Warrior Without Rules
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“Your father’s waiting for me. Should I start walking?”
His dismissing prompt dashed the heat from her stare. Her reply was equal in its disinterest. “Climb on. Or take a cab if you’re afraid the ride might be too much for you.”
He snagged the spare helmet off the sissy bar and drawled, “I can handle anything with wheels or estrogen.”
The corners of her eyes crinkled. He could imagine her sassy smile. “Ummm. We’ll see.” She snapped down her visor and goosed the throttle impatiently.
Slipping on his sunglasses and the open fronted helmet, Zach swung a leg over the seat. Even as he touched the saddle, the bike lunged forward, forcing him to grab on or get thrown. With one hand clenched in the back of her jacket and the other working the helmet strap, Zach managed to find the foot pegs as Antonia Castillo slalomed between slower vehicles, leaning and weaving like a downhill racer.
He wasn’t dressed for a winter ride. His wool pea coat didn’t shed the cut of the wind the way her leathers did. His bare hands and face burned as they headed out into the open air of the freeway southbound toward the lakeshore. Behind dark glasses, his eyes watered and blurred. But even as he grimaced into the brunt of the elements, a part of him enjoyed the fierce whip of the February air and the freedom of flying down the road unencumbered by convictions. Antonia’s laughter filtered back to him as if she felt his exhilaration and mocked him because of it. With hands resting firm and wide spread atop the curve of her hips, Zach leaned back to appreciate the irony of the trip.
What was he doing here, on his way to meet with a man who’d tried to destroy him, with his hands enjoying the feel of a woman who, even when little more than a child, had turned him inside out?
His simple intentions were about to go straight to a chaotic hell.
Once they left the open highway for more sheltered suburban streets, neighborhoods went from large homes crowding the manicured boulevards to massive family compounds hidden behind high walls. He observed, not as a casual visitor, but as a potential protector, noting side streets, surveillance opportunities, and possible danger spots until they reached the Castillo’s residence.
The walls and iron gates were a newer addition, as were the video cameras. Nothing like being proven vulnerable to encourage an escalation in security. They idled outside the gates for less than eight seconds before the way parted, so obviously someone was on the job.
The house wasn’t visible from the street. A long drive made of brick and cobblestone wound through a thick stand of oaks and firs shielding the residence from view. Not a good scenario. It provided too many places for an undesirable to conceal himself. Zach liked wide open spaces. He liked to see an enemy coming.
And that’s how he felt as they took the final turn and he saw Victor Castillo, himself, standing on the front steps of his palatial kingdom.
The house was magnificent. Set on a bluff overlooking the slated waters of Lake Michigan, the sprawling three story stone and timber structure with its turrets, leaded glass and steeply pitched tiled roof reminded him of the estates that dotted the English North country. Though quaint in comparison to the true palaces of Europe, it made a statement of comfortable wealth and American arrogance. Much like its owner.
The last and only time he’d been here, he’d arrived in an unmarked panel truck with a cluster of other highly trained, highly motivated fellows. He went unnoticed, like the invisible working class meant to serve without intrusion. His job was to not garner individual attention from those in residence. This time, he’d been invited. So why was he wishing for that anonymity again?
He climbed off the back of the bike, moving cautiously until he was certain he had proper circulation in his legs. Antonia swung off and strode up and into the house without a word to him or her father. Why had she come to meet him herself if she was angry he was here? The number of questions piling up made him uneasy.
“Mr. Russell, you’re prompt.”
Unfastening the helmet straps with frozen fingers gave Zach an opportunity to observe his host. Castillo was a bit greyer at the temples, a bit thicker at the middle but he cut no less an impressive and inherently dangerous figure. He looked more like a drug lord thug than an international businessman. Or maybe that’s because Zach knew his history. Blunt workingman’s fingers tapped impatiently upon the weave of his Italian made slacks but Castillo was more than merely restless with the wait. Zach could sense his uncertainty and nervousness. Not much worried someone of Castillo’s stature, a man who had an entourage paid to fret over details for him. So that meant whatever reason he had for summoning someone for whom he had no respect was personal and threatening enough to want someone outside his organization. Why else would he be standing outside in the cold to greet the man he’d once tried to crush?
