Bound to Danger: A Deadly Ops Novel (2 page)

Soft target: undefended target, such as a person or place that is vulnerable to a military or terrorist attack.

M
aria Cervantes grasped the interior door handle of the SUV limo as her family’s regular driver took what would hopefully be the last sharp turn of the night. Either he’d forgotten how to drive or she was sicker than she’d realized. Every little bump in the road made her afraid she’d puke. After being laid up in bed with flulike symptoms for five days and missing work for a week straight—something she’d never done before—she was positive she’d kicked the nasty stomach bug this morning. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Nausea roiled in her stomach and she swallowed hard, forcing the sickness back down.
Just a few hours
, she reminded herself. That was all she had to get through, and then she could go back home and pass out.

As the vehicle straightened and slowed, she peered through the divider. At her request she’d asked the driver to keep the partition down. In case she got so sick he needed to pull over, she didn’t want to waste precious seconds buzzing him. Either way she was clutching one
of the empty silver ice buckets she’d snagged from the minibar in case she didn’t have time to warn him.

“We’re almost there, Ms. Cervantes.” His voice was ridiculously polite despite the fact that she and Nash had known each other for two years.

She knew why, though. He was annoyed with her for going to this party when she was sick. “I swear to God if you call me Ms. Cervantes again I’m going to crawl up there and puke on you. We’re the same age, Nash.”

“Damn it, Maria—”

She let out a raspy laugh, loving that she’d gotten Nash Larson to curse since it was a rarity. He’d been working for her parents for two years. Before he started working for the Cervantes family, he had done private security work for a year, and for eight years before that he’d been in the Army. Her father, Riel, had needed an outside security company to oversee one of his projects in Mexico two years ago and Nash had been assigned. After witnessing the man at work, her father had snatched Nash away with a hefty pay raise and better benefits. Now he was more or less a personal bodyguard/driver/fix-all man for her parents. While her dad often used Nash when traveling on business as extra security, he hadn’t for his current trip since it was so short.

Nash let out a growl of frustration as the vehicle slowed to stop. Maria barely paid attention as she heard him talking to one of the security personnel outside the gated mansion where a very exclusive party was going on. She didn’t need to listen, because she knew he was showing off
her elegant gold-and-cream-embossed invitation. If it was any other event she would have bailed, but Bayside Community Center, where she worked, needed the donations that would come in from tonight. And there was one potential donor in particular Maria desperately wanted to talk to.

Maria had grown up with incredibly wealthy parents and they’d taught her to give back. They weren’t exactly happy with her chosen profession, but they supported her career as a counselor. After getting a bachelor’s degree in behavioral psychology and a master’s in counseling, she couldn’t imagine doing anything else. She was also the current acting director since her predecessor had suddenly died a couple of months ago. Until they found a replacement, she was in charge of the center. She’d thought the added responsibility would be overwhelming, but Maria found she liked the challenge.

Since her parents wouldn’t let her arrive at the Westwood gala driving her Prius, she had a chauffeur. Any other night it would have been annoying, but there was no way she could operate heavy machinery right now. She’d stopped taking her over-the-counter anti-nausea medicine so she wouldn’t be drowsy, but the side effect was that she was now nauseated. She was just impressed she’d managed to get dressed on her own.

The Westwood family wasn’t originally from Miami, but California. They liked to do things over-the-top and a bit garish, but Maria didn’t care. They were friendly, donated to local charities, and in addition to three food banks and another community center in Miami, Bayside was one of the recipients of donations from tonight. Which meant Maria had to be here. She was the public face for Bayside, and she took her position very
seriously. Though it wasn’t the only reason she was here. She also had to meet Joann Hood, an insanely wealthy woman who wanted to “talk numbers” in regards to donating money to Bayside. And this was the only time the eccentric woman could meet Maria. So here she was.

“You look like shit, Maria. As soon as we stop, I’m texting your mother to let her know I’m taking you home.” Nash’s expression in the rearview mirror was almost scolding.

