The door opened and she found herself holding her breath all over again.

Paul Reyes stood in the open doorway. Cool linen slacks and pure white shirt contrasted sharply with his smooth, dark skin. “Do you care to amend your reason for showing up at my door?”

Renee was made. Might as well give it her best effort. She thrust out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Reyes.”

He looked at her hand, then her. Fortunately, propriety appeared to prevent him from ignoring her gesture. His handshake was soft but firm. Dark brown eyes assessed her closely, the slightest hint of suspicion lingering there.

“What is it you desire of me?” he asked as he released her hand. “Your bold determination has intrigued me.”

He was intrigued. But enough to know that he was already marked for death?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at age nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried various occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners, and working in a factory, a day-care centre, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and finally moved to a small town in Tennessee, where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mystery and movies for inspiration. In 1998, her dream of writing for Mills & Boon came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at PO Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345, USA, or visit her website at www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Jim Colby – The head of the Equalizers and the son of Victoria Colby-Camp. Jim needs a fresh start.

Victoria Colby-Camp – The head of the Colby Agency. Victoria wants the best for her son even if it means he doesn’t come to work for her.

Tasha Colby – Jim’s wife and the mother of their daughter Jamie.

Renee Vaughn – A former prosecutor. She is ready to stop playing it so straight and safe and start infusing some danger into her life. She just didn’t expect it to come with attachments.

Paul Reyes – His work is his life. He wants nothing to do with the evil monster his brother has become. If he is to survive, he will need help. He did not anticipate that help from a beautiful woman.

Victor Reyes – He wants his brother’s life in order to save his own. The only variable is how many people he will have to kill to succeed.

Joseph Gates – DEA Agent Gates has a personal stake in stopping Victor Reyes.

Sam Johnson – The grittiest new associate at the Equalizers. Don’t mess with Sam – or you might find yourself dead.

Hostage Situation

DEBRA WEBB

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter One

Chicago Monday, April 30, 5:15 p.m.

“Stop the car!”

Renee Vaughn shoved a fistful of cash at the taxi driver and scrambled out of the car. She sucked in deep, ragged gulps of air…still unable to get enough oxygen into her lungs. Her body shook with the news that had chilled her to the bone.

It’s not right.

The judicial system had failed.

She had failed.

The execution would not be stayed.

At midnight, an innocent man would die, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

Nausea roiled in her stomach. She took the few steps across the sidewalk to brace herself against the nearest building. She closed her eyes and tried to block the painful memories churning in her head.

She was a murderer.

The sounds of evening’s rush-hour traffic filtered through the haze of emotions, ushering back time and place. Renee forced her eyes open and blinked to focus.

She’d been down this road already. This wasn’t her problem any more. She should go home, put it out of her mind. She’d been taken off the case two years ago. Her former client’s new attorney had taken out a restraining order to ensure she kept her distance.

There was every reason for her to forget…to put the whole damned mess behind her.

But she couldn’t. The man sitting on death row awaiting execution was her brother. She knew the truth, or at least part of it, and he would not allow her to stop this. No one would listen to her.

The wind whipped around her, urging her to move…to pull herself together. She glanced around to get her bearings. Madison Street. She could walk home from here. Her place wasn’t more than ten blocks away. Her legs still felt a little unsteady, but she’d be okay just as soon as the initial shock wore off.

Her gaze landed on St. Peter’s. Of all places for her to decide she needed out of the confines of the taxi. Before the thought could completely evolve in her brain, she was walking through the door. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in church. Or the last time she’d prayed, for that matter.

Her mind in a chaotic battle of emotion against reason, she moved up the aisle between the rows of pews, her movements on autopilot. She approached the chapel at the back of the church and knelt in front of the icon. She lit a single candle, offered a silent prayer for the innocent man who would die a few hours from now. It would take a miracle to save her brother now and, as an attorney and former prosecutor, she knew better than to believe in miracles. Her chest constricted and a flood of tears pressed against the backs of her eyes.

Her mistake. No matter what anyone said, she knew where the fault lay.

She didn’t have to be present in Huntsville, Texas, to imagine the scene. A crowd would be gathered already. Newspaper and television journalists from across the state. Protesters, those for and against the death penalty, with their signs and chants. The family members of victims, anticipating the moment when a convicted killer would finally pay the price for his crimes.

Renee rose from the kneeler and slumped onto the front pew and sat there for a while, thankful for the anonymity and silence in the empty church. She should go home. In another hour, the church would be filled with parishioners attending Mass. But somehow she couldn’t find the strength to haul herself up and walk out the door. Instead, she sat there and stared at the flame. Reaching up with a shaky hand, she ruthlessly brushed back the lone tear that managed to escape her stronghold.

“Damn it,” she muttered, then immediately railed at herself for the slip.

Why should she punish herself for the actions of others? Her brother had caused this. She had tried to stop it once she knew the truth, but he had not allowed her to do the right thing. That was masochistic. She had promised herself that with this new move, she would not permit the past to take over her life again. If only someone would tell that to her foolish emotions.

A hand settled on her shoulder. Startled, she glanced up to find Jim Colby standing in the aisle. “You trying to beat the rush?” he asked.

She straightened, cleared her throat. Having him appear here was about as unexpected as finding herself at this church. He moved around her and lowered himself onto the pew scarcely an arm’s length away. How could he sneak up on her so effortlessly? When had she so completely lost her edge? She blinked back the new burning tears. She would not let him see this kind of fragility. This display of weakness was not who she was. She had to get back on track.

