Книга - Not Without Cause

Not Without Cause
Kay David


Meredith Santera is the leader of the Operatives, always putting the needs of others in front of her own. And that means she chose the job over a relationship with Jack Haden. Now her job is putting her in contact with Jack once again. But this time they're on opposite sides.To save a friend. To protect a child. To end an evil. Most of us could not bring ourselves to do the unthinkable–even if it was for the greater good. The Operatives do whatever it takes. Because of them, we don't have to.









She’d given up everything for her country


A family and a husband, not to mention children, were not in her future and they never would be. She’d traded those things for adrenaline and power, and it was way too late to go back and make changes.

If she’d ever had a chance at having any of those things, it would have been with Haden. He’d been wild, but under the craziness there had been a rock-solid man she’d come to care for more than she’d expected. More than anyone she’d ever cared for before—or since. He’d been special and rare—one of those guys who caught you unaware when you’d decided no one else could possibly surprise you.

For a single second she wanted to walk away and ignore the decision she’d wrestled with for the past five hours, but she knew that wasn’t a real option.

If she didn’t take the job, then someone else would.

Haden was a dead man walking.




Dear Reader,

In philosophical circles around the world, debates have raged since Aristotle’s times over the “greater good” versus the rule of self-interest. What is best for society as a whole can sometimes differ from what is best for an individual. In other words, if the city wants to put a new highway through your backyard, the commuters will be thrilled, but you might not be quite as happy.

Extrapolate this argument into a life-and-death situation and you have the basis for THE OPERATIVES series and especially for Not Without Cause. The question I wanted to examine was this one: If a war could be ended by killing one individual—and thereby saving the lives of thousands—what should be done? Just to complicate matters, since I write love stories, I added another issue to the mix, as well. What if the someone who had to be killed was someone you loved?

Not Without Cause is the story of how two people come together, despite their opposition, and work to achieve what is best. In the process, their love grows even stronger and they realize how deep their feelings for each other—and for their country—really run. When the choices are this tough, nothing is easy.

I wanted the final story in THE OPERATIVES series to be a special one. I needed to write something that was entertaining but at the same time presented some questions that would make everyone think a bit. Our world is changing daily—hourly, in fact—and some very hard choices are being made. The sacrifices those decisions entail aren’t easy ones because they touch the rights and truths we all hold dear.

Meredith and Haden understand that emotions come with a price, and their willingness to pay that price is a testament to the power of love, be it their love for each other, their love for freedom, or their love for their country. Sharing their story with my readers is my way for sharing that love, as well. I hope you enjoy Not Without Cause.

Kay David




Not Without Cause

Kay David







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to the men and women who have served in the United States military forces, present, past and future.



Thank you for your courage, your sacrifice and your dedication.




Contents


PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN




PROLOGUE


Guatemala City, Guatemala

May 2006

JACK HADEN HAD the taxi driver drop him three blocks from his rented villa. Walking down the dimly lit sidewalk, scanning the gloom, his weapon handy, he found himself wondering how it would feel to have a regular job with two kids and a dog and a wife all waiting for him in a nice little home on a nice wide street.

What would it be like not to worry about someone following you and shooting you in the back? Haden had a hunch he’d never know, but more and more lately, the question had been on his mind.

The idea plagued him for a second longer, then he wondered why he was even wondering. He was forty years old and he’d lived on the edge since the day he’d left his mother’s home. If things ever did change, he’d probably end up restless, screw the nanny and start drinking like a fish.

Either way, he wasn’t going to have a chance to find out so why was he even thinking about it?

He turned down the street one block south of his house. Shadows clung to the houses and lay across the walls like woven chamarras. Guatemala City was always dark, even when the street lamps were on. Back in the nineties when the political situation had been even crazier than it was now, the powers that be had kept it that way for a reason, and although things had changed—slightly—the place was still blacker than hell, literally and metaphorically speaking.

Even in Zona 10.

Divided into sectors for ease of reference, Guatemala City had a personality of its own and each area had a unique flavor as well. Zona 10, where he’d had dinner, was upscale all the way and it housed the offices and shops the foreigners frequented. The restaurants were typically more expensive, the streets were generally cleaner and the neighborhoods were usually safer. A lot of the diplomats lived in Zona 10. He’d attended a party there last week at the French ambassador’s home. Haden wasn’t quite sure why he’d been included—except his name had gotten on a list when he’d first moved to Guatemala City and the list had been passed around. For years he’d had somewhere to go every night if he wanted. No one knew what, or who, he actually was and most of the time he passed on the invitations, but that night he’d been ready for some company, his mood overtaking his usual reluctance to mingle with expats who had little to do and even less to say.

Still, the guy from Washington had taken him by surprise.

“So you work at the American Embassy, huh?” he’d asked, the bourbon in his hand obviously not his first. Their hostess had introduced the man to Haden as Brad Prescott, a communications engineer in town for work. “What are you, a spy or something?”

Haden had had a smart-aleck answer ready but at the last minute, he’d stuck with his normal cover story. “I wish! Nah, my job’s not that glamorous. I’m just a computer technician.”

Prescott had nodded, then stirred his drink with his finger and licked it with a sloppy motion. “Too bad,” he’d mumbled. “I thought you might know someone I know back in Washington.” He’d leaned closer, a whiff of cigarette smoke coming with him as his voice dropped in a self-important way. “He’s with the Agency and he’s a ruthless SOB. We’re partners in a little start-up venture I’m handling.”

Haden had pursued the conversation because he’d had nothing better to do. “Who is he? You never know, he could be my old neighbor or something.”

The tall blonde laughed in a condescending manner. “I doubt that. This guy doesn’t have neighbors or friends. He’s too rich for either, but I don’t think he’ll have that little problem much longer. I’m gonna help him out in that department.”

“Well, what’s his name anyway? Maybe I’ve worked on his computer,” Haden joked.

Prescott shook his head again. “Dean Reynolds with a computer? He doesn’t need a computer, he’s half machine himself!” Prescott had muttered something else then stumbled off, Haden watching until the man had been absorbed into the crowd.

He’d been with the CIA too long because Haden immediately assumed he was being set up. He’d studied Prescott for another hour, then followed the man when the party was over. Prescott had gone directly to the Marriott and as far as Haden could tell, had stayed there the rest of the night. The next day, Haden had paid his way past security and searched the engineer’s hotel room but found nothing.

Two days later, Prescott disappeared.

He was snatched right off the road in broad daylight. No one seemed to know where he was but rumor had it Rodrigue Vega’s men had been involved. When Haden had picked up that bit of gossip, his radar had pinged even louder.

For months, he’d been hearing snatches of information linking someone in Washington with a unique smuggling operation based in Guatemala City. If the rumors were correct, Haden didn’t even want to think about the possibilities. Taking dope and illegals over the border was one thing; slipping in terror and its providers was something else. One of the names out of Washington that had been mentioned as being behind the deal—Dean Reynolds—had surprised Haden. But not totally.

He didn’t trust Dean Reynolds. Not after that deal in Libya. If Reynolds, the director of the CIA, had somehow managed to hook up with one of the biggest crooks in Guatemala City, Rodrigue Vega, they would have a huge network of assets—of people and of funds—at their disposal. The results could be catastrophic, because neither man gave a damn about anything. Reynolds had hidden behind a screen of patriotic fervor for years, his power and influence growing to match his ego. Vega, once a petty thief, now part drug lord, part pseudo-politician, held tremendous power in Guate, especially within the vast communities of immigrants who made the city their home. Both men were greedy, egotistical and self-centered bastards the world would have been better off without. In Haden’s humble opinion.

Haden worked the pieces of the puzzle as he walked, but as usual, more questions than answers resulted from his effort.

Two minutes later, he turned the corner to the street where he lived. A movement in the darkness caught his eye and he checked his progress, his hand going to his waistband without conscious thought. When two hissing cats streaked by, he exhaled slowly, his fingers falling back to his side.

Had his meeting with Prescott been a coincidence? Had the engineer really been kidnapped or was he already dead? Had Prescott’s alcohol-soaked brain been behind the mention of his association with Reynolds or had the revelation been guided by something more sinister?

Haden approached the patch of light that revealed the gate to his courtyard. Pulling his key from his pocket, he unfastened the bolt set in the iron bars and stepped inside. Light from a lamp in his neighbor’s house fell through a tree in the courtyard and cast shadows on him as he continued forward. The sounds of a television down the street rippled through the cool night air. Deep in thought, he unlocked his front door, walked inside and closed the door behind him.

