Cherry Adair - T-flac 03 (4 page)

He had the strongest urge to toss her over his shoulder caveman style and run like hell. Far and fast.

"Welcome to my home at last,
amigo
," Montero said from the doorway, where his arrival had been silent. He paused for effect. "I see you and my Delanie are renewing old acquaintances." He stepped farther into the room to make his grand entrance, followed by several servants.

He indicated his guests take their places at the table.

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Kyle on his right. Delanie on his left.

"I thought you were bringing the others back with you." Kyle was eager for all the ducks to be in a row.

"I returned with both Kensington and Sugano," Montero said smoothly as Bruno flicked open a snowy linen napkin and laid it on Montero's lap before stepping back behind his master's thronelike chair. "They will join us shortly, but we will not hold back our meal to wait for them." He snapped his fingers without glancing at the hovering servant.

"You find your quarters satisfactory?" Montero asked.

"For the duration," Kyle answered coolly. "The sound system was unwelcome and excessive, however."

The bugs were a given. He'd found the five in his rooms he was supposed to, and the three he wasn't.

He'd removed the obvious and left the others.

Communication worked both ways.

"An oversight. Merely installed for the last visitor,
mi amigo
. I will, of course, have the staff remove any offending equipment from your suite immediately."

"I saved them the trouble." Kyle took a sip of his wine. "When can I see the lab?"

"Everything is exactly as you requested: The top of the line equipment. The best of the best. The Rolls Royce of—"

"That's a given, and wasn't the question." Kyle narrowed his eyes. "When do I get to see my lab?"

"What lab?" Delanie asked.

"We can go there tonight if it pleases you," Montero said, as if she hadn't spoken. "Or we can wait for full daylight and go first thing in the morning."

"Tonight. Tomorrow I'm returning to San Cristobal to pick up the rest of my equipment from customs."

"Ludicrous," Montero snarled, gulping his wine. "That imbecile. I told him the urgency of your medical samples, and yet he insisted everything go through customs in the usual way. Bah! His departure will be no loss."

"There's nothing they can open," Kyle assured him. "One more day won't make that much difference. I just want to be sure my lab is ready to receive the viruses and vaccines as soon as I return with them."

With a frown Delanie glanced from one man to the other. "What vaccines?"

"Everything is in readiness for you," Montero promised Kyle. "Down to the last biohazard suit and lab coat."

"Good." A servant placed a gold-trimmed bowl before each of them. "Another thing." Kyle picked up his spoon and dipped it into his soup. "Just to be on the safe side, I'd suggest you have a chopper ready at the airfield, and you also inform your guards that I have immediate access to you twenty-four/seven."

Montero's swarthy skin blanched. "Everything is contained."

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"Yes," Kyle said quietly, enjoying the mushroom soup. "And I intend to keep it that way. But it's wise to have contingency plans."

Kyle took sadistic pleasure in scaring the shit out of Montero and his business partners. Between tonight and Saturday he planned to torque the sorry son of a bitch's nerves to the breaking point.

The surge of adrenaline pumping through him felt terrific.

After more than four years it was finally coming together.

They were close. So close.

The soup tasted like nectar.

The ratio of two waiters to one dinner guest was overkill, but then, that was Montero's style. He had a flair for the dramatic. Behind his chair, guarding his back, Montero's personal bodyguard stood with arms folded across his massive chest, mahogany head gleaming in the candlelight. Bruno could bench-press four hundred pounds without breaking a sweat. Kyle had never heard the man utter a word.

Beyond the wide double doors, open to the slate hallway beyond, two bodyguards stood ready to apprehend anyone foolish enough to try anything with
El Jefe
.

The security cameras were obvious and everywhere.

Delanie's reserve tonight was perfectly controlled. She gave not one iota more conversation than was necessary to be polite, not one scrap more attention to him than was absolutely called for.

