Colby Agency: Decoded Part 6

Maggie held her breath.

"End this once and for all." He glanced toward the dingy window at the front of the cantina, then he stood. "Our car has arrived."

Like him, Maggie had run out of options, as well.

She trailed behind him, her heart sinking lower with each step.

Coyoacn Borough, Mexico City, 6:40 p.m.

THE SMALL FLAT WAS A BIG STEP up from the motel where they'd crashed outside Chicago. The old woman, Lavena, was not exactly a friend of Slade's but she certainly wasn't an enemy. She had helped him out when he was a kid. He couldn't recall how she had come to be in his life, but she had always been there at least on the fringes. Later, he had returned the favor by providing the resources for renovations to the building that had been in her family for five generations. The city officials had hoped to force her out by condemning the property, then taking it for other purposes. Lavena had shown the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds but good.

The old woman was well into her sixties by now. Her hair had grown thin and gray and her back stooped, but she could fire a weapon as good as a man half her age.

There was no one else Slade could trust now that McCain was gone. Lavena hated the Dragon. She had her own reasons, which she refused to discuss with Slade. Whatever those reasons, Lavena would like nothing better than to annoy the woman she hated so. She considered keeping Maggie tucked out of reach an honor, and an opportunity to twist the proverbial knife.

As soon as he had Maggie settled, Slade intended to set his own final strategy in motion. He would strike before sunrise. The darkness would give him some advantage. His about-face in strategy would provide an element of surprise. The Dragon would expect him to do exactly as he had always done-run. Find a new place and name and lay low until she found him again.

Not this time. This time he intended to fight to the death.

Striking fast was essential. He would not allow Lavena to be more collateral damage in this war. If her support of Slade was discovered before he completed his mission, she would die. He was not without honor.

He would not let that happen.

The Colby Agency and their allies would have feelers out all over for Maggie and for him. Slade's jaw hardened with fury. They had done more than enough already. He understood their intentions, but they had no idea what they had done.

When this was over, he would send Maggie back to them and he would disappear.

There was nothing for him in Chicago.

The sound of water spraying in the shower seemed to mock his conclusion. He dismissed the notion.

Maggie James had been a p.a.w.n, nothing more. He wanted no harm to come to her but that was as far as his attachment went. She would be far better off without him, despite what she might feel at the moment. He was better off alone.

A knock at the entry drew his attention from the closed bathroom door. He moved to the window at the front of the flat near the door. A peek between the drab curtains and Slade confirmed that Lavena's grandson, Ramondo, had arrived with supplies. Slade opened the door and stepped back for the man to enter. He looked to be about twenty. According to Lavena, he took care of maintenance for the flats she rented in the old mission she called home. In addition to the maintenance, Ramondo did errands, all in exchange for a place to live.

Sounded like a h.e.l.l of a deal to Slade. Nothing he'd ever done for his so-called mother had garnered him so much as a thank-you. More often than not, he'd gotten disciplined for his overabundance of ambition or lack of submission.

Slade thanked the man and secured the door behind him. He took his time putting away the food and other supplies Maggie would need for a few days. Lavena would see to it that she had anything she needed. All Slade had to do was convince Maggie to stay put and not to call anyone until he gave her clearance to do so.

He paused, stared at the jacket she'd left on the sofa. Maggie had worked so hard to accomplish a good life. She was smart and hardworking and she deserved way better than him. She deserved her life back and the opportunity to find someone who would love her as unconditionally as she loved Slade.

A muscle in his jaw began to throb. No one had ever loved him before. Not the way Maggie did. But he didn't possess the capacity or ability to love her back. Not like that. He felt protective of her and he...enjoyed her body...but that wasn't the same thing.

When she'd had time to think about all this, she would thank him.

MAGGIE TOLD HERSELF TO SHUT off the water. It had long ago gone cold.

But she couldn't move.

Her body ached from deep within. She shook all over as if she were going into shock. Fear writhed like a snake fighting for its life inside her, sending quakes along her limbs. What had she done?

At least one man was dead. Dead. She'd told herself over and over that if Slade hadn't killed him he would have killed her. Clearly, the act had been in her defense and yet she couldn't banish the horror. A man was dead because of her a.s.sociation with Slade.

