Mac reached for the hotel phone and began punching in Ryan’s room number before thinking better of the idea and dropping the receiver onto the bed as if it was about to explode. If Petrović was able to gain access to her room, more than likely he’d bugged the phone. She lunged for her purse on the edge of the dresser, but her hands were shaking as if she desperately needed a fix. She was only able to grab one end before the entire contents spilled onto the carpeted floor. Swearing, she scooped up her cell phone, fully intending to call Griff, but knew he’d insist they abort the mission. She couldn’t do that. Even if there was only a slim chance of finding a connection between President Silva and Petrović, it was too compelling to turn back now.
The thought of Petrović in her hotel room was terrifying, though, and she had to tell the guys. Together, they’d decide what to do. She called Ryan’s number again.
When he answered on the third ring, his voice was low and gravelly. “Jesus, Mac, this better be good. I was right in the middle of going over all my notes about the trip to Calabozo, and Ty is taking advantage of the last thirty minutes of sleep before we leave for the interview.”
Swallowing back fear, she opened her mouth, but nothing came out. “I’m sorry,” she finally managed. “I…”
Griff’s words in Cleveland came back to her, and she couldn’t finish. He’d made it very clear if she screwed up again, she’d be off the team for good. Now that she’d seen Petrović in the photo in Venezuela, she couldn’t let that happen. She had to be involved in putting him six feet under, and this time for good. Confronting him once more, actually looking into his eyes when he took his last breath, was the only way she could move on with her life.
“You what?” Ryan interrupted her thoughts, a little annoyed now.
She debated whether to tell him, then made a split-second decision to keep the candy and flower a secret for now. Ryan and Ty would insist on investigating, and their cover would be blown.
“Should we mention what happened on the way to Calabozo yesterday?” She blew her hair off her forehead. How much lamer could she get?
“You don’t think Silva already knows about his men shoving guns in our faces?” Ryan sounded confused, and she worried she would blurt out the real reason she’d awakened him. “He called the leader himself to verify our story. Remember?”
She played innocent. “Oh, God. I’d forgotten. Sorry.”
His voice softened. “I probably should start getting ready now, anyway. Our flight leaves early in the morning, and I plan on catching up on all the sleep I’ve missed as soon as we get back.”
“How early?”
“How early what?” he asked.
“Our flight. What time does it leave?”
“Eight in the morning. We can go over our notes on the plane and maybe get even more shut-eye.”
While he was talking, Mac did another scan of the room, looking for anything that could be a hidden camera. Although she couldn’t find one, she was sure it was there. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into going home tonight, right?”
There was a silence, and Mac worried he’d guessed why she was acting so weird, even though that was ridiculous. No one knew about Petrović’s nightly ritual of leaving a chocolate kiss and an orchid on her bed. In all likelihood, the good doctor was long gone, too smart to hang around and risk being discovered. This was merely another of the cruel mind games he loved to play. So why blow the mission now?
But a niggling thought wouldn’t leave her. What if he was arrogant enough to hang around, knowing she was onto him? They hadn’t been too concerned when they realized they would not be getting the weapons back, since this was a simple fact-finding mission. That all changed with the discovery of the candy in her room—but only she knew that.
She decided it was worth the risk. If Petrović was in cahoots with Silva, as suspected, it was vital they keep up the pretense of why they were in Venezuela in the first place. Besides, there was no way Petrović could know they hadn’t acquired more guns on the black market, which was to their advantage. Somehow, she’d get through the interview then tell Ty and Ryan as soon as they left the presidential palace.
“Mac, is everything all right?”
“Of course,” she responded way too quickly. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. I’m getting vibes that say otherwise.”
She forced herself to keep her voice calm. “There you go again, Fitzpatrick. Getting all macho and wanting to take care of me. Need I remind you of your blue balls again?”
“Oh, hell no!” he responded with a huff. “Okay, then, I’ll see you in the lobby in a half-hour.” He paused. “Actually, we only have fifteen minutes now.”
“See you there,” she said, already planning her next move.
As soon as she clicked off her cell phone, she retrieved the plastic laundry bag from the closet and carefully slipped Petrović’s gifts in, wrinkling her nose as if they were disease-infested. Highly unlikely, but still possible, he might have gotten sloppy and left a fingerprint or two. Next, she grabbed the ice bucket from the dresser, filled it a third of the way with tap water, and carried it back to the bed. After pulling back the covers, she tossed the entire contents across the bed.
