“You don’t seem upset your room was searched.”
Olivia shrugged. “I was told you are a careful man, as you should be. I expected this. I would have done the same.” She said nothing else.
Several moments passed before Silva spoke. “I will discuss doing business with you tomorrow. My man will pick you up at your hotel. Noon sharp. We can talk details over lunch and perhaps get to know one another.”
Olivia leaned closer again. “Tomorrow. Business, yes. Lunch, yes. Anything else…maybe.” She carefully placed the half-finished drink on the table. “Tonight—” she lowered her eyelids and licked her lips, “—more dancing.” The flashing neon lights, thrumming of sensual music and first blush of success had her amped. Dancing would work off the excess energy. She slid from the other side of the booth and waited for him. He sat, his head cocked to one side, appraising her. Finally, he graced her with a chilling smile and rose.
The DJ played new wave Cuban music. A combination of Cuban and hip-hop that she loved. Giving herself over to the sound of the horns and drums, her body moved seductively to the beat and she put everything out of her mind but the music. They danced until, exhausted, she led him to the booth.
“Mr. Silva, it’s time for me to leave.” She made a face. “My feet hurt.”
He waved his arm and her purse materialized in his hand. Before handing it over, he removed her keys, passing them to a man with the order to bring the car to his private entrance. He retrieved her room key card from his pocket and slipped it inside. When he returned the purse, she could feel the .38 inside. This was good. He trusted her.
He walked her to the car. “Do you need directions to your hotel?” he asked as she buckled up.
“Nope.” She tapped the Jag’s dash. “Have GPS.” She paused and took a measured breath. “Thank you, Mr. Silva, for an interesting evening.” He nodded a silent response.
Olivia stopped the Jag at the street looking in the rearview at the man who killed her brother. An imposing figure, he stood watching her, one hand in a pocket, the other holding a cigar. Security lights eerily illuminated cigar smoke haloing above him like a phantom.
Halfway to the hotel police lights flashed behind her. There was no other traffic or any pedestrians to be seen. She pulled over, kept her hands on the wheel and nervously glanced at her purse on the seat next to her. In the driver’s side mirror she watched the cop swagger to the car.
“License and registration please,” he said, keeping a hand on his weapon.
“I can show you my license and rental papers,” she said, keeping an eye on his gun hand. “May I take my hands from the wheel?”
“Okay, missy. Move slow and you’ll be okay.”
She clamped her lips together and carefully removed the license from her bag. In her peripheral vision she saw the officer’s hand go to his weapon.
“The rental papers are in the glove box. Can I open it?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why did you stop me? I know I wasn’t speeding,” she asked, handing him the papers.
“Have you been drinking tonight?”
“One Mojito and a lot of water. Are you going to tell me why I was stopped?”
“Broken taillight. Sit here while I check this out.”
Broken taillight, her ass. She glanced again at her purse.
Stay calm, Olivia.
What would she do if Rico’s forged handiwork wasn’t good enough? She couldn’t run from the cops.
“Here you go.”
“Shit!” She jumped. The officer stood next to the window.
He eyed her carefully. “You seem pretty nervous. Any reason for that?”
“I’m a woman alone in a strange city, pulled over at four in the morning for no apparent reason. Of course I’m nervous, you jerk.” She pinched her eyes closed. That was stupid. She didn’t need to antagonize him.
“Step out of the car.” He opened the door. “Keep your hands where I can see them and walk to the back of your vehicle.”
Behind the Jag, he forced her face on the trunk, patting her down and feeling her up.
“Get up and keep your hands glued to that trunk.”
“Yes, sir.” She wanted to take the guy down. Wipe the road with his face.
“Do you mind if I have a look inside?”
“Yeah I mind, but that isn’t going to stop you. Have at it.”
“Do you have anything in the car I need to know about?” he asked, sarcastically, on the way to the passenger door.
“Don’t forget this isn’t my car, it’s a rental,” she called after him.
She looked down to see a smashed taillight. “Son of a bitch.” Her jaw tightened. She returned her attention to the cop who now stood alongside the open passenger door, her purse in his hand and a surprised look on his face. He threw it on the hood and leaned back into the car grappling around under the seats. He was looking for her gun. Rico nailed it.
Silva knew she was carrying and had no permit, and had the taillight broken deliberately in the club parking lot. A cop on his payroll pulls her over, she goes to jail, has to call someone local to get her out. A call to Silva puts her in his debt. Plus the cop can run her info making sure she’s legit.
