Ricardo (The Santiago Brothers Book Three) (5 page)

Mel cut a side-glance at the profile of a man she was forced to trust.
He looks so familiar. Why can’t I place him?
At that moment, Ric turned his face toward her, as if he felt her stare. As she stared deeply into his eyes, an awareness awakened in her — a knowing — and her soul responded not in fear, but in assurance.
I know that look. But he can’t be, can he?

She had met two brothers in her life who possessed the same confident air, darkly good looks, and eyes so potent they’d make a woman forget she was breathing. They were the Santiago brothers: Rafael and her former partner, Alejandro. Alejandro mentioned having two younger brothers and Rafael was one of them.
What was the name of the other brother? Ricardo?
All she knew was that they hadn’t seen their baby brother in years as he was somewhere in Florida or the Army — she couldn’t remember which.

Ric’s mouth turned up into a half-grin. Amusement danced in his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the floor unless…” He wagged his brows and his face colored.

Mel cleared her throat of the crud that had developed there. “Unless what?”

Ric eyed the bed. “You got to admit, it’s a pretty big bed. If I’m willing to share—”

“No.”

“Ah, come on.” He walked to the head of the bed and snatched a couple of pillows. He tossed them into the center, forming a straight a line. “We can put some pillows between us. You’ll be completely safe.”

Mel rolled her eyes. Safe?
Right.
When did pillows ever stop a man?

Ric chortled. After he created the dividing line of pillows, with a definitive tap on the last pillow, he faced her with a wide grin, motioning to his success. “All done. You have your own side and I don’t have to wake up with a bad back.”

“There are plenty of pillows for you to sleep on. And can’t you get another mattress?”

He shot her an annoyed look. “How’s it gonna look if I ask for a separate sleeping arrangement? I’m supposed to be bedding you, remember?”

Heat stole up the back of her neck. She refused to allow the image of her and him in bed together to infiltrate her mind — although the idea wasn’t as repulsive as it should’ve been, and that troubled her. Vigilance was the only weapon against weakness. Without it, she was vulnerable to attack. Mel turned her gaze away and chose instead to admire the design on the tent walls.

“As far as the men in the camp are concerned, you’re my concubine for as long as I’m pleased with you.” He raised his hands in a calming gesture. “I promise not to touch you. I can’t have any distractions anyway.” His eyes flickered over her form and disappointment flashed in them before he retreated behind a determined look. “I’m already over my allowance with having you here.”

His cool, dismissive tone did little to chill her hot cheeks. Instead, she found her ego smarted and miffed at the rejection.
Who cares that he doesn’t want you? Mel, what’s wrong with you?
It was times like these she wished she could suppress her feminine urges and remain impassive. But after years of keeping her distance from the opposite sex, her immunity to their charms wasn’t as developed as she had hoped. She didn’t want companionship, did she?

Ric moved past her and back into the living area. Mel followed. She spotted Hakeem sitting at the table, unscrewing the silencer from the handgun. Her curiosity for their “mission” returned. Hakeem was prepared to kill whoever walked through the tent. Who did they expect to see? Abdul? Someone else? And what was the deal with Ric practically throwing her to the pillows? What could he possibly do lying on the ground?

Ric headed toward the tent’s main opening. “I’m out. Leave some food for me.”

“You’re not going to explain this?” Mel pointed toward the gun while she trailed Ric.
If Hakeem has a gun, then Ric probably does too.
She hadn’t felt the weapon on his side, nor did she see any bulge in his back whenever he bent over. Her gaze dropped swiftly to his feet.
Ankle holster?

Ric glanced casually at Hakeem and the weapon. “Nope.” With a wink, he was gone.

Mel made a noise of incredulity and returned her gaze to Hakeem, who smiled sheepishly. “And I suppose I’ll get nothing out of you.”

“It’s not my story to tell.”

Right.
Okay, so I’m completely wrong about these two. Doesn’t Ric know the sheik? Why would they need to kill whoever walked into the tent?

Did assassins need a reason to kill?

