by Cherry Adair
Pressing her face to her knees, she held her hand over her head. “Take it off.“
Take it off? The bracelet? That’s what she was freaking out about? Taking her hand, he rotated her slender wrist. “Hang on, looking for a clasp—” Wasn’t one. He’d observed as Maza opened it. So it had a hinge somewhere. He couldn’t find it now. Nor could he find a fucking clasp. He’d got the damn thing on her, so there must be a way to get it off.
He’d seen the Tiffany box, in fact been surprised that he’d recognized it as such. This was one ugly-ass piece of jewelry. Plain, and a dull nonreflective material, no links, no jewels. One solid circle with a bicolored substance bisecting it as its only ornament.
Not Riva’s style, and judging from Maza’s home, not Escobar Maza’s style either.
Gideon attempted to slip it over her hand. It wasn’t big enough. Not tight, but not any room to slip a finger between the band and her skin. His heart beat uncomfortably as he looked at the thing more closely.
Twisting the solid band around her fragile wrist, his mouth went dry. He was no weapons expert, but this looked like something high-tech out of a James Bond movie. Something clever and lethal that Q would give Bond to use as a last resort deadly weapon. Farfetched? Gideon wasn’t sure. Time and a loupe might tell him. But he was fuckall out of time, and there was nothing as bizarre as a jeweler’s loupe around.
Had she known the second Maza offered it that there was something off about it? No wonder she’d immediately looked as if she was about to pass out. “Fuck.”
“Can you be a little more specific?” she muttered from the depth of her lap as she took several slow unsteady breaths.
Gideon stroked a strand of hair off her sweaty cheek, swollen and pink from that motherfucker’s hand. He’d kill him for that alone.
“I… Give m-me a minute here.” She was talking to her control.
“Give me your comm,” Gideon ordered softly, speaking close to her face, so that anyone’s view was blocked. “Let me speak to them.”
She fumbled through her long hair, then took it out of her ear and handed it over so that it looked as though she was merely touching his hand. “It’s hot,” she whispered. “G-go for it.”
He took precious seconds to insert the damn thing into his left ear beneath his own hair. Beneath the circle of his fingers, her pulse beat too fast and too hard. “You hear me?” he said, stroking Riva’s hair and hoping it looked as though he was talking to her, and not some invisible-fucking useless guy in wherever the hell he was.
“You don’t have to shout,” a man’s calm voice instructed. “Tell me what we have?”
Head bent low over hers, Gideon said quietly, “Quarter-inch wide, quarter-inch thick steel, possibly titanium, band. Slightly smaller than one eighth of an inch glass channel running the full circumference, right down the center. One side contains yellow liquid, the other blue. Markings all the way around. Looks like some sort of timer.”
“Detonator?”
Gideon rotated her wrist. Riva still had her head in her lap as she struggled to calm her breathing. “Don’t see one. But fuck, that doesn’t mean shit. I don’t have a jeweler’s loupe handy.”
“It’s detonated by remote.”
Detonated? No. Just fucking no. “Maza’s holding the other end?”
“What do you think?” Control’s voice was even. “Rimaldi has to get her vitals under control. Respiration up. Heartbeat in panic mode. This isn’t the norm for her. Do something.”
“Right. Got my doctor’s bag right fucking here, filled with everything I need.”
Control was silent. Good. Neither of them was fucking amused.
Riva straightened, her face on a level with Gideon’s. Even her lips were colorless, and she was still seeing or feeling whatever she’d seen or felt when Maza had snapped the bracelet on her wrist. She was struggling to maintain her calm, but her entire body still shook, and her glassy eyes were unfocused.
Getting to his feet, he reached over and took her upper arm gently. “Let’s go and splash cold water on your face, okay?”
She obediently got to her feet, and allowed him to walk her into the bathroom.
“What happens if the comm gets wet?” he asked the man in his ear.
“You’re good. Hot shower. Noise, steam. I’ll hear you.”
