Читать книгу: «Dying for You»
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
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.”