Olivia smiled. He wouldn’t find what he was searching for. As Rico instructed, she’d pitched the gun in the first storm drain she saw.
The cop looked pissed. “I need to search you again.” She kept silent. Only an idiot would think she could hide anything under this dress. He was rough and inappropriate, yet she stood still and held her tongue. No sense pushing him. Finished, he told her she could turn around and shoved her purse in her stomach.
“Anything else, Officer—” she looked at his name tag, her voice full of contempt, “—Russell?”
“No. Eh. When you acted nervous…You understand. I had to check things out.”
She forced a smile. “Yes, I most certainly do understand. May I go now?” Without waiting for his answer she wrenched the Jag’s door open with all the drama she could manage, climbed in and drove away.
The next day Olivia wasn’t waiting in the lobby for Silva’s driver. She was lying by the pool on a very comfortable chaise, hidden from prying eyes and protected from the sun in what the concierge called a personal cabana.
“Ahem.” A man cleared his voice.
She opened one eye to see Mr. Volkswagen from last night standing at the foot of the chaise holding out a phone. Olivia stayed stone still.
“Ahem.” This time he was louder.
“What?” she snapped.
“Mr. Silva would like to speak with you.” He handed her the phone.
Putting it to her ear, she listened.
“Olivia? Olivia, are you there?”
She said nothing.
“O-li-vi-a, we had an appointment today. My man, Angel, is there to fetch you. Or had you forgotten?”
She remained silent.
“Olivia?”
“If you think I would do business with you after the shitty stunt you pulled last night you are truly insane,” she snarled. She hit end and held the phone out for Angel. When he made no attempt to take it, she flung it on an empty chaise next to her.
Several seconds passed before he retrieved it. He stood another few moments looking from her to the phone in his hand before turning and walking away. The phone rang. Quickly he answered, “Yes?”
Before he could turn to face her, she called out in a voice loud enough for Silva to hear, “Tell your boss to go fuck himself.”
The man’s shoulders slumped. He nodded and walked away.
Little more than an hour later another man appeared at the foot of the chaise clearing his throat.
“Leave, or I’ll call hotel security.”
“Ms. De Levec, my name is Felix Mendoza. I’m Mr. Silva’s assistant.”
“I don’t care about your personal problems. Leave.”
Olivia stretched her arm toward the hotel phone.
“Please, let me speak.”
She pushed herself up to a sitting position, shoved her sunglasses to the top of her head and gave him a withering look. “Speak. You have thirty seconds before I recover my good judgment.”
“Mr. Silva asked me to deliver his most humble apology. He will explain further if you will agree to meet with him. He also would like you to accept this gift and his invitation for dinner and dancing this evening.” He drew a long, narrow jeweler’s box from inside his jacket.
Olivia kept her eyes on his face while she opened it, not looking at the contents. She didn’t want to appear interested.
When she did look, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Inside the case lay a diamond anklet. It had to be twelve carats. Her gaze snapped back to Mendoza’s face, who seemed pleased with her reaction.
“Wipe that smug look off your face and take this back.”
“But—”
“Tell your boss I’ll meet with him tomorrow. Same time as we set for today,” she interrupted. “No dinner, no dancing and definitely no gifts.” She tossed the box, hitting him in the chest. He juggled it for a moment, gained control and replaced it in his pocket.
“What reason should I give Mr. Silva?”
“
No
should be enough reason. But if you need one, tell him I am still pissed about being pulled over and searched at his request.”
She dropped back on the chaise and lowered her glasses. A familiar figure slouched in a chair on the other side of the pool absorbed with the phone he held. Mouse. To his left, in the darkness of the lobby, an even more familiar figure drifted away.
Mendoza hadn’t moved. “Leave,” she ordered.
Olivia exited the shower and as Rico instructed left the water running to mask her conversation from listening devices that Silva could have placed in the suite. Excited to talk with him, she sat on the counter and punched Rico’s number. He answered before the first ring finished.
“Tell me.”
“Hello to you too.” She used her best sexy voice.
“We don’t have time to mess around. Tell me.”
In military fashion she reported the events of the past twenty-four hours.
After a long moment of silence, he spoke. “You did good, Olivia. Real good.”
God.
The way he said her name sent shivers through her.
“Why were you here this afternoon?” she asked.
“The kid got spooked when he saw Angel. That and he said every man in the hotel walked by checking you out. By the time I got there, Mendoza showed up. I don’t like the idea of you being picked up tomorrow. If you want to leave you can’t. You’re virtually a prisoner.”
