Amanda did her damnedest not to flinch as fire leaped in Taylor’s eyes. No doubt about it, he’d caught her meaning. She wanted this. She was ready for it. And besides, this was Taylor she was talking about making love with, not the handful of awkward boys she’d tried uncomfortable sex with in her school days.
Thankfully, he didn’t say anything. She didn’t think she’d have the courage to go through with it if he insisted on psychoanalyzing her reasons for her decision. He just nodded and turned out the lights. And when the safety of the darkness had enveloped them both, she knew it would be all right.
Taylor’s big shadow moved toward her slowly in the dark, and his hands were light upon her shoulders. He slipped his fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp gently, and she was lost. Pleasure uncurled within her at his touch. His lips brushed the side of her neck. Oh, yes. That felt lovely.
Amanda let her head fall back to give Taylor better access to her sensitive flesh. His lips touched her neck again, resting on the pulse leaping wildly at the base of her throat. She exhaled on a sigh that was half a moan, and his arms tightened around her waist.
She reveled in the sensation of pressing against him from her toenails to the part in her hair. Tonight, she could crawl all over his gorgeous body like she’d been dying to for weeks. The relief of finally feeding that need made her feel like sobbing.
Amanda peeled off Taylor’s shirt. His pants followed, along with the rest of his clothes. How her clothes disappeared, she wasn’t quite certain, but she definitely didn’t care. She only knew she wanted to be naked and sweaty with him. Right now.
She ran her hands over his chest and felt his heart jump beneath her palms. Her own body responded wildly, suddenly bathed in moist desire. She dragged his head down to hers, kissing him with all the need that had built up in her since that night they’d first met.
Taylor met her head-on, his tongue wet and hot, swirling inside her mouth. He groaned and she arched up into him, voracious for more. Their teeth clacked together in their careless rush, but she didn’t care. She sucked on his tongue, pulling it into her mouth rhythmically, mimicking the sex act she craved like a bad addiction.
Taylor backed her up toward the bed, breaking her fall with a knee beside her. And then he loomed over her, big and hard and hot. She ran her nails down the length of his throbbing flesh and he grabbed her wrist and pulled it away. She laughed up at him and he growled in response as he quickly slipped on a condom.
She reached for him again, tugging him down to her, and this time he didn’t resist. His weight was glorious, pressing her deep into the mattress. She felt a sheen of sweat on his back as he ground his hips against her, teasing her with the hard slide of flesh against her pulsing core.
She undulated up into him, coaxing him to come inside her, but he slid down her body maddeningly and took her breast into his mouth. She lurched up off the mattress as lightning zinged to every region of her body and wrapped her legs around his hips.
That did it! He surged up over her and thrust into her, impaling her in a single stroke. She cried out at the exquisite sensation of being stretched not quite to the point of pain with his burning fullness. He began to retreat, but she surged upward, sucking him back down with her greedily.
With a chuckle that was half a growl he drove into her again. She shuddered in an excess of pleasure that rolled over her like a Mack truck. Again he pressed deep within her, and again, she gasped in amazement. She could feel him reaching for some shred of restraint, but she wanted no part of it.
She wrapped her arms and legs around him and pulled him to her very core, rocking her hips in an irresistible rhythm as old as time. He needed no further invitation. His mouth captured hers hungrily, and he plunged his tongue inside in rhythm with his body as they feasted greedily upon each other.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she hung on for dear life as they rode out the storm they’d made together. It towered around them, a raging hurricane of heat and friction and delirious pleasure. It consumed her entirely, building to a pitch so intense she almost passed out from it. As she spasmed uncontrollably around him, Taylor shuddered and joined her with a groan dredged from the bottom of his soul.
She fell back to the bed, drenched in sweat and satiation so overpowering she thought she might die. They spiraled downward slowly, their breathing ragged, their bodies spent.
Taylor rolled over and pulled Amanda across his chest, holding her close, while they both struggled for breath. Words like shattering and liberating floated, disconnected, through her mind, but she could find no real words to describe her reaction to what had just happened between them.
Gradually, she became aware of his mouth moving warmly against her skin. It traced a lazy path from her ear to her temple. She felt his smile against her flesh.
He began all over to make love to her, but this time so slowly and sweetly she knew she was going to die. And for the first time in her life, peace flowed through her.