Under other circumstances that would be an issue. But it wasn’t right now. Now he needed all the fucking guidance he could get. Cranking on the water in the glass box with its marble seat and multiple showerheads, Gideon kept hold of Riva’s arm. As soon as the steam filled the shower stall, he walked inside it, both of them fully clothed. Cold water would probably be better under the circumstances. But steam gave them some measure of privacy.
She braced both hands on the back wall and let the hot water sluice over her.
“Okay. How do I get this off her?” Speaking a shitload more calmly than he felt, he held her loose hand, turning it this way and that, running the fingers of the other hand lightly over the surface of the bracelet as the water poured over her. “I don’t feel a latch.”
“There won’t be one. Once the two liquids combine, it’ll detonate. Hear me, Stark? A chemical reaction will take place when those two reactants interact. Bonds will form, atoms rearrange. Once those precipitates turn into a green solid…”
Riva, unable to hear the convo, pushed away from the wall and turned to look at him through spiky lashes. Thank God. She was back. Gideon reached through the water to cup her cheek, indicating he was listening. She nodded, and reached for the shampoo.
Hair piled on top of her head with frothy white foam, she pulled her T-shirt over her head, then reached behind her back to undo her bra. He didn’t blame her for taking advantage of a steamy bathroom and soap. He just had bigger concerns than washing up. He pointed to her arm, and when she held it out, carefully soaped her skin from knuckles to elbow, then attempted to slide the device off. No go.
“He’s not going to kill her before she assures him that whatever the fuck he’s planning will go off without a hitch. So, since you’re God in the fucking sky, exactly what is it that he’s doing? And how fast can you get your operative the hell out of here, and a chemist, jeweler, and explosives expert standing by?”
“The answer is we’re working on the situation blind. The BRICS summit convenes tomorrow, eight a.m. We’ve changed the location, have all delegates on security round the clock. That’s our most likely target. But we aren’t sure. We need Rimaldi. So, to answer your question, Mr. Stark, not until she ascertains exactly what it is that Maza is about to rain down on the world. You can give the comm back to her now.”
She’d never had such a powerful, freaking nebulous, useless vision before. Colors told Riva bugger-all. By the way the two visions had left her all but incapacitated, she knew it was bad. But what kind of bad? She didn’t know.
The room had an enormous closet, and Maza had a vast array of various sized girlfriends. Too bad his taste ran to see-through, cut down to there, and up to here outfits. Finding something dry to wear was easy. Not looking like a cheap Cosian whore was another thing altogether. She’d found black crop pants and a black tank top. She wore her own wet bra and underwear, and her own wet boots. And the damned bracelet.
Gideon hadn’t been as fortunate. He’d showered, washed himself fully clothed, and wore everything wet. Including his boots. He’d tied back his hair with an elastic band found in one of the bathroom drawers. The scruff on his jaw was turning into a full beard.
She’d like to see him clean-shaven one day. But for now, the beard was useful, because no one had seen him with one, so he was less likely to be recognized.
Now he looked even more like a dangerous desperado with his slicked back hair and hairy face. Sexy, dangerous, and Riva wanted to grab hold of him for just a few moments and feel that beard against her skin.
In the shower she’d seen the way his eyes devoured her when she was naked. She’d wanted him just as badly. But the ste
am hadn’t lasted long, and she didn’t plan on giving Maza a peep show.
Still, she did appreciate being clean.
“Glad you’re feeling better.” His hazel eyes met hers in the mirror, asking more than that. Riva nodded. With no residual effects of the last vision, she felt just fine, and ready to do battle.
She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing out her wet hair, and looked at Gideon’s reflection as he stood behind her. “That was a very powerful vision,” she said for any listening devices.
Gideon curved his hands around her shoulders, and gave a little squeeze. “Will you be able to give Señor Maza what he asked for?”
Riva shrugged. “I need more information. Then yes, I think I can.”
