by Diana Duncan
She blew on her coffee, tasted it, then breathed a soft sigh. “You should have dessert and try to relax.”
“No, thanks. I’ve about had my fill.” He stared at the river of rain sheeting the glass as the lights again wavered precariously.
Five more minutes, then come hell or ass-deep floodwaters, he was going after Mia.
Chapter 10
The storm’s fury had begun to abate, and scant seconds remained on the clock of Dallas’s silent ultimatum when Mia finally walked into the dining room. Her posture was rigid, her cheeks flushed, her slender body vibrating like a bowstring.
Dallas’ mouth went dry as he strode to her and slid his arm around her waist. “Everything okay, darlin’?”
She looked up at him, those eloquent whiskey eyes too bright. “Perfect.”
What had she done? He bent to kiss her temple and whispered, “Is Esteban still alive?”
She nodded. “But tied up,” she murmured.
“Good Lord, not literally?”
Mia choked. “No.”
Isabel sauntered over carrying a saucer of half-nibbled cake and a brimming cup of steaming coffee. “I would also be sick if I ate the amount she did.” She batted her lashes at Dallas, about as subtle as a case of herpes. “I noticed you didn’t eat any cake. Perhaps you grow weary of sweets, and would like to bite into something … spicy … for a change.”
Mia’s body stiffened further and he gave her a reassuring hug. “A man who’s well-fed at home doesn’t have any desire to dine on take-out.”
“How can any real man possibly be satisfied with …” Isabel wrinkled her patrician nose. “So slight a morsel?”
“Ah, Isabel,” Mia said sympathetically. “I know the picture is fuzzy when you don’t have High-Def reception.”
When Isabel’s brows scrunched in bewilderment, Dallas had to cough into his hand.
Mia’s chin angled up. “Let me make it perfectly clear. My husband is not the least bit interested in you, but since he was raised to be a gentleman, he’s reluctant to be rude. So stop hitting on him.”
Isabel’s glance slithered from him to Mia, then back. Something cold and vicious crawled across her expression. She abruptly turned to set her cake on a passing server’s tray, at the same time tilting her cup of hot coffee toward Mia’s breasts.
Dallas shoved Mia aside and bumped his left forearm into the steaming missile, knocking it away. Scalding coffee spilled down his leather sleeve, sloshing over his hand before the cup tumbled to the carpet.
Gritting his teeth, he shook his burning fingers.
Isabel scrubbed frantically at the few drops scattered on her skirt. “My Vera Wang! It’s ruined!”
Mia’s horrified gaze arrowed to Dallas’ red, stinging flesh, then her eyes flashed amber fire at Isabel. “You tried to burn me, and instead burned him!” She lunged at the other woman.
Dallas grabbed with his uninjured right hand, barely catching the hem of Mia’s jacket. “Whoa!”
“I saw what she did! Let me go! I’m going to shove that entire pot of boiling coffee right up her Vera Wang!”
“Easy, darlin’.” As Mia struggled against his grip, he reeled her in, cocking a brow at Isabel. “With one gimpy hand and all, I’m not sure how long I can hold her. Unless you want to be drinking your coffee from a very uncomfortable angle, Señorita, perhaps you should mosey upstairs.”
“I do not understand why the little wife is so incensed at a mere accident.” Isabel widened her eyes in false innocence.
“Accident?” Mia snarled. “You’re about to be a walking, talking accident, bitch!”
Soledad rushed over and grasped Isabel’s shoulders. “Isabel, go.” She propelled her cousin from the room.
Mia yanked out of Dallas’s grip and ran to the table. She dunked a napkin into his water goblet. “Rosa, bring some ice!” she called. Chest heaving, she ran back to him and laid the cool, wet cloth on his burn. “She hurt you. How bad is it?”
“Not bad. My sleeve diverted most of the coffee.”
Rosa quickly fetched the ice, and Mia filled another napkin with it, then hurried to Dallas. “Let me see.” She lifted the wet cloth. “Really red. No blisters … yet. It could be second degree, though.” She settled the makeshift icepack over the back of his hand, easing the sting. “You should go to the ER.”