She was in Mexico with no doc.u.mentation of who she was. No driver's license, no pa.s.sport, not even a library card. How would she get home? How would she protect her baby? Her insurance card was in her purse back in Chicago. In less than twenty-four hours her calm, predictable life had spiraled out of control. That wasn't entirely true. The spin had started two years ago when Slade Keaton walked into her coffee shop for the first time.

He intended to kill this woman called the Dragon. He claimed he had no other choice. Did Maggie's knowledge of his intent make her an accessory? Dear G.o.d, if she found a way to get to the police and warn them, would she be costing Slade his only chance of survival?

What should she do? Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot, salty and devastating. She didn't want the father of her child to die. All she wanted was him out of her life. Denial thrust against her breastbone. If that was true, what was she doing here, aiding and abetting him?

Who was she kidding? She was a victim. He'd kidnapped her. He swore the act had been to protect her, but how could she simply take his word? Every single thing he had told her, including his name, was a lie.

Victim. Maggie closed her eyes. She had promised herself she would never again be a victim on any level, not after the divorce.

She straightened, dared her body to tremble. Reaching for the ancient valve, she shut off the water and grabbed the towel she'd slung over the shower rod. Whatever she had to do to free herself of this nightmare, she would do it. She owed Slade Keaton nothing, least of all her allegiance. This waffling back and forth was stupid and cowardly. She had to be smart and strong.

While toweling off her body, she mentally listed all the reasons she had for walking away from him. The baby's safety. Her own. The life she had built in Chicago. Her family and friends.

What had he offered her? Heartache. Fear. Uncertainty. And all three of those had been doled out to her before this nightmare had even begun. Outrage sparked deep in her soul at the idea of how she had lain awake at night waiting for him. So many, many times. If he hadn't shown she lapsed into a pathetic depression. Her soul hungered for him on every level. She felt as if she were dying without him.

That was what he had done for her.

She draped the damp towel on the side of the tub and reached for the clothes his elderly friend had provided. Cotton slacks and a long-sleeved blouse that, though clean and in good condition, weren't from either of the past two decades. She pulled on the borrowed socks and frowned. Where were her shoes?

Her attention shifted to the door that separated her from him. This flat had only two rooms, a large living area that included a bed in one corner and then this tiny bathroom. He would be out there waiting for his turn to shower.

Antic.i.p.ation lit in her blood, made her heart pound with hope. She could make a run for it while he was in the shower. Surely he would take five minutes and that would provide a decent head start.

Maggie tugged the hem of the blouse down over the waistband of the baggy slacks. She could do this. In her life before Chicago she had done harder things, if not more dangerous.

All she had to do was stay calm and wait until she heard the spray of water.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she finger combed her hair. She and her baby would be just fine as soon as they were back at the coffee shop where they belonged. Calling the authorities would be the best strategy. No matter what Slade said, she had to trust the law. The alternative was unthinkable.

She opened the door and a burst of cool air slid over her. The steam her shower had generated drifted from the bathroom with her. Slade stood at the window, watching through the narrow slit between the curtain panels. He turned to her.

"It's all yours." She dredged up a smile. "I feel tremendously better."

He studied her a moment. A voice in her head screamed at her. Don't act nervous! Desperate for something to latch on to, her gaze landed on the fruit lying on the table.

"Apples and bananas!" She moved in that direction, praying he wouldn't notice the high pitch of her voice. "I'm starved."

"There's bottled water and juice in the fridge. There's bread and an a.s.sortment of dry goods and snacks. Not exactly what you keep at home, but the closest offerings available."

She held the apple she'd selected so tight in her hand she feared it might be crushed. "You've been shopping." He'd left and she hadn't realized.

He shook his head. "Lavena's grandson, Ramondo, picked up a few things. Enough to keep you comfortable."

He was leaving. All the plans and determination she'd set into place minutes ago drained out of her like freshly brewed coffee pouring unchecked from a machine missing its carafe. He had brought her here to tuck her away until he did what he had to do.

