Chapter Five
As they neared Ruiz’s compound, Laura realized she’d been too focused on Tony and how much to tell Mark to pay attention to the obvious. He had secrets—beyond his last name.
Despite his promise—more of a pledge—to help her, he’d looked… Distant, as if he were thinking of something or someone else. Her father’s man, whether agent or mercenary, was here for more than an assignment. Was it somehow personal? Maybe he’d lost someone, a close friend or family in a similar circumstance? That made him dangerous to her and Tony because if he had to choose between Tony and his own goals, which would he choose?
But it was too late to question or doubt. They stood before the wrought iron gate of the servant’s entrance to Ruiz’s house. No turning back now.
The compound sat a good way from the beach to avoid storms and high tides. Other homes, equally as big and ostentatious, lay scattered across the landscape, none too close to the other. Laura understood the rich. Their privacy was sacrosanct. And for Ruiz, this was a place he could hide the worst of his deeds.
She and Mark went in through the gate between the house and the garage. A long alley opened onto a small servant’s patio which led to the kitchen, the washroom and a servant’s bedroom and bath. She was finally here. She would finally find Tony. She looked around for any signs that a young boy might be around, even knowing Ruiz wouldn’t keep her son where he could be seen.
A middle-aged woman dressed in a navy blue skirt, matching navy blue cardigan and white blouse led them into the kitchen. She waved Laura toward a chair while she took Mark through a swinging door to the dining room.
Laura caught glimpses of the interior of the house as other servants opened and closed the door. Growing up, she’d seen plenty of wealthy homes, but nothing had prepared her for what she saw inside Ernesto Ruiz’s house.
It glittered. Literally. Chandeliers, gilt framed mirrors, sparkling marble floors, all competed to be the most outstanding feature of the house. What could have been a luxuriously attractive home with touches of warmth and color came across as cold and distancing. A display of wealth and power.
“I am Rosa Hernandez.” The woman who’d led Mark away came back into the kitchen. “The household staff answers to me. I have set aside special clothing for you. You will come with me.”
“I work for Carolina and will assist Pablo. This,” Laura indicated the black jeans and T-shirt with the restaurant’s logo on the front, “is what I wear when I help with the catering service.”
“That will not do,” Rosa Hernandez replied with what sounded like a sniff. “While you are here, you will represent Doña Margarita, as we all do. You will do as I say. Come, you will change.”
The woman took pride in the lady of the house. Her loyalty would make her watch Laura closely. There had to be a way to humanize their interactions, to make the woman less of a watchdog. If this continued, she would never get away to search the compound.
“La casa es bella,” Laura said, hoping to connect somehow with the stern Senorita Hernandez. “You are lucky to work in a beautiful house like this.”
Rosa had no reply.
“Have you worked here long?” Laura asked, determined to get some response. They walked across the small patio to the servant’s quarters.
Rosa glanced back at her, but kept walking. “I have been with Doña Margarita’s family for years.”
“But this house is new, is it not?”
“She also has a house in Ciudad San Mateo.”
“A house in the city?” Laura added breathless surprise to her question.
“Of course. Don Ernesto gave this house to Doña Margarita as a wedding gift.”
“It is beautiful,” Laura said. “Have they been married long?”
“Why do you ask, muchacha?” Rosa demanded, turning on her. “Do not think you can interest Don Ernesto. Doña Margarita deserves loyal—”
“No, Señorita Rosa, do not think such a thing of me,” Laura said quickly. The last thing she wanted was for this woman to think Laura was after Ernesto Ruiz. “My husband, he’s all I care about. I’m only here because I want to do a good job. I asked because Don Ernesto and Doña Margarita, they are like movie stars ¿no? Rich and beautiful.” She sighed, hoping she sounded dreamy and foolish. “They have everything they want. It’s a wonderful life.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s hard work to achieve what they have. Doña Margarita had to give up many things she wanted—” The older woman stopped herself, her expression one of guilt. “I am speaking out of turn.”
“I can tell you care about Doña Margarita. She is so beautiful. Don Ernesto is mature ¿no? But he is handsome.” Rich and powerful and murderously evil.
“Vaya, looks are nothing. Even you should know that, muchacha.”
“Is he unkind to her?” Laura asked in a horrified whisper.
“Do not ask such questions,” Rosa replied, the bite back in her tone.
They reached the servants’ quarters. Rosa opened the door to one room. Boxes lay stacked one on top of the other.
“You have many things, Señorita Rosa.”