Despite also being twenty-nine, he sometimes seemed light-years older. She put a hand to her unsettled stomach before continuing. “One hour. That’s all I need.” Or she hoped it was. “And I’ll be fine. Just don’t take me through the main entrance.” There would be a silly red carpet and photographers hoping to snap shots of some of the politicians and possible celebrities. She definitely wasn’t newsworthy, but there would be an extra crush of people there and she knew there was another entrance.

“I wasn’t planning to,” he growled. “And I’m not letting the valet take the SUV. I’ll be waiting in the parking area. Call or text when you’re ready and I’ll pick you up.” The driveway leading to the main house was long and winding. Instead of following the drive to the left where it curved, Nash continued straight until they reached one of the service entrances. There was more security there, but after a quick conversation with someone Nash clearly knew, they were allowed past.

“You know him?” she asked, glad her voice sounded stronger. If she could get some decent face time tonight, it meant she’d get an invite to next year’s party and Bayside would be on the list to continue receiving donations.
Since it was the first year she’d received an invitation, she wasn’t taking any chances by not showing up and insulting the Westwoods. With the economy the way it was, Maria had to look out for her kids. That community center was the only form of family some of them had and she refused to let them down.

“Yeah, when I heard you were sick I called the security team and found out who was on duty. I still don’t think you should be here.”

Maria sighed, not bothering with a response as Nash pulled up next to a catering van and parked. “Didn’t you used to work for the same security company as that guy?” Even though the man at the front gate wore a suit, the one who’d just stopped them had been wearing a black Polo shirt with a familiar security logo and cargo pants. He’d also had a gun strapped to his belt, much like ones the police wore. Definitely not trying to hide what his job was for the evening.

“You know I did. Don’t try to change the subject.”

“Argue all you want. It’s a battle you’ll lose.”

He muttered something under his breath as he got out of the vehicle. She straightened her long violet gown and glanced down at herself. While she hadn’t been able to do much with her hair other than curl it and leave it loose around her shoulders, her dress was so gorgeous it wouldn’t matter. Before she could open the door, it swung open and Nash held out a hand for her.

Even though his smile had an almost boyish quality, there was nothing boyish about the man in front of her. His normally relaxed face was drawn into a tight expression and his blue eyes flashed with annoyance. Well, he wasn’t her freaking boss and certainly not her boyfriend—though she had a feeling he had a small
crush on her, so she tried not to get too angry. Despite his obvious annoyance he held out an arm and helped her from the vehicle.

Normally she wouldn’t need help, but tonight she was taking it. She’d already gotten the okay from her doctor that she wasn’t contagious—otherwise she wouldn’t have come.

“You—”

“Nash, enough,” she snapped, at the end of her rope. She was barely keeping it together and didn’t have the strength to argue.

“I was just going to say you look beautiful,” he muttered, his ears turning pink.

“Oh, thank you.” Not wanting things to get awkward, and because she wanted to get inside as soon as possible, she stepped away and held up her simple clutch purse. “I’ve got my phone. As soon as I’m ready to leave, I’ll call you and meet you right out here.” She glanced toward the part of the mansion they were parked outside. There was a security man standing by a side door, clearly waiting for her. In the distance she heard music and voices, but it was fairly quiet where they were. Mansion probably wasn’t the right term for this home. It was more like a castle. Sure, her parents were wealthy, but the Westwoods were in a totally different stratosphere. They were like royalty. “You’re sure I can go in through there?”

“Yes, I worked it out ahead of time.” Nash tilted his head in the direction of the man patiently waiting. “Cormac will lead you into the party and . . .” He glanced down at his cell phone when it pinged. “Your mother is waiting by the ice sculpture of a dragon. It’s near the . . . room of weapons?”

“Room of . . . oh, right, tell her I’m on my way.” She was so grateful her mother had taken to texting Nash instead of her. The thought of trying to focus on tiny letters now . . . no, thank you.

She was also glad she knew where the weapons room was. Well, sort of. Once she got in the house, she was certain she could find it. The Westwoods were huge history buffs and had an actual room designated solely to display various weaponry from the last two centuries. It was actually pretty cool, if a little weird.

Her heels clicked along the pathway up to an intimidating man wearing all black. His expression was cool and assessing as he took her in. “Normally I’d check you for weapons, but Nash says you’re all right.” He opened the door for her with a sharp gesture that said she should enter.

