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Not Without Her Son
Kay David
Julia Vandamme's nightmare began after she said, "I do."Her only comfort is her sweet little boy, and she's stayed in her marriage just for him. Jonathan Cruz is their one chance for escape, but before she and her son can know freedom, Julia has to learn to trust Cruz. But how can she, when she's not convinced he's the man he claims to be?To save a friend. To protect a child. To end an evil. Most of us could not bring ourselves to do the unthinkable–even if it was for the greater good. The Operatives do whatever it takes. Because of them, we don't have to.



“Meredith sent me.”
Blinking in confusion, Julia couldn’t make sense of his words.
“Act like you know me and I’ll handle the rest,” he continued, his eyes locking on hers.
When Julie had been six years old she’d left the back door of their Mississippi home open and a rattler had slithered inside. When she’d seen the snake in the kitchen a few minutes later, she’d screamed so loudly the yard man had run into the house without even knocking. He’d compensated for his lapse in protocol by dispatching the unwanted guest.
Since her marriage, she’d often thought she’d let another snake into her life.
Now Julia had the feeling she’d done it once again.
Dear Reader,
Our children are our most precious possessions, even though one might argue they are not possessions. We argue over them, though, as if they were, making them pawns in our battles, whether we mean to or not. The reason for their importance in these awful situations is obvious. We love them so much we are willing to lie, steal, cheat and possibly even kill for them.
Not Without Her Son is the story of a woman who is willing, able and prepared to do all of the above and more. Julia Vandamme, the victim of a ruthless man and her own bad choices, finds herself imprisoned in a foreign country with her son, Tomas. She’s married, she’s trapped and she’s desperate. The last thing she wants is her son to become his father. For Julia Vandamme nothing comes before her son, including her own life.
Wouldn’t it be great if every parent felt this way? What would it mean to the world if everyone who was a parent put their children first? What if nothing mattered but our kids?
I was lucky enough to have a mother and father who gave their all to me, my sister and my brother. Believe me, they gave so much of their love and attention that there were plenty of times all three of us wished for parents who would just leave us alone! And when they couldn’t be there, their own parents took over.
Families are the building blocks of our society, and if you put your child above everything else, like my parents and the heroine in this book, then you’re performing the most important job in the world. I hope you enjoy this story and find inspiration in it, as well.
Kay David

Not Without Her Son
Kay David


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is dedicated to the memory of my mother and
father, Pauline and Earl Cameron. Their legacy was
priceless and their love will never fade.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE
San Isidro, Colombia
JULIA VANDAMME-RAMIREZ LOOKED over the crowd milling about her living room. Sipping drinks and eating hors d’oeuvres, her guests, all dressed expensively if not tastefully, mingled and laughed, clearly enjoying themselves. She smiled tightly and waved to one of the women, catching her husband’s attention with the motion. Miguel followed Julia’s gesture, then he turned in her direction and gave her a slight nod.
Julia acknowledged him and drew a deep breath, relief washing over her at his approval. Standing by Julia’s side, Meredith Santera looked out over the crowd in obvious amazement. She was Julia’s best friend. Julia’s only friend…from before.
“Where on earth did these people come from?” Meredith asked. “Surely they don’t all live in San Isidro?”
“They live all over,” Julia answered. “They come to San Isidro because San Isidro is where we live. If they want to do business with Miguel—and they all do—then they make the trip.”
“They’re business associates?” Meredith sounded doubtful. “Including the old broad over there who’s laughing so loud?”
“Not her. She’s the governor’s wife.” Her mask of gaiety intact, Julia waved at someone else then spoke under her breath. “But Miguel told me to be especially nice to her. I guess he wants something from them.” She smiled and dipped her head at someone else. “But if I don’t get out of here in the next two minutes, my head is going to explode.”
Meredith mimicked Julia’s nod to Miguel and spoke graciously, her slow drawl reflecting the Southern past they shared. “Then shall we retreat to the patio? If you’re gonna do something messy, we might be better off outside.”
Julia grinned, her expression authentic this time. “Good point.” She tilted her head to the French doors at their back. “Let me grab another glass of wine and I’ll meet you on the patio. We have a lot of catching up to do. It’s been way too long.”
Meredith murmured her consent before sliding away soundlessly. Handing her empty flute to a passing waiter, Julia waded into the crowd and continued to greet as many people as she could, her mood lifting as she anticipated visiting with her friend. The last time they’d seen each other had been at Julia’s wedding, almost four years ago. She still couldn’t believe her good luck—if she hadn’t left that department store in Bogota at just the right time, their paths would have never crossed. As it was, Julia had cried her friend’s name and grabbed her in a tight hug, impulsively insisting she come to their party a few nights later. Miguel had not been happy about it, but he’d finally relented, realizing it would have created more of a problem to uninvite her.
Reaching the bar, Julia accepted a new glass of merlot, then headed for the rear of the room. She was almost to the doors when Miguel’s fingers slipped around her elbow and he pulled her to a stop.
“You aren’t going to the terrace, are you, darling? We have other guests in addition to your friend, you know.”
His voice was low and husky, as full of charm as ever. Julia’s heart skipped a beat because she knew what was coming.
“I don’t think those other guests would appreciate it if I threw up on them.” She met his black eyes and wondered how she’d ever thought them sexy. “I’m getting a migraine. I need some fresh air.”
“I’m sorry,” he said politely. He always spoke this way to her. Anyone who listened would be impressed by his smooth civility. She had been when they’d met. “I hope it doesn’t intrude on your time tomorrow with Tomasito.”
But she heard the threat, just as he knew she would. Miguel controlled everything in her life, including the amount of time she spent with their three-year-old son, Tomas. When Julia didn’t behave as Miguel thought she should, he punished her by cutting her visits short or eliminating them all together.
Her mouth went dry. “Tomas expects me, Miguel. I told him we were going to have a picnic.”
“Then you’d better not break your promise.” To make his point even clearer, he tightened his grip on her arm. Refusing to change her expression, Julia endured his painful touch.
“Please visit with my guests. All of them.”
He left her standing alone and shaken. With no other option, she sent a quick look through the windows. Meredith had seen the encounter and clearly understood. She mouthed the words Go on, then pointed to a side door and held both hands up, her fingers splayed.
Meredith and Julia had met between Julia’s junior and senior year in high school when Meredith’s family had been transferred to Pascagoula, her father a Naval officer, her mother an Argentinian expat. Julia was the younger of the two by four years, but she’d been home schooled and was much more mature than most kids her age. She’d been thrilled to meet the exotic, world-traveling Meredith, and they’d hit it off immediately. As fall had approached, Meredith had convinced Julia to apply to the same college at which she would be enrolled as a junior—the University of Southern Mississippi. They’d developed the finger flash, a code for skipping out, in a boring history class they’d shared. All ten fingers meant “ten minutes.”
Julia nodded then held her own hand up, adding five more. Miguel would expect her to do exactly as he’d instructed and he’d check to make sure she complied, but if she put on a show for at least fifteen minutes, she’d be all right. He would be involved in something else by then.
Sure enough, by the time she’d made a second circuit of the room, Miguel had disappeared. She glanced up the staircase to his office. The lights were on and the doors were closed. He was obviously holding one of his endless meetings. If she still thought he was the Colombian diplomat he’d claimed to be, she wouldn’t have given his absence another thought, but she noticed it now, because she knew the truth.
Picking up the hem of her beaded dress, Julia hurried through the kitchen and walked outside. She had just crossed the center of the patio when a shadow materialized from beside the house.
Julia stumbled back in fright and gasped, putting a hand to her chest before she recognized her friend. “Good God, you scared me half to death, Meredith. When did you learn to be so quiet?”
Meredith shrugged and waved off Julia’s comment. “Miguel didn’t look too happy. I didn’t want him to see me.” She tilted her head to the window above. “He’s in his office, isn’t he?”
“You’ve become observant, too.” Julia looked up, as well. “He’s having some kind of meeting. He does that a lot when we entertain. I hardly see him anymore, even when he’s here, which isn’t often.”
“That’s unfortunate.” Meredith’s voice was neutral in the darkness. “You must get lonely.”
Julia knit her fingers together. There was no one she was closer to than Meredith, but Julia’s relationship with her husband had never been a topic of discussion between them. For one thing, Meredith didn’t like Miguel and Julia knew it. For another, she’d been raised not to air her dirty laundry. Vandammes didn’t talk outside the family, especially about trouble.
Even as she had these thoughts, however, Julia acknowledged, at least to herself, the real reason she’d stayed silent—she was embarrassed. How could she have made such a horrific mistake? How could she have missed the monster beneath the facade?
“It’s a quiet life,” Julia finally replied. “But I have Tomas.”
“What about friends?” Meredith asked. “We haven’t talked for a long time. Have you gotten close to any of the women inside?”
“They’re very busy,” Julia said. “Everyone has so much to do with the children and everything.”
“The children?” Meredith didn’t bother to hide her skepticism, her voice turning sharp. “They’ve all got nannies, Julia. Nannies and cooks and maids and God knows what else, just like you do. How busy can they be?”
On edge already, Julia felt her throat go tight. She turned away from her friend. She couldn’t explain. Not now.
“Oh, shit. Julia, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that—”
She reached out to turn Julia around, her fingers pulling at Julia’s right elbow. Julia winced as a streak of pain raced up her arm.
“My, God, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
“It—it’s nothing,” Julia lied. “I—I fell against the door the other day and my arm’s still bruised, that’s all.”
Meredith froze and without saying a word, pulled back Julia’s sleeve. Even in the faint light that fell from Miguel’s office, the fingerprints were obvious. Meredith let the fabric drop, then she raised her suddenly hard gaze to Julia’s. “What in the hell’s going on here? A door doesn’t leave a bruise like that.”
“It’s nothing,” she insisted.
“Nothing, my ass.” Meredith shook her head in disgust, then jerked her thumb toward the window above them. “He did that to you, didn’t he?”
Julia debated how to answer, a heavy silence building between the two women. After a moment, she spoke. “You can’t do anything about this, Meredith. It would be best if you forgot what you just saw.”
“Best for who?” she snorted. “Not you, I’m sure.”
During their college years, everyone had called Meredith a superwoman because she’d righted every wrong she came across, regardless of the consequences. The last thing Julia needed was Meredith getting involved in her problems. The very last thing.
“I’m not important here, Meredith. Okay? And nothing is going to change that. Not even you.”
“If you’re not important, who is? The wife beater up there?”
“My son is,” Julia said, her voice vehement. “And I have to remember that above everything else.”
“Take him and leave.”
“It’s a little more complicated.”
“Nothing’s that complicated,” Meredith retorted. “Unless he keeps you a prisoner or something.”
With three glasses of wine and nerves stretched wire-thin, Julia felt her defenses slip, Meredith’s opening too perfect to resist. “Not ‘or something,’” she said grimly. “A prisoner is exactly what I am. He has my passport, all the cash, everything. I can’t leave.”
Meredith showed so little reaction it made Julia wonder why, but there was no stopping her now, her reckless words rushing out in a torrent. “It’s been that way from the beginning. I hate Miguel Ramirez with every bone in my body. If I could, I’d kill him with my bare hands and never look back.”

