“Send me what you have and I’ll put our people on identifying them.” Vestavia had said more than once he had limitless resources.
Durand nodded politely, but he would not share photos or anything else of significance until he could strike Vestavia’s name off the list of suspects for the ambush.
“Someone got the information to Mirage very quickly that you were behind the kidnapping,” Vestavia pointed out. “Sounds like a snitch inside your group.”
“I have people on that as well, but you also have a problem,” Durand countered in a calm voice. He suppressed a smile at his guest’s scowl. “My men did not know where they were taking the girl until they were in route, and since all were killed, is it not logical to assume their innocence?”
Durand paused to draw on his cigar, letting the rich tobacco flavor flow through his mouth. He exhaled and said, “Before you accuse me of failure, you must explain how anyone knew of the chalet meeting spot. The elite team who killed them showed up in less than eleven hours of my men arriving. How did the informant get that information so quickly?”
Vestavia didn’t answer for a minute, his tiny brown eyes shifting between narrowed slits. “If there is a leak in my organization, I’ll find it and deal with that person. But if I learn that someone in your camp betrayed us, my associates will expect his head or yours. And I mean that literally.”
Durand smiled conspiratorially. “If someone I know killed my men-one of whom was my younger brother-you may have the head and any other piece…once I am finished with him. You cannot have mine, ever. And if it is one of your people, I will expect the same courtesy in return.”
“Fair enough. In the meantime, continue as planned. I’ll personally interrogate Mirage once that informant is captured.”
Durand waved a finger back and forth. “Nada. The Mirage is mine. Delivered alive.”
Vestavia grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing and reached down into his briefcase. He withdrew a thick manila envelope. “Your next contract.”
Durand did not move to take the package. “I no joke about this informant.”
“Fine. Alive. No promises on the condition of the body.”
Durand took the package and opened it, withdrawing the photos. “Another female. No problem.”
“Maybe, but this one won’t be quite as easy to grab.”
Durand studied the teenager and wondered yet again what Vestavia’s purpose was for the teens, but his alliance with this strange Italian depended on better results with less questions.
“What is our time frame?” Durand lifted the photo sheets into view. Pretty, but nothing notable.
“Two days. Mandy was intended for a side project, but this girl,” Vestavia said, his eyes going to the photos in Durand’s hand, dark eyebrows dropped low over mean eyes, “is needed now. No missteps.”
Vestavia lifted his briefcase and turned to leave.
“It would be in your best interest to find the snitch before I hand over this girl,” Durand warned quietly.
Vestavia stopped, breathing slowly during the long silence. “Threatening me is not a healthy idea.”
“I only offer incentive to move as quickly as you expect my people to. If you do not locate this Mirage first, then you will owe me, yes?”
Vestavia left without another word.
Durand tapped his cigar. This would never be an easy alliance, but the truly strong ones took work and finesse. He pressed a button on the radio function of his cell phone, calling Julio, who answered immediately.
Durand asked, “How are the photos from the chateau coming?”
“Most are fair, but one is no bad. It is the man who I believe was in charge of the team.”
“Bring all the photos now.”
“Si. I am on the way.”
EIGHT
GABRIELLE CURLED CLOSER to the warmth, hugging the pillow. The cloth smelled so…masculine?
She kept her eyes shut, allowing her mind to sharpen while she mustered the energy to pull away from the deep sleep tempting her to stay.
Now that she could actually process information, she realized the pillow wasn’t soft at all. The surface was hard and carved.
Last night…they were driving somewhere…then nothing once she dropped over the edge into deep sleep.
Carlos had been talking to her. When did they get out of the car? Her face moved up and down when the sculpted surface rose and fell in a gradual motion.
Her senses sharpened all at once. She couldn’t be where she thought she was, or better put…on top of…him?
Gabrielle opened her eyes, peeking at the left side of her body, and found she was at least wearing her underwear. She’d been undressed. Not acceptable, by her rules, but she didn’t think anything had happened. She lifted her head slowly to figure her chances of sliding out of bed without him noticing.
Zero.
Alert dark brown eyes stared back from a shaved face so seductively male she couldn’t break her gaze. She was spread across Carlos’s chest, hugging him like a lover, and afraid to move or speak.
When was the last time she’d been in this position?
So long ago she couldn’t recall, and never with a man whose body turned her gray matter into complete mush.
He was propped up on pillows, right arm behind his head, studying her with a quiet gaze so unlike the deadly face she’d witnessed yesterday.
A strong arm banded around her, his hand rubbing along her back, slowly, soothing. She had to get out of this bed, clear her head, and figure out what the devil she’d got into.
But his fingers were gently kneading the tense muscles, turning her body to jelly. Her limp muscles lost all tensile strength. Moving from this spot would take a monumental effort.
Who was this bloody guy?
He winked. All thought of reprimand over this impropriety stuttered in her mind.
She sighed. Isn’t it against some set of rules to be in bed with the prisoner? His magical fingers dismissed that question. She should be ranting at him, but honesty forced her to admit she enjoyed his touch and wasn’t particularly distressed at the moment.
Considering what she’d experienced yesterday, this wasn’t that strange.
He stopped rubbing her back, but left his arm looped over her shoulder. The silence continued. The formidable gaze that swept through his eyes now was no softer than the hard chest beneath her. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
Was he laughing at her?
She narrowed her eyes into what she hoped sent back just as formidable a message, though she had a feeling his was better. He’d probably had more practice at looking intimidating.
“You’re much calmer than I expected.” His chest continued to move slowly up, then down. His breath smelled like mint. She’d noticed the tin of strong mints he kept in the car last night. Must keep them near the bed, too.
“Why am I here?” she finally asked.
“I told you I was taking you somewhere safe.”
“Don’t be obtuse. I mean here, in this bed.”
“You needed rest.” His eyes softened. Amused. “Trust me. Nothing happened.”
Why had that sounded so definite? As in, he wasn’t the least bit interested in her sexually.
That should be a relief, right?
It probably would have been if his deep voice didn’t engage the wrong part of her brain. The part that considered it a perfectly sound idea to lounge in bed with a sexy stranger who had kidnapped her. All right, yes, she did sort of trust him after he’d constantly protected her yesterday, but that didn’t excuse a lapse of sanity.
The point was to get out of this predicament, not feed his ego by remaining compromised.
