Dying for You

Dying for You
BEVERLY BARTON

It was the job of her dreams. . . but it became her worst nightmare. . . All private security agent Lucie Evans wanted was a fresh start—and the chance to show Sawyer McNamara, her ex-boss, that she no longer craved his absolution for a crime she didn't commit. So when the offer of a trip to South America as the personal bodyguard to a billionaire heiress came up, Lucie jumped at the prospect of leaving the Dundee Agency behind. Then the nightmare began. Kidnapped in a case of mistaken identity, suddenly Lucie's only hope of survival rested with the one man she never wanted to see again. . . .Sawyer had spent years convincing himself that all he felt for Lucie was contempt—but with her life at stake, he was forced to face his true feelings. Though it may be a case of too little, too late. Because Lucie's captor wouldn't rest until she was silenced. . . once and for all.

About the Author

An avid reader since childhood, BEVERLY BARTON wrote her first book at the age of nine. She wrote short stories, poetry, plays and novels throughout high school and college, and is now a New York Times bestselling author, having written over sixty books since she was first published in 1990. Beverly lives in Alabama with her husband.

Dying for You

Beverly Barton

www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)

Other Books By

Also available by Beverly Barton

A TIME TO DIE

DANGEROUS DECEPTION

WORTH DYING FOR

This book is dedicated to my readers,

especially those who have followed THE PROTECTORS series over the years.

Thank you. I appreciate each of you so very much.

Prologue

ARTURO TORRES-RIOS killed his first man when he was fourteen, his first woman when he was seventeen and his first child when he was twenty. Some would call him a murderer. He disagreed. He was an executioner. In his thirty-two years, he had acquired many useful skills that he used for profit and occasionally for pleasure. As an assassin, he had few equals. He preferred jobs where he had little or no personal contact with the victim, but on occasion and for the right price, he used his talents as a torturer or a kidnapper or a thief.

He disliked Americans, especially the owners and employees of wealthy companies here in South America like the ones who were making deals with Ameca’s government to go into partnership with his country’s oil tycoons. Ameca was oil-rich, but the people lived in poverty, as Arturo had lived as a boy. His dislike for Americans was well-known and although he had been hired by more than one American to do their dirty work, Arturo never had direct contact with the bastards. Josue Soto, a lawyer and long-time friend, brokered all of Arturo’s deals, working as a middleman. Josue was well worth the ten percent Arturo paid him. His childhood friend could be trusted.

They never met at Josue’s office or his home, nor did they meet at Arturo’s home. Instead, whenever a new business deal was in the works, they met at St. Salvatora, the old mission church in Puerto Colima, the fishing village where they had both been born.

“If you accept this assignment, you will be paid a quarter of a million dollars, then another quarter million after Phase One and the final million and a half at Phase Two when the assignment is completed,” Josue told him.

“Two million dollars makes this a tempting offer.”

“You don’t even have to get your hands dirty. All you have to do is oversee the job and make sure nothing goes wrong. I am certain you can put together the right team for an assignment such as this.”

“Is the person hiring me for this job an American or someone from Ameca?” Arturo asked.

Josue sighed heavily. “Why do you ask when you know it is better for you and for our client if that information is not shared, to protect both your identity and the client’s?”

Arturo smiled. Josue was right. It did not matter to him who wanted to employ him. His skills were for hire on the open market. “Forget I asked.”

“You have less than a month to prepare. Everything must be in place by the fifteenth of September. It will be up to you to choose the exact time and place, but the opportunity to act is brief, a few days at most.”

“That is not a problem.” He eyed the thin folder in Josue’s hand. “This contains all the information and instructions?”

Josue nodded.

Arturo took the folder, opened it, scanned the three pages several times, and then returned the folder to his friend. Arturo had taught himself to memorize data quickly, to keep information in his head. It was safer for him that way. No paper trail.

“Then I can make contact today and say that we have accepted the assignment?”

“Yes. Tell them to wire the money to our account immediately. Once that is done, I will formulate a foolproof plan and assemble the perfect team.”

“No one is to be killed,” Josue reminded him. “Not until the order is given.”

