Eye of the Storm (31 page)

Please God, let him have played it right.

He took a step toward the gatekeeper and then another, his whole body rigid with tension.

"Mr. Sheridan?"

Reece stopped, heart pounding, and turned around.

"Carlos did not have an attorney." Ramón's expression was shadowed. "Perhaps now you will tell me how you came to have his crucifix. And why it is that you want to see Isabella."

*****

THE HALLWAY WAS DARK after the bright light of the garden and Simone stopped for a moment to let her eyes adjust. Three doors opened off the hall. According to the plans she'd studied, the one on her immediate left led to the rest of the hacienda.

The door directly across from her was open, the corner of a claw-foot bathtub in view. Which left the door at the end of the hall. If their intel was right, this was Isabella's bedroom. And since she'd clearly just been in the courtyard, there was a chance she'd still be inside.

Simone tried to summon her anger. For Marguerite, for her friends. But instead she only felt sadness. So much lost and nothing gained. Killing D-9 wouldn't bring back the people who died in Sangre de Cristo. Nothing could do that.

Still, she had to see it through. Until things were settled with Isabella, there could be no new beginning with Reece. She looked back over her shoulder for Tate, but he'd moved from her direct line of sight.

They'd opted out of radio contact for fear that they would be overheard, so for the moment at least she was on her own. But it was easier knowing that Tate had her back.

She moved down the hallway, not certain what to expect. She'd seen a picture of Isabella, but it was a surveillance photo, so it was hard to discern anything about her beyond her basic features.

As she reached the end of the hall, Simone realized that the door was slightly ajar. Tightening her hand on the Sig, she waited a beat then pushed it open. The room was quiet, and she exhaled, not certain if she was relieved or disappointed.

"I have been waiting for you."

Startled, Simone spun around to see a small woman standing in the corner holding a gun. The shadows in the room kept her from clearly seeing the face, but she knew without a doubt that this was Isabella Ramirez. She was tiny, but there was no denying the power that emanated from the woman.

"You don't know me," Simone said. "How could you possibly have known I was coming?"

"You killed my brother," the woman said. "It was not unrealistic to believe that you would come for me as well."

"I did not kill your brother," Simone said in all honesty. "Although, I can't say that the thought didn't cross my mind. He killed my friends."

"D-9," Isabella spat, moving into the light. She was barely more than a child, but grief had etched lines on her face. Marks that should only have been present in a much older woman. "If not for you, my father would be alive."

"You've got it all wrong." Simone said, sidling to the right, trying to gain the advantage. "We were there to save your father. Not to kill him. Our mission was to get him out of Sangre de Cristo, alive."

"Even now, after all these years, you lie. After everything that has happened, surely there can be truth between us?"

"I am telling the truth," Simone said, moving again, but this time Isabella moved as well, almost as if they were dancing. "We were there to rescue Hector."

"Rescue him? Why would the Americans do that?" she asked. "My father hated everything American."

"When it suited him, maybe." Simone shifted, keeping the distance between them. "But your father benefited from his allegiance with the CIA."

"You are telling lies again."

"I am telling the truth. Your father made a deal. He traded information on drug trafficking in exchange for guns and ammo. It was a deal that benefited both parties. And when the government targeted the junta, we were sent in to make certain that your father escaped with his life."

"But that would make him no better than a traitor." Disbelief colored her voice.

"No. It made him a pragmatist. Nothing is achieved in a vacuum, Isabella. Your father was a great man. But to accomplish what he needed he had to compromise along the way. Trafficking in drugs brought money—selling the dealer out brought much needed military support for his junta. Both decisions that had to be made."

"Even if I accept that—and I'm not saying I do—I know for a fact that one of you killed him."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"Because I saw my father's killer, and it was a gringo. Like you."

"You saw your father murdered?" She moved again, Isabella mirroring her steps.

"
Sí.
I was there, hiding behind his desk. I saw my father plead for his life. Saw the gun pointed at his heart, and watched as his blood stained the tiles of the floor."

"Did the killer see you?" Simone frowned, an odd thought flitting through her head.