Moments later, the door to the bedroom opened without a knock and two soldiers walked through the bedroom to stand at the bathroom door. “Jefe is ready for you, señorita.”
“Great,” Riva said with false cheer. “Lead the way.”
They didn’t return to the living room. Instead the men escorted them through a side door and outside, where a covered truck waited. “Where are we going?” she asked as a soldier opened the door for her. Gideon helped her up into the high front seat, then followed her in. A soldier pushed in beside him. It was a tight fit. Gideon’s thigh pressed against hers, and his arm stroke hers.
“Jefe wants to show you a demonstration.”
She and Gideon’s eyes met. A demonstration didn’t sound as if Maza was ready for a new vision. Unless it was a demo of what would happen to her if she didn’t comply. The heavy truck bounced over ruts in the road between the buildings. It had started to rain, and the windshield wipers thumped unevenly back and forth, back and forth, making muddy red tears from the red dust on the windows, like rivulets of blood.
The growth of vegetation here was less dense, the large trees further apart, with swaths of grassy, open land. The soldiers, now standing in the pouring rain, were in the same formations, but this was not the way they’d come into the compound.
Her heart gave several hard knocks. This all felt…off. Did her subconscious know something from the visions that her conscious mind couldn’t understand? Had Maza somehow discovered that she wasn’t his precious Chela?
Did he know… What?
Neither of them had any weapons. Riva inspected the camo uniform of the man beside her. He wore a pistol, a knife in a sheath, and he’d placed an AK in back behind the seats. The beefy, aggressive looking soldier beside Gideon had the same.
They shared another look. They could take these two guys.
Too bad the truck bed, covered partially by canvas, was filled with twenty similarly clad men.
“This isn’t the way we came in. Are we going far?”
“We have you, Alpha.”
Thanks, Control. Nice to know. Not fricking helpful, but nice to know. That meant that, unlike the jungle surrounding the ANLF’s camp, there was no satellite blocking over Maza’s camp, and even under dense tree canopy, infrared would see them just fine.
The sky opened, and the deluge made visibility almost impossible. “Seems we’re destined to always be wet,” Riva told Gideon in English.
“Sweetheart, my fondest desire is to always keep you wet.” He gave her a cocky smile that made her heart leap and a smile tug at her lips.
Sweetheart. That was a first. Too bad she didn’t have a moment to treasure the first time in her life that anyone had called her that. It would’ve been nice to just sit in the shade of a leafy tree and let the pet name wash over her, since it might be the last time she heard anyone call her sweetheart, too. The damn bracelet locked and loaded to kill on her wrist, plus the dangerous mission to off Maza when he was surrounded by literally thousands of armed loyal soldiers, reduced her life expectancy to hours. She damn well deserved that moment, she thought, knowing she’d never get it as the truck pulled to a creaking stop in front of a small square building.
At the urging of their two personal guards, they exited the truck, and entered the building.
When this was over—if she was alive when this was over—she was going somewhere dry. Like the Sahara, maybe. She was sick of rain. Sick of being wet. Any more of this and she’d have webbed feet.
Not bothering to wring out her hair, or brush the water off her skimpy clothes, she followed soldier number one into what looked like a control room. Gideon stayed glued to her side. The second man stood just inside the door. She presumed the truck full of men was still outside, as she hadn’t heard it drive away.
Glancing around, she let her gaze go over Maza, who stood before a console in his preppy golf outfit. The twelve by twelve room was dim, and air-conditioned. One wall held multiple, full-color monitor views of a rainy open space surrounded by jungle.
She and Gideon crossed to his side. “"What an impressive display of electronics, my dear,” Riva kept her voice light as she looked over the eight-foot-wide console covered with intriguing buttons and switches.
Gideon stayed right beside her as she went up to give it a curious look. Fairly current technology. Maybe not state-of-the-art, but definitely brought here for some purpose. The wall above it held six large monitors, three over three.
“Looking at an empty field? I don’t understand.” Riva tucked her hand into the crook of Maza’s elbow and leaned against him. God, she couldn’t wait to kill the sick bastard.