Maggie had no ID, no money except what he'd stuck in her pocket, no phone. She visually searched the room once more to confirm there was no phone. Nope. She had nothing but borrowed clothes and a few days' food supply.

As if sensing her trepidation, Slade moved toward her. She told herself not to watch, not to react, but that was as impossible as telling herself not to breathe.

"Lavena will see that you have anything you need." He stopped right in front of Maggie, so close she could smell the aftershave he'd used yesterday or the day before. The scent was one she knew as well as she knew her own. Maybe better.

"Do not attempt to call anyone until I give you the okay. At that time I'll make arrangements for you to return to Chicago."

Somehow she found her voice. "How can you be sure it's safe for me to stay here?"

"Lavena has helped me out many times. She won't let me down."

Maggie swallowed back the emotion climbing from her chest. "So you're leaving."

"Before midnight."

The nod of her head was a little stilted, but at least she managed a response.

"You will be safe here." He gestured to the apple in her hand. "You should eat. I'll shower and make preparations to move out."

Maggie managed another jerky nod. She watched him cross to the bathroom, her knees threatening to give out any second.

At the door he paused.

Her heart pounded so hard she couldn't hear herself think.

He turned back to her. "This will be over soon. You have my word."

Chapter Eight.

Central Mexico, 7:00 p.m.

Camille Marek stood on the balcony of her home and surveyed the vast land that sprawled lazily in front of her. She could just see the tiny peaks of the historic colonial architecture of San Miguel de Allende in the distance. The lush greenery interspersed amid the villages and farmland was some of the most beautiful in all of Mexico. Yet, out here, against the sage-blue mountains, she ruled without the interference of law or government. This rugged terrain had discouraged development, making it perfect for her.

Her fortress was like a castle sitting high above the rest, its position providing a strategic advantage.

The cool air filled her lungs with antic.i.p.ation. She adored the darkness, relished the emptiness of the terrain that separated her from the populated cities and villages she rarely visited. All she required was here within her dominion.

Nothing could touch her here. Nearly three decades ago she had overseen the building of this fortress. Every detail had been accomplished beneath her watchful eye to provide absolute security and privacy. The position at the base of the mountains had provided numerous possibilities for unexpected egress, including air transport to her state-of-the-art yacht.

The cutting-edge surveillance system's perimeter around the property was one hundred meters. Between the cameras, the motion sensors as well as the armed guards, there was little or no possibility of an unexpected breach.

Fury obliterated her sense of contentment. But he knew the security measures forward and backward. Though he had turned his back on her and his home a dozen years ago, he had made it a point to stay apprised of any changes. She had discovered this fact only recently. He monitored her moves in order to stay one step ahead. All these years she had known he was out there, despite his having faked his death in hopes of escaping her wrath.

Had she known thirty years ago what she knew now, she would have drowned him as an infant. What an infinite waste of her time and resources he had been. Her lips tightened in escalating rage. She had done everything for them, he and his sister. Only Alayna had properly shown her respect and grat.i.tude. She lived to serve, as it should be.

Camille drew in a deep, resolute breath. Terminating his pathetic existence would move her as much as squashing a trespa.s.sing insect. He had been dead to her for many years. His own selfish motives had lured him to turn his back on her, despite all that she had given him. The sentence for such betrayal could be nothing less than death.

She would not allow him to destroy all that she had accomplished. The Code was an unmatched project. Others had tried and failed. They had not been willing to sacrifice as she had. Her entire life had been dedicated to this one cause. He would not take that from her.

Anyone who got in the way would suffer the same fatal destiny.

She thought of Lucas and a new fury ignited inside her. His tampering was a mistake. One he would regret very soon. A smile tipped her lips. She had so enjoyed the fascinating report of the events during Lucas's recent visit to Mexico. Her loyal servant had relayed how Lucas and his wife had fought to save not only their lives, but those of others. It seemed Lucas had not changed. Too bad for him and his cherished wife. Unfortunately, loyal servant or not, the lone survivor of those she had sent to teach Lucas a lesson about interference had been exterminated. His allegiance had served him well until the very end. A quick message to the authorities where he was being held had resolved that loose end without the slightest delay.

