About the Author

An avid reader since childhood, BEVERLY BARTON wrote her first book at the age of nine. She wrote short stories, poetry, plays and novels throughout high school and college, and is now a New York Times bestselling author, having written over sixty books since she was first published in 1990. Beverly lives in Alabama with her husband.

Dying for You
Beverly Barton

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Other Books By

Also available by Beverly Barton

A TIME TO DIE

DANGEROUS DECEPTION

WORTH DYING FOR

This book is dedicated to my readers,

especially those who have followed THE PROTECTORS series over the years.

Thank you. I appreciate each of you so very much.

Prologue

ARTURO TORRES-RIOS killed his first man when he was fourteen, his first woman when he was seventeen and his first child when he was twenty. Some would call him a murderer. He disagreed. He was an executioner. In his thirty-two years, he had acquired many useful skills that he used for profit and occasionally for pleasure. As an assassin, he had few equals. He preferred jobs where he had little or no personal contact with the victim, but on occasion and for the right price, he used his talents as a torturer or a kidnapper or a thief.

He disliked Americans, especially the owners and employees of wealthy companies here in South America like the ones who were making deals with Ameca’s government to go into partnership with his country’s oil tycoons. Ameca was oil-rich, but the people lived in poverty, as Arturo had lived as a boy. His dislike for Americans was well-known and although he had been hired by more than one American to do their dirty work, Arturo never had direct contact with the bastards. Josue Soto, a lawyer and long-time friend, brokered all of Arturo’s deals, working as a middleman. Josue was well worth the ten percent Arturo paid him. His childhood friend could be trusted.

They never met at Josue’s office or his home, nor did they meet at Arturo’s home. Instead, whenever a new business deal was in the works, they met at St. Salvatora, the old mission church in Puerto Colima, the fishing village where they had both been born.

“If you accept this assignment, you will be paid a quarter of a million dollars, then another quarter million after Phase One and the final million and a half at Phase Two when the assignment is completed,” Josue told him.

“Two million dollars makes this a tempting offer.”

“You don’t even have to get your hands dirty. All you have to do is oversee the job and make sure nothing goes wrong. I am certain you can put together the right team for an assignment such as this.”

“Is the person hiring me for this job an American or someone from Ameca?” Arturo asked.

Josue sighed heavily. “Why do you ask when you know it is better for you and for our client if that information is not shared, to protect both your identity and the client’s?”

Arturo smiled. Josue was right. It did not matter to him who wanted to employ him. His skills were for hire on the open market. “Forget I asked.”

“You have less than a month to prepare. Everything must be in place by the fifteenth of September. It will be up to you to choose the exact time and place, but the opportunity to act is brief, a few days at most.”

“That is not a problem.” He eyed the thin folder in Josue’s hand. “This contains all the information and instructions?”

Josue nodded.

Arturo took the folder, opened it, scanned the three pages several times, and then returned the folder to his friend. Arturo had taught himself to memorize data quickly, to keep information in his head. It was safer for him that way. No paper trail.

“Then I can make contact today and say that we have accepted the assignment?”

“Yes. Tell them to wire the money to our account immediately. Once that is done, I will formulate a foolproof plan and assemble the perfect team.”

“No one is to be killed,” Josue reminded him. “Not until the order is given.”

Arturo and Josue rose from the wooden bench and shook hands. Josue left first, exiting through the front doors. Arturo slipped out the back door, put on his sunglasses and, after checking the debris-strewn alley, walked briskly to his parked car two blocks away.

Chapter One

DAISY HOLBROOK PRIDED herself on doing her job as Dundee’s office manager with expertise and finesse. She kept up-to-date on dozens of cases and, at present, twenty full-time agents, numerous contract agents and six members of the office staff. The Dundee Private Security and Investigation Agency handled assignments within the United States and internationally and was known worldwide as one of the premiere agencies of its kind. Sam Dundee, the owner, visited their sixth-floor office complex in downtown Atlanta annually and was only a phone call away in emergencies. But CEO Sawyer McNamara oversaw the agency, hired and fired personnel, assigned cases and ruled Dundee’s with an iron fist. His word was law. Many agents became friends and fraternized while between jobs. Not Sawyer. He maintained a professional distance between himself and the employees. Even if all the agents didn’t like Sawyer, to a person, they respected him. The office staff, except for Daisy, trembled in fear whenever the big boss came anywhere near them and all the female staffers had secret crushes on him. Daisy understood why. Sawyer was not only intimidating, thus causing apprehension, but he also dressed like a GQ model, was tall, dark and handsome, and oozed sex appeal. Daisy had to admit that when she’d come to work here, straight out of college, and met him for the first time, she’d had a bit of crush on him herself.

She’d gotten over it.

As she turned on lights, checked to make sure the cleaning crew had left each private office in perfect condition, and put on two pots of coffee in the staff lounge, Daisy briefly recalled her first day on the job eight years ago. She had been nervous and unsure of herself, but determined to do her best. Within two years, the office manager had retired, leaving the position open. Daisy had been surprised, to say the least, when the then new CEO, Sawyer McNamara, had promoted her to the coveted position.

“You’re intelligent, efficient and levelheaded,” Sawyer had told her. “And you don’t tremble in your high heels or swoon like a love-struck teenager when I speak to you.”