“Okay, Xavier, we met our end of the bargain—now it’s your contact’s turn.”
Taylor rolled over lazily and listened while Amanda repeated what sounded like a phone number. His muscles were weak with the residual languor of the greatest night of sex he’d ever had as he looked over at the bedside clock. Almost noon.
He watched Amanda punch out another phone number and reached over to stroke the naked flesh of the small of her back. She smiled at him over the receiver, and the expression went all the way to the back of her eyes. Thank God. He’d been briefly worried last night that the wild abandon of their initial sex would put her off it for good. Lord knew it had overwhelmed him, and he hadn’t brought any big emotional baggage to the experience.
Amanda spoke in English. “A mutual friend suggested I call this number.” A pause. “Yes, he is still breathing, but he is finished. Let’s just say he had an unfortunate exposure to a disease that cannot be cured.” Another pause, and then she snapped, “There was no requirement that he die instantaneously, and I assure you he will be incapacitated for the remainder of his life. I don’t have time to sit around waiting for him to die—it could be a while. But he will never do business again. Will that satisfy you?”
How had the person at the other end responded to that? He watched Amanda listen in silence for some time to whatever the reaction was, her face showing nothing but intent concentration. Then she said shortly, “Got it.” She hung up the phone.
“Well?” he demanded.
“We’re meeting him tomorrow night. He says he’s got the goods on Four Eyes.”
“Is this guy legit?” Taylor asked.
She shrugged. “I suspect he won’t double-cross us now that we’ve demonstrated a willingness to harm someone.”
Taylor frowned.
“Oh, don’t go all worried and analytical on me,” Amanda responded lightly. “I have no intention of turning into a killer for hire. You and I both know Maldonado was long overdue for a comeuppance. And if we can get the information we need, we might just stand a chance of staying alive long enough to have a repeat of last night.”
He had to grin at that one. It was a blatant manipulation, but he indulged her and allowed himself to be distracted. “You’re alive, now, aren’t you?” he asked leadingly.
A slow smile spread across her face. “I am at that, now, aren’t I?”
It was nearly dark the next evening when they finally crawled out of bed and into the shower. They got dressed and had a light supper across the street from their hotel. Taylor hailed them a cab while Amanda watched discreetly for tails.
The pistol holstered under his left arm felt strange, but no way was he going into this meeting without one. He had a second pistol strapped to his right ankle, and he knew Amanda had one in her purse. They jumped into the taxi and pulled away from the curb, Amanda’s attention still focused outside.
“We’re clean,” she announced.
He let out a relieved breath. He hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d gotten to functioning as though his every move was being watched. Apparently, he’d embraced Amanda’s rule number one of healthy paranoia without noticing it. The squalor of downtown gave way to more prosperous neighborhoods, and their cab began to look downright shabby compared to the ostentatious wealth lining the streets.
He’d picked up enough Spanish to understand when Amanda leaned forward and asked the driver, “How much farther?”
“Not far. One kilometer,” the guy replied.
“Stop here,” Amanda ordered. The guy pulled over underneath a giant mimosa tree, its feathery fronds casting an umbrella of shifting shadow. Something deep in Taylor’s gut was relieved that they hadn’t just driven up to their contact’s home as proud as you please. His intuition screamed that this was a meeting they should approach with caution.
As Amanda counted out bolivars for the driver from the mixed currency wad in her purse, Taylor noted movement down the street. In fact, several movements. “We’ve got company,” he murmured.
She straightened, nodding fractionally. “Let’s take a walk.”
The back of his neck tingled. They were so being watched. They neared the gated entrance to a grand estate, and a man stepped out of the shadows with an easy swagger. He held back a jacket far enough to reveal a leather holster at his hip and uttered a short greeting in Spanish that was clearly some sort of a challenge.
Amanda replied fluidly. Whatever she said, the guy relaxed and nodded politely.
They walked past the guard, and Taylor felt the moment when the guy turned away from them and went back to wherever he’d come from.
“Private security,” Amanda muttered.
The estate they’d just passed was far from the most impressive in this area. All of the houses here must have similar setups. “If our contact’s this rich, why didn’t he just hire someone to knock off Maldonado?” he replied under his breath.
“Good question. Let’s ask it when we get there.”
Based on how the house numbers were increasing, they had about a half mile to go. They walked in silence for a couple minutes, and then he asked quietly, “If this is such a safe neighborhood, why do I feel so damned uneasy?”
