by Julie Leto
Marisela shifted forward. She’d never trusted the woman, and here was her chance to find out the scoop from someone who really knew Elise, even briefly—even if he had a clear bias against her.
“Maybe she really wanted the baby, but was too proud to let you know.”
Javier spit on the floor, then made a gesture Marisela didn’t recognize, but could easily interpret nonetheless.
“Or maybe not,” she mumbled.
“Believe me, señora, there is not a maternal bone in that woman’s body. I went to Boston when Jessica was born. I only had to watch Elise for a few days after she returned home from the hospital to know my daughter would not receive the care and supervision she deserved. Nannies and servants! That is not how you raise a child!”
Marisela and Frankie exchanged a look, but said nothing more. They knew the rest of the story. Javier took the child and so far as Marisela could see, had done a damned good job of raising her. He’d clearly had help, but Marisela had seen Jessica and Javier together. There was no stiff distance dividing them, just the to-be-expected high emotions of a teenaged daughter on the verge of womanhood and a father who wanted to keep her safe.
“Has this woman tried to take her before?” Frankie asked.
Javier shook his head, his nostrils flaring as he paced from the doorway.
“She never lifted a finger to get Jessica back, nor did she ever contact me, ask me for a visit. She wrote to Jessica once, asking her never to contact her, but I intercepted the letter. She didn’t care about her child. She never cared.”
“Then why would she care now?”
Marisela watched Javier stalk around the room like a caged animal. The veins in his neck and temples engorged as his muscles tightened. And yet, his voice was an even whisper when he finally spoke again. “Trust me, she has her reasons.”
He knew something—something he wasn’t willing to share.
“Then take care of her,” Frankie suggested, crossing one leg casually on the other. A subtle change in his attitude drew Marisela’s attention to his body language, to the lean cut of his slacks and the sharp polish and tapered heel on his ankle boots. From the grim line on his mouth to the square set of his shoulders, Frankie oozed cold intentions.
They were, after all, killers.
“You would do this?” Javier asked.
Marisela adopted Frankie’s icy mien. Dolores and Rogelio wouldn’t hesitate to offer this solution. The fact that Javier Perez didn’t smile conspiratorially or jump on the opportunity cut like a hot knife through Marisela’s heart. He was not the man she expected him to be when she’d signed on to the mission. Then again, how good or bad he was as a man or as a father shouldn’t matter. She had a job to do. She had to keep her eyes on the prize.
Marisela slid a glance at Frankie, her tiny frown purposeful.
“The girl doesn’t know her mother, ¿sí?” Javier mused. “She cannot miss a woman she’s never known….”
Javier’s rationalization ended, stopped by his daughter’s gasp. Behind him, Jessica stood, wide-eyed, her mouth frozen in a little O of shock.
“Mija, por favor,” Javier pleaded, crossing the room quickly to his daughter.
“No! You’re talking about murdering my mother.”
Marisela stood. “You misunderstood, Jessica.”
“No! Inma told me. You’re assassins. Both of you. Oh, my God! You’d kill my mother if he asked you to, wouldn’t you? If he paid you. Wouldn’t you?”
Her eyes glazed, thick with tears aimed directly at Marisela—at Dolores. At the woman she’d considered a friend.
Marisela’s mouth dried and swelled, as if stuffed with cotton doused in a bitter swill. Instinct caused her to reach out to Jessica at precisely the same moment the girl’s overwrought emotions sent her running from the room.
Javier caught Jessica’s arm as she jostled past.
“Let go of me! You want them to kill my mother!”
“She’s already dead to you, mija.”
“No! She’s dead to you! To you, she’s never been alive. But she’s my mother! If you hire assassins to kill her, I swear, when I turn eighteen, I’ll leave and I’ll never come back.” She panted and struggled, but once certain her father would not release her, she visibly drew her anger inward. She stood as tall as her petite frame would allow and Marisela watched as the girl’s limbs froze and her eyes turned to clear blue ice. “I swear to God, Papa. If I have to move to the other side of the world, you’ll never see me again.”
With a sharp, deliberate tug, she shook her arm free and walked purposefully to the archway, as much a determined woman as the mother she’d never met, the mother she clearly didn’t remember, but cared about nonetheless. The minute she was out of their sight, her footfalls pounded against the tiles in a frantic run. She finished her escape with a gut-wrenching sob and a slammed door.
Frankie shoved his hands in his pockets. Marisela would get no help from him. She had to undo the damage before Perez sent them packing simply to placate the daughter he loved so intensely.
“Señor Perez, I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head, but didn’t reply. She had to think quickly.
“I’ll speak with her,” she offered.
He held up his hand. “No! I should never…” His voice trailed off as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, as if looking to heaven for guidance. “You saved her life today. I will not forget.”
“And less than an hour ago, your daughter looked to me with respect. Por favor, allow me a chance to regain her trust.”
Perez stared at her, weighing his options with every wordless moment. He no longer looked like the man she’d met on the terrace of that slick Miami hotel. She saw none of the infinite confidence, none of the limitless power.
With his daughter, he was just a man who didn’t know what the hell to do.
