Uncut Bundle

by Susan Stephens

  “Matthew Knight?”

  Matthew rose to his feet and held out his hand. “Yes.”

  “Douglas Hamilton. Sorry I’m late.”

  “No problem, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “It’s Colonel.” Hamilton’s hand was soft, but his grip was strong. “I’m with the army.” A quick flash of very white teeth. “The United States army. Didn’t your father tell you?”

  Matt motioned Hamilton into a chair, then signaled the waiter for two more beers.

  “My father didn’t tell me much of anything except that you and he are old pals.”

  Another flash of those white teeth. Matthew had seen sharks with similar smiles.

  “Actually the friendship was between your father and mine.” The waiter put down two icy bottles. Hamilton ignored his. “How is Avery?”

  “Fine,” Matt said politely, and wondered why he disliked Hamilton on the spot.

  “I want to thank you for coming down here so quickly, Mr. Knight.”

  Matthew didn’t answer. You learned more by letting silences grow than by hurrying to fill them.

  “Trading on friendship is presumptuous but I needed a way to get to you.” Hamilton paused. “You and your company have quite a reputation.”

  “You could have phoned. We’re in the book.”

  Hamilton shook his head. “I couldn’t discuss this on a telephone.”

  “Discuss what?”

  “Straight to business. I like that.” Hamilton’s smile faded. “It’s my fiancée. I’m afraid she’s committed an, ah, an indiscretion.”

  Matthew sighed. Every now and then, somebody figured Knight, Knight and Knight for a detective agency.

  “Colonel,” he said politely, “I’m afraid you misunderstand what our company does. I’m not a private investigator. I don’t deal in personal issues.”

  “I know that.” Hamilton lowered his voice. “What I’m about to tell you must be kept in strictest confidence.”

  Hamilton’s fiancée had slept with another man. That would surely be the so-called “indiscretion.” Did Hamilton think he could hire a hit man? A couple of people had come to Risk Management with similar requests, but murder wasn’t on their list of services.

  “My fiancée became involved in—in something.”

  “An affair with another man?”

  The colonel gave a harsh laugh. “I wish it were that simple.” He hesitated, leaned closer. “She smuggled drugs.”

  Matthew blinked. “She smuggled—”

  “Cocaine. As you know, diplomatic mail isn’t subject to customs searches. Mia used my embassy privileges to send cocaine to the States.”

  Matthew stared at the man. It was a lot to take in. “Is she an addict?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  “Then, why did she do it?”

  “For the money, I suppose. A lot of money.”

  “What happened when she was caught?”

  “She wasn’t. Not by the authorities. Someone tipped me off to what she’d done.”

  “Someone who owed you.”

  Hamilton smiled tightly. “You can put it that way, if you like. The point is, I took care of it.”

  Meaning, the colonel had used his considerable clout to bury the incident.

  “I told Mia. I thought she’d be grateful. Instead, she was terrified. She said the people who owned the cocaine would think she’d cheated them and come after her.”

  “Well, she’s probably right.”

  “I told her she’d be safe under my protection, but she didn’t believe me. This was four days ago.” Hamilton took a deep breath. “Yesterday, she disappeared.”

  The word made the hair rise on the nape of Matthew’s neck. “Kidnapped?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe she ran away. Either way, she’s in terrible danger.”

  Matthew didn’t bother disagreeing. “You’ve gone to the authorities,” he said, even though he knew the answer.

  “I can’t. I’d have to tell them the whole story. Implicate Mia—”

  “Implicate yourself.”

  The colonel didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. After a minute, Matthew nodded.

  “I see your problem, colonel, but I don’t understand how you think I can help.”

  “You can find her.”

  “That’s out of the question.”

  “You know this country.”

  Matthew narrowed his eyes. “And you seem to know a lot about me.”

  Instead of answering, Hamilton took a photograph from his breast pocket and pushed it across the table.

  “This is Mia.”

  Reluctantly Matthew picked up the photo and looked at it. He’d expected the colonel’s fiancée to be attractive. A man like this wouldn’t have a woman who wasn’t, but Mia Palmieri had the kind of face and body that inspired painters and sculptors.

  The picture had been taken on the beach on a day windy enough to have tossed her dark curls into a sexy mane and plastered her tank top to her high, rounded breasts. She wore shorts that showed off a pair of endless legs. Her eyes were wide and dark, her cheekbones sharp enough to etch glass, and her mouth…

  Her mouth was made for sin.

  A curl of desire knotted in Matthew’s belly. It caught him by surprise.

  “She’s very attractive.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Hamilton said thickly. “More than beautiful. She’s everything a man could want…and I want her back.”

