Crossing Lines by Adrienne Giordano
24
It tookan agonizing ten minutes for the gate to open. For crying out loud, the man had hunted her all the way to Chicago and now that she literally places herself on his doorstep he takes ten minutes?
Unbelievable.
Or smart.
A tactical maneuver to keep her standing there, under guard, and thinking. Thinking and worrying, thinking and worrying, thinking and worrying.
Alfaro never was one to be underestimated. And she’d fed right into his plan.
That stopped now. She tipped her chin up and took a long pull of the moist, humid air that had relaxed her on the walk over.
I’m doing this.
Time to end it. Time to get her freedom back and Shane’s along with it. One way or another, when this was over, she’d be free.
Even if it meant dying, she’d be free.
“Go,” the guard told her, pointing at the open gate.
A golf cart, a plain white one — not even a presidential seal — that didn’t fit Alfaro’s typical flashy style, waited in the driveway with two uniformed guards. One stayed behind the wheel while the other slid from the cart and waved her forward.
She’d anticipated this moment all day. Had made a plan to control her emotions and not lose focus. The adrenaline rush she’d expected? The anticipated pounding head and rapid pulse?
Nothing.
Those first steps through the gate brought only calm control. And that was a gift.
Her escort drew his sidearm, motioned her into the cart, then climbed in beside her, keeping the gun trained on her. Apparently, he’d heard stories about her. Excellent. Alfaro’s men knew the chaos she created.
Pushing her luck, she glanced at the gun, then the guard and . . . smiled. One of those sly, you-might-survive-me ones that had served her well over the years.
Why not? It gave her a mental edge. Kept them guessing.
On the short ride to Alfaro’s front door she perused the tropical plants and palm trees lining the drive. A massive arched stone entrance and windows lined the front of the palace. All of it stunning and reminiscent of the styles she’d seen while on assignment in France.
Much too elegant for the monster inside.
The cart eased to a stop and her escort slid out, motioning her to the front door. She climbed the wide slate steps and one of the double doors leading inside opened, revealing another guard.
Lots of guards.
She’d expected no less, but seeing them all?
Should have waited for Shane.
She shook it off. The whole point of doing this alone was to protect him. To knock Alfaro off Shane’s trail.
And hopefully kill the man. How she’d get out of here once she did that? No clue.
I can do this.
The guard at the door nodded. She took a step closer, pausing for a second to get her bearings before she stepped over that threshold.
Into Alfaro’s space.
Straight ahead a large, curved staircase loomed. On either side was a hallway that led to a kitchen and various rec rooms and studies. During her flight, she’d dug up a floor plan online, but who knew what modifications had been made?
Still, it was something.
“Come in,” the guard barked. “Hands up.”
This was it. They’d search her and find the gun. Something she’d purposely carried because a woman walking the streets alone at this hour was foolish. Something she’d never considered herself to be.
She turned her back to him and held her arms up. “I have a gun at my waist. I walked here.”
The guard relieved her of the gun, making no fuss about it. As if it was simply an ordinary occurrence.
What wasn’t so ordinary was his dragging his hands over every inch — every inch — of her, checking for hidden weapons. He’d done her the courtesy of being thorough but brief.
A real gentleman, this one.
When he reached her ass, he found her phone and slid it from her back pocket.
She remained quiet, allowing him to finish his search while the guard at the door watched, mildly amused. If he’d searched her, she had no doubt he’d be a pig about it.
She slid him her bitch-glare, but decided irritating him wouldn’t exactly help her cause.
Search complete, the guard motioned her to the stairs. She took one step, then another across the white marble.
Hard floor. Skulls cracked on that kind of surface.
Maybe Alfaro’s skull. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Killing the man with his own excellent taste.
Behind her, the guard guided the heavy wood front door closed, the latch catching with a gentle click that fired her pulse.
Inside.
Locked door.
She took a breath, fought to keep her emotions under lockdown.
I can do this.
She climbed the steps, pretending to study the oversized Baroque paintings while surveying the area, mapping out possible escape routes.
At the top, another uniformed guard appeared. Jesus. So many guards. All of them armed. She’d known it, but now, seeing them all, the weight of it pressed in.
Second floor. Hopefully, Alfaro would meet with her here. If she could get him alone, she’d kill him and drop from a window, just as she and Shane had done at Brutus’s hotel.
The guard who’d brought her upstairs handed her over and then retreated down the steps.
Second-floor guard went left. She followed, her hands already itching for combat. If this guy was stupid enough to let her get out of his sight, he deserved to die.
