Dangerous Liaisons (31 page)

When the American connected Liz with Adam, the Mexican had said ‘
a cop
.’ It hadn’t been a statement, but a question.

The Mercedes turned onto a private drive and passed through a grove of palm trees. Her heart beat faster—something she hadn’t thought possible. Why would these men suspect Adam of being a cop? Why would a cop model at a fashion party? Maybe trying to catch the criminals that now held her hostage?

The car left the trees and stars spread across the sky as far as the eye could see. The Mercedes’ headlights washed across the white adobe of a single story house with an arched doorway. Beyond the house, Liz glimpsed tall palms. A chill sliced deep through her trembling insides. She was about to die.

You’re not dead yet.
Think.
Was Larissa involved in criminal activity? More likely, her millionaire husband was involved. He wouldn’t be the first man to have made his fortune on the wrong side of the law.

Adam being an undercover cop would explain much about his behavior. After twenty-five years in the fashion industry, she knew models—their attitudes, their sense of self-importance. When Adam modeled for the job, he’d done nothing untoward to set off alarms. But tonight he’d acted more like a date than an employee. Then he’d disappeared with Larissa.

The Mercedes stopped in front of the hacienda. Liz’s heart jumped into her throat.

The American shoved open the door, then grasped her arm, pulled her from the car. “You go ahead and scream now, if you like. No one will notice. But you’ll piss off Carlos and you won’t like the consequences.” 

“What?” she snapped. “He’ll kill me twice?” 

“A lot can happen before death.” He dragged her toward the house.

Liz kicked his shin. He cursed and she twisted free. As he raised his hand, she slammed her knee toward his groin, but the back of his hand smacked her cheek. She spun and hit sand. Numbing pain spread across her face. The American yanked her to her feet.

Hysterical laughter bubbled up. If Adam Billings was an undercover cop, she hoped like hell his real name was Rambo.

The man who’d spoken with Sanchez earlier entered the dining room and Ben sipped his wine as he crossed to Sanchez and whispered in his ear. Sanchez’s gaze shifted onto Ben, and cold dread seeped through him. Sanchez nodded and the man left, pulling the doors closed behind him

“Perhaps you can explain something,” Sanchez said.

“If I can,” Ben replied.

Sanchez rose. “Come with me.” 

Ben stared. The bodyguard standing nearest the door took a step forward.

“Have I offended you?” Ben asked

“Not yet.” 

Ben glanced at the goon, then followed Sanchez down a short hall. The goon trailed him. Sanchez stopped in front of the third closed door on the left. He opened the door and Ben caught sight of a queen-sized bed covered with a Southwestern style quilt in reds and greens. His heart hammered when the traffics dealer motioned him inside. 

“What am I getting myself into here?” Ben kept his tone casual.

“A simple explanation.” 

A strong shove propelled him into the room. Liz Monahan stood to the far right of the bed, a man gripping each arm. Her expression mirrored his:
What the hell are you doing here?

Her hair was disheveled and Ben detected a slight swelling on the upper left hand corner of her mouth. One of the goons had slapped her. Rage tightened his insides. She didn’t look or act like a woman who’d been raped. That thought kept him from pummeling the two goons on the spot. But he would arrest them before this operation was finished.

Ben riveted his gaze onto Sanchez. “What’s she doing here?” 

“She was caught eavesdropping on my men.” 

Eavesdropping?
He hadn’t heard right.

“What are you talking about?” 

“We caught her on the balcony,” the man to her left said.

Ben shifted his gaze onto the muscular Mexican and demanded, “What balcony?”

“What difference does it make?” the man said.

Ben turned toward Sanchez. “Tell your man to answer my question.”  

Sanchez nodded and the other man, an American, said, “We went into one of the upstairs rooms to talk business and caught her out there listening.” 

Ben looked at Sanchez. “Don’t your men know to check a room before talking business?” Before Sanchez could reply, Ben added, “This woman isn’t some kid who won’t be missed for a couple of weeks. She runs a top design company. Her colleagues will be expecting her back at her hotel tonight. Your men stepped in it this time, Sanchez.” 

“You are so sure?” Sanchez asked.

“If you’re foolish enough to think that the disappearance of
any
woman won’t put the cops on alert, then you’re not the businessman I thought you were. Those two dead girls got national media attention. Reporters are aching for more action from the Border Patrol. You can bet calls for the Rangers won’t be far behind. You’ll have to transport your cargo fifty miles south of Juarez, maybe even move to Laredo—though that’s damn close for my taste after this fuckup. Chances are, you’ll have to work strictly out of California for a while.” 

“I have no intention of giving up the Texas border,” Sanchez said.

“You’re a fool if you think Remmey’s transports will get across the border without inspection after this. She—” Ben nodded at Liz “—disappeared from Remmey’s party, which means the cops will watch everything he does like a hawk. As for your other transports, they’ll get caught and you’ll have Federal Police crawling all over this nice little hacienda.” 

“I own the police,” Sanchez said.

“That’s a big claim, but we both know you don’t own them all—especially your Chief of Police, who’s doing his damndest to rid Juarez of our kind. He’ll jump at the chance to team up with US authorities, and even your friends are going to be hard pressed to find their loyalty.” Ben shrugged. “But that’s your problem. I said I wouldn’t interfere with your business and I meant it. You can figure out how to deal with this. Have your driver take me back to El Paso.” 