“Ensures the best seat in the house,” she said, playing along and forcing a tight smile. Don’t think about it anymore. There is nothing you can do. Focus on now. What was Jim doing here? She wouldn’t have taken him for a guy who bothered with Mass. Even so, that wouldn’t be his reason for showing up like this. Her new boss was not a happenstance kind of guy. He was focused, intense, deliberate.

Jim smiled that slow, half tilt that she’d come to associate with him. She got the distinct impression that smiling was not typical of him, though he seemed to like to do it more and more as time went by. She’d been working for Jim Colby for a couple of months now. He was different—edgy, almost dangerous. Case in point: those penetrating blue eyes. Eyes that kept folks on their toes in his presence. Not that she was intimidated by her boss, but on some instinctive level she understood that he was not a man to be taken lightly.

“How’d you know I was here?” The idea that he would have followed her from the office didn’t seem plausible.

“The mechanic dropped off your car.”

Her car? She deflated a little more. How could she have forgotten about that? “Oh…I—” She gave her head a shake. “I was supposed to call to see if it would be ready.” The mechanic had picked up her car at the office that morning with a simple instruction: call before leaving for the day to see if it’s ready. But then, that had been before she’d got the news that the stay of execution had been denied.

Don’t think about it.

“Since you hadn’t made it home and weren’t answering your cell, I called the cab company. Dispatcher said the driver dropped you off here. I thought I’d come give you a ride back to the office to pick up your car.”

Her cell…it was on Silent. She nodded her understanding, still a little rattled. “I appreciate that.” She had a feeling there was more to this than just letting her know her car was ready.

As if she’d voiced the thought aloud, his gaze locked with hers. “We have a new client. The job’s going to require a somewhat dicey field assignment. At least a few days on location.” He studied her for a moment, then added, “I was thinking you might be right for this one, if you feel you’re ready.”

Renee sat up straighter. She’d been waiting for this opportunity. She moistened her lips, swallowed at the emotion still hovering in the back of her throat. “I’m ready.” No way was she going to let the past mess this up. The call she’d received less than one hour ago echoed unnervingly, but she pushed it away. Her brother’s mistakes and decisions weren’t her problem anymore…hadn’t been in two years. She couldn’t change what was going to happen…no matter how wrong. He had seen to that.

“I know you’ve been anticipating your first field assignment,” Colby said.

Admittedly, running background checks and following up on cheating spouses was not how she’d seen things going at her new job. Still, paying one’s dues was not a new concept to her. “I’m confident the past couple of months aren’t an accurate measure of what’s to come.” Despite having changed jobs twice in the past two years, even she had her limits on how low she would take her career expectations.

“This one may be a little tricky.”

Their gazes met. Anticipation hummed inside her.

“Tricky?” She tried to glean something from his expression, but it was impossible. Jim Colby was far too good at camouflaging whatever was on his mind.

“There could be complicating factors.”

Complicating factors? She didn’t have a problem with complications. In fact, she had more of a problem with a lack of them; it gave her too much free time to allow the past to invade her present. She tamped down the ache that instantly attempted to intrude. If Jim was worried about her ability to defend herself, he shouldn’t be. She’d faced physical threat in the past and she’d learned from it. A comprehensive self-defense class should be mandatory for all attorneys and prosecutors.

“What kind of complicating factors?” she ventured.

“This one means you’d have to take on a whole new identity and deliberately mislead a man in order to lure his only brother into a trap.”

Her curiosity spiked, sending a surge of adrenaline roaring through her veins. She’d been looking for just this sort of case. Something out of the ordinary. Something exciting…dangerous. The last startled her just a little. Would living on the edge help her put the past more firmly behind her? Make her trust herself again?

Only one way to find out.

“When do I start?”

He studied her, his eyes searching hers for some glimpse of uncertainty or maybe hesitation. She allowed none. She knew betrayal and deceit intimately. Using that painfully gained knowledge to get the job done wouldn’t be a problem. If someone innocent got hurt…who cared, right? As long as the job got done and the case got closed…the end justified the means.

“It may be necessary for you to, let’s just say, get very close to the target,” he countered. “Are you sure you can do that, Vaughn? I’m certain that kind of deception wasn’t one of your electives at that fancy law school you attended.”

She did the smiling this time. “You’re right. It wasn’t. I had to learn that part the hard way. Now, when do I start?”

“Now.”

Perfect.

He went on, “You can look over the file tonight and we’ll get started on your cover profile first thing in the morning.” He pushed to his feet. “That way you can catch an afternoon flight and jump right in.”

“Do we have photos? Background histories?” Renee stood, genuflected and fell into step next to him as he moved down the long center aisle.

“Photos, histories. We have it all. Our client came prepared.”

“Excellent.” That would speed up the process. If he wanted her on a plane in less than twenty-four hours, getting up to speed ASAP would be essential.

As Renee climbed into Jim’s car, she checked her cell phone. Two missed calls and one voice mail. One of the calls was from Jim. The second had her heart thumping as she listened to the accompanying voice mail. The first three words of the message had her sagging against the seat with relief in spite of her determination not to care.

The governor called.

The stay of execution had been granted.

Renee stared out at the busy street surrounded by the eclectic architecture that set the city of Chicago apart from any other on the globe.

This was good news.

And just like that, the past nudged its way back into her life, starting the cycle of obsession and denial all over again.

Key Largo Wednesday, May 2, 2:00 p.m.

“IT’S A FORTRESS.”

A fortress. Yes. Renee studied the three-story home through binoculars from her position aboard the Salty Dog, a for-hire touring vessel. The two-acre estate of which her guide spoke was located on a desirable shore with not one, but two magnificent vessels—a speed boat and an enviable-sized yacht—moored at the private dock. The residence reminded her more of a compound than a home. Not exactly the sort of place one expected to find a self-professed starving artist. Though his work was well known in the southeastern region, he was no Picasso.