Her sneakers squeaked against the marble, drawing his attention. Apparently, he’d heard about her too because he halted and waved her in front.
Damn.
She eased her fists open. Probably too early in the operation to kill someone anyway.
Behind her, he called commands. Turn left, turn right.
On her right, a wall of windows and French doors looked out over a courtyard. She’d seen all of that online. The solid doors on the right led to staircases or balconies. The balconies she could drop from, but she hoped to avoid it.
“Halt,” the guard said when she reached a set of double doors on her left.
Keeping his eye on her, he grabbed one of the ornate gold handles, flicked it and swung the door open.
Matias Alfaro leaned against his desk, arms folded, an oily, satisfied smile on his smug face.
Shane had barely thrownhis backpack on his hotel room’s bed when his phone lit up with Reynaldo’s name. On the way over, he’d left the kid a voice mail, but hadn’t made any bets on hearing back tonight. Alfaro demanded 24/7 availability from his staff.
No exceptions.
Shane punched up the call. “Rey, thanks for getting back to me.”
“She’s here.”
Bile mounted in his throat. Jesus, she’d turned herself over to a psycho.
He blew out a breath, brought his mind back to finding Faith. “Where are you?”
“At the palace.”
Rey’s voice was a low murmur. Did he actually live at the palace? Or even on the property?
“You’ve seen her?”
“No. Boss called. He told me to be ready to drive. When I got here, I asked the guard what was going on. Boss doesn’t usually leave so late. He told me a woman — the woman, Elizabeth Aiken — was here.”
Shane shook his head. Damned fool. She should have waited for them. “Where is she? What room?”
“I don’t know. I’m in kitchen. Waiting.”
“Listen, Rey, I know what I’m asking, but can you find her? I need specifics.”
“No.”
The word was an immediate punch. An absolute that neither shocked nor irritated Shane. He couldn’t blame the kid for not wanting to snoop around the palace. Getting caught might put him in a grave.
“Rey — ”
“I must stay in kitchen. Wait for instructions.”
Shane lifted his free hand and pressed his thumb and middle finger into his eye sockets. Between fatigue from the past week, his business burning and Faith pulling this stunt, he needed to get his mind right.
One thing at a time. The rest he’d deal with later.
He exhaled, let his thoughts settle into some sort of controlled chaos.
Right now, he had Rey — sort of. What better person to have on the inside than Alfaro’s driver? The one who could communicate all movements?
“Okay,” Shane said. “I understand. If he moves her, will you text me? Can you do that?”
“Si. What will you do?”
As if he knew? “Working on it. I’ll keep you posted.”
He disconnected, dialed Sully. His nerves crackled, sending his thoughts spiraling. A vision of Faith strapped to a table popped into his mind and — shit — he’d never get that out of there. He paced the room, moving quickly, hoping to burn energy. Once again, he zeroed in on the mission.
Find her. That’s all he had to do.
On the second ring, Sully picked up. “What’s happening?”
“Just got word from Rey. She’s at the palace. I think Alfaro’s moving her. Rey is on alert.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly. We need to stall him.”
“Uh, sure. Let’s do that. I mean, do you seriously think I have the power to make a deal with the president of Venezuela? This is way over my pay grade.”
“There’s got to be something. Talk to the brass. See if we can make a deal. We’ll get Andres out of prison in exchange for Faith.”
“Now you’re dreaming. Even if we could do it, it would take time.”
“We don’t have time.”
Shane completed another lap, working different scenarios, mulling things of importance to Venezuela and, in turn, Alfaro.
Imports, economy, financial markets. Banking.
Oil.
The country’s dependence on hydrocarbons wasn’t a secret. A whopping 84 percent of that dependence represented nearly $15 billion in crude oil. Mineral fuels were nearly 90 percent of Venezuela’s export revenue.
Shane halted, stood stock-still, letting his mind work. “Oil.”
“What about it?”
Freaking brilliant, if he did say so himself. “We’ll threaten his oil exports.”
Sully snorted. “I can’t tell my boss to call POTUS and say we need to immediately halt oil production in Venezuela.”
“You don’t have to. Dusty, Trev and I will do it.”
“What? You have lost it.”
Shane started walking again, this time more slowly. A loose plan took shape, odd threads coming together. They could do this.
He waved his free hand in the air. “Shut up and listen. The refineries. We need to disable them. Maybe we cut the electricity or blow a power station.”
“Whoa. Slow. Down.”
“It could work.”
