Abducted:Reconnaissance Team (Texas Rangers: Special Ops)

by Tarah Scott

  LaRouche—one of the most exclusive boutiques in London? She resisted an impulse to leap and shout yes! and barely managed a casual, “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Stayes.”

  “Well, any designer friend of Larissa’s is a designer friend of mine,” he said.

  “And, Martin, darling,” Larissa said, “in case you didn’t know it, Liz is wearing Nina Bruno’s newest confection.”

  “The dress you told me about?” he asked.

  “The one and only.”

  He turned his attention to Liz and ran his gaze down her body. “The dress is stunning, and she fills it out beautifully.”

  “Of course she does.” Larissa winked at Liz. “Now, I’m sure you two have business to discuss and, as we all know, Liz never mixes business with pleasure. I, on the other hand, have no such compunctions. So I’m stealing this young man from you again, Liz dear. I think, this time, I’ll keep him.”

  Chapter Four

  “Very nice of you to introduce Ms. Monahan to your friend,” Ben said once he and Larissa were out of earshot.

  Her lips twitched in amusement. “Do you know who he is?”

  “No. But I’m betting you wouldn’t waste your time introducing her to a nobody.”

  “I don’t know any nobodies,” she said.

  Ben laughed. “I’m sure you don’t. Did you see Tanya?”

  “Oh, yes. She’s with Carlos Sanchez.”

  “I don’t believe I know him, either.”

  Larissa slanted him a curious glance. “I don’t believe I know you, darling.”

  Ben flashed a smile, one he knew had stopped more than one woman in her tracks. “I’m just one more working model.”

  “I know every working model in this town. You’re not on that list.”

  “Can you keep a secret?” he asked.

  “I’m the soul of discretion.”

  “I’m working on my masters in biotechnology at the University of Texas.” He shrugged. “Education is expensive. A friend suggested I do a bit of modeling to make ends meet.”

  Her brows rose. “Biotechnology?”

  “Are you saying a man can’t have looks and brains?” he asked.

  “On the contrary, I suspect you have a great many brains.”

  “You’re a terrible flirt, Mrs. Remmey.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “My husband isn’t the jealous type.”

  “Lucky me,” Ben said.

  “Indeed,” she replied. “So, shall we find out why Tanya is here with Carlos Sanchez and wearing Jorge Estonia’s dress instead of that delicious confection Liz is wearing?”

  Ben smiled. “You are a troublemaker, Mrs. Remmey.”

  She squeezed his bicep. “Then I am in good company.”

  The problem, Ben realized twenty minutes later as Larissa hugged yet another model, was escorting a woman everyone liked. He didn’t blame them, but even two minutes was enough time for Sanchez to slip through the door. Ben had considered excusing himself from Larissa and simply walking up to Sanchez and talking with him. In the end, though, what he had to say demanded privacy. If Sanchez gave him any trouble, being in a crowded room could get Ben killed.

  Larissa murmured something to the young model then faced Ben. “I’m sorry, darling. I know you’re anxious to be done with this business.”

  Ben flashed a smile. “There’s no business more pressing than you, Mrs. Remmey.”

  She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Larissa, and, please, we can be honest with one another. Wouldn’t you agree?” She drew him away at a sedate stroll.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “They make an interesting couple, don’t they?”

  “Who?”

  A corner of her mouth lifted. “Honesty, remember?”

  Ben knew better than to hesitate. “All right, Larissa, why don’t you tell me what you have in mind?”

  She looked at him, her smile wide. “The direct approach. I like that. I have in mind us solving one another’s problems.”

  Ben lifted a brow in question.

  “I will take care of her.” Larissa angled her head discreetly to the right. He didn’t have to look to know she meant Tanya. Larissa smiled as if they were sharing an intimate moment. “If you take care of him.”

  Ben’s mind snapped to full attention, but he managed in a casual tone, “Take care of him?”

  “You know I am Russian, yes?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The slight accent gives you away.”

  Her voice softened. “When I came here, I was a sensation. I was very beautiful, which is why Francis married me.”

  “You are still very beautiful.”