MEREDITH STARED at Julia with a gaze steady enough to be unnerving. Between the sudden tenseness and the dim light, she almost seemed a stranger. “Tell me more,” she commanded.
“There’s nothing more to tell,” Julia answered, her anger changing into bitterness. “Miguel is a very controlling, very angry man and I do what he says because I have no choice.”
“C’mon, Julia Anne. Everyone has a choice—”
Julia held up her hand. Meredith was the only person who ever used her middle name, and hearing it now brought back their dormitory days and the whispered confidences they’d shared in the middle of the night. Back then, their biggest problem had been how to arrange the loss of Julia’s virginity. As she thought of the hell her life had become, a bubble of hysteria formed in her throat, but she pushed it down.
“Tomas is the only thing I care about, and I would never leave him.”
“Take him with you.”
“I can’t. I have no funds, no assets, nothing. Even if I did manage—”
“Do your parents know what’s going on? I can’t believe they wouldn’t help you.”
Julia’s jaw tightened. She’d been out of college for a month when she’d met Miguel at a Fourth of July party at a hotel in Atlanta. Her father had argued stridently against the relationship and her mother’s disapproval had been just as vehement, if less vocal. But tired of watching her friends pair off one by one, and lonely as well, Julia had ignored what she thought of as her father’s overprotectiveness and her mother’s snobbery. She’d married Miguel within weeks of their introduction.
Julia had come to think the impulsive act—so out of character for her—had been an unconscious effort to spite her parents and their restrictive nature. If it had been, the trick had backfired. She’d hurt no one but herself.
She shook her head. “I haven’t heard from Mother and Daddy in months and frankly, even if I did, it wouldn’t make any difference. All the money in the world wouldn’t keep us safe. Miguel would find us and when he did…”
“When he did…what? There are laws that protect people like you and Tomas.”
“Laws mean nothing to Miguel, Meredith. You don’t understand—”
“He’s a diplomat, for God’s sake, not a hit man. He may have more than a few privileges, but that doesn’t mean he can do what he likes.”
Julia stepped closer to her friend and dropped her voice. “He’s not what you think, Meredith. He has the ability and the power to do anything he wants, and he has a virtual army at his beck and call. He’s a dangerous man and—”
She broke off abruptly, her pulse going wild as a sudden breeze rippled over the garden. Meredith started to speak, but Julia held a finger to her lips and the other woman went silent. Julia exhaled a moment later, the wind brushing past them with a quiet exhalation that matched her own.
Meredith raised an eyebrow.
“I th-thought I smelled Miguel’s aftershave.” Julia shook her head then rubbed her temples, the rush of adrenaline waking her up to the danger of her indiscretion. What did she think she was doing, telling Meredith these things? If Miguel were to overhear, Julia didn’t have to imagine what he’d do. She knew.
Meredith stepped closer and put her hand on Julia’s arm. Her breath was warm, her expression concerned. “What can I do to help, Julia? You can’t go on like this. There’s got to be a way—”
“There’s nothing anyone can do. Miguel will never let me go without Tomas and I’m not leaving my son behind.”