After eight years in Dundee’s employ, Daisy had gained the nickname Ms. Efficiency, of which she was extremely proud. She considered most of the agents to be her friends, some even close friends, and one in particular had stolen her heart several years ago. Everyone at Dundee’s, except the man himself, knew that Daisy was in love with the rugged former SAS officer, Geoff Monday. Not only was he a womanizer, a confirmed bachelor and fifteen years her senior, but Geoff also treated her like a kid sister. Not once had he ever looked at her as if she were anything other than a buddy. Unrequited love was a bitch!

Marching down the hall toward her workstation in the center of the main office, Daisy checked her wrist-watch. 8:10 a.m. She arrived promptly at eight each morning, an hour before the other members of the staff. As a general rule, unless there was some type of emergency, the boss arrived anywhere between nine and ten. The agents who were not on assignment came and went from headquarters at various times. Just as she approached her desk, the distinct sound of the elevator stopping and the doors opening alerted her that someone was coming into work early. It would be either the boss himself or one of the agents. The office staffers usually rushed in at the last minute.

Daisy looked down the short hallway and watched while Lucie Evans exploded from the elevator, her long, curly red hair bouncing on her shoulders as she stomped her sandal-clad size-nines up the carpeted corridor.

Uh-oh. Daisy knew that look. Spiting mad, fire shooting from her dark eyes, cheeks flushed and determination in her stride. Lucy was pissed. Royally pissed, and there was only one person who could make her that angry.

“Is he in yet?” Lucie demanded when she neared Daisy’s workstation.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Call him and tell him to get down here as fast as his half-million-dollar Mercedes will go.”

“Is there some type of emergency?” Daisy knew better than to disturb Sawyer at home without a very good reason.

“Oh, yes, there’s an emergency.” Lucie snarled. “I’m the emergency. Tell that son of a bitch that unless he wants all those pretty paintings and sculptures in his office destroyed, he’d better be here in twenty minutes.”

“Lucie, you aren’t threatening to—”

“Damn right, I am.” Her lips curved into a wicked smile, one that told Daisy she meant business.

“If you start tearing up Mr. McNamara’s office, I’ll have to call security.”

“Call Sawyer instead,” Lucie said, as she moved past the workstation and headed farther down the hall. “I promise not to touch a thing for the next twenty minutes.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get a cup of coffee first, and then I’ll be waiting in the big man’s office.”

Daisy followed Lucie into the staff lounge. “Whatever it is, do you want to talk about it? Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll—”

Lucie turned on her. “You’ll what? Try to calm me down? Play interference between me and Sawyer? Sorry, sweetie, not this time. It’s gone beyond anything anyone can say or do.”

“All right. I’ll call Mr. McNamara and let him know you’re here and that you’re upset.”

“Tell him he’s got twenty minutes.”

Daisy paused in the doorway. “You promise that you won’t do anything destructive for the next twenty minutes.”

Using her index finger, Lucie marked her chest with an X and said, “Cross my heart.”

As she made her way back to her desk, Daisy heaved a worried sigh. This was far from the first time Lucie Evans had been upset with Sawyer. Except for one incident when she had actually broken Sawyer’s Water-ford crystal paperweight, she had never been destructive. Whatever had happened to push her to the edge had to be worse than anything that had occurred in the past. In the eight years she had worked at Dundee’s, she had watched the war between Lucie and Sawyer with as much interest and morbid fascination as the rest of the staff and all the agents. No one understood why, although the animosity between the two could easily set off World War III, Sawyer hadn’t fired Lucie or why Lucie hadn’t quit. Daisy didn’t know for sure, of course, but she suspected that since both of them were as stubborn as mules, neither would back down, or give an inch. Sawyer was waiting for Lucie to resign; and Lucie was waiting for Sawyer to fire her. Stalemate.

When she returned to her desk, Daisy called Sawyer’s private home number. He answered on the third ring.

“Good morning, Daisy. Is there a problem?”

“Yes, sir, I’m afraid there is.” She dreaded telling him. Usually just the mention of Lucie’s name could alter his mood from positive to negative.

“Well?” he asked impatiently.

“Lucie Evans is here.” Daisy waited for his reaction.

“Ms. Evans is supposed to be on assignment. Did she give you any explanation for why she walked out on a client?”

“No, sir, she didn’t mention the client, but she demanded that I contact you and ask you—” Daisy cleared her throat “—actually tell you that if you’re not here at headquarters in twenty minutes, she is going to wreck your office.”

“Call security and have her—No, wait. Tell her I’ll be there. And if she’s touched even so much as a paper clip in my office, I’ll have her butt hauled off to jail.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll inform Ms. Evans right away.”

Daisy found Lucie in Sawyer’s office, sitting behind his desk in his plush leather chair. When Daisy walked in, Lucie swiveled around and smiled at her.

“Well?”

“Mr. McNamara will be here in twenty minutes.”

Lucie lifted the glass paperweight from Sawyer’s desk, a replacement for the one she had broken a couple of years ago. Daisy hurried into the room, reached out, took the paperweight from Lucie’s hand and set it back on the desk.

“Promise me that you’ll be a good girl.” Daisy looked right at Lucie.

Lucie glanced at her wristwatch, tapped the face and said, “I’ll be as good as gold for the next twenty minutes.”