“I pride myself on punctuality. Shall we get to the point of your invitation?”
He saw it then, the intense dislike Castillo harbored for him. It passed briefly across his expression before he gestured to the front door.
Step into my parlor.
What was he up to?
The foyer of the Castillo estate was meant to impress with its massive scale. The vaulted ceiling soared overhead, revealing heavy beams and an impressive chandelier. The tiled floor, ornately carved woodwork and plastered walls all aspired to an Old World feel, but to Zach, who’d grown up steeped in that Old World tradition, the setting was like Castillo, an artificial facade of respectability imitating something it wasn’t.
What was impressive was the vista spread out before him. From the foyer, several steps led down into the living room and a wall of windows capped by fanciful stained glass designs. The breathtaking view of the lake was un-obstructed except for a sight even more amazing. The lithe, leather-clad figure of Antonia Castillo where she stood looking out upon that bleak winterscape. The four color photos hadn’t done her justice. As a connoisseur of fine things, he knew a masterpiece when he beheld one. And she was a work of art.
Her dark hair hung down in a heavy braid, leaving her chiseled profile unencumbered. Hers was a lush, savage beauty like the lake beyond, all strong facial angles, slanting cat’s eyes and those pillowy lips that pouted and provoked a man beyond reason. The leather glazed her long legs and fit her tight backside the way a man’s palms itched to. She’d taken off the jacket. Beneath it, she wore a snug white top with thin spaghetti straps. Atop her sleek, willowy build, the bold, gravity-defying fullness of her breasts within that thin stretch of cotton knit was another marvel to behold. When she turned toward him, her chin notched up and her shoulders back, thrusting out her chest with all the challenge of twin nuclear warheads. Fascinating yet deadly.
Of course, she meant for him to look. What man could help himself? So he did, staring at that awe-inspiring bounty with a cool detachment of someone in an art gallery.
“Antonia,” her father barked. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“I meant to, Father.”
At least she was honest in her intentions.
“Put on something decent.”
“Why?” she challenged with a higher tip of her chin. “Mr. Russell is hardly a guest. And it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.”
“Antonia!” Red-faced, Castillo turned to Zach. “I apologize for my daughter. She has no manners.”
Zach remained carefully stoic. It wasn’t his job to teach them to her.
Castillo glared at the defiant young woman. His tone was soft and furious. “Go make yourself presentable then join us in the study.”
Realizing she had taken her point as far as she dared, Antonia pivoted on those high, high heels and swiftly stalked from the room.
“She forgets herself,” came Castillo’s almost weary apology. “She’s had no one to control her since her mother died.”
Zach waited impassively. Castillo wasn’t interested in any comment he might make on his domestic situation. Finally, when the older man continued to gaze distractedly through the doorway his daughter had taken, Zach cleared his throat.
“Why am I here? Jack Chaney said you asked for me specifically. Why? I wasn’t aware you held any particular fondness for me or my talents.”
Castillo’s stare cut through him like a surgeon’s blade. “I don’t. But unfortunately, my daughter does. She’s the reason you’re here. She seems to think you’re the only one who can keep her alive.”
Chapter 2
“There have been threats.”
“To the family or to the business?” Zach asked as he settled into a stiff brocaded chair on the opposite side of Castillo’s cluttered office desk. He noticed a photo of his wife and daughter, a nice black and white showing mother with preschool-aged child as well as a glamorous color portrait of Mercedes Castillo, but no recent picture of Antonia.
“Both.”
“Any particular reason?”
Castillo frowned, taking Zach’s nonchalant tone to mean there were so many, he could take his pick. “We’re in negotiations to move Aletta’s manufacturing and distribution plants to Mexico. The Union is trying to block the move, but what can they do?”
“Make threats?”
“Perhaps.”
“How many workers will lose their jobs?”
“Among the five plants, about seven thousand. But they’ll be given severance packages. It’s not as if they’re being thrown out onto the streets without warning.”