AFTER THAT Julia said nothing. There was too much at stake for her to be talking like this and she was a fool for sharing what she already had. She shook off the rest of Meredith’s questions and the two women went back inside to find the party beginning to break up, a few people already drifting outside to their cars. Standing in the entryway, Miguel was telling everyone good-night, his second in command, Jorge Guillermo, beside him as usual. Half bodyguard, half counselor, he watched Miguel’s back as well as his bank account. On occasion, Julia thought she saw sympathy in his eyes when he glanced at her, but deep down, she knew that was only wishful thinking. Guillermo was Miguel’s shadow and loyal to a fault.
Both men looked up as Meredith and Julia walked into the living room, and Julia’s stomach turned over when Miguel caught her eye. No one else would have seen his displeasure, but she had learned to read the subtleties behind his every expression. He was angry because she’d been in the garden and not at his side.
She walked swiftly to where he waited and began to bid her guests good-night. Meredith was near the end of the line. Miguel extended his hand to Julia’s friend, but when she took it, he leaned forward and brushed both her cheeks with a kiss.
“I’m so glad you could come this evening. I know you and Julia had a lot to talk about. I hope she said kind things about me.”
Julia held her breath and watched as Meredith smiled warmly at Miguel. “Kind things? She bragged relentlessly and made me envious of her good fortune. Great husband, wonderful home, beautiful child…she has it all. You’re both very lucky.”
Miguel put his arm around Julia’s waist and drew her close. “We make our own luck in San Isidro.” He looked at Julia and smiled slowly. “Julia would be the first to tell you that, yes?”
“Of course,” she murmured.
Meredith kissed Julia’s cheek. “I’ll be in touch,” she whispered.
As the front door closed behind Meredith, exhaustion swept through Julia. She hid it until the last of the stragglers were gone, then she turned and headed for the stairs to check on Tomas. His bedroom and the nanny’s room were on the second floor along with Miguel’s office. Miguel’s bedroom, just like Julia’s, was in a building by itself off a patio on the lower level. She didn’t like being separated from Tomas, but Miguel had insisted.
She was halfway up the stairs when Miguel’s voice stopped her progress.
“I’d like to see you in my office, Julia. Please change your clothes and meet me there.”
She pivoted slowly, her mouth suddenly dry. Had he heard her talking to Meredith? “I’m really tired. Can it wait until tomorrow?”
He seemed to consider her request but both of them knew it was an act. “I’d prefer to discuss this tonight,” he said thoughtfully. “The only time I have open tomorrow is when you’re supposed to see Tomasito. Would you rather we talk then?”
She fumed but silently. “If those are my choices, then I pick tonight.”
He nodded and smiled. “Good.”
Thirty minutes later, she was in his office, but Miguel was nowhere to be found. He often made her wait so she wasn’t surprised, but his inconsideration bothered her more tonight than usual. She wasn’t sure if that was because she’d shared her situation with Meredith or because the headache she’d faked was now becoming real. She crossed his office to stand beside the window and stare at the mountains.
In the valley below, the lights of San Isidro twinkled romantically. When Miguel had brought her to the tiny Colombian village, she’d been enchanted. Quaint streets, red-tiled roofs, charming children… That first day, they’d strolled the twisting sidewalks and Julia had been so happy. She’d thought she’d found true love and was looking forward to starting a family. Everything had seemed so perfect.
A normal woman would have closed her mind to the memories that rose inside her, but Julia no longer considered herself normal. She’d become something else, something that had no name. Miguel had taken away the person she’d been and replaced her with this new being who wanted to remember what had happened because the details fueled her fire.
Closing her eyes, she let the pain roll over her and relished it, the haunting images as fresh now as they’d been four years ago. They’d had a wonderful meal, then Miguel had pulled her into his luxurious bedroom. She’d been looking forward to making love with her husband and she’d moved eagerly into his arms. What had followed was something she did blank out.
Stunned and in shock, Julia hadn’t known what to do except run. The first time she’d gotten to the gates of the compound. The second time she’d made it to the village. The third time…she couldn’t remember how far she made it the third time. Miguel had caught her and locked her in a room somewhere. She still didn’t know where it was. He’d kept her there and visited until she’d gotten pregnant.
Tomas had been born the following March.
Julia had begged for her freedom.
Miguel’s answer had dumbfounded her. “Go ahead,” he’d said. “Leave whenever you like.”
For a second, she’d let herself think about it, then he’d gotten up from behind his desk and come to where she waited. “If you do go, however, you will go alone. Don’t even consider taking Tomasito with you. Should you try, I will hunt you down and bring my son back. I want to raise him here, in San Isidro, to follow in my footsteps.”
“But he’s my son, too,” she’d argued foolishly. “What if I don’t want him brought up that way?”
The look in his eyes had been merciless. “What you want or do not want is irrelevant to this discussion. My son will grow up as I desire. You have no say in this matter.”
“You can’t do that to me,” she’d said.
His reply had been simple and irrefutable. “I already have.”
Despite the warning, she’d taken Tomas and tried one more time. The punishment for her foolishness had been so painful and humiliating she knew the scars—figuratively and literally—would not disappear. Miguel was a master at abasement and she would never be the same. In the end, though, he’d be the one to pay. Her rage and impotence had had nowhere to go, so she’d turned it inward and forged a determination, the likes of which she’d never felt before.
She would escape and she would take Tomas with her. Miguel would burn in hell before she’d allow her son to become his father’s victim, too.
But explaining all this to Meredith would have been impossible. To begin with, it would have taken more time than they’d had but secondly, Meredith would never have understood how Julia could have gotten herself into this predicament, because Meredith would have never allowed it to happen to herself. Meredith was incredibly strong and assertive and smart. She’d joined the CIA right out of college—the CIA, for goodness’ sakes!—then left three years later to start a business with her father, a firm that specialized in international finance. Meredith would have somehow dealt with Miguel and ended the nightmare much sooner. Julia couldn’t risk taking her offer of help, though. She’d be damned if she would put anyone else in jeopardy because of her own foolishness.
In the end, it didn’t really matter anyway. Julia would rather her friend think she was some kind of helpless idiot than to jeopardize the plans she’d begun to lay.
From behind her, Miguel’s voice broke the silence. Her heart pounding painfully, she trembled as she turned.
“Why the shivering? Are you cold? Would you like me to close the window?”
She recovered quickly. “What I would like is to go to bed.”
Something shifted in his eyes.
He hadn’t touched her since before Tomas’s birth, but she worried relentlessly about him coming to her bedroom. She pulled the lapels of the robe she wore closer to her throat.
“Just tell me what you want, Miguel.” Her voice stayed steady. “I’m exhausted and my headache is getting worse.”
He waited a moment and she held her breath, then he spoke. “I’m leaving town tomorrow. I’ll be gone for several weeks and I’m taking Tomasito.”
Surprised as she was, she still realized what he’d done. He’d obviously had these plans in place, yet at the party he’d threatened to prevent her from visiting with Tomas. He must really enjoy torturing her.
She hid her anger, the taste of disgust mixing with a flood of fear. There were worse things Miguel could do than toy with her, she reminded herself, and taking Tomas was one of them.
“Where are you going?” The words were hard to get past the knot growing in her throat.
“Where isn’t important. All you need to know is that I expect you to remember whose wife you are. You may go into town to visit Portia, if you wish, but not alone.”
Portia Lauer was an older woman with whom Julia had developed a friendship. Miguel saw her as harmless and therefore he’d allowed the relationship to continue. His generosity went unnoted; all Julia could think of was her son. “I assume you’re taking Mari?”
“No, Mari will not be going. You coddle the boy too much. He can do without his nanny for two weeks.”
“Miguel! He’s only three—”
“I will handle him.”
The words cost her dearly, but Julia said them without reserve. “Then take me with you. I’ll watch Tomas for you and you can do whatever it is you need to do.”
He seemed to weigh her words, then he dismissed them without even answering, heading for the door instead. At the last minute, he turned. His profile looked like stone in the lamplight. “We’re leaving early. If you want to say goodbye, I suggest you keep that in mind.”

CHAPTER TWO
JONATHAN CRUZ HAD WORKED with the woman standing in front of him for five years. He felt as if he knew her but now, all at once, he wasn’t so sure. Meredith Santera wore an expression he’d never seen on her before.
“It’s better than we thought.” She paused then appeared to rethink her answer. “Or maybe it’s worse,” she said. “I guess it depends on your perspective.”
“I don’t want perspective,” he said. “I want the facts.”
She walked past the desk where he sitting, toward the couch. The third member of the Operatives team, Armando Torres, sat at one end of it, nursing a beer. There had been a fourth man in their organization, Stratton O’Neil, but he’d left several years ago under terrible circumstances. He’d cleaned himself up and solved his problems, but had chosen not to return, a decision his new wife had helped him make.
His loss had been a tough one. They were a tight group. Meredith and her father, a Navy Intel guy, had started the company and recruited the team right after she’d left the CIA. Cruz had heard all sorts of rumors about why she’d moved on, but he hadn’t asked. In their business, questions like that were frowned upon. She assigned the jobs, the team did them and that was that. Their clients came recommended or Meredith wouldn’t even talk to them, and the operations were solitary ones, completed with stealth and speed. They had no office and rarely saw one another, but all three of them had happened to be in Bogota at the same time, so they’d met to discuss this job. Cruz had wondered if Meredith had engineered the coincidence, though. The toughest of all of them, she usually made her decisions quickly and acted with confidence, but she was worried about her friend. In a way, her concern made him feel better about her. He’d wondered at times if she had any feelings left.
She kicked off her shoes then took the chair to Cruz’s left.
“The facts?” As she repeated his words, her voice was tight and angry with no sign of the drawl she could turn off and on. “The facts are very simple. Miguel Ramirez is a monster. He keeps his wife a virtual hostage by controlling her through their child. He beats her. She hates his guts and would like to see him dead.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But she’ll never leave him because, to do that, she’d have to abandon her child. I can guarantee you she won’t leave the country that way. Not without her son.”
Meredith made a visible effort to control herself. After a moment, she scrubbed her face with her hands, then she looked up at Cruz. “Julia Vandamme is the only friend I have. It killed me to see her tonight. I wanted to stick a blade right into that bastard’s black heart then grab her and get the hell out.”
“You would have ended up dead, along with your friend.”
She blinked, her eyes colder than Cruz had ever seen them. “Maybe, maybe not, but if I hadn’t known you guys were waiting for me, that’s exactly what I would have done.”
Cruz didn’t doubt a word of what she said, because Meredith Santera was a killer. Then again, so was Armando. And so was he. Killing was what the Operatives did.
They were assassins and Miguel Ramirez was their next target.
Cruz rose from his desk and walked to the bar. He took out three fresh beers, uncapped them and handed them out. Meredith’s was almost empty when he spoke again.
“Tell me more about the setup.”
She stared out the window. “The villa’s huge. It’s made up of one central building that contains everything but the bedrooms, which are in small casitas on either side. There are half a dozen smaller buildings scattered around the property and several patios. Needless to say, Ramirez has excellent security. There are guards around the fenced perimeter and dogs, too. Not to mention electronic sensors—motion, heat, noise detectors. You might get in, but you wouldn’t get out.”
“What about his people?”
“Very small inner circle. Has one guy who’s always close. His name is Jorge Guillermo. Hard to get a handle on him.”
Cruz nodded then switched topics. “Do you think she knows who her husband really is?”
Meredith’s expression twisted again, this time with such disgust that Cruz knew if he somehow failed to kill the man, the deed would be done regardless by the woman in front of him. For free. And with a cheerful heart.
“You told me what he did to her when she tried to escape. She has to be suspicious at the very least. She told me she knows he isn’t a diplomat, but before she could say more, she got spooked.”
“Did she say anything about her last attempt?”
“No.” Meredith shook her head slowly. “Julia’s a very private person and always has been. I was shocked she even told me what she did.”
By the time Meredith finished, an hour later, Cruz felt he’d been inside the Ramirez compound himself. Then Meredith looked at him and he knew trouble was coming.
“I know I handed this one over to you, Cruz, but I’m changing my mind. It doesn’t make sense for you to go in when I already know the situation. I’m taking this son of a bitch out myself.”
“No.”
“But Cruz—”
“You gave me the job for a very good reason, Meredith, and that reason hasn’t changed in the past twenty-four hours.”
“I understand,” she said evenly. “But Julia and I have been close for—”
“And that is exactly why you can’t do it. Personal involvement is too risky, for you and for the other party.”
“‘The other party’? She’s my friend, Cruz.” At her side, Meredith’s hands clenched. “If something goes wrong—”
“Nothing will go wrong,” Cruz promised. “But you won’t be the one doing the job and that’s for the best. You and your dad made that rule yourselves and it’s a good one.”
A stormy expression came into her eyes, but a minute later, her shoulders slumped in defeat. She and her father had made the rules, and she was too smart to let her emotions outweigh common sense.
“All right,” she conceded, “but you have to tell me what you’re going to do.”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“There’s no figuring to it.” From the depths of the couch, Armando finally spoke.
His silences could stretch for days, so Cruz wasn’t surprised it’d taken him this long to join the conversation. Cruz looked at the Argentinian physician and raised an eyebrow.
“She gave you the answer already.” Armando tilted his beer bottle in Meredith’s direction, but his gaze stayed on Cruz. “You don’t have enough time to go about this your usual way. Ramirez is going to start his killing in a matter of weeks, maybe even days. When he’s done, he’ll go underground and you will have an even harder time finding the man. You need to do this one quick.”
“What’s your point, Armando?” Cruz’s impatience was clear, Meredith’s attitude making him unusually edgy.
“Let the wife kill him for you.”
Meredith was standing before Cruz even saw her move. “No! That’s not a possibility, Armando. Julia couldn’t handle anything like that.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. But that’s not what I meant. She can’t kill him—”
“How do you know that?”
“Dammit, Armando, I know, all right? I just know. Julia is different. She’s too fragile for that kind of thing—”
“That’s enough.” Cruz’s deep voice cut through the argument. “You’ve already done what I couldn’t and that’s get inside tonight. That’s all you’re going to do, though. This is my job and I’ll plan it myself.”