SAWYER POURED the contents of his cup into the sink, rinsed out the sink and placed the cup in the dishwasher. His coffeemaker would shut off automatically, so he left the half-full pot on the warmer. Mrs. Terrance, his housekeeper, would arrive at ten and tidy the kitchen.

He went to his bedroom, put on his jacket, picked up his briefcase and headed straight for the garage. Usually, it took him thirty minutes to drive from his home to the downtown office building that housed Dundee’s. This morning, he had to find a way to cut that time by ten minutes, if possible. He had known Lucie Evans long enough to know that the lady didn’t bluff. And he also knew Daisy Holbrook well enough to know she would not call security until the last possible moment, which meant that Lucie could wreck his office before the guards arrived to stop her.

After getting into his Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren, one of his most prized possessions, Sawyer put his Bluetooth earpiece into place, backed out of the driveway and onto the road. Once in the middle of bumper-to-bumper traffic, he placed a call, which after six rings went to voice mail.

“You’ve reached Lucie Evans. I’m not available to take your call. Please leave your number and I’ll get back to you as soon a possible.”

“Damn!” Sawyer muttered under his breath.

She wasn’t going to answer her cell phone. She wanted to make him squirm.

He called her again. Once again, she didn’t answer.

After her recorded message ended, he said, “Touch one thing in my office and I’ll contact the police.”

Lucie was a loose cannon. If he’d been smart, he would have fired her when he took over the CEO reins from Ellen Denby six years ago. Actually he had thought she would resign once she realized she’d be taking orders from him. But in typical Lucie fashion, she had dug in her heels and stayed on at Dundee’s. For six years, she had done everything humanly possible to make him fire her; and he had done everything within his power as CEO to make her quit.

Lucie wasn’t cut out for the line of work she had chosen. Not now or in the past. Whatever had possessed her to think she would make a good FBI agent, he’d never understood. She’d had the intelligence, the grit and the determination, but not the temperament. Lucie had always been volatile. Even as a kid, she’d been high-strung and emotional.

There had been a time when they hadn’t been enemies. When they were teenagers, he had looked out for her the same way he’d looked out for his kid brother, Brenden. But that had been a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

Sawyer placed a call to the security office in the building that housed Dundee’s. When one of the officers on duty answered, Sawyer said, “This is Sawyer McNamara. Send someone upstairs to the Dundee Agency on the sixth floor. Have him go to my office and wait there with one of my agents, Lucie Evans, until I arrive.”

“Yes, sir. Is there some problem we need to know about?”

“Ms. Evans has threatened to wreck my office if I don’t arrive there within the next fifteen minutes. I prefer not to contact the police, but handle this internal problem myself.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll send someone immediately.”

“Thank you.”

The next call Sawyer made was to Lucie’s abandoned client who had hired Dundee’s for a bodyguard assignment. Taylor Lawson was a has-been TV star whose claim to fame was a role as a brash young space cadet on a futuristic drama that ran four seasons some twenty years ago. He had been invited to act as host for this year’s TV Sci-fi convention in Las Vegas.

“I want a capable bodyguard,” Lawson had said. “But I want a woman. A good-looking woman that I can pass off as my girlfriend.”

“I know just the agent.” Sawyer had known immediately that it was the type of assignment Lucie would hate. And whenever possible, the cases she hated were the ones he chose for her.

“Yeah, who the hell is this?” the man bellowed and Sawyer realized he had no doubt disturbed Taylor Lawson’s sleep.

“Mr. Lawson, this is Sawyer McNamara from Dundee’s. I’m calling in reference to—”

“That crazy bitch you sent me tried to murder me,” Lawson said. “I’ve got a good mind to sue Dundee’s and you and her.”

“Exactly what happened?” Sawyer asked.

“I told you, she tried to kill me.”

“Why would Ms. Evans try to kill you? Her job was to protect you.”

Lawson coughed a few times, and then grumbled several obscenities. “She was supposed to play the part of my girlfriend. That was understood when I hired her.”

“Yes, sir, that’s correct.”

“Well, apparently you didn’t make that part of her assignment clear because she sure as hell refused to act the part.”

A nagging suspicion tightened Sawyer’s gut. “Precisely what did Ms. Evans refuse to do?”

“She refused to sleep with me. I paid top dollar for her services and I expected her to be worth every cent. But when I told her to strip and get in bed, she refused, so I took matters into my own hands.”

“And did what?” Sawyer swallowed hard.

“I slapped her and the crazy bitch sucker punched me. Knocked me on my ass and—”

“Mr. Lawson, Dundee’s provides bodyguard services, nothing more. I thought I made that perfectly clear to you. If Ms. Evans had to defend herself, then consider yourself lucky that she didn’t kill you. Believe me, the lady is more than capable.”

“Hell, you’d think she would have been thrilled to have Lieutenant Jack Starr fuck her. Most women would be.”

“Then there’s your problem. You see, Lucie Evans is not like most women.”

“I figure she’s a butch, despite the way she looks. You should have warned me. You’ll definitely be hearing from my lawyers. I’ve got a broken nose, a couple of cracked ribs and a black eye.”

“Unless you want Ms. Evans to file charges against you for attempted rape, then I’d think twice about siccing your lawyer on us. Now, you have a good day, Mr. Lawson.”

Son of a bitch! That over-the-hill has-been had tried to rape Lucie. No wonder she was pissed at him. He’d known Lawson was a sleaze, but he’d also known that Lucie could handle him. And she had. What he hadn’t considered was that the man might actually try to rape her.

