“What do you want?” Pablo demanded over the sounds of the kitchen when he saw Mark.
Laura looked up, her gaze instantly meeting Mark’s.
“I want to talk to my wife, Laura.”
Pablo looked him up and down. To Laura he said, “Your reward for showing that stupid girl how to do what she should have known. Go, but return quickly.”
She hurried around the counter to the sink, rinsed her hands, and dried them on the white half-apron that held the ridiculously huge uniform on her. Mark backed into the dining room and she followed. The door swung shut.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in a whisper.
“You can’t go into the compound.” He took her hand, pulled her closer, and looked toward the patio where Ruiz, his wife and Gonzalez stood talking. “Ruiz has a surveillance system outside. The monitor is in the office where Gonzalez will be all evening.”
“He’s busy on the patio. I can go right now. No one will know.” She stepped around him.
A rush of dread made him grab her arm and pull her back. “He’ll see you.”
“He’s busy with Ruiz and his wife.”
He glanced outside again. The three were still talking.
“This may be the only chance I get,” she said.
He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. I know how the cameras move. I’ll do it later.”
She shook her head. “Now is best. Keep him inside and away from the office.” She tried to move again, but he held on.
“No. There will be a better time. I have to go with—” With Gonzalez, who wouldn’t be watching the monitors.
He’d completely lost his focus. It was the perfect time for her to look. He’d be able to distract the man if he saw Laura outside. Ruiz and his wife would be upstairs because they were going to dress for the evening. His fear for Laura had driven rational thought from his mind.
“With who?” she asked, looking up at him.
He had to let her do what had to be done. “Gonzalez is going to show me the front entrance gate, then the garage, so he’ll be busy. Watch the cameras.” He explained the position and sweeps of the ones that could catch her. “Search only the cottage closest to the house. There will be time for the other buildings. I’ll search them later.”
She tried to move away again, but he didn’t release her arm, couldn’t let go of the sudden fear of what might happen to her.
“If you see Tony, come back for me,” he said. “We’ll figure out how to get him out of there. Don’t go in by yourself.”
The swinging door to the kitchen opened and the chef stuck his head out. “Laura, I cannot make these fools do as they should. I need you in here.”
“Un momento, Pablo. I—”
“Your job is in here,” Pablo snapped. “With me. Nothing else matters.”
“Just one moment, please, Pablo,” she said softly, an imploring look on her face.
The chef’s brows drew together and his face reddened. Mark expected an explosion.
“One moment only.” The chef let the door swing closed.
She’d handled the temperamental chef. But the man was too observant. No way could she get away without being missed. She’d be safe for a while longer.
“It’s okay,” he said softly to her. “Go back to the kitchen. I’ll search.”
“But—”
He pulled her into his arms, bending close. “If you don’t do as that jackass says, he’ll draw attention to you. We can’t afford that. We can’t afford for you to appear to be anything but a servant. And watch out. I don’t like this Pablo. You may think you have him figured out, that you can handle him, but he’s not as predictable as Ruiz.”
He felt her stiffen slightly.
“Sí, amor,” she said, pressing her fingers to his lips.
She stood so close he could see his reflection in her eyes. The fullness of her lips. Without any thought beyond the need to taste her, he pulled back marginally and focused on her mouth. She moved her hand to his jaw, but didn’t flinch, didn’t back away. Her gaze drifted down from his eyes to his lips, as if inviting him to fit his mouth to hers.
And he did. Her lips parted. Soft, warm. Responsive. He deepened the kiss, tasting, wanting more of her, more—just more.
Then he heard footfalls from behind. He pulled away and looked over his shoulder. Rosa, Margarita Ruiz’s assistant, was placing a vase of flowers on the dining room table. She met his gaze for a single moment, then ducked her head and walked toward the stairs. She represented no danger, but his actions did. The kiss did.
