by Lora Leigh
She licked her full, wide lips as she flicked a glance around the room, obviously judging the threat. And coming up with death.
"Ian, it is so small a transgression," Eleanor whispered then, her limpid gaze imploring. "It was just a bit of consolation."
"Your sex games or preferences don't concern me, Eleanor," he assured her with an easy smile. It was a smile she didn't seem to find much comfort in. "Your association with Liss and, shall we say, cartel enemies does concern me."
He was watching Eleanor directly, though he caught the flash of fear in Liss's gaze with his peripheral vision. Poor Eleanor, she wasn't the liar she wanted to believe she was. Guilt marked her chocolate-brown gaze as surely as the forceful touch of Liss's lips on her breast had marked the taut mound.
"I do not know."
"Don't lie to me, Eleanor." He reached his hand out to Deke. Four pictures were placed in it, prints taken from the digital camera that had marked Eleanor and Liss's trip to the market the day before.
The two women were photographed speaking with a known Sorrell contact, Ernesto Cruz, then accepting two less than thin plain envelopes. Liss, greedy little bitch, had opened hers and fanned through the bills there.
He tossed the pictures to the bed where the women stared at them in rapt horror.
"I'm going to assume you gave them the only piece of information you could have acquired. The meeting with Radacchio that you believed was taking place late last night?" Liss stared back at him furiously, not bothering to hold her rage in, as Ian continued. "Ernesto's friends didn't find Radacchio at that meeting. They found a small army instead. His friends were returned to Ernesto in pieces this morning." The women paled, terror rounding their eyes even as Ian felt rage scour his soul.
Sorrell had sent the best he could acquire on short notice. Two of Ian's men had died, but Sorrell's men hadn't lived to take another breath.
It didn't matter that they were all criminals of varying degrees, murderers dozens of times over, each and every one of them, all in the name of the mighty coca and the almighty dollar.
"I lost two men last night, Eleanor," he said softly. "Two of my best. I'm not happy over that."
Her lips trembled as she quivered, fear paling her dark face and dampening her eyes.
"Ian, there was supposed to be no one hurt." Her breath hitched with panic. "They promised—"
"Are you a fool, Eleanor?" he snapped. "Look at Liss. Look at her." Eleanor's gaze shot to Liss's defiant face. "She thought Sorrell would triumph. That I'd die in the bloodbath her boss arranged."
"No, Ian," she cried.
He whipped the Glock from the inside of his jacket, the barrel aimed at Liss's head. For a moment, he had the satisfaction of her fear, but just for a moment.
"You won't kill us," she said quietly, confidently. "You do not kill women, do you, Señor Fuentes? You are not El Patrón. Only El Patrón understands this world. You are but a braying little burro—"
A weapon exploded, tearing into her skull, splattering the back of her head onto Eleanor and the wall behind her as she was flung backward.
The weapon had no sooner discharged than Ian was ducking and rolling, coming up, the gun braced in his hand and centered on the chest of the man who stood in the doorway.
Diego Fuentes. Ian's finger clenched, the need to tighten, to fire, nearly overwhelming his control. He could get away with it. He could kill the bastard and swear it was an accident. His superiors wouldn't question it, and he could still go after Sorrell. It would be so easy.
Diego's black eyes met his, knowledge in the curve of his lips as he lowered the gun. His pristine white silk shirt contrasted with his swarthy skin, the stiffly pressed black trousers and obscenely expensive loafers untouched by the blood he had just spilled.
"They are not women, they are traitors. Traitors die," he spat.
"So what does that make me, old man?" Ian suddenly snarled, coming to his feet as fury coursed through him. "I betrayed my country for you. What makes you think I won't betray you as well?"
"Blood is stronger than country," Diego said. "My blood in your veins. My heart pumping inside you, a part of me forever bonded with you because you are my son. Dispose of those whores and wipe them from your mind. No one betrays what is mine, and by all that is holy you are my son."
Eleanor was sobbing now, her body protected by his own as he stood between her and Diego.
"We agreed this operation would be handled my way!" Ian bit out, coldly furious. "You don't kill without my permission."