LUCIE EYED THE security guard with disdain. Don’t blame him. He’s just doing his job, doing what Sawyer told him to do. Watch her and make sure she doesn’t follow through with her threat to demolish the CEO’s office.

Even though she had no intention of actually wreaking havoc on Sawyer’s expensive sculptures and paintings—she had too much love and respect for good art to destroy such beauty—he had no way to know for sure what she might do. Yes, she had, during one of her classic hissy fits, broken a Waterford crystal paperweight, but the piece had not been one of a kind. A duplicate now resided on his desk in the precise spot where the original had sat. She would no more toss one of his Salvatore Fiume or Marino Marini pieces on the floor than she would take a knife to his Charles Ginner or Clare Avery paintings. One of the things she admired about Sawyer was his eclectic tastes in art, music, food and sports. He was a man who enjoyed the good things in life and appreciated them to the nth degree. He possessed a suave sophistication that disguised the primeval warrior beneath his Reuben Alexander suits.

Lucie knew how ruthless he could be. She had seen the man in action and had been the recipient of his cold, relentless retaliation for the past nine years. If she had thought time would soothe his inner demons, she had been wrong. Like Jane Austen’s fictional Mr. Darcy, Sawyer’s favor once lost was lost forever. Even now, despising him for the way he’d treated her—the way she had allowed him to treat her—Lucie could not deny that some small part of her still held on to a tiny shred of hope. Someday Sawyer McNamara would forgive her. But before he could forgive her, he would first have to forgive himself.

No, she wouldn’t have harmed his expensive artwork, but if not for the ever watchful guard she would have dearly loved the chance to do some damage. Maybe she could have removed the contents of his desk and scattered it all over the floor. Or better yet, she could have tossed his laptop out the window. A six-floor fall onto the solid concrete below…

“He should be here soon,” Daisy Holbrook said, breaking the awkward silence. “While we’re waiting, would either of you like coffee? Or maybe a Danish or muffin?”

“No, thank you, ma’am,” the young, intense guard replied.

“Nothing more for me, thanks.” Lucie offered Daisy a don’t-worry smile.

“Then if you’ll excuse me…” Daisy looked pleadingly at Lucie. “If you need to talk afterward, I’ll take an early break.”

“Okay. I’ll stop by your desk on my way out.”

Daisy tried to smile, but the effort failed. Lucie genuinely liked Daisy Holbrook and the two had formed a strong friendship over the years despite the difference in their ages. But she supposed a seven-year gap wasn’t a great barrier between women over twenty-one. If they were ten and seventeen, it would matter. But at twenty-nine and thirty-six, they were contemporaries.

As the minutes ticked by, Lucie sat behind Sawyer’s massive desk, occasionally tapping her foot on the floor or drumming her fingernails on the desktop. She checked her watch. It had been twenty-one minutes since Daisy had called him. Unless she missed her guess, he would arrive sometime within the next few minutes.

Brace yourself. Gird your loins, Miss Lucie. This day has been a long time coming. If you want to walk out of here with your pride in tact, keep your emotions under control. And whatever you do, don’t cry. God in heaven, do not cry.

TWENTY-THREE MINUTES from when he’d taken Daisy’s call, Sawyer entered Dundee’s sixth-floor office complex. Daisy hopped up from her workstation chair and rushed toward him as he made his way down the corridor toward his office.

“She hasn’t touched anything,” Daisy assured him. “The guard is keeping an eye on her.”

Sawyer paused, patted Daisy on the arm and assured her, “Everything is going to be all right. I spoke to the client personally and understand why Lucie left her assignment without notice. I’ll talk to her privately.”

“She was fit to be tied when she first got here, but now she’s calm. Much too calm.”

“I don’t think you need to worry as long as Lucie’s not armed.”

Daisy gulped. “I’m afraid she is.”

Sawyer tried not to grin. “She won’t shoot me, if that’s what concerns you. If she were going to shoot me, she’d have done it before now.”

“Yes, sir, I’m sure you’re right.”

The door to his office stood ajar, the security guard standing at attention a few steps over the threshold. Sawyer cleared his throat. The young man turned, looked at him and seemed to instantly relax. He entered his office, shook the guard’s hand and effectively dismissed him.

“Thank you,” Sawyer said as he glanced around the room, noting that nothing was out of place. “I’ll take over from here.”

Once they were alone, Sawyer closed the door and faced the woman who had been tormenting him for the past nine years.

Lucie rose from his chair to her full five-eleven height, a look of pure defiance on her face. Her long, curly hair hung in loose disarray over her shoulders and down her back. Apparently, she had forgone refreshing her makeup and had combed her hair with her fingers. Only a hint of eyeliner remained and that was smudged. The only color on her lips was a naturally healthy pink.

She walked out from behind the desk and glared at him, her two-inch wedge sandals lifting her almost to his eye level. He noted the bulge her shoulder holster made beneath her gray cotton jacket that covered her white T-shirt and skimmed the top of her faded blue jeans.

“I appreciate your giving me fair warning,” Sawyer told her. “You could have come in here and ripped the place apart before Daisy could have stopped you.”

“Believe me, I thought about it. On the flight from Vegas, I not only envisioned tearing your office apart, I plotted how I could kill you and get away with it.”