“I don’t know,” she responded, “but I’m feeling itchy, too.”
Their steps slowed a bit as they peered into the darkness around them. Rolling lawns stretched away into black nothingness behind tall iron fences. The occasional brick wall crowded the sidewalk, and trees towered everywhere.
Streetlights were sparse, coming mostly from decorative lamps at the gates to driveways. They walked a bit farther, and the feeling of being watched began to bother him once more. But this time, no pugnacious guard sauntered out and made himself known.
“I don’t like this,” Amanda mumbled.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her hand drifting to her purse. Casually, he unbuttoned his sport coat for quick access to his pistol. Tension thrummed through him.
“Look relaxed,” Amanda murmured.
“Look sharp,” he retorted.
She grinned up at him. And all hell broke loose. Four men leaped out of the shadows, weapons drawn, shouting for them to freeze. Taylor dived to the right while Amanda leaped left. Their assailants yelled and rushed. He kept rolling, past a tree trunk and out into the street. As his shoulder slammed into asphalt, he ripped his pistol clear.
A dull thud beside his right ear. The bastards were shooting at them! Silenced weapons. He took aim over the top of his head as he completed the roll onto his stomach. Before he landed flat, he pulled the trigger. A sharp cry, and one of the men went down, holding his leg.
A loud report from his left. Amanda. She was functional, then. Another man down. Damn, she was a good shot. He leaped to his feet and zigzagged across the street, drawing thankfully inaccurate fire. He dived for a clump of tall bushes, crashing through the stiff branches with a rending of fabric.
Rolling to a crouch, he braced his pistol in front of him. A black shape dived behind a car about thirty feet down the street on the same side as him. Taylor looked around frantically.
He holstered his pistol and reached up, jumping for a branch overhead. He swung up into a tree and crouched in the crook next to the trunk. He pulled his pistol again and took stock.
No more attackers were forthcoming. One man lay still on the sidewalk across the street and another lay on the ground, grimly wrapping a cloth around his leg. The third guy was being stealthy behind a car and there was no sign of the fourth man.
No sign of Amanda, either. If he had to guess, she’d bolted into the yard across the street and gone cross-country. Probably had the fourth guy in tow.
Nothing Taylor could do for her at the moment. Their unsilenced weapons would no doubt draw a police response in a matter of minutes. He didn’t have all night to sit up here and play hide-and-seek with the turkey behind the car. He thought fast. The pistol in his hand was loaded with Teflon-coated bullets. But the smaller pistol in his ankle holster carried explosive rounds.
He’d get one shot at this; the muzzle-flash would give away his position. He readied himself to jump down and pulled out the small revolver. He took aim at the lower rear end of the car the thug was using for cover and squeezed off three quick shots at the vehicle’s gas tank.
A blinding explosion rocked Taylor, slamming him out of the tree. He fell heavily onto his left shoulder, knocking the wind out of him. He forced himself to his feet while he dragged air into his shocked lungs. Come on, body. Move. A scream from the far side of the ball of flames announced that he’d incapacitated his attacker.
He briefly considered crossing the street and following after Amanda, but that would bring him into view of the two downed men. Just because they were lying on the ground didn’t mean they couldn’t shoot him. There was nothing like a good possum act.
He faded back into the shadows. Dodging from one pocket of black to another, he made his way down the street. Sirens screamed in the distance, and lights were popping on everywhere up and down the street. Screw this.
He jumped up onto the brick wall beside him and dived into the yard behind it. He sprinted across the smooth lawn, making his way behind a sprawling stucco house. A quick trip over the fence and into another property. This place had a pair of barking dogs, but trained killers they were not. The pair of German shepherds followed him as he raced across their territory, leaping and barking as if this were a great game.
Two more estates traversed, and he slowed down to catch his breath. Fortunately, all the commotion in the street seemed to have drawn the private security guards out to the streetside gates. There were a few motion-activated spotlights to dodge, but he jogged, mostly unhindered, toward their original destination.
He crouched inside a wrought-iron fence across the street from the address they’d been given. Their contact lived in a blond, brick colonial mansion resting in a copse of big old trees. A lawn rose gently to its walls and rose beds dotted the expanse. Nice place. Well back from the street. A few lights on. Apparently the fiasco down the road hadn’t alarmed anyone inside. He looked up and down the street. A couple security guards were visible and a police car raced past.