“Did you have a clearer vision, my dear Chela?” He stepped out of her hold.
Warning bells went off in Riva’s head. What was he up to? Why was he stopping what he had planned to show off at this isolated building in the compound? If he was going to kill them, he’d had ample time to do it at his house. She doubted he was squeamish about a little blood.
Folding her arms at her waist, she kept her gaze steady as she studied his profile. Unnaturally calm. But seething beneath the placid exterior was a psychopath who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
His microexpressions were ones she’d seen on serial killers. He had no conscience, no feeling of guilt, no remorse for anything he said or did.
Damn it to hell, I want a weapon. Right now she’d settle for a goddamned nail file. Gideon had stepped back at the same time, and stood, partially concealed in the shadows nearby. She didn’t need to read his microexpressions to know what he was thinking.
“I had an incomplete vision, but I really do need more information to conclude it. If you tell me what you have planned, maybe that will help me. In my new vision, I saw many important people gathered in Santa de Porres. Is your goal to disrupt this group? If so, tomorrow is definitely not the day to do so. As I told you earlier. In seventy-two hours—”
Maza turned his back to the monitors, bracing his hands on the edge of the console, and looked at her for several long seconds before he extended his arm. “You see, my dearest Chela? I like your bracelet so much I have one of my own.”
It wasn’t any prettier on his tanned, muscular arm. Not that she gave it more than a cursory glance. The microexpressions fleetingly stamping his features told her volumes. He was furiously angry. Frustrated. Vengeful. And had made a decision.
The son of a bitch had something unpleasant up the sleeve of his damned golf shirt. What was it?
Tell me, damn it. I can kill you even without a weapon. Although she could take his in a push, or relieve one of the soldiers at the door. But hell, at this point, her hands were itching to wrap around his neck and be done with it.
“So I see. But what does this have to do with your plans?” He hadn’t confirmed that the summit was his goal, but then he hadn’t said it wasn’t. She’d like to shake him before she put a bullet in his brain.
“You will have to ensure that your vision is incorrect, my dear.”
“Escobar,” Riva let her annoyance creep into her voice. “I’m your psychic, I’m incapable of changing fate. My visions show me the truth.”
“And your vision shows that if I attempt to do what I have to do tomorrow I will die?”
“Yes, there’s no doubt.”
He extended his arm. “If I die, so will you. If my heart stops for more than one minute, you will die.”
His neck looked strong, muscular. She’d need leverage to strangle him. She trusted that Gideon would deal with the soldiers. Maza was hers. Man, she missed her KA-BAR. “Are you threatening me?” she asked dangerously.
“No.” His eyes were cold as he straightened away from the wide metal console. Over his head, he snapped his fingers at the two men guarding the door, his attention not leaving Riva. “I make you a promise.”
“How can I prevent you from dying if you refuse to listen to me?”
“This device monitors my vital signs,” he said, talking over her. “If, for any reason my heart stops, the electrical signal will activate the liquids in your bracelet. A chain reaction will detonate. You, and anything, and anyone within a thousand feet of you will go—” He raised his hands like a fucking jazz singer. “Bang.”
While her flesh crawled knowing he’d strapped a bomb to her arm, she reminded herself that she was dealing with a psychopath here. Riva gave him a cool look, spreading her feet to center herself. “You’d kill me for being right? For telling you the truth? For trying to protect you?” Hell, yeah, he most certainly would.
“You will have to have a new vision.”
“What’s so important about tomorrow that it must happen then instead of in three days, Escobar? Perhaps if you give me more information on what your goal is, I can understand and interpret the vision another way.” She sighed for effect, feeling more and more frustrated that she was getting nowhere with the asshole. “I can’t change a vision for something I do not know or understand. Being secretive will get us both killed. If you won’t give me the information I must have to make favorable sense of my vision, I’m done here. Have your men take us back to the house. If you won’t listen to me, I have nothing more to say.”