“That’s generous of you.”
Castillo’s expression tightened at the drawled sarcasm. “It’s business. It’s more than I’m required to do for them. I can’t expect someone like you to understand the economic difficulties of staying competitive in the United States. The only feasible way to continue at a profit is to move production below the border.”
“I’m sure the thought of a few million more a year for their summer homes motivated the board of directors to make that decision.”
“It is my decision, at least until tomorrow night.”
“And then?”
“And then,” intruded a low female voice, “it becomes Antonia’s.”
Zach rose to greet the stunning woman who entered. Dressed in a severely tailored suit, she was tall, voluptuous and cold as ice, from her chilly tone to her glacial stare. He recognized but couldn’t place her.
“Mr. Russell, do you remember Veta Chavez, Antonia’s companion?”
The term companion threw him for a moment, then he recalled. “Your father was in charge of security.”
“Yes. He’s retired. I’m in charge of Antonia now.”
He lifted a brow. “Not an enviable task.”
She rebuked him with a haughty sniff. “Toni and I have been best friends since we were children. She’s only difficult if she’s provoked. Since your name was mentioned she’s become increasingly difficult, so I must assume she finds you most provoking.”
Zach merely smiled as he pulled out a chair for her. She settled gracefully, like a female panther. “So what happens tomorrow?”
“Toni turns twenty-eight and inherits controlling interest in Aletta.”
“It was my wife’s company,” Castillo explained. “Her father established it, and she made it successful beyond his wildest expectations. She was an incredible businesswoman. I had hoped Antonia…” He let that sentiment drift off on a sigh. “The company is hers tomorrow whether she is ready to assume control or not. I still retain a substantial holding, so she won’t have full rein.”
“And you fear someone might try to intimidate your daughter into keeping her company here in the States.”
“That’s a bit simplistic, Mr. Russell. No one can bully my daughter. She is absolutely fearless except for the one small vulnerability I had hoped would never be discovered beyond those in this room.”
“But someone found out.”
“Exactly, and they’ve been terrorizing her,” Veta told him crisply. “She’ll deny it, of course, and it may be nothing. I’ve given every assurance that I can handle things.”
“But I won’t take that risk,” Castillo concluded. “I will not have my business jeopardized.”
Zach’s dislike for the man hardened into a disgust he could keep from his carefully schooled expression, but not from his wry comment. “And here I thought your concern was purely fatherly.”
“Aletta is family, Mr. Russell.”
Zach stood to offer Antonia Castillo his chair as she returned to the room. She’d changed from a liquid spill of leather to the soft, no less revealing drape of a sleeveless tunic over wide-leg pants of some fluid butter-colored material. Her braid was now secured to the back of her head in an elegant coronet and thin gold chains swung from her ears. The effect was as sensually feminine as the earlier had been in-your-face sexual. And he was not unaffected.
“What concerns Aletta impacts all of us,” she continued, dropping carelessly into his seat.
Zach remained standing, leaning back against a bank of wooden file cabinets with arms crossed casually across his chest.
“Contrary to my father’s opinion, I plan to do whatever necessary to assure its continued prosperity. I will not be swayed from that plan by someone playing cruel tricks in hopes that I’ll fall to pieces.”
“What kind of tricks?”
Though her features never lost their smooth hint of disdain, something flickered in her eyes.
“I can give you the details later if you decide to take the job. Or can I assume you already have since you’re here?” Her tone was resigned and annoyed, but something in those eyes beseeched him on an unspoken and perhaps an unconscious level.
“I’m here because Jack Chaney asked me to come. As a favor to him, I’ll listen to what you have to say, then I’ll decide. I don’t do civilian contract work as a rule.”
He could see that unsettled her. She thought he’d come because she and her father had demanded it. His priorities took her arrogance down a notch. And then he again caught a glimmer of that raw vulnerability, of the frightened girl she’d been ten years ago when he’d first thrown back that door. He refused to let himself soften to that memory. She was not that girl anymore. He’d done his job then, and they’d almost cut the legs out from under his career by way of gratitude. This time, he’d be more cautious in his approach.
