Yours in Black Lace (18 page)

“Elliott. Find out if hotel security got anything on the entrance cameras. Move.”

Something Stevie had said about paint and furniture triggered his memory. Suddenly words he’d written off as nervous sarcasm became a clear message. He turned to Alex, who was replaying the audio recording, listening for clues.

“Hey, man. When you did a recon of the hotel, didn’t you say they were redecorating?”

“Yeah, the small conference rooms on the basement level… Em, that’s it! She’s got to be in one of those.”

Emelio picked up the headset and activated the microphone. “Double O Team, this is Team Leader. Head for the lowest level of the hotel, but don’t be seen.”

“Leader, this is 005. What’s happening?” Jason asked.

“We think we’ve located 007. Maintain radio silence and wait for further instructions. Team Leader, out.”

Alex rifled through the hotel blueprints. He found the one he wanted and spread it over the desk. “Okay. We’ve got a central hallway with meeting rooms on either side. The elevators are in the middle of the south wall—guests to the west, freight on the east. Emergency exits are here and here, doors to the parking garage here.”

Emelio indicated the south wall. “There are four possible rooms she could be in. But, if you’re right about the sound of the freight elevator, that narrows it to these two right here. I want to make sure we’re headed in the right direction. Give me your cell phone.”

“What?”

“It has Stevie’s number stored in the address book.”

His heart knocked in his chest as he listened to Braga terrorize her. Time was running out. The ringing in his ear echoed over the audio speaker. Emelio muted the volume on the equipment as Braga ordered her to answer the call.

“Stevie Madison speaking.”

Her quiet Southern drawl washed over him. He closed his eyes, searching with his soul, seeking her out in the darkness with messages of reassurance and love.

“I’m coming for you.”

“Emelio.” There were tears in her voice. It quavered with a combination of misery and hope. “Are you still in Naples?”

He couldn’t help a tiny smile. Even with her life on the line, she thought fast and tried to buy him some extra time. Stephanie was an incredible woman. His woman.

“Are you still in the hotel, Jayne?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Just as he started to speak again, the phone was wrenched from her grasp. The next voice was as warm as winter, confident as only power can be.

“Sanchez. Do you know who this is?”

Stevie’s life depended on his ability to paint a picture of surprise. “Braga? What are you doing with her? What the hell is going on?”

“Ms. Madison and I are getting acquainted.” Braga paused while he waited for a response. “Don’t you want to ask why, Sanchez?”

He said nothing. He would learn more by staying quiet and letting Braga tell him what he already knew.

“
Hijo de puta!
Have you forgotten her so quickly?”

Emelio knew the “her” referred to wasn’t Stevie, but he ignored the question, adding fuel to Braga’s rage. An angry man was more likely to make errors. That’s why his own fury had to wait for release.

“What is it you want?”

Braga inhaled sharply then his voice calmed again. “There is a videotape. I’m sure you know which one I am talking about. Ms. Madison says she has it in her apartment. I have Ms. Madison.”

Not for long, you sadistic bastard.
“Put her back on the phone. I don’t know where it is—”

“Find it! I want the original and every copy.”

“I need time, damn it! She ditched me in Naples and I’m on the road headed back to Miami. Let her tell me where it is.”

“
No me vengas con tus pendejadas.
You remember how to get to the warehouse in Overtown.” That last was a statement, not a question. “This is a simple business transaction. However if something were to go wrong, something unfortunate…”

Memories assaulted him, flooding Emelio’s heart with guilt and self-doubt. It was his responsibility to protect Stevie, as it had been to protect Lina. He answered the only way he could, a single affirmative forced past the tightness in his throat.

“We understand each other, then. You have ninety minutes, Sanchez. Believe me, you do not want to be late.” The cell phone disconnected.

Emelio closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, dragging air into suddenly constricted lungs. Fear, stark and vivid, punctured his chest when he couldn’t stop the images of what Braga might do to the woman he loved. He opened his eyes and turned to his partner.

Alex pulled off the headphones he’d been using to follow the conversation. His best friend looked at him with a steady green gaze. “Braga won’t settle for the video. Have you thought about that?”

“Only every fifteen seconds or so.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“With a single exception, you’ve always played by the rules, hombre. Do you want me to take this one?” His expression said there was no conceit or disrespect in his offer, that it wouldn’t change anything between them.

But Emelio shook his head. “I’m playing winner takes all.”

Alex nodded and grabbed a roll of electrical tape out of Elliott’s equipment bag. “I’ve got an idea. Strip off your jacket and open your shirt.”

“What the hell is that for?” Emelio nodded at the roll of tape as he tugged off his suit coat.

“You’re going to need an ace in the hole. I saw that
Die Hard
movie on cable last night so—”

“So you’re going to turn me into an action hero. That means I need a couple minutes lead on the rest of the team. I can’t take a chance on anyone getting overzealous.”

Emelio pulled his Ruger from its shoulder holster. Braga might decide to kill her now, instead of waiting for him. He thought about Stevie and her James Bond movies, wondering if he had it in him to be the kind of hero she needed right now.

Moments later, the cuffs of his shirt were rolled to his elbows, the front unbuttoned to the middle of his chest. On his upper back, just below the collar, Alex had used the electrical tape to secure the Beretta at the base of his neck. His partner flicked the microphone for the speaker.

“Double O Team, take the fire stairs, not the elevators. Set up at either end of the main corridor, then sit tight.”

