Hidden Agenda (3 page)

She looked back at Ivan, her jaw tensed. “Where is he?”

“They have him locked up in the cottage.”

She'd never questioned the reasons behind the tight security. Or her father's drivers and multiple staff and bodyguards. She'd thought they were simply to keep him and his family safe from people after his money. “We don't have a key.”

Ivan frowned at her excuse. “We don't need a key. I've snuck into that cottage dozens of times during rainstorms when I needed a quiet place to draw.”

Olivia drew in a deep breath. She'd spent her life trying to protect her brother. How was it that now she needed to protect him from his own father?

“What if we're wrong?” she asked.

“Why are you defending him?”

Why was she defending him? He hadn't given them his name,
never legally acknowledged Olivia and Ivan as his children. Their mother had met him three decades ago. She'd always been aware that there were other women in his life, but everyone knew that Maria Hamilton had managed to cast a spell on Antonio Valez. And because of that, even after their mother's death, he'd continued taking care of them financially. But a monthly check had never been Olivia's greatest need.

She stared out across the darkening waters toward the rising moon and wrestled with her conscience. She turned toward Ivan and signed in the twilight, “How do we get him off the island?”

“We'll need the keys to the pontoon.”

“And you think we can do this without getting caught?” she asked.

Ivan nodded before signing his answer. “If we decide to do this . . . we can't get caught.”

T
hirty minutes later, Olivia shoved the rest of her essentials into her backpack, then swung it across her shoulder before leaving her room for what might very well be the last time. The rest of her stuff would have to stay for now. Getting off the island had to be their first priority.

Mentally, she rehearsed her and Ivan's plan and realized there were far more questions than answers. What if the man was unconscious? How were they going to physically lug a hundred-and-eighty-pound-plus man from the cottage to the dock? What if Ivan had somehow misinterpreted the situation? What if the man they planned to rescue was nothing more than another thug? What if they got caught?

What if . . . ?

Olivia tried to push aside the flood of doubts as she ran her hand down the polished wooden railing of the staircase like she'd done a hundred times before. As much as she wanted to ignore it, the past vied for attention among the chaos of the present. Because the island, its remote beauty—and her father—were etched into who she was.

Her gaze shifted to the chandelier hanging from the entryway's vaulted ceiling. After visiting the island for years on vacation, her father had finally bought the house when she was
eighteen. Built almost a hundred years ago, the updated residence still held on to the southern charm of the original architecture—original fireplaces, paneled walls, balconies, and mahogany French doors, coupled with all the modern conveniences of the twenty-first century.

Shifting her backpack on her shoulder, Olivia stepped into the chef's kitchen, lit only by a light over the stove. All she had to do was grab the pontoon keys hanging beside the fridge, then meet Ivan at the cottage. By the time Tomas realized his man was gone and they weren't coming back, the three of them would already be on the mainland, safe and sound.

The large retro wall clock hanging in the corner of the kitchen rhythmically ticked off the seconds. She paused halfway across the white-tiled floor, holding her breath and listening for the sounds of footsteps. The only people who should be in the house at this hour were her father's staff and maybe one of the guards.

She let her breath out slowly, relieved at the quiet. But even if someone did see her, it shouldn't matter. It wouldn't have been the first time they'd taken the pontoon out to go to the mainland. Every summer Ivan studied the local waterway charts, and he knew how to follow the channel markers. He could navigate the water like a local.

She reached for the string of keys hanging on the wall for guests and felt her stomach knot. The keys were gone.

The overhead light snapped on above her, illuminating the modern fixtures, the stainless steel appliances, and the dark wooden cabinets.

“Miss Hamilton?”

Olivia took a step backward at the sound of the guard's voice and turned around.

José smiled across the room at her. “I'm sorry, Miss Hamilton. Didn't mean to scare you. Thought I heard a noise in here.”

She forced a smile. She'd always liked José, but now she
couldn't help but wonder if he was simply a night guard her father had hired or a low-ranking member of the cartel. Or if he'd ever acted upon orders from her father to execute someone who'd gotten in his way.

Olivia's mouth went dry. “I was . . . looking for the keys to the pontoon. Ivan and I thought we'd go into town.”

It was the truth. There was no reason for him to suspect anything.

“It's kind of late to be out on the water, Miss Hamilton.”

“We'll be fine.” Olivia repositioned the backpack across her shoulder. “You know Ivan. He's more at home on the water than he is on land. Besides, the mainland isn't far.” She swallowed the fear creeping up her throat. “Do you know where the keys to the pontoon are?”

José frowned, clearly unconvinced. The tall, solidly built man wasn't much older than Ivan and had been working for her father the past four or five years. Did he know there was a man waiting to be executed a hundred yards from where they were standing?

“Like I said, it's late, and we typically discourage guests from going out after dark.”

“We'll be fine.” Olivia forced a smile. Hoping he couldn't sense the fear emanating from her pores or hear the erratic pounding of her heart.

José hesitated a few seconds before responding with a smile. “I suppose you're right.”

“Though if my father happens to call, asking where we are, you won't tell him, will you?” She paused, wondering if she'd gone too far. “He worries too much.”

“I don't blame him. It can be dangerous out there if you're not careful.”

“We'll be extra careful. I promise.”

The worry on José's face lessened. “Honestly, I wish I could join you instead of being stuck on guard duty. It's not as if
anything ever happens around here. You're not headed to get some pizza, are you?”

Olivia forced a chuckle. “We haven't had dinner yet.”

“I won't tell anyone you've gone if you promise to bring me back a couple slices if you stop to get some.”

She smiled. “Pepperoni and mushroom, if I remember correctly.”

