Whispered Lies

“Both candidates for the next U.S. presidency are opposed to financing a partnership with Venezuela to produce more oil. Both are pushing the platform about America becoming a more green country since that’s the new hot button for voters. The media is fueling rumors that one of the two political parties is funding Salvatore to assassinate your oil minister. No one can figure out if the Democrats are behind the attacks to show how the Republicans are trying to partner with an unstable country for oil instead of going green or if the Republicans are behind this and plan to produce evidence the Democrats were behind the attacks simply to lay the groundwork for a major shift to going green.”

“How does Salvatore fit in your plans?” Durand leaned back, arms draped along his chair. A pose of confidence.

“It appears the Salvatore Cartel is sitting back until the elections are over to see if a coup does indeed overthrow the government. If so, that’s when we’ll find out if the new U.S. administration actually forms an agreement with Venezuela for oil. Salvatore can be an impediment in the oil ministry’s plans or the two could team up to form an agreement that assured the oil production industry was protected from rebel attacks as long as Salvatore’s drug shipments passed through safely.”

“Yes, yes, I stay informed through my contacts.” Durand tapped his cigar on the edge of a crystal ashtray. Salvatore had been an obstacle in his plans for many years. “I have no care what America pays for a gallon of fuel or the presidential election next week. I am concerned with the future of the Anguis and believe we can help each other.” He let that sink in.

Vestavia had come to Durand. Not the other way around.

When his guest didn’t comment, Durand repeated, “We both suffered a loss in France. The question is how will we both recover our losses? Someone will pay for mine. If we work together, we can recoup and make an example for others who might think to interfere again.”

“No one ever screws me over and lives to brag.” The brutal cold in Vestavia’s voice could freeze a hot ember.

“Then work with me to find these men who have killed mine and taken Mandy, because together we will find them.”

“You’re certain about Julio’s allegiance?”

Dios! This man had better be worth the aggravation he caused. Durand smiled. “Julio was the only person who knew about the chalet in advance and I stake my life on my cousin’s loyalty. Blood is everything in my family.”

“Did he get any good photos of the black-ops team?”

“Julio is processing everything now.”

“Send me what you have and I’ll put our people on identifying them.” Vestavia had said more than once he had limitless resources.

Durand nodded politely, but he would not share photos or anything else of significance until he could strike Vestavia’s name off the list of suspects for the ambush.

“Someone got the information to Mirage very quickly that you were behind the kidnapping,” Vestavia pointed out. “Sounds like a snitch inside your group.”

“I have people on that as well, but you also have a problem,” Durand countered in a calm voice. He suppressed a smile at his guest’s scowl. “My men did not know where they were taking the girl until they were in route, and since all were killed, is it not logical to assume their i

Durand paused to draw on his cigar, letting the rich tobacco flavor flow through his mouth. He exhaled and said, “Before you accuse me of failure, you must explain how anyone knew of the chalet meeting spot. The elite team who killed them showed up in less than eleven hours of my men arriving. How did the informant get that information so quickly?”

Vestavia didn’t answer for a minute, his tiny brown eyes shifting between narrowed slits. “If there is a leak in my organization, I’ll find it and deal with that person. But if I learn that someone in your camp betrayed us, my associates will expect his head or yours. And I mean that literally.”

Durand smiled conspiratorially. “If someone I know killed my men-one of whom was my younger brother-you may have the head and any other piece…once I am finished with him. You ca

“Fair enough. In the meantime, continue as pla

Durand waved a finger back and forth. “Nada. The Mirage is mine. Delivered alive.”

Vestavia grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing and reached down into his briefcase. He withdrew a thick manila envelope. “Your next contract.”

Durand did not move to take the package. “I no joke about this informant.”

“Fine. Alive. No promises on the condition of the body.”

Durand took the package and opened it, withdrawing the photos. “Another female. No problem.”

“Maybe, but this one won’t be quite as easy to grab.”

Durand studied the teenager and wondered yet again what Vestavia’s purpose was for the teens, but his alliance with this strange Italian depended on better results with less questions.

“What is our time frame?” Durand lifted the photo sheets into view. Pretty, but nothing notable.

“Two days. Mandy was intended for a side project, but this girl,” Vestavia said, his eyes going to the photos in Durand’s hand, dark eyebrows dropped low over mean eyes, “is needed now. No missteps.”

Vestavia lifted his briefcase and turned to leave.

“It would be in your best interest to find the snitch before I hand over this girl,” Durand warned quietly.

Vestavia stopped, breathing slowly during the long silence. “Threatening me is not a healthy idea.”

“I only offer incentive to move as quickly as you expect my people to. If you do not locate this Mirage first, then you will owe me, yes?”

Vestavia left without another word.

Durand tapped his cigar. This would never be an easy alliance, but the truly strong ones took work and finesse. He pressed a button on the radio function of his cell phone, calling Julio, who answered immediately.

Durand asked, “How are the photos from the château coming?”

“Most are fair, but one is no bad. It is the man who I believe was in charge of the team.”

“Bring all the photos now.”

“Sí. I am on the way.”

EIGHT

GABRIELLE CURLED CLOSER to the warmth, hugging the pillow. The cloth smelled so…masculine?

She kept her eyes shut, allowing her mind to sharpen while she mustered the energy to pull away from the deep sleep tempting her to stay.

Now that she could actually process information, she realized the pillow wasn’t soft at all. The surface was hard and carved.

Last night…they were driving somewhere…then nothing once she dropped over the edge into deep sleep.

Carlos had been talking to her. When did they get out of the car? Her face moved up and down when the sculpted surface rose and fell in a gradual motion.

Her senses sharpened all at once. She couldn’t be where she thought she was, or better put…on top of…him?

Gabrielle opened her eyes, peeking at the left side of her body, and found she was at least wearing her underwear. She’d been undressed. Not acceptable, by her rules, but she didn’t think anything had happened. She lifted her head slowly to figure her chances of sliding out of bed without him noticing.

Zero.

Alert dark brown eyes stared back from a shaved face so seductively male she couldn’t break her gaze. She was spread across Carlos’s chest, hugging him like a lover, and afraid to move or speak.

When was the last time she’d been in this position?

So long ago she couldn’t recall, and never with a man whose body turned her gray matter into complete mush.

He was propped up on pillows, right arm behind his head, studying her with a quiet gaze so unlike the deadly face she’d witnessed yesterday.