Another Ponce boy was standing on the wide, curving staircase that led up to the second floor. The guy was talking on his phone, but his attention was on his boss, and as soon as he closed his phone, he hurried the rest of the way down the stairs and caught up to the group.
Second floor, Dax thought, without slowing his stride, his gaze raking the veranda, looking for something… anything. The Gran Chaco had a glass elevator servicing the other seven floors of the hotel, but the courtyard stairs ended at the second-floor veranda. There were only five room doors on that level, on the side opposite the restaurant, and the door in the middle was ajar, which gave Dax a very cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Panic was against his nature, so he didn’t know what the fuck to call that cold feeling, but it definitely kicked his alert system up to code red.
He kept moving across the courtyard, passing by Ponce and crew and giving them a casual glance, before he headed up the stairs. When he turned to walk down the veranda, he checked the Brazilians’ location. They were heading toward the hotel entrance, their intent clear, and the best Dax could hope for was that they would leave with the prize. He could pick those pieces up later, including the statue and every single one of the bastards if he needed them. He had a license plate and photographs in his computer, and even in the short time that he’d been in his room at the Posada with Suzi, a couple of names had come up on his screen, matching up with the photos, and he’d sent it all to Colonel Hanson, the same way he would those scraps of paper and the lading document.
No, the Brazilians wouldn’t be hard to track, no matter how fast or how far they went with the Memphis Sphinx, but what he needed right now, right here, was to get his hands on little Miss Suzi Q-literally hands on, physical contact, under his control, and most importantly, under his protection.
This was not mission protocol, and he didn’t give a damn.
At the open door, he walked straight in, drawing his pistol as he entered, his strides long, his weapon up, his gaze cataloguing everything in the suite, searching for targets-clearing, moving-searching for Suzi.
Jimmy Ruiz dead.
Multiple shots to the chest and abdomen.
Dax kept moving, out of the living area, into the bedroom.
Bed a little rumpled, but still made.
Closet door open. Closet empty.
He didn’t hit pay dirt until the bathroom.
Peep-toe pumps drying on a towel.
Her suit lying on the vanity next to a brown leather satchel. Makeup, toothpaste, hairbrush.
But no Suzi.
He kept moving, straight through the bedroom to the French doors leading to the outside. On the patio, he stopped, his gaze quartering the gardens and pool area below. The pool was a gem, like an opal sparkling in the sunlight, set down in a jungle of green-and walking quickly through the jungle, following the path paralleling the pool deck, was the gazelle he was hunting.
The relief he felt was damn near overwhelming.
Geezus.
He cleared the stairs and took out after her. She was almost to the bougainvillea-covered wall separating the gardens from the parking lot. Ponce and his boys would be hitting that lot any time now, and whatever had happened in the hotel room, he didn’t think it was a good idea for her to cross Ponce’s path-unless she really was in cahoots with the Brazilian and not here working for the congressman.
Sure. Splitting up and everybody going their own way after the commission of a crime, especially one as heinous as cold-blooded murder, was always a good idea.
Shit.
He hated being so goddamned clueless.
She stopped for a moment at an ironwork gate in the wall and pulled a ball cap out of a fanny pack clipped around her waist. Her hair went up under the ball cap with a quick twist, and then she was gone. With one step, she passed through the gate and disappeared from view.
Goddammit.
He sped up, pushing himself harder, and ran through the gate in time to see her slip into the driver’s side seat of Jimmy Ruiz’s Land Cruiser, and he kept running, not stopping for a second.
Gazelle had been an understatement. She was moving with all the precision and efficiency of a cheetah, smooth and sleek, the fastest land animal on earth-but not faster than him.
With his heart pumping up into overdrive, and his adrenaline hitting on fight and flight, he came abreast of the Cruiser just as she started to pull out of the parking spot. He slammed his open palm down on the hood of the SUV, giving her only two choices, gas or brake, and brake won.
He didn’t second-guess his luck, and he didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. He jerked open the passenger door, jumped in, slammed the door shut, and gave a quick glance back behind him. Ponce and crew were just exiting the hotel.
Perfect. There were half a dozen Land Cruisers in the parking lot, and no reason to be noticing this one.
He turned to face her, and her moment of open-mouthed shock wore off the instant she realized who he was-not that recognizing him seemed to improve the situation. She did not look happy to see him.
Tough.
“Y-you-y-you…” She stopped cold and pressed her lips together, as if that could stop her trembling.
And the girl was trembling, one hand over her heart, the other clenching the steering wheel.
“Geezus, Dax,” she started in again. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Well, he was on familiar ground now-a beautiful, angry woman swearing at him.
“Hi,” he said, picking up the closest water bottle in the console cup holders. “This yours?”
She tightened her hand on the steering wheel and swallowed a hard breath before answering.
“Yes,” she said, still a little breathless, still obviously dealing with a pulse that must have red-lined at a hundred miles an hour.
“Good,” he said, unscrewing the lid on the bottle, looking her over a little more carefully-and then he grinned. “Practice will improve your draw.”
“No doubt.” She lowered her hand from her chest, where she’d been going for the pistol in her shoulder holster, not, as he’d first thought, simply holding her heart in her chest. Another split second of speed, and she could have gotten the drop on him.
“Put the car in park,” he said. “Sit back, relax.”
“Park?” She didn’t sound like she thought that was a very good idea. “I’m not… p-parking. I’m leaving.”
“Oh, no.” He reached over and held the wheel. “Not yet, sweetheart. Give it a minute, let the dust clear, then we’ll go.”
Her “you’re crazy” expression didn’t change, not an iota, but after a moment and a short, exasperated sigh, she put the car in park.
“Thank you,” he said.
Geezus. There was nothing like running in ninety-nine percent humidity at a hundred degrees to make a guy feel like somebody’s old beach towel-and she didn’t look much better, with tendrils of hair curling out from under her ball cap and clinging to her cheeks and brow, her pale skin flushed with the heat, even with the air-conditioning blasting away.
Glancing in the side rearview mirror, he lifted the edge of his shirt and used it to wipe off his face. The Brazilians were getting in the Range Rover.
“When Ponce and his guys pull out, we’ll switch places. I’ll take over the driving.”
He saw her look past him, through the passenger side window, toward the entrance where the Range Rover was parked. She would recognize it from the gallery. It was unmistakable with all its bristling antennas, like the guy was the second coming or something.
“Ponce.” The name fell from her lips, her face paling even more. She looked plenty scared, despite the pistol and her willingness to draw it, and he couldn’t blame her for that. People were dropping like flies on this deal. “D-did you…were you-you must have seen…have-”