“Why here in Pucallpa?”
“Dunno. I’m your computer and electronics guy.” He wheels back to the computer and taps a few buttons. A video screen pops up, and I see two men standing on guard outside a bungalow.
“That Duval’s place?”
“Yup. He’s got that supermodel with him. She spends most of her time in a cabana flipping through magazines. He’s usually talking on the phone or arguing with his brother.”
I watch the screen. “What are they arguing about?”
Bennito laughs and rips open a potato chip bag. He shakes it toward me. “No thanks.” I wave my hand.
“What don’t they argue about? If Duval says the sky is blue, Fouquet says its green. If Duval wants to order fish for lunch, Fouquet wants meat. If Duval is taking Rose off to fuck, Fouquet wants to join.”
My eyebrow raises on its own. “And does he?”
“Nope. That’s about the biggest argument that they get into. ‘Why does Duval get all the pussy?’ Fouquet shouts. ‘Go buy your own whore,’ Duval snarls back. Rose just sits on the lounge chair until Duval snaps his fingers.”
“Nice.” I wonder how much Ava knows about this. “Is she there against her will?”
“Who can say? I mean, if I was in her situation and it was either fuck Duval or be killed, I’d probably fuck Duval until someone could ride to my rescue.”
I nod absently. If she’s willingly with Duval, it will be harder to extract her, but does it matter? Everyone in Duval’s circle, with the exception of his brother, is disposable, including—or maybe especially—the women.
“What’s the chatter? Has Duval said anything about the USB drives? Or does he assume they are lost in the jungle?”
“So far nothing.”
“We have to assume that Duval has the original information on some computer device. We should steal that. Have you run an infrared scan and thermal imaging to locate all the electronics?”
“Yeah.” Bennito flicks open another file. He has already labeled the items. “Our main targets are the two laptops. One is Duval’s. Not sure whose the other one is. Rose has a tablet and so does Fouquet.” He taps his pen against an object shaped like a lamp. “But I think the receiver is here. The base of this lamp is hotter than all the other ones in his bungalow. I compared it to the heat signatures from all the other ten bungalows.” With a few keystrokes, he places an overlay of transparent maps on top of Duval’s.
“Is the lamp in Duval’s bedroom?”
“Yeah,” he drawls.
“Maid go in there?”
“Oh yeah.” Bennito and I are on the same wavelength. In another country, maybe we could sneak a man inside, but in Pucallpa, there’s no way that cleaning is done by a male. We need Ava for that. “Is she going to be up for that?”
“It’s not her you should worry about.” I rise and stalk over to the window. The safest plan for all of us, the one that would result in the least amount of injury and with the highest likelihood of success, is sending Ava in as a maid. She cleans, steals the base of the lamp, drops it out the window to a waiting Bennito who in the span of time it takes her to make the bed would have the receiver switched out and returned. I turn the plan over in my head. I don’t like leaving Ava alone here. Too many shitheads with no morals running around. But I don’t like her being so close to Duval, either. “We steal a uniform. Ava goes in, snatches the receiver, and then leaves. You and Rodrigo need to swap out the contents, and then we’ll send her back in with the replacement. At the same time, we offer the USB shit to Duval outside in exchange for Rose. When we get Rose, we get on the first plane to Lima and then to Virginia.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me.”
“The only problem is that both Duval and Fouquet know what Ava looks like. Even if we were to disguise her somehow, she has the mismatched eyes. Think Pucallpa has a place that sells colored contacts?”
We exchange dubious looks. Pucallpa is at the mouth of the Amazon jungle. It sells jungle-related shit. Not cosmetic enhancements like colored contacts. You’d have to get that shit in Lima, but maybe we could buy a wig somewhere . . . I stare at Bennito.
“Stand up.”
“No way, man. Do I look like a chick to you?”
“Stand up,” I repeat. Bennito sighs and throws his chip bag on the desk. He gets to his feet, brushing his hands on his pants, leaving orange dust behind. Bennito stands a little under six feet and is shaped like a square. He’s not going to pass for a woman, not with all the makeup in the world. Bridge troll, possibly. Woman, no.
“Fuck,” I curse and wave my hand at him. “Sit down.”