TWO HOURS LATER, Cruz was still thinking.
Sitting alone in his dark hotel room, he sipped his Club Colombia and stared at the newspaper article Meredith had left him. His only illumination came from the streetlamp outside the barely parted draperies, but he didn’t need more to see the small photo that accompanied the write-up.
Blond hair. Blue eyes. Straight nose. Full lips.
He emptied his beer then let the bottle slide from his fingertips to the floor beside his chair. Cruz knew her type inside and out because he’d seen them in every country he’d ever been in. From the plazas of Mexico City where he’d spent his childhood to the sandy deserts of the Middle East that he’d just left, they turned up. Women who owned the world, that’s how he always thought of them. Wealthy, self-confident, gorgeous. Meredith had implied that Julia wasn’t that way but Cruz had drawn his own conclusions. From experience.
Women like Julia Vandamme needed men like him to do jobs like this, but those kinds of women seldom allowed his kind of man to get too close. When the deed was done, so were they. Because men like Cruz weren’t pliable. And women who owned the world wanted men who did their bidding.
He stared into the darkness and considered his options. Because he was short on time, they weren’t as varied as he would have liked, but he’d been successful in tougher situations. Armando’s point could not be ignored, however. Miguel Ramirez was the largest drug dealer in Colombia and he was about to launch a bloody war to eliminate his remaining rivals. That roster included half a dozen carefully placed DEA men from the United States who’d been deep undercover for more than five years. They couldn’t be pulled or all the progress they’d made would be compromised. But they couldn’t be protected, either. Once the shooting started, their positions would be revealed. Getting rid of Ramirez was the only way to take care of the problem and keep their Intel network intact.
It was, to say the least, a touchy situation.
Armando’s words echoed inside Cruz’s head once more. Let the wife kill him for you.
Followed by Meredith’s fierce rejection of the idea. Julia is different. She’s too fragile for that kind of thing.
Julia Vandamme had gotten herself into a bad situation that could only get worse, but Meredith didn’t suffer fools. For that reason alone, Cruz knew there had to be more to the woman than what he assumed.
Still…
Cruz rose from his chair and parted the curtains to look outside. The lights of Bogota shimmered at his feet as brightly as the stars overhead. Somewhere out there, beyond the mountains that ringed the city, Miguel Ramirez and his beautiful blond wife slept. They had no idea their lives were about to be shattered.
Cruz stared out at the lights and pondered the best way to do so.

JULIA SET her alarm an hour earlier than usual, but something woke her before it had a chance to ring. Rolling over, she heard the sound again and realized it was a car’s engine revving. Immediately suspicious, she jumped from the bed, grabbed her robe and thrust her feet into her slippers. Running to her bedroom door, she jerked it open. The main house was lit up brightly, including the upstairs.
She hurried to the end of the walkway and walked quickly into the entry.
Miguel stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding Tomas in his arms as he spoke with Guillermo. All three of them turned as she came inside, Miguel’s surprised expression making it obvious that he hadn’t planned on her seeing them before they left.
She felt her whole body go tight with anger. He’d deliberately wanted her to miss saying goodbye to her son. In the beginning, she’d wondered what she’d done to deserve a man like him, but she’d come to realize she’d done nothing—he was simply a cruel son of a bitch.
Tomas began to squirm, but Miguel held on, returning to his conversation with Guillermo. As Julia got closer, however, Tomas took matters into his own hands. Wiggling away, the little boy half jumped, half fell from his father’s hold to race toward his mother. Her heart began to swell with love. She had to get her son out of San Isidro. He adored Miguel and mimicked everything he did. She couldn’t allow that to continue.
She swooped him up and he immediately began to talk excitedly. The words made little sense, except for “airplane” and “dog.”
Miguel dismissed Jorge and came to where they stood. Julia started to confront him about the early hour then she checked herself. Showing him how she felt just gave him more satisfaction.
“Tell your mother goodbye.” He smiled at his son to reassure him, but beneath the expression, his attitude was cold.
Tomas swung his face to Julia’s and gave her a very wet kiss. “Bye-bye, Mama,” he said. “I’m going bye-bye!”
She tried to hold on to him, but he escaped her embrace and ran to his father. “Go now, Papa? Go now?”
Somewhere in the middle of the night, Julia had started to worry. What if he didn’t bring Tomas back? The question was silly, she knew. Where would he take their son? This was home and Miguel would never leave San Isidro, but the possibility had begun to haunt her.
Despite her earlier stand, she felt herself weaken. Too much was at stake not to try. “Please tell me where you’re going, Miguel.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’m his mother. I need to know.”
She never touched her husband voluntarily. He looked down at her fingers, pale and slim against his black leather coat, then he raised his eyes to hers. “You’re acting foolish. The boy will be with me. Do you think I’d let any harm come to him?”
His words made sense but her anxiety only grew. “Promise me you’ll be back in two weeks?”
“Of course, we’ll be back. When my business is finished, we’ll return.” He looked down at Tomas and loosened his grip on the little boy’s fingers. “Tell Mama adios, Tomasito.”
Julia bent down and held out her arms, but Tomas was too fast. Laughing, he darted in and out of her embrace before she could even grab him. He then headed for the front door. With a final look of satisfaction, Miguel followed.
She told herself to stay put, but she couldn’t. She ran to the nearest window, the urge to cry overwhelming before the car pulled out of the driveway.
She watched the vehicle until it disappeared, but she didn’t allow herself the luxury of tears. Instead, spurred by her fear and last night’s conversation with Meredith, she let her long-growing resolve burn just a little bit hotter. She clenched her fists, her arms going tight underneath the silk gown she wore.
She was almost ready. Soon, very soon, she’d try again. Maybe even when they got back. She had nothing left to lose but her life.

THE NEXT DAY, Cruz waited.
Meredith and even Armando often complained about this part of what they did, but not Cruz. He’d been known to sit quietly, without moving, for hours at a stretch. After a while, the stillness entered his mind as well as his body. And no one knew how much he needed that kind of rest.
But today he would not reach that point. He’d seen the man and the child leave. Julia Vandamme would be on the move soon. She visited only one friend nearby. A woman named Portia Lauer. A British expatriate, the older woman had been friends with Julia for quite some time.
After an hour under the brush halfway up the mountainside opposite Julia’s home, Cruz’s attention was drawn by a movement at the villa. He peered through his binoculars to see the gates to the compound swing back and a white Toyota Land Cruiser emerge.
As always, there were two people in the vehicle. The sunroof was open and blond hair glittered in the bright morning sun, confirming what he expected. She was in the passenger seat, Guillermo driving.
Crawling from his lair, Cruz took the branches off his motorcycle and started it. In five minutes, he was waiting for them at the first turn. As the SUV reached the incline, the engine whined like a recalcitrant child. Cruz counted down the seconds, then he gunned the bike’s motor.
The SUV came into view, and Cruz took off.
A moment later, he drove directly into the vehicle’s path and slid beneath its wheels.

