Donna Young - Black Ops Bodyguard

“Sí. Gracias,” Julia answered the airport skycap, her smile now more tired than triumphant.

They’d flown through the early hours of the morning, arriving midafternoon in Caracas. Lack of sleep made her eyes gritty, her head ache. Ignoring both, she adjusted her bag strap farther onto her shoulder and stepped to the curbside.

Cars honked, prodding the pedestrians into motion who ignored the green glare of the traffic lights.

“Is this your first time in Venezuela?” The skycap was an elderly man with a shock of silver hair on a round face. His black eyes seemed softer than most. Kind.

“You are alone?” The man spoke in English, rolling his R’s in a lyrical manner. He glanced around her for a traveling companion.

“Yes.”

“Please. You will want to take this taxi.” The man waved to a small white car on the other side of the street, ignoring the row of taxis behind him. The driver next in line honked in protest, but the skycap merely turned his back on him and nodded toward the taxi making a U-turn in front of them.

“Renalto is a friend of mine and honest. He knows the city well. He will take you wherever you need to go.”

Julia regarded the older man for a moment, her smile no longer tired, but grateful. “Gracias,” she repeated and handed the skycap several pesos. “Much appreciated.”

Renalto parked in front of her and jumped eagerly from the car. He smiled, revealing a gold tooth that flashed in the sunlight.

“Buenos días.” He came around to her side and opened the back passenger door on the sedan.

“Buenos días.”

“You take care of the lady, Renalto. She is here for business, not your shenanigans.”

“I am always the gentleman, old man,” Renalto replied, his grin wider. “Unless the ladies prefer otherwise.”

“This one does not,” Julia remarked, unable to curb the laughter that filtered through her words.

“I am still at your service, señorita .” Renalto bowed at the waist. “You see, Leopold, I can be a gentleman.”

The older man shook his head even as Renalto reached for her carry-on case.

Julia stopped his hand. “I’ll keep it, if that’s all right.”

“Of course.” Instead, he waved his hand toward the passenger seat. “Welcome to Venezuela.”

“Ms. Cutting?” A man approached, his black hair slicked back on his scalp, his black suit—too dark for the heat of the day—tailored to emphasize the steroid-enhanced muscles beneath, matched the dark sunglasses that covered his eyes but didn’t quite cover the pock-mark scarred cheeks.

Without warning, he pulled a pistol from beneath his suit coat and clubbed Renalto on the back of his head. The driver fell into the side of the taxi then hit the pavement.

The man pointed the weapon at Julia. “Come with me.”

When Leopold stepped forward, Julia instinctively blocked him with her arm. “Don’t,” she warned Leopold, her eyes not leaving the gunman. “And if I refuse to come with you?”

The man in the suit waved his pistol toward Renalto. “Leave him or join him. Your choice.”

“We’ll pass, Jorgie.” Cal stepped behind the man, grabbed the gun. Before the man could react, Cal jerked the man’s wrist sideways. The bone snapped, the man grunted with pain and dropped the gun. Cal rammed his elbow in the man’s face, felt the cartilage give way, the blood spurt. “The lady doesn’t like violence.”

Cal kept the pistol and shoved the man aside. “Let’s go.”

“The driver,” Julia warned. She knelt in front of Renalto. “He needs our help.”

“I’m okay, señorita ,” Renalto whispered, wincing. Then he reached for his head. “Go with your friend.”

“I will take care of him,” Leopold interjected, already reaching for Renalto’s arm to help him up.

Cal opened the taxi’s passenger door and shoved Julia in, then tossed his bag in after her.

“Put your seat belt on,” he ordered.

After slamming her door shut, he reached into his pocket and flicked a business card on Jorgie. “Tell your boss I’ll be in touch.”

Without waiting for a reply, Cal slid behind the steering wheel.

“Are you all right?” Cal glanced at the rearview mirror, threw the car into gear, then pressed his foot against the gas.

“Yes,” Julia answered, ignoring the tremor in her fingers and snapped the seat belt in place. “What did you give him?”

“A warning.” They shot forward into traffic. Cal swore and swerved past an oncoming car. “Hold on.”

“You called him Jorgie,” Julia said observingly. “Is he one of Delgado’s men?”

“Yes,” Cal replied, then jerked the wheel to avoid a man on a bicycle. “Jorgie Perez. Although I doubt it is his real name.”

“How do you know him?”

“Cain MacAlister gave me a rundown on most of Delgado’s men. I recognized Jorgie from a photograph.”

“When were you going to share Cain’s information?” She asked the question in a quiet voice, but Cal wasn’t fooled.

“You’ve done your research, remember?” he responded wryly. When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Jorgie knew you were on that flight. He made contact too quickly otherwise.”

“Our aliases came from Labyrinth, right?”

“Yes.”

“So whoever had access to Jason’s files also has access to Labyrinth’s,” Julia concluded. “That means we can’t trust the good guys.”

“Exactly,” Cal admitted, impressed with her reasoning.

“Including Cain?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“So what now?”

“We switch identities one more time. But the next one we use is from one of my private sources,” Cal replied. “And we keep to ourselves for a while.”

“You mean no more contact with Labyrinth.”

A development that worked well with Cal for the moment. His phone call with Cain had hit too close to home.

“You’ve already told me my job is to keep you out of danger and to find Jason. Whatever it takes,” Cal reminded her. “It would help if you told me why Delgado wants you here. It’s not because of the money.”

“I told you, I don’t know,” Julia said, uncertain. “The obvious reason would be that I work for the President and have access to top clearance files.”

“If that were the case, he’d want you back in Washington where you’d be more use to him.”

Cal took a hard right and headed down another main street.

Suddenly, car tires squealed behind them.

“We’ve got a tail.”

Julia caught the dark sedan in her side mirror. “Delgado’s men?”

“Probably.” Cal swerved into the far right lane to avoid a motor scooter. “Hold on.” He crossed two lanes of traffic and skidded into another left turn.

A screech of tires followed a blare of a car horn. Within moments, the sedan appeared and sped down the street after them. “Which hotel were you going to stay at, Julia?”

“The Gran Paraíso.”

He glanced at his rearview mirror and ran through the red light. Julia grabbed the dashboard, held on as Cal swerved to miss oncoming traffic. Suddenly, he hit the brake and fish-tailed into a nearby alley.

A minute later, the black sedan rushed past.

“Delgado owns the Gran Paraíso and several others in the area,” Cal remarked, his gaze on the rearview mirror.

“I know that. I’d counted on my alias.” She leaned back and took a deep breath, trying to calm her heart before it burst from her chest. “You sound like you know Delgado personally.”

“I’ve had my run-in with his people in the past,” Cal said noncommittally. His gaze swept over her sleeveless cream-colored blouse and burgundy skirt. “What else did you bring to wear?”