She nodded, her face contorted with the pain of memory. "I screamed. I tried not to but I couldn't help myself. I'd already seen so many die. But to watch my father lose his life in such a way. I could not keep quiet."

"And the assassin found you."

"I thought he would kill me, too. He laughed and raised the gun. But then a mortar exploded the wall behind me. And I ran, only stopping when I reached the square. I have never forgotten that day, or that man."

"You said a gringo, that doesn't mean he's American."

"I heard his voice. Definitely American. Arrogant bastard." Her anger was edged in pain. "And the only Americans in the village were your D-9."

"You can't know that for sure."

"I am certain. I have had many years to verify the fact."

Talking was getting them nowhere, and Simone knew she needed to gain the upper hand, as much for Isabella's sake as for her own. If Tate walked into this scenario, he'd shoot first and ask questions later.

Hoping for an element of surprise, Simone dropped to the floor and rolled to the left. But just as she was righting herself, a cloud outside shifted, light from the window spilling across the room, momentarily blinding her. Acting on instinct alone, she jumped back to her feet, ducking out of the light, simultaneously lifting her arm, ready to return fire, but Isabella wasn't shooting. Instead, she was staring, her dark brows drawn together.

"I know you," she whispered. "In the plaza, by the fountain."

And suddenly instead of her enemy, Simone saw a little girl, the one she'd carried to safety all those years ago. It seemed that fate had a wicked sense of humor.

ALLEGIANCES SEEMED to shift like shadows in the moonlight here in Nicaragua. The men Reece had thought were on his side had betrayed him, and the people he'd believed to be his enemies had the potential to be reluctant allies.

Ramón had listened patiently to Reece's story, interrupting only now and then with questions. And so far they were still alive. There had been a moment when he'd reached the part about Carlos's death. All of the men standing guard had lifted their guns, anger marring their faces, but Ramón had waved them down, his own anger carefully banked.

In telling it, Reece realized that even then, Tate had been orchestrating every move, shooting Carlos not because he was a threat to Simone, but because he could have blown Tate's cover.

"So you believe your wife and this man are here at
El Ojo de la Tormenta
." There was a note of disbelief, Ramón's gaze shooting to the armed men standing on the lanai.

"Don't make the mistake of underestimating D-9. Don't forget that they infiltrated Sangre de Cristo. And even more important, they managed to get out of the country in the middle of a full-scale civil war."

"But that was years ago."

"People don't change that much. And believe me, my wife is as capable now as she ever was." He quashed the image of Simone, her eyes flashing as they made love. He needed to stay focused on the negotiations.

"How do I know that you haven't fabricated this entire story to gain access to Isabella? You already lied to me about Carlos and the crucifix."

Reece clenched a fist, restraining the urge to slam it onto the table. "But I gave it to you as well. As a sign of good faith. Which you accepted, or I would not be standing here."

"True, but you could also be, how do you say, playing me?"

"Are you willing to risk Isabella's life on that?"

Ramón spread his hands. "It is a dilemma. One that I must consider carefully."

Reece swallowed irritation. Time was passing and he was accomplishing nothing. But nothing would be gained by allowing his emotions the upper hand. "Look, every minute we stand here talking, our chances of helping Simone and Isabella fade. I love my wife and I want to help her. I think you feel the same way about Isabella."

"She is like a daughter to me. Her father was my closest friend."

"Then help me protect her."

"But you said that your wife is here to kill Isabella."

"No. Simone is here to confront her. To try and end the hostility between them. She believes, wrongly, that Isabella is behind the death of her friends, and the attempts on our lives." He waved a hand to include his brother. "It's Tate who wants them both dead."

"But you do not know why."

"Does it matter?"

Ramón studied Reece for a moment as if judging his sincerity, and then he nodded at his men. "You will go to Isabella. Be cautious. If these people are present, they are very dangerous."

Reece stood up, but Ramón motioned him to stay. "We will handle this our way,
señor
."

"My wife has no idea what's going on. And I sure as hell didn't come all this way just to see her get caught in the cross fire."

Again there was silence, and again the old man nodded. "Take him with you."

