by Karin Story
She'd called Maris his lover. Lover, love of his life, they were one and the same. Damn it, Mare, what happened to you?
Turning to the señora, he forced a smile on his face. "That's okay. You don't need to close the restaurant. Maybe she just went for a walk. I'll find her."
"Are you sure, Tomás? I will do whatever I can to help you." Her usually cheerful face was lined with worry.
"Yes, I'm sure. She's very good at taking care of herself. Remember what happened here today? She'll be fine. I'll find her."
"Oh, I worry so for the poor chiquita. She is brave, yes. But there is much to fear in this part of town at night. You must find her Tomás."
"I will," Tom assured her, wishing the confidence in his voice translated to his insides.
Where did he even start? She could be anywhere.
He was going out the rear door of the cantina when Señora Martinez huffed and puffed up behind him, her face red with exertion. "Tomás!"
He stopped and turned back, his heart in his throat.
"Tomás! I just now remembered. Those men as they were leaving the restaurante today. One of them said something about an El Tigre. Does it mean anything to you?"
Son of a bitch. His heart froze in his chest. "What did they say exactly. Can you remember?"
She squinted her eyes thoughtfully. "Sí. I think they said Marisa was worthy of El Tigre himself. Does that help?"
"Sí. It helps." He kissed her quickly on the cheek. "Gracias."
She smiled tremulously. "You find her, Tomás. And if you need anything, anything at all, you let me know."
"I will."
Maris had to have heard what the men said. And she, of course, would have followed them. The question was, had she heard anything else?
And where the hell could she be? Was she still following them, or had they caught her?
Fear ripped through him.
Why hadn't he stayed at the cantina with her this afternoon? Why hadn't he been there to protect her? How could he have just gone upstairs, gone to sleep for nearly five hours and not been there for her? He hadn't slept five hours in a row since he'd been in Mexico.
Furious at himself, he kicked the metal Dumpster in the alley. He'd let her down again. And this time, it might cost her life.
He rounded the corner of the building and paused at the street that ran in front of the cantina. Street lights shone down on the pavement, casting a sickly yellow glow on everything it touched. He looked one way, then the other down the street trying to decide where in the hell he should start looking.
A large, dark limousine pulled up in front of him and stopped. Hardly the kind of motor vehicle that traversed the streets in this part of town.
He stared at it hard, suddenly fearing what it held.
The back door opened, and a deep, almost hypnotic voice spoke. "Hello, my friend. It's been a while. I believe you'd like to join me—that is if you'd care to see your lady friend again." A linen clad arm emerged through the open door. Something dangled from the long, elegant fingers.
Tom stepped closer to see what it was.
A throbbing chill spread through his body, nearly dropping him to his knees.
It was Maris's silver charm bracelet. The one he'd never seen her take off.
Chapter 23
* * *
Forcing his legs into motion, he stepped into the back of the dark car and closed the door behind him with a resounding thunk.
The interior of the limo was dark, and the street lights did little to illuminate it through the heavily tinted windows. Because of the darkness, he had only a shadowy view of the man seated next to him.
There was something hauntingly familiar about him. Something…
"You've led me a merry chase, my friend." The man's voice slid through the air with the rich, smooth sound of a trained baritone. "And all for what? Here we are again, you and I. Together as we've always known we would be."
"Where's Maris?"
"She's alive. At the moment."
"Where? I want to see her."
"In time. In time. It's not like you to give up your heart so easily, my boy. They're dangerous you know—affairs of the heart. So easy to let down your defenses, to get wound up in the love and beauty of it all, and next thing you know," he snapped his fingers, "you've been caught like a fly in a trap."
"I'm not here to play games. I'm here for Maris."
"Games?" The man chuckled. "No, no games, my friend. Only back to the original plan. With a few modifications." He leaned forward and pushed a button. The car was instantly illuminated.
Blinking, Tom stared at the man, and at last saw his face.
That face…
He knew that face.
Nausea hit him in a brutal, unforgiving wave. His lungs tightened until no air seemed to pass through them. A wicked, clawed hand sank its talons into his heart and ripped it from his chest.
Christ!
Gasping for air, he tried to rein in the horror of the past that besieged him, but could gain no ground. Memories tore through him. Names, places, events.
But most of all, the soulless face of the creature beside him.
Son of a bitch. He fought to drag in air, to regain control.
He had to master this. Had to pull himself together. Maris's life depended on it.
Cold sweat trickled down his neck and back, his jaw clenched so tight it ached, but bit by bit, he wrestled the physical effects under control. It seemed as if minutes had passed, but it was probably only a few seconds.
At last he was in command, and he forbade himself to let that happen again. There was too much at stake. He couldn't afford such weaknesses.
The man next to him appeared unaware of the tempest that had just raged through the car. He was busy filling a shot glass with pale gold liquor, humming softly under his breath as if he were out for an evening pleasure ride.
A lethal combination of cold terror and hot fury stormed through him at this man's unmitigated impudence and self-confidence.
No. Man was too civil a term. Demon suited him much better. He was trapped in a car with a golden version of Satan himself. And worse yet, Satan had Maris.
