Chapter Three
As Ruiz’s men led the way back to the restaurant, Laura steeled herself to act the part of Mark’s wife in front of Ruiz. ¡Por Dios! She had no choice but to continue this charade, but she had to plan her next moves. She couldn’t afford to think of anything but Tony. He was all that mattered.
Mark was nothing more than a stranger who’d crossed her path, not someone she could count on. There had been no one she could count on, not since her mother died of cancer. Shortly after that, her brother and then her husband were killed in action, leaving her to cope with her father’s unrelenting focus on Ruiz.
For a man like Mark, this was normal; this was how he lived his life, on the edge of danger. That had been obvious from the first time she saw him. He’d saved her from Ruiz, but she couldn’t count on someone so impulsive, someone who jumped into the thick of things to protect anyone. Men like that had short lives. Her husband and brother were proof of that. The world didn’t need another dead hero.
She considered the little she knew about Mark. Nothing really. He might have helped her, but stopping Ruiz from harassing her was more than likely his way of showing his strength to the ex-general, a way into his circle in order to complete his mission for her father’s intelligence agency. He didn’t know about Tony, or he would have said so.
His English labeled him an American, but he spoke Spanish like an Argentinean. Probably a mercenary with no loyalties to anything except the money he could earn. Only he didn’t act like a mercenary, not that she had any idea how one acted and, as far as she knew, her father had never hired one.
“Just let me do the talking,” Mark said as they stood on the front steps of the restaurant. He pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “To Ruiz, I’m Juan Marcos.”
Was he? Or was he really named Mark, no last name given? At this point, what difference did it make?
She nodded against his shoulder.
Inside the restaurant, tourists and vacationers packed the stools along the scarred wooden bar. The room-length mirror behind it made the place look both bigger and more crowded than it was. Ruiz, surrounded by several men, held court at a central table, one of his bodyguards close by. The people of Puerto Escondido knew of his power and saw the need to pay homage.
Laura wanted to turn and run. She was hopeless, for all her brave intentions. The only thing keeping her here was the knowledge that her son was so close. That, and Mark’s strong anchoring presence, his arm across her shoulders.
Ruiz spied them almost instantly. He smiled, that cold predatory smile, letting his gaze barely flicker over her before nodding at the guards who’d escorted them. The two pushed their way through a cluster of people to a back room, leaving her and Mark to wait while they went in.
Mark pulled her hand up, and before she could figure out what he was doing, kissed her knuckles. Surprised, she jerked her attention toward him.
“Don’t flinch from me,” he warned, a lover’s smile on his perfect lips. “Ruiz must see us as a couple, comfortable with each other.”
A couple. Yes. With Mark here, Ruiz would not dare try what he did before.
“He’ll see us as a couple,” she swore, his words focusing her. She would get Tony back. That evil, contemptible man would not stop her.
Carolina, who was talking with a customer at the bar, sent Laura a questioning look, excused herself, and rushed toward them.
“Laurita ¿qué haces aquí? I told you not to come back tonight.”
“Don Ernesto asked us,” Laura replied. “It will be fine.”
“He can bring me trouble if he is displeased with you or your husband.”
“There will be no trouble, Carolina,” Mark assured the woman.
“I am sorry she cannot work the party tomorrow—”
“Carolina,” one of the waiters interrupted. “Pablo is threatening to quit.”
“No trouble,” she warned with a shake of her index finger. Then she rushed off to deal with the latest emergency from her high-strung chef.
“What is she talking about? What party?” Mark whispered against Laura’s ear.
“I’ll explain later.”
“Explain now,” he insisted, squeezing her shoulder.
“Vamos,” a third bodyguard said, directing them to follow Ruiz into the back room where the other two stood guarding the door, hands behind their backs.
Laura looked up to see the frustration in Mark’s eyes before leading her inside the private room. The guards closed the door behind them. Exuding confidence, he shook hands with Ruiz.
Of course. She’d been right. Mark’s intention all along had been to meet with Ruiz. That was what her father hired him to do. Prove he was worthy of being her father’s inside man. The fact that he’d stepped in to save her might have been instinctive, but it had also been a deliberate move to gain Ruiz’s respect.
After living with her father’s obsession with Ernesto Ruiz, she didn’t need anyone else in her life with this man as his agenda. Mark said he was taking her out of the country, but despite that, it looked like he’d do whatever had to in order to maintain his connection to Ruiz. If he knew why she was here, he might even risk Tony for his mission. She refused to gamble her son’s life by trusting him.
And just because Ruiz appeared to admire Mark’s strength, it didn’t mean things would go as he hoped. She had to turn things to her advantage.
