Cherry Adair - T-flac 03 (28 page)

Kyle leaned back, seemingly relaxed. He'd felt a nagging buzz since breakfast. Nothing he could put a finger on, yet here, in this room, the buzz had gotten louder. He never ignored his instincts. He examined Ramon from under half-closed lids. The man's attitude was natural and calm. Whatever was going to happen, Montero didn't know about it.

Yet.

Kyle was prepared for anything, and as usual had worn his gun in a shoulder holster over his T-shirt in full view.

"Gentlemen." Montero smiled. "Our hard work and diligence is about to pay off." He picked up a pile of file folders and passed them down the table. "As you will see, each and every one of our deadlines has been met. Thanks to Kyle, Palacios's death will be announced later today. Velasquez is ready to take over the presidency. We now await the acceptance of our first offer for our poxvirus. Kyle goes into production on Monday morning." He shot his cuff, then glanced at Bruno. As soon as he dealt with each call, a new light started blinking. Biological warfare was big business these days.

Kyle knew all the calls were being traced and monitored by international intelligence operatives temporarily based in San Cristobal.

Montero and those present were the last pieces of the puzzle to be gathered before The End could be written.

Paper rustled as each man opened files and scanned the contents. Surreptitious glances at Bruno betrayed the players' interest in the almost silent bidding war going on across the room.

Montero closed the open file folder in front of him. Folding his hands he surveyed the others. "We have done well, gentlemen. And we shall do even better when we own worldwide distribution of both the virus and vaccine."

"What about that little problem we had in Canada?" Sugano asked.

"You will find the resolution documented on page nineteen." Montero made a chopping gesture with his hand, his smile white and all encompassing. "Now then gentlemen, we await only the last-minute reports, and the final outcome of—" The only black phone in front of him rang, cutting him off.

Montero picked up the receiver at the same time as the fax machine behind him spat out a message. He snagged it out of the machine, reading it as he listened to the voice on the phone, plucking at his eyebrow.

Kyle shifted slightly in his chair. He couldn't identify the caller, nor could he hear what was being said.

Montero's expression was unreadable. All Kyle knew was that it was
not
one of the lieutenants they'd been expecting to hear from this afternoon.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Montero snapped the receiver back onto the cradle, the sound sharp and precise in the now dead silence of the room. Every eye focused on the man whose smile had slipped from his face like shit off glass.

"Troubling news, gentlemen." He rose from his chair, balancing his weight on palms flattened on the tabletop. He scanned the men seated on either side of him briefly, before black eyes rested on his right-hand man.

Kyle kept his relaxed posture, meeting Montero's glance with a measured look of his own.

And he knew, right then, four fucking years had just gone up in smoke.

Delanie stifled a moan of pain and opened her eyes. It took a moment to focus. Ropes tied with cruel disregard for tender skin secured her wrists behind the chair in which she sat. The strain on the muscles and tendons of her shoulders and her numb hands indicated she'd been this way for some time.

How odd. Her hair was wet and dripped coldly down the back of her neck. And she wasn't wearing her own clothes, just a thin cotton muumuu. She felt a clutch of panic. Oh God, she should've been more damn careful. Should've run faster, should've—

Had she blown Kyle's cover? Did they have him here, too—wherever
here
was—or was he already dead? Heart like lead, she choked on guilt and sorrow.

Then she thought: Captured? Dead? Kyle? Never. He was too tough, too mean, too smart to be caught.

Without moving her head, Delanie glanced through slitted eyes, trying to orient herself. Dim and cool, luxuriously furnished with crystal lamps, jewel-toned velvet sofas, and plush area rugs, the large windowless room was unfamiliar. Out of the corner of her eye she could just see an elaborate stereo system and a high, sheet-draped massage table at the far end of the room in front of a wall-size mirror.

The sybaritic room exuded malevolence.

Every hair follicle prickled at the
tap-tap-tap
of heels on the marble floor as someone paced impatiently back and forth behind her. Wherever she was, whatever was about to happen, Delanie knew she wasn't going to like it. Goose bumps rose on her skin and her tongue stuck to the roof of her dry mouth. The location might be unfamiliar, but the perfume in the air was unmistakable.