"Games hold little interest for me," Satan continued, as if there hadn't been a pause at all. He swallowed the entire glass of liquid. "I find it's much easier to just cut to the chase, so to speak." He pulled a cigarette out of his breast pocket and lit it with the gold lighter Tom had seen so many times before. "Oh, sorry for being rude. Care for one?" he held out the pack.
"You know I don't smoke."
Satan chuckled. "Still clinging to your conservative, uptight moral values, are you? I would think that after everything you've been through, you would have learned to be a bit more flexible."
"Oh, I'm more flexible than you might imagine." Hatred pounded in him, hardening his mind and his resolve. No, there would be no more games. Not this time. "So why don't we just 'cut to the chase,' as you said. What do you want from me in order to free Maris?"
"I believe you already know the answer to that question, my boy. I thought that was quite clear before we last parted ways. I knew you had potential the moment I met you, working for that stuffy corporation in California. You had the spirit of adventure about you, the wanderlust in your eyes."
"No, what I had were your eyes. And your hair and build. That's what you saw in me."
Smiling, Satan stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned comfortably back in the black grain leather seat. "Yes, this is true. But admit it. You were bored. You were tired of bureaucratic paperwork and stuffy meetings. That's why you joined me in the first place."
"I joined the DEA. Not you."
"One and the same, one and the same, as I think you now realize. How do you think I found you and your lady? I have many friends in many places. You can have them, too."
"You know how I feel about that."
"Tsk, tsk. I thought our time together had changed your mind. I thought you were beginning to see the e
rror of your ways and the correctness of mine. Perhaps you're not the man I thought you to be."
"Perhaps not." Tom realized his arms were stiff at his sides and his hands had inadvertently curled into fists. Stay calm. He enjoys playing off emotion. Don't let him see yours. His fingers slowly uncurled.
"Yes, well, that's why I've taken steps to ensure your cooperation. That's why your lovely Maris is now my guest. I do believe she has the power to convince you where I did not."
"I'll do nothing until I see her. Alive and well."
Satan's laugh rippled through the car, sending chills up his spine. "Ah, my boy, I can't see that you're in the position to demand much of anything right now. However, based on our past association, and our soon-to-be future one, I'll grant your wish. You'd like to see your lady love safe and sound. So be it. And when you have, then we'll talk." His laughter continued, creating sparks of electricity in the air. His eyes burned with a fevered glow.
Tom knew that he was well and truly in hell.
And Satan…he had a name. Trent Montgomery. El Tigre.
* * *
Maris slowly came around.
Her head throbbed. God, what had happened? She remembered starting up that fire escape ladder on the building. Maybe she'd fallen and hit her head.
Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she rolled over and stifled a moan. All the years she'd been a climber, she'd never fallen and hurt her head like this. Of course, she'd always worn a helmet when she climbed. That damned ladder had felt secure. Why was she going up the stupid thing anyway?
Oh, right. She was going to see if the men were in an apartment in the building. Just a quick trip up to see if they were there somewhere, then she was going to get Tom.
Tom!
Holy hell!
She jerked upright to a sitting position, but the agony that was her head nearly turned her stomach upside down in response. Oh-so-gently, she rested her forehead on her drawn up knees and took several deep breaths, forcing herself to relax and overcome the roiling in her stomach.
When the throbbing in her head eased into large ripples, and her stomach settled, she was able to think again. Tom. She had to get to him and tell him about the man. The man who'd been waiting for her at the top of the ladder. The man who'd stabbed her full of something that had knocked her out.
The man who looked amazingly like Tom.
Slowly, cautiously, afraid of setting off the pain again, she raised her head and glanced around. She was in a small room, sitting on a cot. A round wooden table with two matching chairs sat in one corner. A built-in bookshelf lined one wall and had several paperback books on it. On the wall near the foot of the bed was the door to a bathroom.
Where was she? And more importantly, where was Tom? Did he even know she was gone yet?
Oh, God. What if they'd found him, too?
A lone sob escaped her chest, but it sent more pulsating pain through her skull, so she choked back any others that might get the idea to follow.
Finally, feeling like she might be able to keep her legs steady under her and keep her head in control if she just held it very still, she rose from the bed.
A clear plastic pitcher sat on the table, a plastic cup next to it. Water. Her dry mouth cried out for relief, but she hesitated. She didn't have any idea where she was, and after her meeting with the evil Tom clone, she didn't trust anything. But, she also couldn't survive without hydration, so pushing down her fear, she poured a small amount into the cup and sipped. It tasted fine, so she finished it off, but refused to take more than the bare minimum.
As she paced the room, looking into every nook and cranny, and trying the heavy, locked wooden door, her mind ran rampant.
Who was the magnetic man who'd drugged her? He was so like Tom, yet so totally different. They were about the same height, had the same hair color. And the eyes…their eyes were similar, but not identical. The evil man's were more of a true golden color. Tom's were golden brown. And without a doubt, Tom's were warmer. Even at the moments when he'd been his hardest and most aloof, she'd never seen his eyes as coldly brittle as the clone's eyes were.