Maybe yesterday he’d been able to explain away his physical reaction to Laura as a one-off. Today he couldn’t. She’d done nothing more than touch his mouth in warning that Rosa would hear what they were saying, and he’d let himself forget who she was, where they were. That couldn’t happen, not again. He indulged in an instant’s glance at her upturned face, her lips parted from their kiss, and turned toward the sound of the French doors opening. Ruiz, his wife and Gonzales walked in.
They could have walked in at any moment, heard everything he’d said. Hell, a battalion of soldiers could have marched into the dining room and he wouldn’t have noticed. And that was the problem.
All he’d known, all he’d been aware of, was Laura.
If he didn’t get his head screwed on right, not only was he going to blow his cover, his actions could get Laura and her boy killed.
***
Laura turned to escape into the kitchen when Gonzalez signaled Mark to follow him and Ruiz to the foyer. She should never have touched Mark, never given in to a simple move that scorched her. Rosa had seen that kiss. Why hadn’t the woman chastised them? Instead, she’d simply walked away.
“Un momento,” the command stopped her from pushing the kitchen door open.
Laura spun around, hand over her pounding heart.
“Your husband,” Margarita Ruiz said, “must not give Gonzalez any more reason to be critical.”
“Sí, Doña Margarita,” Laura muttered.
Margarita looked toward the front door where Gonzalez and Ruiz were speaking with Mark. The white of his shirt accented his tan and the golden brown of his eyes, while the gun holstered beneath his left arm, which Laura hadn’t noticed even while she’d kissed him, reminded her of why Ruiz had hired him. Why her father had.
“He must please both Gonzalez and my husband. Do not distract him. You, muchacha,” Margarita said, “are here to help in the kitchen.”
“Sí, Doña Margarita,” Laura repeated.
An older man dressed in a gray sweater, a tailor judging from the yellow tape measure dangling over one shoulder, came down the hall and held a tux jacket out for Mark. He slipped it on and the tailor adjusted the cloth across his shoulders.
Then Mark turned. The black of the tux contrasted sharply with the crisp white of his collar. The holstered handgun was now covered. But the clothing and the gun fit. He wore both comfortably, as if long accustomed to them, as if the loosened tie were the latest look. He looked good in anything, including formal wear. For all the toughness she’d seen in him since they’d been together, he had the polish of a man used to another life, one where tuxedoes were commonplace.
“Go now. Let your husband do his work,” she ordered. She glanced at the men, then added, “It is his chance, and yours, to do well for your family.”
Laura nodded, surprised at the woman’s words. What difference would it make to Margarita Ruiz if a couple working for her did well or not? In the foyer, Ruiz said something to Gonzalez, who immediately walked past her and Margarita and entered the kitchen. Before the door swung shut, Laura caught it and followed. Gonzalez hurried past the staff and headed outside to the compound.
If she’d gone on, if the kiss hadn’t happened, she would be where Ruiz’s man could have found her.
Pablo barked at her to get back to work. She did, but as she continued chopping fruit, she couldn’t quit thinking about what had happened. The kiss. The charged kiss.
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She should have moved away, turned her head, done something else. Anything other than return the pressure of Mark’s lips. But she had, and more. She’d opened her mouth to his, felt the brush of his tongue. There was no way to take it back, no way to hide from her attraction.
She’d worked very hard over the past four years to make her life as normal as possible for Tony. She hadn’t wanted any relationship to become serious because she didn’t have time for dating and work and the demands of a six-year-old.
Por Dios. This wasn’t about dating.
Ernesto Ruiz had seen Mark’s strength. Laura had seen the man who’d helped her and said he’d help her save Tony. A man who sparked needs she’d ignored for too long. She couldn’t push aside the press of Mark’s body on hers. The kiss had been acted out for the benefit of those watching. Just as the incident in her room.
She tried to tell herself that her response didn’t matter, that what she’d experienced was simply a reaction to an attractive man. But it did matter because, despite his secrets, she was starting to trust him.
When she didn’t even know his last name.
