Anthology - Kick Ass

by Maggie Shayne, MaryJanice Davidson, Angela Knight, Jacey Ford

  "Hey, don't do that. You'll mess up her makeup," Brad Klein scolded as he poked his head inside the tent.

  Ignoring the photographer, Jake planted a light kiss on Lauren's freshly lipsticked mouth before standing up and stretching as if he didn't have a care in the world. Lauren, however, noticed his grimace as the sore muscles around his ribs pulled. She'd seen him take some aspirin from the promotional pack on the side of one of the rum bottles in her room this morning, but it didn't seem to have killed the pain. She should be grateful—her bruises only hurt when she touched them.

  Brad scowled at Jake before turning his attention to Lauren. "We could have gotten some shots in earlier if you'd been down to the lobby at 10:30 like you were supposed to be. The client wants us to do a plant tour at 11:30, so now we don't have time." He snorted and gave Jake a smarmy smile that made Lauren want to throw something at him. "These supermodels are such divas. They're all the same."

  Lauren watched as Jake narrowed his eyes dangerously at the other man, his jaw tightening as he clenched his teeth. She almost wished that Jake would deck the obnoxious photographer. Instead, he drew in a long, calming breath and fixed his gaze on her before saying softly, "That's because you only see what she wants you to see."

  She blinked up at him, stunned that this man that she barely even knew had summed her up so accurately. And as Jake held out a hand to help her up off her chair, Lauren began to wonder if the reason that he knew so much about her was because they were so much alike.

  Give them what they expect. Wasn't that her motto? Maybe that was Jake's credo, too. Maybe that was why he cloaked himself in bravado, because when you gave people what they expected, they didn't look any deeper to try to find the real you. Because if no one ever got close to the real you, they didn't have the power to hurt you.

  Lauren took Jake's hand and looked—really looked—into his eyes. She had seen the real Jake out there in the jungle, the one who cared about a lot more than just getting laid or playing some one-dimensional movie-star hero. He did a good job of hiding that Jake from the rest of world… but, then, Lauren knew all about creating illusions to sell something that wasn't real, didn't she?

  "Come on, let's go," Jake said, squeezing her fingers.

  Lauren squeezed back. "Lead on," she said, and then swayed after him in her four-inch heels as he pushed past the photographer and led her out into the sunshine.

  The plant tour was more for show than anything else, Lauren figured as the photo crew followed the plant manager across the scrupulously clean linoleum floor. The plant was scheduled to shut down at noon so the employees could enjoy the festivities, and their little parade was most likely a way to help increase the workers' morale.

  And, boy, did it seem like they needed it.

  The Isla Suspiro Rum Company employees' expressions were about as drab as their brown uniforms.

  "These people don't seem very happy," she whispered out of the side of her mouth to Jake. She tried to keep a smile plastered on her face, but it wasn't easy with the discontent that seemed to be pouring off the rum company's workforce in waves.

  "No, they don't," Jake agreed.

  The plant manager stopped near a pile of neatly stacked cardboard boxes with the company's name and logo stamped in black on the side. The sight reminded Lauren of the boxes she'd seen in Rafael Santos's tent, and she frowned, wondering for the first time why the rebel leader had purchased rum from the company that was partially owned by the brother he planned to overthrow.

  She knew that Brad would complain about the creases on her forehead if he happened to look over and see her frowning, so she looked away as she continued to think. Maybe the rum had been in the delivery vans Rafael's men had stolen? If so, it probably had seemed silly to waste it.

  "And here we come to the end of the line," the plant manager said as the photo crew gathered around him. "Once the bottles are filled, they're put into boxes and taken by truck to the port to be shipped around the world." He waved toward a half dozen metal doors that looked like Lauren's garage door at home. She assumed that the rum company's delivery trucks would be backed up into the open bays to be loaded.

  Nothing out of the ordinary there.

