Sixty miles southwest of Caracas, Venezuela
A laboratory in the forest
Joseph Petrović adjusted the binoculars, training them on the lone female of the group, positive his eyes were playing tricks on him. He moved to a better spot on the balcony. Hidden by the forest draping the mountain, the laboratory was out of sight of aerial surveillance. Because of that, this was the only spot in the eight-thousand-square-foot building where he could see the road when something interested him.
And something definitely interested him.
When the woman turned her head, moving directly into his sight, he got a better look at her and gasped.
It couldn’t be, could it? He’d heard she’d left the CIA after he was supposedly killed. He narrowed his eyes, remembering that time like it was yesterday.
Was it really her?
Dr. Mackenzie Conley.
What was the CIA doing in South America?
Memories of their time together two years before flashed in his mind. After three weeks of sitting in her classroom at the university listening to her lecture on biochemical weapons, watching her move gracefully around the podium, occasionally smiling at some young student in the front, he’d known he had to have her for his very own. Very few things excited him beyond his experiments, and when he found something that did, he could be very persistent. Before he knew it, she’d become an obsession, occupying all his thoughts.
Disregarding the fact that he was risking his entire project that already had a buyer willing to pay enough money to finance the rest of his life in luxury, he’d found a way to lure her to his laboratory in the mountains with the help of her boss and the promise of a tour of his facilities, as well as a large monetary contribution to the university. Once he’d isolated her on the mountain, he started the mating ritual, leaving a fresh orchid and a chocolate kiss on her bed every day.
He’d possessed a lot of women, most of them through force, but this one was different. He wanted—needed—her to come willingly to his bed. But she’d been a hard one to crack, and in the end, he’d had to drug her and bring out his favorite toys. He felt the familiar ache in his groin at thinking how terrified she’d been when he strapped her to the bed and did things to her that he knew would break her. Chuckling to himself, he reasoned that not even the best CIA training in the world could have prepared her for him.
Even when she’d found a way to overpower the soldier stationed outside her bedroom door and make her way out of the building to use the satellite phone and call for help, he hadn’t worried, convinced his lab was hidden too well to be discovered.
But he’d been wrong, and paid with the total destruction of everything he’d worked so hard to accomplish.
His attention was diverted back to the roadside scene when he saw the Americans get in the van and drive away. Quickly, he rushed into the bedroom and grabbed the phone.
“Yes, Dr. Petrović?”
“Who were those people you just released?”
Though Silva had assigned the men exclusively to protect the lab and his experiments, Joseph had allowed them to participate in extracurricular activities for the revenue necessary to support their drug habits. Today was a special treat for them, a payback of sorts for not getting sloppy seconds on the dead girl a few days ago.
“A news crew from the States.”
He recognized the voice as Rolando, the commander of the group.
A news crew? Not likely. It sounded like Mackenzie was back in the spy business again. “Why’d you let them go?” Usually, the soldiers killed their victims and hid the bodies. That way, nobody ever came snooping around.
“Direct orders of President Silva himself,” the officer reported. “They’re here to do a story on the reigning Miss Universe.”
Petrović bit his lip to keep from laughing at the absurd idea. Another example of how easy it was to do a snow job on the man who ran the country. “And they’re on their way to Calabozo?”
“Yes, doctor.”
Petrović smiled and hung up. So Mackenzie was up to her old tricks again. Walking to the bookshelves lining the far bedroom wall, he pushed the button behind a biography of the Great Houdini. As the secret door opened, his excitement about seeing the woman he would never forget reached a new level. She wouldn’t come willingly this time, either, but he was up for the challenge. He’d had two long years preparing for it.
From the massive collection, he chose a disguise even his beloved Mackenzie wouldn’t recognize.
By the time they arrived in Calabozo, the trio was tired, sticky, and in a hurry to get the job done and head back to Caracas. From every account, traveling on the back roads after dark was an open invitation to be robbed. Or worse.
When they reached Calabozo, it was as if they’d entered another country. The small farmhouses dotting the landscape sharply contrasted with the modernized Caracas. It was like stepping away from New York City and landing in a small town in the Midwest.
Marita Rojas’s residence looked much the same as the rest of the houses on the block: small, run-down, and sporting an elevated tank in the front yard that held their water supply. Miss Universe turned out to be a delight, and the interview went as planned. It was entertaining to watch the two guys compete for her attention, although Ryan hadn’t stood a chance. One glimpse of Ty, and the attractive young woman never looked away.