“I understand your anger.”

She lifted her brows in surprise. “Do you really?”

“I spoke to Taylor Lawson. He told me what happened. I’m sorry, Lucie. I had no idea—”

“Bullshit. Don’t tell me that you didn’t know the man’s reputation before you assigned me as his body-guard. You didn’t give a damn what I had to put up with. You never do. As far as you’re concerned, the worse my assignments are, the better. But this time, you reached an all-time low, even for you, Mr. McNamara.”

He surveyed her from head to toe. “You don’t look any worse for wear.”

“You don’t think so?” She lifted her T-shirt high enough to reveal the white lace bra beneath and the bruises on the swell of her breasts. “Pretty, aren’t they?”

“Lucie—”

“Would you like to see the others—the ones on my hips and butt?”

“I’m sorry things got out of hand, but I never doubted for a minute that you could take care of yourself. You’re a trained professional.”

She hissed like a snake preparing to strike. “You son of a bitch. You heartless, uncaring, unforgiving son of a bitch.”

She reached out and slapped him. The force of her open palm against his cheek sent him reeling backward. The lady packed quite a punch. He stared at her, oddly surprised by her physical attack.

“I’ve put up with your crap for nine years,” she told him, her voice deceptively calm. “I’ve jumped through hoops for you. I’ve taken every assignment you’ve given me, no matter how unpleasant, stupid or demeaning. I’ve taken and taken and taken, all in the hopes that one day you’d give me a chance to explain, to listen to my side of—”

“There is nothing to explain. There’s no your side or my side. We both know what happened and why. And do you honestly think you’re the only one who’s been put through the wringer day after day for the past nine years? Lady, you’ve put me through hell.”

“I’m glad to know that I haven’t been the only one suffering.”

They stood no more than two feet apart, their gazes riveted with mutual anger and distrust.

“This is your lucky day,” she told him. “I’m going to give you something you’ve been wanting for a long time. Let’s call it a Get Out of Hell gift card.”

He eyed her quizzically. “What are you saying?”

“Mr. McNamara, I quit. I’ll submit a written resignation later, but consider this my official notice.”

Chapter Two

“CARA, SWEETHEART, ARE you listening to me?” Grayson Perkins asked.

“Huh?” She wasn’t paying any attention to Gray. She was too busy watching Bain Desmond, sitting three tables over, and hating the way he was smiling at his companion. She wanted to scratch the petite brunette’s eyes out.

“I said we need to finalize plans for your trip to Ameca.”

“Ameca?”

“Are you feeling all right? You don’t seem to be yourself this afternoon.”

Forcing her gaze away from the ruggedly handsome police detective and that brunette hussy, Cara Bedell turned to her brother-in-law. Former brother-in-law actually. Grayson Perkins had been married to her older sister, Audrey.

“I’m fine, just preoccupied with business.” The business of keeping tabs on Lt. Desmond. She had lunch every Friday at the Hair of the Dog pub because she knew Bain would be there and it was her only chance to see him, even if from a distance.

“If there’s something wrong, something bothering you, and you want to discuss it, you know you can count on me to listen.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “You must know how much I care about you.”

She eased her hand from his. “It’s nothing, really.” She looked directly at Gray. He was much too handsome, too tanned, too buffed and polished. He had the same kind of old-time movie-star good looks that had made her grandmother’s generation swoon over matinee idols. “But I suppose we should discuss my trip to Ameca.”

“Good, good. You realize that if you can pull off this deal with either Senor Delgado or Senor Castillo, you’ll prove once and for all that you’re definitely Edward Bedell’s daughter.”

Cara offered him a halfhearted smile. She knew he’d meant it as a compliment, about being Edward Bedell’s daughter. Her father had been a genius at the art of making money, as had generations of Bedell men before him. But the patriarchal line had ended with her father. She was the last of the Bedell line and she had been trying for the past few years, since taking over the reins at Bedell, Inc., to give back to the world instead of simply taking, as her family had been doing for the past hundred-plus years.

The pending oil deal promised a new source of oil to the United States and would no doubt make hundreds of millions for both Bedell, Inc. and whichever Amecan oil company she chose. If Cara had her way, one fourth of the profits would be reinvested in the people of Ameca. The country’s population was divided into the haves and have-nots, but in unequal proportions. The haves who ruled the small South American country consisted of less than three percent of the population. There were two major oil producers in Ameca: Delgado Oil and Castillo, Inc. Both were eager to do business with Bedell, but Cara was leaning toward Delgado because of the owner’s sympathy for the people of his struggling nation. Of course, Cara wouldn’t have known anything about either Delgado or Castillo without the input of Lexie Murrough Bronson, who headed the international charity organization Helping Hands, which Bedell, Inc. funded. Lexie had done her homework and presented Cara with the facts several months ago.

“Your meeting with Senor Delgado is set for mid-September,” Gray reminded her. “That gives you only three weeks to pull together all your facts and figures, arrange for me to take over your duties while you’re away and decide whether or not you’re going to meet with Senor Castillo while you’re there.”

“You think I should set up a meeting with Tomas Castillo, don’t you?”

Gray nodded. “You could at least listen to what he has to say. After all, you owe it to the shareholders to broker the best deal possible for Bedell, Inc.”