Liz gave a small cry, but Ben kept his expression passionless.

“Perhaps this is the perfect test to cement our trust,” Sanchez said.

Ben snorted. “You’re talking murder.” 

“It wouldn’t be your first,” Sanchez said.

“You’ll never get away with it,” Liz blurted. “I’m already late. By now, my friends are down at the police station filing a report.” 

Ben looked at her. “We all know it takes forty-eight hours before a missing persons report can be filed.” 

“Not when you have connections,” she shot back.

Damn, the woman had backbone. “Connections won’t do you a damn bit of good now.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not what you’re telling him.” 

Ben laughed. “No, what I’m telling him is that he’s in a shit load of trouble. You, on the other hand, are dead. Big difference.” 

Shock widened her eyes and guilt twisted through Ben. He hated doing this to her, but she needed to be scared—to look scared.

Sanchez shifted his gaze onto Liz. “Why were you eavesdropping?”

Ben snorted before she could answer, and said, “Looking for me, I’d say. I was her date for the evening. I guess she doesn’t like being ditched. That’ll teach me to accept a date unseen.” 

Liz lifted her chin. “You overestimate your charms, Mr. Billings.” 

“I doubt it.” He gave a single shake of his head. “What a waste. You can’t do anything with her. She’s too old.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Liz burst out, and Ben bit back a laugh. Only a woman would be outraged by an insult intended to save her life.

“Yes,” Sanchez replied. “She would never submit.” 

Ben raked his gaze down her body. Damn her. She looked even better than she had at the start of the evening. There was something about a woman whose clothes and hair were tousled.

“The attempt would be one helluva ride, though,” he murmured.

Her eyes widened.

Ben looked at Sanchez. “I’ll deal with her—my way.” 

Sanchez’s brows rose. “What is your way?” 

“You and your men get out. I don’t like witnesses. Once I’m done, I bury the body—alone.” 

Sanchez nodded. “Do you need a weapon?” 

Ben gave a small smile. “No.” 

Liz’s eyes narrowed. “You’d better take the gun. You’re going to need it.” 

Ben laughed. The woman was either stupid or the most courageous female he’d ever met. He hoped for courageous. Otherwise, they were both dead.

* * *

Liz’s heart thundered in her chest as the door clicked shut behind the four men. Before she could utter a peep, Adam shoved her against the wall. She cried out an instant before his body crashed into hers. His hips pressed heavy against her abdomen, and she shoved at his chest. The immovable wall of muscle forced her palms flat against his chest. Liz became aware of the powerful thump of his heart.

His gaze bore into hers. “You shouldn’t have gotten so nosy, Ms. Monahan.” 

A shiver slid down her back in the heartbeat before she remembered he was a police officer. Liz narrowed her eyes. “And you shouldn’t have used me as your cover.”

He blinked. “What the—How did you figure it out?” he demanded.

“When those men caught me, the first thing they said was ‘cop?’” 

“They know I’m a cop?” 

Liz shook her head. “Not
know
. It was a question.” 

“Dammit.” He glanced back at the door and Liz registered the hard thigh that pressed against the juncture of her legs.

“I think you can let me go,” she said.

He looked back at her. “I’m supposed to be terrorizing you.”” 

Liz released a shaky breath. “I’m pretty scared.” 

His mouth turned down. “Yeah.” 

He released her, then backed up, and she realized her pulse was pounding.

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

“Damned if I know.” He started toward the curtain that covered the balcony door beside the bed. He reached the curtain, eased aside the fabric, and peered out. “Come here.”

She forced her legs to cross the room to him.

“Is that Mercedes the car they drove here?” He motioned for her to peek through the gap in the curtain.

She leaned in front of him and looked through the paned glass doors, past the small balcony to a car parked behind a black limo. Liz straightened. “Yes. He left the keys in the ignition. I thought maybe I could steal the car.” 

“I’m sure Sanchez has a couple of well-placed guards somewhere on the grounds,” Adam said. “We’re lucky they didn’t put you in a second story room. We can make it to the car—” 

Muffled voices sounded outside the door.

Iron fingers gripped her arm and Adam threw her onto the bed. His knee slammed her side as he straddled her. She screamed. He seized the bodice of her dress and yanked. Leather raked her nipples. She cried out and threw her arms over her breasts as the door flung open. Liz glimpsed the leer on the Mexican’s face an instant before Adam twisted and looked over his shoulder. The American stepped into view behind the Mexican.

“Get the fuck out!” Adam shouted.

“You’re taking too long, amigo,” the Mexican said.

“Get in my way and I’ll kill you both.” 

The American stepped away from the doorway and the Mexican muttered something Liz couldn’t distinguish above the pounding of blood through her ears, then he left and closed the door behind him.

Adam faced her. His eyes didn’t stray to her arms. “You okay?” he asked.

She couldn’t move.

“He didn’t see a thing,” Adam said.

“What?” 

“I blocked his view.” 

Tears threatened. “Then why did you…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“You prefer that
he
rape you?”

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T. C. Archer is comprised of award winning authors Evan Trevane and Shawn M. Casey. They live in the Northeast. Evan has a Ph.D. in electrical engineering, and Shawn is a small business owner. Their collaboration began on a lark with the post WWII film noir story
The Pickle My Little Friend
, and has evolved into nearly a dozen works, which includes their new series
The Phenom League
, and the Daphne Du Maurier winner, romantic thriller
For His Eyes Only
.