by Mia Zachary
The name is Bond. Jayne Bond.
She snapped her bag shut and threw her shoulders back, head held high as she began to casually weave her way through the gathering as if she owned the place. She traded smiles and nods with guests as she passed, stopping occasionally to make inane conversation. Then she moved on as quickly as possible, searching for Weston.
“Try the foie gras, Mrs. Madison.”
A sandy-haired waiter approached her with a half-empty tray of hors d’oeuvres and some bad news. Jason leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Emelio wanted you to know there’s a problem with the transmitter, but don’t worry. We’ll get it fixed.”
“That’s just great. Tell him I have a backup in my purse, but it’s going to be muffled,” she whispered. Aloud she said, “I’ll pass on the duck liver, thanks.”
The “waiter” nodded before offering the tray among the nearby guests. A moment later, Jason was swallowed by the crowd and Stevie felt a twinge of unease over how quickly she’d lost sight of him. She wished Emelio were here with her and not just in her head. Knowing he was somewhere in the room would have been a comfort.
She circulated some more, her eyes roaming from face to face, listening to snippets of conversation as she walked by. Just then, she spotted Jack Weston on the dance floor with the wife of the Spanish ambassador. All of her doubts vanished in the space of a breath.
She hoped the earrings’ transmitter was working again and that the team could hear her. “I’ve got him. I have the target in sight.”
Like a heat-guided missile, Stevie cut a path through the crowd until she reached his side. Pasting a smile on lips suddenly gone cold, she tapped Señora Maravilla de Guzman on the shoulder. The couple stopped dancing and turned inquiring looks her way.
Stevie dipped her head in greeting to Mrs. Guzman before sliding her gaze to Weston. “Jack. How nice to see you again.”
His pale eyes conveyed recognition before he plastered a politician’s vague but friendly welcome onto his features. “Have we met? I can’t believe I’d forget a face as pretty as yours.”
She smiled brightly. “Still playing games, huh? Excuse us, señora. I’m cutting in.”
After thanking Mrs. Guzman for the dance, he held out his arms to Stevie. She hoped he didn’t notice her hesitation before taking his hand and letting him lead her in a waltz.
“So, Jack. You wanted to discuss my retirement fund?”
He sidestepped her question, instead nodding generally at the crowd. “Good turnout tonight. Are you having a nice time?”
“Marvelous.” She angled her head and fluttered her lashes at him. “Weren’t you going to convince me not to call a press conference?”
Weston finally looked at her, his eyes narrowed in derision. “Where should I direct my answer? I’m sure you want the best possible voice recording.”
Stevie glanced down at the bodice of her formfitting dress, secure in the knowledge that the microphone was actually part of her left earring. “You want to frisk me?”
A flash of sexual interest brought warmth to his pale eyes and she felt him relax a little. “I didn’t get the money. Your little story is nothing but opportunistic slander and I’m not paying.”
“Oh, you’re going to pay, Jack. Much more than you realize. You’ll lose everything.”
Weston swallowed hard and glanced around. “The dance is over, so if you’ll excuse me…”
“What if I won’t?” Stevie tightened her grip on his sweaty hand. As the orchestra struck up the next piece, she bared her teeth in a predatory smile. “Try to look romantic, Jack. Let’s give the folks something to talk about.”
She shifted closer, pretending to nuzzle his neck. When he startled and tried to back away, she simply moved in for the kill. She let her voice slide into a cool, condescending tone as she whispered in his ear.
“I think you’ll want to see the videotape I have. It’s only a copy, of course, but the picture and sound quality are excellent. Guess you didn’t realize the Stocktons had hidden security cameras.”
Weston made a choking sound and his skin took on an ugly flush before all color drained from his cheeks. She had him dead to rights and he knew it. His eyes darted around the ballroom again to see who might be watching.
“Why don’t we step out on the terrace where this conversation won’t be overheard?” There was a quaver in his voice and his attempt at a smile failed miserably.