The strange man terrified her. Terrified her with his smile, which looked bright and inviting, but underneath, oozed evil. His lips were thinner than Tom's. And tighter. And there had been no smile and laughter lines around his mouth and eyes as Tom had. No, he wasn't a man given to mirth. He was evil, pure and simple.
Unable to find any way to escape, and feeling heavy and tired, she sank onto the bed and propped her head in her hands. She knew she ought to be livid right now, ought to be fighting and clawing a way out of here, but for some reason all she could think about were golden eyes.
Not the cold, winter sun golden eyes, but the warm, tropical splendor golden eyes. And the tender, inviting smile that always melted her heart.
Deciding that her head must be more hurt than she realized, she lay down and closed her eyes.
She knew she had to find Tom, but first, she had to sleep.
* * *
"You see. Safe and alive, as promised." Montgomery smirked. "What good would she do me if she were dead?"
"You're drugging her," Tom stated, more of an observation than a question. Inside, he was a writhing mass of fury and torment. He watched as Maris sat on the bed and put her head into her hands.
"She's rather spirited, eh? Can't take any chances."
Yeah, she was spirited, and it broke his heart to see her move from the sitting position into a reclining one, cradling her head on her arm. This wasn't his Maris. His Maris would be calculating how to break apart the plastic water pitcher so she could use it to skewer the first person who came in the door. His Maris would be finding the video camera mounted near the ceiling and throwing it on the floor, smashing it to hell.
And this cold bastard next to him was responsible for the change in her.
The twin T's he and Trent Montgomery used to be jokingly called when Tom had first joined the Drug Enforcement Administration. Montgomery had enticed him away from his job in corporate management and into the agency. Then he'd arranged to become his training agent, and eventually, after Tom had been with the DEA for a while, his partner.
They'd partnered for nearly two years before Tom had caught on to Montgomery's game. He'd been playing both sides of the fence, just like the kid in Denver had said. Montgomery went through the motions of upholding the law, but behind the scenes, he was in so deep with the Cardoza cartel, he practically ran things from the drug production end. A nice little setup, until Tom had discovered his secret.
That's when Trent had forcefully taken Tom "under his wing" and into the inner workings of the drug organization. It hadn't taken Tom long to realize that that was exactly what Montgomery had been grooming him for all along. He'd been, quite literally, hand-picked to step into Trent's role. And Trent would assume leadership of the entire organization.
The twin T's they might be in looks. But never, ever in personality.
Trent Montgomery and Tom Eberson would never see eye to eye.
"Now then." Montgomery smiled, his perfect, even teeth giving him the dashing, boy-next-door look that had worked so well for him in his quest for glory. But Tom knew that was merely an attractive wrapping around the snake that was the true essence of him. "You've seen your fair lady. As you can see, she's alive and well, as you wanted her to be. So, my boy, it's time for us to talk."
Tom tore his eyes away from the video monitor permanently. Each time he looked at Maris's sleeping, drugged form, a new spasm of pain and guilt swept through him, which in turn dulled the rest of his senses. And that couldn't happen. He needed all of his senses to deal with this bastard. Feeling a mantle of steel build in his body, he turned to Montgomery.
"The only thing I'll talk about is how quickly you plan to get Maris out of here. She's not part of this, and doesn't belong here."
Montgomery strolled across the room and seated himself on the black leather couch, as if he hadn't a care in the world. He ge
stured to Tom to be seated as well, but was ignored.
"Hmm…well, as I see it, she does have a part in this now. Love is quite an extraordinary power, as you no doubt know, and your feelings for her are unmistakable. So, your lovely Maris is now a very integral part of this. She's your motivation, my boy. I believe you'd do most anything to keep her safe."
"You don't need to keep her here."
"Oh? And why might that be?"
Swallowing his pride and choking back the bile that rose in his throat, he said, "Because if you let her go, I'll do what you want me to do. I'll step into your shoes and become Trent Montgomery so you can take over the cartel."
Montgomery chuckled as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Taking a long drag from it, he nursed the flavor in his mouth for a moment before he slowly blew out the smoke. Squinting slightly through the haze, he studied Tom. "Just that simple, eh? I let her go, and you become a good boy and do what I want?"
"Yes." The smell of Trent's cigarette made him queasy. He hated those damn cigarettes. The smell brought back too many memories…memories that were best left buried deep inside him.
Trent crossed his legs and tapped his lips with a long forefinger, as if in deep thought. It was all a game, though. Tom knew him well. Knew his mannerisms. Knew his games.
The rage inside Tom coursed through his veins in a painful beat. He imagined how it would be to wrap his fingers around the snake's neck and squeeze slowly, watching as the blood slowly ceased to flow to his brain. Watching as his eyes bulged. Watching as his breathing labored and at last grew still. Watching when the evil gleam finally died out forever in those eyes.
Stay calm. Play the game for now.
At last the deep, hypnotic voice slid across the room. "Ah, my boy, I'm sure you mean well. But I think your lady will continue to be my guest for a while."
"Why's that?"
"Because you may think you know me, but I know you equally well. Or have you forgotten that? You're offering yourself up as sacrifice for the beautiful Maris, but inside you're already scheming how to escape. And how to kill me."