***
“Follow Gonzalez outside,” Ruiz ordered Mark. “He will show you what else must be done.”
Mark walked through the bustling kitchen, purposefully ignoring Laura, to the servant’s patio. Gonzalez waited beyond it, in the clearing of the compound. If Laura had gone out searching, he would have caught her.
She was safe for now. That was all that mattered.
Gonzalez led the way to the two-story garage. The ground floor held an SUV, a pickup and a Mercedes sedan. Stairs led to the second floor.
“You will bring troublesome guests here.” Gonzalez walked between the SUV and the pickup toward a door on the first floor. “This,” he said opening the door to a small storage room, “is where our uninvited guests will stay until the party is over.”
“Then what?” Mark asked.
“Then there will be other arrangements. Don Ernesto has a special assignment for you.”
The old familiar sense of foreboding crept up Mark’s back.
“Vamos,” Gonzalez said, heading for the stairs.
With the holstered Smith & Wesson M&P 9 he’d been given beneath his left arm, Mark’s thoughts raced through possibilities. He could easily take the officious Gonzalez who posed no physical threat, but any of Ruiz’s men could come to the man’s aid. And if he had to go that route, getting Laura out of the house would be a problem.
Gonzalez’s footsteps thudded as he climbed the wooden steps. He rapped on a door at the top of the stairs. The door opened and Oscar, one of the guards who’d escorted Mark to Laura’s the night before, stuck his head out.
“Gonzalez,” he said by way of greeting.
“Let us in.”
“Sí, señor,” Oscar said, opening the door wide.
Dim and stuffy, the large storage room smelled rank, of sweat. And something worse, something ugly that triggered a tightness in the pit of Mark’s stomach. A bold ray of sunlight broke through a crack in the dark curtains that covered a single window. Dust particles swirled. From deep in one corner, he heard a moan. Deep, faint, but a moan just the same.
The two men walked toward the darkened corner. Mark followed.
“¿Qué tal, Sandoval?” Gonzalez said in a friendly voice. “I am surprised you are still alive.”
Mark made out the shape of a man on a cot. Gonzalez shone the flashlight from his cell phone onto the cot.
Victor Fuentes, the San Matean agent undercover as Victor Sandoval, was alive.
“He can talk if I give him water,” Oscar said.
“He doesn’t say what we need to hear,” Gonzalez replied. “But give him water now. I want him alert so he understands what will happen tonight.” Gonzalez flipped on the overhead light.
Fuentes lay in a broken heap on a thin mattress, his face bruised and battered. A bloodied and ripped shirt revealed what had to be a broken collarbone. And his right leg… Christ. Bone protruded from the man’s bloodied lower leg. Broken or shot, made no difference. Unconsciousness had to be a blessed relief from the pain.
He had to get him out of here. Somehow. No way could he let anyone die like this.
“Give him the water,” Gonzalez ordered.
Oscar hesitated, his face tinged green, then tipped the cup toward Fuentes’s cracked lips. The water dribbled out.
“Wake him up,” Gonzalez ordered. “Shake him.”
The guard looked at Gonzalez. “But his collar bone, his leg, they are broken.”
“Let the pain wake him,” Gonzalez replied.
But Oscar just stood there, looking down at the broken man. If he’d done this to Fuentes, he was now reluctant to inflict more pain.
“¡Carajo! I did not come here to watch him sleep. Do not make me do it,” Gonzalez ordered.
Oscar grabbed Fuentes’s shoulder on the same side as the broken collar bone, and shook him.
Fuentes moaned, a deep wounded sound. He opened his eyes, squinting against the light.
“Sandoval, or whatever your name is.” Gonzalez stepped back until the San Matean agent had a clear field to see Mark. “Meet your executioner.”
Chapter Six
Mark stood at the back of Ruiz’s house and looked across the peaceful sun-speckled compound toward the second story of the garage for what seemed like the millionth time. Fuentes, in agony, lay in that miserable dark room awaiting his fate, while he stood here helpless.