Finally, he released his arms and crossed the room. “Are you a good liar? You’ll have to be to placate my daughter.”
Marisela fought the emotions churning inside her. Dolores would have undoubtedly grinned at such a question. Could she be so cocky when she wasn’t sure that her efforts would placate a daughter who didn’t know the full truth about either of her parents?
Marisela smiled and patted the man on the arm.
“Don’t you worry, Señor Perez. When it comes to liars, I’m one of the best.”
Eighteen
“MI CORAZÓN, IT’S late. You should wait until morning.”
Frankie crossed the room and touched Marisela lightly on the arm. What he really wanted to do was shake some sense into her. Marisela was taking this role too far. Her emotions for the young girl were clouding her judgment. The real Dolores Tosca wouldn’t give two shits if some hormone-crazed teen thought she was Jack the Ripper. In fact, the coldhearted bitch Marisela was pretending to be would probably relish destroying some girl’s romantic fantasy about the world and the cruel people in it.
Of course, he doubted Javier Perez knew that much about the Toscas to see Marisela’s concern as out of character. Their professional résumé didn’t include much about their private lives and in Frankie’s experience, most assassins weren’t so different from the neighbor next door. They blended seamlessly into regular society when they needed to, not unlike most of the sociopaths he’d met in prison. And despite his misgivings, Perez seemed to be buying Marisela’s concern hook, line, and sinker.
The man looked downright torn. When not surrounded by his butler and bodyguards, even Frankie could see the man’s vulnerability where his daughter was concerned. Obviously, one of Perez’s enemies had sensed the same weakness. Or perhaps, a traitor from within? Frankie should have seen this possibility from the beginning—when his daughter was in the mix, Perez didn’t act predictably. The entrepreneur who ran a billion-dollar arms ring and the father who cared about the daughter he’d stolen from her crib were different sides of the same man. Chances were, Marisela had recognized that contradiction a long time a
go—and she was using that knowledge right now.
Still, they had only so much time left tonight or they’d miss their scheduled communication with Titan—one Frankie was fairly sure they shouldn’t miss. Not after what had gone down in San Juan.
Marisela patted Frankie’s hand, but kept her eyes focused on Perez. “I know it’s late…but I can’t let her stay all night thinking such horrible thoughts about her father. Por favor, Rogelio, I need to speak to her tonight.”
She turned. Her stare captured his and in the dark depths, he realized, she knew exactly what she was doing. They had less than ten minutes until the scheduled communication with Titan. In eight minutes, the surveillance equipment on Isla de Piratas would begin experiencing quick, unexplained outages for no more than a few seconds at a time. Then, two minutes later, the equipment would go dead for precisely two minutes and four seconds. In that short time, he and Marisela would speak to their bosses about the current situation. And since only Marisela had been on scene during the kidnapping attempt and might have crucial information about whoever tried to beat them to the punch by taking Jessica, she needed to be on the satellite phone, not trapped in Jessica’s room trying to smooth over a situation Frankie considered a lost cause.
“You need time to think, to figure out what you’re going to say, ¿sí? And the child, she is too emotional now to listen,” Frankie reasoned.
She played her confusion like a pro, blinking as she listened, then slowly nodding in agreement. “Verdad. Señor, “she said, addressing Perez, “my husband is right. But I swear to you, I’ll reach her.”
“It is not your responsibility, señora. She’s my daughter. I’ve raised her from a baby. I should never have made such a suggestion with even the slightest chance that she would overhear.”
“Your anger is justified,” Marisela insisted, glancing over at Frankie with panic in her eyes. “A mistake was made. I can repair this rift for you, and then we can continue our business as planned.”
Javier cursed in Spanish, not at Marisela, but at the ceiling so that his words echoed around the room. “This has nothing to do with business, except that I shouldn’t have exposed my daughter to the cruel realities of how men like me operate.”
Finally, Frankie understood. If Marisela didn’t help Perez with Jessica, he would send them away. As assassins, they represented the dark underbelly of Perez’s empire. And with the increased security Perez had ordered, the chances of them completing the mission were zero if they didn’t have inside access.
“Señor,” he said, stepping between Marisela and Perez, “my wife is not without a heart. To imply such…”
Perez’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “I have made no implication.”
“You deny her the chance to right a wrong she blames herself for,” Frankie continued.
Perez turned to Marisela. “You have no reason to blame yourself, I…”
Marisela waved her hand in the air as if to dismiss his concern. She even let her eyes gloss over, as if tears were just a moment away. Frankie couldn’t help but hold his breath, wondering if she’d taken the act too far.
“You are a man who cares about his daughter more than any father I’ve ever met. I agree that allowing Rogelio and me to come here might have been a mistake, but that damage is done. If I am ever to feel worthy of your trust, I must reach out to your daughter.”
Frankie glanced at his watch. They had six minutes. The next window wouldn’t come until just before dawn. By then, Perez could have them on his helicopter, heading for the main island.
After a long silence, Perez nodded. “I will allow you to speak to her, señora. But give Jessica time to calm down. If there is one thing I’ve learned after all these years is that she needs time before she can listen—especially when what you will say is not what she wants to hear.”