He considered his options for getting across the street unnoticed. None. Well, if he couldn’t hide, he’d blend in. He approached the driveway of the estate he was hiding inside. A guard hovered just inside the gate, his nose all but pressed against the iron bars in an attempt to see what was going on down the street.
Taylor pulled his gun. It was ridiculously easy to creep up behind the idiot and clock him across the base of the skull with his pistol butt. He took off his ruined sport coat, stripped the guard’s jacket off and shrugged into it. It was way too small and there was no way he could zip it, so he pushed it back to reveal his holster. Quickly, he moved over to a digital control pad for the front gate. Crap. Now what?
He pushed the big, round button beside the number pad. The big gates began to swing open. Praise the Lord. He strolled into the street. Stopped to look toward the cluster of sirens. Moved further across the street as if to get a better vantage point. And then he was on the other side and melted into the shadows.
He found a thick clump of bushes beside the fence and flung the jacket up over the iron spikes topping it. He climbed over the fence awkwardly and dropped to the ground on the far side. The coat hung up on the spikes when he tried to tug it loose. No help for it. He left it hanging where it was.
He stuck to the shadows of the trees as far as he could, and then he dropped to his belly. There was enough cover between the beds of roses for him to make his way toward the house unseen.
It was slow going, though. Slow enough for him to have time to wonder where in the hell Amanda was. Was she all right? Had she gotten away from the fourth attacker? Who were those guys, anyway? As he dragged himself foot by foot toward the mansion, one thought crystallized in his mind. He was keeping this appointment come hell or high water. He was going to find out who was managing to stay on their heels like this.
Amanda crouched in the bushes by the street mere yards from one of their attackers. The guy groaned periodically and clutched at his leg wound. Must have hit his femur to be in that much pain. She’d love nothing more than to step out and ask him a few pointed questions about whom he worked for and why he was chasing her, but that would be asking for trouble on her part.
Instead she held her position, watching the burning car and waiting for the emergency response that would be forthcoming any minute. Shooting out that car’s gas tank had been an inspired ploy by Taylor. She’d been surprised when she caught the muzzle-flash out of the tree. Good thinking to go vertical.
After her initial dive off the sidewalk, she’d fired a single, lucky shot that dropped one of their attackers cold. Then she’d climbed the fence behind her and taken off running, praying Taylor was still up. Footsteps pounded behind her, and she headed for some shrubbery, dodging in and out of shadows as she tried to lose her pursuer.
Then a stroke of luck. She stumbled on the edge of a hole where someone had dug up something big like a tree. She dived into it, curling up in a ball and clawing at the soft dirt, sending cascades of it over herself.
Heavy breathing passed by. Amanda stayed put, though. The attacker would circle back when he lost sight of her. Sure enough, about a minute later, someone passed by again more slowly. A quiet curse. Uttered in Russian. Her heart slammed into her throat.
She counted to a hundred and then climbed out of her hole. Dirt trickled down the back of her neck, but she didn’t have time to shake it out of her hair or clothes. Moving with catlike stealth, she’d eased back toward the point of the attack. Who were these Russians? Why were they so determined to kill her? And how in the bloody hell were they managing to stay one step behind her and Taylor?
A fire truck pulled up, blocking her view of the burning car. She resisted an urge to shrink back deeper into the shadows as two police cars pulled up seconds later and four officers jumped out. One of them raced over to the two downed Russians. He shouted for a medic and then turned to the Russian with the leg wound. Then, blessedly, the policeman asked who the guy was. Amanda strained to hear the man’s answer.
“Nikko Biryayev. Russian State Security.”
Russian government? Shock rooted Amanda’s feet to the ground. No way. What did they want with her? Were they tied into the diamonds somehow? The Venezuelan police officer had a good look at the guy’s identification and seemed satisfied with it, so he must be for real. She waited until an ambulance crew tried to move the Russian. Under the cover of his moaning pain, she slipped away in the dark.
Thoughtfully, she made her way across a half-dozen estates, dodging on autopilot the various security guards, lights and dogs she encountered. The guy who’d followed her at LaGuardia had been Russian government, too. What was the link? Were they trying to track down the smugglers, too, or was there a more sinister connection? Were they part of the diamond-smuggling operation?