“Concrete walls. High-tech security system.” Her guide pushed up his Miami Dolphins cap and scratched his head. “A nightmare, logistically speaking, if you’re planning an unexpected visit.”

Renee lowered the binoculars and slid her sunglasses back into place. She’d spun quite a tale to explain her need to do this type of surveillance. Thankfully, her guide had accepted her bitter story of betrayal and hadn’t asked any more questions. At least her past experience had allowed her to sound genuine. “I don’t see any security personnel.” It was possible a bodyguard or guards were inside, but one would think guards would do routine rounds of the property. Maybe the security system was so state-of-the-art that walk-arounds weren’t necessary.

“He doesn’t have any bodyguards. At least not that anyone has ever spotted.” Henry Napier shot her a look that suggested he was as befuddled by the idea as she. “No one can figure out that part. He drives a Maserati Gran Sport that cost six figures. That’s new, by the way. So’s the yacht.” He gestured to the property that could easily be showcased in the glitziest of lifestyle magazines. “With all that you’d think he would be afraid to go to sleep at night without at least one bodyguard, but, apparently, he isn’t.”

Typically a man of such means would have personal security. But the man who lived in that house was no typical homeowner. She turned her attention back to the estate worth at least five million. Paul Reyes was the younger brother of Victor Reyes, a drug lord whose own compound was so carefully protected that only his closest confidants knew its location somewhere in Mexico. The concept that Paul lived so openly and clearly unprotected just didn’t fit with the facts known about his older brother.

“This is as close as I can take you,” Napier said. “City regulations. The rich folks don’t like us getting too close. You still have another hour left on your tour. You want to just sit here?”

Renee didn’t answer right away. She was too focused on the idea of the man beyond those well-fortified walls. Her target, Paul Reyes. Quiet, withdrawn, a mystery. That was pretty much all anyone knew about him, other than the artwork he sold through a local gallery. She’d stopped this morning at the gallery and looked at his work up close and in person. He was good, no question.

What made this man the polar opposite of his older brother? By all reports, Victor was cruel and vengeful. He had achieved his fame and fortune by taking advantage of the weaknesses of others. He didn’t care who was hurt or what damage he caused to society as a whole. He cared only for himself. No one—not a single law enforcement agency—had ever come close to taking him down.

The client, Darla Stewart, who had hired the Equalizers, was the sister of a murdered New Orleans narcotics detective. Victor Reyes was responsible for her brother’s death. The police and even the DEA had failed to get this guy for using New Orleans, among other seaside cities, as ports of entry for the evil he spread. When Stewart’s brother, Detective Chris Nelson, had made stopping Reyes his personal quest, he’d been squashed and pushed aside like a pesky fly.

Desperate to bring her brother’s killer to justice, Stewart had sought out the one man her brother had insisted he trusted in all this, DEA Agent Joseph Gates. According to Gates, he had a solid case built against Reyes for his drug crimes, but Mexico refused to acknowledge his existence, which rendered the extradition request invalid. According to the Mexican authorities, they didn’t even know Victor Reyes, much less where he lived. That was possible, but it was far more probable that law enforcement south of the border had been paid off. Money could buy most anything, especially in a country such as Mexico, where poverty prevailed among the masses.

For Renee, the assignment was simple. She would use Paul Reyes as bait for luring his older brother onto American soil. Agent Gates and the DEA would take things from there. Until then, the agent’s hands were tied. The DEA had spent endless resources monitoring the movements of Victor’s brother here in Florida, his single connection to the U.S., with absolutely no results. With numerous other cases popping up every day, resources were already too thin. Reyes, until he appeared on American soil or the Mexican government changed its mind about extradition, was no longer a priority. Darla Stewart had been devastated when the Reyes case was put on a back burner by the DEA. With no other options, she had gone to the Equalizers for help. Agent Gates had promised to help in spite of his orders to refocus his energy, but ultimately there was nothing he could do until Victor Reyes entered his jurisdiction. All Renee had to do was make that happen.

Sounded like a piece of cake. But there was a hitch. The setup had to be legit as much as possible. Since Paul Reyes surely wouldn’t be game for co-operating, then the trickery used to gain his unwitting assistance had to be on the up-and-up. Gates didn’t want any snares to serve as reason to have his case torn apart by a team of legal eagles. Renee understood exactly how the legal system worked and how it could be twisted to serve an incomprehensible purpose. She had always won her cases. Even when she should have lost. She’d been set up by someone she trusted. That wouldn’t happen again in this lifetime.

Though she had an understanding of sorts with Jim Colby, and she respected him, she would never totally let down her guard to him or anyone else. Complete trust was out of the question. She wouldn’t be going there again. Hell, she didn’t even trust herself beyond a certain degree, so how could she possibly trust anyone else? She’d trusted her former boss and mentor and he’d let her down.

She pushed the troubling thoughts away. No rehashing the bitter lessons of the past.

“Thanks, Mr. Napier. We can go back now. I’ve seen enough.”

The old man nodded as he prepared to turn the vessel about. After her arrival late yesterday, she’d been told that Napier was the man to go to for the lowdown on island residents. Napier was a Key Largo native. He loved retelling island lore and made it his mission to keep up on the most famous and/or infamous residents. Judging by his weathered skin, the man had spent most of his life floating about these waters spying on those who made the exotic locale home. She had not been in the least disappointed by her guide.

The sun and wind and water made her feel more alive than she had in a very long while, she realized as they journeyed back to the dock lined with touring vessels. Or maybe it was the case. Working undercover like this was a first for her. Most of her time in her former career had been spent in an office or library doing research and prep work with witnesses, or in the courtroom arguing her case. This was definitely a change for the better. It felt far more purposeful.