Then she picked up the house phone and dialed the front desk. “Hi. I’m in room 817, and I’m such a klutz. I spilled a glass of ice water all over my bed, and there’s no way I can sleep here tonight. Any chance you have another room available on this floor?”
“Let me see.”
She waited while he checked.
“Yes,” he said a moment later. “There’s one a few doors down that is—”
“Perfect,” she interrupted. “Could you send someone up with the key? I have a busy afternoon ahead of me and would like to make the move right now.”
“Of course, ma’am. I’ll take care of it immediately. And I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
Sorry for the inconvenience? She’d just deliberately spilled a bucket of water on her bed, and he was apologizing. That was a benefit that came with a fancy hotel.
She retrieved her suitcase from the closet and threw her clothes into it. Grabbing the bathroom trash can, she tossed in her cosmetics. She was already fully packed when the concierge himself knocked on the door.
“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” he said, picking up her luggage. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your new room.”
She grabbed her purse and the trash can before taking one last look around the room. “Bite me, you bastard,” she murmured.
She fell into step behind the concierge. “Lead the way.”
When she was alone in the new room, she did a thorough search, even though she knew the likelihood of Petrović having enough time to put a camera in every room on this floor was remote. Satisfied she’d outsmarted him for now, she unloaded the cosmetics from the trash can onto the bathroom counter, stripped off her clothes, and jumped into the shower. Because she couldn’t shake the feeling there might be a camera in this bathroom, she was in and out of the warm water in less than five minutes.
As soon as she was dressed, she made her way downstairs, preferring to wait in the crowded lobby for her teammates. Standing off to the side, she surveyed the room, searching for any sign of Petrović. The probability that he was no longer there was high, knowing she was onto him. The man took pride in the fact that his disguises were so good that not even the best intelligence agencies around the world had compiled any information about his appearance.
She was the exception, the only one who could identify him.
She scanned the room once again, and when she was satisfied he wasn’t there, she made her way to a leather chair near the door, sat down, and picked up a magazine. Pretending to read it, she glanced up every few seconds to re-check the room, searching for anyone remotely resembling the man who had nearly destroyed her at the mountain hideout.
She had no doubt she’d be able to pick him out of a crowd. She’d been his prisoner for eight days, which was more than enough time to study every wrinkle on his face, every mannerism he displayed, including the way he carried his arms when he walked. Even the most masterful disguise wouldn’t conceal his identity from her. Shivers traveled up her spine at the thought of coming face to face with the man who still terrorized her dreams. She had no idea how she’d react if she actually looked him in the eye. Just the sight of his emblem on the weapons canister had freaked her out.
Getting impatient now, she tapped her fingernails on the arm of the chair, anxious to get the Silva interview over with and be on a plane home. Even if she couldn’t talk Ryan and Ty into an earlier flight, she was definitely spending the night with one or both of them.
When she saw Ryan and Ty step off the elevator, she waved, blowing out a sigh of relief.
“Ryan’s worried something’s up with you, Mac,” Ty said. “Is there anything you’re not telling us?”
A glance at Ryan’s face verified that Ty wasn’t exaggerating. She stood and playfully punched his shoulder. “You’re just being a big brother, and although I appreciate it, nothing’s wrong. I want to get this interview over and go home. That’s all. I guess yesterday’s confrontation with those rogue soldiers affected me more than I’d thought, and I’m just reacting.”
Ryan studied her for a full thirty seconds before nodding. “Booked us on the eight thirty back to Washington tonight. We’ll have you in your own bed by midnight, princess.”
Mac struggled to keep from tearing up, knowing how much he’d been looking forward to hitting the sack the minute they returned from the presidential palace. “Thanks,” she said softly.
“Don’t thank me yet. You have no idea what this will cost you.” He grabbed her arm and nudged her toward the door, where a white stretch limo had just pulled up. “There’s our ride.”
Mac stood on tiptoes and gave him another kiss on his cheek before walking toward the chauffeur, who was now holding the door open. Sliding into the back seat, she glanced one last time over her shoulder before they sped off. Just as she expected, there was nothing there.
So why did she feel like the eyes of the devil were still on her?
He watched her taking in every inch of the hotel lobby more than once, enjoying the fear he saw in her eyes. Knowing she would probably recognize even his best disguise, he’d stayed one step ahead of her and had his contact at the hotel install a camera in the lobby so he could sit back and watch when she left. He hadn’t anticipated the added bonus of seeing her there alone while she waited for the two men accompanying her. Dressed in a sleeveless navy dress with a high collar that showed off chiseled arms and gorgeous legs, she seemed frazzled.