Wearing skintight leather pants and a matching sleeveless vest Isabella came into her line of sight. She turned on the state-of-the-art CD unit against the far wall, but the soft swell of Brahms did nothing to calm the flight signals humming along Delanie's nerve endings.

Isabella turned and contemplated her prisoner speculatively as she strolled closer and drew up a small, gilt chair and sat down. She lit a cigarette. "I am very disappointed in you,
chica
." Blowing out a thin stream of acrid smoke, she snapped the flat, platinum cigarette case closed and slid it onto a nearby table.

"I can't tell you how that breaks my heart," Delanie answered dryly. "Mind telling me whose dress I'm wearing?" The blue cotton was thin and voluminous, leaving her arms and legs bare. "And while you're at it, why's my hair wet?"

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"We were required to bathe you,
mija
." Isabella tilted her head, hair blue-black under the lights. "You smelled of sweat and sex when you were brought to me. And although I am not usually offended by such aromas, in this instance I prefer cleanliness."

Delanie's goose bumps got goose bumps. "Who's
we
?"

"Two guards and myself. You have nothing to be ashamed of,
bonita
, you have a lovely body."

All five-foot-seven inches of Delanie's "lovely body" quivered in outrage. "How dare—" Delanie's brief spurt of indignation morphed into trepidation as water drizzled down the back of her neck. She wasn't sure just what this woman had in mind, but she was damned sure she loathed the idea of Isabella and two guards bathing her.

"I was
quite
annoyed when the doctor shot you."

"Can't say I was crazy about it mys—"

"Tell me," Isabella swept on. "Which are you? An ignorant
puta
? Or a wily agent?"

"Oh,
definitely
the wily agent." Delanie tried to wriggle her fingers without wincing. God, that hurt. "An agent the United States government isn't going to let disappear off the face of the earth. They'll want to know where I am when I don't check in."
I wish
.

"Which agency?"

"All I'm required to give you is name, rank, and serial number."

Isabella shrugged. "It makes no difference. If this is true, your superiors will be led to believe you became a victim of the jungle. They will shake their heads and express concern about ever using a woman agent again."

"You're all heart."

Isabella crossed her legs, leaning forward in a cloud of Chanel and cigarette smoke, showing too much cleavage. Chocolate-brown leather creaked as she moved. "Exactly how much of my son's operation have you divulged to your superiors?"

"Everything," Delanie lied flatly, wishing like hell it were true. "Everything I know, they know."

"You lie,
mija
." The slap came out of nowhere, quick, sharp, and impatient. Delanie's head jerked back.

"You know nothing." Isabella watched her through a veil of smoke. "You are no agent.
Dr. Wright
is the agent.
Qué no
?"

Cheek stinging like fire, left eye watering, Delanie clenched her teeth. "Don't be ridiculous. He and Ramon are partners."

Isabella stubbed the cigarette out on the marble floor beneath a high-heeled boot. "Don't play games with me,
chica
. Your being alive is proof enough of his perfidy."

A chill of foreboding raced up Delanie's spine.
Kyle
. Don't think about it now, she warned herself fiercely. She had to stay focused in the here and now.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"Where is the doctor?" Isabella snapped.

"I have absolutely no id—" Delanie flinched, a knee-jerk reaction as Isabella's hand shot up. She tried to disguise the shrinking of her body as the other woman backhanded her. This blow was considerably more forceful than the slap. Tears of pain lined her lower lids; lifting her face she blinked them back.

I'm not scared
, she told herself, mouth dry, heart in her throat. The ropes binding her to the chair bit into her chest and hips. She was afraid her fear had a smell to it that would provoke another attack.

I am not scared. I am not scared
—

—Oh God. Of
course,
I am. I'm terrified
! "That's the last time you hit me. Don't do it again."

