Dial (9 page)

“We can hardly wait,” Caylin agreed. Only her fellow Spy Girls would have been able to detect the small tremor in her voice as she spoke.

“Shall we go?” Jo asked. Caylin noticed that her eyes had drifted toward the staircase.

“By all means,” Armand replied. He stepped aside to allow the three of them to leave the house in front of him. There were those manners again.

Caylin and Jo stepped outside and headed toward the limo parked in the driveway. As Theresa followed, Armand lightly touched her arm.

“Where is your new furniture, Trixie?” Armand inquired, looking into the living room.

Theresa thought fast. Very fast. “Oh, it's all upstairs.”
Well, it wasn't
exactly
a lie—all their human, technological, and otherwise resources had taken a powder to the second floor fifteen minutes previous. “We got new . . . um, bedroom sets.”

“Maybe later you'll show me, yes?”

Theresa smiled and lowered her eyes demurely. Yeah, right, she thought. Maybe later he would be in
jail
.

As she walked out the front door, Theresa turned and glanced once more into the house. Danielle's head popped out from behind the door that led to the kitchen, and she flashed a big thumbs-up. Theresa smiled, taking a deep breath. This was it. They would either come back to the mansion victorious—or they wouldn't come back at all.

“Hello, friends. It's a glorious evening for doing business, no?” Diva greeted the Spy Girls as she slid into the back of the limousine.

Jo had a perverse urge to giggle. Armand had used almost exactly the same words less than twenty minutes ago. If he only knew how different they sounded coming from Diva's mouth . . .

“Hi, Diva,” Theresa greeted her warmly. Thank goodness. At last Theresa seemed to have let go of her paranoid suspicion of their greatest ally.

The driver drove out of El Centro's parking lot and pulled into traffic. Wow—rush hour was the same all over the world, apparently. Jo knew that it was beyond important that her demeanor remain calm, cool, and collected, but the international agent in her worried about The Tower's
ability to trail the limo in this much traffic. Why couldn't the summit meeting have been set for a time that coincided with afternoon siesta?

As Jo stared—surreptitiously, she hoped—out the back window, Diva reached over and squeezed her arm. “We're in this together, Jacinta,” she whispered softly.

Jo felt herself relax. Diva was a kindred spirit. She would look out for the girls, no matter what went down.

Up in the front, Armand was humming a salsa tune. “How are you doing, lovely ladies?” He turned and stared at them.

“Peachy,” Theresa squeaked. “This is the
best
.”

Good thing Armand didn't know Theresa better than he did. The fact that she had uttered a word like
peachy
was a clear indication that she was way past nervous.

Armand snorted. “The American girls are a little unsure, yes?” He winked at Diva. “They are new at this game.”

“Don't let our youth fool you,” Caylin told him coolly. “We've been around more than a few blocks in our time.”

“
Rrrow
 . . . feisty.” Armand growled flirtatiously in Caylin's direction. “Maybe yours is the bedroom set I would like to see later tonight, ah?”

Jo resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Armand, gorgeous or not, was one aspect of this mission she wouldn't miss. His blatant come-ons bordered on nauseating. Instead of the eye roll, she let her lids droop. Shutting out the rest of the world was essential at this particular moment. Otherwise all sorts of haunting images might mess with her focus.

“I'm here, Jacinta.” Again Diva squeezed her arm.

Jo grinned. They had been right to bring Diva along. She was sure of that now. Their new friend was an integral part of this crime organization, and she knew better than any of them what was up. As long as Diva stayed cool, nothing could
possibly
go wrong. . . .

•  •  •

“And I thought
we
had nice digs,” Caylin commented as the girls climbed out of the limo thirty minutes later. “This place isn't a home . . . it's a city.”

They had arrived at one of the most ginormous estates Caylin had ever seen. The front lawn—if the term
lawn
applied to an expanse of grass that large—was perfectly manicured. Several fountains dotted the landscape, and there were no less than three incredibly
expensive sports cars parked in the driveway-slash-road.