“Tomorrow night, I celebrate my business coming of age. The next, I fly to Mexico to go over the contracts transferring Aletta’s production hub outside our borders. There’ll be meetings and publicity and media. And protesters. I need someone to protect me,” Antonia stated at last. How difficult that must have been for her.
“What you need is a team of about five men so that you’re covered 24/7. You need a coordinated effort that one man can’t provide. Surely, Chaney told you that. He has men available for that kind of thing.”
“We don’t want high-profile protection. We need discreet.” She paused, looking uncomfortable with her next admission. “We asked for you because you know my past, and there’ll be fewer explanations to be made. Mr. Chaney assured us that you were the very best available.”
“I haven’t said yet whether I was available. You haven’t specified exactly what you want me to do.”
“Become my shadow, and if needs be, a wall that will stand between me and any harm someone might think to do.”
He said it before her father could. “You’re very trusting, considering I failed you once before.”
He hadn’t expected her to take any responsibility for that and she didn’t.
“I see you as a man who takes failure very personally. I believe you’ll be motivated to make certain it never happens again.” She threw it down as a challenge, daring him to pick it up. Knowing he would. But on his terms.
“How very right you are there, Ms. Castillo, which is why, if I take this job, it will be with your explicit agreement to follow my rules.”
Her stunning blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Rules? My employees usually don’t get to make the rules.”
“This one does and if you fail to follow them to the letter, I will walk away without a second’s hesitation regardless of the situation. Understood?”
Oh, yes. He could see she understood, his insistence and his reasoning. And she wanted to fling his demands back in his face with a shove it up your arse. Because she didn’t, he began to see just how scared she really was.
“What are your rules?”
“Just three and they’re very simple. Even a child can follow them.” She bristled at that but said nothing. “Rule number one, I’m in charge. Everything concerning you goes through me and must be cleared by me.”
Veta spoke up. “Victor, I can’t allow that.”
But Castillo put up his hand to halt her objection, allowing Zach to continue.
“Everything,” he emphasized, his gaze never leaving Antonia’s. “Nothing happens without my knowledge and consent. Clear?”
“Crystal” she replied frigidly.
“No interference. Not from your father, not from Ms. Chavez, not even from the police.”
“Victor,” Veta protested more vehemently. “Surely you can’t agree to this nonsense.”
Zach held the icy blue glare of the woman seated below him and very clearly summarized, “There’s me and there’s God.” Jack had been fond of that particular saying, and Zach found it suitably dramatic to make his point. “You will only listen to me. And you will do exactly as I say. No questions, no arguments.”
She was having trouble swallowing that one down but she did so long enough to ask, “And Rule Two?”
“Rule Two, where you go, I go. No exceptions. To the hairdresser, to your girls’ night out, to your gynaecologist appointment. I’m right there.”
“And when I shower, will you scrub my back?”
He allowed a faint smile at that brittle retort. “If you like. Privacy will be strictly at my discretion. And I can be very discreet.” At that last assertion, he lowered his tone ever so slightly so she would catch the reference. She knew he could be and would be again.
“And Three?”
“Rule Three, nothing personal. This is strictly a business arrangement. I will not be played. I will not be drawn into your affairs, private, professional or otherwise. I won’t allow anything to distract me from my job, so don’t expect more than that.”
“Heaven forbid that you be distracted.” Her stare glittered like shards of glass.
“Those are the rules. No exceptions and no deviations. If you’ll follow them, I’ll keep you safe. Agreed?”
She stared up at him, pride warring with necessity. Each rule was a deeper intrusion, a sharper cut into her independence, a tighter rein of control into the intimate details of her life. But he hadn’t created the situation she found herself in. If she wanted his help, this time she’d do it his way.
“I will follow your rules,” she acquiesced at last. “No matter how overbearing and obnoxious I consider them to be.”
He did smile then, a wide appreciative grin. “You’re entitled to your opinion as long as I have your guarantee of cooperation.”
“Would you like it written in blood or would a handshake do?”