  She laughed. “I was right. You are a charmer. Well, what you do not know—I think—is that my father was Russian mafia.”

  “No,” Ben admitted, “I didn't know that.”

  “It was long ago,” she said. “But you never forget such a life.” Ben was startled to detect pain in her words. “One lasting effect,” she went on, “is that I still recognize one of their kind quite easily.”

  His step nearly faltered and a hot rush charged up his spine, the kind felt when one steps on a nail. It doesn’t hurt so much at first, but the shock and anticipation of yanking that nail out turned the stomach.

  “Mrs. Remmey—”

  She looked at him. “I love my husband, young man.”

  Ben paused. “I’m sure you do, ma’am.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That makes me sound so old.”

  Ben blinked, then couldn’t help a smile. “Forgive me, Larissa.”

  She beamed. “Now, then. I will take care of her. You take care of him.”

  Ben kept his voice neutral. “What do you suggest I do?”

  “I will arrange privacy. But first, we must do something with that pistol strapped to your ankle.”

  This time he blurted, “I beg your pardon?”

  “Young man, I can just as easily recognize an officer of the law as I can a member of the mob.”

  They reached a private corner of the room and Ben stopped cold. He glanced around. The nearest guests conversed fifteen feet away. He shifted his attention back to Larissa. “You’re very observant, Mrs. Remmey.”

  “As I said, one never forgets.”

  He nodded. “Have you confided this information to anyone else?”

  “My husband.”

  “What is his connection to Mr. Sanchez?” Ben asked. This he had to know.

  She released a tired sigh. “Carlos has something very important that belongs to us.”

  “What is that?”

  “Our granddaughter.”

  “The sick granddaughter?” he demanded.

  She gave an almost imperceptible nod and moisture appeared in her eyes. “Our son and his wife died in a car accident when she was four. We have raised her this last eleven years. She is the world to us.”

  A Mack truck of memory struck and propelled Ben a month into the past to the day he found two dead girls on the El Paso/Juarez border. His heart thudded. He headed the Ranger Reconnaissance Team that had tracked their kidnappers into the desert. The blood that had pooled beneath the young women on the hard ground had turned thick and sticky inside of two hours. Now, the man ultimately responsible for their deaths stood twenty feet away chatting with some of El Paso’s most upstanding and influential citizens.

  Fury fermented into rage and Ben saw himself walking up to Sanchez and arresting him. The twenty-two strapped to Ben’s ankle would keep the human traffics dealer in check—despite the gun Sanchez hid beneath his coat. Ben stuffed a hand into his trousers pocket and unclenched the fist he hadn’t realized he’d made.

  He couldn’t arrest Sanchez without the half dozen South American bodyguards who roamed the ballroom slaughtering every guest in the room in order to save their boss. And arresting Sanchez wouldn’t save the Remmey’s granddaughter. Ben had to stop her from becoming another of the thousands of girls who ended up in a rich sheik’s harem or as a rich businessm
an’s sex slave—or worse, a prostitute in one of the brothels that served hundreds of men daily.

  “Is there someplace we can go where you can fill me in?” Ben asked Larissa.

  “Smile, darling,” she said.

  For an instant Ben wasn’t sure what she’d said, then the rough edge that had leeched into his voice registered. Dammit. He had to maintain control.

  “Mr. Sanchez is watching us,” she whispered.

  Ben flashed a smile and leaned close as if in intimate conversation. “Why would he be watching us?”

  “Because my husband is talking to him about a meeting with you.”

  Anticipation ramped up like a live electrical wire. “I suppose you’d better give me the rundown now, then.” Something occurred to Ben. “Why is Sanchez escorting Tanya?”

  “That came as a surprise to me,” Larissa replied.

  Ben didn’t like that. “All right. What does Sanchez want from you?”

  “He wants my husband to smuggle women across the border when he buys textiles.”

  Suddenly the missing pieces all clicked into place.

