“Are there any other developments?”
The question was not unexpected, but it still made Carlos’s stomach turn. He took a deep breath as he debated his next words. Would it be better for him to reveal this latest wrinkle, or should he pretend as if everything was proceeding as planned? He hated to show any kind of flaw—if his employers thought he was mishandling the situation, there would be hell to pay. But if they thought he was being less than truthful, his punishment would be extreme. In the end, he decided honesty was worth the risk.
“Olivia Sandoval has agreed to act as a courier, just as you thought she would. But there is another person accompanying her on the trip.”
The man on the other end of the line was silent for a moment, giving Carlos plenty of time to imagine his reaction. He would be displeased, but he wouldn’t let his temper show. There was always a chance that someone was listening, and El Jefe was not stupid. He had led Fantasmas for the past ten years with a calculating ruthlessness that left no room for emotion. His ice-cold control was one of the most terrifying things about him, and Carlos had always considered him the personification of that American colloquialism “Don’t get mad, get even.”
“Who?”
“She claims the man is an investor who insists on going with her so he can see how his company’s money is spent.”
“His name?”
“Logan Marshall. I am currently investigating his background.” Carlos typed as he spoke, entering the name into the search engine. After a few endless seconds, the results popped up.
“Is there anything unusual I should know about?”
Carlos scanned the information quickly, cursing himself for not having done this sooner. But he hadn’t had the time, and he hadn’t had the guts to let the phone ring. When El Jefe called, you answered.
“Nothing that I see so far.”
“Good. Keep me updated.”
“Of course.”
There was a click as the man disconnected, and Carlos let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as some of the tension left his body. He hadn’t wanted to discuss this latest development until he’d done due diligence on Logan Marshall and determined what kind of threat the man was. Now El Jefe would think him unprepared at best, incapable at worst.
He shook his head, trying to dispel the growing fear that he was on the verge of disaster. He had served Fantasmas for the better part of five years, and had done his job well. It was why he was still alive. El Jefe knew he was a good soldier, and he wasn’t likely to have him eliminated on the basis of one small mistake.
Besides, it wasn’t really his mistake to begin with. He’d had no way of knowing an investor was involved in Olivia Sandoval’s upcoming trip. She’d never taken one with her before. No, he thought, feeling some of his confidence return. This is not my fault.
He turned his attention back to the computer screen. The addition of this new player was unexpected, but perhaps it would prove a useful development. After all, it was one more innocent life he could threaten to ensure Dr. Sandoval’s cooperation. She had responded well to the threats against her friends; adding one more potential victim to the mix would increase the pressure on her and give him additional leverage, which was always a good thing.
Carlos scanned the search results with a more critical eye, giving the information his full attention. Logan Marshall was employed in the public relations department of one of the bigger pharmaceutical companies, and based on his résumé, he was an expert in corporate spin. A necessary skill, considering the PR nightmare his company was experiencing after its exorbitant price-gouging tactics had been exposed.
He clicked over to see the photos that had popped up from his search and frowned. The page was flooded with images, each one of a different person. It would take too long to sift through everything in the hopes of finding the right Logan Marshall. Rather than waste the time, he logged in to the state’s Motor Vehicle Administration site, courtesy of a password provided to him by an employee on the cartel’s payroll. He smiled to himself as he searched again—the government had no idea how many of its employees were bought and paid for by “illegal organizations.”
After a few seconds, a picture of Logan Marshall’s driver’s license appeared on the screen. Carlos studied the image, narrowing his eyes. Something about this man looked familiar...
The hairs on the back of his neck rose and the feeling of déjà vu intensified. He had seen this man before. But where? How had their paths crossed?
He leaned back from the desk and closed his eyes, clearing his mind of all extraneous thought. Experience had taught him that trying to chase after information only buried it deeper in his brain. Better to calm himself and let the knowledge float to the top so he could examine it more closely.