The first blow hit him across the shoulders.

The second one sent him to the floor.

The third strike filled his mouth with the salty taste of blood. He spit it out, then his vision went black.




CHAPTER ONE


A Starbucks by the Galleria

Houston, Texas

Late May 2006

“YOU’RE THE ONLY PERSON who can do this, Meredith. There’s no one else I trust.” Dean Reynolds tapped his paper coffee cup against the table and then looked up. “There’s no one else I’d even ask.”

Meredith Santera stared at the man sitting on the other side of the small, black table. Six years had passed since the last time she’d seen him and that meeting had been under decidedly different circumstances. They’d been in Dean’s office, with its perfect view of the Memorial Garden and the haze of D.C. in the distance. He’d had on a black suit, she remembered, and a red tie, his shirt so white it had dazzled her almost as much as the voice coming out of his speakerphone.

“Yes, Mr. President, she’s here right now.” Reynolds had winked at her, then waved his hand toward the phone. The seriousness of the situation overcoming her, Meredith had stuttered and stumbled and made a fool of herself, but the president had been gracious.

She sipped her coffee then put down the cup. “I was shocked when you called. I never expected to hear directly from you. We agreed—”

Dean leaned infinitesimally closer, his back ramrod straight. “I know what we agreed, but I couldn’t trust anything except a face-to-face on this one.” He seemed to force himself to relax and gave her what passed for his smile. “I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you to meet me.”

“Seeing you could never be anything but a pleasure, Dean. You should know that by now.”

Meredith patted the older man’s hand. He was the same age her father would have been were he still alive and the two men had always reminded her of each other with their similar military backgrounds, their staunch patriotism and their love of all things convoluted.

But she hadn’t wanted to meet with Reynolds when he’d called and obviously he’d sensed that during their short conversation. He’d said just enough to make her want to hear more but trepidation had come with it. Her father had passed away six months ago from a stroke and she missed him like crazy. They’d been business partners as well as parent and child, their relationship particularly close since Meredith’s mom had died while Meredith had been in college, a brain tumor taking her within months of its discovery. Since her father’s death, Meredith had questioned every decision she’d made.

Just as she was doing now.

She toyed with her napkin, folding the edges, then smoothing them, the metal grids on the table making a pattern from below. “I’m just not sure I can help you with this…situation,” she said reluctantly. “You may be talking to the wrong person.”

“I disagree and so does the man I report to. He wants you in on this and you and I both know why.” He paused. “It’s important, Meredith, or I wouldn’t even be asking you.”

“He” was the president but neither of them acknowledged that fact.

“I understand what you’re saying, Dean, but one of our own?” She shook her head at the enormity of what he was asking.

“I know…I know. It doesn’t feel right, does it?”

He sounded sad as he asked the question that needed no answer. “All I can say is that we have no other option. We have to stop these people. Think about 9/11. You would have done anything to prevent that disaster, just like I would have.”

“Are you talking about something that big?”

“Yes. Potentially worse. These aren’t migrant farm workers Jack Haden is smuggling from Mexico, Meredith. They’re terrorists from Syria. Every one of them is a member of Al Balsair.”

Meredith drew a deep breath at the name of the violent group. “That just doesn’t sound like the Haden I knew. Dammit, Dean, he’s the last guy I’d expect to get involved in something like this.”

Reynolds’s mouth tightened at her curse, just as her father’s would have. “My information is as reliable as information gets. Jack Haden’s turned and you have to take care of him. If you don’t, he’s going to help some of the worst terrorists alive get a free pass into the United States. I don’t want that happening on my watch, Meredith, and you shouldn’t, either. He’s a traitor.”

She gripped her cup and wished she had a flask of something—anything—that she could add to what was left of her coffee.

Jack Haden had been her boss at the Agency, but he’d been better in bed than behind the desk. Short and violent as a spring storm, their top-secret relationship had been chaotic and disastrous. Then Dean had called her into his office for that historic meeting and the Operatives, her team of specialists, had been born.

The night she’d informed Haden she was leaving the Agency, they’d had two hours of incredible sex, then afterward, when she’d revealed as much as she could about her plans, he’d thrown her out of his apartment. She’d been so unprepared for his reaction she’d ended up on his front porch clutching more of her clothing to her chest than she’d actually been able to get on her body.

She’d told herself the breakup had been bound to happen. Sooner or later, she and Haden would have killed one another. One would have shot the other or they would have screwed themselves to death. Sometimes, though, she wondered where the relationship might have gone. Haden had been an intriguing man with secrets that didn’t match the person she’d come to care for and the contrast had kept her interested far longer than normal. She would have figured him out eventually—but it might have taken her a lifetime.

“I brought Jack Haden into the Agency so believe me, this wasn’t an easy decision.” Reynolds toyed with the sugar packets. “I trusted him. But a lot of field officers end up this way. There’s money and excitement and deals to be made. South America is like a drawer full of candy to a smart guy like Haden, and he’s reached in and grabbed a handful.”

Meredith didn’t reply because she didn’t know what to say, a vague sense of discontent marring the loyalty she had always shown her mentor. “I just don’t know….”

Disapproval came into Reynolds’s pale gray eyes.

“I thought I could depend on you, Meredith. I helped you a lot when you were on the official payroll. I got you where you are right now.” He paused. “Surely you haven’t forgotten that, have you?”

“I haven’t forgotten anything you’ve done for me, Dean, and I never will,” she said slowly. “But Jack is one of us—”

Dean’s hand snaked out and captured her wrist before she could finish her sentence. She jerked her gaze to his face in surprise.

“He was but he isn’t anymore.” His voice turned fierce. His fingers squeezed painfully, then he released her and thumped the pile of black-and-white photos sitting on the tabletop between them. “This is what he’s become and you have a duty to see that it doesn’t go any further.”

Meredith picked up the photographs he’d already shown her, her hands shaking in spite of herself. The first one was a long-distance shot of Jack Haden and two other men. Their faces were grainy but clear enough. She knew who the terrorists were. She moved on to the second one. It showed Haden on a busy street kissing a dark-haired woman. According to Reynolds, the woman was a courier for Al Balsair. Haden had one hand around her waist and the other at her neck. The kiss was a serious one and it’d instantly reminded Meredith of the kind they’d shared. She swallowed hard and pushed the memory aside, her eyes going to the third shot. Obviously caught at a party, Haden had been snapped standing beside a blond man and they were engrossed in a conversation, oblivious to all around them.

She tapped the last picture, distracting herself from the one before it. “Tell me again about this Prescott fellow….”

“He works for a telecommunications firm out of Boston called Redman Cellular,” Reynolds said. “They’re bidding on a job to install a series of towers down there for cell phone communication. It’s easier than trying to get land lines to everyone. He went to Guatemala City two weeks ago. The last time his wife heard from him was three days later. Since then, not a word.”

“Have you talked to anyone at Redman?”

“I’ve spoken with Prescott’s boss several times.”

“No mention of a ransom?”

“He said no. He’s upset and worried, but at a loss to figure out what happened, or so he says. Everything seems normal on the surface.”

“But…?”

“But Redman Cellular’s name came through the system earlier this year with a yellow flag. The American companies that have contracts in the Latin quadrant are overworked and understaffed. They’re desperate to hang on to their deals so they’re sending people down there who aren’t anything but warm bodies. They don’t know what they’re doing, but their presence makes the locals think something’s getting done and it buys the companies more time.”

“But in the meantime, all anyone employed by Redman needs is a legitimate work visa and they’re free to travel between South America and North America. Regular round trips aren’t out of line—they’re expected.”

“Exactly.”

“Perfect setup for a mule.”

“You got it.”

Meredith shook her head in disgust. The bad guys made so much money here they had to have it physically transported to Latin America. The women and men who shuttled the money and goods back and forth were called mules. Lately, with all the advances that had been made in electronic eavesdropping, information and other pieces of intelligence were frequently hand-carried as well.

“He’d left his hotel in Guatemala City for Panajachel,” Dean continued. “That’s on Lake Atitlán. It’s a big tourist destination, but he never arrived.”

“Who contacted you about the case?”

“Someone at his hotel reported the incident and the Guatemala City police took it from there.”

She leaned closer. “You don’t generally deal with things at this level. Other than the flag on Redman Cellular, what makes Prescott so special?”

“Nothing,” he said bluntly, “except that photograph right there.” He pointed to the one showing Prescott talking to Haden. “That was taken right before he disappeared. They both ‘happened’ to be at the same party. A few days later, Prescott vanished.”