“These are not my things. My room is in the main house. We are returning to the city this week. Doña Margarita did not want boxes in the house while the guests are here.”
Did that mean they were taking Tony back, too? Please, God, no. She had to find him here, now, or he’d disappear into the capital.
“If you leave, there will not be enough work here for me,” Laura said, emphasizing disappointment. “Does Doña Margarita need help in the city?”
“If you work well, she will notice. If she likes what she sees, she will take you with us.” Rosa picked up a gray dress from the single bed and frowned. “Lo siento.” I’m sorry. “It’s big.”
Laura took what turned out to be a servant’s uniform and held it up to herself. It wasn’t just big, it was enormous.
“This will not do.” Rosa spun around, jerked open a closet door and tugged at something. Turning back to Laura, she smiled, more a twitch of her lips, and held out something white. “This apron will make the waist tighter.”
The smile was the first hint of warmth in Rosa. Laura had to stay on the woman’s good side. “Gracias, Señorita Rosa. I will enjoy serving Doña Margarita.”
“The guests will arrive this afternoon. Pablo should be here now. You will help him in the kitchen until Don Ernesto or Doña Margarita call for you.”
“I am to help Pablo. Why would they call for me?”
“There are special guests. Don Ernesto may ask you to serve drinks.”
She could do that. She would handle whatever Ruiz tried. She hadn’t been prepared before. He deserved more than a slap, but she wouldn’t make another stupid mistake.
She’d crawl on her knees, beg—do anything—if it meant Tony could be safe.
***
“Raise your arms.”
Mark complied with what had to be the old tailor’s one hundredth command to twist or turn as the man adjusted and pinned the black jacket to fit. He hadn’t been put through anything like this since he’d left home. Well, left his father’s house. It had only been home because his sister was there. Being fitted for tuxes hadn’t fallen in line with his job description since he’d joined the army, then the agency. Good thing, too, since his goal had been to stay as far away as possible from anything that required wearing a tux ever again. Or mingling with just the right people. Things he hadn’t been able to avoid while growing up.
“Lower them,” the tailor said.
Mark did as he was told after loosening the tie and tugging at the shirt collar. All he needed was a chance to search the compound. He was sure Tony wasn’t in the house because he’d seen both floors and all the rooms except Ruiz’s office. If he could get into the office, he could tick it off his list and might be able to find something that told him if the boy was in one of the other buildings or ever had been. He might even find something that tied Ruiz to Primero de Mayo.
The tailor buttoned the jacket.
“Is the gun under his arm?” Gonzalez asked from the door way.
“It is well hidden ¿no?” the tailor replied.
That was the point of all this. Ruiz wanted him armed, but didn’t want his guests to see his new muscle packing heat.
“While you finish the jacket,” Gonzalez said, “he will come with me.”
So far, Gonzalez had managed to avoid talking directly to him. Obviously, he was not happy Ruiz had hired him.
“Vamos,” he ordered, as Mark removed the still-pinned tux jacket. Gonzalez led the way down the hall, his footfalls muffled by thick, cream carpet. Everything in the house screamed money. Gonzalez opened the door to Ruiz’s office.
An immense dark oak desk inlaid with bits of shell and carved with Inca symbols filled one side of the room. Behind it, a wide window overlooked the gated entrance with its circular drive. The ocean view lay on the other side of the house, so this was the perfect vantage point to see anyone driving up from the road. Leather chairs and a matching couch surrounded a glass topped coffee table.
A split-screen monitor on a credenza surveilled the gated entrance, the patio and beach, and maintained silent vigil of all the buildings in the compound. Six cameras were strategically placed to see anyone moving. No way to search the buildings and remain undetected unless the cameras or the monitor were off.
Gonzalez took a sheet of paper from the desk. “I’ll have the list of guests. You will stop anyone not on it.”
“Don Ernesto expects someone to come uninvited?” Mark turned the surveillance monitor toward himself as if only marginally interested.
Gonzalez looked annoyed at the question. “He told you this yesterday.”
“With this equipment, wouldn’t it be better for me to watch the monitor to be sure no one comes in another way?” Maybe he could be posted here. That would give him a chance to search the office for anything linking Ruiz to the terrorists or something to indicate what he’d done with Tony Iglesias.
“You’ll have an ear piece.” Gonzalez ignored the question. “I’ll watch the monitor. I’ll let you know who must be stopped. You will take this person to the garage. I will show you.”
Mark quickly scanned the six areas under surveillance, carefully noting the sweep of each camera. “Don Ernesto said no violence in the presence of his guests. How far should I go with any intruders when I take them to the garage?” he asked.