He laughed. “Hell, I once played an entire last quarter with a cracked clavicle.”
“Pretty much the response I expected.” Worried, sympathetic topaz eyes met his. “But you should see a doctor, just in case. Burns can cause deep tissue damage.”
“Don’t fret. It’s nothing serious.”
Soledad reentered alone, clearly upset. “I must apologize again for my cousin’s dreadful behavior. She and her lover are fighting again, and it makes her bad-tempered. Are you all right Señor Dallas? Do you require medical attention?”
“Nope.”
Soledad tsked. “Isabel views every other woman as competition, and is too accustomed to getting her way with men. Since you keep refusing her…” She grimaced. “We always desire that which we cannot have the most, sí?”
His gaze sought Mia’s strained face. Hell yeah.
Mia and Soledad shared a troubled look. “Soledad, do you have antibiotic ointment and bandages?”
“I do not believe so, but I will send someone out for them.”
“Relax, ladies,” Dallas said. “I’m hardly knocking on the Pearly Gates here.”
Mia commandeered his uninjured arm. “Never mind. I’ll just take him home. Thank your father for his hospitality.”
“Mia,” he insisted. “There’s no need to leave.”
She marched him toward the doorway. “If Isabel shows her face again, I might not resist the urge to throttle her. So unless you want me indicted for murder, Hubby, we’re going. Now.”
Bemused—and unexpectedly touched—by her outraged protectiveness, he shrugged and smiled over his shoulder at Soledad. “It appears we’re leaving. Do mention our thanks to Señor Esteban.”
In the driveway, Mia thrust out her palm. It wasn’t quite steady. “Keys.”
“I’m perfectly able—”
“Give me the keys and plant your gorgeous ass in the passenger seat. And keep that icepack on.”
Nobody had the chops to attempt to bulldoze him, and he’d never allowed his mom or sisters to coddle him. However, thirty seconds after meeting Mia, he’d figured out that being in control made her feel more secure. Yet another trait they shared. He passed over his keys with a grin, and then stepped into the Jeep. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mia competently handled the powerful vehicle, the wipers swishing in slow-motion with the lessening deluge as she drove through soaked streets.
He made sure the radio jammer was on, half-listening to a promo for the action channel’s upcoming Bruce Lee marathon until the estate disappeared from view. He turned down the radio, then extracted his phone and thumbed in a series of numbers. He cursed under his breath.
Mia glanced at him, her creamy complexion still flushed with anger. “Are you in a lot of pain?”
“Nah.” Not much, anyway. “Thanks to Mother Nature’s hissy fit …” he jerked his head at the gray clouds scudding rapidly away. “There’s nothing on my recording except static. It didn’t pick up Esteban’s conversation.”
“Then luckily for us, I did.”
Exactly what he’d been afraid of. “And if you’d been discovered?”
“Yeah … about that …”
His burned fingers throbbed in time with his rapid pulse. “What happened?”
“Here.” She reached into her jacket pocket and tugged out her new phone. “Exhibit A, on video.”
He peered at the small screen’s murky image of the hallway outside Montoya’s closed office door, the muffled sound barely discernible. He maxxed the volume.
“Señor Grayson,” Esteban’s voice said from the other side of the shut door, sounding more agitated than Dallas had ever hear
d him. “You promised ultimate discretion when I became a client, and I must ask for reassurance before moving forward.”
A pause before Esteban replied, “First the garroting death was discovered in Mexico, then the car bomb that failed to detonate in Limón. Add in a complication with that unexpected cocaine shipment discovery, plus the factory’s latest million-dollar financial discrepancy … and the authorities can invoke the RICO statute! I will lose everything I’ve worked for my entire life!”
Mia looked at Dallas again, her fine features taut. “A RICO conviction would hammer the nails into his coffin. We just need irrefutable evidence.”