***
Mark took Laura’s hand immediately after shaking hands with Ruiz. One more move to add to his cred as a possessive husband. If he could keep her safe, he might still be able to pull off what he and Langley wanted. The fact that she believed he worked for her father was a plus.
“Sit.” Ruiz said. “Your wife, too.” Turning toward another man already seated at the table, he added, “This is who I spoke of. Juan Marcos.” He followed that with a glance at Laura. “And his wife.” Gaze back on Mark, he said, “Marcos, this is Diego Gonzalez. Diego is my advisor.”
Middle-aged, of average height and weight, Gonzalez dressed casually in nice slacks and a sports shirt. According to what Mark read in the CIA’s dossier, the man, a civilian with questionable behind-the-scenes political experience, had risen quickly in Ruiz’s organization. What wasn’t clear was how many of Ruiz’s tactics were Gonzalez’s rather than his boss’s. But clearly, Gonzalez had become the trusted aide.
Mark pulled back a chair for Laura to sit, then took the one closest to Ruiz. He didn’t trust the son of a bitch to even look at her.
“We will speak English now,” Ruiz said to Gonzalez. “Marcos is the sort of man we are looking for. We spoke earlier, he and I. I want to use him tomorrow. He will help you.”
Gonzalez studied Mark with an assessing eye. “We know nothing but what is in the too-brief information I gathered.”
Of course Ruiz had the resources to run a quick background check. The Juan Marcos identity he’d used for years had been protected, so any digging shouldn’t cause problems, up to a certain point. But the CIA had not given Juan Marcos a wife.
“That is so,” Ruiz replied with a surprisingly amiable expression. “But let us say he has demonstrated his powers of persuasion.”
The sound of the door opening caused Ruiz to look up and beyond Mark. “Ah, Margarita,” he said standing.
Mark stood as a woman joined them. Ruiz’s second wife, not the mother of his adult children. She looked younger in person than in her photographs, much younger than her husband. Small, almost frail, she smiled, an effort that rose no further than heavily painted lips. A Latin steel magnolia with none of the sweetness of the flower.
“Please sit, amor.” Ruiz pulled out the chair next to him. “We were waiting for you to discuss the plans for tomorrow.” Shifting his attention to Mark, he indicated he should sit again. “Margarita, this is the man I spoke about.” To Mark, he said, “My wife.”
Margarita Ruiz gave Mark a barely perceptible nod. She studied Laura for a few moments before looking back at Ruiz.
“Our investigation revealed several problems with the authorities here in San Mateo,” Ruiz continued. “Accusations that involved drugs and guns.”
“Those charges were never proven.” Mark remembered to tinge his English with a Spanish accent.
Ruiz smiled.
“My husband,” his wife said, “tells me you worked in security for a large contractor.”
“Keller Associates. They have many interests throughout South America,” Mark replied. The year he’d just spent stateside had been arranged to pass muster as working for Keller in neighboring Monte Blanco. The founder of Keller, who’d served with him in Afghanistan, had agreed to come up with a fictitious legitimate stint with his company.
“You are no longer with Keller because of a problem at one of their work sites,” Gonzalez stated.
Beside him, Laura shifted. Mark took her hand beneath the table. She didn’t pull away.
“Yet they were very complimentary of his work, Diego.” Ruiz looked from Gonzalez to him. “Despite his... How did Keller say? Ah, yes. A tendency to go too far with your interrogations.”
So Ruiz had someone speak with Keller. Thank God Jack Keller knew how to play things. A background that would show Mark willing to do anything proved he was the sort of man Ruiz hired.
“Can you fly an airplane?” Gonzalez crossed his arms.
Mark shook his head. “I fly helicopters.” He didn’t want to appear too perfect for Ruiz’s needs. Besides, he didn’t fly planes.
“His experience and his English will serve us well, no, Ernesto?” Margarita commented.
“But he cannot fly a plane,” Gonzalez said, “so no matter how good his English, he will not replace Sandoval.”
“Sandoval was a mistake, Diego,” Ruiz said, “one we cannot afford again. That is why I am making this choice, not you.”
Christ. Victor Fuentes, Mark’s San Matean contact who was using the alias Victor Sandoval, had been made. What the hell happened? He had to find out. Get word back to Fuentes’s agency. Mark forced himself to relax.
Gonzalez took the reprimand in silence.
“You must understand,” Ruiz said. “I value loyalty above all. Jack Keller assures me you were a trusted employee until you disobeyed his orders and let anger rule your actions. I have use for your skills, but I control them. You will do as I say. Unlike Keller, I deal harshly with problems.”