“I thought of that. I can’t see any way around it. Besides Silva could stop me from driving away also.”
Silence.
“So you know, that thing you were wearing at the pool was skimpy, even for Miami.”
“You noticed what I was wearing?” She smiled so big she was sure he could hear it.
“You naked?” His voice seeped from the phone into her body, warming her as skillfully as his hands and lips.
“Nooo. I’m wearing white lace panties and a big smile.”
“Shit.”
“You hard?” She breathed heavily into the phone.
“Am now.”
“Where are you?”
“Back seat of the Lincoln.”
“Oooh! I am soo remembering what you did to me there.”
“Yeah. Me too.” He panted. “Those panties still on?”
“Nope. Around my ankles and I’m leaning over the counter.”
“Aaah, fuck.”
“Ditto.”
For several moments they listened to each other ride out the pleasure storm.
Rico was the first to regain his power of speech. “That was a first.”
“Really?” she cooed. “If I had known you were a phone sex virgin I would have been more gentle.”
“What will you do tonight?”
“Smoke a cigarette and fall asleep.”
“Olivia.”
“Oh, all right.” She sighed deeply. “I’m going to order room service, a steak I think, and ice cream. Do you have any idea how much room service costs?” She couldn’t resist giving him a hard time.
“Yes. Tell me the rest.”
“Geesh. I’ll get plenty of sleep. Tomorrow morning I’m going to the hotel gym, come back, shower and wait to be picked up.”
“Forget the call schedule. Call whenever.”
“Sure.”
The connection was broken.
Olivia dressed for attention. Dark glasses, a hot pink dress that looked like it had been shrink wrapped on her, and the highest heels she’d ever worn. She stood in the cool of the lobby looking onto the crowded street. Freddie was nowhere in sight.
A silver Bentley rolled to a stop in the valet area. The driver came to stand by the passenger side watching the hotel entrance closely. She stepped out and the man quickly pulled open the rear passenger door, bowing slightly.
Interesting.
He was sure she was his passenger. Had he been given photos of her, or did he have a good description?
“I’m Olivia. Is this Mr. Silva’s car?”
“Yes,
señora.
” His accent was thick.
She folded herself into the Bentley’s luxurious backseat and caught the stares of passers-by. Even for Miami this was an extraordinary car—a three-hundred-thousand dollar extraordinary car, to be exact. They should stare. The driver slid behind the wheel and waited patiently for a break in the heavy traffic.
Olivia’s heart skipped a beat. Rico and Mouse casually strolled toward the car. When parallel to the rear window, Mouse leaned down as if attempting to see inside and winked. The driver buzzed the front passenger window down, yelling in Spanish for him to get away. Rico grabbed Mouse’s shoulder, yanking him back as any parent would do.
“
Lo seinto.
I’m sorry,” the driver said.
“It’s all right.” She smiled and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Just a curious teenager. He couldn’t see me through these tinted windows.”
Walking by was Rico’s way of letting her know he was close. Would they follow her? She wanted to turn and look for the old Lincoln or maybe her brother’s Vette. Instead, she crossed her legs, settled in and examined the Bentley’s interior. It was beautiful, cool, and a comfortable, quiet ride.
“
Como se llama?”
she asked the driver.
“Diego,
señora.”
“
Habla
English, Diego?”
“
Si,
yes.”
“How did you know me?”
“I was told you were beautiful, tall and pale. Not tanned.”
The man’s shoulders rose in a shrug. “All the ladies here are tanned. And they have very long hair.” He checked her out in the rearview mirror. “When I saw you, I knew.”
For the better part of the next hour Diego expertly threaded his way through dense Miami traffic. Resting her head back, she watched the scenery slide by. From the sun’s position, Olivia knew he looped more than once. They wanted her confused as to the location of the house. She was sure it was no more than twenty minutes from her hotel.
Slowing, Diego turned into a driveway blocked by an ornate ten-foot iron gate. It connected to an even higher concrete fence running what looked like the full perimeter of the property. A man emerged from a guardhouse just inside as the gate moved slowly to the side. Olivia saw he wore a 9mm sidearm in a waist holster. An assault rifle hung on the wall of the little building.
Diego guided the Bentley along a winding drive lined with palms. She lowered the window to get a better look at the perfectly manicured lawn with lush tropical plants throughout the landscape. Planted just so, to hide the armed men she glimpsed as they passed. The house—mansion, really—rose imposingly ahead. She estimated a good seventy-five yards from the gate to the house.
Expensive piece of real estate.
