Bridal Op. Dana Marton
Sonya was in the car, on the seat opposite from him, and the doors slammed shut.
“Who are you? What do you want? Why are you doing this to me?” She started on a tone of outrage but finished the last sentence on a sob, her eyes wide with panic. “Please—” She yanked her head around as a needle sank into her arm—along with a drug, courtesy of Dr. Ramon, the man proving useful for something after all. She tried to jerk away but was held firmly until she gave up struggling.
Gordy put the car in Reverse.
Botero’s driver was still on the ground, playing his role to the hilt.
Jose Fuentes considered him for a second. Might as well take care of him now. No sense letting the police have a go at him. “Run the bastard over.”
Gordy complied, but Johnson rolled out of the way.
The man who’d been there with his ritzy bimbo since before Sonya’s arrival was rushing toward them, looking hell-bent on playing saviour.
What the hell did he think he had to do with any of this? Had a hero complex, did he? Anybody that stupid didn’t deserve to live. “Get the bastard.”
Gordy turned the steering wheel and aimed toward the man, but he dove aside. Had pretty good reflexes, that one. The woman, standing a few yards behind him, wasn’t as nimble. She took the full brunt of the hit, bouncing off the hood with a satisfying thud.
One less witness. Jose clicked his tongue with satisfaction that was short-lived.
People were running from up the street and Weddings Your Way. He didn’t like the look of one in particular, a tall Hispanic guy who was pulling a small handgun as he ran. Probably their in-house security. Seemed like nobody could mind their own damned business.
“Go! Go! Go!”
Gordy aimed the limo into the city, toward the dark garage that was ready with another car to make the switch. Like clockwork, that’s how it would all go. The initial idea might not have been his, but by God he’d done the on-site planning. Their success would be due to him and no one else.
Gordy flew through the red light at the intersection, dodging cars like a pro, proving he was the right man for the job. A minute later they were lost in traffic, just a few blocks from being safe.
Jose Fuentes picked up the phone, ready to report now. Had to keep everyone happy and make sure nobody suspected a thing until after he’d gone his own way.
He bit back a smile as he dialed. The first part of his mission had been accomplished. He was eager to move on to the next phase.
Chapter One
A few weeks later
She shouldn’t have agreed to the mission.
Isabelle Rush hung on to the rock ledge with the tip of her fingers, dangling over a 300-foot drop to the rocks below. A tangy scent from some small fern she’d inadvertently crushed in the last handhold tickled her nose. Would she fall if she sneezed?
She was secured with knots and ropes she didn’t understand and didn’t trust, petrified of slipping. The current of air that moved above the tree line seemed to pick up speed, the odd gusts pushing against her.
Please, don’t let there be a serious wind.
“A few more yards and we can stop to rest,” Rafe said from somewhere above her, barely breathing heavily.
She, on the other hand, was gasping for oxygen in the thin, high-altitude air, sweat running down her back from exertion.
She should have stayed in Miami.
He was the absolute worst man for her to be teamed up with. Of course she couldn’t refuse, not when a client’s life hung in the balance.
But, at the very least, when Rafe had said “shortcut” she should have run screaming into the night—in the opposite direction. What was it with men and their shortcuts? Like chasing murderous, kidnapping drug lords wasn’t enough excitement? They had to add getting lost in the Andes Mountains to the mix?
“This will save us a full extra day,” he said as he tightened the rope.
She hoped he was right and that her instincts, which screamed lost and on the brink of disaster, were sounding a false alarm. Speed was their only hope for finding Sonya Botero alive.
Isabelle clenched her muscles, having a foothold for one boot only and too much of a gap between the next indentation to push or pull herself up. She was five foot four. She could not stretch over the same distance as Rafe could.
Night was closing in on them—not dark yet, but the shadows were becoming long, which made judging distances harder. She had to do something before visibility became worse and her limbs grew even more exhausted. One… Two… She heaved her body upward, looking at the chunk of rock she was aiming for, shutting out the drop below. She grabbed on, and in that moment of truth that decided whether she would hold her grip or fall, a strong hand clamped around her wrist and held her steady.
“Easy now,” Rafe said. “Almost there.”
She allowed him to pull her up, only grunting in response although she had plenty to say. She was saving her breath for the climb. Rafe, having been born in Ladera, seemed used to the mountains that made up most of the country.
He helped her up to a ledge that was about six feet by four feet, small patches of moss growing in the scant dirt the winds had blown up there. The rock wall continued above it for another hundred feet at least, just as sheer as the section they’d already conquered.
“Nice climb.” A sense of relief was evident in his smile, the fact that he was immensely enjoying himself visible in his eyes—the color of cocoa powder the instant it melts into chocolate. “Piece of cake, didn’t I tell you?” His voice was rich with the flavor of South America, spiced with the slightest accent.
“Mmm.” She gulped the thin air. When he’d pulled her up she’d landed on her knees. She sat back onto her heels now and shrugged off her backpack, blew on her fingertips, which were raw and bruised from the sharp rocks they’d had to conquer.
“How is this better than taking a car up the road?” she asked, once she thought she could speak without gasping.
“Faster,” he said over his shoulder as he unhooked their ropes systematically. “I’m glad we picked the Maxim ropes—excellent hand, 48-sheath yarn, good twist level.” He was gathering up everything in careful coils. “Fine abrasion resistance, too. See this? Not a worn spot.”
Was that supposed to make sense? “So how come you’ve never mentioned anything about this climbing hobby of yours?”
He shrugged and tucked the equipment against the inside edge of the shelter. “Never came up, I guess.”
She didn’t mean to voice the thought that popped into her head, but it came out just the same. “We’ve worked together for three years and I barely know anything about you.”
Part of that was his own need for privacy, she supposed, and part that she had, on purpose, kept out of his way, not liking the physical attraction that drew her to a colleague, an infamous playboy at that. A brief and steamy relationship that would no doubt end in pain and embarrassment was not among her carefully crafted life goals.
He was unrolling his sleeping bag, saying something about the time they would save by climbing.
“Faster is not always better,” she snapped. Not if one of them got injured or fell.
“No, not in everything.”
When he looked at her like that, his full attention like a cocoon around her, his brown eyes fixed on her face, it made her want to squirm like some schoolgirl. She gathered her self-control and kept her poise as he went on.
“The road is probably watched. It’s not a bad climb, honestly. Just seems like it because it’s your first. We have good equipment.