She nudged the photo of Prescott to reveal the final one in the pile. It was a long shot of Jack Haden, sitting alone at a table outside a restaurant. Her fingers brushed the image of his face as if by accident, but the recollections that heated inside her were anything but casual.

Meredith spoke carefully. “Haden has always been well-liked at the Agency. I was surprised when I heard he’d transferred to Guatemala.”

Reynolds studied her face. Meredith stared back calmly. She was confident he had no idea she and Haden had been lovers. No one had been better than the two of them at keeping secrets. Even from each other.

Especially from each other.

“I was surprised, too,” Reynolds said finally. “I always thought Hades would close Langley down and turn out the lights after everyone else had gone.”

She smiled without thinking at the nickname but her expression changed as Reynolds continued.

“I find it hard to believe he’s involved in this whole mess, too, but he is. We have the photos and surveillance on the ground. His fingerprints were all over Prescott’s room. You can confirm that with the police if you like. The rest of the information I’ve given you is confidential, of course. But if you want to double-check it…” His voice was stiff and defensive.

“That won’t be necessary. You’ve shown me the photos. If you’re sure, that’s good enough for me.”

“I’ve never been more positive of anything in my life. I wouldn’t have called you if I’d had the slightest doubt.”

“Where is he right now?”

“Guatemala City as far as I know. He hasn’t been in the office for a couple of days, but he’s still in the country. I would have heard if he’d left.”

She sat quietly for a few seconds, then she asked the question she’d been holding back since Dean had called her two days before. “You have other ways to handle this.” Her eyes locked on his. “Why me?”

“You’re the best,” he said without preamble. “And that’s what I have to have.”

She started to interrupt, but he stopped her with an uplifted hand.

“When Jack’s disappearance comes to light—and it will—the investigation will be very thorough. The people in D.C. who work these kinds of details will turn Guatemala upside down trying to figure out what happened. I can’t have any loose ends pointing back to me or, God forbid, the president.” He shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. “Can you imagine what would happen if the press were to learn the U.S. president had sanctioned one of his own men? The Agency would be destroyed and no one would care that we’d saved ten thousand lives in the process.” He stared at her without blinking. “You’re the only person who can do this and do it right. If any mistakes are made, we’ll all go down, the country included. You’re the only person in the world I can trust to do this right.”

His confidence in her was reassuring. For a minute, she felt as if her dad were sitting beside her. “And Prescott?”

He crumpled his coffee cup, the action holding a finality. “Prescott’s a civilian. If something happens to him, it would be unfortunate, especially if he’s innocent. Try to bring him back.”

Her words came out with difficulty. “How do you want it to happen?”

“I don’t really care,” he said coolly. “But if I were you, I’d find out if Haden knows where Prescott is before you take care of…things. Other than that, it doesn’t matter. You’re the professional.”



TELLING HER MENTOR she needed some time, Meredith left without giving Dean Reynolds a firm answer. She turned in her rental car at the airport, found her terminal and sat down, her thoughts a lot more convoluted than they had ever been before.

She’d loved working at the CIA and felt as if she’d been made for the job, but that had been the trouble, according to Reynolds. She’d been so good—“born to it,” he’d said, “the kind of agent we get once in a lifetime”—it was felt her talents were being wasted at her post in D.C.

Still, she’d been surprised by Reynolds’s support. The Agency was a place where it was every man for himself. Reynolds was an uptight, by-the-book patriot lawyer who’d been the Director of Operations for years. He’d survived four presidents, two wars and a terrorist attack at the CIA’s headquarters eight miles outside downtown D.C. He didn’t hand out favors easily.

At the conclusion of Meredith’s third year, though, Reynolds had pulled her into his office and pushed a laptop computer across his desk to her. Open on the screen was a written report, the pages of which vanished after she read each one. In the corner there had been a drawing of a small black box. She’d understood what that meant at the end—when the words Classification: Black Box had flashed across the screen, then disappeared.

She’d had no idea there was a level of secrecy within the Agency designated as black box. A class so far above the others that it was described only as silent. When Dean had explained the protocol, she’d been speechless.

“You’ll have to be fired from the Agency,” he’d said. “And you will have to leave in disgrace. No one can ever know that the Operatives have the president’s blessings. If anyone did find out—” He’d stopped abruptly and broken their eye contact. After a short pause, he’d continued. “If they find out, it would be bad, very bad, for all concerned.”

In a daze of disbelief, she’d almost laughed out loud at that point, the old joke about “I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you” coming to her. One look at the older man’s expression, however, had sent her amusement fleeing. She’d gone home and agonized over the opportunity but in the end, she’d agreed, the patriotism running through her too strong to resist the pull of performing a service this special for her country. She’d thrown in only one condition—she wanted her father’s help. A former Navy intel man, he’d been quickly approved and even welcomed into the circle.

The Operatives had come together shortly after that. Handpicked by her father and cleared by Meredith, the three men on the team each had their speciality: Stratton O’Neil was a sniper. Jonathan Cruz used his hands. Armando Torres was a doctor, and no one understood exactly how he did what he did.

Meredith’s weapon of choice was the knife.

They were assassins and only a handful of people knew it.

Of those, fewer still knew the whole truth: Every hit they’d ever made had been a sanctioned one, vetted and cleared by the president of the United States himself. The secret was buried so well that even the men on the team didn’t know. At least, not officially. They’d guessed by now, she was sure, but nothing had ever been said about their status.

Haden had not been included in the group who knew these facts. He thought the Operatives were mercenaries, plain and simple. A year or so after she’d been “fired,” she’d run into him at Heathrow. He’d been on his way to the Sudan and she’d been going to Hong Kong. She’d wanted desperately to avoid him, but escape had been out of the question. He’d started straight for her the second he’d seen her.

“I hear you’ve a very rich woman,” he said without preamble.

“I make a living.”

His eyes had turned hard and glittery. “A real killing?”

The double entendre had left her trembling on the inside but she’d smiled. “You could say that.”

He’d shaken his head in disgust and walked away. Watching him leave, Meredith had understood, in a way she hadn’t before then, that her former life was truly over. All she had left was her job. Everything else had been sacrificed for her country.

With the motivation of a higher purpose guiding their actions, the Operatives had proceeded to make the world a safer place. She’d never felt a moment’s doubt about their goals until today when she’d looked in Dean Reynolds’s eyes and heard him say Jack Haden’s name.

Watching a 747 angle into its berth twenty feet from where she sat, she sighed heavily and admitted to the hesitation she’d felt during her meeting with Dean. She didn’t doubt his intel but something just didn’t feel right.

Her doubts plagued her the whole flight home. She knew the Miami airport better than she knew her own backyard but when she got in late that night, she got lost pulling out of the parking lot. Finally, she found the right road and she headed home.

Turning into her driveway at midnight, Meredith parked inside the garage and lowered the door. When it was completely down, she unlocked the car and retrieved her overnight bag from the trunk. Once inside, she flicked on the lights and turned off her burglar alarm, then she went through the house with her blade at her side. Her actions were routine but they weren’t taken lightly. A price had been on her head for years.

She finished her check and came back to the kitchen. Laying her knife on the countertop where her cell phone already rested, she leaned her hip against the cabinet and closed her eyes, her mind occupied with the images and sensations Dean’s proposition had brought back to her.

Haden’s face in the dark, his body, toned and hard, the touch of his fingers along her jaw. She’d hidden her memories beneath a layer of protective armor after their breakup, but Dean’s words had ripped that shield right off.

She’d given up everything for her country; the possibility of a family and a husband, not to mention children, were not in her future and they never would be. She’d traded those things for adrenaline and power—life-and-death power—and it was way too late to go back and make changes.

If she’d ever had a chance at having any of those things, it would have been with Haden, though. He’d been wild, but under the craziness there had been a rock-solid man she’d come to care for more than she’d expected. More than anyone she’d ever cared for before—or since. He’d been special and rare—one of those guys who caught you unaware when you’d decided no one else could possibly surprise you.

For a single second she wanted to walk away and ignore the decision she’d wrestled with for the past five hours, but she knew that wasn’t a real option.

If Reynolds wanted Haden dead, it was going to happen.

If she didn’t take the job, then someone else would. Haden would fall ill. Or get hit by a car. Or drown in a pool.

He was a dead man walking.

Before she could think about it any more, she picked up her cell phone and dialed. It was almost 1:00 a.m. but Dean Reynolds answered on the second ring, his voice deep, his manner alert. “Reynolds here.”