"As though I would ever receive it," Diego spat back. "You will throw her carcass into the streets and that whore she slept with will take back to her diseased owner my answer to his quest. 'Get fucked, Sorrell.'"
Good God, have mercy. Ian wanted to put his fist in the man's stupid mouth and shut him the hell up. Or a bullet in his black heart and stop this charade for good.
"Get the fuck out of here," he snarled. "Now."
"So you can bargain with her?" Diego sneered. "You bargain with your enemies as though they were business associates whose word you can trust. You are the fool."
"And you're as dead as she is if you don't get the fuck out of here!" Ian's voice lowered dangerously as the need to silence the bastard raged inside him. "I'll deal with you later."
Diego smiled mockingly. "But you will not kill me, and still Liss is dead. My answer to the bastard that would strike my son. Eleanor can give it to him herself." Then he turned and strode from the room.
Ian turned to look at Eleanor. She had stopped sobbing and now stared at Liss's cooling body in horror.
"Ernesto will have me killed," she whispered, pulling her gaze to Ian. "I only helped Liss, as she asked me to do. So we would have the money to leave Aruba and to return home to Colombia. Enough money to help feed our families . . ." Her voice trailed away as she reached out a trembling hand to touch Liss's slack face.
The scent of blood and death filled the room now, wiping away the sweet scent of sex and fear.
"Deke, get her on a plane," Ian told him quietly. "I want her safe." He wiped his hand over his face, suddenly aching as he stared at the mess Diego had made of Liss.
Ian had had no intention of hurting her. Frightening her, yes, convincing her to give him information, definitely. But God help him, he would never have hurt her.
"Should we have her interrogated?" Deke's voice was just as quiet.
"On the plane." Ian nodded. "I want her flying out of here to a safe house within the hour."
The Cessna waited on a private airfield outside Palm Beach, just in case it was needed, the pilot on twenty-four-hour call.
"Come on, Eleanor." Deke wrapped his arms around her and helped her from the bed. "Let's get you dressed. Get you out of here."
She stared at Ian, shell-shocked, desperate. "Don't kill me, Ian, please." Tears fell down her cheeks as her reddened lips trembled. "I am so sorry." She held on to Deke's arms as though terrified Ian would jerk her from the suddenly gentle embrace.
"I'm not going to kill you, Eleanor. Go with Deke. Let him take care of you." Ian's gaze moved back to Liss. "Have Liss buried. Quietly. Get this taken care of." He turned and stared at Liss's blank expression. "Son of a bitch, some days it doesn't pay me to wake up in the morning."
"You'd have to sleep first, boss," Deke murmured as he helped Eleanor dress.
"Shut the fuck up, Deke," Ian snarled.
He left the room, his gun still clasped in his hand, and headed through the villa to the one place where he knew he could find Diego at this time of the day. Nothing turned that bastard off his food. The son of a bitch could murder a woman and sit down to breakfast as though he were royalty five minutes later. And that was exactly where he was. At the breakfast table, a cup of coffee and a plate of fruits and sweets in front of him, his assistant Saul sitting across from him.
Before Ian realized his intentions, his hands were on the older man's silk shirt, clenching the fabric in his hands as he jerked Diego fro
m his chair and threw him against the wall.
Shocked, wide black eyes met Ian's, then narrowed in fury. But no anger Diego could have been feeling could possibly come close to the rage building in Ian's gut now. The remembered sight of Liss, slumped back, her brains splattered on the wall behind her, sickening him.
"Ever. Ever. Fuck me over that way again, and I walk. Do you understand me?" He was in Diego's face, nose to nose, a killing rage pumping through him.
"She betrayed me," Diego snarled.
"You stupid fucking bastard, she had information," Ian rasped, murderous fury burning in his gut. "Information I needed. Do you understand me?" He threw his father away from him, his fists clenching, the need to do something, anything, raging through him. Damn Diego. Liss had been a fucking child. An easy-to-use, impressionable, filled-with-anger young woman who didn't know shit about this world. And Diego had just killed her. Without a second thought. Without questions.