His mind began to wander, looking over memories and discarding those that didn’t apply. Had he bumped into Logan Marshall in an ordinary fashion, while at the grocery store or running errands? No...that would not have caused the man’s face to stick in his mind. It had to be something else. Something professional then, which meant Logan Marshall was not who he seemed...
Most of Carlos’s meetings with associates were quiet, low-key affairs. It wasn’t smart to draw the attention of prying eyes, and so everyone conducted themselves calmly and rationally—an outside observer would look at their group and see a handful of businessmen out for a working lunch. They always spoke in coded Spanish, which further helped to obscure their dealings. Washington, DC, was a cosmopolitan enough city that a table of Spanish-speaking men didn’t draw comment, but most of the Americans surrounding them were stubborn monoglots, and the few who did speak Spanish were far from fluent. It was the perfect cover.
The meetings usually took place at an upscale restaurant, thanks to an ill-timed raid that had taken place two years before. The cartels had grown worried about increasing violence on American soil. It was one thing to kill indiscriminately in Colombia, but the United States authorities were not so forgiving when their citizens were targeted. In a rare show of solidarity, the cartels had agreed to a temporary truce to work out the details of turf distribution on US soil. If they could agree to terms, much of the violence in the US could be curtailed, which would take the spotlight off the cartels. The American police forces tended to focus only on immediate problems. If the cartels dropped off their radar again, things would be much easier.
A hotel had been chosen as the site for negotiations, and on the appointed day two years ago, representatives from each of the major cartels had arrived. The meeting was disguised as a conference of Latin American pharmaceutical investors so as not to draw suspicion. But somehow, the DEA had gotten wind of the true nature of the meeting.
Carlos had stepped out to relieve himself when the raid happened. He was still in the bathroom when the shouting began, and he hid in the stall until the initial burst of activity passed. Thinking quickly, he stripped off his suit jacket and tie, leaving him in dark pants and a white dress shirt—a close approximation of the hotel staff uniform. He slipped out of the bathroom and managed to snag a catering jacket off an abandoned cart. The employees were gathered at the end of the hall, gawking at the activity, so no one noticed him glide by.
He walked right through a thicket of DEA agents and police, his head held high and his pace measured so as not to draw suspicion. He was almost out—he wouldn’t let a careless mistake cost him his freedom now.
He glanced back as he rounded the corner, and his shoulder struck something hard. Turning, his stomach dropped as he found he had run into a DEA agent.
“Excuse me,” he murmured, nodding politely.
The other man nodded back. “My fault,” he said. He studied Carlos’s face for a second and his eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to recall something. Carlos felt his pulse spike—he had to get out of here before he was recognized. He offered a small smile and began walking away, feeling the weight of the other man’s eyes on his back. He knew with absolute certainty that if he turned around the agent would be watching him, but to do so would only confirm the other man’s suspicions.
Footsteps sounded behind him, and he realized the agent had started to follow him. He took a deep breath and forced his feet to move at a normal pace, resisting the rising panic that demanded he run.
“Logan!”
The footsteps paused, and he heard the man’s voice behind him. “What?”
“We need you in here.”
There was a muttered curse, and Carlos imagined the man standing there, torn. He kept walking, putting more and more distance between them. Finally, he rounded another corner and risked a glance back.
The man was gone.
Sitting at his desk now, Carlos frowned. The DEA agent’s name was Logan. Not a very common moniker. He dove back into the memory and focused on the man’s face...
Realization struck like a bolt of lightning and an electric tingle traveled from the top of his head down to his toes. He opened his eyes to stare at the picture on the screen again.
It couldn’t be...
But it was.
Logan Marshall was the same man he’d bumped into two years ago. A DEA agent. Which meant Olivia Sandoval had talked.
Anger flooded him in a hot rush, and he reached up to loosen his tie. That bitch.
His first instinct was to punish her. He reached for the phone to give the order to kill her friends, but a thought struck him before he dialed. What if he could use this to his advantage?
