Enticed by the Operative (Doctors in Danger, Book 1) (7 page)

“They can’t be too worried about you finding it if they’re telling me exactly where it is,” she remarked. “So either they’ve paid off everyone, or they’re just going to kill me.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, reminding him of their earlier car ride when she’d seen through his vague platitudes. His respect for her went up another notch, and he realized that from now on it would be best for him to be totally honest. Olivia was a smart woman, and if they were going to work together on this operation, he had to trust her with the truth.

“I told you, I’m not going to let you die.” He wanted to grab her hand again to reassure her with his touch as well as his words, but he settled for holding her gaze instead.

Olivia’s big brown eyes searched his and after a moment she nodded slightly. “There’s more,” she said, worry creeping back into her voice.

“What is it?” Alan sat forward, his pen poised to take notes.

“Carlos said they have eyes everywhere. That my every move will be watched and reported to him.” She started fiddling with the pen again, glancing at him and then Alan. “Is he exaggerating, or do they really have spies everywhere?”

“It might be a little of both,” Logan replied. “The cartel certainly has people on the payroll, but I don’t think everyone you’ll meet is in their pocket. Still, it’s best to be careful.”

“How are we going to do that?” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “You and I are supposed to stay close to each other—won’t it seem strange for me to spend all my time with you?”

“Not necessarily,” Alan said, a speculative gleam in his eyes. “What if Logan poses as more than just a corporate sponsor?”

“What do you mean?” Olivia frowned slightly, and Logan’s stomach dropped. Was Alan actually suggesting he pretend to have a more personal relationship with Olivia?

“The two of you could pretend to be a couple,” Alan suggested, confirming Logan’s fears.

Oh, no. No way. Bad idea.
Personal emotions never mixed well with professional obligations. He was having a hard enough time keeping his burgeoning attraction for Olivia under control. If he had to pretend to be her boyfriend, it would be almost impossible to stay totally focused on the job at hand.

Besides, Olivia probably wanted no part of such a deception. They barely knew each other. Surely she had no desire to act the part of the doting girlfriend for a relative stranger.

Logan opened his mouth to shoot down Alan’s crazy suggestion, but before he could speak, Olivia nodded enthusiastically.

“I’ll do it.”

Alan and Keith both grinned, and Logan’s palm itched with the urge to smack those knowing smiles right off their faces. They didn’t know about Emma—he hadn’t told anyone at work about it. But his lack of a dating life had been noticed on more than one occasion, and the team had taken to calling him “Monk,” a nickname he tolerated if only to keep them from coming up with something worse. They’d been trying to set him up for ages with cousins, friends of wives or girlfriends, even neighbors. But Logan had always refused without explanation.

Leave it to these guys to force his hand now, even though the whole thing would be fake.

“So it’s settled then,” Keith said.

“Sounds like it to me,” Alan replied.

“What do you think?” Olivia asked. She was watching him again, taking in everything as she studied his reaction to this proposal.

Logan scrambled to come up with an objection to the plan that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete ass. He didn’t want Olivia to think he was rejecting the idea because he didn’t find her attractive—far from it. But he also didn’t want her to know that he was worried about staying focused on the job. If he made it sound like he couldn’t keep things professional she might worry she was going to Colombia with a Grade A creeper.

He glared at Alan and Keith, wishing they’d kept their mouths shut. The guys generally had some good ideas, but this one was a real dud.

“I don’t want you to do anything that would make you feel uncomfortable,” he said, hoping that sounded good.

Olivia huffed out a laugh. “I’m being blackmailed into acting as a drug mule for a notorious Colombian cartel. We’re way past uncomfortable here.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded. “But you don’t have to add to your troubles by pretending to like me.”

She tilted her head to the side, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Maybe not, but it’s the only way to plausibly explain why we’re joined at the hip.”

Logan didn’t respond. As much as he hated to admit it, she and the guys were right.