“I’ll call you when I get there,” she said. “Don’t try to contact me. You won’t be able to.” She hung up before he could ask any questions.




CHAPTER TWO


SHE HIT THE END BUTTON then dialed a second number. It was an hour earlier in Peru where Armando Torres lived, but he answered as quickly as Dean Reynolds had.

“I’m taking some time off,” she said. “I thought I should let you know.”

“That’s good.” His calm acceptance of her announcement was typical. Nothing ruffled Armando, except his new wife. They’d met when she’d come to his clinic near Machu Picchu in search of some answers to questions from her past. He’d helped her find them and they’d fallen in love in the process. “Are you going somewhere warm where the water is blue and the drinks are cold?”

“I’m going to Guatemala,” she answered. “Does that count?”

A small silence built. “Since there is no other reason to visit that godforsaken country, I must assume you’re an aficionado of antiquities and I didn’t know it.”

“I’m not, but a friend of mine is having some problems. I’m going down there to see if I can help.”

“You have a friend besides Julia?” His voice lightened. “I don’t believe it!”

Meredith chuckled. Armando had met her best friend, Julia Vandamme when she and Jonathan Cruz had married a short time ago. Cruz had saved Julia from a very bad situation in Colombia before stealing her heart.

“This is a friend I don’t usually claim, but I think he’s gotten himself into some trouble. I can’t walk away.”

Armando’s voice stayed neutral. “Trouble in Guatemala can be deadly. It’s not a nice place.”

“That’s why I wanted you to know where I’ll be. Whatever happens, it won’t be easy.”

“Maybe you should send Stratton instead?”

Stratton O’Neil had left the Operatives, but he still helped them out on occasion. He was very good in tricky situations.

“I’d like to send him,” she said now, “but this is something I have to do.”

“Are you sure?”

She looked out to the courtyard where a late night shower had left diamonds glittering on the leaves of the ferns. All her windows faced the courtyard. There were no openings to the street and the world beyond, a metaphor for her life, she’d often thought.

“I don’t really like Guatemala,” she mused. “I don’t understand the country but yes, I’m sure. I don’t have a choice.”

“Meredith, por favor, we always have choices. You know that better than anyone,” he chided her gently. “You have had to make some hard ones yourself.”

“You have, too, my friend.”

“Maybe so, but that is life, eh?”

“I suppose.”

He hesitated, as polite as ever, but his concern overrode his reserve. “If you have a lack of enthusiasm about this situation, perhaps it is best to reconsider?”

“I’ve already committed myself. That isn’t an option.”

“Which only serves to make my point.”

“You’re right,” she said. “But I said I’d help.”

“I understand,” he conceded. “Some obligations must be met, regardless of their cost.”

“Thanks for listening. You’re a good friend, Armando.”

“Return the favor by staying safe.”

“I’ll do my best.”



THE RAINY SEASON WAS supposed to stop at the end of May but someone had forgotten to tell Mother Nature. Water glistened in black puddles when Meredith stepped outside the terminal at La Aurora International in Guatemala City the following night, a cool breeze accompanying the errant drips still falling from the edge of the roof. She pulled her sweater close as she passed five men in military garb. They each carried an automatic weapon slung casually over the shoulder and they watched Meredith as she headed toward the waiting taxis, a single light bag in her hand.

The president of Guatemala had been overthrown in the late fifties and since that time, the government, such as it was, had been under the command of a parade of generals and dictators, each more corrupt than the previous. In the eighties, the country had turned into a killing field. Things had gotten better in the late 90s, but no one forgot what it had been like and most expected it would return. The poverty was staggering.

The address she gave the taxi driver was in the Zona Viva, an area of town comprised of restaurants and hotels with plenty of upscale houses as well. Traffic was heavy despite the lateness of the hour but they got there eventually. She tipped the driver an amount reasonable enough to be acceptable but not enough to be remembered, then climbed out of the car in front of a hotel. Walking briskly, she lost herself in the crowd of pedestrians coming toward her. Four blocks later, she turned south. The commercial buildings became villas and fifteen minutes after that, she stopped and tapped twice on a wooden fence. A gate, unseen until that point, swung back, a slice of light spilling out from behind it to the darkened sidewalk. Meredith slid inside and the lock clicked behind her.

She’d never been in this particular house but it was so similar to the ones she always used that she barely noticed its comfortable furniture or generous rooms. The only thing she cared about was privacy and anonymity. Having to worry about someone recognizing her was the last thing she wanted. She made a quick check of the windows and doors, then had an even quicker conversation with the man who’d opened the gate. He knew better than to ask any questions and twenty minutes after she’d arrived, Meredith was settled in. The maps she’d requested were on the kitchen table. She made herself a cup of coffee and sat down with the phone.

The first number she dialed was Cipriano Barrisito’s. She’d called him from the States before leaving and told him what she needed. She listened to the phone ring and thought about the tasks that faced her.

His voice was slick and deep when he answered. He was a fixer, a man who hung on the edges of both good and bad, doing whatever needed to be done for whoever had the money. “¿Bueno?”

“It’s me,” she said. “I’m here.”

“That’s good. Was your journey a smooth one?”

“I’m still in one piece,” she said. “Will I see you tonight?”

“Actually, I’m sending my cousin, Rosario. When I told the family that I needed some information of a certain type, she came to me.” He laughed. “You know how it works. She has a friend, who has a friend, who has a friend….”

Barrisito’s “family” consisted of a dozen or so hookers he ran in the center of town. They represented only one facet of his organization, but when he needed to know something, the women were where he went first.

Meredith murmured her assent, but when he spoke again, his tone was guarded and uncertain, a fact that made her nervous. “I’m not sure we can shed any light on the problem, though.”

She hid her reaction by mock surprise. “Your family is always so friendly and helpful, mi amigo. I find that hard to believe. What are you saying?”

“The situation is…fluid, as you like to say in the north. The friend you inquired about seems to be out of town at the moment. Perhaps he’s joined the other gentleman you mentioned?”

As was her way, Meredith had explained as little as possible when she’d called Cipri earlier. She needed to locate Brad Prescott, she’d said, and Jack Haden might be able to help. Was he around?

“They’re both out of pocket now?” she asked.

“That seems to be the case,” Barrisito said. “I may have a handle on where they went, but like I said, I’m not sure at this point.”

“How long has my friend been gone?”

“That, I don’t know. All I do know is that he didn’t turn up for work yesterday or today. I may learn more within the next hour. If I do, Cousin Rosario will tell you when you see her.”

They said their goodbyes, Meredith’s concern rising over this latest turn of events. Where in the hell was Haden? Had he gone back to the States? For half a second, she thought of calling Reynolds to see what he knew, but in the end, she decided to stick with her original plan.

A little after eleven, she headed back to the business district. The bar was easy to find, its blaring techno pop competing with the even louder salsa music coming from the place next door. She sat down near the door and waited. Five minutes later Cousin Rosario slipped into the empty seat across the table. Her skimpy yellow blouse and cheap black skirt advertised her work, her hard face and made-up eyes, further confirmation. They chatted in Spanish and acted as if they’d known each other forever, checking on nonexistent relatives and verifying their identities in the process. After sharing a plate of tapas they got up and left together, heading down a busy side street to a small parque.

They made their way to a bench under a huge mahogany tree. It was late and getting later but the parque was still fairly full, a family with five children sitting in the grass nearby, their innocent laughter totally incongruent with the conversation the two women were about to have.

Meredith spoke first. “So what do you know?”

The woman was accustomed to people in a hurry. She took no notice of Meredith’s rush.

“Cipri told me you’re looking for someone. A gringo… I came because I have a friend who works up north. By Lake Ati. She goes to this place once a week. It’s like a prison but it isn’t.”

“What do you mean it’s ‘like’ a prison?”

The woman shrugged. “It’s not an official place, you know? The men, they’re locked up, okay? But the guards, they let the women in easy, no hassle like the policia would give them. All they want is some thing in return. They get la mordida—just a little money, not big like the police—then the women, they do their jobs and leave. No problems.” She explained the layout of the compound, her hands moving gracefully.

“Who puts the men there?” Meredith asked when she finished. “Who runs the place?”

The woman looked at her blankly. If she knew, she wasn’t telling.

“All right,” Meredith said impatiently. “So there’s two gringos there, correct? What do they look like—”

“No.” The hooker interrupted. “Not two. My friend, she say nothing about two. There was only one. One man. Cipri, he asked me that, too, but hay sólo uno.”