She took the arm that he gallantly offered in order to keep up the pretense. Her eyes casually scanned the faces in the crowd, trying to catch sight of one of the “waiters,” but she couldn’t locate anyone from the agency in the sea of bodies.
Where the hell was the rest of the team?
13
EMELIO HUNCHED OVER the radio transmitter set up in the hotel manager’s office. Alex sat in one of the guest chairs while Elliott, a sweaty FBI surveillance tech fresh out of Quantico, monitored the recording equipment.
With his elbows on the desk, a headset over his left ear, he listened to the chatter and music from the charity ball. The rest of the team was patched in on the same frequency, but the only voice he wanted to hear, the only voice he cared about, had a sultry New Orleans drawl.
He closed his eyes, imagining Stevie as she talked her way past the registration desk. She looked extraordinarily beautiful tonight, with smoky shadow elongating her beautiful eyes, her short hair curled into golden waves. The white gown she wore skimmed her body like water, shimmering softly as she moved.
Pale pink lipstick emphasized the fullness of her lower lip, turning her normal pout into a lush invitation he hadn’t been able to resist. He could still taste the intensity of her kiss. Once they wrapped up this case, he planned to take her away somewhere and discover exactly what she’d written in black-lace letter number nine.
He chuckled under his breath while Stevie talked about somebody named “Og.” Her spiel was brash, confident, however he detected an undercurrent of hesitation. Though she worked hard to hide it, her voice had an almost fragile quality that made him wish he could be there beside her.
But he knew how strong she was, both physically and emotionally. Even after all she’d been through, all she’d survived, she hadn’t lost her sense of humor or her grace. He also knew how determined she was, how much she needed to have control over her life.
Braga would be the last in a long line of people who’d threatened her independence and identity. The rest of the team was hell-bent on taking Braga down, but Stevie just wanted to make sure she never had to run or be afraid again.
“Of course you’re on the guest list. Please enjoy your evening.”
Emelio’s shoulders sagged in relief when he heard the registrar’s words. He grinned with pride as he softly congratulated her. “Good work, Jayne. You did it.” Just then static burst over the headset, followed by intermittent sound and silence.
“Uh, I think maybe we lost a couple of units.”
He scowled over at Elliott since he was stating the obvious, then reached out to flip on the microphone. “Double O Team, this is Team Leader. Sound check.”
Alex hovered over his shoulder. “Switch to the other preset channel.”
“Double O Team, can you hear me?”
“Double O Five. Yeah, Leader. I hear you,” Jason replied. Rick and Dave Heintz checked in, as well, but neither Stevie nor the other three agents answered.
Emelio kept his tone coolly professional, but his pulse quickened as worry crept along his nerves. “What’s the status on 007?”
“Double O Eight, here. I lost track of her.”
“Double O Six. I don’t see her, either.”
Emelio wavered between irritation and concern until Jason spoke quietly over the headset. “Double O Five. I’ve got her.”
What the hell was wrong with her transmitter? He wouldn’t be at peace until she was safely back upstairs. “Acknowledged. Let her know there’s a problem. Double O Team, maintain visual.”
“
Double O Eight. Will do, Team Leader, but it’s a zoo in here. I’ve got to fetch another tray of hors d’oeuvres.”
Mierda. He dropped his head into his palms. “Get the damned food and get back in the game.”
Alex clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Stevie’s okay, hombre. She’s in a ballroom full of people. Relax.”
Frustrated, he turned to offer a rude suggestion that made his partner laugh. Alex propped a hip on the edge of the desk and gave him a sympathetic look. “So, it’s that serious, huh?”
Emelio leaned back in the upholstered desk chair and sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his chest. “I didn’t even see it coming.”
“That’s the way it happens, my friend.”
His mouth twisted into a humorless smile. “I didn’t want it to happen, you know. I thought I could keep it physical. But there’s something about her, something special.”