Cara heaved a resigned sigh. “I know you’re right. It’s just that Castillo has a reputation, if true, I can’t condone. But if I meet with him, I can report to the board that I met with the heads of both oil companies. That should satisfy them.”

Gray grabbed her hand, lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “I’ll miss you terribly while you’re away, but someone has to stay here and keep the good ship Bedell afloat.”

She wiggled her hand, trying to free it from his tight grasp. He gave it a gentle squeeze as he looked longingly into her eyes.

“You know I adore you, Cara. When are you going to put me out of my misery and marry me?”

Oh, God, not again! For the past few months, Gray had begun pursuing her relentlessly, begging her to marry him. For nearly a year after Audrey died, he had asked her at least once a month. The second year, he had pulled back and reassessed the situation, proposing only three times. As time went by, his pursuit became more subtle and the proposals diminished to no more than three a year. She had hoped he had finally given up and accepted their relationship for what it was, and for what it would always be—a friendship based on family ties and a business association. But a few months ago, he had once again declared his undying love for her and since then hadn’t given her a moment’s peace.

Cara managed to free her hand. She looked at Gray with what she hoped was warmth and caring. After all, she was fond of Gray and oddly enough felt sorry for him. She knew he didn’t love her, that although he had loved her sister in the early years of the marriage, what Gray loved most in this world was Gray. His love for the Bedell sisters was rooted in his love for the Bedell fortune. But Gray was family. Her father had loved him like a son. And at one time, when she’d been younger and very foolish, Cara had thought she was in love with him. Despite all his faults, she still had a soft spot in her heart for him and always would. And because of her father’s training, Gray was a good businessman and had become an asset to Bedell, Inc.

Why couldn’t Bain Desmond be lured by the Bedell billions the way most other men were? Why was it that she could probably have any man she wanted—correction, she could probably buy any man she wanted—except the one man she loved?

She glanced across the room. Bain and his date were leaving. Her gaze took in every inch of the brunette. Five-three, slender, delicate and totally feminine.

“Cara, sweetheart.” Gray wanted an answer to his proposal.

How many ways can a woman say no? She supposed telling him that she wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man on earth wasn’t really an option. She would never hurt Gray that way.

The words No, Gray. I’m very fond of you, but I won’t marry you were on the tip of her tongue. But before she could speak, she sensed someone approaching their table. When she looked away from Gray, she saw Bain and the brunette coming toward them. Her heart did an erratic rat-a-tat-tat just because he was so close. She could easily reach out and touch him.

“Afternoon,” Bain said, his expression totally emotionless as he glanced from Cara to Gray and back to Cara. “How are you, Ms. Bedell?”

“I’m fine, Lieutenant. How are you?”

“No complaints.” He cupped his companion’s elbow. “Ms. Bedell, Mr. Perkins, I’d like y’all to meet my sister, Mary Ann Nelson.”

His sister! Cara could barely contain her joy. She wanted to jump up and hug Mary Ann.

Gray rose to his feet and nodded curtly to Bain’s sister. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Nelson.”

“Thank you,” Mary Ann replied.

Cara smiled warmly at the attractive brunette. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Mary Ann returned Cara’s smile. “Bain speaks very highly of you, Ms. Bedell. I’m happy that I finally have this chance to meet you in person.”

Apparently Bain had confided in his sister. But exactly what had he told her? There’s this billionaire heiress I’ve got the hots for, but because I’m an old-fashioned, macho kind of guy, I could never get seriously involved with her. And God forbid that I marry her and adapt to her opulent lifestyle. I’m the kind of man who needs to be the breadwinner, to wear the pants in my family.

“Are you staying in Chattanooga long?” Cara asked.

“Just for the weekend. Keith and I brought the children to visit their Uncle Bain and while we’re here we’re taking in some of the local attractions. Keith has them at the aquarium right now, giving Bain and me a chance for some brother-sister time. Tomorrow, we’re going to Rock City and riding the Incline.”

If she and Bain were actually a couple, she would invite his sister and her family to her home for dinner. Heck, she’d invite them to stay with her. God knew she had more than enough room at the Bedell estate.

“I’ve got to be back at headquarters in fifteen minutes,” Bain reminded his sister.

Mary Ann smiled warmly, offering Cara an I-know-how-important-you-are-to-him farewell glance.

Bain’s gaze connected with Cara’s for a millisecond, just long enough for a current of electricity to pass between them. Then the moment ended and Bain and Mary Ann were gone, heading out the door. As he sat down, Gray watched her watching Bain.

“He’s the reason we have lunch here every Friday, isn’t he?” Gray said, a resentful tone in his voice. “Ever since he came into our lives to investigate Audrey’s disappearance and murder, your feelings for me have changed.”

“I’m not going to discuss Bain Desmond with you.”

“Why not? It’s more than obvious that he’s the reason you won’t marry me.” Gray shook his head in disgust. “What you see in that uncouth ruffian, I’ll never know. It’s apparent he doesn’t return your feelings and it’s rather pathetic the way you moon over him. I’d think you had more pride and dignity than to—”

“Shut up, Gray.”

“I’m sorry if—”

“My feelings for Lieutenant Desmond are my business, not yours. And the reason I won’t marry you is because I’m not in love with you.”

“Yes, I know.” Gray heaved a deep, dramatic sigh. “But we could have a marriage based on other things. Love is highly overrated. I loved Audrey and see how that turned out?”