He stopped the video and did a brief a mirror check. “But Montoya plays his cards close to the vest. He’s old-fashioned and careful, doesn’t entrust his data to computers. There’s a safe in his office I haven’t had the chance to access yet.” Dallas smiled without humor … and a whole lot of satisfaction. “Not only is he having competency issues within his own organization, sounds like another cartel might be attempting a coup. His problems are snowballing.”
He restarted the video to hear Esteban respond, “I understand. How long before we can act on this?” Another impatient pause. “Sí, but move fast. I want them shut out and shut down as soon as possible without arousing suspicion.” Esteban cleared his throat. “No, do not say anything to anyone. I will phone and personally give the orders to—”
“Mia?” Zane’s irate hiss over the recording obliterated Montoya’s voice. “What the—”
Dallas’ heart thrashed in his chest like a fish out of water. “Wolfe caught you?”
“Hey, I handled it. Just listen.” The screen blurred, went black as Mia had presumably stowed her phone in her jacket pocket with the audio still on. “Hi, Zane. Can you direct me to the bathroom?”
“You need a keeper,” Zane growled. “Why the hell isn’t Dallas with you?”
Esteban’s door clicked open. “Ah, I thought I heard someone.” Esteban said. “Hola, Zane. We missed you at brunch.”
“Perimeter patrol, sir.”
“What has happened to your face?”
“I wasn’t paying enough attention to hazardous obstacles. But believe me, my eyes are now wide open.”
“Señora Mia?” Esteban asked. “Why are you out here?”
Zane said, “I was just about to bring her to—”
“I’m feeling sick,” Mia interrupted, sounding sincerely innocent, with just the right touch of helpless feminine appeal. “I was looking for the restroom. But your home is so much larger than I’m used to, I got lost.”
“You are not well?” Esteban replied. “Please come in, sit down.”
Over Zane’s sharp objection, Mia said, “I don’t want to interrupt anything important.” Immediate rustling indicated her protest was only for appearances sake, as she’d obviously walked into his office.
“A beautiful lady is never an interruption. Zane, go down to the kitchen and have something to eat.”
“Señor Esteban—”
“You are dismissed for the moment, Zane. We will discuss the day’s agenda after your midday meal.”
“Yes, sir.” Rapid, impatient footsteps, then the door snapped shut.
“Mia, may I pour you a glass of water?”
“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”
“My wife Angelina felt ill and exhausted the entire time she carried Soledad. I hope you have a good doctor, Señora. I would be happy to recommend you to Soledad’s physician. He is one of the very best.”
Dallas snorted, checked the mirrors again. “All we need. I can just imagine you bribing a strange pregnant woman to pee in a cup for you.”
Mia giggled from the driver’s seat as her voice on the phone demurred, “That’s so nice, but I have my own doctor.” An inhale, swallows of water. “I’d welcome a distraction to take my mind off the queasiness, though. Would you tell me about your business, Señor Esteban?”
“A subject near and dear to my heart. What would you like to know?”
Dallas blinked. “I’ll be damned.”
“Ah …” Mia’s recorded voice answered. “Everything, I guess. What are you currently working on?”
“This is my latest project. Like many in Central America, our village is very poor. For years, we have been turning our profits back into the community.”
Mia briefly cut in to tell Dallas, “He showed me a photograph of a small white building—a very humble hospital—with a group of ragged children in front. Solemn, skinny little mites, with big hungry eyes.”
Esteban continued. “These little ones traveled from the neighboring village for treatment. Medicine and cures that people take for granted here are not available in the third world. See the niño on the left, the painfully thin six year old? His name was Pedro. Unfortunately, we were too late to save him. He died from dysentery, as do so many. An easily treatable condition under the right circumstances.”
Mia idled the Jeep at a red light. “Those poor babies. I don’t get it. Esteban builds hospitals for underprivileged children, schools, and water treatment plants? How can an international drug dealer also be a philanthropist?”
“Maybe he uses the end to justify the means.” Dallas frowned. “Maybe he tells himself saving some lives in his village is worth taking others.”
He refocused on the screen, listened to Mia ask, “Stocking and maintaining hospitals is expensive, and I’ve never seen you do a local fundraiser. How do you support your projects?”