Mark met Ruiz’s stern gaze. “You said the work you have for me will be worth my while.”
“To begin, it is a minor thing, really,” Ruiz replied. “Verifying the names on a guest list.”
“I don’t work as a secretary,” Mark said.
“This particular job requires more firmness than a secretary might possess.”
“There’s a security aspect?”
“Yes,” Ruiz replied. “I am having a party, around thirty guests, both men and women. These are people who do not know me well. I am afraid word of my plans may have gotten out. There may be uninvited guests who attempt to attend.”
“Gate crashers,” Mark said.
“That is such an interesting English expression ¿no? Such a violent phrase.”
“Will this require violence on my part?” Beneath Mark’s hand, Laura’s fingers tensed.
“I am counting on you to avoid interruptions. You will receive a bonus if you keep such things away from my guests.”
“And if they cannot see these things?”
Ruiz laughed. “The perfect answer. You and I, Marcos, we will have a very easy time of it.”
“Don Ernesto, there is no record of this man’s marriage,” Gonzalez said.
Mark turned toward Ruiz’s man. “We were married in Argentina. I have not registered the marriage in San Mateo. Our children are there.”
Silence ruled the table for a moment before Gonzalez spoke. “It is dangerous to presume without taking the time—”
“We do not have the luxury of more time,” Ruiz said with a sharp bite. “I have checked with my contacts. After the debacle of Sandoval, I will say mine are more reliable than yours.”
Gonzalez scowled.
Given the time to do a complete background check, Juan Marcos’s cover might not hold. But with Sandoval out of the picture, this could be the only chance Langley or San Matean intelligence had to infiltrate Ruiz’s operation.
Except first, Mark had to get Laura to someone who could take her to safety. If he could get his hands on a burner cell, he could call one of the men he trusted. Not Ethridge though. Not yet. The CIA spymaster would order him to continue with the mission and forget about Laura. “What do I get out of this?” he asked.
“Immediately, enough to buy your wife some comforts. If you do well, you will have a permanent job which will allow you to live better and bring your children to San Mateo,” Ruiz replied.
“How much?”
“What Keller says he paid you.”
Mark looked at him, reading the man. What would Ruiz expect from someone like the fictitious Juan Marcos, tough guy? “That will not buy my wife much.”
“How much then?” Ruiz asked
“Double,” Mark said.
Ruiz laughed and countered. Finally, they agreed and Ruiz said, “You will come to my home tomorrow, no later than nine. Gonzalez will show you what needs to be done.”
Mark stood and tugged on Laura’s hand. He could have sworn her fingers trembled. She stood, but resisted his attempt to lead her away from the table.
“Señora, Don Ernesto,” she said softly, using a highly deferential tone, her English laced with a Spanish accent. “I would be honored to help my husband make your party a success.”
What the fuck? Mark forced himself to keep his eyes on Ruiz and his wife.
“Oh?” Margarita said, her expression bored. “What could you possibly do?”
“You can ask Carolina.” Laura rushed her words. “I have much experience in banquet preparation. Carolina’s clients who have used my services have been very pleased.”
It all made sense. Her reluctance to leave, her insistence that he go on. Carolina’s mention of a party tomorrow. She wanted to work Ruiz’s party. What the hell was she up to? She couldn’t possibly hope to kill the man.
“Querida,” he said quickly, “I am sure Doña Margarita has all the help—”
“Carolina has mentioned the waitress who works well with her chef,” Margarita Ruiz interjected. “Why not,” she said. “We will see what you can do to make our gathering a success.”
***
Laura breathed a sigh of relief even in the face of Margarita Ruiz’s cold scrutiny. Pulse thudding heavily, she listened to Ruiz’s young wife, trying desperately to focus on the orders the woman was giving. She’d gotten what she wanted. She should be happy, she should be thrilled.
Her knees threatened to buckle.
Then finally she and Mark were dismissed. He pulled her outside, down the veranda steps, and onto the beach.
“Not a word,” he warned when she asked him to slow down. “Not one damn word.” He led her across the wide expanse of sand to the shore.
In contrast to the man pulling her along, the Pacific was calm tonight, the waves lapping gently at the beach before washing back to the dark ocean. Overhead, the sky stretched out like a star spangled dome. A light breeze blew her ponytail against her face.
“The party at Ruiz’s,” he said once he stopped. “That’s what Carolina was talking about, that’s why you wouldn’t leave. What the hell are you thinking? There’s no way you can kill Ruiz.”
“Kill him? I don’t want to kill—”
People burst out of the restaurant doors. Their laughter carried in the wind. Mark pulled her into his arms. Surprised, she pushed against his chest.