  When the FBI showed up on the Rangers' doorstep three days ago, they demanded information on Sanchez’s contacts in Texas. Millionaire Francis Remmey had just appeared on the Rangers’ radar. No one knew why an upstanding citizen was suddenly in bed with a human traffics dealer. The Feds planned a sting operation intended to uncover the connection, but the whole thing came to a screeching halt twelve hours later.

  The high-brow world of fashion didn’t welcome outsiders. They needed someone who would be accepted at a moment’s notice—and they needed that someone fast. Ben’s good looks put him at the top of the list. The pressure the governor applied to the Feds to catch the girls' killers forced them to partner with the Rangers.

  In the space of an hour, Ben had Sanchez in his sights and discovered the connection between the slaver and Remmey. The FBI would take Sanchez into custody once the Rangers arrested him. But first, the Rangers could extract some important information in the process. And that’s exactly what Ben planned on doing tonight.

  * * *

  “I’ll be back in London next Monday,” Martin told Liz. “Have your assistant call me to set up a conference.”

  “I’ll do that,” Liz replied.

  “I will let Brenda know to expect your call,” he said.

  Liz's excitement soared, but she forced a casual smile and murmured, “Thank you, Mr. Stayes.”

  He shook his head. “No thanks necessary. Nina Bruno is a small firm, but I'm sure there isn't a model here who doesn't know who you are.”

  She was surprised by the sudden change in topic, but gave a deferential cant of her head. “I've worked with a fair number of models.”

  “I'm sure you have,” he said, “but the looks they're giving you have nothing to do with wanting jobs. And they're not the only ones who have noticed you.”

  Liz glimpsed a mature man with a beautiful young woman on his arm glance at her chest. Thank God Richard wasn't here to witness their victory. He would likely insist that she wear the damn dress to every scheduled event through the remainder of the season. LaRouche was the break Nina Bruno Designs needed. One exclusive international buyer had the potential to skyrocket them to success—and bail them out of the crippling debt they now faced.

  She grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and smiled at Martin. “You're very kind.”

  “If the rest of your winter line is half as provocative as that dress, we'll be doing a lot of business,” he said.

  As Liz sipped the champagne, her attention caught on Adam. He stood in a corner, his ear bent toward Larissa Remmey's mouth. Larissa was clearly enjoying his company, and he was doing his job by making her feel like the only woman in the world. If Larissa was happy, she would tell everyone that she had discovered Nina Bruno’s jewel of a debut design. Tonight had exceeded expectations.

  “If I was you, I would smile, darling,” Martin said.

  Liz shifted her gaze to follow his stare and her heartrate kicked up at sight of the woman looking at them. Michelle Alvarez, the top fashion reporter in the country. Beside her, Jason Wells, the only photographer Michelle ever used, held his camera pointed at them. Liz smiled in time for the flash.

  “Your dress will likely appear on every fashion blog and twitter feed,” Martin said. “With you wearing it.”

  Liz snapped her gaze onto him. Amusement sparkled in his eyes.

  “You have a mean streak, Mr. Stayes.”

  “You aren’t the first to point that out. If you’ll excuse me, I believe I see someone I know.” He started away, then paused and said, “Call me Martin when you phone next week.”

  Before she could reply, he walked away. Liz took a swig of champagne. She would likely need another glass.

  Sheila Antonio step up beside her. “He’s absolutely scrumptious, isn’t he?” Sheila said.

  Liz didn’t have to look in the direction Sheila stared to know she referred to Adam Billings. “He was the perfect choice for the job,” Liz said.

  “You and he aren’t...friends?” Sheila asked.

  “I met him at the job interview.”

  “I don’t know how you can resist in this case.”

  She couldn’t forget the seventeen-year age—difference despite his stunning looks. “You learn,” Liz said.

  Sheila returned her attention to her. “He’s a free agent, then?”

  “He will be after tonight.” Liz smiled. “This is a paid assignment. Our contract specifies the models are not to mix work with pleasure.”

  The younger woman angled her head. “I fully understand. Might I ask how you came to hire...Adam, was his name?”

  Liz kept her expression neutral. It never ceased to amaze her how women would practically fall into bed with a young, gorgeous model without knowing more than his name. In this case, the woman wasn’t even sure of that.

