Dangerous Desires Read online

“Now that everyone is here,” Avery said, “why don’t we get started. We’ve been charged with an extraction.” He pressed a button in front of him and the screen filled with the picture of a woman. “Her name is Madeline Reynard.”

  “French?” Tyler asked, obviously going off the name.

  “No. American,” Avery said. “Although we don’t know too much else about her. She seems to have sprung fully formed, so to speak. According to her passport, she’s from a small town outside New Orleans. Cypress Bluff. But we couldn’t find any record of her there at all.”

  “So she’s lying about her name,” Drake said, as he studied the woman’s photograph.

  She was tiny, her long dark hair curling wildly around her face. Her features were sharp, her chin a little long, her nose aquiline. But even so, she was still a looker, with full lips and a body that begged a man to touch her. Tottering on heels that should be declared illegal, she stood on a corner, arm held up as she hailed a taxi.

  “Or maybe she’s one of those people who just falls through the cracks.” Emmett shrugged. “It happens.”

  “Either way, we’re more interested in her present than her past,” Avery said. “According to our intel, for the past three years, she’s been associated with Jorge di Silva.”

  “The drug racketeer.” Jason nodded, clearly recognizing the name.

  “Actually, di Silva’s gone a step beyond that,” Hannah said, typing something into her computer. “They’ve even coined a new term—narcoterrorist. Not only is he producing and dealing cocaine, he’s using the proceeds to buy and sell weapons to the highest bidders. No questions asked.”

  “Hell of a guy.” Drake frowned. “So how does Madeline Reynard fit into all of this?”

  “She says she’s his mistress,” Avery said. “And there’s some evidence to support the idea. According to the briefing file I was given, he had her plucked out of a Colombian prison. Place called San Mateo.”

  “I’ve heard of it.” Emmett nodded. “Some kind of fortress in the Chaco region. I thought it was reserved for political prisoners.”

  “And foreigners,” Avery said.

  “So what landed her in San Mateo?” Nash asked.

  “No idea,” Hannah said, still typing. “Most people don’t even know the prison exists. Which is exactly how the Colombian government wants it. Anyway, as such, their security is top-notch and prisoner records aren’t easy to come by.”

  “When has that ever stopped you?” Jason quipped.

  “I’m working on it.” Hannah frowned, her hair standing on end as she absently ran a hand through it. Drake smiled. If anyone could break into San Mateo’s data banks, Hannah would be the one.

  “So when was the photograph taken?” Tyler asked, as she studied the picture.

  “About six months ago,” Avery said, shifting so that he could see the photo as well. “In Bogotá. That’s di Silva behind her.” The man in the picture had his back turned, his attention on someone out of the frame.

  “Here’s a better one of him,” Hannah said.

  The chiseled, flat-nosed face that filled the screen was almost identical to the ones that decorated the burial mounds and ancient monuments of the pre-Columbian ruins scattered along the Cauca River. Generations of genealogy pooled into one man. His autocratic bearing, however, had no doubt descended straight from the conquistadors, Castilian arrogance at its best. Drake shook his head, pushing away his anthropological thoughts in favor of more practical details.

  “Okay, so we know that the woman has a sketchy past.” Drake frowned. “And that she’s been living with a drug lord. But I’m not seeing exactly where it is that we come into this.”

  “Apparently, she went to the Embassy in Bogotá and asked for help.” Avery hit a button and the photo of di Silva moved back to the one of Madeline.

  “In return for?” Tyler prompted.

  “Information on di Silva and his operations.” Everybody broke into conversation at once, speculation running rampant.

  “So why doesn’t her contact at the Embassy handle the extraction?” Drake asked, ignoring the chatter, focusing instead on Madeline Reynard’s face.

  “Because the man’s dead.” Avery’s pronouncement had the effect of silencing the room.

  “Son of a bitch,” Nash said, putting voice to the prevailing sentiment. “Anyone we know?”

  “I don’t think so. He was fairly new to the diplomatic corps. This was his first posting. Guy named Will Richardson.”