It gave her the opportunity to be someone else.

She’d left her uptight—as her Equalizers colleague Sam Johnson called them—business suits in Chicago. For this assignment, her first actual fieldwork, she’d chosen to dress as the natives did. Casual and sexy. She had the figure for it; she’d simply never had the desire. A conservative mentality had gone along with her previous career, at least on a personal level. She’d been anything but reserved in the courtroom.

She’d been good, damn it. She just hadn’t been smart enough to see what was coming that one time.

Again, she ordered the memories away.

Back on shore, she generously compensated her guide and climbed into her rental car. She drove directly to her hotel. The cool air inside her room was a much-appreciated respite from the Florida heat. She turned on a light and retrieved her file from its hiding place inside the ventilation return in her room.

She considered the picture of the Reyes brothers. Victor was thirty-eight, with dark hair and eyes. If she were casting a thriller with a drug lord as the villain, he would definitely fit the bill. As handsome as he was, there was an air of menace about him. Partly posture, but mainly the way he looked directly into the camera seemingly daring anyone to cross him. She’d seen his kind before, usually stationed at the defendant’s bench.

Paul, on the other hand, appeared quiet and utterly calm, harmless. Though he had been blessed with those same dark good looks, there was a serenity about him that spoke of intelligence and patience. Just two years younger than his brother, the two were, according to the reports she’d read, vastly different. Victor lived by the old rules, where women were nothing more than chattels and anything less than absolute loyalty from his followers was punishable by death. Conversely, Paul lived a quiet, reclusive life with hardly any contact with others.

The brothers had parted ways nearly a decade ago when Paul reportedly got fed up with his brother’s evil deeds and came to live full-time in the United States. Be that as it may, the family blood money, in Renee’s opinion, had to have purchased the lavish estate where he lived. As good as his artwork was, Paul hadn’t made the leap into mainstream popularity yet.

Renee put the file away and dressed for the next step in her plan. Cream-colored slacks, a matching silk blouse and strappy but practical sandals. In her purse, she had the owner’s card from the gallery she’d visited that morning. As far as she could tell, Paul rarely ventured from his estate for anything other than, in very rare instances, a gallery opening or a showing of his work. Even a large showing was no guarantee the artist would be in attendance.

That left her only one option—go to him.

She took the .22 from the box of long-stemmed roses that had been delivered by Jim Colby’s contact here in Key Largo. After strapping on the ankle holster, she snugged the weapon into position. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t have to use it; but if the past was any indication, luck wouldn’t be anywhere around when she needed it most.

6:00 p.m.

OCEAN BOULEVARD was, as the name suggested, flanked by gorgeous sapphire water and dotted by enormous mansions. Near the end of the boulevard, where the most magnificent of the homes reigned over much larger portions of land, Renee pulled up in front of the massive iron gates of the residence belonging to Paul Reyes. She inhaled a deep, fortifying breath. Time to do this for real. She powered her window down, pressed the call button on the speaker box and then waited. Even her heart seemed to stand still as the seconds ticked by in silence.

“Yes?”

Paul Reyes. Although she had never heard his voice, the single word convinced her that it was him. The deep, velvety richness of the timbre matched the dark eyes and the quiet intensity of his face. Or maybe she just wanted it to be him, since she found the vaguely accented sound quite pleasing.

“Mr. Reyes?” She had to be sure. Her anticipation of plunging into her first case might very well be playing havoc with her reason.

“Please state your name and business.”

She looked toward the camera positioned on the wall next to the gate before saying, “My name is Renee Parsons. Mallory Rogers from the Rogers-Hall Gallery suggested I come to you in person with my intriguing proposal.” Then she smiled, the most seductive one in her limited repertoire. Looking stern and purposeful was her most frequently utilized expression.

Renee held her breath now and hoped like hell her plan would work. If he called Mallory Rogers before he allowed Renee inside, she would be in trouble.

The grind of metal jolting into movement hauled her attention to the gates. Her heart jerked back into a frantic pace on the heels of an adrenaline dump. He was going to allow her in.

Anticipation roaring through her like a freight train, she took her foot off the brake pedal, and the vehicle rolled through the entrance which now yawned open. The driveway cut through a lush lawn and ended in a circular parking patio embellished by a massive center fountain.

With the vehicle in Park, she cut the engine and emerged. The air was thick and the heat hadn’t subsided with the sun’s descent. Before closing the door, she reached back inside and grabbed her purse and draped it over her shoulder. Inside her bag she carried a tiny listening device. Barely the size of a quarter, all she had to do was leave it in a strategic spot and she would be able to monitor his conversations in that room. Highly illegal, but a part of the way things were done in her new career.

Knowledge was power and since information on this man and his brother was seriously limited, getting what she needed this way was crucial. She had to learn all she could and burrow in as deeply as possible. Taking any and all appropriate steps to speed up the process, without being too hasty, was absolutely essential to the proper outcome.

She strolled across the lovely flagstone parking patio and up the steps that led to the front entrance. She took her time, made each step as sensual as possible as she surveyed the gorgeous property. He would be watching, and he needed to believe that she deeply appreciated beauty. Staying in character was another key element.

A wide covered portico ran the length of the house in front. She hadn’t been able to see this side of the grand mansion from the water, but it definitely lived up to her expectations. She pressed the doorbell and settled her attention on the lush potted plants on either side of the towering double doors. Not a single detail had been overlooked when planning this Mediterranean-style property. All had been designed to be pleasing to the eye and equally welcoming to all the other senses.

The door opened and she found herself holding her breath all over again.