Amanda stopped at the top of a gentle hill, crouched in the shadows of a stately beige Georgian mansion. The contact’s house. She checked her watch. They’d been jumped nearly a half hour ago. Where was Taylor? Gad, she hated it when they got split up like this.
What she wouldn’t give to be wired with microphones and radios right about now. But wires would undoubtedly freak out their contact if they were searched. Speaking of which, they were due for their meeting in about five minutes. C’mon, Taylor. Show up.
Amanda waited, more worried than she was willing to admit, for fifteen more minutes. She’d begun to consider going to the meeting alone when, without warning, a hand clapped over her mouth. She jolted violently and grabbed the hand preparatory to ripping its thumb off. A voice whispered in her ear, “Hi, honey, I’m home.”
She sagged in relief and turned in Taylor’s arms, throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank God you’re safe,” she cooed in his ear. She inhaled his wonderful, reassuring scent as he crushed her in a warm, safe hug. Regretfully, she lifted her head off his shoulder.
“Yeah, I know. We’ve got to go,” he whispered. “So, who were those bastards?”
“Russian,” she bit out. “Government.”
He stared at her, mirroring her shock. “What the hell do they want with us?”
She shrugged. “One bad guy at a time. Let’s find out who Four Eyes is first, and then we’ll worry about what burr’s up the Russians’ butts.”
She felt Taylor’s silent chuckle. “Front door or back?” he asked.
“Front,” she replied. They stood up and she brushed herself off as best she could. She still felt little balls of dirt down the back of her shirt, but there was no help for it. She picked a few stray leaves off Taylor, and the two of them strolled around to the front porch as if they owned the place. He rang the doorbell.
A gray-haired man opened the door cautiously. He lurched in momentary surprise, but composed himself almost instantly. “You must be Xavier’s friends,” the man said smoothly. “Come in, come in.”
Amanda frowned mentally. He hadn’t expected them to show up on his porch. Why not? He was the one who set up the meeting…. He’d sold them out. This guy was the reason Russian agents had just jumped them.
“Why, thank you,” Amanda said graciously and glided inside. She didn’t look at Taylor, but she felt when the same conclusion hit him. He stiffened for one furious millisecond, and then it was gone. Smooth as silk, he followed her inside. God, he was good.
Their host led them into an elegant sitting room, dimly lit by a single small lamp in a far corner. She noted their host took a seat with his back to the light, casting his face in deep shadow. Fine. If he wanted to be all spooky and mysterious it was no skin off her nose. She wasn’t leaving here tonight until she knew everything there was to know about Four Eyes. She took a seat beside Taylor on an antique, and highly uncomfortable, couch.
Their host spoke English, but with a melodic Spanish accent. “Thank you for coming here this evening. The matter of which you wish to speak is most delicate.”
Amanda refrained from rolling her eyes. Whatever. The guy’d just pronounced himself a rank amateur. They always got carried away in the drama of the moment. She replied dryly, “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice. It was very kind of you.”
“So tell me,” the man said lightly, “how is it you managed to penetrate the impenetrable security of Viktor Maldonado?”
She had no intention of giving away any trade secrets to this jerk. She replied with a polite smile, “And why is it you were so hot and bothered to see him dead?”
Their host leaned back in his chair, displeased. At least he caught the hint. She wouldn’t reveal her secrets, and he wouldn’t reveal his.
“Did you see the evening news tonight?” she asked into the deepening silence.
The man’s frown eased. “Yes. There was a bit about one of the richest men in Mexico being hospitalized. Apparently doctors are puzzled over why he’s so ill. He’s been flown to the United States for treatment.”
Amanda shrugged. “There is no cure for his condition. He will be gravely ill until he dies. He is no longer a viable business entity of any kind.”
“I wanted him dead.”
“You needed him out of your way for business purposes, and this way you don’t have blood on your hands. Besides, this way he’ll suffer—a lot—before he dies.”
Fierce satisfaction gleamed in their host’s black gaze.
She leaned forward. “I believe you have some information for us.”
The man stood up and moved to a desk across the room. He pulled a key ring out of his pocket and unlocked a deep desk drawer. He reached inside to spin the lock on a small safe, and pulled a manila envelope out of it. He handed it to Amanda as he walked past her and sat down once more.
