Cherry Adair - T-flac 03 (2 page)

Four weeks with him in the States, and almost a week up here, and she still hadn't found even a hint of her sister.

Ramon Montero terrified her. For that matter, he'd scared her long before Delanie had ever met him.

She'd had a bad, bad feeling about Lauren's infatuation with Montero the first time her sister had called her. The more Lauren had raved about the wealthy Las Vegas casino owner she was dating, the more worried Delanie had become.

Lauren had sloughed off all her questions. And the few times Delanie had managed to pin her down for answers Lauren had laughingly told her Montero was gay. All the millionaire wanted was a pretty girl on his arm for show. In exchange he lavished her beautiful sister with expensive clothes and jewelry. It all sounded sordid and unlikely. Not to mention dangerous.

But Lauren, like their mother, thrived on excitement. They could skydive their way through life with impunity. Delanie was always their safety net.

Scared on behalf of her sister, Delanie had gone on line and researched Ramon Montero. The man was a suspected terrorist. He was a drug dealer. And if he was indeed gay, he covered it well. There was no mention of it in any of the hundreds of newspaper articles about him Delanie had forced herself, with mounting alarm, to read. There were countless mentions, however, of death, destruction, and mayhem that seemed to follow him like a thick black cloud.

The man was scary as hell.

Delanie couldn't figure out for the life of her how the authorities could know so much about Montero and not slap him into a cell for the rest of his unnatural life.

She'd called Lauren and begged her to come home to Sacramento.

Naturally her sister had laughed. Delanie was such a prude. Always had been, always would be. One of these days she should try getting a life, and having some
fun
for a change. Sheesh. What a drag her older sister was, what a stick-in-the-mud!

Then that last frantic call two months ago.

Lauren finally admitting she
might
be in way over her head. Delanie
might
be right about Montero. If big sis could just come and bail her out of this latest screwup, this would be absolutely the last time, she promised, sounding hysterical.

It was a couple of weeks before spring break, money was tight, and besides, Delanie was up for a part in that year's production of
Swan Lake
and didn't want to miss any rehearsals. She'd booked a flight to Las Vegas for ten days later.

Too late.

By the time she'd arrived Lauren had disappeared.

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Guilt-ridden—it was the first time ever that she hadn't rushed to her sister's side—Delanie had applied for a job at Montero's casino that very day.

Getting a job at the Cobra hadn't been easy. She'd had to lie through her teeth about work experience, and make it look convincing. The personnel manager at the hotel/casino wouldn't have hired a kindergarten teacher for any of the jobs Delanie knew she'd need to attract Montero's attention.

Dancer was number one. She had the long legs required to be one of the Cobra's showgirls, and she was a pretty good dancer, not great, but good enough to pull it off if she had to. Luckily she hadn't had to.

There was that clothes thing again. Unlike Lauren, Delanie preferred keeping hers on. She'd been relieved when she'd been offered the job as cocktail waitress in the high-stakes area instead.

It had taken several weeks to bring herself to his attention. Then the last five weeks in Ramon's company. None of which had changed her mind about the suave man who'd so infatuated her sister. The son of a bitch had something to do with Lauren's disappearance, she knew it.

So here she was, in the middle of a jungle, high on a mountaintop, behaving as recklessly as Lauren ever had.

She was already living on her ragged nerves. She didn't need the unexpected and unnecessary ingredient of her one and only ex-lover added to the already toxic soup bubbling around her.

Lord. Fear was exhausting.

From the roof of the hacienda, the tiny eye of the surveillance camera tracked a slow circuit of the patio.

Montero would hear about this meeting; he didn't need to see it, too.

"Don't touch me again," Delanie warned, her gaze steady on his face. "Ramon won't like it. And more to the point,
I
don't like it."

"Is that any way to talk to an old friend?" Kyle asked.

"We were
acquaintances."

"Ships that passed in the night?"

"The
Titanic
and the
Andrea Doria
," Delanie agreed sweetly.