"Oh, I do like the show of spirit, my dear." Isabella's black-cherry eyes glowed. "Such zest is always welcome. This will manifest itself so creatively later." She reached out to stroke her prisoner's cheek.

Cold fingers lingered against the heat of the slap marks.

Delanie twisted her head away, flesh crawling, spine pressed hard against the slatted back of the chair.

Isabella's thin, red-painted lips lifted in a mocking smile. The heavy chain around her neck glinted, outlining the deep V of the leather vest. Delanie's attention was suddenly captured by the lights flickering on the strangely barbaric gold necklace Isabella always wore.

A necklace that wasn't an arum lily at all.

The necklace depicted the head of a cobra, fangs bared.

The same cobra Montero and his partners wore as rings.

"You're part of your son's operation, aren't you?"

Isabella gave a dry, sophisticated laugh. "While the family business of terrorism and the drug trade are lucrative, that is man's work. I have my own vocation to amuse me,
bonita
."

"Look, I really don't care, okay? Tell me what you want from me and let's get this over with."

Isabella sighed and stroked Delanie's cheek with cool dry fingers. She flinched and Isabella gave her a silky smile. "You are a very pretty girl,
chica
. I'm going to enjoy breaking you."

Delanie wanted to puke. Literally.

Isabella smoothed her hand up Delanie's arm. Slowly. "You will come to be grateful for my many years of experience. I'm in the prime of my life,
bonita
."

"
Geographically
speaking," Delanie said with barbed irony, as she tried tucking her arm against her side, impossible the way she'd been tied. She felt the solidity of her back against the chair, the coarse rope around her wrists; and pressed her bare feet against the cool floor to focus on anger, instead of morbid fear.

A wash of color rose under Isabella's perfect makeup. "You would be well advised to keep that clever
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

tongue of yours hidden until I request otherwise." Isabella leaned forward. "I only need the bindings until you are malleable. There are only two choices for you here in my house."

She gave Delanie a malevolent look. "Compliance or pain. I could show you what resistance looks like,
mija
. I recently had a girl returned to me because she proved to be unsatisfactory. It isn't pretty. Too much Impulse and you will become an addict, good for nothing except future drug testing."

Delanie's heart pounded in painful thumps. "What the hell
do
you want from me, Isabella?"

"I will train you," Isabella said huskily, eyes glowing with an unholy light. "Soon you will understand."

Delanie was already afraid she understood, but her brain needed confirmation. "Trained to do
what
?"

"Oh, didn't I mention the nature of my business? I train and sell sex slaves. A lucrative and enjoyable little hobby." Black eyes glittered. "Eventually you will be sold. A wealthy European, not squeamish, but very particular in his or her tastes, will be your new owner." She paused. "Unless your performance is so exceptional I decide to keep you for my own enjoyment. This happens on occasion. Some of my personal pets have become excellent trainers themselves. Would you like that,
bonita
?"

Bile and fear rose in Delanie's throat. She swallowed hard, and managed to keep her cool by a mere thread. "Here's a news flash, Izzie. Slavery went out with the Civil War." Her voice sounded hoarse, her heart raced, and her palms felt damp. "And in case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the docile type."

"By the time you have an intimate acquaintance with Impulse, you will do
anything
, with
anyone
, for the next fix. You
do
remember the delightful effects of our new product, do you not?" Isabella asked with a sly smile.

Only too well. A rush of heat swamped Delanie. "
You
gave me the drug that day by the pool."

"A little in the wine you drank." Black eyes glittered. "Unfortunately, now and then new girls refuse to cooperate. They have no idea what a life of ease and pleasure I offer them." Isabella exhaled a put-upon sigh. "Stupid little fools. Of course, our new product will now make my work so much easier and more pleasurable than other products I've used."

Lauren. Oh God. Lauren.

Isabella smiled dreamily. "My clients are particularly fond of blondes. I have an unparalleled reputation for training my girls well, and business is thriving." She ran a sharp nail up Delanie's arm, leaving a long cruel red scratch on her smooth skin. "Nobody has ever managed to elude me. No one has ever escaped."