She put out her hand in a forthright gesture that took him off guard. This spirit of acceptance was not what he expected. He took her hand gingerly. Her handshake was firm, assertive but gentle, too, because of the binding across his palm. She glanced at the wrapping, her brow furrowing, but she didn’t ask questions. He liked that and the fact that with the confidence of her grip came the soft silken feel of her skin. And the moment he became aware of it, he pulled back.
Looking relieved that all had been concluded without verbal bloodshed, Castillo asked, “How much do you want?”
“To keep your daughter alive?” His jaw clenched tight to keep the rest unsaid. Would the son of a bitch come up with the cash this time or haggle for the best price?
“Name it. Whatever you want.”
Castillo’s money was the last thing Zach wanted. “Whatever Chaney charges is fine with me. He’ll see I’m remunerated.”
“I didn’t think you worked for Chaney.”
“You’ve just subcontracted my services through Personal Protection Professionals. They’ll send the bill. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve had back-to-back transatlantic flights and would very much like to freshen up a bit before going over the particulars with Miss Castillo.”
Antonia rose immediately. “I’ll show you to your room. I’m sure Veta plans to launch quite an argument with my father once we’re out of earshot.”
Nodding to his host and the lovely Ms. Chavez, Zach followed Antonia into the hall, noting the Salome sway of fabric she put in motion with her brisk step. She walked like a prize fighter, with an arrogant strut, leading with her chin held high. And he found it more alluring than any practiced swivel.
“And will she win any points?”
Antonia glanced back at him. “Who?”
“Ms. Chavez.”
“No.” Sure, not smug. A woman who recognized her power but didn’t gloat about it. “What did you do to your hand?”
The shift in subjects had him off balance again. He didn’t like that, the feeling of having to catch himself to stop a fall. He’d always been that way around her. Just her. He made a quick note to widen his literal and his mental stance.
“Worried that it will handicap my efforts?”
Again, the curt, “No. Just curious. Or is that against the rules, too?”
“Just a cut. Nothing serious. How about you tell me how serious your trouble is?”
They’d reached the stairs, a massive column of heavily carved wood that rose up with two separate landings to an open rail above. The wall behind it was stained and leaded glass. He’d bet it was spectacular with the summer sun shining through it. But in the weak winter light there was barely enough illumination to see beyond the first turn of the deep red runner. He didn’t like it—the dark paneled halls, the shadowed stairs.
“It’s no secret that moving Aletta out of the country made a lot of influential people very angry. They’d be thrilled to see negotiations fall through—or at least be delayed if for some reason I was unable to competently handle them. A delay would give them more time to mount a legal defense or find attractive incentives to keep production in the States.”
What was attractive was the way the supple knit clung to her hips and buttocks as she mounted the steps ahead of him.
Rule Three, Russell. Rule Three.
“What have they done to discourage you?”
She paused on the landing as if to catch her breath then started up once more. “Just basic intimidation at first, you know, rocks through windows, delightfully graphic graffiti, a chicken nailed to the front door.”
“Of this house?” That shocked him. To get inside the perimeter implied a breach of security beyond the capabilities of a few disgruntled Union workers. It meant he was dealing with a professional. Or someone on the inside.
“That was about two months ago.”
She fell silent, prompting him to conclude, “But it got worse.”
“Do you know what a virtual kidnapping is?” She’d reached the hall and turned to face him. He stopped a few steps below and had to look up at her. Her features were taut as carved marble.
“It’s a con. The scammer gathers information on a victim, waits until they’re temporarily out of reach then calls their families to say their loved one has been snatched. If they’re good and quick, they can have the money before the family realizes they never had their loved one at all. It’s a nonviolent but emotionally brutal trick.” His expression stilled. “Someone called your father.”
“I was coming back from skiing in Colorado. I was involved in a minor car accident and missed my flight. Weather took out communications. Because of the holidays, there were no seats available on anything with wings. By the time I managed to charter a flight, they’d already made contact to say they had me. They demanded one point five million.”
“Did he pay?” His question sounded as soft as a prayer in the cavernous stairwell.