  “So what happened?” Lara asked.

  “He was murdered. Gunned down outside his apartment.”

  “I take it Richardson’s death is being linked to di Silva?” Nash asked.

  “There’s no hard evidence.” Avery shrugged. “The police are blaming local gang activity. But if you play connect the dots it seems likely.”

  “That still doesn’t preclude the Embassy from doing their own dirty work. They have assigned CIA personnel.” Jason looked up from his computer with a frown.

  “Yes, but Madeline isn’t in Bogotá anymore,” Avery said. “Shortly after Richardson’s death, she was removed to di Silva’s compound in the mountains.” He nodded at Hannah, who switched the photograph again, this one depicting a sprawling stucco home. “This is di Silva’s hacienda. Casa de Orquídea. The area’s known for its orchids. Anyway, the house is part of a compound located about twenty miles due west of Cali. It’s officially listed as a coffee plantation. But as we know, there are other, more lucrative crops that grow well in that part of the Andes.”

  “Like the coca plant,” Emmett inserted.

  “Exactly.” Avery nodded.

  “And that’s where Madeline is?” Tyler asked with a frown. “Not going to be an easy in and out.”

  “That whole area is pretty inhospitable,” Nash agreed. “I’m assuming he’s got guards.”

  “Full-meal deal.” Avery nodded again at Hannah, who switched to a map of the area. “Surveillance, perimeter rotation, and at least four men on duty in the house. He’s also got eyes on all approaching roads.”

  “We can helicopter in,” Drake said, frowning up at the map. “Then hike through the jungle and catch them by surprise.”

  “Makes sense,” Nash agreed. “But we’ll need to disable the cameras somehow.”

  “I should be able to do that from here.” Jason shrugged.

  “May not be as easy as you think,” Avery said. “I’m going to need you on site as part of the team. Emmett and Lara are heading out to Russia in the morning. We’ve agreed to help neutralize a recently discovered stockpile of chemical weapons. And I’m not certain that Drake is ready for a new mission.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Drake said, his fingers tightening on the edge of the table. “I’ve been through the requisite debrief.” He glanced over at Lara for confirmation. “And I’ve been cleared for duty. Besides, I’m the best you’ve got when it comes to extraction.”

  “Yes, but you’ve had a lot to deal with in the last few weeks. I just don’t want you out there too soon.” Avery paused, eyes narrowed. “Before you’re ready.”

  “I could go,” Emmett offered. “Drake can go with Lara.”

  “No dice.” Avery shook his head. “Drake doesn’t speak the language and your Russian is flawless.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of going into Colombia,” Drake said, trying to contain his irritation. “For God’s sake, it’s not like I had an attachment to the woman.” He hadn’t meant to add the last bit; the words came of their own volition. Everyone stopped talking, eyes riveted on the table. “Jesus”—he blew out a long breath—“you’d think I was the first one to have to deal with a traitor. I’m telling you, I’m fine. I can handle this.”

  Avery studied him for a moment, and then nodded. “All right. But I want Jason to go anyway. He can fill in for Emmett handling communications. That going to be a problem?” The question was rhetorical but Jason answered anyway.

  “Not from my end. Hannah’s perfe
ctly capable of dealing with things here, and if she runs into a problem, I’ll just advise long distance.”

  “Okay,” Emmett said, staring up at the photo, “so it sounds like we’ve got everything arranged. But I’m still not seeing why Langley would go to all the trouble to bring us in to retrieve her. She’s just the guy’s mistress—how much do you think she really knows? I’m thinking there’s got to be something more to this.”

  “There is.” Avery crossed his arms, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

  “Do tell,” Nash prompted.

  “As I mentioned earlier,” Avery said, “di Silva’s been suspected of dealing arms for quite some time now. But there’s never been any tangible proof. There have been all kinds of rumors. Everything from a warehouse in Bogotá to a terrorist hideout in the mountains of Chaco.”

  “But nothing has ever been substantiated,” Hannah added.