Arturo and Josue rose from the wooden bench and shook hands. Josue left first, exiting through the front doors. Arturo slipped out the back door, put on his sunglasses and, after checking the debris-strewn alley, walked briskly to his parked car two blocks away.

Chapter One

DAISY HOLBROOK PRIDED herself on doing her job as Dundee’s office manager with expertise and finesse. She kept up-to-date on dozens of cases and, at present, twenty full-time agents, numerous contract agents and six members of the office staff. The Dundee Private Security and Investigation Agency handled assignments within the United States and internationally and was known worldwide as one of the premiere agencies of its kind. Sam Dundee, the owner, visited their sixth-floor office complex in downtown Atlanta annually and was only a phone call away in emergencies. But CEO Sawyer McNamara oversaw the agency, hired and fired personnel, assigned cases and ruled Dundee’s with an iron fist. His word was law. Many agents became friends and fraternized while between jobs. Not Sawyer. He maintained a professional distance between himself and the employees. Even if all the agents didn’t like Sawyer, to a person, they respected him. The office staff, except for Daisy, trembled in fear whenever the big boss came anywhere near them and all the female staffers had secret crushes on him. Daisy understood why. Sawyer was not only intimidating, thus causing apprehension, but he also dressed like a GQ model, was tall, dark and handsome, and oozed sex appeal. Daisy had to admit that when she’d come to work here, straight out of college, and met him for the first time, she’d had a bit of crush on him herself.

She’d gotten over it.

As she turned on lights, checked to make sure the cleaning crew had left each private office in perfect condition, and put on two pots of coffee in the staff lounge, Daisy briefly recalled her first day on the job eight years ago. She had been nervous and unsure of herself, but determined to do her best. Within two years, the office manager had retired, leaving the position open. Daisy had been surprised, to say the least, when the then new CEO, Sawyer McNamara, had promoted her to the coveted position.

“You’re intelligent, efficient and levelheaded,” Sawyer had told her. “And you don’t tremble in your high heels or swoon like a love-struck teenager when I speak to you.”

After eight years in Dundee’s employ, Daisy had gained the nickname Ms. Efficiency, of which she was extremely proud. She considered most of the agents to be her friends, some even close friends, and one in particular had stolen her heart several years ago. Everyone at Dundee’s, except the man himself, knew that Daisy was in love with the rugged former SAS officer, Geoff Monday. Not only was he a womanizer, a confirmed bachelor and fifteen years her senior, but Geoff also treated her like a kid sister. Not once had he ever looked at her as if she were anything other than a buddy. Unrequited love was a bitch!

Marching down the hall toward her workstation in the center of the main office, Daisy checked her wrist-watch. 8:10 a.m. She arrived promptly at eight each morning, an hour before the other members of the staff. As a general rule, unless there was some type of emergency, the boss arrived anywhere between nine and ten. The agents who were not on assignment came and went from headquarters at various times. Just as she approached her desk, the distinct sound of the elevator stopping and the doors opening alerted her that someone was coming into work early. It would be either the boss himself or one of the agents. The office staffers usually rushed in at the last minute.

Daisy looked down the short hallway and watched while Lucie Evans exploded from the elevator, her long, curly red hair bouncing on her shoulders as she stomped her sandal-clad size-nines up the carpeted corridor.

Uh-oh. Daisy knew that look. Spiting mad, fire shooting from her dark eyes, cheeks flushed and determination in her stride. Lucy was pissed. Royally pissed, and there was only one person who could make her that angry.

“Is he in yet?” Lucie demanded when she neared Daisy’s workstation.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Call him and tell him to get down here as fast as his half-million-dollar Mercedes will go.”

“Is there some type of emergency?” Daisy knew better than to disturb Sawyer at home without a very good reason.

“Oh, yes, there’s an emergency.” Lucie snarled. “I’m the emergency. Tell that son of a bitch that unless he wants all those pretty paintings and sculptures in his office destroyed, he’d better be here in twenty minutes.”

“Lucie, you aren’t threatening to—”

“Damn right, I am.” Her lips curved into a wicked smile, one that told Daisy she meant business.

“If you start tearing up Mr. McNamara’s office, I’ll have to call security.”