Kyle laughed, his eyes sweeping her body. "Honey, there wasn't an iceberg in sight."

No kidding. They'd gone supernova. Which was beside the point. "How did you know I was here?"

"What makes you think I'm here because of you, jungle girl?"

She wasn't vain, but why else would Kyle Wright be here at precisely the same time she was? "Just because I was naive enough to sleep with you the first time we met doesn't mean I'd be stupid enough to do it again."

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"
Sleep
wasn't the operative word."

"No.
Stupid
was." She pushed a strand of shoulder-length, Nice 'n Easy number 98, Natural Extra Light Blonde, hair behind her ear. "What
are
you doing here, Kyle?"

"Ramon invited me. And I might ask you the same damn question."

Delanie ignored both the question and the sudden spurt of obvious anger in that demand.

The temperature in the shade must be a hundred degrees; Kyle hadn't even broken a sweat. She, on the other hand, perspired from every naked pore.

Never let them see you sweat. "Where is Ramon?"

"Still in San Cristobal, waiting for a few more business associates." For a second his gaze dropped.

"Christ, I can't believe you're parading around outside half-naked like this. That dental floss you're almost wearing would get you arrested even in Palm Beach."

She felt the heat of his stare on her breasts, but raised
yeah-so-what
? eyebrows.

"Those guards are already having a hard time keeping their eyes where they belong. Yeah, honey. You
should
blush. Why don't you cover yourself and put the poor bastards out of their misery?"

It was none of his damn business, but the soldiers were so terrified of Montero they'd never noticed anything lower than her nose. Thank God.

"Don't be a prude. They're here to protect me." She looked at him under her lashes, a small smile barely curving her mouth. Her little students would never recognize their Miss Lanie's feral smile. Delanie knew how it appeared, she'd practiced the vapid-avaricious-dumb-blonde act in the mirror several times a day to remind herself of just why she was here. And just what was at stake if she failed.

"How many notches have you carved on your lipstick case since I last… saw you?"

His not so subtle slur threw her for a moment, but she rallied quickly. "Goodness," she said, wide-eyed.

"I've completely lost count." One notch had been more than enough for this girl. She wasn't stupid, she was acting. And from his reaction doing a fairly good job of it, too.

"I just look for men who'll give me what I want, when I want it." The huskiness in her voice was from strain. Not suppressed tears. She hadn't cried in years and didn't intend to start now. "And Ramon treats me
very
well."

"What the hell do you see in him?" Heat emanated from his body and she could smell the faint, familiar tang of his aftershave and the muskiness of clean sweat as he crowded her from three feet away.

Delanie looked him dead in the eye. Defiantly. "He has something I want."

My sister first.

Revenge as dessert.

The barely polite mask dropped from his face, leaving more than a hint at his awesome fury. "Wealth
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and power."

"Oh, much more than that." She wanted to cheer. Kyle didn't know Montero was gay. She wasn't sure how, but she'd find a way to use that to her advantage.

She touched the quarter-inch-wide herringbone necklace around her throat with her fingertips. She couldn't find the clasp to take it off, and the thing always irritated the hell out of her. It was more uncomfortable outside in the heat.

Green eyes made another leisurely survey of her body. She dropped her hand. It took every ounce of fortitude to stand still for his scrutiny. He reached past her to snag a towel off the inside skeleton of the umbrella, then draped it around her neck, holding the edges between her breasts. His hands felt cool and steady against the hard flutter of her heart.

Delanie resisted the overwhelming urge to beg his help in locating her sister. But for all she knew, he was part of Montero's plan. No. She dared not. Besides, when had she ever asked for, or received, help resolving her family's problems? Never.

She took a step back from temptation. "What's the matter, Doc? Don't trust yourself?" She shrugged and the towel landed at her feet. She bent to stuff a bottle of oil and a paperback romance novel into a black canvas tote and slung the straps over her bare shoulder.

The bag banged against her hip. It was never out of her sight for a second. It contained everything she thought she and Lauren might need when they left.