The two-hour return trip was uneventful, with Mac sitting on the edge of her seat most of the way. At the hotel entry, the soldiers handed over their phones but kept the weapons. The debacle on the trip had unnerved them all more than they’d thought, and it was more than a little stressful to know that if there were more surprises in store for them, they would be without protection.
The plan was to tour the capital building and add the interview with President Silva to what they already had gotten from the beauty queen, but they were exhausted.
Ryan made a quick call to the presidential palace and convinced Silva he wouldn’t get their best work if he insisted on filming the interview that day. He flashed a grin toward Mac after disconnecting. “See, princess, even the president thinks you need your beauty sleep.”
“Cut the crap, Fitzpatrick. I look way better than you.” She stepped in for a closer look at his head wound. “Get room service to send up a roll of tape and some bandages and bring them to my room. I’ll patch you up until you can get it looked at back home.”
Ryan wrinkled his nose. “How about I bring a bottle of wine with me?” He paused and raised his eyebrows. “Since we don’t have any Novocain, of course.”
Ty and Mac burst out laughing.
“I’m getting disillusioned, my friend. I thought you had better moves than that,” Ty deadpanned.
It felt good to share a light moment after what they’d been through, even though they were all still edgy.
As they walked into the lobby, Mac whistled. President Silva had insisted they stay here and made the arrangements himself, definitely his way of trying to get more favorable coverage. A crowd milled around, a few tourists but mostly Venezuelan men in business suits and local women dressed in brightly colored dresses and heels that had probably cost more than Mac’s entire wardrobe. Even the lighting screamed luxury, with the massive crystal chandelier overhead casting dancing reflections around the room. She couldn’t wait to see her room, deciding she didn’t even want to know how much it cost, since the Venezuelan government was footing the bill.
Alone at last after the bellman delivered her luggage, Mac stripped off her suit and headed for the shower. After their close call, it was comforting to know Ryan and Ty were in rooms next to hers. She shivered, painfully aware the young guerillas would have unloaded their weapons and left their bodies with the driver’s along the side of the road, for sheer pleasure alone, if their leader hadn’t spoken to the president.
She sighed, not sure she could handle this undercover work much longer. Maybe it was time to have a heart-to-heart with Dino about working a desk out of the Virginia office from now on. But that would mean she’d probably run into Griff every day.
Although the thought was not revolting, it was reason enough not to pursue it. As soon as she was in her room, she called Dino to check in, then phoned Griff. He answered on the first ring, not even bothering to say hello.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” Mac responded. “It got a little hairy for a few minutes, but we’re back at the hotel. They confiscated our weapons and our phones, so this is the first chance I got to report in.” She tried to keep her voice light so he wouldn’t pick up on how shaken she had really been watching their driver get shot in cold blood.
“And nobody got hurt?”
“The driver’s dead, and Ryan has a nasty cut on his forehead from when he tried to stop them from killing us. I’m going to patch him up as best I can, but he’ll need medical attention when we get back to the—”
“Which will be first thing in the morning,” Griff interrupted. “I’ll have tickets for the early nonstop out of Caracas sent to the hotel tonight.”
“No,” she said emphatically. “We pushed back on the interview with the president until tomorrow afternoon. Although the chances are not great that we’ll find anything, we have to go through with this on the slim chance that there might be some connection between him and Petrović.”
“No,” Griff said, just as emphatically. “It’s too dangerous. Even Dino will insist you kiss off the meeting with Silva and come home. He’s—”
“I’ve already spoken to Dino. He agreed we’ve come too far to give it up now.”
“Why would he allow you to further risk your lives after what just happened? And why would you call Dino before me?”
She heard the frustration in his voice and wondered what that was all about. “Dino was still the boss the last time I checked, Griff. He said he called President Silva, pretending to be a CEO at ZNN. Told him he’d received a distress signal from his team. Said Silva nearly flipped when he heard and ensured him something like that wouldn’t happen again.”
“Yeah, like the man never lies. We were lucky this time, Mac, but I still think you should abort the mission and get out of Venezuela.”
As good as that sounded, they had to stay. President Silva had a vested interest in keeping them safe, and so far, they’d learned nothing about Joseph Petrović. Although they’d all kept a watchful eye on the countryside, no one had seen anything remotely suggesting he might be in the area.
“We’re okay, Griff. We’ll interview Silva tomorrow afternoon and be on the first flight back early Thursday morning. That’s a promise.”
After a moment, she heard him take in a deep breath. “Guess that will have to do, but say the word and I can have you home in a matter of hours.”
What was up with him? He almost sounded like he cared about her.
Just my imagination, she thought as she hung up. A knock startled her, and she nearly screamed. A peek showed Ryan outside her door with a silly grin, holding up a first aid kit.