The uneasiness that had started during Meredith’s conversation with Barrisito raised another notch. Just as he’d pointed out, situations like this were always changing, but Meredith had come down here believing Prescott was the only MIA. Then Barrisito had told her Haden was gone, too.

Now she was back to one man?

“Does this gringo have a name?” she asked.

“They call him Árabe.”

“The Arab?” Meredith frowned in confusion. She’d always thought of Haden as a younger version of Nick Nolte in his good days. Bright blue eyes, white-blond hair, broad shoulders, a gravelly voice. There was no way anyone would confuse him with an Arab. If the man in prison was called the Arab, he couldn’t be Haden. At the same time, the picture Dean had given her of Brad Prescott had shown a fairly young man with light hair and green eyes. His features hadn’t been dark enough to give the impression of a Middle Eastern heritage, but maybe his skin could have burnished under the Mayan sun. “Is he Arab?” she asked.

The woman shrugged again, this time with a casualness that tried Meredith’s patience. “I don’t know.”

“What does he look like?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does he speak English?”

“I don’t know. Look, are you gonna pay me now? I have to get my money—”

Meredith waited a beat, then she leaned closer, her voice a fraction lower, her face expressionless. “I want you to try real hard to remember what your friend told you,” she said quietly. “So far, I haven’t heard anything that’s worth a single quetzal, much less the hundred dollars you demanded.”

The woman inched backward on the bench as a soft drizzle began. The rain hit the leaves on the tree that sheltered them. “I—I don’t know what else to tell you. That’s all she said.”

“Try harder,” Meredith pressed. “What color is his hair? What color are his eyes? Which cell was he in?”

“I—I don’t know—” She stopped abruptly, her hand going to the base of her neck. “No, no…she did say something about his eyes, I remember now.”

Meredith waited.

“My friend, she say they were vacíe.”

“Empty?”

“Sí, sí. That’s right. Emtie, yes.” She stood and held her hands up, palms out. “That’s all I know, señorita. There’s nothing more, I promise.” A second later, she was gone.

For another ten minutes, Meredith sat under the tree in the falling rain and considered her options. Then she got up and started walking.

Her feet didn’t head the direction she ordered them to, though. They started down Calle 6b and fifteen minutes later, she found herself outside Jack Haden’s home.




CHAPTER THREE


STANDING IN THE SHADOWS across the street, Meredith stared at the house then closed her eyes for half a second. She could envision Haden inside, tracing the patterns on tiled floors with his toes, trailing his fingers over the polished wood banisters, leaning against the stuccoed wall. Haden was the kind of guy who liked to touch things he was familiar with—it gave him a sense of comfort, she’d decided after watching him one day. He liked to reassure himself that he was where he thought he was and the things around him were his own. He’d touched her that way, too.

She opened her eyes and studied the home a little closer. Built like the others around it, nothing about the building stood out, which was probably one of the reasons it appealed to him. Two stories with a red tiled roof, the place was surrounded by a painted wall that looked to be about ten feet tall. The top of it was decorated with bits of colored broken glass, the jagged edges pointing straight up. Anyone trying to boost themselves over would end up with a bloody gash across the palm.

A black iron gate was set in the stucco and through the bars, she could see a small garden. The front door opened to the patio. There was no garage and reminding her of her own home, all the windows faced the interior courtyard. A dim reflection ricocheted off the glass of the nearest one but there were no lights on inside.

She glanced down the street. Haden could have afforded a better colonia, but he’d obviously chosen this one for a reason. She wondered if his selection had had anything to do with the lack of vehicles parked outside. If your neighbors were too poor to have cars, then you heard one when it came down the street in the middle of the night. Here, in times past, the sound of a car drawing near after dark was one people dreaded. They’d lock their doors and hide, praying no one would knock. In the morning, they’d get up and surreptitiously check their neighbors to see who had been taken away.

Things were supposed to better now, but who could say for sure? Haden would have been cautious regardless.

She edged down the calle toward a patch of darkness that spread all the way across the street, then she crossed, the smell of fried tortillas filling the air, the sound of a distant radio coming with it. She’d planned on walking by and nothing more, but when she was even with the gate, she couldn’t resist. Her hand reached out and touched one of the bars and the whole thing drifted backward without a sound.

She froze.

Haden would have never left the gate open if he’d gone out of town and if he was home, he would have been even more careful about checking it.

She looked over her shoulder in both directions, then glided inside the walled enclosure, her steps muted. No moon lit the sky but there was enough ambient light to make out the bushes and plants in pots around a central fountain. Edging around the perimeter, she headed for a door set between two of the windows.

The taste of fear filled her dry mouth and suddenly she realized her knife was in her hand. She didn’t remember pulling the weapon from her boot but her fingers were wrapped around it so she must have. When she reached the door, she used the tip of the blade to press against the wood and swing it open. The slab of heavy mahogany complied with a soft creak.

She wished it had stayed shut.

The room before her had been destroyed. There were holes in the stucco where things had been thrown and most of the furniture was upside down. A brown couch lay on its side, its ripped cushions scattered from one end of the room to the other. Two small chairs had been pushed over, too, their arms sticking uselessly into the air. The coffee table was the same way, but it only had three legs. One had been broken off with a savagery that made her swallow, a jagged piece of wood sticking out from the frame like a broken bone. The leg that had been ripped off lay near the shattered television set. The tip had been dipped in something brown and sticky. Her eyes backtracked the trail leading up to it. The line was long and ropy. On the wall where it began was a smeared handprint.

She stepped inside the room, avoiding a stain on the tile floor at the threshold to close the door behind her. Standing quietly, she listened to the flies buzz nearby, then she moved down the hallway on her left in a quick but silent stride. Within minutes, she knew the house was empty.

She returned to the den and surveyed the destruction again. Whatever had happened here had happened several days before, but the echoes of violence left behind could still be felt. Suppressing a shudder, Meredith tried to concentrate but it was almost impossible. Death had been here.

The heavy silence was broken with the incongruent sound of a baby crying. Meredith blinked twice, then realized the noise was coming from next door. She glanced at the house in time to see a light come on behind a open window on the second floor. Had they seen anything? Had they heard anything? The outline of a small lamp wavered behind a filmy curtain. It threw enough illumination over the stucco fence that when she turned back to the den, some of the details she’d missed before came into clearer view.

The first thing she noticed was the wall behind the front door. The pale yellow paint was marked with the scuff of a shoe. It looked as if someone had stood there and rested a boot against the stucco. She imagined the scene—the door slowly opening, the person behind makes the first strike, the beating ensues. Who had been waiting? Who had walked inside?

She picked her way through the debris to the other side of the room. Along with everything else, there were five cigarette butts scattered in the mess, all of them Payasos, the local Guatemalan brand. Kneeling down she stilled. Haden didn’t smoke. Acting on instinct, she lifted them one by one with the end of her knife and, ripping a page from a nearby book, wrapped the cigarettes up in the paper before dropping the packet into her pocket. She didn’t know what the cigarettes might tell her later, but information was information and years of training wouldn’t let her ignore it.

She studied the bookshelves. They had obviously been bumped during the struggle, books and photos tumbling out of their shelves to the floor beneath. Something silver glinted in the light but before she could tell what it was, the room went dark again. The baby had gone silent, she realized, and the neighbor had doused his lamp.

Stepping closer, she bent down anyway and dug through the debris with the edge of her knife. She had to push aside a heavy candle and then move a travel book on Machu Picchu, but she finally reached the thing that had caught her attention.

It was a picture frame, she realized. And it held a photograph of her.



RETURNING TO THE SAFE HOUSE, Meredith called Cipriano Barrisito immediately. The need to rush was long past—the blood had been shed days ago—but she couldn’t hold back her sense of urgency.

He answered as before, right on the third ring. “Did everything go as you wanted?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “My friend may have a bigger problem than I first thought. I need you to go to his barrio and ask some questions.”

“Dígame.”

She gave him the address of Haden’s neighbor then said, “Send someone over there right now. They have a young child and they probably don’t sleep too soundly. I want to know if they heard any…noise at the house next door.” She took a sip of the drink she’d poured for herself before grabbing the phone. “It would have happened over the last two days, maybe three.”

Barrisito hesitated. “What would this unusual sound have been?”

“Just ask them. When you find out, call me back.”

She was on her second drink when the phone rang, its strident sound making her jerk so hard, a splash of tomato juice and vodka spilled from her glass onto her blouse. The stain reminded her of the ones she’d seen in Haden’s house.