  “He came to us through one of the agencies we use.”

  “I’ve never seen him before,” Sheila said. “I would remember a face like that.”

  And the body and—the smile. That smile. “He’s modeled in Paris and London,” she said. “This is his first big job in the States.”

  “I see.” Sheila took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “I understand you aren’t a professional model. You’re Head of Creative Designs for Nina Bruno. Isn’t it unusual for an executive to model? Aren’t you taking a risk?”

  Liz wanted to thump the woman upside the head. Leave it to a lawyer to ask all the right—or wrong—questions. “Our model had a last minute conflict.” She resisted the urge to dart a glance at Tanya, who was surrounded by several older men. Without a doubt, Ms. Sheila D.A. Antonio would notice.

  “What brings you to the gala?” Liz asked, and instantly regretted the question. Young, male models could be what brought her to the gala.

  “I met Larissa a year ago. We share a mutual friend, Senator Ross Pierson.”

  “Roos the Boos Pierson?” Liz asked.

  Sheila nodded. “You know him?”

  “I do. He went to law school with my father. I didn’t realize he had a home here in El Paso. How do you know him?”

  “One of the partners of the law firm I worked for in Houston is friends with the senator. I saw him at parties. We became fast friends. He’s a straight shooter.”

  “He is,” Liz agreed, and grudgingly admitted that Sheila Antonio had some strong, good qualities to be close friends with Senator Pierson. Of course, there was always the chance Sheila overstated their friendship. She wouldn’t be the first woman to cozy up to Roos the Boos Pierson. At sixty, he was still an attractive man.

  Sheila reached into her clutch bag and pulled out a card and a pen. She set her drink on a nearby table, then jotted down a phone number and handed the card to Liz. “The senator has a party planned tomorrow for some of the local pro football players. I’m betting he would love to see you.”

  “I’m returning to
Dallas tomorrow,” Liz said. “But I’ll give him a call. It’s been too long since I’ve spoken with him. Thank you, Ms. Antonio.”

  “Call me Sheila. We’re practically old friends ourselves.”

  There it was. Sheila’s version of friendship.

  Liz laughed. “Sheila. Thanks.”

  “Thank you,” Sheila said.

  “For what?”

  “For bringing him to the party.”

  Liz looked in the direction Sheila nodded and watched Larissa slide her hand into the crook of Adam’s arm. They entered the crowd, headed toward the foyer.

  “It looks like Larissa knows a good thing when she sees it,” Sheila said.

  Shock froze Liz’s gaze on the doorway Larissa and Adam had stepped through. Surely, Adam Billings wouldn’t fraternize with the woman hosting the fashion event of the season?

  Chapter Five

  A minute later, To Liz’s relief, Sheila excused herself and Liz started for the foyer. Before she’d taken ten steps, a saleswoman who worked with exclusive boutiques in the south stopped her. Liz listened for a moment, then promised to call next week and broke away with the excuse of finding the ladies room. She hurried the final half dozen paces to the foyer.

  She slowed and scanned the guests milling about the room. From the corner of her eye she caught movement on the second floor and glanced up as Larissa disappeared through an arched opening behind a man. Was that Adam? Liz hesitated, then crossed the foyer and entered a small room. French doors opened onto the rear grounds. When she didn’t see Adam in the back garden, she searched the rear patio, but he wasn’t there either.

  Her heart pounded. In her wildest worst-case scenarios, she wouldn’t have imagined her escort slipping away for privacy with Larissa Remmey. Was that what had happened? When she thwarted his overtures, had he switched his attention to Larissa? If Larissa’s husband discovered his wife cavorting with Adam, not only would he never work in the fashion industry again, neither would Nina Bruno Designs. Goodbye LaRouche.

  Anger rammed through Liz. Anger at Adam, anger at Tanya, and anger at herself. Her judgment always had been impeccable—until now. And the worst part was, no matter which way she turned, Nina Bruno Designs was screwed. Larissa wasn’t going to appreciate a confrontation with Liz any more than Francis Remmey would appreciate learning his wife had fraternized with the help.