“Relax. No one can hear us, but Ruiz has eyes everywhere,” he warned with his arms around her waist. “If you don’t want Ruiz dead, then why?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want him dead,” she answered in a rush. “I would be happy if he died, but I don’t want to kill him.” But if he hurt Tony— “My father hired you to get in with Ruiz, didn’t he?”
“That’s not what we’re talking about,” he replied, impatience evident in the tension of his voice. “I told you, you have to go. I can’t risk you—”
“You have nothing to do with my risks.”
“The hell I don’t,” he muttered, then took a shallow breath. “The only thing you can do is get out of the country. If Ruiz recognizes you, if any of his guests recognize you, you’ll be arrested. Do you have any idea what will happen then?”
“You don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t,” he said pulling her so close her breasts were pressed against the unyielding hardness of his chest. For anyone watching, they looked like lovers. “Let me enlighten you. After Ruiz does what he wants to you, you’ll go to prison. There will be many men worse than Ruiz there. Dirty, brutal men.”
“You must listen—”
“Think, Laura.” His tone softened, his embrace eased. “If you’re captured, your father will turn himself in. That’s what they want.”
“This is not about my father.”
He stepped back, but kept his arms around her waist. “Then why in God’s name are you doing this?”
Because she didn’t have a choice, hadn’t had one from the moment Ruiz took Tony. Now she had to make a decision. Either tell Mark the truth, or make up something. Oh, God. If she could only be sure of the consequences.
Even though she’d been scared to death, Mark had handled Ruiz with ease. He’d protected her. He wanted to get her to safety… Maybe if he knew…. She might have a better chance of finding her son. Wouldn’t she?
“Explain,” he demanded.
Did she need someone like him? Maybe.
If he hadn’t been kind, if he hadn’t proven his ability to handle tough situations, she wouldn’t even consider telling him. But he had.
She took a breath. Unable to decide. Terrified. Either way, her son’s life was at stake. A vision of Tony, scared, flashed in her head. “My son.”
“What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I shouldn’t have—
“Yes, you should. What about your son?”
“Ruiz kidnapped my six-year-old,” she blurted. There. Done. “I shouldn’t have brought Tony back to San Mateo. We live in the States, but I brought him to see my father. I hoped… Never mind what I hoped.” She darted a glance around to make sure no one was nearby to overhear. “When soldiers were sent to arrest my father, he was gone. They left, but later that day, Ruiz’s men came to the house. My father still wasn’t there, but Tony was home with the servants. When…” Her voice caught. “When they didn’t find my father, they took my son and Esperanza, the housekeeper who’s been with the family for years. Esperanza’s son, who does odd jobs for my father, followed, but lost them. They have a cousin who works for a neighbor of Ruiz’s, there in the city. The cousin saw Esperanza and Tony that afternoon at Ruiz’s house.”
“He was sure it was your son?”
“The cousin has a boy Tony’s age. The boys play together. He knows Tony.”
Mark looked around and, voice lowered, said, “This Esperanza was taken with him?”
“Yes. That’s the only comfort I have. She’s with him. She loves him.”
“You’re sure they were taken to Ruiz’s house?”
“Yes, but they only stayed briefly. The SUV Ruiz uses came and got them. They went to the airport and boarded a small private plane. Tony has to be here. Ruiz can hide anyone at this compound.”
“Have any demands been made?”
She shook her head, her throat tightening until it was impossible to talk. She knew the logic of it. Why would Ruiz take Tony if he wasn’t going to use him to get to her father?
“No one demanded that your father hand himself over in exchange for freeing Tony?” Mark asked.
She cleared her voice. “No. I expected that, so I stayed in the city, at the home of a cousin of my father’s mayordomo. His butler. The order for my arrest was already public.”
“Was someone at your house?” Mark asked.
“Yes. The mayordomo stayed there. He never left. There was never a word.”
“You trust him and the others?”
“Absolutely.” She nodded.
“Are you and your son Americans?”
“Yes.”
“Have you contacted the American Embassy?”
“So they can plead with a man who’ll deny he’s done this? Or worse, arrange some sort of dramatic military rescue?” She blew out a breath. “No. Either option endangers Tony.”
“Are you in contact with any of the opposition?”
She gave a short bitter laugh. “I don’t care about politics. I just want my son.”
“So you didn’t contact any of your father’s friends?”
“I spoke with—” No. She couldn’t tell him who. He’d probably agree if he knew who. “I hoped someone I know could help but he can’t.” Because like others, he was more concerned with saving the world rather than saving one child. “He will help get us out of the country.”
“And that’s enough?”