“Don’t worry,” Olivia added, a spark of humor lighting her eyes. “Your virtue is safe with me.”

“Ha-ha,” he said, ignoring the snorts of suppressed laughter coming from Alan and Keith. “Are you sure you really want to do this?”

Olivia nodded, determination settling over her face.

“Absolutely.”

CHAPTER 6

“A
re there any other developments?”

The question was not unexpected, but it still made Carlos’s stomach turn. He took a deep breath as he debated his next words. Would it be better for him to reveal this latest wrinkle, or should he pretend as if everything was proceeding as planned? He hated to show any kind of flaw—if his employers thought he was mishandling the situation, there would be hell to pay. But if they thought he was being less than truthful, his punishment would be extreme. In the end, he decided honesty was worth the risk.

“Olivia Sandoval has agreed to act as a courier, just as you thought she would. But there is another person accompanying her on the trip.”

The man on the other end of the line was silent for a moment, giving Carlos plenty of time to imagine his reaction. He would be displeased, but he wouldn’t let his temper show. There was always a chance that someone was listening, and El Jefe was not stupid. He had led Fantasmas for the past ten years with a calculating ruthlessness that left no room for emotion. His ice-cold control was one of the most terrifying things about him, and Carlos had always considered him the personification of that American colloquialism “Don’t get mad, get even.”

“Who?”

“She claims the man is an investor who insists on going with her so he can see how his company’s money is spent.”

“His name?”

“Logan Marshall. I am currently investigating his background.” Carlos typed as he spoke, entering the name into the search engine. After a few endless seconds, the results popped up.

“Is there anything unusual I should know about?”

Carlos scanned the information quickly, cursing himself for not having done this sooner. But he hadn’t had the time, and he hadn’t had the guts to let the phone ring. When El Jefe called, you answered.

“Nothing that I see so far.”

“Good. Keep me updated.”

“Of course.”

There was a click as the man disconnected, and Carlos let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as some of the tension left his body. He hadn’t wanted to discuss this latest development until he’d done due diligence on Logan Marshall and determined what kind of threat the man was. Now El Jefe would think him unprepared at best, incapable at worst.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the growing fear that he was on the verge of disaster. He had served Fantasmas for the better part of five years, and had done his job well. It was why he was still alive. El Jefe knew he was a good soldier, and he wasn’t likely to have him eliminated on the basis of one small mistake.

Besides, it wasn’t really his mistake to begin with. He’d had no way of knowing an investor was involved in Olivia Sandoval’s upcoming trip. She’d never taken one with her before.
No
, he thought, feeling some of his confidence return.
This is not my fault.

He turned his attention back to the computer screen. The addition of this new player was unexpected, but perhaps it would prove a useful development. After all, it was one more innocent life he could threaten to ensure Dr. Sandoval’s cooperation. She had responded well to the threats against her friends; adding one more potential victim to the mix would increase the pressure on her and give him additional leverage, which was always a good thing.

Carlos scanned the search results with a more critical eye, giving the information his full attention. Logan Marshall was employed in the public relations department of one of the bigger pharmaceutical companies, and based on his résumé, he was an expert in corporate spin. A necessary skill, considering the PR nightmare his company was experiencing after its exorbitant price-gouging tactics had been exposed.

He clicked over to see the photos that had popped up from his search and frowned. The page was flooded with images, each one of a different person. It would take too long to sift through everything in the hopes of finding the right Logan Marshall. Rather than waste the time, he logged in to the state’s Motor Vehicle Administration site, courtesy of a password provided to him by an employee on the cartel’s payroll. He smiled to himself as he searched again—the government had no idea how many of its employees were bought and paid for by “illegal organizations.”

After a few seconds, a picture of Logan Marshall’s driver’s license appeared on the screen. Carlos studied the image, narrowing his eyes. Something about this man looked familiar...

The hairs on the back of his neck rose and the feeling of déjà vu intensified. He had seen this man before. But where? How had their paths crossed?