“I emigrated to the U.S. determined to seek my fortune.” Esteban’s easy reply sounded for all the world like a man with nothing to hide. “I started out working for a small sanitation company in California, and saved every penny. So, when the owner eventually retired, I was able to buy it. About that time, recycling came to the forefront, and I built one of the first recycling plants in that area. High profits enabled me to build a second, then a third, and soon, I owned recycling companies statewide. Then I expanded into Oregon and Washington. I do not like to rely on others. I make plenty of money, enough to share my blessings.”
Mia said, “You have a thriving recycling plant here in Portland, right?”
“Sí. In fact, I will be visiting it this week.”
On the recording, Mia’s respiration kicked up. “Gosh, I’d love a tour, if that’s possible.”
Dallas tensed.
“I would be honored to have you as my guest. I will have Soledad call you and confirm the date and time. She organizes my schedule.”
“Thank you, Señor. Let me write down my number.” Scratching noises.
Esteban’s desk phone rang in the background. “Eh, duty calls, Señora. You are well enough to return downstairs?”
“Yes, I’m feeling much better now.”
The transmission stopped.
Mia signaled, swung a left. “He escorted me to the door and watched me walk down the hallway. I didn’t risk going back and trying to record him again.”
“First sensible thing you did all day.”
“Hello? I caught an important conversation on tape. And wrangled a tour of Esteban’s factory.”
He glanced at the ribbon of black asphalt behind them. Still clear. “Which Mr. and Mrs. McQuade will accept.”
“Mr. McQuade wasn’t present when the invite was issued.”
“Mr. McQuade doesn’t need an engraved invitation. He’ll be heading up the security detail.”
“Dallas, Esteban’s not going to show me anything incriminating, at least not on purpose. While I’m keeping him—and hopefully Soledad too—occupied, you can access his home office and break into the safe.”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t like sending you out with him alone.”
“He doesn’t suspect me of anything. Even if he did, what could he do in broad daylight, in the middle of a working factory? It’s a smart plan and an opportunity we can’t afford to miss.” She reached over and touched his makeshift ice pack. “Melting fast. Do you have first-aid supplies at hom
e?”
“Nope.”
She peered down the block. “I’m pretty sure there’s a … ah … there it is.” At the next light, she turned into the parking lot of a national chain discount store that sold everything from baby formula to hunting rifles. “I’ll only be a minute, you want to wait in the car?”
“No, I’ll go with you.” He visually swept the lot. Nothing suspicious. He abandoned the soggy napkin on the dash. “I need to grab a couple things myself.”
* * *
By the time Mia steered the Jeep up his driveway, the squall had passed and sunbeams streaked a cerulean sky. The garage door motored down behind them. Dallas got out and opened her door before he collected the half-dozen bulging plastic sacks from the back seat.
She preceded him into his gleaming oak kitchen with her one small bag. “Wow, I don’t know how you managed to snag so much in fifteen minutes.”
They’d separated at the store’s entrance with an agreement to reconnect there when finished. “The difference between men and women. We infiltrate, acquire the targets, and extract.”
“What on earth did you buy?”
He dumped the sacks on the black granite breakfast bar and started unpacking. “Needed to restock food and ammo.”
She blinked at the multiple cartons of bullets. “Defending the Alamo, are we?”
“The sporting goods department had a two-for-one deal. Can’t be too prepared. And speaking of…” He handed her three of the biggest bags.
Grinning he watched her astonishment as she pulled out what he’d bought her. Four pair of jeans, two black skinny, two blue boot-cut. Six assorted T-shirts. A denim skirt and two blouses. A hoodie the same warm yellow as the spring sunshine. Two packages of socks. And a rainbow assortment of fanciful lingerie. He hadn’t bought nightwear, because he liked knowing she was sleeping in his shirts.
He didn’t want to think about the implications of that too closely.
Mia’s jaw dropped. “Dallas … ? Why?”
“We didn’t make it to your place to pick up the rest of your gear, and all you have are the jeans, T-shirt and sneakers you wore to Vegas, and the brunch outfit.”