Was the man resigned to his fate? Was he conscious enough to understand what Gonzalez said? Did he, like Laura’s husband, know there was no hope for him?
It wasn’t too late. Not this time. He would save Fuentes somehow. Save his family from the agony of losing him the way the families of three men who died in the Primero de Mayo compound had. There was still a chance.
Except that he needed more than a chance. He needed a damn miracle.
***
In the kitchen, Laura finished making sure there were enough coffee cups and saucers for after dinner.
“Laura!” Pablo’s harsh command bounced off the walls bringing a halt to the bustle as everyone turned toward the chef. He stood in the doorway to the patio where the tables had been set. “One of these stupid girls has made a mistake with the glasses.”
Laura had placed the wine and water glasses on the right, not the left as Pablo seemed to believe was correct. This was the same thing that happened earlier in the week and was the reason Carolina had hired her for this job. If Pablo would just stay in the kitchen, everything would be okay.
Already on edge because there had been no chance to slip away to search the compound, Laura wanted to snap at the man, but she couldn’t afford to antagonize him.
“The fish for the ceviche is ready for you.” She hoped distracting Pablo with the fish prep would get the chef to forget the table settings.
“Carolina pays you to take care of the tables,” he said. “Go move the glasses.”
Laura sighed and walked out to the patio. The sun hung low on the horizon over the Pacific, the sky still blue. They’d placed the tables around the pool and flower beds. Torches would be lit when the sun set. Once things settled down, she would have the opportunity to search for Tony.
A quick look at the place settings told her all was in order, until she caught a missing napkin, while the one beside it had two. She moved one over.
“What are you doing? I told you to move the glasses!” Pablo shouted from the kitchen door.
The chef rushed toward the table, grabbed a glass and slammed it down on the left. Miraculously, it didn’t break.
“Pablo, por favor,” she said, trying to stay calm, remembering Mark’s warning not to do anything to draw attention to herself. “They belong on the right—”
“You know nothing,” the chef bellowed. “Move the glasses!”
She never had a chance to think, much less respond. Pablo grabbed her arm and backhanded her across the cheek.<
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Stunned, Laura staggered back, her hand on her stinging face.
“Get out of here,” he ordered, his face a furious red.
She stared at the livid, out-of-control man for only an instant before stepping forward, her hands clenched. He would not fire her, not over a table setting, not when her son’s life was at stake.
“You do not contradict me,” Pablo shouted with fury. “You never—”
“No,” came a calm female voice. “You never. You are fired. Get out of here.” Margarita Ruiz stood ram-rod straight in the kitchen door, her hands on her hips. Joan of Arc in a designer cocktail dress.
“She is stupid. She does not know—”
“You are the one who is stupid. The glasses are as she says. On the right. You do not, ever, hit anyone in my house. Go.”
“My food—”
“My food,” Margarita corrected. “I paid for it, I paid for it all. Go. I never want to see you again.”
Laura had never seen the chef like this. He kept opening and closing his mouth. Rage seethed from his eyes. Carolina appeased him in order to keep him in her kitchen. Margarita Ruiz had just put him in his place.
“You’ll see,” Pablo managed finally, his words jerky. “They will ruin it all. What could have been wonderful will be mierda.” Shit. He ripped his apron off and threw it in the shrubs at the edge of the patio. “You’ll see.” He stormed into the kitchen. Moments later, the door to the servant’s corridor slammed behind him.
“Did he hurt you badly?” Margarita asked.
Whatever Laura expected from Margarita Ruiz, this wasn’t it. The woman had fired the only decent chef in this part of the country for slapping her, a servant.
“No, I am well, Doña Margarita. I’m sorry—”
“There is no time for sorry,” Margarita replied in a business-like fashion. “My guests are arriving and there is a meal to serve. Is it finished?”
“Sí, Doña Margarita. Only a few more details.”
Whatever it Takes (Shadow Heroes Book 4) Page 7