Smiling to himself that his little surprise for her had her off her game, he concentrated on the screen as she relaxed and leaned back in the chair, obviously satisfied he wasn’t in the lobby. Seeing her yesterday on the road to Calabozo had been an unexpected delight. He’d come very close to letting down his guard and ordering the soldiers to kill the men with her and bring her to him right then. But he knew it hadn’t been the time or place to make his move. That would come later.
He wondered how the CIA had found out he was in Venezuela, certain that was the reason for their presence in Caracas posing as reporters. He’d been extra careful once his experiments began to produce results exceeding his own wildest expectations. He was very close to finding the most potent delivery system for his fatal gases, and after one final test, he intended to auction off his discovery to the highest bidder. With the money he was sure to make from the sale, he would settle down on the remote island he’d recently purchased and live out the rest of his life in luxury.
And he intended to have Dr. Mackenzie Conley at his side.
He was jerked back to attention when she rose from the couch and headed toward the two men as they emerged from the elevator. It killed him to see her run to the lanky one and hug him. He wanted the intimacy of her breasts touching his chest, and no one else’s.
He vowed right then to make sure if he couldn’t have her, no one else would. But for now, he’d have to be patient. He gathered his equipment and hurried from the room onto the balcony overlooking the driveway just as she got into the limousine that had pulled up in front of the hotel. He couldn’t see her through the tinted windows but knew she’d probably taken one last look back to search for him in the crowd before the limo pulled away. He didn’t need to follow her to know where she was going.
He clapped his hands in glee, anticipating the look on her face when she discovered his final surprise for her before she left Venezuela. He was sorry he wouldn’t be there to see it for himself.
The minute they stepped out of the limousine, four young Venezuelan soldiers appeared to escort them up the steps of the massive white palace with a striking terracotta roof. All were around the same age as the hooligans they’d encountered on their way to Calabozo.
One of the officers, who appeared to be a few years older than the others, gave them a salute and introduced himself. “Welcome to the Palacio de Miraflores. I’m First Lieutenant Martin Bautista, special events officer for President Silva.” He held out his arm to her, and when she took it, he led her up the steps, with Ty and Ryan following close behind.
“The interview will be held in the Boyacá Room,” the young lieutenant said. He released Mac’s arm and motioned for them to follow him.
Mac heard Ryan whistle softly as they walked down the ornate hall decorated with some of the most impressive paintings she’d ever seen.
“They’re lovely, aren’t they?” Bautista said when he noticed her interest. “The famous Julián Oñate painted them in the 1800s for Joaquin Crespo, our president then. The furniture was imported from Barcelona, Spain.”
“Unbelievable,” she replied, thinking there was no other words to describe them.
When they rounded the corner, the sight that greeted them nearly took her breath away. In the middle of the hall was a huge fountain surrounded by four gigantic rock crystal mirrors.
“This is the Peruvian Sun Hall,” Bautista explained. “The decorations are made from gold donated by the government of Peru,” he added when they passed the fountain and continued down the hallway.
He stopped in front of a massive wooden door that could only be described as exquisite. “This is the Boyacá Room. You and your crew can set up in here, and President Silva will join you in a moment.”
“A shitload of bucks went into this building,” Ryan commented when they were finally alone. “Did you see all that gold back there?”
“Drugs are a lucrative business, my friend,” Ty said, setting up his camera equipment. “Are you ready for the interview, Mac?”
Ryan answered for her. “She’s ready, all right. No man in his right mind could possibly resist her in that sexy dress.” He ruffled her hair playfully. “Silva will have a hard time concentrating on your questions.”
“Oh, give it up, Ryan,” Ty teased. “How many different ways does she have to tell you she’s not interested?” He moved closer. “On the other hand, I’ve noticed she hasn’t totally shut me down yet.”
“You’re like a little brother to me, Ty.” She blew him a kiss, walked around the table, and poured a glass of water. After taking a long drink, she licked her lips. “I’m anxious to get this interview over with.”
Ryan’s amused expression quickly changed to one of concern. “Are you ready to tell us what’s bothering you?”
“Not yet. I need to get through this before I can talk about it.” She shook her head and attempted to smile. “I love that you’re worried about me, though.”
