Dana Marton - Bridal Op

“Call me crazy, but I don’t consider dangling on a rope over the abyss a break. I’d just as soon get the climb over with as fast as possible.” She took a breath then held it as he squeezed some of the clear gel onto his fingertip and rubbed it gently over the pad of her thumb.

“Okay?” He glanced up, into her eyes, with concern.

She cleared her throat. “Good. Feels cool.”

“You should be fine by morning.” He moved on to the next finger, then the next.

When he was done, he took her hands one more time and pressed a warm kiss into each palm, sending some heat into her face that she hoped he couldn’t see in the twilight.

“How are your arms and legs?” He put away the gel. “A good muscle rub and everything could be as good as new by the time we get going again.”

“No. Thanks,” she said and fished out a jar of face cream from the bottom of her pack, something one of her friends was developing in a quest to build a successful cosmetics business.

Isabelle got free samples of everything, partially due to their friendship and partially, she suspected, because Sylvia was hoping to feature her products, for future brides, at Weddings Your Way. She dabbed the smooth, rich cream onto her wind-dried face with a knuckle and spread it around with the back of her hand, not wanting to mess up whatever potion Rafe had rubbed over her fingertips.

The scent of oranges soothed her. Sylvia used various essential oils in most everything she made.

Rafe sniffed the air appreciatively. “So we snuggle up for the night?” He flashed a sly grin and made himself comfortable.

“No. Again. But nice try,” she said while thinking a snuggle wouldn’t be that bad, for body heat if nothing else. August was a winter month in Ladera, a country in the Southern hemisphere. The weather wasn’t bad during the day but dipped into the forties at night. At least Laderan winters were generally dry, so they didn’t have to worry about being cold and wet.

The breeze ruffled his dark hair, putting the slight curls into disarray. “Men have fragile egos, you know,” he said, and his expression turned serious. “Too much rejection can be psychologically damaging. Emotional trauma and that kind of stuff.”

She drew up an eyebrow. “I don’t think you see enough rejection for that.”

He was unfairly good looking, something like she pictured Antonio Banderas would look like if he joined a gym today and kept going religiously. He had an easy smile, sexy, that matched his laid-back manner, and intense eyes that were sharp with intelligence. He was infinitely charming and, at the same time, commanded respect with ease.

And she was a fool for getting a secret thrill out of bantering with him like this, although she was smart enough never to take his advances seriously—nor did she think he expected her to. The man had an active social life. She always figured he flirted with her at the office out of boredom in between assignments.

“Someday…” he said, mischief glinting in his eyes, obviously not ready to give up yet “…all that pent-up desire will erupt. You will realize what you’ve been missing. The dam will break and—”

“Is this little fantasy going anywhere?” she asked in a voice as dry as she could manage it.

“I’m just saying. When the time comes… Be gentle with me.”

She smiled into the semidarkness despite herself. “I’m not someone you need to worry about.”

“It’s always the quiet ones who worry me the most.”

His voice vibrated through her the way bass chords did if you sat too close to the speakers.

Don’t think about it.

She half turned and dug through her backpack for food and water. Next time she agreed to go on a mission with anyone, she was going to insist on hotel rooms—separate ones. She glanced around their cramped shelter and considered it fully for the first time. Pitiful.

“Should have stayed a criminologist at the Drug Enforcement Agency,” she muttered.

“But isn’t this more fun?” A smile hovered above his lips.

“I liked symposiums and consultations with local police. Court appearances to give expert testimony definitely beat wondering if any poisonous bugs will crawl into my sleeping bag.” Or snakes. She swallowed.

She should have thought of that before she’d signed up to be an undercover agent at Miami Confidential. But she’d given up her comfortable job of profiling and in-house suspect interviews, partially because the offer from Miami Confidential had been hard to turn down and because she’d seen it as another new challenge to prove that she could stand her ground anywhere, do anything a man could. It was something her father had taught her at an early age, at times when having four brothers had overwhelmed her.

She thought of her work at the DEA then glanced around at the narrow ledge that was to be their resting place for the night. Now that she was with Miami Confidential, she had a feeling she could kiss assignments that came with room service goodbye.

“Snakes can’t climb this high, can they?” she asked, to be sure.

He was playing with the phone, trying to make a connection. “What would be the point? Nothing’s up here. They stay where their prey is.”

Damn smart of them.

“Okay. Good.” She nodded. “Anything?” she asked after a while.

He shook his head. “Even satellite phones don’t work everywhere.”

“We’ll report back once we reach the top.” She hoped and prayed they would make it that far.

“Not much left for tomorrow—an hour’s worth of climbing at best. But it’s tricky.”

Tricky? What the hell was the wall-of-death they’d just conquered? “Worse than up to here?”

“We’ll be getting to the part where the rock is covered with soil.”

And soil crumbled, slipped. “Great.”

“Plus we’ll be above the tree line,” he added. “We could be spotted.”

“All this good news is overwhelming.”

“We can handle it.”

Damn right they would. Failure was not an option. She wasn’t going to let Sonya die.

“She was still alive four days ago.” She kept telling herself that throughout the day, hanging on to the thought for hope.

The last time Carlos Botero had been contacted he had demanded to hear Sonya’s voice. The contact the kidnappers allowed had been brief but sufficient to reassure the father. “We have no reason to think anything has changed since then. Rachel will call us as soon as anything new comes in.”

The whole case was full of oddities, starting with the ransom note. It had been delivered to Sonya’s father instead of her fiancé, Juan DeLeon, a powerful politician. Why? Did that have significance or was it random choice? Both men were wealthy and powerful.

“I keep thinking there’s more at stake here than money. The kidnappers have to be from Ladera. Otherwise, why bring Sonya here? It only makes sense if they know the country like the back of their hands, if they’re sure they can hide out more effectively here.” She paused. “But if they’re Laderan, they have to be more familiar with Juan than with Botero. Why not send the note to him? Or why not kidnap Sonya in Ladera in the first place? Law enforcement is a lot more lax here. She’s been spending as much time here lately as she does at home.” They’d been over the same questions before. But maybe if they kept asking them, eventually one of them would come up with the correct answer.

“They want to keep the focus away from the country.”

She nodded, still agreeing with the conclusion they kept coming up with every time they talked about the clues. At least, as far as they knew, the kidnapers were not aware that Miami Confidential now had Sonya’s true location.

“I—” She fell silent then went ahead and, for the first time, voiced the thought she knew had been creeping around in both their heads. “I don’t think they’re bringing her back.”