“Here.” Gonzalez again ignored the question. He held out an ear piece and miniature mic similar to ones Mark had worn in the past. Ruiz definitely had the resources to purchase top of the line equipment. “You should be familiar with this.”
“I am.”
“There’s also an intercom.” Gonzalez pointed to the box on the wall. “It’s connected to the kitchen for convenience. If Don Ernesto needs food or drink, he uses it.”
Mark nodded.
“Vamos. I’ll show you the entrance gate. Then we’ll go to the garage.” Gonzalez led him out of the office. “You may be posted at the gate or perhaps at the front door.”
As they walked into the living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the patio and pool, Mark saw Ruiz and his wife outside. The ocean lay a good hundred yards away.
Ruiz caught sight of them. “Diego, we must talk before Margarita and I dress for the evening.”
“Wait here,” Gonzalez ordered before walking to the patio through the French doors and closing them behind himself.
This was Mark’s chance to warn Laura about the surveillance system. He hurried across the dining room and pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen.
Chaos reigned inside. A heavyset older man, surely Pablo the chef given his white clothing, stood beside the stove barking orders to Laura and a teenaged girl. Two young men stood to one side, one pulled things from the refrigerator, the other chopped vegetables at a massive counter. No one noticed him so he watched for a few seconds before his gaze zeroed in on Laura.
They’d made her wear an enormous gray maid’s uniform. She gently patted the arm of the girl who looked ready to burst into tears.
“Leave her,” the chef said with a dismissive flick of his hand. “If she cannot move quickly, she is useless.”
The girl sniffed, looked at Laura and said something that made Laura nod.
“I’ll show her.” Laura took a knife and grabbed what looked like a mango from a cutting board.
Mark watched her, this woman of privilege, as she easily peeled then sliced the fruit and spoke softly to the young maid. Laura grew up with servants; it was the way of life among the moneyed class in San Mateo. But she knew how to handle herself as if she’d never had one, how to show compassion even given the fact that her son was missing.
“What do you want?” Pablo demanded over the sounds of the kitchen when he saw Mark.
Laura looked up, her gaze instantly meeting Mark’s.
“I want to talk to my wife, Laura.”
Pablo looked him up and down. To Laura he said, “Your reward for showing that stupid girl how to do what she should have known. Go, but return quickly.”
She hurried around the counter to the sink, rinsed her hands, and dried them on the white half-apron that held the ridiculously huge uniform on her. Mark backed into the dining room and she followed. The door swung shut.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in a whisper.
“You can’t go into the compound.” He took her hand, pulled her closer, and looked toward the patio where Ruiz, his wife and Gonzalez stood talking. “Ruiz has a surveillance system outside. The monitor is in the office where Gonzalez will be all evening.”
“He’s busy on the patio. I can go right now. No one will know.” She stepped around him.
A rush of dread made him grab her arm and pull her back. “He’ll see you.”
“He’s busy with Ruiz and his wife.”
He glanced outside again. The three were still talking.
“This may be the only chance I get,” she said.
He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. I know how the cameras move. I’ll do it later.”
She shook her head. “Now is best. Keep him inside and away from the office.” She tried to move again, but he held on.
“No. There will be a better time. I have to go with—” With Gonzalez, who wouldn’t be watching the monitors.
He’d completely lost his focus. It was the perfect time for her to look. He’d be able to distract the man if he saw Laura outside. Ruiz and his wife would be upstairs because they were going to dress for the evening. His fear for Laura had driven rational thought from his mind.
“With who?” she asked, looking up at him.
He had to let her do what had to be done. “Gonzalez is going to show me the front entrance gate, then the garage, so he’ll be busy. Watch the cameras.” He explained the position and sweeps of the ones that could catch her. “Search only the cottage closest to the house. There will be time for the other buildings. I’ll search them later.”
She tried to move away again, but he didn’t release her arm, couldn’t let go of the sudden fear of what might happen to her.
“If you see Tony, come back for me,” he said. “We’ll figure out how to get him out of there. Don’t go in by yourself.”
The swinging door to the kitchen opened and the chef stuck his head out. “Laura, I cannot make these fools do as they should. I need you in here.”
“Un momento, Pablo. I—”
“Your job is in here,” Pablo snapped. “With me. Nothing else matters.”
“Just one moment, please, Pablo,” she said softly, an imploring look on her face.
The chef’s brows drew together and his face reddened. Mark expected an explosion.
“One moment only.” The chef let the door swing closed.