She opened it and pulled out a sheaf of handwritten notes. On top was a faxed copy of the photograph she’d given Xavier. She translated the Spanish aloud for Taylor. “His name is Alexii Brodin. He comes from a city called…Udarsky in Kyrgyzstan, goes by the nickname Kirgy. Age forty-five, rap sheet a mile long all over Eastern Europe. Racketeering, smuggling, drug running, weapons trading, theft, bribery, murder, the works.” She frowned as she read on. “He’s attached to the Russian Mafia.”
Taylor interrupted. “The Mafia? As in mostly ex-KGB, now controls Russia like Al Capone did Chicago? That Mafia?”
“The very same,” their host replied. “Of that there is no doubt.”
She flipped to the last page. “It says here he’s getting protection from someone big because he was able to move freely through the United States recently, after he was identified by the FBI.” She looked up at their host. “Is the Russian Mafia that connected inside the FBI?”
The man’s gaze was sharp. “I highly doubt it. I think your friend owns someone high up elsewhere in your government.”
She glanced down at the notes. “It says here he was last seen in Mexico. Do you know where he is now?”
Their host leaned back in his seat. Amanda didn’t like the look on his face. The arrogant prick was going to try to extort something else from them beyond the Maldonado job.
Sure enough, the guy steepled his fingers and said slowly, “I might.”
She surged up off the couch and across the room before the guy could blink. She jumped on him, planting a knee in his groin and grabbing his throat, pinching off the veins on either side of his trachea. She shoved her face within inches of his. “Here’s the way the rest of this conversation’s going to go. You’re going to tell me exactly what I want to know, and I’ll let you live. One wrong answer and you die. Got it?”
The guy’s panicked gaze met hers, and he nodded as much as he was able to with her hand jammed up under his chin.
“Where is Brodin now?”
“I don’t know,” the guy croaked.
Amanda tightened her fingers, cutting off the guy’s air. His eyes were getting bloodshot.
“But I know where he’s going to be,” the man choked out frantically.
Amanda eased off slightly on the pressure. “Keep talking.”
“He’s flying into Caracas within a few days to do a business deal.”
“What sort of deal?” she demanded.
“I don’t know. But it’s huge. Drawing in a lot of big players.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.” The guy didn’t wait for her to choke him again before he rushed on. “But I can give you advance notice of when he’s due in. Maybe six hours.”
“Make it twelve,” she snarled, “and I might let you live.”
“Okay, okay. Twelve hours,” the guy whined.
She gave him the phone number of her answering service and made him repeat it back to her until she was sure he’d remember it, even in his terrified state. Then she said, “Next question. Why did you sell us out to the Russian government? Why not tell Brodin?”
The guy stared in dismay. “I didn’t—”
She cut off the rest of the air he’d have used to finish that lie. “I don’t care if you want to take over Brodin’s business, or sleep with his wife, or just screw him over. But if you so much as breathe a word to him about what you’ve told us, or you ever try to double-cross me again in any way, I’ll tell Brodin myself that you ratted him out.”
A spreading, warm wetness at Amanda’s knee told her he got the point just fine. Man, this Brodin character really had this guy scared. Truth be told, Brodin had her a little spooked. If only she knew why he was so determined to kill her—him and the Russian government. She stood up and saw Taylor standing behind her with his pistol drawn.
“Please,” the guy babbled, “if you try to kill Brodin, do not fail. Otherwise, he will know he’s got a leak, and he’ll come after me and my family. I implore you. Don’t miss.”
She answered coolly, “I never miss.” She held out a hand. “Give me your car keys.”
The guy fished in his pocket for the key ring he’d used earlier. The keys rattled musically as he passed them to her with a trembling hand. She said lightly, “Don’t bother reporting it stolen. I’ll have it returned to you when we’re through with it.”
She tied the guy to the chair with his necktie, then scooped up the envelope and the notes on Brodin. Taylor fell in beside her and they made their way quickly to the back of the house, being careful to touch nothing that would pick up a fingerprint.
They found the garage through a mudroom attached to the kitchen. Taylor slid behind the wheel of the late-model Mercedes while Amanda activated an automatic garage door opener on the driver’s visor. The big door rattled up. Taylor backed out and turned around, pointing the car down the driveway. The front gate opened automatically as they approached it.
They rolled out into the street and away into the darkness. They burned almost a half tank’s worth of gas before they were dead certain they hadn’t been followed from the guy’s house. It was well after midnight when they finally drew near their hotel.
