Dial (6 page)

Caylin gave Jorge an apologetic smile and slid out of his embrace. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Theresa was flashing Carlos a similar worried grin. It was official. They were facing a crisis.

“I demand to know what is going on!” Armand yelled.

For the first time that night, it was easy to believe that Armand was a powerful, dangerous,
vicious
man with a criminal mind. Caylin felt the hairs on the back of her neck
rise as she stared at Armand's reddening face. Yikes. She wouldn't want to be on
his
bad side.

“Why does she react this way to my kiss?” Armand demanded.

She had to think fast. Very fast. “Um . . . she has a boyfriend?” Caylin offered.

Armand's face went from bright red to dark purple in three seconds flat. “Jacinta is a tease. How can she behave that way with me if she has a boyfriend? It is shameful!”

Caylin shot a significant glance at Diva, who slipped out of Juan's arms and headed off toward where Jo had made her impromptu exit. Thank goodness for their new friend. If anyone had the wherewithal to get Jo back on track right now, it would be her. In the meantime, it was up to “Corinne” and “Trixie” to try and soothe Armand's hackles, which were really, uh,
hackling.

“Hey, Trixie, want to help me out here?” Caylin whispered out of the side of her mouth.

Theresa put a hand on Armand's shoulder and gave him a sympathetic squeeze. “The thing is, Jacinta is thinking
about breaking up with her boyfriend. I mean, he's, like, totally mean to her. She doesn't like him at all.”

Armand narrowed his eyes. “Where is he? I will kill him!”

Oops. Theresa's heart was in the right place, but provoking Armand's macho side probably wasn't the best idea under the circumstances.

Caylin stepped forward. “Listen, Armand, it's like this. . . .”

As Caylin babbled on, she prayed that Diva would be able to calm Jo down. If this mission was going to be a success, they had to play their hand carefully. And unless Jo came back for some major damage control, the Big Meeting with Armand's Big Boss could very well get called off—and the mission would be a Big Bust. Or worse.

“Jo?” Diva called from the other side of the bathroom door. “May I come inside?”

Jo quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks and took several deep, calming breaths. “Uh, sure,” she answered weakly.

The door opened, and Diva slipped into the luxurious bathroom. She perched beside Jo on the red velvet settee and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“Is there anything I can do?” Diva asked.

Jo sniffed. “Don't you even want to know why I ran off like a maniac?”

Diva shrugged. “I know what it is like to have dark shadows in one's life. Sometimes . . . well, sometimes the ghosts come out of the corners and one cannot fight them.”

Jo couldn't have said it better herself—and Diva was speaking in her second language. “You and I have a lot in
common,” Jo said, brushing away one last tear. “My family was also torn apart by drugs.”

Now it was Diva's turn to get weepy. “Sometimes I lie awake at night and imagine my life so differently. I picture myself and my family on a simple picnic, or going to church, or making dinner in the kitchen . . . all without the dark cloud of the
business
hanging over our heads.”

“I don't understand why there's so much evil in the world.” Jo rose from the settee and walked to a vanity table at the other side of the large bathroom. “When I was a little girl, my father protected me from that evil. But as I grew older, he taught me to fight it.”

“Your father sounds like a wise man,” Diva said.

Jo nodded. “He was.”

“He passed away?” Diva asked. Her voice was hesitant, as if she were worried that her questions were getting too personal.

“Yes. He . . .” He was murdered. All because the justice system he loved had been corrupted by the drug trade.

“You don't have to tell me about it,” Diva said softly. “I know how difficult it is to talk about these things.”

In the reflection of the mirror over the vanity table, Jo saw Diva's face grow dark. “You obviously have your own tragedies to deal with,” she said.

Diva sighed. “My hair used to be beautiful—it was a shiny, midnight black.”

“It's still beautiful.” Jo decided against pressing further. If Diva wanted to talk, she would.

“This—” She pointed to the stripe in her hair. “It hasn't always been there.”

“No?” Now Jo's curiosity was uncontainable. “How did it get that way?”