GUILLERMO CURSED and Julia screamed. She’d been thinking of Tomas and worrying about him, but she’d gotten a glimpse of the man on the motorcycle before he went down. The sound of the impact was sickening, the screech of metal on metal and the cry of the rubber drowning out every other thought.
Before the Cruiser had stopped, Julia unsnapped her seat belt. Fumbling for the door latch, she was about to climb out when Jorge grabbed her, pulling her back.
“No, no! Stay here,” he commanded. “It might be a trap!”
“Are you crazy?” Julia shook off his arm. “It was one man on a motorcycle and he’s underneath our car, probably bleeding to death. We’ve got to see if he’s okay!” Without waiting for Jorge’s reply, she pushed open the door again and tumbled to the road. She heard him curse again and call her back, but she ignored him.
Falling to her hands and knees, she looked beneath the chassis. Wedged against one wheel, the motorcycle was a tangled mess, the metal handlebars twisted against their front bumper, the leather seat ripped halfway off. She caught her breath, the smell of gasoline and rubber strong as her eyes searched the wreckage. She spotted the driver on the side of the road, his leather pants and jacket torn, blood oozing down his right temple.
Scrambling to her feet, Julia ran to where the man lay. By the time she got there, Jorge had opened his own door and was now standing over him.
Holding a gun.
“Put that away,” she cried. “Can’t you see he’s hurt?” She dropped to the man’s side as his eyes fluttered open.
“Are you all right?” Without waiting for his answer, she turned back to Guillermo. He still held the pistol. “Find me the first-aid kit,” she said. “It’s under the seat in the rear.”
Clearly displeased with the turn of events, Guillermo hesitated. “I don’t like the way this looks,” he said nervously. “Return to the truck and let me call for help. This isn’t good—”
“Don’t be an idiot,” she said from behind clenched teeth. “Go get me the damn kit.”
He backed up reluctantly and she focused once more on the injured man.
“Can you hear me?” She couldn’t believe he was conscious, much less aware. With no helmet to protect him, she would have expected much worse than the raw scrape on one temple. “Are you okay?”
His gaze flickered to the SUV behind her then fastened on her face. That’s when she realized his fingers had formed a handcuff around her wrist. He yanked her closer before she could react.
“Meredith sent me.” His voice was a rasp that grated down her spine. “Act like you know me and I’ll handle the rest.”

CHAPTER THREE
JORGE ROUNDED the fender and the man dropped his hand from her wrist. Blinking in confusion, Julia didn’t have enough time to make sense of his words before Jorge was at her side.
“Here.” He thrust a small white box in her hands, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the stranger by her feet.
Julia took the first-aid kit numbly. Meredith had sent this man to help her? Who was he? What could he possibly do? Had he really come from Meredith or was this some new kind of cruel trick Miguel had dreamed up to test Julia?
She stared at the man and he stared back at her, pushing a strand of his long, brown hair out of his face as he did so. His hazel eyes held a toughness she couldn’t ignore, their severity a match to the muscular body his shredded clothing revealed. Because of his body, he looked to be in his twenties, but the resolution in those eyes told her he was much older. Several days’ worth of stubble covered his lower jaw and she guessed his last bath had occurred about the same time as his last shave. He seemed poised, as if waiting for her to make the first move, but his look told her she didn’t have long.
Afraid something even more dangerous would happen if she stayed quiet, Julia spoke recklessly, spewing out the first thing that came into her mind. “I don’t believe this! What on earth are you doing here? My gosh, is this crazy or what—”
The stranger shot her an approving look then he struggled to sit up, extending a hand to Jorge as he did so. “Stan MacDuff,” he supplied, looking at Jorge as he spoke. “How ya doing?”
His hands at his side and his gaze never leaving “Stan’s,” Jorge spoke to Julia. “You know this man?”
“I’m Portia Lauer’s nephew from Austin.” His drawl became more pronounced as he seemed to mock the bodyguard’s concern. “That’s in Texas, you know.”
“Julia?” Jorge’s voice deepened as he said her name, his voice wary.
A wave of unease rolled over her as she glanced at Jorge, who continued, “I asked you a question. Do you know this man?”
The biker looked at her, as well. She sealed her fate with three words. “Yes, I do.”
Jorge’s suspicious expression deepened but, after a heart-pausing moment, he tucked his weapon into his belt and put out his hand. The injured man winced and let out a sharp exhalation as Jorge pulled him to his feet. Julia stood, too.
Ignoring the man’s exclamation of surprise, Jorge patted him down with efficient thoroughness. He finished and stepped back, his wariness marginally less visible. Stan winked at Julia before straightening his shirt. “You guys get real friendly around here mighty fast.”
“This is a dangerous place.” Jorge’s reply sounded like a warning instead of an answer. “It is necessary to take precautions.”
“That may be true,” Stan drawled, “but where I come from, we at least know each other’s names when we get that close to someone’s cojones.”
Julia felt as if she should be able to see the tension it was so thick. Her pulse racing, she spoke quickly. “Of course. Where are my manners? Stan, this is an associate of my husband’s. Jorge Guillermo.”
The two exchanged a handshake as Stan glanced toward the SUV. “Damn, Julia Anne, I’m sorry about your vehicle there. You okay?”
The use of her middle name startled her. He was trying to prove he knew Meredith.
“We’re fine.” Her voice was a little strained, and she hoped Jorge thought it was caused by shock from the accident. “But I’m not so sure about you. Why don’t you let me look at that scrape? It’s bleeding pretty badly.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that serious. We can clean it up at Aunt Portia’s. That’s where you’re heading, right? She told me you were coming over later today. Didn’t know I’d run right into you on the way!”
What on earth was happening? How did this total stranger know she was going to Portia’s? Julia hadn’t told Meredith her plans, had she?
“Portia’s is exactly where we were going,” she acknowledged. “But are you sure? I think a trip to the clinic might be in order first—”
“No way,” he interrupted. “It’s nothing but a scratch. Don’t think I can say the same for the bike, though.”
The three of them looked at the crumpled motorcycle.
“I could probably pull the cycle out from underneath if you could back up the SUV.” He turned to Jorge. “What do you think?”
Jorge’s expression remained guarded. Miguel surrounded himself with smart people and Jorge was no exception, despite his frequent employment as Julia’s babysitter. He and Miguel were as close as brothers and had been ever since soon after they’d met at the University of Texas where they’d both been business majors.
The connection registered immediately. There was no such thing as a coincidence. What did it mean that this man was from Austin, too? Her earlier apprehension returned. What was going on?
Interrupting her thoughts, Jorge handed her the keys. “Back up the truck,” he ordered. “I’ll help him remove the motorcycle.”
He didn’t trust her to be alone with the man—not even for the short time it would take to reverse the SUV. Or was it vice versa? While considering, she hesitated for less than a second, but Jorge noticed regardless.
“Is there a problem?” he asked sharply.
“No,” she said. “Absolutely not. I just don’t want either of you to get hurt. Is it safe to do this? We could call a wrecker—”
“We’ll be fine,” the biker said with a slow smile, his eyes locking on hers. “Just fine. Don’t you worry.”
Once, when she’d been six years old, Julia had left the back door of their Mississippi home open and a rattler had slithered inside. When she’d seen the snake in the kitchen a few minutes later, she’d screamed so loudly the yardman had run into the house without even knocking. He’d compensated for his lapse in protocol by dispatching the unwanted guest.
Since her marriage, she’d often thought she’d let another snake into her life.
Suddenly Julia had the feeling she’d done it again.