Martin started to follow, but Reece waved him still. Ramón tilted his head, acknowledging the unspoken. If things went south, at least Reece could be certain that his brother would be out of the line of fire. Martin opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, accepting that there was no room for argument.

"I'll need a gun." It was a brash request, but he wasn't going to go into battle unarmed if he could help it.

The man beside him shook his head in protest, his expression making it clear just how little he trusted Reece. Reece ignored him, focusing instead on Ramón, waiting, his silence both commanding and respectful.

The older man held his gaze, the two of them locked in a duel of wills, and then with a sigh, Ramón reached into the breast pocket of his coat, producing a small pistol. He held it out to Reece, his expression grim. "Remember, senor, you will be surrounded by my men at all times. If you harm so much as one hair on Isabella's head, I will personally see to it that you and your family are destroyed. Am I making myself clear?"

"Absolutely," Reece said, taking the gun, his tone deceptively genial. "And if your men hurt Simone, I'll send you straight to hell."

*****

"THE EVENTS OF Sangre de Cristo seem to haunt us both." Isabella had moved to stand by the bed, one hand resting on the rosewood post of her bed, the other by her side, still holding her gun.

"Some things are hard to forget." Simone, too, relaxed her stance, shooting a look at the doorway, wondering where the hell Tate was.

"If you had not pulled me away from the fountain, I would be dead. It seems I owe you a great deal."

"You owe me nothing." Simone said, trying to reorder her thoughts, make sense of what was happening. She still had the sense that something was wrong, reality twisted to serve a purpose she had yet to recognize. And now, looking at her adversary, she found it hard to believe that it was Isabella pulling the strings. Not because she wasn't capable, but because she looked as confused as Simone felt.

"I see you ladies are getting reacquainted."

They both turned as Tate stepped into the room, his gun drawn, his smile revealing what she should have seen from the beginning.

"You." Isabella whispered, her hand rising to her throat as if she wished the word back. Her gun clattered to the floor, forgotten in her horror. Her eyes locked on Tate, her hatred reflected there. "You killed my father."

Everything fell into place, and Simone raised her gun, pointing not at Isabella but at Tate. "It was you?"

Tate shrugged, his face impassive. "I had no choice. The man knew who I was."

"That you were in D-9? What the hell did that matter?" Simone asked, still trying to make sense of it all.

"He knew that I was using my contacts through D-9 to traffic drugs."

"You knew my father, and still you killed him?" Isabella asked the question as if she couldn't fathom the idea that anyone could possibly have known Hector Ramirez and still wanted him dead.

"He wasn't a threat until D-9 was ordered to bring him in. I knew he'd be so fucking grateful he'd give the CIA anything they wanted. And what could be better than a rogue agent?"

"He wouldn't have sold you out." Isabella was insistent.

"If you believe that, you're still as naive now as you were all those years ago when you hid behind the desk."

Anger ripped across Isabella's face, breaking through her immobility. She reached for her gun, but Tate was faster, shooting at the space between her fingers and the revolver.

"Move away from the gun."

Isabella shot Simone a look, and she sighted her gun. "
You
drop your gun, Tate."

"I would," he shrugged, "but then nobody would be armed." He slid over to retrieve Isabella's gun.

"I'm not kidding, Tate. Drop it."

"Nice threat, Simone." He pocketed Isabella's gun and backed up so that he could see them both. "But you're not going to shoot me."

"Don't test me."

"It's not up to you, actually." His smile was terse. "The gun doesn't work."

She shifted it to the left of Tate, and fired.

Nothing.

"I'm afraid Derek did a little more than reload it. Figured it would help me keep the upper hand."

"So you could kill Isabella? I don't understand."

"I think I do," Isabella said, her voice still full of loathing. "He was afraid of me. Of my conversation with Maurice Baxter. I was opening up something you thought long buried, no?"

"Apparently you're a quicker study than I gave you credit for. I thought when your father died my secrets were safe. Especially with D-9 dismantled."

"You never stopped trafficking, did you?" Simone asked, her fingers clenching around the useless Sig.