  “Until now.” Avery’s expression turned grim. “According to the original source, Madeline Reynard knows the location of di Silva’s weapons cache. And it’s somewhere in the vicinity of his compound. So if she’s telling the truth—”

  “Then we’ll be able to nail di Silva,” Nash said.

  “Exactly.” Avery nodded. “Our task is to find the cache, document the site, and then blow it to kingdom come.”

  “After we extract Madeline Reynard and get her back to D.C.,” Jason prompted.

  “Not possible,” Avery shook his head. “The only way to be sure she’s on the level is to make her show us the site. If everything pans out, then Tyler blows the pop stand and we escort Ms. Reynard straight to Langley.”

  “And if she’s lying?” Drake asked.

  “Then,” Avery shrugged, “we leave her to di Silva.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Casa de Orquídea, Valle del Cauca, Colombia

  Madeline Reynard paced back and forth in the confines of her bedroom. It seemed whatever decision she made it was the wrong one. She’d killed a man to save her sister. Confessed to keep Jenny out of the picture. And then she’d agreed to Ortiz’s conditions—this time to buy her sister’s freedom. But Jenny was dead. Which meant that everything she’d done had been for nothing.

  Madeline had promised her mother, and now she’d failed.

  And to make matters worse, she was little more than a prisoner here in Cali. Once they’d returned from Bogotá, she’d found that her bedroom had been moved from the first floor to the second. And at night there were guards outside her bedroom door. During the day she wasn’t allowed even a walk on the grounds without an armed escort. Di Silva’s men swore it was for her own protection, but Madeline didn’t believe a word of it.

  It had been almost three weeks since she’d heard anything from the Embassy. And once she’d been sequestered here, there had been no way for her to contact anyone. Someone was always watching her. She stopped in front of the window, looking out across the manicured lawns. The breeze caressed her face, the curtains lifting lazily as the air was filled with the heady perfume of orchids.

  Casa de Orquídea was beautiful, its namesake flowers coloring every nook and cranny in shades of pink and purple. But beauty could be deceiving. The compound, like San Mateo, was a prison. Only this time, Madeline was fairly certain there would be no reprieve. In the end, Andrés’s playing card had amounted to nothing. She hadn’t wanted to believe it offered salvation. Only fools bought into happy endings. And yet, some part of her had hoped it was true.

  She sighed, her hands closing on the bars that obstructed the open window. They were a new addition, another way to make sure she couldn’t escape. Behind her the door rattled as it was thrown open, and she whirled around, composing her face as she struggled to maintain at least an outward sense of calm.

  “I see you’ve settled in here nicely,” Hector Ortiz said, his lithe frame filling the doorway. Hector was one of those men who blended into the background. Neither tall nor short, big nor small, handsome nor ugly. He was every man. And it served him well. His dark hair was always impeccable. Combed back in the Latin style, it emphasized the angles of his face, and the dark obsidian of his eyes.

  She hadn’t realized until now how much she truly despised the man. “I liked my old room. I had access to the courtyard and the grounds beyond. Now,” she waved toward the window, “I’m little more than a prisoner.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.” Although Madeline’s Spanish was excellent, Ortiz, for some reason, preferred to hold their conversations in English. “But I have reason to believe that you’ve been considering breaking our agreement. And I don’t have to tell you how dangerous that would be.”

  “I’ve done exactly as you asked me. From the very beginning.” She shook her head. “But it’s never enough.”

  Ortiz smiled. “I’m afraid it’s the nature of the bargain. There’s always something more. But your work isn’t the problem. You’ve actually been quite a valuable asset. Which makes my discovery all the more disappointing.”

  Her heart twisted, but she lifted her chin, squaring her shoulders. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You contacted the American Embassy.” He threw a photograph onto the bureau. She reached for it, fighting to keep her hand from trembling. “Is that not you?”

  She glanced down at the picture. “I’m an American.” She tossed the photo back on the chest. “And Will is a…” She hesitated, lifting one shoulder in feigned indifference. “Friend.”