Paul Reyes stood in the open doorway. Cool linen slacks and shirt designed in pure white contrasted sharply with his smooth, dark skin. “Ms. Rogers has no recall of recommending that anyone pay me an unannounced visit. Do you care to amend your reason for showing up at my door, Ms. Parsons?”

Oh, hell, she was made. But she was here. Might as well give it her best effort. She thrust out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Reyes.”

He looked at her hand, then her. Fortunately, propriety appeared to prevent him from ignoring her gesture. He closed his hand around hers and gave it a shake. His was soft but firm. Dark brown eyes assessed her closely, the slightest hint of suspicion lingering there.

“What is it you desire of me, Ms. Parsons?” he asked as he released her hand. “Your bold determination has intrigued me.”

He was intrigued. That was a start. “I’m from L.A., Mr. Reyes, and my gallery would really love to show your work. From what I’ve learned so far, you don’t show outside Key Largo, though your work sells in several neighboring states. That’s such a terrible waste of your potential. I felt the need for a face-to-face meeting any way I could get it in order to plead my case. We want Paul Reyes to become a household name on the West Coast. We can make that happen.”

Jim Colby had provided a cover for her with a gallery owner friend in the Los Angeles area. That cover profile was her one ace in the hole. If it didn’t work, she was on her own.

For several seconds, Paul Reyes appeared to consider her explanation carefully. There was no way to read what he was thinking, but at least he hadn’t closed the door in her face.

“Do you have any credentials to prove you are who you say you are?”

Relief almost made her smile. “Certainly.” She withdrew her fake California driver’s license and a business card from the gallery on Melrose, each sporting the name Renee Parsons. She passed both to him for his scrutiny. She doubted anyone outside a trained professional would recognize the license was a fake, and the card was real. The owner in L.A. had overnighted a number of things to the hotel in Key Largo to help with Renee’s cover.

“I have a contract proposal if you have the time to review our plan for your incredible work.” The proposal, also provided by the L.A. gallery owner, she carried on a BlackBerry in her bag. “We’re willing to work with you in whatever capacity you feel comfortable. We’re impressed, Mr. Reyes. We want you.” This part was true. Once Jim had shown the gallery in L.A. some digital images of Paul’s work, they had shown interest.

“All right, Ms. Parsons.” He handed her license and card back to her. “Since you’ve come all this way, you have half an hour. Convince me that I should consider your gallery’s offer more seriously and we might be able to do business.”

Half an hour. It was more than she’d hoped for. He opened the door wider in invitation. She was in.

Chapter Two

If Renee had thought the exterior of the house was well appointed, the interior was nothing short of lavish. Cool, sleek marble and cypress floors and soaring ceilings. From where she stood in the entry hall, she could see straight through to the endless blue of the ocean beyond a wall of towering French doors.

The floating staircase in the entry hall was at once grand and utterly modern. Somewhere inside the house the windows stood open, filling the air with the ocean’s lightly salted breeze. It seemed strange to her that he would allow open windows, much less the unobstructed view from the rear of his house. Then she remembered that she hadn’t been able to see in from the outside. Obviously the windows were equipped with a special tint or screening. And if the security system was half as state-of-the-art as she suspected, he likely wasn’t worried about an unexpected intrusion, either.

After all, this was Paul. His brother Victor was the one who had to watch his back so closely.

“This way,” he said, drawing her attention back to him. Their gazes met briefly before he turned to lead her deeper into the luxurious home.

Renee reminded herself to keep an eye on the man when her attention wanted to revel in the exquisite details around her. Evidently his artistic talent extended to his taste in design. Either that, or he’d hired himself one hell of a great interior designer.

They took a right at the grand entrance to the great room with its compelling ocean view. This side corridor provided access to several doors; he chose the second on the right—a library. The room was far too richly adorned to be called a home office. The wall of book-filled shelves lent credence to the idea of a library.

He paused in the middle of the room, looked at her and then at the purse she carried. “You mentioned a proposal,” he reminded, his tone openly dubious.

“Oh, yes.” She fished the BlackBerry from her purse. “It’s quite an extensive proposal.” She glanced around the room, her gaze landing on the computer on his desk. “I can download it if that would be more convenient.” She held her breath, hoped he would go for her suggestion.

The three-second pause that followed had her heart missing a beat.

At last he swept a hand in the direction of the desk. “Be my guest.”

Able to breathe again, she moved across the room to his sleek desk. She sat down, retrieved the portable cable from her purse and used it to connect her BlackBerry to his hard drive. A minute later, she had downloaded the proposal. The proposal was legitimate, but imbedded within its program was an interface that would allow her to remotely access his computer from her BlackBerry. Any files stored there might provide valuable information on his brother Victor; then again, they could very well offer nothing at all. She hoped like hell his security software wouldn’t recognize the bug and work to disable it before she could accomplish her mission.

Sam Johnson, the newest associate at the Equalizers, had brought the software with him from L.A. One of the scientists he’d worked with had been a computer buff and had designed the basically invisible intruding interface to check up on what his girlfriend was doing on the Net while he worked the nightshift at the state forensics lab. He had suspected an online romance. He’d found out far more than he’d wanted to know.

“Here we go.” She pushed out of his chair and gestured to the screen where the proposal portion of the program had opened to reveal the first eye-catching page. She needed him impressed.

He searched her face long enough to make her nervous. Surely he couldn’t know already that she was there under false pretenses. She hadn’t made any mistakes. As nervous as she felt, on the outside she appeared calm. She wore what she considered her courtroom face.

“You must forgive my manners,” he said suddenly as if he’d been lost in thought for a moment. “I so rarely have guests that I sometimes forget what is expected. Would you care for refreshments, Ms. Parsons?”