“She’s the one?”
Emelio pictured her face softly lit by the radiance of dawn, stubbornly determined during an argument, lost in pleasure as they made love. He thought about her passion and her sassiness, her temper and her vulnerability. Stevie was good for him. He needed her. “Yeah, she’s the one.”
Target in sight… Jack. How nice to…
“She’s got him!” He jolted when he heard the snippets of conversation and background noise come through the headphones.
Emelio activated the microphone again. “Double O Team, move in. Now. Don’t let that bastard out of sight.”
There was no answer. None at all. He flipped levers and turned dials to no avail. All he heard was more static and his own voice cursing in Spanish. Leaning down, he yelled at the radio tech scuttling over his feet beneath the desk.
“Get it in gear, Elliott! I want this thing up and running as of five minutes ago.” He shot to his feet, shoving the chair against the wall as he stripped off the headset and tossed it at Alex.
“Where are you going?”
“To the Ball. Cinderella’s in trouble.”
Alex pitched the headset back to him. “No way, Em. We can’t risk it. If Weston sees you now, he’ll know for sure he was set up. Let her do her job.”
Emelio thought of Stevie, taking on Weston by herself, and cursed some more.
“I WANT THAT VIDEOTAPE, Ms. Madison.”
As soon as she left the Grand Ballroom with him, Weston hustled her over to an isolated corner of the veranda. Even in the dark, shrouded by the shadow of cypress and palmetto trees, his pale eyes suddenly glittered with animosity.
“I’m open to negotiation, Jack. What are you offering?”
“How about your continued good health?”
Stevie recoiled, her eyebrows wrinkling in confusion. This was not the same guy she’d walked out the door with. She must have him running scared. “The price of my silence just went up by half. I consider the video a rare collector’s item. So now I want to collect seventy-five thousand for it.”
He opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. She turned her head to see a couple appear on the stairs below, apparently having been for a stroll through the moonlit hotel gardens. Weston nodded politely, his features once again set in a harmless facade.
As the couple walked by, he stroked his hand over her chest, clumsily fondling her breasts. Anger and humiliation burned her cheeks. Stevie ground the spike heel of her shoe onto his instep. He yelped in pain and loosened his grip.
“Let go of me, asshole.”
“Name-calling? Grow up. I want that tape and I want it now.” He turned on her, the average-looking, mild-mannered politician gone, and in his place was an adversary who’d just shown his true nature.
Where the hell was her backup team? This wasn’t going the way she’d planned. “You’re repeating yourself, Jack, and I’m getting bored with the conversation. I’m going back to the ball.”
“Sorry you’re bored, Stevie. Let me tell you something new.” He gripped her upper arm to stop her, hard enough to bruise. “You’d better give me what I want. It would be a shame to destroy that pretty face.”
Her temper careened right into seriously pissed off and she struck out at him, landing a blow to his shoulder. When he let go of her arm, she got in his face. “You think you can threaten me? Don’t make me laugh. You’re nothing but Braga’s errand boy.”
Weston smacked her, hard, across the mouth.
Tears of pain stung her eyes and she gasped. Too stunned to cry out, her mind went numb for a moment, hurling her into the past when another seemingly genteel man had brutalized her without warning. She tasted blood where her bottom teeth cut the inside of her lip.
She looked over at the ballroom doors, concentrating, trying to pick up any sound other than a discouraging silence. The earpiece and transmitter must still be malfunctioning, which meant no one was coming to her rescue.
“Don’t underestimate my desperation, Stevie.”
She suffered the same jittery anxiety she always felt when her ex-husband was on the verge of exploding. Swallowing hard, she tried to appeal to whatever morality Weston might have left. “You’re making a huge mistake, Jack. Do yourself a favor and help me put Braga behind bars. It’s the only way—”
His short bark of laughter sounded hollow. “It’s too late for that. All I can do now is try to buy myself some time.”