THE TWO MEN YANKED the remains of the cycle from beneath the SUV, the Harley’s fender screeching a shrill protest against the pavement. They proceeded to gather up the bits and pieces scattered around the road and put them in a pile to one side.
“There’s a decent mechanic in town,” Guillermo said when they finished. “But I don’t know if he’s good enough to handle this.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands with it. “He’ll need parts from Bogota. If I were you, I’d start looking for another mode of transportation.”
The bodyguard’s expression was neutral, but Cruz caught the undercurrent of his words. “Good idea,” he said in an equally indifferent way. “I’d hate to be stuck here without a way out. Poor planning, you know?”
They exchanged another look, then Julia beeped the horn. Leaning through the open window, she called out. “Are you finished?”
Guillermo nodded and started toward the driver’s side of the SUV. Julia got into the passenger seat, and Cruz took the back by himself. Cruz could tell the arrangement made the bodyguard nervous but he held his tongue, started the vehicle and pulled it back onto the road.
“Skip the market,” Julia ordered Guillermo, “and go straight to Portia’s. We need to get Stan’s scrape cleaned up as soon as possible. You can drop us off there then go back and buy the supplies we need.”
“That’s not how we do it, Julia. Miguel won’t like it—”
“It’s how we’re going to do it today,” she replied. “Because Miguel wouldn’t like a lawsuit, either. You were driving way too fast or you would have been able to stop in time.” She shot a look over her shoulder at Cruz as if for confirmation. “I’m sure Stan doesn’t have plans to raise a fuss but he certainly has grounds to do so.”
“The thought never crossed my mind,” Cruz answered in a deliberately lazy voice. “I’m not into the justice system myself. I think we oughta dump all the lawyers out to sea and settle our problems ourselves. I bet you agree with that philosophy, huh, Bill?” He reached over the seat and patted Guillermo’s shoulder in a friendly way. The touch was brief, but underneath his fingers, he felt the broad strap of a second holster. The body guard had two weapons, just as Cruz expected.
Behind the wheel, Guillermo grunted. Scattering children and dogs, old ladies and chickens, they wound their way through the narrow streets of San Isidro, a cloud of dust marking their passage. There were pockets of privilege and wealth that came close to resembling Miguel’s compound with its broadband Internet service and satellite telephones, but most of the city remained in the past. Cruz had been to Havana once and he couldn’t help but compare the two places.
There the clock had stopped when Fidel had taken over—the cars were straight from the fifties, few homes had televisions and even fewer had enough food for every member. Here in San Isidro, on the back streets anyway, time had stopped before then. The cars he saw were older and more beat-up and most of the homes had no electricity. Their definition of running water meant it was running in the street, not inside the homes.
They slowed before Portia Lauer’s home and Guillermo honked the horn. Under a red-tiled roof, white stucco walls gleamed in the bright sunshine while along the side of the house, rows of bougainvillea swayed in the breeze. In stark contrast to the street they’d just come down, the Englishwoman’s villa could have been featured in Architectural Digest.
Underneath the beauty, however, the same realities existed. Everyone had to get along and get by. A uniformed guard ran out and opened a set of large metal gates.
Clearly apprehensive, Julia Vandamme turned around in her seat to look at him. “How long have you been staying at Portia’s? She didn’t tell me she was expecting you.”
“She didn’t know I was coming. It was a surprise visit,” he said. “But I think she was happy to see me.” His laugh sounded rusty, even to his ears. “If she wasn’t, she put on a good act.”
“Portia’s always gracious,” Julia said, her eyes meeting his. “She’s a very special person. I think a lot of your aunt.”
Julia Vandamme didn’t know what was going on, but her message was obvious. If he had hurt her friend, Cruz could expect some trouble of his own. Although pointless, he was struck by her warning. Just looking at Julia, he would have made the assumption that she wasn’t someone who valued loyalty but he’d be mistaken. Maybe that explained her appeal to Meredith. That kind of devotion meant a lot to her.
The SUV pulled to a stop and Guillermo reached for the door handle.
“We’ll take it from here,” Julia ordered, stopping him with her voice. “There’s no need for you to bother.”
The bodyguard’s jaw twitched and he opened his mouth to protest, but Julia was already out of the vehicle. She slammed the door in his face, then turned to Cruz. He limped pitifully out of the car.
Julia reached out and touched his arm. “Can you walk? Should I go get help?”
“I’m fine,” he said stoically. “No problem.”
As if realizing what she’d done, Julia snatched her hand away from his arm and sent an uneasy glance toward the SUV. The bodyguard looked at them both then he put the truck in reverse and backed away. Only after the gates had closed, did Julia turn to Cruz.
“You’ve got ten seconds to explain who the hell you are,” she said evenly. “If the story isn’t a good one, you’re a dead man.”

“CAN WE GO INSIDE first?” The man in front of her took a step back and flinched again. “I don’t know how much longer my knee is going to hold.”
“Did you hurt my friend?” Ignoring his question, Julia tilted her head to the house behind her. “If you hurt Portia—”
“She’s fine,” he said. “She wants to help you, just like Meredith does. Just like I do, if you’ll let me.”
She stared at him, trying to judge the truth of his answer, but he gave her no more time. Limping, he headed for the front door. Short of screaming for the guard, there was nothing Julia could do but follow. Ever since she’d recovered from her last escape attempt, she’d been working out, but there was no way she could take on this man. He was more than simply tough looking, he really was tough and the coldness in those eyes of his told her he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her, either.
He rang the bell then opened the front door and called out. “Aunt Portia, it’s me. I’m home.”
Before his voice had finished echoing in the marble entry, Portia appeared at the top of the staircase. In her seventies, she’d always seemed like a timeless beauty to Julia, her silver hair shiny, her bearing elegant, her eyes bright. To anyone else, she would have appeared the same now, but Julia saw that she’d aged overnight. Gripping the railing with an unsteady hand, she started down the stairs. “Are you all right, Julia?” she asked.
“I’m fine, Portia.” Julia hurried to meet her. “But are you okay?” She took the older woman’s arm. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Oh, my goodness, child, no. Nothing’s wrong with me. Mr. Cruz is here to help you.”
Julia turned to the man who waited below, her eyes narrowing. “Mr. Cruz? Is that your real name?”
“Yes, it is.” He walked to where Julia and Portia waited, his limp gone. “My name is Jonathan Cruz and before you can ask again, yes, Meredith did send me.” His expression shifted slightly. “She said to tell you I’m a bueno gib, whatever in the hell that means.”
Julia kept her face neutral but with those two words, Meredith authenticated Jonathan Cruz in a way that left no confusion. She and Julia had made up the code words in college for guys they thought would be really good in bed. Using the term now for another reason, Meredith knew this would be the best way for Cruz to gain Julia’s trust. No one but the two of them even knew the foolish phrase.
Still, she hesitated. “Why would Meredith send you? If she wants to help me, why didn’t she come herself?”
“Let’s just say I have some special skills that Meredith doesn’t. We thought this would be the best way.”
Julia felt her pulse begin to race. Jonathan Cruz had already scared her, but now he was making her worried. “I don’t think I believe you.” She started to walk away from him. “I’m calling Meredith right now—”
He stepped to her side and stopped her, his fingers gripping her arm. “No phone calls. The lines are bugged.”
In reflex, Julia’s startled eyes met his.
“You’re just going to have to believe me,” he said. “After she saw how things were at the party, she wanted to do something to help you. She said she couldn’t stand by and let your husband ruin the rest of your life. She really did send me.”
“Well, if she did, she made a mistake.” Julia started to add more, then she stopped. Meredith didn’t know who she was dealing with—Miguel was ruthless. The only law he respected was his own and if she got in his way, Miguel wouldn’t hesitate to remove her.
“I’m sorry you went to so much trouble, but you can turn around and go back from wherever you came. I don’t need Meredith’s interference.” Still wary despite the code word, she kept her own plans to herself, only adding, “It’ll just make things more complicated. If Meredith did send you, then she’ll understand why your presence here isn’t helpful.”
“I’ve been given a job to do and until that job is done, I can’t leave San Isidro.”
“I appreciate the thought, but I take care of my own problems,” she replied icily. “I don’t want to be rescued.”
“That sounds good.” His drawl disappeared, along with his injury, and he spoke in a way that matched his hard, cold eyes. “But you’re going to think differently once you get in the jungle and your husband comes after you. You can’t just run away and expect a man like Miguel Ramirez not to react. He’ll come after you and won’t stop until the day he dies. I’m here to make sure that day arrives sooner than he’d like.” He stared at her flatly. “I’m going to kill your husband and you’re going to help me do it.”
Suddenly she felt as if her life had turned into a bad movie and all Julie could do was stutter. “Wh-wh…?”
Moving closer to the bottom stair, he repeated himself as if she’d asked him for the time of day. “I said I’m going to kill your husband. And you’re going to help.”
Julia turned in a daze and stared at Portia.
The older woman clutched Julia’s arm. “Come and sit down, Julia. I think you need to hear what Señor Cruz has to say.”
She let herself be led into the living room. The area was huge and it merged seamlessly with the patio outside. There were French doors between the two, but Julia had never seen them closed. At one end of the vast space, Portia kept cages filled with wild canaries. The birds were singing when they entered the room, their colorful wings flashing, their sweet voices mingling with the sound of the wind chimes Portia collected. There were dozens of them dangling outside, in the trees, on the patio, off the overhang of the roof.
Refusing the older woman’s urging to sit, Julia stood beside one of the couches in a state of shock. Jonathan Cruz took off his jacket and dropped it onto a nearby chair, then he walked to the unlit fireplace.
“I’m going to get tea,” Portia said. She gave the unshaven man a look that Julia wasn’t able to interpret, then left the room. Chita, Portia’s maid, scurried in with a basin of water, clean towels and antiseptic ointment. She dabbed at Jonathan Cruz’s face with an efficiency that said she’d done this sort of thing before. When she reached for the bandages, though, he shook his head.
She left and the birds continued to sing, but this time their songs were more subdued, as if they felt the tension in the air.
“Explain yourself,” Julia said to the man.
“You’ve gotten all the information you’re going to get,” he said. “The only question that remains is whether or not you’ll help me or get in my way.”
“Do you actually know Meredith or did she just give you the words to use?”
“I know her.”
“How?”
“That isn’t important.”
“It is to me.”
He made no further comment and Julia’s mind spun. Meredith had refused to say anything about her time at the CIA, but Julia knew it had ended on a sour note about a year after she’d married. Meredith and her father had started their company after that. Had Julia met Jonathan Cruz at the CIA? Had she really hired him to do this?
“If, and that’s a huge if,” she said finally, “you’re telling me the truth, why on earth would Meredith want to kill Miguel?”
“She’s trying to save your life.”
“I can do that myself.”
“Maybe so, but having some help wouldn’t hurt and she knows that. There’s always a need for people like me. Sometimes it’s the only solution.”
Julia could hardly speak. “Are you telling me Meredith paid you to come down here? That you’re some kind of…hit man or something?”
Instead of answering, he walked over to her. She wanted to back away from him, but she stood her ground. His eyes held flecks of gold as well as green and for the first time, she saw his scar. A long thin line ran from his right ear all the way down his neck before disappearing beneath his shirt.
“Meredith told me she wasn’t sure you knew who your husband really is, but I think you do. I think you must also know that you won’t survive once you leave here unless Miguel Ramirez is dead. You might get out of the jungle, hell, you might even get out of the country but if you do, you’ll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder because you know—” he stopped for emphasis and repeated himself “—you know that you can’t take away his son and expect him to just forget about it.”
“I understand the dynamics of my situation, Mr. Cruz. I don’t need you to explain them to me.”
“How do you intend to handle the problem?”
She felt herself flush. “I have to get out of here first. Then I’ll deal with Miguel.”
He shook his head. “You’ve got it backward. First you’ve got to deal with Miguel, and then you can get out of here. If you don’t, you’re going to end up dead. Maybe when you least expect it.”
He’d said nothing that she hadn’t thought of already, but Julia suddenly felt sick. She’d been too short-sighted. Again. His bluntness lifted the blindness that her determination had masked. Miguel would come after her. Forever. Or until he had Tomas back.
But kill him? Just like that? Could she stand by and let that happen?
She looked at Cruz. “You’re really serious, aren’t you?”
“Do I look like a man who kids?”
They both knew the answer to that question, but Julia was the one who spoke. “No, you don’t,” she admitted, “but you don’t look crazy, either. You have to be, though, if you think you can harm Miguel. We live in a fortress with too many bodyguards to count. He has weapons close by at all times. He keeps me and my son virtual prisoners. No one can get to Miguel.”
“I got to you,” he said with confidence. “I can get to him, too.”
He spoke with such assurance that she couldn’t help herself. She thought of what it would mean if he could really do what he was proposing.
She’d be free. Free to live her life again. No more endless questions about her activities. No keeping quiet when she wanted to scream. No more fear for Tomas and his future.
The thought of her son brought her back to earth with a crash. Help would be great, but the freedom she sought for herself and Tomas was too important to leave in the hands of a stranger. She’d trusted Miguel and look where that had gotten her.
“You’re nuts,” she said bluntly. “I’m not helping you do anything, much less kill Miguel.”