“Yeah,” Sully said. “It could. But do we have time for that, considering Faith is with Alfaro right now? We’d have to find someone to get you inside. I’m good, but not that good.”
Crap. Sullivan was right. Shane reached the windows where the closed curtains swayed from the blasting AC unit below. He held his hand out, let the cold air wrap around his fingers and shoot up his arm.
Relax.
Think about this.
If the refineries were out, what was next. They had to ship the oil by truck and boat.
Shipping.
The ports.
He stuck two fingers in the opening of the curtains and peeped out, seeing nothing but black sky, but he knew what was out there in the distance.
Docks. A bunch of ʼem.
He let the curtain go and perched on the edge of the desk. “LA Guairá port is close.”
“And?”
Come on, Sullivan. Get on it. “Dumbass, we could take out a dock. Use it as a warning. I’ll call Alfaro, tell him if he hurts her, LA Guairá is toast. To prove it, we blow a portion of the dock. Can you get me Semtex in a hurry?”
Semtex BC-HMX, a volatile plastic explosive, was similar to C-4, but more devastating and usable underwater. With Semtex, they could wreck most of a shipping port.
And the double-bonus? Shane, if he had to, could rig the Semtex himself. All he needed was someone to provide it.
Sullivan sighed. “You can’t be serious.”
“Bet your ass I am. We’ll place it on a few supports and boom. Then we tell Alfaro that unless he releases Faith, more ports and refineries will be blown. If nothing else, it’ll buy us some time.”
Yes. This could work. Shane pumped a fist. For the first time all day some goddamned hope sparked.
Alfaro’s dependence on oil might be just the motivation they’d need. A president would be a fool to risk his nation’s top export. Alfaro was a lot of things, but a fool wasn’t one of them.
“Give me a few minutes,” Sully said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“As usual,”Alfaro told Faith, “you’ve surprised me.”
He remained leaning on his desk, but lowered his hands, resting them on either side of his body. He wore gray dress slacks and a pristine shirt she had no doubt he’d just pulled from a closet.
His salt-and-pepper hair appeared damp. Whether he’d showered for the occasion or simply wet it, she wasn’t sure, but knowing his obsession with his image, she wouldn’t be shocked if he’d taken the time to bathe.
After all, he’d want to be fresh for her beheading.
A quick scan of the spotless office revealed muted lighting that emphasized the richness of dark woods, deep colors and plush, oversized chairs.
Dark, yet elegant.
Like the man himself.
Next to the sofa, the glare of a reading lamp shined on folders stacked on a side table. Other than that, what she could see of the desk and coffee table were clear.
Not a scrap of paper to be seen.
Faith offered him her own smug smile. “By now, I’d hoped you’d know not to underestimate me.”
Alfaro’s nose twitched. Just a tiny, almost imperceptible movement that let her know she’d hit the mark.
This was an emotional man. Working inside his mind meant knocking him off his game. Forcing him to make mistakes.
Behind her, the guard who’d escorted her upstairs cleared his throat. Without her gun, her chances of taking out both men were slim.
But she’d faced these odds before and prevailed.
“Go,” Alfaro told him. “Ms. Aiken and I will talk. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
Talk. Interesting.
And ready for what?
The latching of a door sounded and she assumed the guard had followed orders.
She wouldn’t dare take her eyes off of Alfaro. He eased from the edge of the desk, walked around and took his chair. An oversized one, of course. One fit for the king he considered himself to be.
He pointed to one of the antique guest chairs — eighteenth-century if Faith were to guess — in front of his desk.
“Please. Sit.”
She moved to the chairs, noting the two windows behind him. Probably locked.
Seconds. That’s all it would take to unlock them, open the window — assuming the windows weren’t sealed — and hop out.
She lowered herself into a chair and Alfaro sat back, resting his hands over the armrests.
“Why have you come?”
Why indeed. “I’m done running.”
“And? You think I will forgive you? That we will — as you Americans say — settle up?”
She shrugged. “We’ll either settle up or I’ll be dead. Either way, I’m free.”
At this, he laughed. “If I didn’t despise you, I’d add you to my staff.”
Not if she had anything to say about it. Mirroring his body language, she sat back, draping her arms over the armrests. “Why didn’t you kill me on sight?”
“I considered it.” He met her gaze, narrowing his eyes. “I want information.”
“As you must know, I’m out of the loop.”
“Your government abandoned you.”
“My usefulness expired.”
He tsk-tsked. “No loyalty for the woman who murdered my son? I should be insulted.”