He leaned back from the desk and closed his eyes, clearing his mind of all extraneous thought. Experience had taught him that trying to chase after information only buried it deeper in his brain. Better to calm himself and let the knowledge float to the top so he could examine it more closely.

His mind began to wander, looking over memories and discarding those that didn’t apply. Had he bumped into Logan Marshall in an ordinary fashion, while at the grocery store or running errands? No...that would not have caused the man’s face to stick in his mind. It had to be something else. Something professional then, which meant Logan Marshall was not who he seemed...

Most of Carlos’s meetings with associates were quiet, low-key affairs. It wasn’t smart to draw the attention of prying eyes, and so everyone conducted themselves calmly and rationally—an outside observer would look at their group and see a handful of businessmen out for a working lunch. They always spoke in coded Spanish, which further helped to obscure their dealings. Washington, DC, was a cosmopolitan enough city that a table of Spanish-speaking men didn’t draw comment, but most of the Americans surrounding them were stubborn monoglots, and the few who did speak Spanish were far from fluent. It was the perfect cover.

The meetings usually took place at an upscale restaurant, thanks to an ill-timed raid that had taken place two years before. The cartels had grown worried about increasing violence on American soil. It was one thing to kill indiscriminately in Colombia, but the United States authorities were not so forgiving when their citizens were targeted. In a rare show of solidarity, the cartels had agreed to a temporary truce to work out the details of turf distribution on US soil. If they could agree to terms, much of the violence in the US could be curtailed, which would take the spotlight off the cartels. The American police forces tended to focus only on immediate problems. If the cartels dropped off their radar again, things would be much easier.

A hotel had been chosen as the site for negotiations, and on the appointed day two years ago, representatives from each of the major cartels had arrived. The meeting was disguised as a conference of Latin American pharmaceutical investors so as not to draw suspicion. But somehow, the DEA had gotten wind of the true nature of the meeting.

Carlos had stepped out to relieve himself when the raid happened. He was still in the bathroom when the shouting began, and he hid in the stall until the initial burst of activity passed. Thinking quickly, he stripped off his suit jacket and tie, leaving him in dark pants and a white dress shirt—a close approximation of the hotel staff uniform. He slipped out of the bathroom and managed to snag a catering jacket off an abandoned cart. The employees were gathered at the end of the hall, gawking at the activity, so no one noticed him glide by.

He walked right through a thicket of DEA agents and police, his head held high and his pace measured so as not to draw suspicion. He was almost out—he wouldn’t let a careless mistake cost him his freedom now.

He glanced back as he rounded the corner, and his shoulder struck something hard. Turning, his stomach dropped as he found he had run into a DEA agent.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, nodding politely.

The other man nodded back. “My fault,” he said. He studied Carlos’s face for a second and his eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to recall something. Carlos felt his pulse spike—he had to get out of here before he was recognized. He offered a small smile and began walking away, feeling the weight of the other man’s eyes on his back. He knew with absolute certainty that if he turned around the agent would be watching him, but to do so would only confirm the other man’s suspicions.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and he realized the agent had started to follow him. He took a deep breath and forced his feet to move at a normal pace, resisting the rising panic that demanded he run.

“Logan!”

The footsteps paused, and he heard the man’s voice behind him. “What?”

“We need you in here.”

There was a muttered curse, and Carlos imagined the man standing there, torn. He kept walking, putting more and more distance between them. Finally, he rounded another corner and risked a glance back.

The man was gone.

Sitting at his desk now, Carlos frowned. The DEA agent’s name was Logan. Not a very common moniker. He dove back into the memory and focused on the man’s face...

Realization struck like a bolt of lightning and an electric tingle traveled from the top of his head down to his toes. He opened his eyes to stare at the picture on the screen again.

It couldn’t be...

But it was.

Logan Marshall was the same man he’d bumped into two years ago. A DEA agent. Which meant Olivia Sandoval had talked.

Anger flooded him in a hot rush, and he reached up to loosen his tie. That bitch.