She’d handled the temperamental chef. But the man was too observant. No way could she get away without being missed. She’d be safe for a while longer.
“It’s okay,” he said softly to her. “Go back to the kitchen. I’ll search.”
“But—”
He pulled her into his arms, bending close. “If you don’t do as that jackass says, he’ll draw attention to you. We can’t afford that. We can’t afford for you to appear to be anything but a servant. And watch out. I don’t like this Pablo. You may think you have him figured out, that you can handle him, but he’s not as predictable as Ruiz.”
He felt her stiffen slightly.
“Sí, amor,” she said, pressing her fingers to his lips.
She stood so close he could see his reflection in her eyes. The fullness of her lips. Without any thought beyond the need to taste her, he pulled back marginally and focused on her mouth. She moved her hand to his jaw, but didn’t flinch, didn’t back away. Her gaze drifted down from his eyes to his lips, as if inviting him to fit his mouth to hers.
And he did. Her lips parted. Soft, warm. Responsive. He deepened the kiss, tasting, wanting more of her, more—just more.
Then he heard footfalls from behind. He pulled away and looked over his shoulder. Rosa, Margarita Ruiz’s assistant, was placing a vase of flowers on the dining room table. She met his gaze for a single moment, then ducked her head and walked toward the stairs. She represented no danger, but his actions did. The kiss did.
Maybe yesterday he’d been able to explain away his physical reaction to Laura as a one-off. Today he couldn’t. She’d done nothing more than touch his mouth in warning that Rosa would hear what they were saying, and he’d let himself forget who she was, where they were. That couldn’t happen, not again. He indulged in an instant’s glance at her upturned face, her lips parted from their kiss, and turned toward the sound of the French doors opening. Ruiz, his wife and Gonzales walked in.
They could have walked in at any moment, heard everything he’d said. Hell, a battalion of soldiers could have marched into the dining room and he wouldn’t have noticed. And that was the problem.
All he’d known, all he’d been aware of, was Laura.
If he didn’t get his head screwed on right, not only was he going to blow his cover, his actions could get Laura and her boy killed.
***
Laura turned to escape into the kitchen when Gonzalez signaled Mark to follow him and Ruiz to the foyer. She should never have touched Mark, never given in to a simple move that scorched her. Rosa had seen that kiss. Why hadn’t the woman chastised them? Instead, she’d simply walked away.
“Un momento,” the command stopped her from pushing the kitchen door open.
Laura spun around, hand over her pounding heart.
“Your husband,” Margarita Ruiz said, “must not give Gonzalez any more reason to be critical.”
“Sí, Doña Margarita,” Laura muttered.
Margarita looked toward the front door where Gonzalez and Ruiz were speaking with Mark. The white of his shirt accented his tan and the golden brown of his eyes, while the gun holstered beneath his left arm, which Laura hadn’t noticed even while she’d kissed him, reminded her of why Ruiz had hired him. Why her father had.
“He must please both Gonzalez and my husband. Do not distract him. You, muchacha,” Margarita said, “are here to help in the kitchen.”
“Sí, Doña Margarita,” Laura repeated.
An older man dressed in a gray sweater, a tailor judging from the yellow tape measure dangling over one shoulder, came down the hall and held a tux jacket out for Mark. He slipped it on and the tailor adjusted the cloth across his shoulders.
Then Mark turned. The black of the tux contrasted sharply with the crisp white of his collar. The holstered handgun was now covered. But the clothing and the gun fit. He wore both comfortably, as if long accustomed to them, as if the loosened tie were the latest look. He looked good in anything, including formal wear. For all the toughness she’d seen in him since they’d been together, he had the polish of a man used to another life, one where tuxedoes were commonplace.
“Go now. Let your husband do his work,” she ordered. She glanced at the men, then added, “It is his chance, and yours, to do well for your family.”
Laura nodded, surprised at the woman’s words. What difference would it make to Margarita Ruiz if a couple working for her did well or not? In the foyer, Ruiz said something to Gonzalez, who immediately walked past her and Margarita and entered the kitchen. Before the door swung shut, Laura caught it and followed. Gonzalez hurried past the staff and headed outside to the compound.
If she’d gone on, if the kiss hadn’t happened, she would be where Ruiz’s man could have found her.
Pablo barked at her to get back to work. She did, but as she continued chopping fruit, she couldn’t quit thinking about what had happened. The kiss. The charged kiss.
She should have moved away, turned her head, done something else. Anything other than return the pressure of Mark’s lips. But she had, and more. She’d opened her mouth to his, felt the brush of his tongue. There was no way to take it back, no way to hide from her attraction.