“Thank Christ,” he breathes.
“Call Rodrigo and tell him that he needs to get a maid’s uniform. Size 10 or so. Maybe 12.” Bennito nods and I leave him to take care of the details while I go tell Ava that she’s going to have to enter the hornet’s nest to save her friend.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
AVA
I really freaking hate this new plan. Me, going in and making the switch while in disguise? They sure do have a lot of faith in me. Considering that I’m the world’s unluckiest woman to date, we should probably pay someone else to do this.
But we can’t trust anyone else, and so I guess it’s got to be me.
Hours later, we’re sitting in the rented bungalow next to Duval’s. I’m on the edge of the bed dressed in a frumpy, pale blue maid’s uniform. My breasts have been bound down so I’m more boxy, and I’m wearing a wig. I’ve penciled my brows heavier and darker to disguise my face a bit more.
They even got me reading glasses to disguise my eyes, an ugly green pair that look like they belong to an ancient, unstylish librarian. They even have a dangly golden chain. And I’ve got orthopedic shoes to boot.
It’s the world’s unsexiest getup. Or at least, it should be, except Rafe keeps kissing me on the mouth and watching me with those intense eyes of his.
“I hate this,” I tell him one last time. “I’m scared. They’re going to look at me and figure me out.”
“Baby, you’re tearing me up,” he murmurs. Rafe rubs my arms up and down. “You know I’m going to be right next door. They’re not going to look at you. They don’t know we’re here. No one pays attention to staff. I promise. All you have to do is sneak in and switch it out.” When I hesitate, he leans in and kisses me on my nose. “If I thought you were in danger, I wouldn’t let you go.”
I snort. “That’s a lie.”
His mouth quirks up in a half smile. “Okay. It is a lie, but it’s the only option we’ve got. And I know you’re brave. You went swimming with piranhas, remember?”
I nod and suck in a breath. Really, walking into a bungalow filled with a few shitheads isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to me in the last few days. The Amazon jungle had been a nightmare full of snakes and jaguars, and bugs the size of my hand. This was just a hotel bungalow.
I walk in, pretend a little, walk back out.
I can do this.
“You should wear these.” Rafe lays a pair of plastic yellow gloves in my lap.
He’s right. My bad wrist is purple and yellow on the underside and still hurts like a bitch. On the good side, the swelling is almost completely gone and I’m nearly fully functional again. It remains to be seen whether there will be any permanent damage. Even Rafe’s eye patch is gone. We’re better, so . . .
All this should be okay. It should go perfectly.
But I’m not lucky, and I worry something will go wrong. It always seems to. So I nod and lean in for one last kiss before I go. His hand grips the back of my neck, cradling my head as he leans in and possesses my mouth. His tongue slicks against mine, until we’re gasping and clinging to each other, mouths mating wildly. For a man that’s eschewed sex for thirty-five years, he’s a damn good kisser. Either that, or a fast learner. If this is him rusty and out of practice, he’s going to make me melt into a puddle when he’s skilled.
And oh God, I really want to be around
to see that.
I cling to him and reluctantly break the kiss. “Hey, Rafe?”
“Mmm?” He leans in and nips at my lower lip, sucking it into his mouth.
I fight a moan. God, he’s all handsy now. God, I love that. “After this, what about you and me? What happens to us?”
That stops the playful kissing. He pulls back and looks at me. He’s got that intense, possessive look in his eyes, but he pushes me away. “We’ll worry about that afterward, okay? Let’s just get through today.”
“Geez. You need to work on your pillow talk, babe.” There’s a shine to his mouth that I can’t resist rubbing off with my thumb. And then I taste it, just to see his eyes flare.
Because I’m a flirt like that.
I turn around and Bennito leans in the doorway, eating a bag of some of the chips I bought for Rafe. “You two gonna suck face all afternoon or we gonna get this show on the road?”
I draw in a breath and manage a smile for both of them. “I guess we might as well do this.” I wish I sounded more confident. Hell, I wish I was more confident. The gloves are loose fitting, thank goodness, and don’t hurt at all.
“I’ll be right outside, Ava,” Rafe says in a low, urgent voice when I head for the door. “If you get into trouble, just shout my name.”