The DEA was off-limits in the United States. To put a hit out on an agent who was on American soil was suicide. But Logan wouldn’t be here for much longer. He was going to Colombia, and everyone knew that was a dangerous place.
A slow smile spread across his lips as he considered the possibilities. A DEA agent, alone except for one woman and undercover in Colombia. It was a gift really, and one he couldn’t pass up. El Jefe would be pleased at such an unexpected windfall. They would interrogate him, find out exactly what the Americans knew and what they planned to do about it. Anticipation was a sweet burn in his chest. There were so many ways to make a man talk...
And then, once they had wrung every last drop of information from him, they would kill him. There were hundreds of thousands of square miles of jungle in Colombia—the Americans would never find his body. He would be one more drop in the ocean of lives lost in the drug trade.
He fixed his tie, whistling softly to himself. He would have to move quickly, but the prize was worth the rush. Pleasure flooded his system as he imagined presenting a DEA agent to El Jefe. It would be the diamond in his crown of achievements. El Jefe would be very pleased indeed.
And Carlos would reap the rewards.
* * *
“You’ve really never flown first-class before?”
Olivia shook her head and took a sip of champagne, enjoying the effervescent tingling as the bubbles danced across her tongue. She wasn’t normally a big drinker, but the flight attendant had come by with a tray of flutes just as she’d taken her seat, and the novelty of it was too fun to pass up. When in Rome...
“Why not?”
She glanced over to find Logan eyeing her with open curiosity. “These tickets are expensive,” she said. “The money I would spend on a cushier seat buys a lot of bandages.”
He tilted his head to the side, acknowledging her point. “I didn’t think of it that way.”
“How did you get them to spring for these seats?” From everything she’d heard, the government wasn’t in the habit of paying for civil servants to travel in such style.
Logan lifted one brow and smiled. “A pharmaceutical executive such as myself has an image to maintain.” Then he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Plus, I called in a few favors.” He winked at her, which made her stomach do a little flip.
Olivia leaned back in her seat, putting a few inches of distance between them. “That was nice of you,” she said, hoping she sounded normal. When she’d agreed to pose as Logan’s girlfriend, she hadn’t stopped to consider all that would involve. Being near him. Sharing conversations. Touching him. Kissing him?
Whoa, she thought, cutting off the thought before it could take root in her imagination. In the immediate aftermath of Carlos and his threats, she had seen Logan as a potential solution to the problem, a way to keep Avery and Mallory alive and safe while she did the cartel’s dirty work. But now that things had calmed down a bit, she saw him as more than a DEA agent. She was becoming acutely aware of him as a man, and unfortunately for her brain, her body liked what she saw.
Just how much acting would they have to do to convince people they were together? And more important, could she keep her emotions separate from her actions? The last thing she needed was to believe the lies and truly fall for Logan. He was here doing a job, and no matter how attractive he was or how much his eyes sparkled when he looked at her, she had to remember it wasn’t real. The last thing she needed was to get attached to another person who was going to leave her.
Her parents hadn’t meant to die, of course. She realized that. But Scott had chosen to leave her. And even though she knew deep down she was better off without him, his desertion still stung. She felt the pain anew every time she thought of him, and she wasn’t up for making connections with new people. It wasn’t worth the pain of disappointment later.
“Happy to do it,” he said easily. “And I’m doubly glad to know it’s such a treat for you.”
Her stomach flipped again, and Olivia set down the glass of champagne. The bubbles had to be affecting her—that was the only explanation. “So how does this work?” she asked, hoping that shifting the focus to business would help settle her nerves.
Logan took a sip of his own champagne and frowned slightly. “How does what work?”
Olivia gestured between them. “You and me. How do we approach the whole ‘fake couple’ thing?” If she knew what to expect, she could better guard against a sneak attack from her emotions.
Logan’s expression cleared. “Ah,” he said. He set the glass down and looked at her, his expression thoughtful. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure. This is the first time I’ve done anything like this.”