Delanie slipped on her high-heeled, gold sandals. Eye-level with Kyle's chin, she managed a credible

"hostess" smile. "Let's go inside, cool off in the air-conditioning, and have something cold to drink."

She had to touch him. To show them both that his nearness no longer had any affect on her. She tucked her hand through his arm.

His forearm felt as unyielding as his attitude. The feel of his cool, hard skin, liberally matted with crisp, dark hair, made her suck in a sharp involuntary breath.

Oh damn.

"Jesus," he said under his breath at the same time.

They stared at each other in alarm for a split second before Delanie released his arm, and said quickly,

"Ramon likes guests to dress for dinner. We have a few minutes before I have to change."

"At least you dress for dinner," he muttered as they passed beneath a pergola covered in a thick canopy of lush vines. Magenta flowers spilled in a delicate, sweet-smelling carpet onto the brick patio. Set into the thick adobe walls, French doors led to the living room. A soldier, eyes averted, rushed ahead of her to swing them open.

"I admire your self-control,
amigo
," Kyle said, as the man, eyes locked on his boots, backed away.

Scorching white light changed into the blessed dim coolness of the house. Chill air immediately raised goose bumps on Delanie's skin. "Beer? Soda? Iced coffee?"

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"Coffee's fine."

She removed her sunglasses and shivered as she crossed to an intercom, where she gave orders to an unseen servant. Then she nonchalantly picked up the flimsy beach cover-up she'd left draped across the back of a chair. Drawing it over her head, she remembered belatedly it was about as effective as wearing an ounce of Saran Wrap.

Kyle strolled over to the far wall to inspect a metal sculpture on a marble pedestal. "Fascinating. Who's the artist, do you know?"

He ran his hand down a smooth curve of copper. "Looks remarkably like the Leggett in the Louvre.

What do you think? Is it real, or is it Memorex?"

Delanie stared at his back and shook her head. Here she was, practically naked, pretending she wasn't humiliated and scared out of her wits, and
he
wanted to know her opinion on a chunk of metal that looked like something one of her six-year-old students had done? Men.

He glanced around at the expensive dhurrie rugs covering the glazed terra-cotta tile floor of the vast room. Half a dozen butterscotch-colored leather sofas were arranged between lush plants. The combination drew the rain forest inside. Ceiling fans moved the languid air; an enormous three-tiered fountain in the center of the room splashed water onto lacy ferns and tiny yellow orchids. On the whitewashed walls, in full view of several surveillance cameras, hung part of Montero's extensive, priceless, and no doubt stolen, art collection.

The cameras were everywhere. The only way a thief could get on or off this peak of Izquierdo was by helicopter, parachute, or transporter beam. There wasn't a doubt in Delanie's mind that even the small airfield behind the sprawling hacienda was constantly monitored. Obviously Ramon Montero didn't even trust the friends he invited to his private retreat. But then a guy like Ramon didn't
have
friends. Only acquaintances who hadn't bumped him off yet.

She gave Kyle an assessing glance as she swept her hair out of the neckline of her cover-up. A house servant came in and set a large tray on the elegant rattan sideboard across the room. When the man left the room Delanie poured two iced coffees, then floated dollops of sweet, heavy, whipped cream on top.

After liberally sprinkling both cold drinks with grated, bitter dark chocolate, she handed Kyle a tall frosted glass and took her own with her to the sofa by the window overlooking the pool.

Except for the hot and cold running servants, she and Kyle were alone in the house until Montero returned. She wasn't sure that being alone with Kyle was the lesser of two evils.

Licking cream off her upper lip, she settled in the corner against the scrolled, curved arm, and crossed her long, bare legs. "Do you have a clue just how powerful Ramon is? If not, let me give you a friendly warning, Kyle. He doesn't suffer fools lightly."

A single dark, mocking eyebrow rose. "You've known him how long?"

"A couple of months." A lifetime. One month, one week, four days and nineteen hours.

"Yeah? Ramon and I go back to our first year in med school at Stanford. Nice try, but no cigar."