  “Go to the authorities.”

  “I just told you—”

  “You can’t. Yes. You did tell me. And I’m telling you—”

  “She’s involved with the Rosario cartel. Does that name mean anything to you, Mr. Knight?”

  Matthew’s mouth thinned. “Why would it?”

  “I checked your background. I know the story. You lost a partner. Can you stand by and let me lose my fiancée to the same people?”

  A gust of wind snatched at the photo Matthew had left on the table. He caught it and looked at it again.

  “Why did she try to smuggle coke?”

  “I told you, I don’t know.”

  “You said, for the money.”

  “Then why ask me again?”

  “Maybe it was for kicks.”

  “What does it matter? She did it, and now—”

  “Maybe she did it for you.” Matthew smiled coldly. “Maybe you’re the one behind the smuggling. Or maybe your fiancée wanted out of the relationship and that’s why she split.”

  Hamilton’s teeth clenched. “Are you accusing me?”

  “I’m simply pointing out that if I start turning over rocks, there’s no telling what I might find.”

  “You’ll do it, then.”

  Matthew looked at the photo. He wished it had been taken at closer range. There was something in Mia Palmieri’s eyes…

  “Who saw her last?”

  “My cook. She brought Mia lunch beside the pool. When she went back for the tray, the back gate was open and Mia was gone.”

  “I want to talk with the cook and the rest of your staff.”

  Hamilton’s eyes glittered. “Thank you, Mr. Knight.”

  “Don’t thank me until you have your fiancée back, Colonel.” Matthew glanced at his watch. “I have a rented SUV. What’s your address?”

  Hamilton named a street high above the city, in one of Cartagena’s most expensive neighborhoods.

  Matthew nodded. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Inside his rented Escalade, he took out the photo, held it against the steering wheel and stared at Mia Palmieri. The lady sure as hell didn’t look like a drug smuggler, but Matthew’s years in the Agency had taught him that the old adage was true.

  You couldn’t judge a book by its cover.

  Still, there was something in her eyes…

  He stared at the photograph for a long minute. For reasons he didn’t understand, he stroked his thumb lightly over Mia’s parted lips.

  Then he turned the key, put the Escalade into a tight U-t
urn, and headed up into the hills.

  Hundreds of miles away, in a hotel room high in the Andes, Mia Palmieri jerked upright from a restless sleep.

  Something had brushed against her lips.

  Heart pounding, she touched her mouth. There was nothing there.

  Mia gave a little laugh. The breeze. That’s what it was. Just the breeze from the open window.

  She’d locked the door, put on the chain, even propped a chair under the knob, but she’d left the window open. Her room was on the second floor. It was safe enough.

  Of course it was.

  A minute crept by. Then she tossed back the covers, went to the window, closed and locked it.

  Better, she thought.

  Even so, it was more than an hour before she fell back into restless sleep.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHERE WAS Mia Palmieri?

  Had she run away, or had she been abducted? You got involved with people in the drug business, you played with fire. And that led to the next question.

  Why would she have agreed to smuggle dope? The money was big but so were the risks, especially the way she’d done it. Using the embassy mail pouch had endangered not only her but her fiancé, too. Hamilton’s prospects in the military were bright. You could almost see the yellow brick road that led straight to flag rank.

  Why would she risk her future and his for something so risky?

  Matthew had questions. Now, he needed answers.

  A couple of hours later, they began trickling in.

  Hamilton’s house wasn’t just expensive, it was well-guarded—but that wasn’t uncommon in this part of the world. A wall topped by razor-wire surrounded the house; a gated run and kennel suggested that at least one guard dog roamed the property, probably at night.

  Matthew identified himself at the gate. It swung open and he drove up to the house. The colonel greeted him and, at Matthew’s request, walked him through the elegant rooms.

  “Mia loved this house,” the colonel said.

  Maybe so, but the living arrangements left something to be desired.

  The relationship between Hamilton and his fiancée wasn’t normal. Not by Matthew’s standards. If a woman who looked like Mia Palmieri had been part of his life, he damned well would have spent the nights with her in his arms.

  Not so the colonel.

  He and his fiancée didn’t share a room. Their rooms didn’t even connect. Didn’t adjoin. In fact, hers was in one wing of the colonel’s expensive villa and his was in the other.

  “You don’t sleep together?”

  Hamilton’s face reddened. “Our sleeping arrangements are none of your business.”

  “Everything is my business now,” Matthew replied. “Get used to it, Colonel.”

  “We slept together,” Hamilton said stiffly. “Of course we did, but Mia…Mia insisted on her own room.”