“Let’s ditch the car here,” she announced. “We can walk the rest of the way back.”
Taylor nodded and turned into a narrow side street. It was dark and seedy. They climbed out of the car, and a gang of potentially unpleasant young men closed off the entrance of the alley and began to stroll toward them. She cursed under her breath.
Taylor grinned down at her. “Watch this.” He picked up his pace and strode right at the gang. The thugs were a bit taken aback, but closed ranks quickly. Crud. The last thing she needed right now was a gang rumble. Too many other thoughts were racing around in her mind demanding consideration. “Anyone speak English?” Taylor asked casually.
“Yeah,” one of the toughs spoke up.
“Here. Catch.” Taylor tossed him the car keys. “Go have fun.”
The guy looked down at the keys and then up at the gleaming black Mercedes behind them. “Are you kidding?” he squeaked. Amanda grinned as the tough-guy mask fell away and revealed a teenage kid in the middle of a dream come true.
Taylor laughed. “Nope. It’s hotter than a house fire, but it’s all yours.”
As the gang caught the gist of what he’d done, disbelieving smiles broke out. They parted ranks to let Amanda and Taylor pass through. There was a brief whispered exchange, and the one who spoke English put a hand on her arm. She tensed to fight.
“Hey, lady. Some suits was asking around if anyone had seen a man and a woman looking like you. They was showing pictures. One of my boys says you was in the picture.”
“Is that so?” she replied. “What did these guys look like? Were they Russian?”
A kid spoke up in Spanish. “Nah. Not Russian. They stank of U.S.A. all the way.”
“DEA?” she asked. They were by far the most common U.S. law enforcement presence in this neck of the woods.
“If they were, they ain’t the regulars,” one of the other boys retorted.
She nodded slowly. “Thanks for the heads-up.” She murmured to Taylor, “They say some Americans were flashing around pictures of us a while ago.”
They walked back toward their hotel, alert for anyone following them. Amanda said, “Let’s go back to that cafe across from the hotel and see who’s hanging around.”
“Good idea,” Taylor replied. “Besides, I’m hungry.”
She laughed. “How can you think of food at a time like this?”
He laughed back at her. “How can you not? With all that running around and threatening people we did tonight, I’ve really worked up an appetite.”
It took them only minutes to pick out the Americans watching the hotel. The pair sat at a bar just inside the hotel lobby. Big plate-glass windows opened out onto the street from the cocktail club so the guys could watch outside, too. As a stakeout spot went it wasn’t bad. The men were decent at what they did, but they just didn’t blend into the local scenery.
“FBI, do you suppose?” she asked Taylor.
He studied the pair. “I don’t think so. I did a lot of work with FBI agents when I was counseling convicts, and those two don’t seem…blue-collar enough. FBI types work hard and get their hands dirty. Those two over there look like they’d rather be sitting in an air-conditioned room pecking at a computer.”
Amanda agreed with his assessment. The Americans looked faintly uncomfortable in the bar, nursing drinks long gone warm and watery. She frowned. “Do you remember Marina Subova’s itinerary? I thought she was in Europe right now, not Venezuela.”
Taylor nodded. “She’s in Germany until tomorrow, then Switzerland for a week.”
“Then what’s Brodin doing here? Does that shoot down your theory of him getting delivery messages for diamonds from her music?”
Taylor stared at her thoughtfully. “I still think I was right about that. However, Marina’s manager threatened her with tax-evasion charges if she didn’t play the music. That would mean the Russian government was using Brodin, not the Russian Mafia. Was our contact tonight wrong about Brodin’s employer?”
Amanda shook her head sharply in the negative. “I was looking the guy in the eye and he was scared to death. He told the truth. Brodin’s Mafia.”
“So the Russian government was making convenient use of a Mob thug for some purpose,” Taylor stated.
“But what? Surely Mother Russia doesn’t need shipments of small arms and explosives. It’s got warehouses full of that kind of stuff.”
Taylor shrugged. “Are they supplying terrorists, or someone they don’t want Russian equipment to show up in the hands of?”
“Russian military gear is so widely available on the black market already, a little more wouldn’t be remotely noticeable. They’ve got to be using Brodin for something else.”
“Something attached to diamonds?” Taylor asked.