“Part of my hair turned white the day my father—” Her voice broke, and she began to sob. They were the kind of deep, tearless sobs that tore apart one's insides.

Diva had appreciated Jo's privacy. Now Jo would return the favor. In time, she would probably discover the haunting secrets of Diva's past. Diva would tell her—when she was ready to.

“We're going to get this guy, Diva.” In the mirror Jo's eyes locked with her new friend's.

Diva smiled weakly. “Yes. You three are my angels.
You are going to help me and my family get our lives back.”

“And you're going to help. Like I said, we're all in this together.” Jo looked at herself in the mirror again and found that she was smiling. As always, Jo found that once the Spy Girl inside her focused all her negative energy on the mission, she felt completely energized. Jo knew what she had to do—now for Diva as much as for herself. This mission was about justice for all.

Jo stood up and faced Diva. “Shall we go back to the party?”

Diva executed a small but graceful curtsy. “By all means.”

The two touched hands for a brief moment, then left the bathroom, ready to grapple with their fears.

•  •  •

“You are like fire that is made of liquid,” Carlos exclaimed as Caylin was twirled around for what felt like the thousandth time.

“No, she is like fire that spits!” Jorge claimed as he grabbed Caylin and dipped her close to the floor.

Caylin knew that people got carsick and seasick. But was it possible to become dance sick? Jo and Diva's abrupt departure had created a dearth of females in the crowd. So for almost half an hour now, Theresa and Caylin had been juggling two guys each—both on
and
off the dance floor.

“This is great, guys, but I think Trixie needs a turn on the floor now.” Caylin was panting, and her hair felt as if it were plastered against her sweaty forehead.

“Trixie is
on
the floor,” Theresa called from a few feet away. “Oh, and
please
forget that I
ever
said I wanted to learn the samba.”

Juan pulled Theresa close, then picked her up and spun her around several times. “Trixie says she is not good at the Latin dance, but we prove her wrong!”

Caylin gaped at Theresa. Was this the same girl whose idea of an ideal evening was surfing the web for chat rooms? Theresa's dress was slipping off her shoulders, and her brown hair was swinging wildly around her face.

“Corinne, we must show Trixie and Juan how much
better
we
are on the floor, ah?” Armand had approached Caylin from behind. Without warning, he put his hands around her waist, then scooped her into his arms.

Well, at least Armand's nose had been wrestled back into its joint. Theresa and Caylin had fawned over him enough so that he seemed to have forgotten all about Jo's poorly timed freak-out. But enough was enough. If she and Theresa had to keep up this frenetic pace much longer, they weren't going to be able to get out of bed in the morning—much less work to bring down a drug lord.

“Whoaaa . . . !” Theresa cried. She had slipped out of Juan's grasp and was now careening toward Armand and Caylin on her stilettos. “Watch out!”

Smack!
Theresa had plowed into Caylin, causing a three-body pileup on the dance floor.

“I think I'm going to die,” Theresa moaned.

Caylin remained on the brick floor, thankful for a moment of rest, no matter how ill-gotten. And then . . . a light at the end of the tunnel. Diva and Jo were heading toward them, arm in arm.

“Why do I feel like I just walked into an episode of
The Gong Show
?” Jo asked wryly, nearing the scene of the dance catastrophe.

Diva laughed. “Clearly we were missed out here.”

“You have
no
idea.” Caylin grabbed Jorge's outstretched hand and struggled to her feet.

“I think Trixie and Corinne need to hang up their pearls for the night,” Jo said to Diva. “They're tough to be around if they don't get their beauty sleep.”

“Gotcha.” Diva placed her hand on Armand's shoulder and flashed him a flirtatious smile. “Armand, you gorgeous man, let's talk.”

As if on cue, Jorge, Carlos, and Juan melted into the background. As the guys plunked into chairs around the dinner table, Theresa, Caylin, and Jo huddled.

“Do you think everything went according to plan?” Caylin asked. If the answer to that question was no, she had sacrificed both her feet and her equilibrium for no good reason.