After she let him in, he flopped down on the bed and opened the kit. “We know how good you are as a biochemist, Mac. Let’s see you do your best Nancy Nurse impression.” He sat quietly while she first cleaned the wound, then put several Steri Strips on it.
“You’re good to go,” she said after applying a large Band-Aid over the area. “Try not to get this wet.”
Still grinning, he got up from the bed. “Without a doubt, sharing a bottle of wine with you would have taken the pain away.”
She laughed. “Get out of here and get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
After she closed the door behind him, she pulled off her blouse on the way to the shower. As the hot, steamy water trickled down her tired body, its soothing fingers massaged away the tension. Her thoughts went back to Griff and his reaction when she phoned.
She’d run from him after her extraction from Morocco when he hinted at a relationship with more commitment. Being engaged was one thing, but actually walking down the aisle scared the bejesus out of her. She loved the man too much to drag him down with her. And down was definitely where she’d been headed in the months after her move to California.
She reached for the shampoo and lathered her hair, remembering how Griff had done that very thing for her on more than one occasion.
Oh God, Mac! Don’t go there.
Quickly, she rinsed out the suds then stepped from the shower. After toweling dry, she slipped on a nightshirt and slid under the luxurious, silky sheets, an audible sigh of approval escaping her lips. Despite her being totally exhausted, sleep evaded Mac as the image of Petrović’s eyes flashed across her mind every time she closed her own.
Mac awoke with a start and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Eight twenty. Why did she still feel so drained? Probably because she’d lain awake until well after two, and as much as she hated to admit it, the trip to Calabozo had taken a big toll on her.
Over breakfast, she and her cohorts discussed exactly how they’d work Silva at the shoot, scheduled for one that afternoon. It was a given that if Petrović was holed up somewhere in Venezuela, the president knew about it. The hard part would be getting him to slip up.
“So, let’s talk about how we’re going to do this,” Ty said, shoving the last bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth.
“You and I aren’t doing anything,” Ryan reminded him. “Today, it’s all on Mac. She’s got to convince Silva we’re legit, and at the same time, try to get him to brag a little. Hope he’ll slip up and mention anything that could be related to Petrović or a joint project between them. You and I are only there for camera and sound.”
“Second only to who has the biggest package, most of you guys like to boast about yourselves, which is a real turn-off to most women, by the way.” Mac swallowed the last of her orange juice and gave them a thumbs-up. “So, it shouldn’t be too hard getting him to talk about himself.”
“Not true about the package,” Ty protested.
Mac nodded. “I said most men. We know that Silva considers himself an international playboy and a lady-killer. I’ll make sure to wear something less conservative—no dark blue business suit like I had on yesterday.”
“Can’t wait to see you in something sexy,” Ryan said, waggling his eyebrows with a ridiculous up-and-down motion that wrinkled his nose.
“Oh, give it up, Fitzpatrick,” Mac teased before getting serious again. “Here’s my game plan. For starters, get him talking about his beloved country and how he played a big part in the success.”
“Yeah, like how Venezuela, under his control, is rolling in drug and oil money while a large percentage of his people are starving to death,” Ty interrupted, shaking his head. “I read somewhere they’re so hungry, they’re now eating the zoo animals.”
“Gross! Common sense tells me not to lead with that, though. It will be hard enough to smile at him, knowing he’s such a monster.” Mac scrunched her nose before glancing down at her watch. “Come on. We’ve got a few hours before showtime. Let’s go out and snoop around, see if we can get lucky and find a clue or two. The perfect way to do that without looking suspicious is to do some shopping.” She slapped her forehead. “I can’t tell you how much I’m gonna hate that—not!”
“Want Ty and me to go with you?”
“You’re joking, right? Every man I know hates going shopping with a woman. I couldn’t put you through that pain, number one, and number two, the three of us shopping together might arouse suspicions.” She patted his cheek. “Thanks for the offer, though.” She held back a grin at the look of relief that flashed across their faces. She stood and walked toward the door, waving back at them over her shoulder.
Heading down the street, her thoughts reverted to Petrović. Although it was unlikely he was hiding out in a place this visible, it was worth a shot. Then again, what better place to hide than a bustling, overpopulated city? Caracas was the most urbanized city in Latin America and the largest in Venezuela, housing a block-long capital building. Its population exceeded five million people. The huge multistory buildings lining the square were a testament to the wealth.
For her sightseeing adventure, Mac chose Plaza Caracas, located in the Simon Bolivar Center at the foot of the El Silencio district. Although it was built in the early days before the modernization of the city, no one would ever call it silent now.