I nod and slip out the back door of the bungalow. I take the long route around, back to the main lodge, and from there, I go to the cleaning supplies room that we bribed someone to show us. I have the key (more bribery) and get one of the carts and push it down the walkway toward the bungalows. My breath feels short and raspy, and I’m about ten seconds away from a panic attack. I should be thinking about what to say when they answer the door, but all I can think about is Rafe’s mouth. Rafe’s kisses.
Rafe saying, Let’s just get through today.
Because I know that’s a total bullshit answer. That’s a don’t ask me for commitment right now, baby statement, and it’s freaking me out. I feel like yesterday, the answer would have been different, and it hurts. I know he’s aching over Garcia’s death, but how can he blow me off right now? Was what I asked for—hope for the future between us—such a bad thing?
Am I such a bad person that I’m good for a fuck and nothing else?
Even though I’m worrying and turning over Rafe’s words in my mind, the moment I pull in front of Duval’s little bungalow, I see Rose in the window, wearing a bikini. And I remember why I’m here. Why I crashed through the Amazon and have fought so damn hard to survive despite everything against me.
I’m going to save my best friend.
So I put on my old lady reading glasses and roll my cart forward and knock on the door.
“¿Quién es?” Someone calls through the door. Who’s there?
Oh fuck. My mind goes blank and I scramble through a bunch of high school Spanish, looking for the right word for “housekeeping.” I eventually settle upon “¿Limpieza?” and I have no idea if it’s right or not.
My tremulous question must have seemed innocent enough, because the door opens, and there’s Duval with a phone at his ear. He nods at me to come in, and then stalks away. Over his shoulder, he calls something at me in Spanish and I catch the word cocina. Kitchen. Right. I nod and wheel my cart toward the small kitchen at the back of the bungalow. My heart’s hammering a mile a minute, but I get out sponges and towels like this is no big deal.
As I walk into the kitchen, Fouquet saunters away with a sandwich, dripping crumbs on the floor. He doesn’t even look in my direction. I’m truly invisible, which is almost hilarious. Too bad my heart’s beating way too fast for me to appreciate this.
The kitchen’s an absolute fucking disaster. I should have guessed, since Rose is my roomie back home and she’s a major slob. There’s a blender on the counter and it’s coated with the remnants of mixed drinks. Dishes are piled high in the sink, and there’s spilled crap all over the counters, along with empty tumblers, napkins, and bottles and bottles of liquor. It’s like they’ve been partying.
The sight of it fills me with helpless rage. While Rafe and I were trying to survive, they were sitting in this cozy bungalow, eating tons of food and mixed drinks and plotting how to take us out? Dicks. I worry about Rose. Is she going along with things because that will keep them from hurting her? It’s possible, but I eye the blender, an inch of what looks like strawberry daiquiri at the bottom. That’s her favorite mixed drink.
Surely she’s not partying with these assholes. Not while I’m being forced to mule to save her life? Not while I’ve been shot at, had my wrist sprained, been downed in a plane, harassed, slapped around, and kidnapped by the other team?
No, she had to be playing it cool. My friend wouldn’t do that to me. She wouldn’t.
So I set to work cleaning the kitchen. I’m going to be in here longer than I anticipated, and I know Rafe and Bennito are waiting outside, but what can I do? Duval and Fouquet asked me to clean up the kitchen, and they’ll be suspicious if I don’t. So I clean. I wipe down the counters, throw away trash, clean out the blender, and fill the dishwasher. The floor’s a mess but I give it a cursory swipe with my sponge, hoping they won’t notice that I’m doing a shitty job. Actually, nobody’s noticing me at all. Rose is sitting out on the porch, Fouquet is in the other room, and I can hear Duval in the front, talking on his phone. I slowly take a knife out of the silverware drawer and tuck it under a few towels. I feel better with it there, even if I know that if it comes to a knife fight, I’m fucked.
I finish with the kitchen and head to one of the bathrooms. It’s equally gross in here, but I clean it up quickly, and then move farther down the hall. It’s the bedroom. My heart speeds up again. Fouquet’s in there. Sucking in a breath, I knock on the door and repeat, “¿Limpieza?”