Okay, then. They stepped into a kitchen that was humming quietly with activity. Various people were setting up dessert trays and plates, but this definitely wasn’t the main kitchen. Maria had been in that one a couple of years ago.

“This way,” the security man urged, clearly not liking that he was her temporary escort.

All the food aromas were overwhelming, so she hurried after him but not before snagging a mini-cupcake. She hadn’t eaten in hours and sugar probably wasn’t the best idea, but she needed something in her stomach. Shoving it in her mouth, she stumbled trying to keep up with the long-legged man. He took her down a lot of hallways and too many turns to count. Dizziness swarmed her as they reached the end of a hallway that emptied out into a room where well-dressed people were all drinking either champagne or martinis. Female servers
were walking around wearing . . .
holy shit, they were wearing only body paint made to look like tuxedos
. Maria blinked and tried to listen as Cormac gave her directions to the weapons room. Nodding politely, she fought more nausea as he hurried away while talking into an ear mic. Before she’d taken two steps, a woman named Greta Dobbins latched onto her arm.

Maria guessed the white-haired woman was pushing eighty. She was slim, a few inches taller than Maria and had a wicked grip. “Hi, sweetheart. I just saw your mother. She told me you were coming and I’m just so glad. It’s amazing how much time you dedicate to that center. Of course I know your dear mother wishes you’d settle down and get married. . . .”

Oh, sweet Lord. Maria’s eyes and ears glazed over for a moment as she took in the room. Two sparkly chandeliers hung above them and classical music was being piped in from somewhere. About forty people in long, glittery gowns or tuxedos talked among themselves. She recognized some of them, but not everyone. Pasting on a smile for Mrs. Dobbins, she tried to focus on the woman’s face, but bile rose in her throat as clamminess descended over her bare skin. Oh yeah, that cupcake had been a really bad idea.

“Maria, you don’t look so good.” Without waiting for a response, Mrs. Dobbins practically dragged her across the marble floor to the other side, ignoring the calls of her husband.

“Where are we going?” She had no strength to fight the other woman and just prayed there was an empty bathroom nearby.

Taking Maria by surprise, the older woman opened a door Maria hadn’t even seen. It was built into the dark
wooden paneling, seamless in its architecture. “We’re going to find you a place to rest and I’m going to get your mother. You shouldn’t be here. She told me you weren’t feeling well, but you look like death warmed over. I know how dedicated you are to that center, but this is unacceptable.”

Even though she wanted to argue, Maria knew the woman was right. Her face and hands were clammy, but sweat had started to blossom across her forehead, between her breasts, and down her back. A chill snaked through her body, making her shiver. “How did you even know about that door?”

Mrs. Dobbins chuckled. “Oh, I know a lot about this place. Flora has me over for tea at least once a month. And that’s code for martinis, but don’t tell Kingsley. It’ll just raise his blood pressure and . . .”

Everything went hazy again as the woman chatted away. Maria had forgotten how close Mrs. Dobbins was with Flora Westwood. Even though the woman was a total chatterbox, Maria was incredibly grateful for her kindness now. While she wasn’t sure where they were, she couldn’t hear the crowd of people anymore and her heels were silent against the carpet runner covering rich wooden floors. Finally the woman stopped in front of a door and peered inside. She let out a breath. “Okay, no one’s in here. There’s a bathroom right through there.” Mrs. Dobbins pointed even though Maria couldn’t see past the heavy door. “I’ll be back in ten minutes, I promise. Just as soon as I find your mother.”

“She’s near a dragon ice sculpture.” Or she had been. Maria wasn’t even sure how much time had passed since she arrived. Or where she now was in the giant house for that matter.

“Make that twenty minutes, then.” The woman ushered her into what turned out to be a lavish guest room. It was dimly lit with a Tiffany table lamp, but Maria didn’t care about the decor.

Racing toward the door Mrs. Dobbins had pointed out, she hurried inside and barely made it to the toilet before she threw up the cupcake. After a while she was just dry-heaving, her stomach muscles cramping in agony.