Diego stopped in front of ornate wrought iron and etched glass doors. A valet materialized at the side of the car and opened the door. She gracefully slid out and stood staring at the house. Mesmerized by its beauty and size.
A man in black pants and a white shirt swung the glass doors open. “Miss De Levec, please come in. Mr. Silva—”
“Olivia.” Silva’s voice boomed from deep in the house, interrupting the houseman. “Welcome.”
Stepping into the entryway, he strode purposefully toward her, arms extended in greeting. Here in the daylight he was more handsome than she had first perceived. The white linen shirt and slacks he wore accented his dark features and bronze skin. He looked every inch the movie cliché of a drug lord.
“Olivia, how beautiful you look.”
“And how handsome you are,” she replied smoothly. As soon as she handed her purse and hat to the houseman Silva embraced her, kissing each cheek European style.
“So, what do you think of my little Miami cottage?” he asked, and his face split with a grin.
“Cottage?” She laughed. “I can’t wait to see what you call a mansion.”
The man who had taken her purse appeared, shook his head and left as quickly as he came.
“Mr. Silva, did you think I would bring a weapon to your home?” She gave him a demure smile.
He touched his index finger to her chin. “Sorry, Olivia, but in this business one can’t be too careful.”
“I completely understand,” she said sweetly, as he guided her to another room. “What I cannot understand—” her voice hardened, “—is why you wanted me arrested. Why you thought it necessary to have a greaseball cop put his hands on me.”
Silva stopped walking. They stood close enough for her to feel the tension in his body before he moved away. She resisted the urge to lean toward him. The shoes she wore made her taller than him. Sensing it would be too much, she simply stood still.
“The man searched you?” His eyebrows shot up.
“Searched and put his hands in places he had no business putting them.” She kept her voice low and controlled. “I don’t like playing games. If you wanted me in your debt to get a sweeter deal, you misjudged me and the people I work for.”
His face showed surprise. Was it surprise she spoke to him in that manner, or that the cop had put his hands on her?
“I assure you it was meant only to access DMV records making sure of your identity.”
“Whatever you say.” She hoped it was clear she didn’t believe a word he’d said.
“Again I must apologize.”
“I don’t want an apology. Although, there is one thing you could do.” His expression said he was interested. “Take care of that slimy bastard cop.” If he agreed to “take care” of the man she would know the cop was not the informant. He wouldn’t lose a valuable source of information.
“Done.”
Said too easily. She didn’t believe him. “How will I know for sure?”
“It will be on the news.”
Had she just asked for proof a man would be killed? “I don’t want him killed,” she said quickly, “I want his superiors to know he’s crooked. Let them take care of him. Can you manage that without involving yourself?”
“I like the way your mind works.”
“It works just like yours, Mr. Silva. We are both business people.”
“You must stop calling me Mr. Silva.” He leaned into her.
“What would you prefer I call you?” she asked, shifting her body in such a way that her breasts touched his arm.
“Alvaro. Please.” He broke the contact.
Score another one for Olivia.
“Alvaro it is.” She linked her arm in his. “Now, Alvaro, please show me more of your beautiful home.”
“It will be a pleasure. After, we’ll have lunch on the veranda and talk about our business.”
Gallantly he conducted her through the mansion as a good tour guide would, pointing out priceless antiques and works of art. The main floor held a salon, library, a twelve seat theater and a dining room large enough to hold a table surrounded by twenty chairs and a custom breakfront filled with exquisite china and crystal. Each room was decorated to perfection. After learning he had overseen all of the design work, she took every opportunity to compliment him on his style and taste.
The main living room commanded a spectacular view of the bay. The lawn extended to the water and a dock where three boats were moored: two go-fasts and one sleek fifty-foot yacht. On the left side of the property a large pool sat discreetly amongst the tropical landscaping.
“Are you ready to eat?” Silva asked.
“To be honest I’m very hungry.” She smiled.
He led her out to a dining area near the pool. They sat, and three men appeared. One placed plates of perfectly grilled ahi tuna and vegetables in front of them.
“I hope you like tuna. If not I have—”
“No,” she interrupted, “tuna is a favorite of mine. But of course you’ve had time to find that out about me.” She watched him attempt to interpret her remark. He didn’t know how to answer. Olivia happily added another point to her side of the scoreboard.
The second man broke the moment, pouring water and adding bread to the table. The other poured a pale wine into the exquisite crystal. Silva tasted and nodded, and wine was poured in her glass. She’d told the truth, she was hungry. Despite herself, Olivia enjoyed the excellent meal.