Sometimes agents had to improvise. Ric considered it a necessary skill he’d long since mastered. If Abdul had entered the tent instead of a bunch of inebriated guys walking by, he’d have convinced him that Mel already served her purpose and if it all went south, Hakeem was ready with the contingency plan.

Contingencies.

They were things one could never really plan with much precision, especially if you were a field agent. Sure, you could work out the details of a plan and the possibilities of counter agents or attacks, but operating in the field, alone, usually meant getting the job done on the fly. At least, that’s how Ric preferred to do it.
Makes for an interesting life,
he mused. But the most interesting thing to happen to him in a long time was meeting Deputy US Marshal Melody Lewis.

The woman was beautiful, fantastically built, and half out of her mind with exhaustion and dehydration, but she hid it well. Ric smiled, amused, as he remembered finding her crouched behind a tent as she tried to escape a camp much larger than she undoubtedly imagined. Where did she get the notion she could escape from
him
? Abdul possibly, if she had been better cared for with attention to her diet, but Ricardo Santiago? He was fully aware of the training the US Marshals undertook to become credentialed federal agents. It was intense and a worthy effort, but she’d be up against one of the country’s finest clandestine agents. The competition wasn’t even fair. He admired her determination and the will to fight for freedom. Before his job was done, she’d probably have to summon that drive like never before — especially if who he was after was actually a terrorist mastermind.

Abdul was a chameleon. Like the lizard who could change his appearance to match its surroundings, Ric was sure Abdul was a terrorist hiding in plain sight of the US government. Cleverly, he’d attached himself to one of the wealthiest businessmen on the planet, which allowed him access to funds and the ability to transfer dollars into the bank accounts and pockets of those determined to wage jihad on innocent civilians around the world. Ric believed he was behind the financing and preparation for the upcoming embassy attack whispered among insurgents in the region. Confirming this information was a secondary mission objective. The first was to prevent the attack from ever happening.

The threat of attack on the embassy in the UAE was fairly low: the country was far more democratic and safe to foreigners than other neighboring countries.
That’s what makes it so attractive.
Proving they could attack a relatively safe and secure location would drive the threat of terror higher than ever before.

Ric lounged in one of Hassan’s many tents with several of the sheik’s closest advisors and a number of men working under Abdul’s supervision. A few of the men expressed shock that Ric wasn’t demanding Mel’s submission at this very point in time, but Ric laughed off their concern and told them Abdul had neglected to let her bathe for three days and until she’d soaked the stench from her skin, he’d wait before he took her to bed. This excuse appeared to have satisfied curious minds and the subject swiftly shifted to the half-naked serving women in the tent that someone had so graciously hired.

One of the male servers moved near Ric and extended the wine bottle he held in his hand. Ric motioned for him to refill his glass. Slowly, yet deliberately, Ric sipped the dark drink, controlling the rate of ingestion and keeping his mind clear to focus on his goals. These men were the least managed in the hierarchy of men Hassan had beneath him. Whenever they weren’t on assignment by the sheik, they were lying on their backs, getting drunk with wine or women — usually both. Tonight was no exception. The feast awaited, yet these men were weighted by their bellies full of drink and their hips locked by those of scantily clad women brought here for one purpose: to please the men.

And that’s why Hassan dismissed Mel and offered her to the group.
He’d already shipped in his own harem and Mel, an American, would become lost in the sea of women. Despite several lucrative business deals with American corporations, the safety of their citizens wasn’t a concern of Hassan’s.

Guess that means I’m on my own.
Hassan was his source; he’d been working him for the past few years. Only Hassan knew Ric’s true citizenship lied with the US, but to others in his entourage, they knew him as a South American businessman looking to expand his father’s empire into Middle Eastern markets, chiefly oil and weapons. If any of them were to discover his true identity would Hassan offer him protection?

I can’t count on it.
No; although a handler had to trust his source to a certain extent, Ric was never comfortable with the idea of his life being in anyone’s hands but his own, regardless of the mission. He figured the mission would fail if he wasn’t
actually around
to complete it. Handlers died, sometimes by the hands of their own sources when their guards were down too far for too long, and definitely when they trusted their sources with their lives. They always missed some telltale red flag if they ever ended up dead.