Relief rushed along her limbs. “Call me Renee,” she urged before manufacturing a friendly smile. “A drink would be great.” This was a move in the right direction. She needed him to feel comfortable in her presence. If only she could manage the same. The tension had ebbed a fraction, but it still had her on edge. Maybe that went with the territory.

“Why don’t we attend to our thirst before we review your proposal?”

The idea that putting the proposal on his computer might have made him somewhat suspicious crossed her mind but she’d just have to play this out and see what happened. That her fingers had gone ice cold was not good. In the courtroom, she had gone in with guns blazing and had never once let the competition see her sweat. To a great extent, she was out of her element here. Her reactions weren’t going to be her usual controlled responses. That was to be expected, she reminded herself. As long as she didn’t let him see her fear, there was no need to stress.

Paul Reyes led the way down the corridor, beyond the entry hall to the sprawling kitchen that claimed a sizeable chunk of the downstairs floor space on the front side of the house. Gleaming stainless steel appliances maintained the modern edge, but lots of granite and tumbled marble infused an organic element. The limestone floor and wall-to-wall windows, along with the simple furnishings, ensured a casual elegance. With a deftness born of repetition, her host prepared a blend of fresh juices and garnished the concoction with sprigs of mint.

He offered a stemmed glass to her. “Far more healthy than wine.”

“Thank you.” She accepted the glass and sipped the blend, careful not to show her surprise at his nonalcoholic choice. “I suppose you work out, as well.” He certainly looked fit. She told herself she hadn’t really noticed, that making the comment was about laying the groundwork for a common physical connection, but that was only part truth. Paul Reyes was a handsome man with a deep, silky voice and just enough of an accent to make him inordinately sexy. And the body—well, there was one for the covers of the hottest magazines. She imagined that the man would look damn good in most anything or nothing at all. Getting close to him wouldn’t be a chore.

“Staying fit is imperative to my image,” he insisted with a blatant survey of her, from her pink toenails to her unrestrained hair. “The mind and body must be in agreement. Don’t you agree?”

The way he looked at her set her further on edge. It shouldn’t have. She needed him to be attracted to her. That was the point of the scoop-necked blouse and the form-fitting, low-slung slacks. But that predatory gleam in his eyes was more than she’d bargained for this early in the game. Or maybe she just hadn’t expected that kind of overt reaction from a man so withdrawn in almost every other respect.

“Oh yes,” she stammered. “I heartily agree.”

He smiled, obviously enjoying her discomfort. “Are you one of the Los Angeles gallery’s regular buyers?” he inquired. “This is what you do?”

“Actually,” she heaved a beleaguered sigh and launched her well-planned story, “no. I was asked to approach you personally because I’m such a huge fan of your work. The owner is hoping my passion will prove persuasive enough to close the deal. I hate to come off as a starstruck fan, but that’s exactly what I am.”

If her answer moved him in any way, he kept it hidden well. Those dark eyes remained steady on her until the need to shift with uneasiness was nearly overwhelming. She held her ground, refused to allow him to see that he made her far too nervous. This was her new career. She refused to fail.

“Passion is a very powerful tool, Renee. In my line of work, it is critical to all involved. One should never be ashamed of passion.”

Beyond the idea of how much she liked the way he said her name, his answer brushed her senses the wrong way. Gave her pause.

My line of work.

Perhaps it was simply a matter of communication differences. After all, English was not his first language. Semantics, she argued. No need to send her suspicion radar to the next level over the way he used a couple of words. She was overanalyzing. Being nervous made her do that. Once she relaxed more fully into her role, she would be fine.

“Shall we get back to the proposal?” she prompted, needing her strict agenda to get her back on track. Her success in the courtroom was rooted, first and foremost, on extensive preparation. She needed to treat this assignment along those same lines until she hit her stride with the whole “getting comfortable” part.

He placed his half-empty glass on the island’s sleek granite counter. She did the same. This time they walked side by side as they retraced the route to his library. The sun had sunk deep on the horizon, melting into a golden blanket over the vast blue ocean and offering a spectacular panorama.

The idea that drug money may have contributed to this magnificent residence caused the muscles in her jaw to tighten. But this man was not a part of that, she reminded herself. It didn’t mean that he hadn’t accepted money or gifts from his evil sibling, but he was innocent of his brother’s crimes. If anyone should feel guilty, it was her, but she did not. The end justified the means. That was her new motto. She intended to use him to lure his death-dealing brother into a trap. Despite the break in the relationship with his only sibling, biology dictated a bond that assuredly went deep. He might hate what his brother did, but to plot his sibling’s downfall was another concept altogether, one toward which he might very well be disinclined. The only way to most reasonably assure his cooperation was to mislead him. She’d already lied to him repeatedly and would several times more before this first meeting was over. Paul Reyes would have no fond memories of her when this was over.

“As you can see,” she said as she moved through the first section of the presentation, “our gallery would display your ability to capture the essence of the sand and water and sky to its fullest advantage. Southern California isn’t unlike the Keys, in more ways than perhaps you realize. Your work would fit in very nicely, would bring a fresh perspective to our gallery’s already outstanding offerings. We have an international clientele, more so than you’ll find here, no disrespect to the local talent or trade.”

“Please,” he made a sweeping motion toward the computer screen with one hand, “go on.”

Renee couldn’t determine if he was intrigued yet, but she still had his full attention and that was something. As the final slide in the proposal was displayed on the screen, she made the next move. “I know you’ll need some time to think over all of this. Perhaps we could have dinner tomorrow evening.” She lifted one shoulder in the barest of shrugs. “Discuss any questions you might have in a more relaxed, nonbusiness rendezvous.”