  She turned her attention back to the boxes and noticed that each box had a two-letter code stamped at the bottom left-hand corner. The codes varied. One box was stamped with the letters VG, another with OX, and another with CI. Lauren was curious, so she nodded her chin toward the boxes and asked, "What do those codes mean?"

  The plant manager got a look on his face as though she had just asked him what the cockroach content of their rum was, but before he could answer, a strange sort of energy rippled through the workforce surrounding them.

  Lauren glanced up to see a man who looked remarkably similar to Rafael Santos striding toward them. He was about fifteen feet away when another, thinner man came running down a narrow staircase that led to a second floor of what appeared to be offices. Earlier, Lauren had noticed the thin man watching their progress from the windows above. His scrutiny had made her uneasy for some reason, but she had dismissed the feeling. Now, as the man approached, she felt her uneasiness returning and turned to Jake to voice her concern.

  "Who's that?" she whispered.

  "Emilio Santos. He runs the rum operation," Jake answered. "The other man coming toward us is his older brother, Tomas, the president of the island."

  Lauren nodded as the elder Santos brother stopped next to the plant manager.

  "Welcome to Isla Suspiro," Tomas Santos said, smiling a broad smile that seemed to falter as his gaze landed on Jake.

  Her eyes narrowed. That was odd. The president had never met Jake. Why, then, was there a spark of recognition in the older man's eyes?

  "Tomas! What are you doing here?" Emilio Santos said with forced cheerfulness.

  "I thought I would welcome our American guests," Tomas answered.

  "And now you've done so. I would guess the leader of our little island has more important things to attend to," Emilio said, shooting a conspiratorial smile at the photo crew.

  Lauren could never say what prompted her to do what she did next, but something—call it women's intuition or a hunch or just dumb luck—urged her to repeat her earlier question. "So tell me," she said, "what do those codes on the bottom of the rum boxes mean?"

  * * *

  CH@%!*R 9

  Was the American model's question a ploy to get him to take his attention off the agent sent here to kill him?

  Tomas felt a bead of sweat drip down the side of his face. It was warm in the plant—Emilio insisted that overhead fans were enough to cool the workers down on the production floor. The offices above, of course, were air-conditioned. But Tomas couldn't blame his perspiration only on the temperature. He was unarmed and had not expected to come face-to-face with the assassin.

  Every person entering the compound was searched at the gate, but Tomas was not foolish enough to believe that his guards were infallible. A clever killer could smuggle a weapon in, especially one who was traveling with a seemingly innocuous group such as the model and her entourage. Before Emilio's offer to deal with the CIA agent himself, Tomas had been prepared to meet with the man in his office, with a gun in his hand and his own armed guards there to protect him.

  It was possible that Emilio was wrong, that the American had not made a deal with Rafael and was not here to kill Tomas. However, the pictures Emilio had given him had convinced Tomas that this scenario seemed the most likely. Why else would the CIA agent go willingly with Rafael's men?

  No, it was probable that Emilio was right. And perhaps the model was trying to distract his attention so that the assassin could complete his mission right here on the production floor.

  Tomas had lived for so many years with a price on his head that he should have become accustomed to the constant fear. But he hadn't. It infuriated him that he cared so much for the people of his country and only wanted to do what was right for them, yet in return he liv
ed every moment under the threat of being killed. It was bad enough that his own brother wanted him dead. The CIA's double-dealing, even though he had cooperated with them at every turn, was too much.

  In typical Tomas fashion, he had decided to meet this threat head-on. He had been wrong to think that it would be best to allow Emilio to handle the problem. This was his domain, his life. He would be the one to take care of the CIA.

  "The codes help us to separate the product for shipping," Emilio said smoothly from beside him.

  Tomas frowned and allowed his gaze to slip to the stack of cardboard boxes for a split second. He knew nothing of these codes, but that didn't mean much. Emilio was more involved in the running of the rum business than he was.

  Why, then, did he have the feeling that his brother had just lied?