UNDER HIS BREATH, Cruz cursed Meredith. And then he cursed himself. He’d let her persuade him that the direct approach would be the one to use with Julia Vandamme. He should have done the job like he always did. On his own. Quietly. Simply.
Normally, Meredith wouldn’t have convinced him to go against his better judgment, but time was short. Armando had been right. Julia had become a shortcut Cruz had to take.
It didn’t matter, though. What was done, was done. Julia Vandamme knew the truth now, so he had to proceed the best way he could.
“You no longer have a choice in the matter,” he said. “If you don’t see things my way, I can pretty well guarantee you’ll be arrested for Miguel Ramirez’s murder. He is going to die and you’ll be the only one left for the policia to blame.”
She seemed to blanch, but it was hard to tell. Her ivory skin had lost most of its color at the start of their conversation.
“That sounds like a threat,” she said softly.
“It’s called the truth from where I stand,” he replied. “But the results are going to be the same regardless of what we call it. I’m going to come into your house and kill your husband. Unless you agree to help me out, you won’t know when and you won’t know how. You’ll be in the dark until the local uniforms arrive, find his body and throw your ass in jail. That will be the last anyone will ever hear about you.” He moved a step closer to her. “Unless you choose the alternative.”
“Which is?”
“Do what I ask when the time is right.”
“And in return?”
“I’ll help you and your son get out of the country.”
She licked her lips nervously, pulling his gaze to her mouth. “Meredith is my friend. She’d never put me or Tomas in danger like that. She’d get us out first.”
“Maybe so,” he answered harshly. “But Meredith isn’t here. I am. And I’m going to do this my way. All you have to decide is if you want to help me and escape, or if you want to stick around and gamble with your future. I’m very good at what I do, Mrs. Ramirez. You’d better think hard before you make your decision, because once it’s been made, there’s no going back. For any of us.”
“I hate Miguel, but killing him?” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Murder is something entirely different.”
“That’s not what you told Meredith. You said you’d kill him yourself if you could.”
“I did say that,” she conceded. “But in the heat of the moment we’ve all said things that might have been better left unsaid. Surely, you’re guilty yourself of what I’m talking about, Mr. Cruz.”
“Actually, I’m not. When I say I’m going to do something, it gets done.”
She looked at him, their impasse building, until he reached out and took a strand of her hair. Winding it around his finger, he dropped his voice. “I’ve heard the jail over in Cali is a pretty rough place but las rubias go over big everywhere. You’re pretty and young, thin and blond. You’d probably be able to cut some kind of deal along the way, but you’ll never see your kid again.”

CHAPTER FOUR
INCHES AWAY from Cruz, Julia tugged her hair away from his grip, then stepped back. “What kind of bastard are you?” she whispered, his words taking away her ability to speak normally.
“One who’s been hired to do a job,” he said. “Which I intend to complete, whether you participate or not.” Pivoting, he picked up his leather jacket, slipping his arms into the sleeves as he walked toward the front door. “I’ll give you two days, then I have to have my answer.”
“Two days? But Miguel’s gone,” she protested. “I can’t—”
“What do you mean ‘gone’?”
“He took Tomas and left this morning. He said they’d be gone two weeks.”
“Where’d they go?”
“I have no idea. He wouldn’t tell me.”
His jaw went tight. “Try harder.”
“I’m telling you the truth!” she cried. “I don’t have a clue where they went.”
A small silence built, then he spoke again. “Well, he’ll come back sooner or later. It’d be best to have our plans in place regardless. You’ve got two days.”
“But I need more time to make a decision like this! You can’t possibly do anything that quickly anyway.”
He slowly came back to where she waited. Her heart thrummed in response, every resource she had telling her to flee the danger he represented. She told herself she was being silly, but she thought that she could actually feel his energy as he drew near. He seemed to vibrate with an intensity that was barely contained.
“I can do anything I want to and I can do it at any time.” His voice was low and strangely pleasant. “You wouldn’t see me, you wouldn’t hear me, you wouldn’t have a clue that I had even been there. I’ll leave a body behind and that’s the only way you’ll know I was there.”
He lifted her chin with his thumb, forcing her to look at his face. An icy paralysis kept her from moving.
“There are probably worse things you could do than underestimate me, but I wouldn’t suggest you try it. You’ll end up very unhappy, I promise.”
She blinked then bluffed. “I’m living in hell right now. There’s nothing you could do to me to make my life any worse.”
“Are you sure of that?”
She opened her mouth to say yes then thought again.
Reading her hesitation as if she’d spoken it, he smiled coldly. “You look like a smart woman. Make the right decision and you’ll stay alive as well.”
He dropped his fingers and walked out the front door.
An hour later, despite Portia’s tea and explanations, Julia was still trembling. They’d covered everything, including Miguel’s disappearance with Tomas, but the conversation kept returning to Jonathan Cruz.
“I had to help him, Julia, please understand. He didn’t give me a choice in the matter.”
They were outdoors on Portia’s patio. Aided by the warm sun overhead and the carefully cultivated serenity of the garden, the older woman had recovered her composure, but Julia wasn’t sure she would ever regain hers. Hearing her teacup rattle against its saucer, she made a sound of disgust and put the china down on the table before her. After all Miguel had put Julia though, she would have thought she could have handled the situation better. She was shocked at how deeply Jonathan Cruz had managed to upset her.
Portia reached over and took Julia’s cold fingers. “Please don’t be angry with me.”
“Oh, Portia, I could never be angry with you.” Julia squeezed her friend’s fingers before letting them go. “I’m just confused and scared. Who is Jonathan Cruz? Could Meredith have really sent him here to kill Miguel?”
“He told you more than he told me, sweetheart. I know nothing else.”
Portia’s voice trembled and Julia said in sympathy, “He used you to get to me. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” she said. “And I didn’t mind because I love you and want the best for you.” Her blue eyes turned brighter in the sunshine. “Face the truth, Julia. With this man’s assistance, you might be able to leave.”
In Portia’s voice, Julia heard the hope the older woman no longer had for herself. She and her husband had come to San Isidro as part of a mission over thirty years before. When her husband had passed away two years ago, she’d gone back to London, but a month later, she’d returned to Colombia saying London was too cold and rainy. But Julia had understood the real reason. There was nothing in the U.K. for her anymore. The village had become her home; she could live here cheaply and her friends were nearby.
Her fear combining with her frustration, she pushed her chair back and stood. The muffled sound of a passing delivery truck slipped over the garden wall. When the noise died, Julia spoke flatly. “I don’t like him,” she said. “There’s something about Jonathan Cruz that’s not right.”
“But he can help you.”
“I could be better off on my own. Something tells me his aid will be costly.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure,” Julia said thoughtfully. “I just have the gut feeling that there’s more going on here than I know about.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to try to call your friend?”
“It’s just too risky. He said the phones could be bugged and he’s right.” Meredith might have developed skills and met killers at the CIA, but Julia was afraid her friend had no idea what she was getting into when she crossed Miguel. Julia couldn’t warn her, either, or the danger would increase for both of them. “I know they’re wired at home. I’m going to have to decide what to do on my own.”
“You’ll make the right choice.”
Julia wished she shared Portia’s confidence. “What if it’s a trap? What if he isn’t who he says he is? What if I trust him then something goes wrong?”
“You’re not asking yourself the real question.” Portia stood then rested her hands on the back of her chair, her silver hair shining in the bright light.
“And that is?”
“What if you don’t trust him and he proves to be your only hope?”