His hesitation was expected. As a recluse, he would have no desire to leave his sanctuary. However, the invitation needed to be standard. The average person wouldn’t know all that she did about him. The slightest misstep could give away her true agenda.

“That’s an excellent idea, Renee.” He glanced at the computer screen one last time. “I’ll review your proposal more thoroughly and make my final decision. I would prefer, however,” his gaze connected with hers once more, “to have our next rendezvous here. I assume that will be acceptable to you?”

Exactly the answer she had hoped for. “Of course.” Now for the finishing touch. “I’ll be in town for the next few days. My schedule is completely at your disposal, Mr. Reyes.”

“Paul,” he suggested for the first time since her arrival.

She smiled, held his gaze a beat. “Paul.” This she said with a breathy quality that caused his pupils to flare and the corners of his mouth to lift slightly. The idea that she might be better at this than she’d anticipated gave her confidence a major boost.

The tension crackled ever so slightly as he blatantly assessed her for a second time, taking his slow, sweet time. “Seven,” he said, breaking the spell, “would that work for you?”

“Seven definitely works for me.” She reached for her bag. “I look forward to discussing our future working relationship and seeing more of your paintings.” Her expression turned visibly hopeful with the last.

“That can certainly be arranged.” He placed his hand at the small of her back as he guided her to the hall and toward the front door. “My studio provides a great deal of inspiration.” He paused as they reached the entry hall and looked directly at her. “At times, however, I find myself in need of additional stimulation. A beautiful woman can be extremely stirring to a man’s blood.”

Now they were getting somewhere, it seemed. “I can’t wait to see your studio.”

The smile slid back into place. “You will receive the grand tour, I assure you.”

A definite click followed by a roaring sound, similar to that of several garage doors closing simultaneously, jerked his attention back toward the interior of the house. Renee followed his gaze.

Barriers slowly closed down over the windows, blocking the magnificent view. Had a hurricane warning triggered the house’s security system? The metal-on-metal action of locks being set in motion hauled her attention back to the front door.

What the hell was happening?

“Renee.” Reyes swiveled to face her. “Something is wrong. You must run! Now!”

He reached for the door, but it was locked. He tugged at it frantically.

Her pulse shot into warp speed. “The security system,” she urged, “can you shut it down?” Apparently the system had gone into some sort of automatic secure mode.

Reaching for the keypad next to the door he fairly shouted, “I do not understand this.” He jabbed buttons to no avail. “This has never happened before.”

Footfalls on the floor behind them had her wheeling around. Two men. Large. Threatening. She dropped into a crouch, her attention riveted on the two men advancing as she grabbed for her weapon.

“Don’t move!” the first man barked, his weapon leveled on her.

With no desire to get killed, she pushed her hands up and slowly rose to her full height once more.

“Who are you?” Reyes demanded. “What do you want?”

“You,” the second man snapped as he moved in close enough to press the barrel of his.9 millimeter against Reyes’s forehead.

As Renee attempted to position herself between the two men in an effort to protect Reyes, an arm went around her neck. Something like a mask closed over her mouth and nose. She fought the strong arms manacling her. Her lungs burning, she gasped for air.

Then her vision narrowed until there was nothing.

Her body stopped fighting and went limp.

Merida, Mexico Same Day 6:50 p.m.

HIS EYES HAD CLOSED, the lids far too heavy to restrain. Staying awake was no longer possible. The weariness had overtaken him quickly this night. Too many sleepless ones had come and gone. He needed to rest…but if he slipped too deeply into that welcoming oblivion, he might not hear the enemy’s arrival.

He needed to stay awake. Yet he was so very tired. For days that had become weeks, he had fought the temptation, had struggled to survive on stolen moments of mere dozing. He could trust no one.

How much longer could he be held prisoner this way?

What purpose did his brother hope to serve with his actions? None of this made sense. He had long ago taken leave of his brother’s company. Refused to be a part of his love of spreading pain and death.

The click of the lock jerked his head up and his eyes wide open.

It could be the devil…come to finish the job at last. Part of him would be glad to have this nightmare over. This moment had been coming for years. He should have seen that. No one would be left to bear witness to his rottenness. Escaping the reality of their strained relationship had been merely a dream. One could not deny evil when it thrived in his very blood.

The door opened slowly. Even in the near darkness, he saw the hesitant movement of his visitor. Not his brother. Some amount of relief lowered the choking tension to a more tolerable level. His eyes had days ago adjusted to the lack of light.

Juanita cautiously peeked around the partially opened door. “Señor?” Her voice was small and worried. She should be worried. She had played a part in this vile plan, had made herself an accomplice to his brother’s selfish scheming.

In spite of the many reasons to doubt the possibility, hope stirred. Had he at last gained an ally? Or was this another trick?

“Have you had a change of heart, woman?” He asked this in English, refused to speak the native tongue of his betrayers. He had known this woman since he was a small boy. His mother had trusted her, had allowed her to look after her only children. Were his mother still alive, she would be gravely disappointed. There was no longer any loyalty in this family.

Juanita slipped into the room that had served as a prison for the past month, or had it been longer? On some level, he had reconciled to the likely fate that he would die here.

The light that followed Juanita into his prison accentuated the somber features of her thin face and her downcast gaze. He imagined that guilt kept her from looking him in the eye. He was being held prisoner in his own birth home. He had given up on the possibility of ever seeing the light of day again. His own people had turned on him, motivated by whatever threats made or gifts offered by his monster of a brother.

“I have, señor,” Juanita confessed sadly. “You were right. He is evil. I have heard whispers that he plans to cut off your head—” she shuddered “—when he returns. No matter what you’ve done, I cannot allow him to harm you this way.”