She looked right at him. “You need to be satisfied with what you have. You’re a VP at Bedell, Inc., with a high six-figure salary and an almost limitless expensive account. None of that will change if you find yourself a lovely woman to marry, someone who’ll make you happy. So, please find someone else. Someone who would love to be Mrs. Grayson Perkins.”

“Perhaps I’ll do just that.” Gray shoved back his chair and stood. “And when you finally realize that you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with Lieutenant Desmond, you may regret that I’ve moved on and found someone else.”

She sighed. “Anything is possible.” Anything except my regretting not marrying you.

“LUCIE HANDED IN her resignation?” Geoff Monday shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think anything he did would ever make her quit.”

“Believe it,” Daisy told him. “She packed up all her stuff and made three trips to her car. Then she gave me her letter of resignation to give to Sawyer.”

“Did she share any of the particulars with you?”

“Not really, only that this last case he assigned her was the final straw. When she arrived this morning, she was ready to kill Sawyer, but when she left she was as cool as a cucumber. I’ve never seen Lucie that calm.”

“Do you think the boss might need a pal about now? He did call me personally and asked me to meet with him.”

Geoff winked at Daisy, who blushed sweetly. He supposed he shouldn’t flirt with her, especially since he knew she fancied him. But she understood that it was all in fun. He kept things between them friendly, but never romantic. It wasn’t that he didn’t find her appealing. He did. A bit too appealing. But good God, he was practically old enough to be her father. A pretty little thing like Daisy needed a young, reliable fellow, not a battle-scarred old warrior.

“I wouldn’t enter the lion’s den if I were you, not until he tells me to send you in. He knows you’re here.” Daisy shook her head sadly. “He’s in a bad way. When I delivered Lucie’s letter, he practically bit my head off. And he had a bottle of whiskey on his desk. I’ve never seen him take a drink this early in the day. It’s not even three o’clock.”

“Well his high-and-mighty sent for me,” Geoff said. “He said he had a one-day assignment for me, something that required my expert skills.”

Daisy lifted her brows in an inquisitive manner. “I certainly don’t like the sound of that.”

“Think he wants me to kill someone?”

Geoff chuckled when he saw the shocked expression on her face.

“I was joking, love. My solider-of-fortune days are long behind me.”

Apparently realizing she was staring at him with a hungry look in her big brown eyes, she dragged her gaze away from his. “You’ll stop by on your way out and give me details, right? I’ll need to know where you’re going, make your flight and hotel reservations and—”

“Monday, what’s holding you up?” Sawyer shouted from where he stood outside his office door.

“See what I mean,” Daisy said quietly. “He’s like a bear with a thorn in his paw.”

“Already missing our Lucie, no doubt.” He leaned over and tickled Daisy under her chin. “See you on my way out.”

Geoff whistled as he walked down the hall. From his experience, he had learned that when there was as much animosity between a man and a woman as there was between Sawyer and Lucie, it usually meant they’d had a personal relationship. A sexual relationship. It certainly didn’t take a genius to pick up on the vibes between the gorgeous Amazonian redhead and Dundee’s CEO. And it was a lot more than the fact that they seemed to hate each other.

By the time Geoff reached Sawyer’s office, the boss had gone back inside, but had left the door open. Geoff paused, peered into the office and grunted. He watched while Sawyer downed the last drops of liquor from his glass: then he picked up the open bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue and refilled his glass with the two-hundred-dollar-a-bottle scotch.

“Monday reporting for duty, sir.” Geoff clicked his heels and saluted.

Sawyer glared at him, his hazel brown eyes narrowed to mere slits. “I’d like for you to talk to a man named Taylor Lawson. He’s in Las Vegas right now. You can get the information on where he’s staying from Daisy.” He took a hefty swig of whiskey and made a face as the liquor burned a trail down his throat.

“Yes, sir. Would you mind defining exactly what you mean by talk to him?”

“Scare the shit out of him. Leave a few bruises. But I want this done discreetly. I don’t want any repercussions. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When you finish talking to him, leave him a parting message.”

“And that message is?” Geoff asked.

“Tell him to think twice before he tries to rape another woman.”

Geoff sucked in his breath. Was that what had happened to Lucie? Had a client tried to rape her? “May I ask if this has anything to do with why Lucie resigned from Dundee’s?”

Sawyer’s sharp gaze nailed Geoff to the spot. “That’s none of your concern.” He put the glass to his lips and swigged down another large gulp of scotch.

“You’re knocking back the booze a bit heavy, aren’t you, sir? You don’t want the office staff to see you totally pissed, do you?”

“When I want your advice, Mr. Monday, I’ll ask for it.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get the information I need from Daisy and take the first flight out—”

“Take the Dundee jet. Have Daisy authorize the flight. I want this taken care of tonight.”

“Do you want me to report in directly to you when the mission is accomplished?”

“Yes. You have my home number. I don’t care what time it is.”

“Yes, sir, I have your home number and your mobile number.”

With a half-full glass of whiskey in his hand, Sawyer turned his back on Geoff and walked to the wall of windows that overlooked the town center, effectively dismissing his employee.

LUCIE EVANS WAS the only person on earth who could drive him to drink. The last time he had gotten fall-on-his-face drunk, Lucie had been the cause. Sawyer stared at the bottle of Johnnie Walker on his desk, then down at the empty glass in his hand. He’d had enough, more than enough. He probably couldn’t walk a straight line and he sure as hell couldn’t drive himself home, but he was sober enough to feel guilty. Damn her for making him feel this way.

