie was fairly sure they shouldn’t miss. Not after what had gone down in San Juan.

  Marisela patted Frankie’s hand, but kept her eyes focused on Perez. “I know it’s late…but I can’t let her stay all night thinking such horrible thoughts about her father. Por favor, Rogelio, I need to speak to her tonight.”

  She turned. Her stare captured his and in the dark depths, he realized, she knew exactly what she was doing. They had less than ten minutes until the scheduled communication with Titan. In eight minutes, the surveillance equipment on Isla de Piratas would begin experiencing quick, unexplained outages for no more than a few seconds at a time. Then, two minutes later, the equipment would go dead for precisely two minutes and four seconds. In that short time, he and Marisela would speak to their bosses about the current situation. And since only Marisela had been on scene during the kidnapping attempt and might have crucial information about whoever tried to beat them to the punch by taking Jessica, she needed to be on the satellite phone, not trapped in Jessica’s room trying to smooth over a situation Frankie considered a lost cause.

  “You need time to think, to figure out what you’re going to say, ¿sí? And the child, she is too emotional now to listen,” Frankie reasoned.

  She played her confusion like a pro, blinking as she listened, then slowly nodding in agreement. “Verdad. Señor, “she said, addressing Perez, “my husband is right. But I swear to you, I’ll reach her.”

  “It is not your responsibility, señora. She’s my daughter. I’ve raised her from a baby. I should never have made such a suggestion with even the slightest chance that she would overhear.”

  “Your anger is justified,” Marisela insisted, glancing over at Frankie with panic in her eyes. “A mistake was made. I can repair this rift for you, and then we can continue our business as planned.”

  Javier cursed in Spanish, not at Marisela, but at the ceiling so that his words echoed around the room. “This has nothing to do with business, except that I shouldn’t have exposed my daughter to the cruel realities of how men like me operate.”

  Finally, Frankie understood. If Marisela didn’t help Perez with Jessica, he would send them away. As assassins, they represented the dark underbelly of Perez’s empire. And with the increased security Perez had ordered, the chances of them completing the mission were zero if they didn’t have inside access.

  “Señor,” he said, stepping between Marisela and Perez, “my wife is not without a heart. To imply such…”

  Perez’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “I have made no implication.”

/>   “You deny her the chance to right a wrong she blames herself for,” Frankie continued.

  Perez turned to Marisela. “You have no reason to blame yourself, I…”

  Marisela waved her hand in the air as if to dismiss his concern. She even let her eyes gloss over, as if tears were just a moment away. Frankie couldn’t help but hold his breath, wondering if she’d taken the act too far.

  “You are a man who cares about his daughter more than any father I’ve ever met. I agree that allowing Rogelio and me to come here might have been a mistake, but that damage is done. If I am ever to feel worthy of your trust, I must reach out to your daughter.”

  Frankie glanced at his watch. They had six minutes. The next window wouldn’t come until just before dawn. By then, Perez could have them on his helicopter, heading for the main island.

  After a long silence, Perez nodded. “I will allow you to speak to her, señora. But give Jessica time to calm down. If there is one thing I’ve learned after all these years is that she needs time before she can listen—especially when what you will say is not what she wants to hear.”

  Marisela grabbed Frankie’s hand. “I promise you, señor, when I’m done, she’ll want to have heard what I tell her.”

  They exited the room with quiet deference. The minute they hit the hallway toward their room, their pace increased but they didn’t speak until they exited the house into the courtyard.

  “Where’s the phone?” she asked, her lips pressed close to his neck.

  “I have it,” he whispered back. A little louder he said, “Let’s walk the beach, mi amor. The breeze will clear your head.”

  They exited the courtyard arm in arm, their pace hampered by the guards patrolling the inner sanctum. As they walked through the iron gate, Frankie wondered about the activity inside the outer building. Right about now, they were likely scrambling to figure out what interference was blocking their equipment, jamming their ability to listen in on conversations all over the island. He had no idea how Titan managed the technical sleight of hand and he didn’t care. Before this case slid completely out of control, they needed to contact Titan—and hope like hell that Blake had a contingency plan to get them out alive.