“Night before last, they heard a car on the street behind them,” Barrisito confirmed. “Then men talking loudly.”

“How many?”

“At least two, maybe three. They weren’t sure.”

“Did they recognize anyone?”

“No.”

“What happened?”

“A fight, but they ignored it,” he said. “This is Guatemala. You don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. It might get chopped off.”

“How long did it last?”

“Not long.” He paused. “When it was over, they said one man left the house and walked away. They saw no one else after that and they’ve seen no one since.” He spoke quietly. “If your friend was somehow taken to the place my cousin told you about, I would leave this alone.”

“I don’t think that’s him,” she said quietly, the feeling she’d had at Haden’s returning. Death had been in there. She’d felt it. “Rosario said only one gringo was there. I doubt that it’s Haden. It may be Brad Prescott, though.”

“Whoever he is, leave him be. Fidel Menchez controls everything in that part of the country. Everything between Guatemala and Mexico. And he’s not a pleasant man.”

She tried to focus. “Tell me more.”

“There’s nothing more to tell. For a small fee, he will guarantee safe passage for the other men’s couriers who must pass through his area but if you do not pay, you end up in his prison.”

“Is there no way out?”

“I’ve heard of bribes helping, but the price, it is too high for most.”

“How big is this place? Are there that many couriers going back and forth?”

“He has other ‘prisoners’ as well. For his friends—his paying friends—Menchez will help out with someone who needs to be ‘disappeared.’ They go in, they don’t come out.”

“Why not just kill them?”

“Killing would be easier,” Barrisito conceded, “but you have to remember where you are. This is Guatemala. Everything can be used as a bargaining chip. One never knows when a trade can be made. Why waste the bullet?”

Meredith’s mind spun as he talked, her plan coalescing quickly, the seed for it having already been planted the minute the hooker had mentioned her friend’s visit to the prison.

“You’re loca,” he said after Meredith explained what she wanted to do. “These people are not the kind you are accustomed to dealing with. They have no honor. You do not understand.”

“I’ve worked with their ilk before.”

“I do not think so,” he said. “If you had, you would not be around to tell about it.”

“I can handle myself,” she said grimly. “You just hold up your end. That’s all you need to worry about.”

She took a bath and went to bed but the sun came up a few hours later and found her still awake, thoughts of Haden plaguing her. In her heart, she knew he was dead and the heaviness that weighed her down was both shocking and unexpected. She analyzed her reaction further, her emotions rising to the surface. The idea of Haden being gone left her completely adrift, but at the same time, she felt a twisted relief over the fact that she hadn’t been the one to cause the situation. She shook her head in total confusion. What the hell was wrong with her?

Through the chaos one thought registered. If Haden and Prescott had been working together, then maybe Brad Prescott might know what had really happened at Haden’s home. She coudn’t leave without knowing the truth.

Turning her mind away from her thoughts, Meredith got out of bed and made some notes about what Barrisito’s hooker had told her. When a glance at her watch told her the market had opened, she made a quick trip to one of the boutiques and then stopped at a postal service. After filling out all the forms and sealing up the cigarette butts she’d retrieved from Haden’s house, she printed the address on the front of the lab she used in D.C. The butts might reveal nothing, but the chance they might reveal something was too great to ignore.

After returning to the house, she packed the clothing she’d bought into a small bag she found inside one of the closets, leaving the rest of her personal items in place. If things went the way she planned, she would be back during the early hours of Saturday morning and on a plane to Houston the following afternoon.

The clock chimed noon when she locked the house and left. The tote on one shoulder, her purse on the other, she walked briskly down the narrow street going the opposite direction she had the night before. In a matter of minutes she was on a busy commercial street. She crossed it twice, then finally decided on a particular cab. As they headed for Zona 8, the passing buildings turned bleaker and the streets narrower. The driver pulled up to the bus station and Meredith paid him, climbing out with one eye on her surroundings. The sun had come out and it was steamy, the smell of dust and smoke heavy all around. There was always something burning in Guatemala City. She entered the bus station and the haze actually seemed stronger inside.

Five hours later she got off the bus in Huehuetenango.

She went into the nearest bathroom and took off the jeans and T-shirt she’d traveled in, replacing them with the short skirt and tight halter she’d bought earlier that morning. Lining her eyes with a dark pencil, she added another layer of mascara, then pulled her hair to one side with a wide rubber band. She took her shoes from the bag last of all. They were custom-made heels; the sole was as thin as a wafer and so was the blade it concealed. She checked the edge and handle carefully and then slipped the weapon back into its hidden compartment.

Judging from the looks she got when she came out, her transformation was a good one. She hoped the guards at the prison would think so, too, but her thoughts were interrupted as a man approached her.

He appeared familiar, then she remembered that Barrisito had told her he was sending his brother to meet her. The dark eyes that met hers were a mirror image of the man who’d warned her against coming.

His gaze went over her body then came back to her face. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

He was as outspoken as his brother. “I can take care of myself,” she said. “You just get me in.”

He led her to his vehicle in silence, their conversation over. A few minutes later he pulled up in front of a small run-down hotel. A fountain bubbled quietly in the courtyard beside the street and the walls were covered with a thick green vine but nothing could hide the air of seedy despair that hung over it. A group of women were huddled next to a waiting van and they looked up as Barrisito’s brother pulled his SUV up to the curb.

“That’s them,” he said.

Meredith ran her eyes over the scantily clad women. She would have known who they were without his input.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can.” She turned back to the man beside her. “Don’t be late. Will this be the vehicle?”

“No, this is my car. I’ll have another one for you.”

“Make sure it’s gassed up. I don’t want to have to stop between here and Guatemala City. Do you know where to leave it?”

“Sí, entiendo.” His voice was sullen. He didn’t like taking orders from a woman. “It will be there and the tank will be full. But you will not be needing it, I tell you the truth.”

She paused, her hand on the latch. “And why is that?”

“You won’t be coming back,” he said smugly. “Menchez’s men are no fools. They will know you are not who you say you are.”

Leaning toward him, she held his gaze in the rearview mirror. “There’s only one way they would know that and that’s if you tell them. Should that happen, I’ll return to make sure you don’t do it again.” She waited for her words to soak in. “Do you understand me?”

“I understand.”

She didn’t smile. “Bueno. I wouldn’t want to have to give your brother bad news when I return to the city.”

“I would not want that, either.”

“Then keep your mouth shut,” she said, her voice hard. “And have my car waiting.”



THE WOMEN DIDN’T greet Meredith. They were experienced enough, if not old enough, to know it was best to ignore her. She represented the unknown and therefore, the dangerous. Still, she found herself wondering which one of them had told Barrisito’s hooker about the gringo she’d seen. It wouldn’t have hurt to have a friend in the group, but Meredith knew even better than they did that strangers were to be avoided.

The driver herded them into the van, passing out dirty black scarves as they climbed inside. Meredith watched as one by one, the women wrapped the rags around their eyes. She followed suit but when she saw the driver wasn’t going to check she left hers loose enough to see through. The woman beside her did the same. They exchanged a quick look before the woman turned away, Meredith’s impression of her forming quickly out of necessity. Bored and already jaded, she was probably in her thirties but she could just as easily have been nineteen or fifty, her dark, long hair and slanted eyes giving away little more than her Indian heritage.

The van took the main road out of town, then went north about three miles, the pavement giving way to a dirt-rutted road. Meredith noted the intersection then turned her eyes to the foliage outside the window. The farther they went, the thicker it became, the branches of the rubber trees leaning over and scraping the windows as if to ask for sanctuary from the endless jungle. The driver slowed after five long minutes then turned left sharply. The van ground to a halt shortly after that, the brakes’ squeaky protest announcing their arrival.

The women pulled off their masks and their purses came out, the smell of cheap perfume filling the air as they sprayed their necks and reapplied their lipstick. When the van’s door opened, they passed through it in a cloud of cloying sweetness and Max Factor.

Ten yards from the bus, a single guard stood beside a rusting metal fence while another one sat behind a rickety desk. The women presented their purses to one and their bodies to the other, each searched with a thoroughness that would have done the airport screeners back in the U.S.A. proud. Meredith’s turn came up quickly.

The man’s hands were rough and impersonal as he patted down her sides and hips then felt under her breasts. His breath was a mixture of stale beer and strong garlic. She let him do his job, then she stepped back and sucked in a lung full of air. He threw a comment over her shoulder to the man at the desk. His words were in Mam, a local dialect but the meaning was clear; she’d passed. She stared straight ahead like the novice she was supposed to be, moving only after he jerked his head for her to go on, switching to Spanish. “Pase adelante.”