“You do not like the wine? I chose it myself.” He’d noticed she only sipped it.
“Quite the opposite. I love it, but I’m here on business. I want to stay sharp.”
Silva stretched across the table and covered her hand with his. With supreme effort she allowed the contact.
“Olivia, you needn’t fear me,” he said as if speaking to a small child.
“Alvaro, I can assure you, I do not fear you. I’m here to do business, nothing else.” She withdrew her hand from under his. “I cannot afford to mix business with my pleasure.”
He sat back and smiled.
Score another one for Olivia.
“Then we should get to business.” He raised his hand and made a circular motion. “Tell me about the inventory you need.”
A high-pitched whine caused her to place her hands over her ears.
“Ah, you have sensitive hearing. I apologize. The noise is only when the machinery is first turned on. Is it gone?”
She winced and nodded. “What’s it for?”
“It blocks listening devices. Wires, satellites…” He glanced up. “Making it safe to talk. Now tell me what I can do for you.”
Olivia sucked in her upper lip and froze.
Her tell.
She blinked and thought of Danny then Rico, and began her story.
“We’re in need of quality product from a reliable source. We’ve come to you because, as I said the other night, we have information you can fulfill our needs quickly and adequately. Most of all, we feel you can be trusted. We want to make a small buy—say a million—to start. If all goes well perhaps we can arrange a long-term contract.”
“I see one very big problem.”
Alerted, she sat up. “Problem?”
“Delivery. How would we deliver to you? How would you get that much product to Vancouver?”
“Oh.” She relaxed. “You obviously have a secure method of delivery here. My guess is by ship.”
“Yes. We also have people on the docks, inspectors and such to allow for deliveries.”
Olivia held up a hand in a stop gesture. “Please. I don’t want to know about your operation. We assume you are excellent at what you do. We propose you use the same delivery method, only in Vancouver. Our people will handle the off-loading there.”
Silva looked thoughtful then nodded.
“We will pay half of your transportation fees. Is this agreeable?”
“No.”
She was horrified.
No
meant she had failed. She would have to leave. She would not take Silva down nor would she ever find Baker. All these months and years she had waited for this moment…She would kill him here and now.
Quickly, she decided her best chance was a blow to the throat, breaking his windpipe. Then a hard slam to the nose, pushing it into his brain. She calculated how far away the guard stood, how long she would live after she struck. Four seconds, maybe five. No more. The muscles in her right arm coiled tight, ready to strike.
“You pay
all
the transportation costs.”
Olivia blinked. “Up to a hundred-fifty thousand,” she heard herself say. “Delivery in fourteen days. Transportation costs paid now, the rest on delivery and we have a deal.” The words tumbled out.
“Agreed.”
She relaxed and tried to look as if she did this all the time. Her right arm went limp. Adrenaline blasted through her. She had just brokered a deal with the head of the biggest drug organization in the world.
“Let me take you to a computer to verify you have the money to complete this transaction.” Silva stood and offered her his hand. Olivia wiped the corners of her mouth carefully, then her hands. She didn’t want him feeling them damp with sweat.
Alvaro led her to an elevator and to her surprise they went down a level. What marvel of modern engineering had allowed him to build a basement in Miami? They exited the elevator into a room jammed with computers and electronics. Two men in front of an array of video screens did not even glance at them. Two armed guards stood at opposite sides of the room, each wearing a sidearm with semi-automatics slung on their shoulders. Another man watched computer screens.
“All my electronic equipment is housed in this room.” Alvaro swept his arm around. “I can control my empire from here.”
Olivia scanned the room. High quality, advanced technology filled the space. Rico was right. This man would never be taken to trial. Everything was worked out, covered. The reality was she would have to kill him. Would she be able to do it? Moments ago she had been ready, but could she have followed through? The more Silva became a real person the more difficult it became. When he was just a name, she’d felt sure she could, but now?
He motioned her to a computer. “I need to see the money, as the saying goes.”
“I trust you use proxy servers.”
“A great many.” He smiled and pulled out the chair for her.
Olivia sat and keyed in the Cayman Bank web address. Silva hovered over her. When it became necessary to enter the account number she held her hands still, poised over the keys. “Have your man turn off the program that traps my keystrokes.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Like you, I am a cautious person,” she answered, turning to face him. “When it comes to my money I am
extremely
cautious.”
He looked at the technician and snapped his fingers. “The lady is to have privacy.” He retreated several paces, and she quickly keyed in the access code. The screen sprang to life and, to Silva’s satisfaction, showed one million, one hundred thousand dollars.