Don’t die, Ricardo; that’s the most important lesson I can teach you.
His mentor at the Farm wasn’t exactly eloquent in his soliloquy, but he got the point across. Tonight, things were different. Tonight, he had more than himself to think about. Even Hakeem could slip back into the folds of nomadic life and live to join Ric another day for another adventure, but Mel didn’t have that luxury. Not looking as stunning as she did with skin as dark as night. Hiding her would be impossible. Wherever he went, she would have to be by his side or face the world alone and unprotected.
Don’t die, Ric, and don’t let Mel die either.

If he couldn’t trust Hassan, then he’d have to rely on his own uniquely refined prowess — and his office counterparts.
As soon as I get back to the tent, I’m calling base.
Although the agency had analyzed Hassan’s business transactions extensively, something was obviously missed if he was a terrorist financier.
Perhaps it’s a recent transaction?
Ric grimaced over the possibility that for years Hassan had not only him but also the agency fooled with his ability to hide the transfer of certain funds.

“Do you not like the wine?” Faruq, a wealthy business partner of Hassan’s, reclined beside Ric. Faruq belched loudly before he turned his attention to Ric. “Where is Hakeem?”

“Delivering the food to my tent.”

“He’s usually here with us.”

Doing his job.
Hakeem was Ric’s second pair of eyes and ears. “The woman hasn’t eaten in days and she’ll need her strength tonight. Hakeem is making sure she’s fed.”

The fat man chortled. “She won’t give you much pleasure if Abdul has had her first. He doesn’t treat the women kindly.”

That didn’t shock Ric. The man had kidnapped her, after all. He didn’t have a wife, but Ric was well aware of the man’s penchant for skilled women. What did disturb Ric was the possibility that Mel had already been assaulted. She hadn’t hinted as much, but she did try to escape the camp without a map, any mode of transportation, and enough water to last her a whole ten minutes. He could understand why she’d be extremely terrified at the idea of becoming a concubine to a horde of men.
She’s not getting paid like the women here. She’s being held against her will.
That prospect would make any sane woman attempt an escape doomed to fail. Had Abdul forced himself on her? A bold move if he had intended her to be a gift for the sheik. But then, how would the sheik know she’d been first used by Abdul? She wasn’t likely to tell him and she couldn’t be… Ric mentally shook his head at the thought. Mel wasn’t a virgin, was she? At her age?

“I once heard,” Faruq continued, “that Abdul had so impaled a woman that she was all torn inside and later died.” Ric eyed the man in disbelief. Faruq raised his hands as if he swore an oath. “I tell you the truth!”

The image was revolting and reinforced Ric’s desire to protect Mel. If any one of these men had their hopes set on “impaling” Mel, they’d be sorely disappointed. Her first and only stop was at Ric’s tent.

Yet, the picture Faruq had painted of Abdul was disturbing on a deeper level. Yes, the man had kidnapped Mel for the sheik, but he was also ruthless with women in his own way. He hurt them on purpose, to satisfy some sick need or hunger… Ric downed the rest of his glass of wine to distract himself from physically shuddering.

Why can’t men treat women with respect?
He’d had his fill of men who abused women at an early age when he witnessed it in his own home. His mother’s tears and her pain had left such an indelible impression on his mind that he resolved never to cause that type of hurt in a woman’s eyes, ever. The night he had yelled at his high school girlfriend for ruining a very expensive cassette recorder — the tears of rejection and the fear in her eyes — was the day he had decided that for him, relationships weren’t a good idea. With attachments came emotions and that created a recipe for drama. Maybe he was messed up inside his head from what he saw as a child and never really got over the trauma. Maybe he was a bit more like his father than he realized.

Melody has nothing to worry about.
His focus was on the mission and his libido was in check. An agent’s life was all about control: controlling emotions, controlling the source, controlling information, and definitely controlling the heart.

If you marry her...

Why was Hakeem’s suggestion a plague on his thoughts? Ric doubted the traditional method of protecting a woman would hold any weight here in camp, regardless of how these men valued that particular code of morality. Half the men didn’t have wives and the other half…