"Fuck it," he muttered. "I'm out of here."
"You would leave Sorrell to destroy us all?" Diego moved to place himself in front of Ian, his expression knowing, cold. "What of all your justice and belief in freedom," he sneered. "I move to defend you and you whine over blood spilled. What will you do when Sorrell achieves his objective to strike at your precious country?"
Ice was forming in Ian's soul now. This man, this fucking monster, was his father. A man who had just killed a fucking nineteen-year-old girl as though she were a diseased animal rather than a beautiful, vibrant young woman.
And he couldn't walk away. No matter how much he wanted to, no matter how badly he wanted away from the blood and death, he couldn't walk away. Not yet.
Ian clenched his teeth. His fingers tightened on the grip of the gun as a grimace contorted his features. "Stay the fuck out of this, Diego. Stay out. Or I walk."
He moved away from Diego, stalking out of the breakfast room.
Deke moved into the foyer, his expression somber as he gave Ian a short nod. Ian breathed in a heavy breath. Eleanor was in safe hands and being escorted to the plane by the same hands that would bury Liss's body. The only other agent Ian had been able to get into the Fuentes home would take care of her.
Stepping into the bright sunlight, Ian drew in a deep, cleansing breath, and swung his gaze to Kira's villa. God, he wished he had stayed in the bed with her. Wished he were wrapped around her lithe, softly scented body, holding her warmth close to him. And it was the worst thing he could wish for. He was the most dangerous thing she could have right now. And she was the one thing he couldn't allow himself.
DIEGO BREATHED A SIGH OF relief as the doors slammed behind Ian, leaving him and Saul alone in the breakfast room, the ramifications of his actions slamming into his brain.
He turned to Saul, his fists clenching, his muscles trembling, from the fear and fury inside his soul.
"A mistake," he whispered. "That was a horrible mistake I made."
"You must think first, Diego." Saul's face was pale as well. "You walk a very fine line with your son. Our rules that we see as so simple are not so simple to him."
Diego wiped his hand over his face and slumped in his chair once more, the food before him suddenly unappetizing.
"He would not have done it," he whispered. "My son, he would not have eliminated that threat."
"And had we heeded his warnings about the servants, then it would not have been necessary," Saul reminded him gently.
"I will make it up to him." He pushed his fingers through his hair, his chest aching, his heart heavy as he remembered the pure, unadulterated hatred that had glowed in his son's eyes. "How can I make this up to him, Saul?"
"Follow his wishes." Saul was shaken as well. "We will do as he says, yes, Diego?"
Diego stared back at him, agonized when a sad smile suddenly shaped his lips.
"Do you know, Diego, who your boy reminds me of?"
He shook his head, uncertain about the flash of affection in Saul's eyes. That old man cared for few people.
"Your father," he said gently. "A young, proud, hot-blooded Aquiles Fuentes. This is who he reminds me of."
Diego blinked at his father's old friend and tilted his head thoughtfully. Yes, he thought, a smile of remembrance creasing his face. Like his father, Aquiles. This was who Ian reminded him of as well. A strong, proud man. A warrior, an innovator. That was his son. Yes, perhaps Saul was right; for now at least, they would follow Ian's directions.
* * *
Ten
SHE NEEDED HIM.
A week later Kira admitted to the real reason why she had followed Ian to Aruba, why she had decided to stick her admittedly curious nose into his business, and it was why she was ignoring his piercing gaze seven days later as she sat in one of the open lounge sections of the Fuentes club, Coronado's.
The club was one of the most popular on the island, filled with tourists and regulars, hard-driving music, and undercurrents of the shadowy world that existed within the center of the popular gathering spot. It was a hotbed of illegal practices and shady deals and Kira was sitting smack in the middle of Sorrell symathizers posing as Fuentes contacts.
Being here had nothing to do with protecting the DHS interests in keeping Diego Fuentes alive and upholding their agreement to allow him to escape capture and prosecution. She was here because of Ian. Because of what he made her feel, made her hunger for.
She flicked a look beneath her lashes in Ian's direction. She could feel his fury even across the distance of the booths separating them.