"No. I lost a little ground without the inside info I got from D-9, but I still had a lot of friends in the right places. Over the years I've built quite a little empire."

"And my meddling in the affairs of Sangre de Cristo threatened that." Isabella sounded calmer now, but Simone suspected her tone was deceptive.

"It was all dead and buried along with your father. But you and that idiot brother of yours couldn't let it go."

Isabella grabbed a vase, throwing it at him with a curse that Simone couldn't translate. Tate ducked, and Simone took the opportunity to launch herself at him, but he got off a shot first, the bullet knocking her to the ground as it tore into her hip.

"Temper, temper, ladies."

"You killed my father. And now you have killed my brother, too," Isabella said, holding herself perfectly still.

"He killed himself. Meddling where he wasn't wanted. When I saw him in Missoula I knew he'd have to be stopped. But first I figured he might be of some use to me."

"You were there? In Missoula?" Simone fought a wave of pain and nausea, not certain whether it was her wound or Tate's words that were making her sick. "You saw Bea killed?"

"
I
killed her." He said it as if it meant nothing—as if Bea had meant nothing.

"But you said..."

"Carlos couldn't shoot a caged bear."

Isabella cursed again in Spanish as Simone tried to comprehend all that Tate was telling her. "What about Mather and Maurice? Did you kill them, too?"

He nodded once. "The old man was easy. Mather put up more of a fight. She always did seem to have the devil's luck when it came to survival. But in the end, suffice it to say that I won the day."

Tears blurred her eyes, and she dug her nails into her palm, the added pain helping to clear her head. "And Ed?"

"Stupid bastard. He walked right into it."

"But they were your friends, Tate. Your family."

"I tried to tell you before, Simone. Family is highly overrated."

"You shot Martin, didn't you?"

"Not on purpose. At least not the first time. I was just trying to get the lay of the land, but he saw me. The mail lady, too. Thought I'd killed them both, but evidently I'm losing my touch."

"You bastard." Simone tried to get to her feet but failed, her leg refusing to support her.

"It's just business, Simone. You know that."

She struggled for breath, the pain taking on a life of its own, threatening to rob her of all coherent thought. "So was it you who followed us in Port Aransas, or was that Carlos?"

"It was me. And me in Raton, as well. You always were quick on your feet." His smile was fleeting and never reached his eyes. "Carlos was never on your trail. At least not until we got to Missoula. It never occurred to me that he'd still be there."

"So it was him at the airport?"

"Yeah. And he damn near fucked everything up," Tate said, his expression dismissive.

"But what about the rendezvous?" Simone asked, still struggling to put the pieces together. "Someone was shooting at us."

"That was Derek."

Ice-cold dread washed through her. Reece and Martin were with Derek. "He's not CIA?" She already knew the answer, but some perverse part of her prayed that she was wrong.

"Should have been." Tate shook his head. "He has a knack for it. But no. He's never worked for the Company. Only for me."

"All right, so it was Derek at the rendezvous and Carlos at the airport, but how did Carlos find us at Marguerite's? No one knew we were there." She fought to maintain her composure, knowing that she couldn't do anyone any good if she allowed her fear to take control.

"I had Derek arrange that. It was a simple matter to follow Carlos and manipulate things so that he got the necessary information to put him back on the trail. The bastard played right into my hands. I needed to tie up loose ends."

"Martin and Reece," she whispered, her mind reeling.

"Exactly." Tate's smile was hollow.

"You set my brother up." Isabella's hands were clenched, her face flushed with anger.

"I only gave him the in he'd been looking for. It served my purposes, sure, but Carlos condemned himself with his hatred. Besides, it was Simone's fault we went back. Who knows—if it hadn't been for her desire to set things right with her husband, Carlos might still be alive."

"You'd have killed him anyway," Simone said. "Or had him eliminated."

"Standard operating procedure. You haven't lost your edge, Simone. Too bad you lost your nerve."

She couldn't bring herself to ask about Reece and Martin. Not yet. "I still don't understand why you didn't just kill me like the others. Why the elaborate charade?"

"I needed to keep you motivated."

"Motivated for what? To help you find Isabella? You did that on your own."