  "Oh," the model said, twirling a lock of her long dark hair around the index finger of her left hand. She seemed satisfied with Emilio's answer, but then her smooth forehead creased with the tiniest of lines. "I'm not certain I understand," she said in a breathy voice. "What does OX mean?"

  Tomas kept his gaze focused on the assassin, only half-listening to his brother's response as he tried to figure out what to do next.

  "I'm not certain. I must admit that I spend more time focused on the company's financial state than in memorizing our shipping codes," Emilio said with a forced laugh.

  The model looked as though she might ask another question, but Emilio cut her off. "My brother and I must be going now. We hope you enjoy the rest of the tour. We're looking forward to seeing the final photos from your shoot."

  With that, Emilio took a step backward. Tomas, however, was not about to turn his back on an assassin. Instead, he walked forward until he and the CIA agent were separated by only a few feet. If the man wanted to make an attempt on Tomas's life, he could give it his best shot.

  Up close, Tomas noticed that the agent was more muscular than he appeared from a distance. If he was surprised that Tomas had approached him, he hid it well. There was nothing but mild interest in the man's dark green eyes.

  "I believe we have an appointment at one o'clock," Tomas said. "If you're available now, I think we should take care of whatever it is you came to Isla Suspiro to do."

  The agent nodded and stepped away from the group. The model took a step toward him, but stopped when the man gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Tomas glanced at his brother, hoping he had also seen what had just happened. It would be helpful if Emilio could keep an eye on the woman while Tomas and the American talked.

  Just then, a whistle sounded, indicating that the company would be closing for the day. Emilio waited until the noise stopped and then waved toward the second floor. "Use my office," he said as the workers around them began to file silently out of the plant.

  Tomas nodded. He knew his brother kept a loaded pistol in the top drawer of his desk. With the plant quickly emptying of employees, there would be no witnesses to the CIA agent's death. And if Tomas was not successful in killing the agent before he himself was killed… Well, he suspected his brother would take care of the situation if that were to happen. There was only one way out of the upper offices—the narrow staircase that Emilio had hurried down moments before. Should the American attempt to escape, setting a trap for him would be simple.

  Emilio Santos watched his brother disappear into his office and tried to contain his glee. God had indeed blessed him this day. There was no way he could lose.

  First, he would kill his brother and the American agent. He would set it up to appear that Tomas had killed the CIA man. Then he would move his brother's body to the beach, where he himself would "discover" it early tomorrow morning. He would rally Tomas's army and have them lie in wait for Rafael's troops. Since he knew exactly what Rafael's plans were, slaying his younger brother would be easy.

  In less than twenty-four hours, Emilio would have everything he had ever wanted.

  No one could stop him now.

  Jake winced as he took a seat across from Tomas Santos. Damn, his ribs hurt. The painkillers he'd taken that morning must have worn off. He supposed he could have asked Santos for a couple of aspirin—there had to be some lying around the rum plant since their big promotion was to package hangover relief with their liquor—but he didn't like admitting weakness, especially not to a stranger.

  Only let them see what you want them to see, right, Haven? One side of Jake's mouth drew up in a self-mocking smile. Yeah, maybe he and Lauren weren't so different.

  "The CIA suspects that your brother and his troops are preparing for an attack," Jake announced bluntly, ignoring the persistent stab of pain in his side. "I was sent here to try to discover who might be funding the rebel army so that we might be able to cut off your brother's source of funds and end this conflict without bloodshed. I now believe that we're too late, that a coup attempt is imminent. Are you prepared to fend off such an attack?"

  Across from him, Tomas Santos remained seated behind a large desk, his dark eyes unreadable. When they'd first entered the office, Tomas had surreptitiously opened one of the desk drawers, obviously searching for something that he did not find. Jake assumed he had been looking for a weapon. Since Jake himself was unarmed but for the slender knife hidden in his pocket, he was glad that Santos had not found what he was looking for.