She stepped inside the prison and surveyed the grounds.

The description she’d gotten from the hooker had been accurate, she saw with relief. A fenced-in area opened out before her, the lot roughly forty-by-forty with a packed dirt floor and abandoned guard towers at either end. To her right was a cracked sidewalk lit by a row of bare lightbulbs hanging overhead. A half-dozen concrete benches were nearby, two broken-down picnic tables beside them. On the opposite side of the sidewalk was a small, open-air cinder-block building with peeling paint and four doors made of hanging fabric. An ancient fan sat on the crosspiece above each scrap of material, their blades rattling softly. This was where the women saw their clients.

She looked past the immediate area to the prison beyond. Behind another fence was a larger building that obviously contained the celdas and a second open area that looked like a soccer field. Men were filing into it slowly. The only guards she saw were the two behind her, but she assumed there were others nearby. There were no offices or administrative structures, in fact, there was nothing around that looked official in any way. Barrisito’s explanation had been right on target.

When the visitors were all inside, the gate squeaked open at the other end of the compound and the prisoners spilled out into the courtyard. The women pushed forward and Meredith allowed them to carry her the same direction. The two groups met in the center of the dust-filled yard and chaos took over.

The prison population was made up mainly of locals and they were uniformly short—a taller individual, blond or otherwise, would stand out. Meredith’s eyes scanned the crowd but she didn’t have to look long. In the center of the group, a man wearing a white rag wrapped around his head caught her attention, one part of the puzzle falling into place. He wasn’t an Arab but his makeshift ghutra had earned him the nickname. Her eyes dropped to his face and she sucked in a breath of horror.

The man was a mess. Covered in bruises and cuts, his skin was puffy and stretched, one eye so swollen it was completely closed, the other one a narrow slit. He hadn’t been trying for a political statement with the dirty white towel—he’d simply wrapped himself up in an effort to hold the pieces together. Her eyes skipped over the details because she didn’t want to look any closer, but a long ragged gash down one cheek stood out and she couldn’t ignore it; the open wound was hot and ugly. She winced at the thought of the pain he must feel, sympathy passing through her.

There was no resemblance between the man before her and the photo of Brad Prescott. Then again, she thought with pity, this poor bastard’s own mother wouldn’t have known who he was.

Meredith took a deep breath and pushed her way toward him.




CHAPTER FOUR


SHE DIDN’T RECOGNIZE HIM.

Disbelief mixing with confusion, Haden watched Meredith Santera approach him, determination pulling her mouth into a single line, her steps quick and dogged. Without even looking at him, she grabbed his hand, pivoted and dragged him behind her, small puffs of dust rising from their steps as she hurried to beat the others to the casitas.

He was battered, but his brain was still working and he realized instantly that Meredith’s appearance was not a good thing.

As he had the thought, though, Haden found his eyes dropping to her tight skirt and the curves it hugged that he’d once known so intimately. In total amazement, he felt himself respond to her, the situation so bizarre, he almost laughed out loud. He’d been beat to shit and now Meredith was here to finish the job and all he could think about was getting into her pants.

She flicked the curtain back and entered the room, pulling him in with her.

“We only have ten minutes.” She threw a look over her shoulder and began to unbutton her blouse, her voice low and urgent. “Take off your clothes and get on the mattress. We have to make this look good or they’ll get suspicious.”

When he didn’t move, she yanked him to her and began to unzip his pants. “C’mon, c’mon. We don’t have much time. I know you’re hurt but work with me, okay?”

Before he could respond, his jeans were halfway to his knees. She gave him a little push and he fell against the filthy mattress behind him. She was on top of him a moment later, her skirt hiked to her waist, her warm thighs straddling his.

“I’m going to create a diversion.” Bending over to speak in his ear, she moved closer, her hair forming a curtain around them that felt like silk and smelled like heaven. “All you need to do is move when I tell you. Don’t do anything else and for God’s sake, don’t argue with me.” Her legs tightened as she continued, her resolve obvious. She threw back her head and moaned convincingly, then leaned down to his ear once more time. “I know what I’m doing, all right? Don’t fight me and everything will be fine.”

Outside someone snickered and Haden leaned to one side to look past Meredith. One of the guards stood beside the curtain, his hot gaze trained on Meredith’s rear, his wet lips glistening under the yellow lights hung overhead.

Following his stare, Meredith glanced over her shoulder and she smiled. Then she began to move up and down, her hips mocking the rhythm she and Haden had shared dozens of times before, her moans growing louder. Tossing her hair in a gesture that stopped his breath, she put on a show that had him convinced, the expression of ecstasy on her face so believable it made him wonder about the times when her satisfaction was supposed to have been genuine. She continued with the show until the guard moved on.

Then she glanced down and her mouth fell open. His eyes tracked her stare and he saw what she’d seen.

He still had the tattoo.

Her eyes flew to his face, recognition dawning. “Oh, my God! Haden? Is that you? I didn’t expect—”

Before she could finish, a scream filled the courtyard and all hell broke loose.



HADEN BUCKED Meredith off and jumped to his feet, the noise outside growing louder by the minute. She landed on the floor in a daze. She’d been expecting Brad Prescott, but she hadn’t gotten him. Yet except for the tattoo, the man standing above her bore no resemblance to anyone she’d ever known, and that included Jack Haden.

But that’s who he was and she knew it for a fact.

They’d gotten matching tattoos one night when alcohol had overtaken what little good sense they’d had left. She’d had hers removed the next day. Haden had laughed and said he was keeping his—and he obviously had, the small gold star still gleaming on his hipbone.

He jerked up his pants, suspicion filling his distorted features. “Who were you expecting, Meredith? You seem a little surprised.”

She gaped at him a moment longer, then the chaos outside intruded again. She’d had a diversion planned, but whatever was happening couldn’t be a part of it—it was way too soon. She’d told Barrisito’s brother to wait until she’d come out of the shack and given him the signal.

Before she could answer, Haden grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. “Forget it—you can tell me later! We need to get the hell out of here. This might be our only chance!”

“No!” She twisted away and reached for her shoe, slipping the knife from the sole and hiding it in her waistband. “I have a plan—it’s already in place. A fight’s going to break out and then—”

He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Screw your plan! This is it! We’re leaving now!”

Without waiting, he gripped her arm again, then pulled her toward the doorway, her blouse half-on, her skirt still up around her waist. She yanked the garment down, then managed to bend over and snag her shoes. She got one on, then hopped a step and slipped on the other.

They were swallowed by the crowd the second they stepped outside. If Haden hadn’t had the hold on her hand that he did, they would have been torn apart. Thrusting and shoving, screaming and yelling, the inmates were throwing punches and going wild, some already climbing up the fence behind the guard shack.

“This way!” Haden yelled at her and pointed over the prisoners who swirled around them. “The gate’s on the south side of the complex—”

“No! Not that way!” She turned in a different direction. “We have to go this way! Over here!”

He couldn’t hear her, or if he did, he ignored her. Using his battered body as a shield, he headed the way he’d indicated, dragging her behind him. Meredith tried to restrain him but her efforts were useless. The crowd was gaining momentum and now they were adding pressure from behind. Even if they’d wanted to, changing course became impossible.

They were almost to the fence when someone shrieked to Meredith’s right. She jerked her head toward the sound and caught a glance of the woman who’d been sitting by her on the bus, her hand outstretched to Meredith’s, her eyes two wells of terror. Meredith cried out and stopped, but Haden kept going and their linked hands were torn apart. The prostitute went down, her body falling under the inmates’ boots as they surged toward the gate. Screaming, hands flailing, Meredith battled the wave of men to get back to the woman, but she didn’t have a chance. She’d planned for a simple prison break, not a riot, now she couldn’t help herself, much less anyone else.

She had to regain control and focus. She had a job to do.

A second later, a blow from behind knocked Meredith’s breath from her chest. She stumbled and fell to one knee. The mob swelled and she pitched forward, but a hand reached out and heaved her up, saving her from sharing the other woman’s fate. She looked up to see Haden’s face. Then she was on her feet, and they were fighting through the crowd once more.

They made it to the fence a few minutes after that. Haden pushed her ahead of him and held the crowd back with his body, his hands stretched above her head where he gripped the rusty metal link. She gulped for air as he yelled something. She couldn’t hear him and shook her head. Then he tilted his head and she understood. The guard who’d searched her was to their right. Standing before the gate, he was swinging his sap wildly but losing ground with every strike, the number of the now-crazed inmates too many to combat.