She nodded slowly. “It’s the only element in this whole puzzle that’s consistent. Starting with Devereaux’s involvement in this case, to gemstone diamonds showing up around Marina Subova, to the arms trades by Brodin.”
Taylor leaned forward abruptly. “No offense, but why in hell did Devereaux put you on this case to begin with? You were seriously overdue to stand down. Why did you, in your mental and emotional state, get sent after a handful of diamonds? Sure, the stones were big, but why would Devereaux risk burning you out for good over a few lousy diamonds?”
“I wasn’t in that bad of shape, was I?”
He looked her in the eye. “Worse. You’re doing worlds better now, mind you, but I’ve never seen anyone that close to a crack-up who didn’t end up coming apart completely.”
She reached across the table to squeeze his hand briefly. There was no need for words. She was sitting here today because of his care and concern.
Taylor asked, “When you got your initial briefing on this case from Harry Trumpman, what did he say? Were you only supposed to track down the gemstones popping up around Marina?”
Holy cow. “No,” she breathed. “That didn’t come until later. I was told Devereaux got wind of some big illegal diamond deal going down. His information was that whoever was going to move the stones was attached to Marina Subova’s entourage.”
Taylor nodded. “Maybe we haven’t been so far off track all along. Four Eyes—Brodin—trails along behind Marina, waiting to do some big diamond deal. In the meantime, he does a few side deals for the Russian Mafia while he waits for the right signal from the Russian government.”
“Except now he’s gone off her itinerary and is coming to Caracas,” she said quietly.
Which meant it was time for the big deal to go down. They stared at each other in silence for several moments.
“Now what?” Taylor asked.
“I’ve got my father’s journal in my purse. Everything else we left in the hotel is replaceable. I say let’s blow this joint and hole up somewhere else until Joe Pees-his-pants calls us with Brodin’s arrival time.”
Taylor nodded crisply. They left the cafe and retraced their steps to the alley. They found their friendly, local gang still crawling all over the plush car. Amanda hastened to reassure the boys as hackles went up at the sight of her and Taylor. “Gentlemen,” she said pleasantly, “you were so helpful before, I wondered if we might prevail upon you to transact a bit of business.”
The youths were more than happy to hook her up with the local black market electronics suppliers, weapons dealers, and even private lodgings when she peeled a fistful of bolivars off her wad of cash. She suspected she and Taylor were staying in the home of one of the kids’ parents, but she didn’t care.
If the poverty of their bare room and lumpy mattress on the floor was any indication, the amount they were paying their hostess, a middle-aged woman, was a good year’s income for her. It was money well spent. The lady fed them three square meals a day, brought them bottled water to drink, and left them alone.
To pass the time while they waited for the call, Taylor pored over Amanda’s father’s journal. On the third evening, he closed the tattered book and rubbed his eyes.
“Any revelations?” she asked.
“He stole something. I’ve heard similar language from convicts time and time again when they’ve nabbed something and are dying to tell someone about it.”
She frowned. “What do you think he nicked?”
“He keeps referring to turquoise in here, but I get the impression he’s talking about a person, not the gemstone. Whatever it was, he believed it was tremendously valuable.”
“At the end, he ranted a lot about how rich we were and I just didn’t know it. I thought he was talking about having a roof over our heads and a family. That sort of stuff.”
“What do you know about Udarsky?” he asked. “That comes up a couple times in conjunction with whatever he stole.”
She nodded. “We know Brodin’s from there, and my father no doubt was familiar with it. Clearly there’s a connection, but I just don’t see the link.”
Taylor pulled out his cell phone with its wireless Internet connection. “Let me run it through the Internet and see what I get.” He fiddled with his phone and looked up at her, frowning. “It’s an old Russian army town in the northwestern mountains of Kyrgyzstan.”
“Do you suppose my father was flashing back to a place he spent time as a kid?”
Taylor sighed. “Who knows? Your father really was loopy by the end.”
Amanda laughed, but broke off when her cell phone rang. It was almost midnight and nobody had this number except her answering service. She picked it up and put it to her ear.
A voice-mail message of a male voice played, recognizable as that of Joe Pees-his-pants. It said tersely, “Caracas International Airport tomorrow—10:45 a.m., private charter parking at the Avinco hangar.” The phone clicked off.
Well, either the guy had kept his word, or they’d just been set up like lambs for the slaughter. And there was only one way to find out.