  Jake could understand the man's uneasiness—he hadn't been expecting the CIA to pay him a visit, after all—but Santos had nothing to fear from him. Jake wasn't here to harm the man, only to warn him of his brother's impending attack.

  "You're not here to assassinate me, then?" Santos asked.

  Jake's eyebrows drew together as he frowned. "Of course not. You know you have the United States' full support. Why would you think that my government had sent someone here to kill you?"

  Santos pursed his lips and shook his head for a moment before releasing a relieved breath. "It seems that I owe you an apology. My life in politics has apparently made me paranoid."

  "It's an endeavor that could drive any sane man crazy," Jake said with a short laugh. "I plan to go back to your brother's camp later this afternoon to see if I can discover when and where he plans to launch his attack. Unfortunately, my government can't provide you with any more assistance than that, but hopefully it will be enough for you to squash this rebellion and continue your efforts to stabilize the island's economy."

  Tomas leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands across his lean stomach. In this relaxed pose, he looked ten years younger than he had just minutes before. Jake could only guess how difficult the man's life was, trying to bring this island out of poverty and despair and into prosperity and hope. Over the years, Jake had run into his share of despots and dictators, and he was impressed with Santos's seeming regard for the welfare of his people. Yes, he lived much better than the average inhabitant of the island in his walled estate surrounded by armed guards. Still, he truly seemed committed to improving the lot of the people here—something that could not be said of many of the world's leaders.

  "I don't understand my brother," Tomas admitted. "He could have had a powerful position in my government, but instead he chooses to raise an army against me. We used to share the same dream for our country. I don't know when that changed. Or why."

  "Some people believe that their way is the only way," Jake said. "Perhaps your brother couldn't accept that anyone but him could rule the island correctly." Either that or he wanted everything for himself, Jake thought, but didn't voice his opinion. Some men hated sharing wealth or power with anyone else. Frequently, it was this, rather than any lofty idealism, that caused men like Rafael Santos to rise up against their governments.

  But since the enemy in this case was Santos's own brother, Jake kept his mouth shut. Some people were so loyal to their families that even when presented with hard evidence of their treachery, they refused to see it. Which, he supposed seconds later, was why it had been so easy for Emilio Santos to have plotted against his older brother without any
one suspecting that he was a traitor. It was only when Emilio flung open the door to his office, pointed a 9-mm at Tomas's head, and fired his first shot that Jake realized his error.

  He should have focused his attention not on the obvious threat of Rafael Santos, but on the snake right here in Tomas's own garden.

  As Tomas fell and Emilio swung around for his second shot, Jake dove for the floor, mentally cursing himself. He should have gone over a backup plan with Lauren this morning. She wouldn't know what to do if he disappeared. Most likely, she would come looking for him, and Emilio would kill her, too.

  He was so stupid not to have planned for the possibility of his own death. And now Lauren's blood would be on his hands. She didn't have the training for this type of situation. God damn her handler for lying to her about that fucking handbook. As if some book could cover all the eventualities an agent in the field might face. For that, she'd need intelligence, a quick wit, and a hell of a lot of courage.

  Too bad he wouldn't live long enough to tell Lauren he believed she already possessed all three.

  * * *

  CH@%!*R 10

  Where the hell was he?

  Emilio Santos wiped the sweat off his upper lip with the back of one hand as he scanned the darkened production floor below. He'd personally escorted the tour group out of the plant and checked the entire facility to ensure that he was alone with his brother and the spy before turning off all the lights except those to the second-floor offices and then entering the security code to lock down the building. Once the plant was secure and there was no way for either Tomas or the agent to escape, Emilio had made his move.

  He'd removed his gun from his desk earlier, when he'd first seen Tomas come to greet the model and her crew. He had no idea what had possessed his brother to come to the plant this afternoon, but he was glad now that he had. It had made Tomas surprisingly easy to kill.