“Of course not, but there’s nothing he can do until I find Tony.”
Mark looked grim. “This so called friend sent you here, on your own?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say something disparaging about men, politics and power, but she knew it would be foolish. And pointless. “He told me to hide, to be patient. But I can’t wait. This is the best place to look for Tony. He has to be here. I will find him.”
Two couples walking toward the restaurant strayed closer to the rolling waves before heading away. Mark held her gently. And even though the embrace was all for show, it made her feel secure. She hadn’t felt secure since Tony was taken.
“You think you can just wander the compound?
“My husband is dead. My father can’t help. That leaves me,” she replied.
“Have you lost your mind?” He tilted her face up, his fingers warm against her skin.
“Do you have children?”
“No, but it’s crazy to think—”
“Then you can’t understand what it’s like.” She met his gaze. “I have to find my child.”
He stepped back. “If they capture you—”
“They have no idea who I am. I told you, the picture they’re using of me isn’t what I look like now. The stories in the papers all refer to me as Isabel, my first name. If Ruiz hasn’t recognized me so far, he won’t when I’m just a servant in his house.”
Movement drew their attention to the restaurant. Diego Gonzalez, Ruiz’s man, looked at them as he left. Mark slipped his fingers to the back of her head, forcing her to face him.
“Don’t you understand? If anything goes wrong—anything—you’ll be arrested. You don’t want to go to prison in San Mateo. Nothing can save you from what will happen there.”
“No, you don’t understand.” She locked eyes with him, her hands on his shoulders. “This is my son’s only chance.”
***
Her son’s only chance.
Her husband hadn’t stood a chance. Mark clenched his jaw at the memory.
Four years ago, while still a Green Beret captain working undercover as Juan Marcos, a low-level gun trader, he learned that three San Matean Rangers had been captured by Primero de Mayo terrorists. His request to infiltrate the encampment on a reconnaissance mission had been refused. He disobeyed orders, made it into the compound undetected, and found a bloodbath. The three men, including José Antonio Iglesias who’d once saved his life, who told Mark he’d lived his life with purpose, died.
The job had become Mark’s purpose. A crusade, his sister claimed, and blamed their father, a career diplomat who’d taken him along on trips to war-torn countries. Mark saw how the weak were oppressed by the powerful, how all the talk in the world couldn’t stop the violence. Joining the army had been his solution. He’d done some good. But bottom line, those men didn’t survive.
He couldn’t shake off the way José Antonio Iglesias died. And his last words. They haunted him.
He’d gotten out of that encampment and expected to be hauled on his ass for insubordination and disobeying a direct order, but it hadn’t happened. Probably because Jonathan Ethridge, the CIA’s liaison with Special Forces who’d recruited him when he left the army, intervened. Ethridge wanted him to continue as Juan Marcos, gunrunner. He did, even after leaving the service.
As a CIA special ops officer, he’d gone in and out of San Mateo with more operational freedom until he was shot on the same day another general died, leaving a power vacuum in the San Matean military that Ernesto Ruiz filled, power he carried with him to his civilian life.
“Do you understand?” Laura repeated, dragging him back to the present.
Gonzalez kept his attention on them as he walked toward the restaurant parking lot. Mark held Laura closer. “Smile,” he said. “Mean it.”
“I see him,” she whispered against his shoulder.
“Is there any chance he’ll recognize you?”
“He hasn’t, or he would have alerted Ruiz. My name, the picture—”
“I know,” he replied. “First name listed, not Laura, old picture.”
“There’s no reason for Gonzalez to have anything to do with me,” she added.
But some reports said Diego Gonzalez picked the targets for Ruiz’s wrath. And for the methods. Ruiz went after the families of anyone who opposed him. He would continue with manipulation and intimidation unless someone stopped him. God only knew what he’d do to an innocent child.
“We’ll find your son,” Mark said.
The restaurant doors swung open and Ruiz and his wife stepped out. The retired general turned toward them, tipped his head and saluted. Mark responded, hugged Laura, and then pulled back marginally.
“You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do,” he said, his attention on Ruiz.
“Yes,” she whispered her face only inches from his, their pose one intended for Ruiz and his wife to see.
Mark felt scorched by her determination. By her.
She had no idea who he was or who he worked for. Top Secret was stamped on every part of his life. He’d always hated lying to civilians, using them to further what he had to do. But it was different with her. Because of his history with José Antonio Iglesias.
Now that man’s only son was at the mercy of this bastard.
And Mark couldn’t tell Laura any of it because it would mean divulging classified secrets. Besides, if Laura found out what happened in that blood-soaked encampment, would she trust him with her son’s safety?