His first instinct was to punish her. He reached for the phone to give the order to kill her friends, but a thought struck him before he dialed. What if he could use this to his advantage?

The DEA was off-limits in the United States. To put a hit out on an agent who was on American soil was suicide. But Logan wouldn’t be here for much longer. He was going to Colombia, and everyone knew that was a dangerous place.

A slow smile spread across his lips as he considered the possibilities. A DEA agent, alone except for one woman and undercover in Colombia. It was a gift really, and one he couldn’t pass up. El Jefe would be pleased at such an unexpected windfall. They would interrogate him, find out exactly what the Americans knew and what they planned to do about it. Anticipation was a sweet burn in his chest. There were so many ways to make a man talk...

And then, once they had wrung every last drop of information from him, they would kill him. There were hundreds of thousands of square miles of jungle in Colombia—the Americans would never find his body. He would be one more drop in the ocean of lives lost in the drug trade.

He fixed his tie, whistling softly to himself. He would have to move quickly, but the prize was worth the rush. Pleasure flooded his system as he imagined presenting a DEA agent to El Jefe. It would be the diamond in his crown of achievements. El Jefe would be very pleased indeed.

And Carlos would reap the rewards.

* * *

“You’ve really never flown first-class before?”

Olivia shook her head and took a sip of champagne, enjoying the effervescent tingling as the bubbles danced across her tongue. She wasn’t normally a big drinker, but the flight attendant had come by with a tray of flutes just as she’d taken her seat, and the novelty of it was too fun to pass up. When in Rome...

“Why not?”

She glanced over to find Logan eyeing her with open curiosity. “These tickets are expensive,” she said. “The money I would spend on a cushier seat buys a lot of bandages.”

He tilted his head to the side, acknowledging her point. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

“How did you get them to spring for these seats?” From everything she’d heard, the government wasn’t in the habit of paying for civil servants to travel in such style.

Logan lifted one brow and smiled. “A pharmaceutical executive such as myself has an image to maintain.” Then he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Plus, I called in a few favors.” He winked at her, which made her stomach do a little flip.

Olivia leaned back in her seat, putting a few inches of distance between them. “That was nice of you,” she said, hoping she sounded normal. When she’d agreed to pose as Logan’s girlfriend, she hadn’t stopped to consider all that would involve. Being near him. Sharing conversations. Touching him. Kissing him?

Whoa
, she thought, cutting off the thought before it could take root in her imagination. In the immediate aftermath of Carlos and his threats, she had seen Logan as a potential solution to the problem, a way to keep Avery and Mallory alive and safe while she did the cartel’s dirty work. But now that things had calmed down a bit, she saw him as more than a DEA agent. She was becoming acutely aware of him as a man, and unfortunately for her brain, her body liked what she saw.

Just how much acting would they have to do to convince people they were together? And more important, could she keep her emotions separate from her actions? The last thing she needed was to believe the lies and truly fall for Logan. He was here doing a job, and no matter how attractive he was or how much his eyes sparkled when he looked at her, she had to remember it wasn’t real. The last thing she needed was to get attached to another person who was going to leave her.

Her parents hadn’t meant to die, of course. She realized that. But Scott had chosen to leave her. And even though she knew deep down she was better off without him, his desertion still stung. She felt the pain anew every time she thought of him, and she wasn’t up for making connections with new people. It wasn’t worth the pain of disappointment later.

“Happy to do it,” he said easily. “And I’m doubly glad to know it’s such a treat for you.”

Her stomach flipped again, and Olivia set down the glass of champagne. The bubbles had to be affecting her—that was the only explanation. “So how does this work?” she asked, hoping that shifting the focus to business would help settle her nerves.

Logan took a sip of his own champagne and frowned slightly. “How does what work?”

Olivia gestured between them. “You and me. How do we approach the whole ‘fake couple’ thing?” If she knew what to expect, she could better guard against a sneak attack from her emotions.