He had sent her off on her latest assignment, as he had many times over the years, knowing full well that she’d hate every minute of it. But if he’d had any idea that Lawson would try to rape Lucie…He wanted five minutes alone with the guy. Five minutes. But he didn’t dare handle this himself. He might actually kill Lawson. No, better to allow an expert like Monday to put the fear of God into the scumbag who had attacked Lucie.

She’s gone for good, now. You finally got what you’ve wanted ever since she followed you here to Atlanta and Ellen Denby hired her as a Dundee agent.

When he had resigned from the FBI and Sam Dundee had offered him a job, he had believed he would be starting a new life, a Lucie Evans-free life. He’d been in California on an assignment when Ellen hired Lucie, otherwise he might have been able to dissuade her or perhaps convince Sam that Lucie wasn’t any more Dundee material than she’d been FBI material.

“Why are you doing this?” he had asked her. “Why can’t you leave well enough alone and stay out of my life?”

“Because I love you,” she’d told him. Straightforward and to the point. “And I believe that deep down under all the pain and guilt you feel, you still love me.”

She’d been wrong. He didn’t love her. He had never loved her.

Sawyer set the glass on his desk, flopped down in his leather chair and huffed out a deep, exasperated breath. He loosened his silk tie and undid the top button of his linen shirt.

If he knew Lucie, she didn’t have a nest egg socked away for a rainy day. She lived in the moment. Always had. She was generous to her friends and a sucker for every sob story she heard. She gave away too much of her hard-earned money to charities she believed in, those for women, children and animals.

He’d see to it that she received a generous bonus from Dundee’s. He could also shred her letter of resignation and have Daisy report that she was laid off, that way she could at least draw unemployment.

You can do better than that. You can give her a glowing recommendation. Or he could make a phone call and get her a new job.

“That’s it.” When he tried to snap his fingers, he realized he was drunker than he’d thought. He couldn’t seem to make his fingers cooperate.

He picked up the interoffice phone and hit the office manager’s number. When she answered on the second ring, he said, “Daisy, look up Cara Bedell’s phone number for me. Her office number. She should still be there.”

He waited while Daisy found the information he had requested. When she recited the number, he jotted it down quickly. After taking a steadying breath, he dialed Cara’s number. Her secretary answered.

“This is Sawyer McNamara from the Dundee Agency. I’d like to speak to Ms. Bedell.”

“Just a moment, sir.”

A couple of minutes later, Cara came on the line. “Mr. McNamara, what can I do for you?”

“You can tell your new security chief to hire one of my former employees.”

“I take it that you didn’t fire this person, otherwise you’d hardly be recommending him to me.”

“Her. It’s Lucie Evans. You remember Ms. Evans, don’t you?”

“Yes, I remember her.”

“Lucie needs a job. I thought perhaps as a favor to Dundee’s, you might consider hiring her.”

“Fax her resume first thing in the morning. Send it directly to me and I’ll hand deliver it to Deke.”

“Thank you.” He swallowed. “Just one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I’d prefer that Ms. Evans not know that I had anything to do with her being offered the job.”

“All right. I’ll have Deke fabricate a white lie to cover for you, if necessary.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Sawyer hung up the receiver. There, that was done. Lucie had a job. She’d be moving two hours away, from Atlanta to Chattanooga. Two hours, twenty miles, a hundred miles or a thousand, it was all the same. It meant that, if he were lucky, he’d never have to see Lucie Evans again as long as he lived.

TOMAS CASTILLO met privately with his friend, President Emilio Ortega, to discuss Cara Bedell’s upcoming visit to Ameca. He and Emilio had known each other for quite some time and he had contributed generously to his friend’s campaign for reelection against the opposition leader, Naldo Salazar. Salazar was a man of the people who wanted all kinds of ridiculous government reforms. Felipe Delgado, Tomas’s rival in the oil business, had campaigned for Salazar.

“Ms. Bedell is set to arrive in San Luis in three weeks,” Emilio said. “I plan to host a dinner here at the palace for our American friend and hopefully your new business partner.”

“I understand she has been invited to stay with Delgado and his family while she is here. Perhaps you should make a counteroffer. After all, if she refused the president’s request for her to stay at the palace…” Tomas smiled. “Ms. Bedell is unmarried, I believe. It would be my great pleasure to be her devoted servant while she is in my country.”

Emilio laughed. “Ah, Tomas, you wicked devil. You intend to seduce the American senorita, no? She may have great respect for Delgado and like his ideas of returning a portion of the profits from any deal they make to the people of Ameca, but I would lay odds that once you romance Ms. Bedell, she will sing whatever tune you want to hear.”

“Indeed. I admit that I do have a way with the ladies. But if Ms. Bedell can’t be charmed, then all is not lost. There is more than one means of persuasion, is there not?”

“Enough.” Emilio held up a hand in a stop signal. “What other plans you may have, I do not want to know them.”

“Of course, my old friend, the less you know, the better. But be assured that I will not fail. I intend for Bedell, Inc. and Castillo, Inc. to become partners in a lucrative deal that will benefit both parties. I am prepared to do whatever it takes to secure that bargain.”

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