The threat of death was not unexpected. Why else would he be held prisoner like this? There was no turning back now. Whatever his brother was up to, he would leave no loose ends to fray. Yet even as the anger against his last living blood relative expanded inside him, he yearned for answers. His heart wouldn’t simply let go of the need to know the answers as to why he had come to be in this position, at the mercy of his own kin. What had changed? Why the sudden determination to come against him…after all this time? There had to be some scheme in place.

He should have gone to the authorities years ago and put a stop to his brother’s dealings. As a child, he had promised his mother that he would look out for his brother. Even then, she had known that something was not right with her eldest child. Maintaining his allegiance to that promise had been a mistake; looking the other way for so many years was a crime.

If he survived what was to come, he would settle this score once and for all.

“And what is it I have done that has brought about my imprisonment and impending death?” he asked the woman hovering with such uncertainty.

She eased back a step, positioning herself in the open doorway as if she feared she might need to quickly run away. Still, she refused to meet his gaze. “Señor, there is no need to speak of the past unless it is to pray for mercy on your soul.”

Her hand trembled as it came to rest on the door in preparation for yanking it closed if necessary. Would she rather lock him back up in this room than answer a simple question?

“We must speak of it, Juanita,” he insisted, “for I have no idea why this has happened.” Other than the fact that his brother was as insane as his vile acts would suggest. But there would be much more than that. The need to uncover this plan sent much-needed adrenaline pumping through him. “Tell me what it is that you believe I have done.”

For several moments, he was certain she did not intend to answer. Finally, her mouth worked mutely for a moment and then the words tumbled out. “You killed them, señor. All of them.” Her voice trembled. She cleared her throat and began again. “Your brother put you here to protect you until he could ensure the authorities were satisfied. But I have learned that he plans to kill you himself, not protect you at all. I cannot permit such a thing. Your madre would not want me to allow this end, no matter your crimes.”

This made no sense. He had not killed anyone. “Who have I killed, Juanita?”

“The missionaries,” she whispered, then crossed herself. “You killed them all.”

Shock radiated through him, rendering him momentarily unable to speak. “You are sure they are dead? All five?” His voice was quavering.

Juanita nodded jerkily. “The authorities are saying the rebels did the killing. Your brother saw to it that your name was kept from the trouble that has finally grown quiet. But now he plans to kill you so that you cannot do such a thing again. It was an act against God the Father.” She crossed herself once more. “Your brother says that your death is necessary in order to obtain forgiveness for you as well as for himself.” At last she lifted her gaze to his. “I have known you since you were a small boy. I cannot watch you die by the hand of your own brother. Forgiveness or no forgiveness, it is not right.”

“What shall we do about this, Juanita?” He wanted to rise up from his position on the floor. To urge the woman who had known him for most of his life to act now. There was no time to waste. But he did not want to risk frightening her with any sudden moves. In addition, the price could prove to be very high if Juanita’s participation in his escape were discovered before an end could be put to the enemy—his own brother.

“You must hurry back to your home in the north, señor,” Juanita offered. “You must go now. There can be no delay. Eduardo has heard that your brother is already on his way here. He will not follow you to the north, as you well know. You must never return to Mexico. No one else can die in the Reyes’ name. God will not forgive any of us, I fear.”

He had not killed anyone, but Juanita was right about one thing—no one else should die in the Reyes’ name, period. “How am I to go back to the States, Juanita? I have no papers. No money.”

She exhaled a careworn breath. “Eduardo makes a way. Your brother’s private plane waits. You must hurry. I have clothes for you.”

“What will you and Eduardo do when my brother finds me gone from here?” Eduardo, Juanita’s husband, had taken a great risk, as had Juanita.

She shook her head. “There is no time to talk of this. You must go.”

He got up slowly. Even though she knew his intentions, Juanita gasped when he took a step toward the door.

His chest tightened at the idea that anyone would consider him threatening. That was the part of this ugly mess that he hated the most. His own brother had used him to create fear…to kill.

“Juanita,” he said softly, “I have not killed anyone. If the missionaries—” his throated constricted “—are dead, then my brother or his men killed them. You surely know I would never do such a thing.”

Those five men, volunteers from the Basilica de Guadalupe on the north side of Mexico City, had been working with him in a small southern village devastated by last year’s floods. They had rebuilt many homes already, but there was much more to be done. Now those men were dead if what Juanita said was to be believed. What in God’s name did his brother hope to prove?

“I have been thinking that you did not,” Juanita admitted, her voice grave. “But I do not know the truth, señor. Flee this place. If your heart is pure you will flourish again.”

If only it were that easy. “I understand.” His brother could be charming and utterly persuasive when he chose. No one wanted to believe the depth of his depravity.

“You must hurry, mi hijo.”

“Thank you, Juanita.”

Their gazes met briefly in the near darkness. Years had passed since she had last used that endearment. If they survived, he would ensure that her attempt to do the right thing was well compensated. Of the handful who knew of this despicable arrangement, no one else had dared to offer a hand in support. Those who had looked the other way would not be forgotten, either.

He followed Juanita from the prison. His breath sawed in and out of his lungs despite his attempt to stay calm and steady. If they were caught, Juanita would die. His own fate might very well be no better, though most would not dare attempt to use lethal force to stop him for fear of his brother’s reprisal. In any event, what did he have to lose? His fate had already been decided by his brother. A sharp pain pierced his chest at the thought of those men who had lost their lives already. Innocent men who had done nothing more than attempt to help those less fortunate.

His brother would pay this time.

Fury bolted through him. For the first time in his life, he felt certain he could do what needed to be done, putting aside that long-ago promise once and for all.

It was time for his brother’s reign of terror to end.

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