Marisela grabbed Frankie’s hand. “I promise you, señor, when I’m done, she’ll want to have heard what I tell her.”
They exited the room with quiet deference. The minute they hit the hallway toward their room, their pace increased but they didn’t speak until they exited the house into the courtyard.
“Where’s the phone?” she asked, her lips pressed close to his neck.
“I have it,” he whispered back. A little louder he said, “Let’s walk the beach, mi amor. The breeze will clear your head.”
They exited the courtyard arm in arm, their pace hampered by the guards patrolling the inner sanctum. As they walked through the iron gate, Frankie wondered about the activity inside the outer building. Right about now, they were likely scrambling to figure out what interference was blocking their equipment, jamming their ability to listen in on conversations all over the island. He had no idea how Titan managed the technical sleight of hand and he didn’t care. Before this case slid completely out of control, they needed to contact Titan—and hope like hell that Blake had a contingency plan to get them out alive.
“I want to talk to him now, Max,” Marisela said, grabbing the phone from Frankie once the connection was established. They sat side by side on the sand, their backs to the hacienda, looking to anyone who watched like lovers sharing a private conversation.
“He’s back in Florida. Pan took a turn for the worse.”
Marisela pressed her eyes closed tightly and fought the wave of nausea that swam through her stomach. God, she’d forgotten all about Pan and his injuries—injuries her incompetence had caused.
“Is he dead?” she asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
“No, but it’s touch and go. I’ll relay any messages to Mr. Blake. I anticipate I’ll have contact with him by morning.”
Marisela bit her bottom lip, willing herself to gain control. Pan’s injury was a regret she’d have to save for later. Right now, she had to figure out how to spirit Jessica off this now entirely fortified island without getting her and Frankie killed.
The events in the dress shop had been no random attack. She had suspicions, borne of the information about Elise provided by Javier, but would Max shoot her hunches down? Isolated on this island, she could never find out the information she needed on her own. With a deep breath, she decided to trust the organization she’d joined—or at least, the man who’d trained her for this mission. “Max, how well did Blake check out Elise Barton-Ryce before he took her case?”
“Extensively.”
“Into her finances?”
“In an operation this expensive, we have to make sure the client has the ability to pay. Why?”
Marisela glanced up at Frankie, his head cocked as he listened to her side of the conversation. “Perez said something tonight—something about Elise not having all the money people thought she did.”
“I can’t see how that’s possible,” Max answered and she could hear the blatant insult in his voice. He’d likely investigated the client himself and now here she was, some rookie operative, questioning his thoroughness on a gut feeling that was based on the word of a man who was a known criminal.
And yet…
“Can you check again?”
Ever the professional, the affront in Max’s voice disappeared. “What am I looking for?”
She sighed with relief “When we met with her on the Oceanus, Elise said that she wanted to get Jessica back before her eighteenth birthday because after that, she’d have no legal hold on the girl. That sounded so weird. Seems to me she’d wait until after her daughter turned eighteen to contact her because then, Jessica would be a legal adult. She could see whomever she wished, whenever she wished. For the record, Jessica believes that her mother gave her to her father. She’d testify to that in court, which would muddy any prosecution waters if Elise means to go after Javier for kidnapping. I can’t help wondering then what the time constraint is. What if some other event is tied to Jessica’s eighteenth birthday? Something financial.”
She glanced at Frankie, who was staring at her as if she’d sprouted a new head. Well, too bad. From the start, she’d doubted Elise’s moti
ves for wanting to find her daughter. They had nothing to lose by digging a little deeper into the woman’s situation, not after what they’d just learned from Perez.
“Like an inheritance?”
Marisela shook her head. “I have no idea, Max. The only thing I know about inheritances is what I see on the novelas.”
Max chuckled. “I’ll trust your gut on this, Marisela. I’ll check a little deeper. What’s happening on the island?”
Frankie pressed the light on his watch. “Forty-five seconds.”
“Jessica is distraught,” Marisela explained quickly. “Perez will likely kick us off the island by morning if I can’t talk her down.”
“Any chance of an extraction before then?”
“Negative. He’s brought a second wave of guards onto the grounds and Jessica won’t be leaving anytime soon, not even for school. Any word on the guys who tried to grab her?”
“They were from Miami. Local thugs.”
“When did they arrive in Puerto Rico?”
“Two days before we did. They’d been camped out at the pier, reportedly watching Perez’s movements.”
And Jessica’s.”
“Apparently.”
“Any closer to finding out who paid them?”
“There’s no paper trail,” Max admitted. “They paid cash for everything they bought while they were here and nobody’s talking in Miami. It’s a dead end.”
“What are our orders?” Marisela asked.
Max didn’t reply immediately and Marisela could hear his fingers flying over a keyboard on the other end of the phone. She hoped he was already looking into her request for more information about Elise’s finances.
“Try not to get kicked off the island,” he responded finally.
She grinned. “We’re working on it.”
“We’ll talk again.”
Max disconnected the call and Marisela handed the phone to Frankie, who pocketed the device.