“You’ve never had to go undercover before?”
“Not like this. Usually, it’s the female agents who are tasked with faking a relationship. As far as I know, I’m the first guy to be put in this position.”
Olivia couldn’t help but smile. “I take it your coworkers were sufficiently amused?”
He lifted one shoulder. “You saw how Alan and Keith acted. They think it’s funny as hell.”
There was a note in his voice that caught her attention and made her think there was a bigger issue at play here. “Because of the novelty of it?”
Logan shifted in his seat. Perhaps he was just trying to get comfortable, but Olivia thought it was something more. “That’s part of it,” he said.
Meaning, her instincts were correct—there was something else going on, and it probably explained why Logan had initially resisted the idea.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Was that the problem? Maybe he was dating someone, and having to pretend to be in a relationship made him uncomfortable. It was a reasonable explanation.
“No.” He shook his head firmly. “I’m single.”
Olivia let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She hadn’t thought to consider Logan might have someone waiting at home for him. Now she didn’t have to feel guilty about taking him away and forcing him to pretend to be in love with her.
“What about you?” His gaze was probing as he searched her face. “Surely a beautiful, intelligent woman such as yourself has no shortage of dates.”
He thinks I’m beautiful? The compliment was a boost to her ego, and her inner twelve-year-old let out a little squeal of pleasure. “Not really,” she began, feeling her cheeks warm. “For starters, I don’t have much time in my schedule. I’ve dated some, but I’ve never found someone who wanted to stick around for the long haul.” She reached for the champagne and took a fortifying sip, hoping he wouldn’t press for more details. She didn’t feel up to sharing the whole sad story with him at the moment.
“And now it’s your turn,” she said, lifting a brow. “You’re handsome, employed and you don’t live in your parents’ basement. Quite the catch, by anyone’s standards. So why are you still alone?”
He was saved from having to answer right away by the arrival of the flight attendant, who collected their glasses. Logan stared after her, and Olivia got the distinct impression he was hoping she would come back to provide another distraction. Did I go too far? she wondered. Perhaps Logan didn’t want to share something so personal with her. Still, he had asked her first, and turnabout was fair play...
His silence stretched on, making her uncomfortable. Just as she was about to apologize for asking the question, he took a deep breath.
“There was someone,” he said quietly. “Her name was Emma. We were engaged.”
Oh, God, had she died? Olivia reached out and put her hand on Logan’s arm, feeling like the worst sort of idiot. He was probably still grieving, and she’d brought his pain to the surface. No wonder he’d hesitated to agree to this arrangement! “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
He glanced up, startled by her words. Then understanding dawned in his green eyes. “She’s still alive,” he said. A hint of bitterness crept into his voice. “And as far as I know, she and my former best friend are quite happy together.”
She had cheated on him? Olivia shook her head. The woman had to be some kind of crazy to give up a guy like Logan. Even though she didn’t know him all that well yet, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see he was a good man. “Sounds like you’re better off without them.”
He nodded. “I know that. It’s just hard to remember, some days.”
She squeezed his arm, understanding perfectly. Even though his former fiancée was still alive, he had suffered a loss, and she knew all too well what that felt like.
There were still times, two years after their deaths, that Olivia found herself driving home, her mind cataloging the list of topics she wanted to discuss with her parents. A joke a patient had told her. Her plans to repaint the kitchen. That new recipe she wanted to try over the weekend. And then she would remember they were gone and her grief would rise up in a fresh wave, no less powerful than the first time it had hit her. She kept waiting for the day when thinking of them didn’t bring such pain, but perhaps it would never come.
“Let’s move on,” Logan suggested, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to let things get so depressing.”
“That’s life,” Olivia said with a shrug. “No need to apologize.”
“I appreciate your understanding. But talking about Emma always puts me in a bad mood, and I’m not about to waste my one and probably only government-sponsored trip in first class being grumpy. Besides,” he added with a small smile, “we have homework to tackle.”