“I think so,” Jo answered. “Well, I
hope
so. Sorry for the glitch, guys. You know I didn't mean to let you down.”

“You didn't,” Theresa assured her. “Besides, your
absence meant that Corinne and I got to suck up all the male attention for once.”

Jo didn't respond, and Caylin realized that she was listening in on the conversation—strictly Portuguese—that was taking place between Diva and Armand. Their voices were hushed, and Caylin couldn't determine the tone of what was being said.

“Do you think it's a go?” Caylin whispered to Theresa.

“I think we're about to find out,” Theresa whispered back. “They're heading this way.”

Jo flashed a thumbs-up. “The news is going to be good,” she promised, turning back to Caylin and Theresa.

“It has been a most wonderful evening,” Armand announced. “But, alas, the hour is late.”

Instantly Jorge, Carlos, and Juan popped up from their seats and gravitated toward the girls. There seemed to be some kind of silent communication between the guys that dictated their actions. Did that mean a simple flick of Armand's wrist could result in one of Caylin's dance partners sticking a gun in her face?

“The pleasure has been ours, Armand,” Jo said
smoothly. “Please forgive my fit of emotion earlier. It's just that . . . I find you very attractive. So strong . . . so . . .” Jo let her words linger suggestively, then fluttered her lashes. “It was a moment of weakness.”

Caylin suppressed a wince. She knew Jo was merely working on Armand's delusional side, but . . .
ugh.

Armand looked gratified. He shrugged. “It is no problem. I know women—these things happen.” He paused, glancing around the group to make sure he had everyone's attention. “My new friends, I would like to tell you that I am going to do my best to set up a meeting between you and our boss. As we discussed, he has many
investment
opportunities to offer.”

It was the longest speech of the night—and apparently the last. Without another word, Armand and his cronies filed out of La Americana's back patio and disappeared into the dark night.

“Congratulations, amigas,” Diva said with a smile. “You're in business.”

•  •  •

Theresa was beyond exhaustion, but she knew that she would lie awake for a long time before she fell asleep
tonight. The events of the last few hours whirled in her brain as she listened to Caylin and Jo brief Uncle Sam on the all-important evening.

“I'm very pleased with the progress you've made,” Uncle Sam was saying. “I didn't want to undermine your confidence, but to tell you the truth, I wasn't at all sure that these men would agree to give three young American women the opportunity to meet with their boss.”

“Great. Now you tell us.” Sometimes Theresa appreciated the way Uncle Sam let them find out whether or not a mission was a go on their own. Other times, she wished he would take a slightly more hands-on approach.

“If the rest of the mission goes as well as tonight, then this Big Boss—whoever he is—can look forward to spending the rest of his life in the ole hoosegow.” The satisfaction in Caylin's voice was evident. Already each of the girls had poured her soul into their latest adventure.

“So what are our chances of making it out of this thing alive?” Theresa asked.

“The Tower is prepared to back you up every step of
the way,” Uncle Sam assured them. “We can offer you a suitcase full of cash at a moment's notice.”

“Cash is all well and good,” Theresa responded. “But I think I'd like a bullet-proof vest, thank you very much. Or maybe a force field. Can you whip that up for me, Sammo?”

“Just sit tight, Theresa.” Uncle Sam was using his patronizing I-know-everything-there-is-to-know-about-­international-espionage voice. “A veritable army of ­Brazilian and United States agents are on twenty-four-hour call. When you need the team behind you, they'll be there.”

Caylin sat up a little straighter. “Whoa. That sounds so official.”

“It
is
official. Each of these men and women has received special training in order to maximize the effectiveness of their actions while minimizing any risk of bodily harm.”

Theresa noted that the term
bodily harm
sounded significantly less clinical when applied to
her
body. Her pain threshold was high—but not
that
high.

“I'm just relieved everything turned out okay tonight,” Jo said with a deep sigh. “I can't believe I flaked.” She had told Uncle Sam about her “little moment,” but he had
assured her that sometimes it happened to even the best spies.