Dangling red earrings brushed bare, tanned shoulders as she turned her head to listen to Montero whispering sweet bullshit in her ear. Montero, a young George Hamilton look-alike, thrived on having sexy, leggy blondes hanging on his every word. Delanie was eye candy. But any attractive blond would have suited his purpose. Montero's 'dates' had remarkably short runs. They were eliminated before they could reveal any of his bad habits. Montero took care of his enemies execution-style. His discarded girlfriends disappeared, never to be heard from again.

Kyle raised his magically refilling wine glass and drained the excellent Chateau Lafite Rothschild '52. He knew more about the sick bastard than he wanted to. Hell, he probably knew more about Ramon Eduardo Montero than the man's own mother.

But did Delanie know what a sick bastard she'd latched onto? Obviously she knew the man was homosexual. But did she know
how
brutal,
how
depraved Ramon Montero could be? And if she did, what in the hell was she doing pretending to be the egregious bastard's girlfriend?

Her reasons, thought Kyle, forking up some kind of highly spiced fish, were immaterial. No matter
why
Delanie Eastman was here, no matter
what
she thought she knew about their host, she had to go. Before she left in a body bag.

She was nervous as hell, though she covered damn well. He'd noted it at the pool this afternoon. Good.

If she was afraid of Montero then she was smarter than she appeared. Then again, if she were so damn smart, what the hell was she doing on top of Izquierdo?

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He found himself at the starting post with more questions than answers. A situation he didn't like and wouldn't tolerate.

A warm breeze brought in the scent of the citronella candles winking around the patio beyond the French doors. His keen hearing picked up the bug zapper, which was just out of sight, as insects got incinerated for their audacity to come close to the light.

"Sorry I'm late." Peter Kensington strolled in, interrupting Kyle's musings. A servant immediately filled his wine glass, while another brought his dinner.

Kensington had an Ashley Wilkes feyness about him. Wiry, with thinning blond hair, he used his slight build and general air of anemic weakness to good effect. A slippery bastard, he was second in command of a small, but powerful, terrorist group based in Ireland and had recently been involved in the bombing of three U.S. planes out of Heathrow and Orly. He didn't enjoy playing second banana and was here because Montero had encouraged him to be.

Kensington acknowledged Kyle with a slight, and subtle, shift away from him in his seat. He graced Montero with a fawning, ingratiating smile, ignoring Delanie completely.

"You found your quarters agreeable?" Montero asked, his mouth full as he gestured with his fork—a mannerism he retained from his humble beginnings. It was an indication of just how relaxed he was in his protected little kingdom. Anywhere else, Montero played his fabricated past and his wealthy, high-class playboy image to the hilt. He never forgot
anything
. Not even something as inconsequential as table manners. Montero's inattention to detail here on Izquierdo suited Kyle just fine.

Cheeks flushed, Kensington managed a reply, struggling to swallow without choking, as he tried valiantly not to let his nervousness show. Kyle could have told him that the only kind of enemy a man should have was a
dead
enemy. People with a lot to lose couldn't afford to make foolish mistakes. He let the dissolute conversation between Montero and Kensington ebb and flow around him as he relaxed in the high-backed, velvet chair.

"So, Kyle." Montero turned soulless black eyes to him, cutting Peter Kensington off in midsentence.

"You and my Delanie are old friends."

"Not quite the word I would have used, but yeah. We knew each other years ago." Kyle smiled at his host, a man-to-man look that had Delanie's grip on her glass white-knuckled. Montero chuckled.

Kensington concentrated on his dinner.

"As I offered at lunch, you have my blessing to resume your friendship while you are both here."

Kyle saw Delanie's color drain beneath her makeup and her chin jerk up a notch. He'd found grim satisfaction in watching her nervousness escalate. She
should
be nervous. Damn nervous.

"Generous." He kept his voice dry and his gaze on Delanie. "But totally unnecessary, my friend. The lady and I have no fresh avenues to explore." He held her gaze. "Do we, babe?"