“I can’t believe they actually gave us packets,” Olivia said, accepting his change of topic. She leaned down and retrieved her backpack. The folder was a little crumpled from its time among her books, granola bars and other travel necessities, but it was still intact.
Logan produced his own folder and pulled out the stapled packet of pages within. He slid her a glance. “Did you get everything filled out?”
“Mostly,” Olivia replied, trying not to sound defensive. In truth, she hadn’t had time to answer every single question, and some of them were downright ridiculous. How exactly was knowing her mother’s maiden name going to help Logan more convincingly play her boyfriend? But she had tried her best, not wanting to let him down. “What about you?”
The tips of his ears turned pink. “I answered them all.” Olivia felt her eyebrows lift, and he shrugged. “I was always a good student.” He passed her his packet with a smile. “I don’t know if this will really help, but it’s worth a shot.”
Olivia slid her papers over to him in exchange. “If nothing else, you should be able to figure out all my internet passwords with this information.”
He laughed at that, and nodded at the pages in her hand. “Likewise. Promise you won’t hack into my bank account?”
She pretended to consider the question. “What’s it worth to you?”
A teasing glint entered his eyes. “How about another free drink?”
Olivia batted her eyelashes at him. “You sure know how to treat a girl.”
“That’s nothing,” he said, leaning forward to speak over the noise of the revving engines. “I brought some chocolate along, specifically for you.”
“Really?”
Logan grabbed his bag and opened it, revealing the contents. Sure enough, a bar of chocolate sat on top of a stack of books. The sight of it triggered a warm rush in her chest. The fact that he’d thought to bring her a treat meant a lot, and she suddenly wished she had thought to bring a gift for him.
The sentiment must have shown on her face. “Don’t worry,” he told her, zipping the bag closed again. “You can share it with me.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. She wasn’t feeling that guilty. “We’ll see,” she said with mock seriousness.
He laughed, a deep, melodic sound that thrummed through her and sent pleasant tingles down her arms and legs. “I wouldn’t dream of coming between a woman and her chocolate.”
“I’m pretty sure wars have started over less serious offenses.”
“I’ll consider myself warned,” he said. He leaned back and gestured to the papers they held. “What do you say we get to it? Might as well be productive on this flight.”
Olivia nodded. “Okay. But be gentle.” Answering the personal questions had been easy enough, but having to sit next to Logan while he read her responses made her feel uncomfortably exposed.
He flashed her another one of those heart-stopping grins. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.”
“Good to know we’re on the same page then,” she said, unable to keep from smiling in return. She couldn’t imagine what Logan had to be nervous about, but it made her feel better knowing she wasn’t the only one who found this situation awkward.
She started reading the packet and soon lost herself in the back and forth of the questions and his responses. Most of it was just a catalog of facts: his favorite color, favorite food, favorite movie, that kind of thing. But rather than reply with one-word answers, Logan had taken the time to write paragraphs of information that gave her great insight into his personality. She smiled as she read about his fascination with fire trucks as a child, and how he had never lost his love of the color red. Or his memories of Sunday night dinner with his family, when his Italian grandmother had cooked mouthwatering meals from scratch. Her specialty had been spaghetti Bolognese, and Oliva’s stomach growled as she read his description of the flavors and textures of the homemade pasta and sauce.
It went on like this for pages, and Olivia found herself lingering over his writing, not wanting to reach the end. Reading his answers made her feel closer to him, the same way she’d felt while wearing his jacket in his office. It was nice to see this unguarded version of Logan, to learn about things that probably never came up in casual conversation. It was as if they were taking the fast track to emotional intimacy, and she took a deep breath, reminding herself that it was all an act. Logan had shared these memories with her because it was his job, not because he truly wanted to build a bond with her. While she felt more drawn to him than ever before, she had to keep her distance for the sake of their safety.
If she couldn’t keep her head about her, this whole operation was going to blow up in their faces.