Armand brushed past the girls and opened the front door without knocking. “Honey, I'm home!” He smiled at Caylin. “That's a little bit of American humor for you, yes?”

Caylin didn't bother to respond. Instead she gaped at the massive, opulent foyer into which Armand had led them. Yowza! Floor-to-ceiling white marble and a chandelier big enough for all three Spy Girls
and
Uncle Sam to swing from. This was definitely the Big Boss's den. The place shouted
dinero.

“Ah, ladies, how lovely is it to see you again.” Chico doddered in from an unidentified room off the front hall.

He was looking significantly more suave than he had during their lunch meeting. Today he was wearing an Armani suit, and a shiny diamond ring glittered on his right pinky finger.

Chico's eyes lit up when he saw Diva. “Ah, my girl . . .” He clasped her arms and kissed her on each cheek. “We have been expecting you.”

Diva returned the kisses. “So, where is the meeting to take place?” she asked Chico.

Good for her. Just like a real Spy Girl, Diva had gotten straight to the point. Caylin gave her a silent cheer. If they didn't get this meeting going pronto, Caylin wasn't going to be able to keep the butterflies in her stomach from flying free.

“This way.” Chico turned and headed down a long, narrow hallway. The girls fell into line, following his footsteps in nervous silence.

There was a veritable gang of gangsters waiting for the debutante party in a large den. Caylin had rarely seen more men in expensive suits in one place at one time. All of the hotties from their night at La Americana were present, as well as several beefy bodyguard types who looked as if they had been recruited from World Wrestling Entertainment. Alas, there was still no sign of the Big Boss. Hopefully he was nearby.

Caylin sized up the situation. There were two doors. One was behind Chico, who had retreated to the back of the room immediately. The other was behind Jo, who still hovered in front of the door the girls had come through. Meanwhile the metal briefcase in Theresa's left hand was
clearly the center of attention. Every man in the room was staring lustfully at that case full o' cash.

Chico cleared his throat—apparently to distract everyone's attention from the half a million dollars at the end of Theresa's arm. “Now . . . we do business.”

Ready. Set. Run. The sting was on.

•  •  •

Jo had looked forward to a day like this one ever since the day her father's killer had been set free. But now that the moment had arrived, she felt almost paralyzed with fear.

Any one of these men could take out a gun at a moment's notice and blow her brains out. Literally. Then again, at a moment's notice the American and Brazilian agents could charge into the room and take each and every one of these men into custody. At least, they could charge in here as long as they had managed to tail the trio and the wires were operational. Otherwise backup was more or less powerless to come in and do its thing when the time was right. Otherwise the three of them were totally and completely on their own—and poor Diva would be added to the endangered species list.

“I believe you have five hundred thousand dollars for us?” Chico asked Theresa.

The gulp was almost audible. “And I believe that you're willing to offer us a guaranteed twenty-five percent profit on our investment?”

Diva had informed the girls that twenty-five percent was a standard return on an investment in the drug trade. Thank goodness Theresa had maintained the presence of mind to spell it out for the always important wiretap. At the moment Jo wasn't sure she could remember her own vital statistics.

“Yes, of course, Trixie. That
is
the industry standard.” Hmmm. Apparently Chico's English was better than he had let on.

Theresa held out the briefcase. “It's all there, Chico.”

Jorge stepped forward, took the briefcase, then handed it to Chico. “Heavy,” Chico commented. He laid the case on a mahogany table and flipped open the lid. Every person in the room stared at the green-and-white bills.

Chico smiled. “Beautiful!” He reached into the briefcase and laid his hands on the money. “There is nothing like
the smell of new American dollars to put spring in an old man's step.” He shut the case and snapped the lock shut.

Jo's entire body tensed as Chico walked toward the door at the back of the room. He turned down the dimmer on the overhead light switch, then opened the door. “It's ready.”

A moment later a man stepped through the door. His face remained in shadow, but it was clear to Jo that this was the long-awaited Big Boss.