RETURNING TO the ratty hotel on the edge of town where he was staying, Cruz found a coded message waiting for him. Translating the note from Meredith, he cursed. Ramirez was moving faster than they’d anticipated, arranging meetings and setting plans, all in preparation to eliminate his competitors. Ramirez’s trip had to be a part of that, but if it was, why had he taken the kid? Dammit! The window of opportunity was narrowing fast and complications like this didn’t help things. How could he put his plan into motion if he didn’t even know where in the hell Ramirez was?
Throwing his backpack to the bed, he retrieved the expensive electronics he’d hidden before he’d left. He hadn’t lied to Julia about the listening devices he’d discovered. The house itself had not been bugged but he’d found several wiretaps. He’d left them in place and added his equipment to the mix. Portia’s house had been clean, though. It’d been a simple thing to hide his devices the first time he’d been there.
He grabbed his earphones and adjusted the volumes. The recorded voices of the older woman and of Julia were so clear, he felt as if he were still standing in the room with them.
He listened to the entire conversation, then let it play again. When it finished the second time, he ripped off his headphones, his uneasiness growing. It didn’t bother him that Julia Vandamme didn’t care for him, but he was in trouble if she hadn’t bought the story that Meredith had hired him. Without her cooperation he could get the task done, but with it, things would go much smoother. The lives of too many good men rested on Cruz’s shoulders for him to ignore the urgency that was building.
He walked to the window to stare outside, his thoughts returning to Julia Vandamme. Because he’d been watching her through the binoculars for a couple of days, he’d known what to expect and he didn’t have to wonder what she’d thought of his unkempt hair, his cheap jeans or his unshaven jaw. Along with the disgust, he’d seen the fear and suspicion in her eyes. He’d noted the reaction with his usual detachment but the more he thought about it, the more confused he became, especially after listening to the two women talk.
Julia was from a different world than Miguel Ramirez was, but the only difference between Cruz and Ramirez was that the Colombian knew how to camouflage his background and Cruz didn’t bother. They were both users of people who lived outside the boundaries of the regular world. The similarities he’d begun to notice between himself and Julia’s husband had not been surprising to Cruz. He’d often felt a deeper affinity for his target than for those who paid his fee but he’d never been bothered by that.
Until now.
He frowned then went back to the bed and started the recorder again. Freed from the earphones he’d been using, Julia’s elegant tones rang out, completely incongruent within the sleazy room in which he stood.
I don’t like him. There’s something about Jonathan Cruz that’s not right…. I just have the gut feeling that there’s more going on here…
Julia Vandamme looked like a rich socialite, but she didn’t act like one. Behind the smooth blond hair and bright blue eyes there was an attitude that didn’t match his expectations. In fact, he realized slowly, her facade covered the exact kind of determination and resolution that Meredith had. And Meredith was a killer.
He shut off the recorder, Julia’s words now etched in his mind as surely as if he’d voiced them himself.
Her instincts were good, he decided, very good. Surprisingly good. Dangerously good.
He might be in trouble in more ways than he expected.

EXCEPT FOR A PASSING NAP, Julia didn’t sleep for forty-eight hours. When the third day came and went and she’d heard nothing further from Cruz, she thought she might lose her mind. He’d said she had two days, so where was he? What was happening? She gave up and took half of a sleeping pill, falling into a state too restless to be called sleep yet too deep to be called anything else.
Despite her exhaustion and the medication, when the lights in her bedroom flashed on at 3:00 a.m., she opened her eyes to immediate awareness.
Halfway anticipating Cruz, she sat up in the bed and blinked in surprise. Her husband stood in the center of the room.
“Miguel!” She spoke his name almost guiltily. “You’re back! I wasn’t expecting you! Is Tomas in his room?” She threw off her tangled bed linens. “I want to see him—”
Miguel walked slowly to the edge of the bed, his expression freezing her in place. “You want to see someone, I’m sure, but I do not think it is your son you are missing.”
She drew in her breath so sharply he heard her.
“Don’t bother to act surprised,” he said coldly. “I know what you’ve been doing.”
As if a giant fist had reached inside her chest and squeezed it, her heart felt tight. Guillermo must have called and told Miguel about the incident with Cruz. Suspicious and paranoid already, Miguel had let his jealousy take flight.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered. “I wasn’t expecting you, much less anyone else. What kind of craziness have you dreamed up now?”
He tossed something onto the bed. Whatever it was, it landed lightly and she had to dig through the sheets until a flash of black caught her eye. Her fingers trembling, she picked up the book of matches. They were from a club, a club in Austin, Texas. Across a glossy black background, The Yellow Rose was spelled out in gold script letters. The outline of a nude woman could be seen behind the flower. Her stomach flipped over. She had no idea how he’d done it, but Jonathan Cruz must have had a hand in this. Had he planted the matches so Miguel would find them? But why? And how?
She looked up at Miguel, suddenly grateful that she hadn’t gotten out of bed after all. She wasn’t sure her legs would have held her. “Where did these come from?” she asked.
“Funny you should ask. That’s my very question for you,” he said. “I found them inside your purse. Perhaps you could tell me then we’ll both know.”
She dropped the matchbook and got out of the bed, reaching for her robe. Wrapping it around her, she spoke calmly. “I have no idea where they came from, Miguel. I didn’t make a two-day trip to Austin and fly back while you were gone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He took a step toward her and she flinched. He hadn’t actually hit her in quite some time, but some old habits couldn’t be broken.
“Tell me where you got those matches,” he growled. “Or I swear to God you’ll never see your son again.”
Her throat closed up, but she wouldn’t let him see her fear—it would please him too much and feed his suspicion as well. Instead, she concentrated on figuring out exactly what Guillermo could have told him. She made her decision quickly.
“I probably picked them up at Portia’s,” she said tying her robe. “Her nephew was here the other day and he’s from Austin. The three of us sat outside in Portia’s garden and visited. She had candles lit. I must have taken them by accident.”
Miguel’s fierce expression didn’t waver, but Julia caught the subtle shift. His shoulders seemed to ease and she could see he’d begun to accept her answer, albeit reluctantly. Her pulse still in a turmoil, she tried to change the subject. “Where’s Tomas? I want to see him—”
“I’m not staying. I didn’t bring him with me.”
She stared at Miguel dumbly. “What do you mean, you didn’t bring him? Where is he? Who’s taking care of him—”
“Tomas is safe,” Miguel interrupted. “That’s all you need to know.”
His words reminded her of Cruz’s threat and suddenly she was tired of men telling her only what they thought she needed to know.
“I want to know where he is, Miguel. What have you done with my son?”
“I’m going to check out your story, Julia. If you’ve lied to me, you’re in serious trouble.”
She ignored his attempt at intimidation just as he ignored her questions. “Please, Miguel! Please tell me where Tomas is—”
Without saying a word, he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Julia started after him with a muttered curse, then halfway across her bedroom she stopped. Confronting Miguel would gain her nothing, except possibly a black eye.
Swallowing her pride and choking back her concern for her baby, she turned away, her anger shifting into a resolve that would serve her much better. She would escape San Isidro and she would take her son with her. She’d do it by herself, too.
Picking up the book of matches from her bed, Julia tightened her fingers around it until the edges cut into the flesh of her palm, the pain a welcome reinforcement to her decision.
She didn’t know why Jonathan Cruz had come to her, but one thing was for certain; he wasn’t there to help her. The matches proved that.

WHEN SHE WOKE UP the following morning, the first thing Julia did was check with the housekeeper. Just as he’d said, Miguel hadn’t stayed. In fact, he hadn’t even spent the night. She let out a sigh of relief and then thought about her second concern—why hadn’t Cruz contacted her? Had Miguel done something to him? She worried most of the morning then she decided to focus on her escape plans. With a renewed sense of purpose, she headed to the gym Miguel had had installed inside the compound just for her.

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