Etienne stood beside Dylan Roberts, a few feet deep in the underbrush and overgrown ferns and vines at the outskirts of the villa. Through the binoculars, he spotted Stephanie on a third floor balcony. She was the most beautiful sight he’d seen since landing in Costa Rica.
“Any idea who the guy was in the Hummer?” Roberts’ voice was barely audible, though the sounds of the rainforest were silent. Even the birds knew something dangerous and deadly was in their midst, and it walked on two legs.
“No clue.”
Roberts turned toward one of his teammates. “Did you catch his face?”
“Sorry, boss. He never looked away. I only got a side shot.”
“Better than nothing. Send it to Stefan Carlisle. He’s got the best facial recognition program in the country.” Etienne gave the order, binoculars held to his eyes. Stephanie had disappeared from the balcony right after the guy arrived. “Probably won’t do much good, but have them run the plates off the Hummer, too.”
“I’ve counted eight guards around the perimeter, all armed. Five in the main entrance, two on the right, three in the kitchen, and two in the back, toward the pool area, but inside the French doors.”
Eighteen people. One was Stephanie, two of them were the other women. Two others were reportedly civilian employees of Albert Donnelly, the cook, and the driver. Which left the man who’d just arrived, and his driver. The rest were all mercenaries, armed to the teeth. Didn’t leave a lot of options open without a massacre.
“Boss,” Julio whispered, coming up behind Etienne and Roberts. “The Hummer was rented in San Jose, at the airport. Rental lease papers show it rented with a credit card, business one. Prescott, Inc. That ring any bells?”
Etienne knew the name, from news reports, though he personally hadn’t had any dealings with them. But he knew somebody who’d know. Taking the satellite phone, he stepped further back into the foliage, dialing.
“Etienne, update me. What’s happening?” Carpenter’s voice held the air of authority Etienne was familiar with when it came to dealing with business.
“We’re outside the villa. Looks like at least eighteen people in and around the perimeter. Mercs are armed. Hummer just drove up, two people got out, one the driver, the other unknown, but I’m guessing he’s the big man. Hummer was leased at the airport with a credit card. Business account, Prescott, Incorporated. Ring any bells?”
Etienne winced at the barrage of curses pouring from the other end. Guess Samuel had heard of Prescott.
“Etienne, give the phone to Roberts.” His voice brooked no argument, and Etienne handed the sat phone over to Dylan Roberts.
“Roberts.”
The man listened to whatever Samuel said with a stone-faced calm that Etienne couldn’t read. Not a single flicker of anything crossed his expression, but whatever he heard wasn’t good news, because the icy depths of his eyes became glacial.
“Got it. We’ll wait for further intel.”
Without another word he handed the phone back to Etienne. “Samuel, what the hell, man?”
“Gareth Prescott should not be anywhere near Costa Rica. Last time I checked, he was in a maximum security prison in Nevada.”
“Then what the hell is he doing in the middle of a Costa Rican rainforest in the center of a hostage situation?” Etienne answered his own question. “Unless he’s the one orchestrating the whole thing.”
The tense silence was all the answer he needed.
“Any idea what he wants? Albert Donnelly’s daughter is worth a ton of money to her father, but Prescott, Inc. is worth a fortune, so it’s probably not money. What’s the motivation for snatching and holding the women?”
“Etienne, brother, he’s not there for Donnelly’s daughter, or the other woman—who by the way we don’t have an ID on yet. He’s there for Stephanie.”
He couldn’t have heard his boss right. “What? Why?”
“It’s a long story, and under any other circumstances, I’d let her tell you herself. Stephanie’s not who you think she is.”
Etienne’s sole focus narrowed down to the voice in his ear, all sight and sound around him disappearing into a wall of blankness. The Boudreau intuition, the sixth sense he’d lived with most of his life was pinging like a fire alarm, but he wanted—no needed—to hear what Samuel said. Because he knew the next words were going to change everything, in a way that would affect the entire world, the entire life, he’d always known.
“Who is she?”
Samuel’s sigh was low and agonized. “Jasmine. Jasmine DuBois.”
Etienne’s eyes widened at a name he recognized. The DuBois family was well-established in New Orleans, in both politics and philanthropy, and Jasmine had been their shining star. But there was one thing he remembered about Jasmine DuBois, over and above all the other details.
She was dead.