  Actually, she’d only met him once before the picture was taken. At a political function. She’d been there with a prominent politico, a man with strong ties to the Latin American military-industrial complex. He’d been a pig. But Ortiz had insisted he had access to information no one else did. Anyway, it was that night that she’d met William Richardson, filing the name away as a possible ally should she ever need a way out.

  “You’re implying that the man was your lover?” Ortiz actually laughed. “From what I’ve heard he was a devoted family man.”

  “That hardly stops di Silva,” she said, determined to keep him from the truth. “Will had certain needs. And…” she trailed off. “Did you say ‘was’?”

  “Yes.” He held out another photograph.

  She took it, her stomach threatening revolt, as her brain struggled to process the scene depicted. Will lying in the street. His body crumpled like a rag doll, his blood staining the pavement. “Oh, my God.”

  “You left me no choice,” Ortiz said, his voice devoid of emotion. “I had to clean up your mess.”

  “You killed him?” The words came out a strangled whisper.

  “I gave the order.” Ortiz shrugged, his gaze never leaving her face.

  “But he hadn’t done anything to you.” She shook her head, the photograph falling from trembling fingers, drifting to the floor.

  “Ah, yes, but if he’d helped you escape…”

  “I told you he was my lover.”

  “And I’m telling you it’s a lie.” He slapped her hard and she jerked back, eyes wide as she covered her cheek with her hand. “I’m certain you were asking him for help. And I know why.”

  She froze, her heart threatening to break through her ribs.

  “You were in my office.” His voice was soft, but there was a thread of steel.

  “I’m in your office all the time. I work for you, remember?” She clenched her fists, praying for a miracle—certain that none would come.

  “Yes, but this time you were there without my permission. And you found the letter.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The hell you don’t.” He raised his hand again and she shrank back, but instead of striking her, he clenched his fist, his hand dropping back to his side. “Shall I spell it out for you? Your sister is dead. And you decided you wanted out. And you thought William Richardson would help you, but you miscalculated. And now he’s dead.”

  “But I’m still alive. Why is that?” she asked, anger pushing away her fear.
r />   “Because we believe you can still be useful to us.” His gaze had turned speculative.

  “And why would I want to help you? You killed my sister.” She spoke through clenched teeth, hanging on to her control by sheer force of will.

  “I did nothing of the sort.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “Your sister killed herself. She was a junkie. And like all junkies, she simply couldn’t stop.”

  Madeline swallowed her tears. “I should have been there with her. You should have told me.”

  “There was nothing you could have done,” he said, his expression impassive. “And I needed you focused on your work.”

  “So you lied. You let me believe she was still alive.”

  “I did what was best for our operations.”

  “And now?”

  “Now,” he shrugged, “you will continue to pay off her debt. Besides the drugs, there is the small matter of the hospital.”

  “And if I refuse,” she said, clenching her fists. “Then what?”

  “Then I’ll be forced to tell the authorities where you are. They still believe you’re in San Mateo. And murder is a crime punishable by death.”

  She shivered but held her ground. “You’re bluffing.”

  “I never bluff,” he said, his gazed locked with hers. “And if that isn’t enough to keep you in line, consider the information you’ve stolen. The men you’ve deceived. There are bound to be consequences for such duplicity.”

  “But I was working for you. If you bring me down, then you come with me.”

  “You always were naïve.” His laugh was harsh. “There are ways of releasing your identity without involving the di Silva organization. We’ve been careful to insulate ourselves in case you failed. And that protection will only play in our favor should I choose to throw you to the wolves.”

  “You wouldn’t.” The words came involuntarily as she thought of the men she’d duped. Powerful men who’d like nothing better than to make her pay.

  “Oh, believe me, Madeline,” he said, jerking her forward, his fingers biting into her skin, “if you make any further attempt to betray us, one way or another, your life won’t be worth a damn.” He released her, and she stumbled backward. “If you don’t believe me, have another look at the photograph of William Richardson.”