She walked across the cobblestone courtyard and entered the thirty-story mecca for shopping enthusiasts. The directory was digitalized in a seven-page display, accessible by the numerous escalators already filled with shoppers even at this early hour.
To an observer, Mac was simply a tourist on a shopping expedition, fingering brightly colored silks, even haggling before buying a couple of yards at a few places. After two hours, her arms full of her purchases, she knew about as much as she did when she’d left the hotel. Perhaps there was nothing to find.
Deciding to head back after stopping at the last two stores on the floor, she made her way back to the street. Maybe if she had a week, she could see all the shops, since she’d only made it to the eighth floor. Resigned to the fact she wouldn’t find out anything useful, and excited about snatching up a few of the gorgeous purses at a third of the price she’d pay in the States, she entered a leather store.
As she casually browsed through the merchandise, she noticed two young girls standing by a shoe rack, their hands moving in animated conversation. She made her way toward the back until she was close enough to hear bits and pieces of the conversation. She stepped closer.
“I know,” the taller one said. “But my mum’s insisting I come home. The story of the girl from the mission is all over the news.”
“My mum’s upset, too,” the other one said. “Everyone’s scared to go out alone, but we can’t leave now. We’re just starting to see progress.”
Mac recognized the accent as British and moved even closer. Tapping the taller one on the shoulder, she said, “Excuse me. I couldn’t help overhearing. Should I be concerned about going out by myself?”
After they exchanged glances, the girls huddled closer. “Yes. In the past month, three girls have disappeared. Last week, a missionary student who was alone in her room one afternoon just vanished into thin air. No one saw or heard anything.”
Mac covered her mouth with her hand in an exaggerated show of horror. “Oh my gosh! Do the police have any idea who might have done it?”
“That’s the scary part. There are never any signs of a struggle or any clues left behind.” The girl pointed to her friend. “We’re both serving the Lord here, and everyone at our mission school is afraid.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll be extra careful while I’m here.”
Mac paid for a small clutch then walked out of the shop, unable to think about anything else except the story the girls had told her. Starting for the last shop, she glanced at her watch. She had about ten minutes to spare before she needed to get back and prepare for the interview.
The story of the missing girls resurrected a plethora of unpleasant memories, and she couldn’t help wondering if Joseph Petrović was involved. Not only did he have a thing for young, pretty girls, but Dino had mentioned that he sometimes used humans in his experiments. Could the disappearance of three girls in a month somehow be connected to him, or was it simply a coincidence?
Probably a coincidence, she decided. South American women disappeared all the time, the modus operandi for the many gangs who kidnapped the girls for huge ransoms. Just recently, she’d read about young Latino girls being kidnapped and sent to other countries as sex slaves.
Still, it would be wise not to blow off the information, since she knew firsthand what Petrović was capable of. For the kidnapped girls’ sake, she hoped it was nothing more than coincidence, but if her gut was right, God help them.
As the light bulb went off in her head, she realized they might have just uncovered proof that Petrović was very close.
As she dodged through the crowd, the little voice inside her head that had kept her alive all these years warned Mac she was being followed. She slipped into another leather store and pretended to check out the purses next to the window, a perfect spot to see who stopped, who lingered, and to study the passing faces. When she walked out of the store, she was relieved to see that other than the throng of midmorning shoppers scurrying by, carrying their day’s purchases and chatting with one another, and the few vendors hawking their goods outside the shops, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She took another look at her watch, deciding to forgo the last store and return to the hotel instead.
Walking briskly, Mac still couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. When turning a complete circle produced nothing, she concluded her overactive imagination was running amok because of the missing girls’ story.
Once inside the hotel, she pushed her suspicions out of her mind, concentrating, instead, on what she would wear when she met the womanizing general face to face. President Silva was sending a limo for them in a little over an hour, giving her just enough time for a quick shower.
When she stepped off the elevator, the feeling of someone watching her returned. Her CIA instincts kicked in as she slowly walked to her room. Wishing she had her trusty Beretta with her, she checked the door for any signs of tampering.
There were none.
Once inside, she stripped off her clothes and headed for the dresser to grab underwear to take into the bathroom with her. Housekeeping had already been there, and the scent of fresh lilies from a vase on the dresser filled the room. She pulled out a drawer, grabbed her panties and bra, and then glanced up at the mirror.
That was when she saw it, not recognizing the scream that filled the room as her own. She barely made it to the restroom before she threw up her breakfast. After flushing the commode, she made her way to the doorway and stared at the reason for her violent reaction.
In the center of the newly made bed, there was an orchid and a chocolate kiss.