Of course, the fact that she was sitting with two of his own suppliers couldn't be comfortable for him. Or the fact that for the last few days, several of Sorrell's contacts had made a point to inform her that they knew of her association with the Fuentes cartel heir.
Sorrell knew she was aligned with Ian, and it appeared he believed the McClane heir could become an asset he could use.
"Kira, it was a surprise to see you here after your accident last year." Martin Missern, the beach boy weapons broker, smiled his most charming smile as icy blue eyes flicked over her bare legs revealed by the bronze stretch silk dress she wore. His gaze then lifted to the now barely noticeable scar close to her shoulder which was revealed by the thin strap that held her dress over her breasts. He and his brother had joined her without invitation based on an introduction made more than a year before.
The bullet she had taken in Atlanta last year in her role as the friend of a senator's daughter had nearly taken her life. Thankfully, Ian's and her uncle Jason's quick responses had saved her. A premier plastic surgeon had removed the unsightful scarring later.
"I was rather surprised myself to be moving so freely," Kira admitted with a smile. "But Jason has several business interests here that required my presence. And Daniel looks after me."
Daniel was presently hovering over her like a warning specter from behind her seat. He took his duties as bodyguard very seriously.
"I saw you conversing with Ian Fuentes last week." Martin finally broached the subject Kira had felt coming for the past half hour. "You are good friends, yes?" His smooth French accent did nothing to fool her. Charming he might well be, rather like a cobra, just waiting for the right moment to strike.
"We're acquaintances," she admitted. "We met in Atlanta last year."
"Ah yes, you are dear friends with Senator Stanton's daughter." Martin nodded as though that point of information were important. "He was a SEAL at that time, was he not?"
"I believe he may have been." She arched a brow inquisitively. "Though it appears he isn't one any longer."
A smile shaped the weapons broker's full, sensual lips.
"This is true." He nodded. "He has shaped up his father's cartel excellently in the past months. He's giving many of the other cartels a run for their money, quite literally."
Kira let a sneer shape her lips. "The advantages of knowing how the enemy works, perhaps?" she pointed out, referring to the fact that it was widely known that Ian had worked several miss
ions involving drug and weapons trafficking.
"Ah yes." Martin smiled. "This was an excellent advantage. Would it be safe then to say that you are not friends? Perhaps friendly enemies?"
"Perhaps." The smile that shaped her lips was deliberately mysterious. "Why do you care, Martin? The last I heard your import-export business had nothing to do with the cartels. The Fuentes cartel shouldn't concern you." The Misserns' very legal, very profitable business was no more than a front for their weapons cargos.
"Ah, but the Fuentes cartel affects many of us," Martin's twin, Josef, pointed out from beside his brother. "It is a well-known fact that Ian Fuentes is shifting his home base from Colombia to Aruba, or perhaps even one of the smaller islands. He wishes to avoid the American and Colombian authorities, yes?"
"Well, he is a deserter. And a drug lord," she pointed out. "I would guess he'd have to be rather careful. SEALs tend to get a little irked when one of their own turn dirty."
She was talking the talk, walking the walk, but something inside her felt as though it were splintering. She knew better. Ian was dodging former friends as well as the criminals salivating to see him taken down. He was treading water so deadly, so dangerous, that she wondered how he would escape the consequences. Or even if he could.
He was going it alone, on his own, attempting to identify and eliminate a terrorist that no one had been able to identify in nearly twenty years of investigations and missions to do just that.
But Ian was in a position no one had ever been in. He owned the cartel Sorrell needed to gain access into the United States. The Fuentes operation had, over the years, managed to create a secure underground operation to move its drugs and people through the United States, into Canada and Mexico.
Two generations of master chess players. Diego Fuentes and his father had begun what Ian was now strengthening. Even the drug enforcement agencies were scratching their heads over how he was managing to bypass their security, their snitches, and their determination to catch him.
Martin Missern glanced past her then, his smile turning smug before he moved the hand resting on the back of the leather booth and brushed a long lock of her black hair over her shoulder, once again revealing the cleavage that the deep cut of her dress left bare.