The gold necklace vibrated at the base of her throat as her pulse leapt in response to his volley. If looks could kill, he'd be rotting in his grave. He smiled gently at her, impressed when she managed to switch her venomous glare to vapid disinterest.

"I'm sorry." Her eyes told a different story as she gave him a singularly sweet smile. "I really don't
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remember
one way or the other, ya know?"

She turned to Montero, laying a slender hand on his arm, red nails long and startling against the darkness of his sleeve. Kyle distinctly remembered her having short, clear nails this afternoon at the pool.
All she
needs to complete the picture
, he thought, biting back a grudging smile at her chutzpah,
is a wad of
snapping gum
. He was surprised she hadn't thought of that prop.

"Of course I'd do anything for you, baby, you know that. It's just…" She managed to look beautifully flustered while shooting Kyle a smart-ass glance, "Well, how can I say this without hurting his feelings?

What I
do
remember was just so…" Red beaded earrings tinkled against her shoulders as she shrugged.

"So, well, boring, ya know?"

Kensington swallowed the wrong way, choked. Kyle slapped him on the back and stifled a laugh. He remembered one "boring" night when Delanie's legs had damn near vise-gripped him in half as she'd climaxed. So hard that heel-shaped bruises had decorated his back for days. Her eyes said she remembered it, too, but she didn't look away. Instead she composed herself and gave him a vacant, unconcerned stare.

Kyle noted the personality change when she was with Montero. He didn't like it, but she was good.

Damn good.
Little girl
, he thought with regret, resignation, and faint admiration,
you have no idea just
who you're playing with
.

Kyle held her gaze.

She blinked. Her gaze skittered around the room.

That's better, sweetheart, look away. If Montero doesn't scare the hell out of you, then I will
. He wanted her scared and running. No matter who had to do the dirty deed.

All his attention appeared to be on his food, but he observed the other two men covertly. This was an ingrained part of his life, like muscle and bone. He was a man with many skills. Because he'd been so much younger than his contemporaries, and always too young to participate in school activities for most of his life, he'd learned to sit back and watch. It was what also made him good at what he did.

While his peers played football and romanced the cheerleaders in high school, Kyle obtained his medical degree. He'd streaked ahead of his much older classmates at med school to become an epidemiologist.

He'd wanted to help fight the occurrence of disease in large populations. To detect the source and cause of epidemics and to find cures. The
last
damn thing he'd ever thought he'd be doing at this point in his sterling career was manufacturing and weaponizing the smallpox virus for Montero.

Montero had approached him just over four years ago. Kyle had been his first pick. And he knew why.

He was top of his field. The best. The youngest. The brightest. And Montero wanted the best money could buy.

Kyle had done small jobs for the government and a small, elite antiterrorist group called T-FLAC since he'd left high school. He also had brothers in the business. He'd gone directly to his oldest brother Michael for direction, then contacted his superiors at T-FLAC.

T-FLAC had mobilized immediately. Within twelve hours, Kyle had agreed to spearhead Montero's plan to manufacture the smallpox virus, and every legitimate law enforcement agency around the world
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was in.

England joined forces, then France, then South Africa, then Israel. Small European countries followed in quick succession, offering money, manpower, or tactical options. They all came to the table determined to vanquish Montero once and for all. No small tentacles were to be left to flourish after his annihilation.

No one was prepared to risk a smallpox epidemic let loose on the world. There were perhaps seven million doses of the vaccine available worldwide. Not nearly enough to combat what Montero had planned. Every step of this maneuver had been choreographed backward and forward every step of the way.

Kyle was excited, invigorated, and scared shitless. A million things could go wrong.

There was too much riding on this assignment, too many people depending on him, to allow for any distraction.

Circumstances had always mandated he be a loner. He'd never felt it more powerfully than he did here and now. In five days this place would be crawling with good guys. But until then he was it.