Her heart pounded unevenly in her chest. “Jack, listen to me. You know better than anyone how valuable your testimony against Braga would be. As soon as I turn that video over to the Feds, you’ll lose any bargaining power you had.”
Weston shook his head, a chilling finality clouding his eyes. “I’ve already sold my soul. And now it’s time to pay the devil his due. You’re coming with me.”
Raised voices, pealing with laughter, approached from off to the side. People were coming out onto the veranda. This was her chance. Stevie opened her mouth to scream, only to have the sound die stillborn when Weston grabbed her neck, choking her.
“You don’t want to do that.”
He cut off her air, a reminder of who was in control. Pulling her close, into the embrace of the enemy, he brushed his lips across her ear. “Try to look romantic, Stevie.”
It was a sick replay of the scene she’d made inside. She glanced over his shoulder, frantic to make contact with the people milling about in the cool night air. But it was too dark in this corner and their lovers’ pose looked too authentic.
Fairy lights danced before her eyes as her lungs burned from lack of oxygen. Weston reached behind him under his tuxedo jacket. When he brought his arm back around, he made sure she saw the gun he was holding. He finally eased the pressure on her wind-pipe. Stevie gulped in drafts of air while he murmured quiet threats.
“In a minute, I’m going to let you go. Then you and I are going to walk through the garden to another entrance of the hotel.” He squeezed her throat again until she nodded her understanding. Then he slipped the gun into his jacket pocket. “Good girl. You do as you’re told and you won’t get hurt.”
Her stomach clenched against a wave of nausea. Her ex-husband Tom had often phrased his words to sound like that, giving her false hope that if she just followed his instructions and catered to his whims, he wouldn’t punish her.
The boisterous group returned to the White Orchid Ball, leaving them once again alone on the veranda. Weston gave her a little shove toward the stairs, then moved right behind her, his arm securely around her back. She was so scared. Emelio—
No, she couldn’t think about him now. She was on her own, with only her wits and training to rely on.
She pretended to stumble into a ceramic urn filled with geraniums at the bottom of the stairs. When Weston tried to steady her, she jammed her right elbow into his side. He must have suspected she would try something, however. In the next instant she felt the hard point of the gun against her breast.
“The next time you try something, if you make one wrong move, just one, I’ll leave you to die among the flowers.”
West
on pushed her forward, following closely behind as they entered the garden. Under cover of darkness, Stevie slid one hand into her evening bag and scrambled through the contents. She moved the voice-activated pen to the top and left the bag’s clasp open slightly.
The pen would capture whatever happened next on its digital recorder. She only hoped it didn’t record her last words.
“SO, MS. MADISON. We meet again.”
Emelio damn near leaped out of his skin as Braga’s supple, resonant voice came over the speaker. Elliott had finally gotten the equipment to work, only for him to have to hear this. Acid churned in his stomach as he quickly flipped the microphone switch and ordered the men to stay quiet.
“Team Leader. I want radio silence.”
The hotel manager’s office was so still he could hear his heart thudding in his chest. There was a scrabbling sound followed by a loud gasp. Then he heard Stevie, making every effort to come across as brave and in control.
“I wish I could say it was a pleasure, Mr. Braga. You might have picked a meeting room with fresh paint and some furniture.”
Braga chuckled humorlessly. “I apologize for the poor accommodations, however you won’t be here for long.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll just be going now.”
He made a tutting noise and sighed. “That won’t be possible, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t know anything.” Stevie’s response had an edge of panic that echoed in the room where she was being held. “Just because I saw you and Weston together—”
“Is reason enough, my dear.”
Someone cleared his throat, then Emelio recognized Jack Weston’s voice. “She has a videotape of our meeting in Palm Beach last year.”
In the ominous silence that followed, he thought he heard something familiar in the background. Emelio leaned over and whispered to Alex. “What is that faint clanging?”