José's phone rang.

Olivia glanced at the clock. Ivan was going to start worrying if she took much longer. “The keys, José. Do you know where they are?”

“Keys . . . yes . . . Sorry. I went into town this afternoon and forgot to put them back.” He dug in his front pocket, then tossed her the keys.

Olivia moved as casually as she could toward the door as José answered his phone.

God, we can't do
this alone. Please, please let us get off this island
safely . . .

Finally outside, she headed toward the cottage where Ivan waited for her. An owl hooted in the distance, its call eerie and haunting. Tree limbs danced in the salt-filled air, leaving dark shadows against the lawn. There was just enough light from the moon filtering through the trees for her to see the small cottage at the end of the path. She and Ivan had played hide-and-seek there as children, built hideouts, and played Monopoly hour upon hour. But those days had long since passed.

Ivan was waiting for her in the shadows of the cottage, tension clear on his face. “I got the door open, but I thought something happened to you.”

“I almost got caught. José thinks we're going out for pizza.”

“So he knows we're leaving the island?”

“He had the keys to the pontoon. I didn't know what else to do.”

Her brother nodded. “You did fine.”

She knew what Ivan was thinking, because she was thinking the same thing. Getting caught going to get pizza on the mainland was one thing. Trying to smuggle a prisoner out from under the nose of a presumed drug cartel leader was completely different.

Michael's head jerked up at the sound of footsteps outside the cottage. The door creaked open slowly, letting a sliver of moonlight sweep over Kendall's body. Pain radiated through Michael at the sudden movement. Besides the bruising along his sides, he was worried that some of his ribs were cracked. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it was still dark outside, which meant that for some reason Tomas had returned early. And he knew that this time he hadn't come back to simply scare him. This time he—or Valez—would make his final breaths as painful as possible before ending his life.

He fought to wipe away the cobwebs cluttering his mind. He needed to think. Still needed a plan. But his entire body ached, and the nausea had yet to lessen. Loosening the zip ties had proved impossible. He'd never been one to simply give up, and close calls came with the territory, but this time death felt inevitable.

I need a miracle, God, or I'm
not getting out of this alive.

Someone stepped into the room. His vision blurred, Michael tried to focus on the two figures. They hovered above him, whispering softly.

He blinked, confused. “Who are you?”

The young man got busy cutting away the zip ties while the woman asked him if he could stand. So much for his own masterful attempts to escape. This had to be a trick, or maybe it was just a dream. One of those that started out pleasant, then twisted
into an ugly nightmare. Kendall was dead. That part he knew was true. He was miles from civilization, with no one out there who could come to his rescue. Which led to the only conclusion he could make. The beautiful woman standing over him must be an angel. Which meant he was dead. Or she was a part of Valez's plan to kill him.

“Who are you?” His question came out raspy.

The woman placed a finger against her lips. “Don't talk.”

He studied her face in the dim light. Mid to late twenties. Beautiful, in an exotic way. Part Caucasian, part Hispanic would be his guess. Large almond eyes, perfect tan, long dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail that brushed across her shoulder. He shifted his gaze back to her eyes. There was something familiar about them, but he was certain he'd never seen her before. He would have remembered her face.

The boy popped the zip tie off Michael's ankles, allowing him to move his feet slowly in circles and get the blood circulating again.

She gripped his arm. “Can you walk?”

“I don't know.”

His gaze shifted to the boy. He looked as if he were eighteen or nineteen. Strong. But not strong enough to carry him out. He was going to have to walk if they actually intended to get him out of here. Pain rippled through his side as he tried to stand. He fought to catch his breath. Maybe this wasn't a dream.

“You need to try and walk. Please.”

He focused on the soft lilt of her voice. On the subtle movement of her hair across her shoulder. On the crazy thought that the finish line—getting off this island—might be closer than he thought.

She pressed her hand against his arm. “We know you've been injured, but you're going to have to help us if we're going to have any chance of getting you off this island.”

Getting him off the island? Was she serious?

Part of him wanted to laugh at her statement. He'd prayed for a miracle—a Navy SEAL rescue or an extraction team that would take down Valez and his people while they were at it. He'd prayed for it even though he knew such a miracle was ridiculous. No one knew he was here. But being rescued by a guardian angel was just as ridiculous. He
had
to be dreaming.

Still, he might as well play along.

“Getting off this island is impossible,” he said.

“Maybe, but if we don't get you off, they'll kill you. There's a pontoon waiting for us at the dock.”

She was serious?

Michael's mind began to clear. He had no idea how she knew Valez was planning to kill him, but he did know one thing. She was crazy. Getting out of the ten-million-dollar compound would be difficult enough. But off the island? No one crossed Antonio Valez without paying the price. No one who wanted to live another twenty-four hours, anyway. He drew in a deep breath, still expecting to wake up. He might have prayed for a miracle, but reality told him his fate was already sealed. Even if this wasn't a dream, they'd be caught trying to escape. And these two, whoever they were, didn't deserve to die because of him.

He shook his head. “It's not worth the risk. They will kill you if we're caught.”

“Trust me, I've thought through that scenario, but my brother can be pretty stubborn.”

“Okay.” He forced himself to stand, too weak to argue. He'd have to deal with her crazy arguments—and the pain—later. “How are we going to do this?”

“We have a plan.”

A plan?
Right.

He'd had a plan
and
a backup plan. He knew the property
better than most, but he also knew that even with the best of plans, the odds of escaping this situation were practically nil. There were guards who made their rounds about the property, and then there was the matter of all three of them getting past the front gate security . . . past the guards and dogs . . .