Just then, the door opened, and they got their first look at the Venezuelan president. General Jorge Silva was slightly shorter than her, but his sculpted body left no doubt there was a personal trainer on his payroll. With his dark black hair slicked back and his smoking black eyes that homed in on Mac’s chest, it was obvious he considered himself a player.
She resisted the urge to say, “Hey, I’m up here.”
When his eyes finally found her face, he extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Conley. I’m anxious to tell the world about my beautiful godchild.”
“Call me Mac.” She pulled her hand away when she thought he’d held it too long.
He sat down at the head of the table and motioned for her to join him at that end. When she was seated next to him, he instructed Ty and Ryan to begin filming.
“It’s my pleasure to welcome ZNN to my beautiful country to talk about our rich culture, our people, and, of course, our gorgeous women. But first, I’d like to give you a little history about this room.” He spread his arms out as the camera panned over the room. “The Boyacá Room is one of the largest in the palace and was named in honor of the battle won by Simon Bolivar in 1819—a battle that freed Colombia from the British invasion. The room was built in the early 1960s and is decorated with rich parquet flooring and wooden ceilings.”
“It’s striking,” Mac said. “Can you tell us about the paintings?”
Silva smiled as he pointed to a large piece of art hanging in the center of one wall. “This was done by muralist Gabriel Bracho, and it represents the faces of Bolívar, Francisco de Paula Santander, and José Antonio Anzoátegui, all heroes of Boyacá. It was inaugurated by President Rafael Caldera during his first term of office in 1973.”
“You must be very proud,” Mac said, reaching for her water for a quick drink before proceeding. “As I know you are proud of your goddaughter, the reigning Miss Universe, Marita Rojas.”
His smile widened enough to show several gold fillings in his back molars. “She is a delight and a hero to all Venezuelans. Besides being beautiful, her talent as a dancer is unequaled in this country, the result of many years of instruction and hard work. Hard work that will hopefully pay off with a career in your great city of New York.”
There it was. The only reason he’d allowed foreign journalists in for a private interview. Mac used the opportunity to let him drone on and on about his goddaughter, figuring it was a small price to pay for the opportunity to check out the palace. As hard as she tried to pay attention to him, her mind kept wandering back to her hotel room and finding Petrović’s personal calling card on her bed.
Although she knew she was safe in the presidential palace, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Petrović was still watching her somehow. As preposterous as that seemed, she surveyed the room as Silva was busy flashing pictures of his goddaughter for the camera.
Just when she decided she was being totally ridiculous, she spotted a framed photograph in the bookcase directly behind the general. Quickly, she covered her mouth to hide the gasp.
It was a picture of her at the café in Morocco where she’d first met Petrović. She remembered the day he’d taken it like it was yesterday. There was only one person with access to that picture. One person who could have sent it to the presidential palace or brought it here himself.
And she shivered to think that Joseph Petrović could quite possibly be in the building right now.
She couldn’t stop herself from interrupting Silva. “Where did you get that picture?”
He gave her an amused look before turning around to see it. “Oh, that. It came by special messenger this morning, and since I knew you were coming, I thought it would be a nice surprise. Do you like it?”
Special messenger, my ass! “I do.” She faked a smile. “I’m wondering if we can wrap this up. As you know, the reason we postponed this trip last week was because I had a stomach virus. I’m afraid it has left me a little lightheaded still.”
“We’ve only just gotten started,” he protested.
Ryan stepped forward. “We have more than enough footage to use to get your goddaughter the exposure she needs. I’ll make sure a copy of this interview, along with all the pictures, goes to the directors of the five best dance studios in New York City.”
That seemed to pacify the general, and he nodded. “As soon as you pack up your equipment, my driver will take you back to the hotel,” he said to Ty and Ryan before turning to Mac. “I was hoping you’d join me for an early supper, Miss Conley.”
When hell freezes over, she wanted to say.
Instead, she smiled. “It would have been my utmost pleasure, but my stomach is telling me I shouldn’t have eaten a big breakfast this morning. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good company right now. I will take a rain check, though, and come back at a later date. Maybe we can finish the interview and have that supper alone.”
He did a slow inspection of her body. Lust sparkled in his eyes as though he was already anticipating what might happen after the dinner. “I will await your call and make the arrangements.”
“Thank you,” she said as she practically ran from the room with Ty and Ryan right behind her.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” she whispered to them. When both men gave her a questioning look, she said, “That picture of me in there could have only come from Dr. Death himself.”