She’d worked very hard over the past four years to make her life as normal as possible for Tony. She hadn’t wanted any relationship to become serious because she didn’t have time for dating and work and the demands of a six-year-old.
Por Dios. This wasn’t about dating.
Ernesto Ruiz had seen Mark’s strength. Laura had seen the man who’d helped her and said he’d help her save Tony. A man who sparked needs she’d ignored for too long. She couldn’t push aside the press of Mark’s body on hers. The kiss had been acted out for the benefit of those watching. Just as the incident in her room.
She tried to tell herself that her response didn’t matter, that what she’d experienced was simply a reaction to an attractive man. But it did matter because, despite his secrets, she was starting to trust him.
When she didn’t even know his last name.
***
“Follow Gonzalez outside,” Ruiz ordered Mark. “He will show you what else must be done.”
Mark walked through the bustling kitchen, purposefully ignoring Laura, to the servant’s patio. Gonzalez waited beyond it, in the clearing of the compound. If Laura had gone out searching, he would have caught her.
She was safe for now. That was all that mattered.
Gonzalez led the way to the two-story garage. The ground floor held an SUV, a pickup and a Mercedes sedan. Stairs led to the second floor.
“You will bring troublesome guests here.” Gonzalez walked between the SUV and the pickup toward a door on the first floor. “This,” he said opening the door to a small storage room, “is where our uninvited guests will stay until the party is over.”
“Then what?” Mark asked.
“Then there will be other arrangements. Don Ernesto has a special assignment for you.”
The old familiar sense of foreboding crept up Mark’s back.
“Vamos,” Gonzalez said, heading for the stairs.
With the holstered Smith & Wesson M&P 9 he’d been given beneath his left arm, Mark’s thoughts raced through possibilities. He could easily take the officious Gonzalez who posed no physical threat, but any of Ruiz’s men could come to the man’s aid. And if he had to go that route, getting Laura out of the house would be a problem.
Gonzalez’s footsteps thudded as he climbed the wooden steps. He rapped on a door at the top of the stairs. The door opened and Oscar, one of the guards who’d escorted Mark to Laura’s the night before, stuck his head out.
“Gonzalez,” he said by way of greeting.
“Let us in.”
“Sí, señor,” Oscar said, opening the door wide.
Dim and stuffy, the large storage room smelled rank, of sweat. And something worse, something ugly that triggered a tightness in the pit of Mark’s stomach. A bold ray of sunlight broke through a crack in the dark curtains that covered a single window. Dust particles swirled. From deep in one corner, he heard a moan. Deep, faint, but a moan just the same.
The two men walked toward the darkened corner. Mark followed.
“¿Qué tal, Sandoval?” Gonzalez said in a friendly voice. “I am surprised you are still alive.”
Mark made out the shape of a man on a cot. Gonzalez shone the flashlight from his cell phone onto the cot.
Victor Fuentes, the San Matean agent undercover as Victor Sandoval, was alive.
“He can talk if I give him water,” Oscar said.
“He doesn’t say what we need to hear,” Gonzalez replied. “But give him water now. I want him alert so he understands what will happen tonight.” Gonzalez flipped on the overhead light.
Fuentes lay in a broken heap on a thin mattress, his face bruised and battered. A bloodied and ripped shirt revealed what had to be a broken collarbone. And his right leg… Christ. Bone protruded from the man’s bloodied lower leg. Broken or shot, made no difference. Unconsciousness had to be a blessed relief from the pain.
He had to get him out of here. Somehow. No way could he let anyone die like this.
“Give him the water,” Gonzalez ordered.
Oscar hesitated, his face tinged green, then tipped the cup toward Fuentes’s cracked lips. The water dribbled out.
“Wake him up,” Gonzalez ordered. “Shake him.”
The guard looked at Gonzalez. “But his collar bone, his leg, they are broken.”
“Let the pain wake him,” Gonzalez replied.
But Oscar just stood there, looking down at the broken man. If he’d done this to Fuentes, he was now reluctant to inflict more pain.
“¡Carajo! I did not come here to watch him sleep. Do not make me do it,” Gonzalez ordered.
Oscar grabbed Fuentes’s shoulder on the same side as the broken collar bone, and shook him.
Fuentes moaned, a deep wounded sound. He opened his eyes, squinting against the light.
“Sandoval, or whatever your name is.” Gonzalez stepped back until the San Matean agent had a clear field to see Mark. “Meet your executioner.”