“The young ladies have officially invested in our business,” Chico informed the boss. “The money is all yours.” Chico picked up the briefcase and held it out to his superior.

“Wonderful.” The Big Boss accepted the money, then stepped out of the shadows.

Jo stared at the face of the man the Spy Girls were about to bring down. As she absorbed the details of his features, the world started to shift around her. No! It wasn't possible!

“I—” Jo looked into the man's coal black eyes . . . and recognized him. In a flash, she saw that he recognized her as well.

“What is it?” Theresa asked.

Jo blinked rapidly as her father's murder flashed through her mind in a series of rapid, surreal images. Yes, she knew this man. She had seen him in her nightmares for years.

“You—you killed my father!” Jo screamed.

•  •  •

Theresa felt as if time had stopped as she watched Jo scream at the Big Boss. “We need backup
now
!” she yelled into her wiretap.

“I remember! I saw you!” Jo was yelling at the Big Boss, but her words were broken with loud, hoarse sobs. Meanwhile Diva was shaking. Her face had gone deathly pale.

The Big Boss's eyes were wide and scared. He looked toward Chico. “What is this?” the man shouted.

Chico took a step backward, away from the Big Boss. “I don't know!”

Pandemonium erupted in the room as Jo continued to shout accusations at the man in front of her. Everything was happening so fast that Theresa could barely process the events. All she knew for sure was that the sting was
in serious jeopardy—not to mention their lives.

“No!” The Big Boss turned from Jo and began to run toward the door at the back of the room.

“He killed my father!” Jo screamed again.

Every man in the room pulled a gun from the waistband of his suit. Armand shouted in Portuguese while Chico fixed Jo with a cold, brutal stare. Oh no. This was it. They were all going to die.

“Where are the agents?” Caylin hissed.

Suddenly the door behind Theresa burst open. Instantly dozens of agents poured into the room. “Freeze!” someone screamed.

In seconds the agents had each of the Big Boss's underlings on the floor and in handcuffs. But the Big Boss was escaping through the back door.

“Over there!” Theresa screamed, pointing in the direction of the Big Boss.

“What are you doing?” Diva screamed at Theresa. Her eyes were dark and wild. She looked like a desperate, trapped animal. “You've got the wrong man! That man is innocent!”

Diva clutched Theresa's arms, shaking her. “Do you hear me? He is
innocent
!”

“Get him!” Theresa ordered.

Two agents leaped over the desk and disappeared behind the door. Thirty seconds later they reappeared with the man who had killed Jo's father.

“You're going to the electric chair!” Jo shouted. “I'm going to see you
fry
.”

Jo's words seemed to be coming from some primal, previously unknown part of her soul. Theresa had never seen her friend break down like this—it was frightening.

“Jacinta, no!” Diva moaned. “He is innocent!” Diva collapsed into a chair and sobbed hysterically.

“What are you talking about?” Caylin yelled, shaking Diva's shoulders.

“
That
man is my
father
!” Diva cried. “Chico is the one you want!”

Caylin didn't know whether to cry or breathe a huge sigh of relief. The Big Boss had been taken into custody, but Jo was a basket case. Nothing seemed to make sense.

Chico was shaking his head as he studied Diva's tear-stained face. “Diva, how can you say such things? You know I commit no crime. I am a pawn in the game of your father—just like all these men.”

“You liar!” Diva cried. “He's lying!”

Again Chico shook his head. “I trusted you, Diva . . . but I forget you are like your father—a cold-blooded killer.”

“Explain yourself,” barked the agent holding Chico by the arm.

“I have been faithful to Diva's father as his second in command for many years—on pain of death.” He sighed deeply. “But that wasn't enough for this family. They
wanted me put in jail so that Diva could take over at her father's right hand. It wouldn't be enough to kill me. No, they want to put me away for their crimes. They want me to die, an old man, alone in prison.”

Diva stood up and took the place beside her father. “No,
we
are the pawns. Chico has been controlling our lives for as long as I can remember.”