  “Because? And please, Colonel, don’t waste my time telling me she wanted her privacy.”

  He didn’t know why he’d said that, but it worked. Hamilton’s face reddened. “Mia’s good at—at using sex to get what she wants.”

  “And what did she want from you, Colonel?”

  Matthew knew the question was crude, but it was also deliberate. He wanted to see the colonel’s reaction.

  “It wasn’t anything in particular. She just…” For a second, Matthew almost felt sorry for him. “She just thought it gave her control.”

  Matthew nodded. “And it did,” he said softly. “She smuggled cocaine right under your nose.”

  “But I didn’t let the drugs go through. I told you that.”

  “No. But you didn’t make her face the consequences, either.”

  Hamilton’s nostrils flared. For a minute, Matthew thought he was going to argue. Instead his shoulders slumped.

  “I’m not proud of my weakness over Mia,” he said quietly, “but I love her. And I want her back.”

  The cook confirmed that Mia had almost seemed to disappear into thin air. There’d been no sounds of a struggle, no overturned lounge chairs, nothing.

  Anything else?

  “Si,” she said, after a couple of seconds. The señorita had left her lunch untouched. The only thing missing from the tray was a bottle of water.

  Matthew found that interesting. Could a woman who’d been abducted without evidence of a struggle have the chance to take a bottle of water with her?

  “Was anyone else working at the villa that day?”

  “No, señor,” the cook said emphatically. Then she paused and said well, the pool boy had been there but when the señorita disappeared, he’d already gone to the house next door.

  Matthew tracked the kid down. It took a few minutes but finally he recalled seeing a taxi drive past, maybe heading for the Hamilton place.

  He drove into the city, stopped at a hotel, got a list of cab companies and lucked out on his third try.

  For ten bucks, the dispatcher remembered he’d sent a taxi to the Hamilton address the day Mia disappeared. Fifty bought the entire package: a meeting with the driver, who looked at Mia’s photo and said si, yes, he remembered the lady.

  He had taken her to a rent-a-car office.

  The clerk at the rent-a-car counter remembered the lady, too. She’d asked for directions to Bogotá. The clerk had tried to talk her out of the trip. It was a long drive—fifteen, sixteen hours. And dangerous, especially for a gringa. But Mia had been insistent and the clerk had finally drawn the route on a map. The shortest route, she emphasized; at least the señorita had been smart enough to agree to that.

  Half an hour later, Matthew was heading out of the city, but not on the road Mia had supposedly taken.

  By now, he was sure she’d run away. The question was, why?

  There were only two logical reasons. The first was that she was running from the cartel because the drugs she was supposed to smuggle hadn’t reached their destination. That wouldn’t have made them happy.

  The second was that she was on the run with a cache of cocaine. That wouldn’t have made the cartel happy, either. Cutting out the middleman wasn’t their style.

  It was the only logical explanation. A woman on the run, either from her boyfriend or from a pack of killers, would have taken the first plane out.

  A woman on the run with a stash of stolen coke might very well try to lose any possible tail by driving into the mountains.

  As for which route she’d take… The times he’d been on the run, he’d deliberately set up red herrings.

  Maybe saying she’d take the short route was Mia’s bit of misdirection. It was what he’d have done in her place.

  He decided to go with his gut intuition and take the long way to Bogotá.

  The road was rough but traffic was nonexistent so he made good time. He’d picked up a thermos of coffee and some sandwiches in Cartagena. When it grew dark, he pulled over and ate his makeshift supper. He was tired, couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept or had a real meal, but Mia had a significant head start and he had to make up the time.

  He stopped at each town, checked gas stations and inns, described her car and showed her photo. Nobody had seen her. A couple of hours before dawn, he took the Escalade down a rutted trail into a grove of trees, made sure his windows were locked, turned up the air conditioner and went to sleep with the nine millimeter automatic he always carried in his lap.

  By the time the sun rose, he was on the road again, driving slowly along the early-morning streets of another town…

  And spotted Mia’s rental car outside a hotel that had seen better days.

  Matthew pulled onto the patch of dirt that passed for a parking lot and went inside. He slapped the bell on the reception counter. After a minute, a door opened and a guy shuffled toward him, hair flapping in his eyes, shirt half-unbuttoned, his face contorted by a giant yawn.

  Did the señor want a room?

  Matthew gave him his best smile. “Tengo una reserva,” he said, meaning that he already had one. At least, he sa
id, putting Mia’s picture on the counter, his girlfriend had one. Trouble was, he couldn’t recall the room number. Oh, and he didn’t have a key, and he wanted to surprise her.