Faith concentrated on not reacting. No shocked horror. No gawking. No head tilt.
Zippo.
But, seriously? This guy might be loonier than she thought if he was insulted that the agency cut her loose. Forget the fact that she’d eliminated his son. He wanted her to be honored for it.
“I didn’t murder him,” she said. “He attacked me. It was self-defense.”
Another nose twitch. “My son was an honorable man.”
“An honorable man who threatened to rape women.”
He pointed at her. “Stop it.”
And there it was. The first chink in the armor.
Work it.
She leaned in. “You allowed your son to be involved with drug smuggling for the Liborios, one of the most violent cartels in the world. You cannot have any illusions about his choices. Or his character.”
“A woman in your position would be advised to shut her mouth. Or maybe I should fill it?”
Ah, yes. Like father like son, with the threat of sexual assault.
She cocked her head, offered up a small smile. “Considering I butchered your son, you might think twice.”
The man locked his jaw so tight it cracked and a sudden burst of adrenaline filled her. Fear mixed with excitement because holy hell, she’d pissed him off. Royally. Now she had to see it through.
“Tell me what happened,” he demanded.
“I’m sorry?”
“In that basement. I want to know. Once I do, I’ll decide how you die. Maybe I’ll butcher you.”
What the hell kind of man wanted the details of his son’s violent death?
A vengeful one.
One who got off on anger and depravity. One who used that anger to justify his actions.
She considered it. Telling him would only enrage him further and enraged people, she knew from experience, developed superhuman strength and an ability to focus only on eliminating the enemy.
In this case, her.
She needed him emotional, but not enraged. A fine line.
“His friend came at me first,” she said.
“Idiot. He always was short-sighted.”
“He assumed because he was bigger and stronger, I wouldn’t fight.” She waved it away. “Luca heard the noise and came to investigate. By then, his friend was dead.”
“You were in the basement?”
Liz nodded. “Yes. That’s where they kept me.”
“And when Luca came downstairs?”
For the first time in weeks, Liz allowed her mind to go back to that basement. The dank smell, the darkness and dirt. Luca’s boots on the steps. All of it filled her mind, made her chest pound. She inhaled, focused on lowering her heart rate.
Control.
That’s what she needed. Control and smart choices.
She met Alfaro’s gaze. “He saw his dead friend and tried to subdue me. He told me to go ahead and fight. That it would be all the better when he fucked me until I bled.” She held her hands wide. “Surely, you can’t blame me for defending myself.”
“Not at all. I blame you for taking my son from me.”
“I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice. You could have let him live.”
Oh, please. That would have been fascinating. “He was bigger and fighting hard. You should know that.”
“I taught them strength.”
“Exactly. It’s not as if I could tie him up.”
“You’re a resourceful woman. There were ways.”
“I suppose,” she said, “we’ll have to agree to disagree. How did you know I was in Chicago? How did Luis Gustavo find me?”
Brutus. She had to know. Had to figure out who burned her.
“My dear,” he said, drawing the word out as if she were some sort of imbecile. “I have contacts everywhere. Even in your country. How do you think I discovered you were working here in the first place.”
And there it was. The admission that someone inside Langley had sold her out.
“Who was it?”
He barked out a laugh. “I’d be a fool to tell you.”
Alfaro, like every other president, probably had spies all over DC.
“Luis,” he continued, “was a horrible disappointment. All he had to do was eliminate you and your lover. When he failed, I had no choice, but to act.”
Her lover. A nice generic term from a man who obviously enjoyed flaunting his upper hand. Flaunting his ability to find whomever, wherever.
If he knew Shane’s real identity, he’d brag about it. No question.
“You had Gustavo killed,” she said.
“Of course I did. He knew too much.”
Harsh as it was, a tiny bit of relief settled on her. What had she become that a man’s death — a violent one, no doubt — pleased her? “My friend,” she said. “He’s innocent in all this.”
“Innocents die every day.” He waved it away. “Thank you for your honesty. For telling me Luca fought and wasn’t a coward.”
Lord, so twisted.
A blaring ring exploded. Faith glanced at the desk phone. Not that one, but definitely a phone. Alfaro lifted one hip and dug into his pocket for a cell.
Perhaps the number she’d sent Sully was attached to it. Could she get that lucky?
Alfaro’s bottom lip jutted out before he poked the screen. “Yes?”
He snapped his gaze to her, his eyes widening. For whatever reason, he’d given up all hope of hiding his emotions.
And then he did the dead last thing she expected.
He handed her the phone.