The door opens a moment later and Fouquet comes out with a magazine. “Gracias,” he mumbles, and then heads out onto the sunporch with Rose. I wheel my cart into the room and begin to “clean.” I want to head for the lamp first, but I feel like that will be too obvious, so I pick up dirty clothes off the floor and fold towels and try to be casual. When I head to the bed, I tuck in corners, moving ever so slowly to the lamp.
Then, I glance around. No one’s looking my way. No one’s even at this end of the house. Carefully, I unplug the lamp and then pick it up. The base unscrews easily and something weighty drops into my hand. I reattach the base and move to the window with the hard drive, then drop it carefully into the grass. Then, I resume making the bed.
I’ve just about finished when Rose walks in, a sarong around her hips. “Hey, we need more towels,” she says, and then pauses when I jerk up. Her eyes widen and her voice lowers. “Ava?”
Shit. Count on her to recognize me despite my disguise. I put a finger to my lips and point at the door.
She shuts it, and rushes over to me. Her arms wrap around me tightly. “Oh my God, Ava, I thought you were dead. You’re alive!”
The tears that wet the shoulder of my uniform are genuine, and I hug her back, so relieved to see her. Rose looks beautiful, as always, lean and golden and so pretty it makes me ache to look at her. “Shhh,” I tell her softly. “We have to keep it quiet. They can’t know I’m here.”
She pulls away, her eyes stunningly blue and wet. “What? Why?”
“Long story,” I say. “The plane went down but we somehow survived. I think we landed in a tree.” I hold up my gloved wrist. “I hurt this.”
She gasps as if the world has ended. “Your modeling jobs. Oh no!”
Like modeling has even been on my mind lately. I shake my head and grip her hand in my good one. “Enough about me, Rose. What’s going on? Are you okay? Are they hurting you?”
If they’ve hurt Rose at all, I want Mendoza to shoot their nads off before he kills them. My hands squeezes hers tightly.
Her brows draw together and she looks prettily confused. “Hurt me? Why? Louis took me on vacation since I was stressed.” She tilts her head at me. “Ava, what’s going on? Why are you
cleaning our room?” She frowns at my appearance. “Your face looks like hell. What did you do to your eyebrows? And—”
I shake my head. Rose, bless her heart, is the sweetest soul, but she’s about as deep as a mud puddle. “I don’t care about my appearance right now. Look, we have to get you out of here.”
“Get me out? Why?” She blinks at me. “I’m on vacation, Ava. Why would I leave? Louis says when he finishes with his business we’re going to spend more time on the beach.”
Has my friend lost her senses? “Rose. You’re not on vacation. They’re holding you hostage.”
She frowns, her brows drawing together, and then her face smooths out. “Don’t. You’ll make me wrinkle and my career will be over.”
“I’m serious, Rose. You think I’m working for them because I want to? They told me if I don’t, they’ll kill you.”
Her full lips part. “But . . .” Her jaw trembles, and I see it’s finally sinking in that something about this is not right. “Louis told me he was paying you to do this for him.”
“Paying me?” I hiss the words out. “Are you serious? Rose, he told me if I didn’t, he was going to kill you. Why else would I do something so illegal?”
“I don’t know.” She stomps her sandal-clad foot. Tears threaten her eyes again. “I don’t know anything! No one tells me what’s going on! Why would Louis say he’s going to kill me? He says he loves me.”
“They’re trying to shake down criminal organizations, Rose,” I tell her softly. God, why is she so blind when it comes to men? Louis isn’t the first loser she’s dated, but he’s definitely the worst. “And people are coming after them. The government, too. The men that saved me? They’re mercenaries. Hit men. And they want the information that Duval has.” I grip her arms. “Please, Rosie. Listen to me when I say that things are really bad, okay?”
She nods, her big blue eyes trusting and awash with tears. That’s the problem with Rose. She’s so damn trusting. It’s like she’s terrified of thinking for herself. Even at home, I’m the leader.
I rub her arm, trying to encourage her. “It’s going to be okay.” I look around, back at the window that I just tossed the drive out of. We can sneak out that way. “We’re going to get out of here, and Rafe is going to take care of us, okay?”
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