They were almost to the gate when Meredith pulled her knife from the waistband of her skirt. She had to act now; she had no other choice.

A second later, they were by the prison guard’s side. Taller than the man by a good six inches, Haden ducked closer as the guard’s arm swung back. When he brought the sap down again, Haden grabbed the man’s hand and twisted it backward, lifting it up at the very same time.

His whole left side was exposed. All Meredith had to do was take one step and thrust her knife.

A second later that’s exactly what she did.

But it wasn’t the guard she aimed for.



HADEN JUMPED and the knife missed him by an inch.

His startled eyes locked with Meredith’s in the millisecond that followed and he read his fate in those dark-brown depths. Before he could react, an inmate came from behind and got between them, the fence finally falling down as the crowd pushed past the gate the guard had been trying to protect.

Haden dashed for the jungle without a backward look.



MEREDITH SHOT from the pack of stumbling inmates like a racehorse given its head but by the time she reached the clearing’s edge, Haden had vanished. She plunged into the darkness anyway, a thousand scenarios flashing inside her head as to what would happen next. Her chances of finding him were good—he was already weak so he wouldn’t get far—but she chastised herself regardless, the problem one that she shouldn’t even have had to face.

What the hell had happened back there? How on earth could she have missed? Once her knife was out of its sheath, she never failed to hit her target. Never.

As she ran, she listed her excuses: the guard’s movement had thrown her off, Haden had known she would try, the stars weren’t lined up properly… In the end, she decided with disgust it didn’t matter why she hadn’t hit him. She’d botched things and that was all that counted.

She plunged deeper and deeper into the undergrowth until she pulled herself up short, her breath coming in quick bursts of frustration. This wasn’t the way to get the job done. She was panicking and panic never got you anywhere. She had to pull herself together and come up with a plan. Bending over, she drew several deep breaths and tried to calm herself, but her brain wouldn’t cooperate. She kept remembering one frightening image after another—the guard’s horrified gaze merging with the terrified prostitute’s eyes, her wide stare morphing into Haden’s when he’d seen the knife in her hand.

Meredith bit back a curse and shook her head. What the hell had she been thinking? Why hadn’t she handled the situation in the casita when she’d realized who he was? If she’d been prepared, she would have ditched the strategy she’d worked out and used the riot to her advantage, figuring out later how to escape and what to do with the body. She continued to berate herself but the truth didn’t change. She’d screwed up. Big time.

Because she’d already decided he was dead.

Since the moment she’d walked into Haden’s house, she’d assumed that was the case. There had been too much blood. Too much gore. She’d expected the man in the prison to be Brad Prescott. She remembered her feelings at seeing Haden’s bloody home and everything clicked; she’d been counting on him being dead, she realized with a start.

Cursing out loud, she straightened and thought of her father, the sound of his voice echoing in the back of her mind. Calm down. Clear your brain. Concentrate!

Wiping her forehead, she blinked and listened to the imaginary advice. This wasn’t the time or the place to figure out where she’d gone wrong. She needed to concentrate on what was in front of her and that’s what she forced herself to do. After a second, her brain seemed to agree and settle down. Her task was really quite simple.

She had to find Haden.

Then she had to kill him.

Her senses on high alert, her body tense and ready, she headed into the brush, prepared to do just that.



HADEN SAT on a rotting log, the strength abandoning his legs as quickly as it’d come. He’d used every bit of energy he’d had to get this far but he hadn’t gotten far enough. He could almost feel Meredith’s hot breath behind him. She was good and she was fast. As soon as she recovered from the shock of missing him, she’d be right on his ass.

Shaky and queasy, Haden assessed his situation. Trying to escape was pointless; Meredith would never give up until she had him. The only reason he’d run was to give himself enough time to figure out how to handle her. If he could keep her off balance long enough, he might be able to understand what was happening before she managed to get that shank between his ribs.

“I didn’t expect…”

Her shocked words when she’d realized who he was came back to him, and he filled in the part of the sentence she’d left unfinished. “I didn’t expect you…” seemed obvious but if that was the case, then why had she tried to kill him? And who had she been looking for if not him?

The questions whirled in his mind, making as much sense as the howler monkeys overhead. After a bit, a single face emerged from his confusion and the more he thought about it, the more certain Haden became. Dean Reynolds was surely pulling these strings. The whole setup smelled like him, slick, smooth and not quite right.

Haden had tried to make Meredith see the truth when they’d been together, but she and the old man had always been thick. It seemed strange considering what she did for a living, but she’d always wanted to see the best in people. She was on the outside of the Agency now, but Haden wouldn’t put anything past Reynolds. He’d manipulated Meredith back then and Haden knew it wouldn’t bother the old bastard to use her now. Hell, Reynolds would pay off the Devil if it meant he could accomplish something he wanted.

Haden shifted his weight and a throbbing pain screamed through his head. He swayed, a wave of nausea overtaking him. He’d been in some tight spots, he thought as he struggled to stand, but it didn’t get much worse than this. Holding on to the tree trunk behind him, he fought off his dizziness and amended his thought. Things could always get worse and they would…as soon as Meredith found him.

He took two steps forward then something behind him rustled in the underbrush. He froze and listened. A whisper of movement could be heard in the clearing just to his left. Haden smiled to himself then slipped silently to his right, his fingers gripping the vine he’d pulled down a few minutes before. He was glad to know there were some things he was still better at than Meredith. A few seconds later, he was behind her and she didn’t have a clue. He took two more steps, then he was at her back.

He slipped his arm around her neck and pulled it tight against her throat.

To her credit, Meredith didn’t cry out or make any sound at all. In fact, she went limp against him but Haden didn’t fall for her trick. He tightened his hold and dragged her into the jungle, her back against his chest, the smell of her skin filling his senses to the point of overload.

She gripped his arm. “What are you doing?” Her voice was calm and even. “I followed you so I could help you, Haden. You don’t have to do this. You need to get some medical attention.”

“Yeah, sure. Help like yours I can do without.” He jerked his arm against her throat. “We both know you aren’t the Red Cross. You came here to kill someone, but you weren’t expecting me and you tried anyway! I want to know who sent you and what the hell’s going on.”

Gritting his teeth against the pain the movement cost him, he wrapped the vine around her wrists, pulling it as tight as he could. He spoke over her shoulder as he tugged on it to make sure. “What’s going on, Meredith?”

Her arms secured behind her, Meredith turned slowly. They were inches apart. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her eyes wide. “I was trying to get us out of there. I was aiming for the guard.”

“The hell you were.”

“It’s the truth!”

He was weak and light-headed, but he jerked her closer and held on to the rope. “We both know what you do, Meredith. Don’t screw with me.”

“You wouldn’t have said that a few years ago.”

“You weren’t a killer a few years ago,” he said bluntly. “You were someone I could trust and I did. Things are different now.”

“We do what we have to,” she said. “That’s how the world works.”

“That’s not how my world works,” he said. “There are rules where I come from and you’ve broken them all.” He tightened his jaw, a creeping blackness dimming the edges of his vision. The run into the jungle was taking its toll. “Just tell me why you’re here, Meredith. Your services don’t come cheaply so someone must be paying you a lot of money but you were obviously surprised to see me. Who were you looking for? And what does Dean Reynolds have to do with this?”

She looked him straight in the eye, her gaze cold. “Go to hell, Haden,” she said softly, her body still where it rested against his own. “I’m not telling you anything and you know better than to even ask.”

He blinked, then a second wave of weakness hit him hard. He held his breath and rode it out. “You’re going to tell me the truth,” he insisted, “one way or another. Make it easy on yourself. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

He heard her voice, but it seemed to come to him from a distant tunnel. “You couldn’t hurt a mouse right now, Haden. Give it up….”

“I’m not giving up shit,” he whispered. “I’ll beat it out of you if I have to….” His threat faded into silence as he felt his knees buckle.



HADEN FELL to the jungle floor like a limp dish towel, taking her with him. If the situation had been slightly different, Meredith might have seen the humor in it, but right now all she could think about was getting things under control. The undergrowth cushioned their fall but he’d landed on top on her and her breath had left her chest in a whoosh. After a few seconds struggle, she wormed from beneath him and managed to get her hands untied. Two minutes later, she had their positions reversed, but her knots were much better. If he woke up before she got back, he wouldn’t be going anywhere.





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