Jason acknowledged the order. “Double O Five, roger that. We’ll be in position in less than ten.”

That meant he had less than five. Alex glanced at him and elevated his thumb before extending his index finger, their signal for “good to go, move your ass.” Emelio grabbed the cell phone and ran through the hotel lobby, ignoring the startled looks of the guests he brushed aside. He leaped down the curved staircase to the lower level then paused.

Watching, listening and praying.

It all came down to trust. Lina had trusted him and he’d lied to her. He had trusted her and she’d betrayed him. He’d trusted Stevie and she had walked into a trap. The only person left to trust was himself.

Wild, restless anger burned away his uncertainty, leaving behind the heat he needed to go after Braga. At the end of the night, one of them would walk away. The other would be carried.

But no matter what, Stevie would live.

She righted herself from where he’d pushed her to the floor when he took her cell phone. Listening to his end of the conversation, it was obvious he had planned to kill Emelio at the warehouse all along. If there was anything in her power to prevent it, she had to act. Now.

Emelio was the only person in her life who’d ever truly accepted her for who she was. He had proven earlier tonight that he trusted her, that he believed in her. In loving Emelio, she found the strength she needed for her training to finally override her fear. She had to fight for him, for their love and for her own self-respect.

“Carlos. I want to talk to you.” Braga tossed the phone on top of the evening bag beside her. Without a backward glance, he stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Stevie seized the moment. Scrambling on her hands and knees, she swallowed her revulsion at having to get close to Weston’s body. Quickly reaching into his tuxedo jacket, she pulled the gun from his pocket.

Hoo yah. A Walther PPK/S .380 caliber blued steel double action combat pistol. Jayne Bond’s weapon of choice.

After a swift glance at the door, she tried to decide where to put it. She looked at the contents of her purse scattered on the carpet, then dismissed the idea of hiding the gun in there. It would be too obvious and too difficult to access later.

Stevie rushed back to her place on the floor, plunged her hand through the split in her dress and shoved the pistol into her left stocking garter. It felt cold and hard against her thigh and it was positioned awkwardly. However, she’d just have to deal with the discomfort and pray it didn’t slide down her leg when she stood up.

As the door opened, she dropped her head and concentrated on looking despondent. It wasn’t hard with her heart pounding against her ribs and a light sweat breaking out on her skin.

Braga came back into the room with his two thugs. He waved a hand at Weston’s body. “Wrap that garbage in the drop cloths and dispose of it. Help him, Felipe.”

Stevie kept her head down. She couldn’t let on that anything about the situation had changed. Braga had to believe she was still under his control. But she wasn’t, and she never would be again.

From down the hall, the sounds of heavy, arrhythmic footfalls were punctuated by soft grunts. He took a chance and peered around the doorway to see two men come into sight, balancing a long canvas painter’s drop cloth between them.

Part of him mourned Weston’s death. Jack was an avaricious traitor who had betrayed everything Emelio believed about honor and justice. But he should have rotted in a federal prison, not in a shallow grave by the side of a back road.

The two men came near enough for Emelio to make out their words. “It will have to wait, Felipe.”

“But
el jefe
said to get rid of—”

“There are too many people around,
estupido.
Weston has to stay in the trunk.”

Emelio flattened himself against the wall until he heard them go past. Peering through the crack of the door frame, he watched Jason and Heintz step out of the dark alcove near the parking-garage entrance. Guns at the ready, they moved as one to stop Carlos and Felipe before they could raise an alarm.

Once the SOD had the two henchmen safely in custody, Emelio hurried down the corridor in the direction they had come. Stevie was in one of the rooms next to the freight elevator, he was sure of it. But which one? He pressed the redial button on Alex’s cell phone, letting it ring only once.

“Let them look.” Braga pulled back the sleeve of his tuxedo and looked at his watch. “As soon as Carlos and Felipe return, we will leave for the warehouse. I do hope Sanchez is able to find that videotape.”

“Why are we going to Overtown?”

Braga’s features darkened and his mouth twisted into a frown. He answered almost to himself, muttering, “It seemed appropriate to return to the scene of Sanchez’s crime.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What did he—”

“Enough questions, Ms. Madison. I have no intention of explaining myself to you.”

“No small talk? No chitchat?” Stevie shook her head. “No one takes the time to do a really sinister interrogation anymore.”

Braga’s smile was arctic. “There will be time enough to find out what little you know. You’re quite clever, for a woman. But I doubt that Sanchez would trust you with any real knowledge of my business.”

His assumption was too close to the argument she’d had with Emelio that morning. But Stevie resented the hell out of being dismissed and felt the welcome spark of temper. “You can’t be sure of that. Maybe I’ve already turned everything I have over to the authorities.”

“I hope not. For your sake.” Braga reached down to pat her cheek. “However, I do not anticipate any problems escaping prosecution, just as I have in the past.”

“Your arrogance will be your downfall. How do you know Weston wasn’t playing both sides, too? You were a fool to trust a rat like him.”

He frowned and his eyes flashed like black diamonds, though she wasn’t sure whether it was in reaction to being called a fool or to the idea of Weston double-crossing him. “It does not matter. With both of you dead, there will be no one to corroborate any accusations.”

“You won’t get away with—”

“Please, my dear, do not resort to clichés.”

Stevie blinked while he laughed at her. So much for getting a confession on her pen recorder. She was just about to ask another question when her cell phone rang. It chimed once and then lay quiet. Was that some kind of signal?