Of all her s.e.xual conquests, Lucas was the only one who had intrigued her so. Perhaps because she had sensed a like spirit in terms of relentless determination and the need to accomplish the mission no matter the cost. That had been their singular common conviction. Lucas Camp was plagued with the one weakness she had never possessed: the need for justice. Did he not realize that all were not created equal? There were three types of humans: prey, survivors and predators. If one was not a predator, then one was either merely a survivor or the food that fueled the top of the food chain.

Predator suited her perfectly.

Camille walked back inside, the heels of her stilettos clicking on the stone floors. She entered her chamber with the intent of checking the status of the numerous ongoing endeavors under her watch. An array of monitors lined one wall, each a running report on the missions under her dominion. Camille required constant updates. Therefore, similar monitors had been installed in every s.p.a.ce she frequented. She hesitated at the towering mirror that stood against the wall at the entry to her private rooms.

Maintaining her figure as she neared the mid-fifty mark had not been an issue. Immense self-discipline was one of her most prized a.s.sets. She trained as hard as any member of her team. No one was better. Strength was absolutely essential to remaining at the top of the food chain. Weakness, physical or mental, could not be tolerated.

She studied her face. Decades ago she had gotten used to this face. It represented one of her many masterpieces. Her greatest triumph despite the failure in the end. No matter, there would be other successes. She would need to stay at her very best. Meticulous care was necessary to stay youthful looking. She had changed her hair some years back. It no longer draped around her shoulders. The more sophisticated, shorter style was far more to her liking. Pleasing to the eye.

She touched her cheek, soft and supple. No matter the extent required to retain her youth. What would he think when they came face-to-face? And they would. She knew Lucas. He would not rest until he had confronted the threat to his perfect world. How would he react when she told him the truth he would not want to hear? She had watched him and his wife in Puerto Vallarta. He had seen Camille, but only for a second. Just long enough to make him sweat. A smile toyed with her lips. Oh, how she wanted him to writhe with worry. He and that precious wife of his, the esteemed Victoria Colby.

The smile teasing her lips stretched wide. She relished the thought of causing him pain. She held out her right hand and admired the beautiful ring she always wore. Ornate t.i.tanium setting with a ma.s.sive rubylike stone. In the same way as her home, she'd had the ring designed especially for her. She never took it off.

Her gaze lifted to her reflection once more. Oh, yes, she looked forward with great antic.i.p.ation to coming face-to-face with Lucas again. For all these years she had been satisfied with their brief encounter so very long ago. After all, she had accomplished the most important feat of her career. There had been no reason to end his existence. The need to utilize him again one day had always been a viable possibility. But he had interfered, trespa.s.sed into her world. For that transgression, he would pay. No one crossed the Dragon.

Alayna's image appeared in the mirror. Camille's gaze connected with her daughter's. Generally, seeing her daughter, especially here, was a pleasure-one of the few she allowed herself. But if Alayna were here to plead her brother's case yet again, Camille was not sure she could withhold punishment. She had her limitations, even with her most prized possession.

"You are so beautiful, Mother." Alayna smiled. "Far more beautiful than me."

Irritation sizzled inside Camille. Though sincere, the words were ultimately a precursor to the plea Camille would not again entertain. She turned to her daughter. "Do not test me, Alayna. I will not tolerate your continued obsession with your brother. He is dead to us. Terminating his existence will protect us. That is all that matters. Do you understand?"

Alayna nodded. "I understand."

That she did not persist raised a red flag. Camille knew her daughter. "It is not wise to hide things from me, Alayna. You are my one and only. I do not wish to lose you as I did the others."

Fear flared in Alayna's eyes. This pleased Camille immensely.

"He has put us at risk." Camille righted a single hair that had fallen out of place. "He has put everything at risk. He must be terminated. There is nothing more I can do except vanquish the risk."

Her daughter nodded again. "You're right, Mother, I know." She looked away. "But you had such high hopes for him. It seems a shame to waste such a.s.sets."

He was special, that was true. A relentless intelligence gatherer. A ruthless a.s.sa.s.sin. Fully capable of eluding the most dogged search. Those skills that Camille had once felt such pride at watching in action were now a threat to her work and to her survival.

Her son had to die.