Bridal Op

And when he was done with Botero, he would be wealthy.

Sunshine reflected off the pavement and the white walls of exclusive villas; palm trees swayed in the breeze coming off the bay. His window down a crack, he could smell the water. He liked Miami. Someday, he might come back here on vacation.

His phone chirped. Annoyance replaced his pleasant mood as he recognized the number.

Good work took time.

“Patience,” he said as he picked up the call.

“You don’t have her yet?” The voice was full of censure.

“She’s a few minutes late.” He pulled the cell phone from his ear to glance at the exact time displayed on its small LCD screen and caught sight of the white limo he’d been waiting for as it turned the corner.

Time to get the ball rolling.

“I’ll call you back.” He clicked off and nodded to Gordy behind the wheel, a man he trusted but would take care of afterward nevertheless. Gordy had a number of useful attributes, but the ability to rise above his circumstances wasn’t one of them. No matter how big a share of the money he would get, sooner or later he would find his way back to the booze and the drugs and the old friends he could get them from.

And then Gordy would talk.

That worried him, how the number of people involved was snowballing out of control. Why was Ramon in Miami, for example? To supervise him? The thought that he wouldn’t be trusted filled him with rage. Not that he trusted any of the men on either crew, the one he’d brought to Miami or the one he’d put together to stay in Ladera to wait for Sonya there, under Pedro Carrera’s direction. Pedro was going to be pissed after he figured out he’d been screwed over, stuck with a high-profile kidnap victim on his hands.

Jose shrugged off the thought. Carrera could be as pissed as he wanted to be as long as the man didn’t find him. And, with as much money as he was going to make on this deal, disappearing without a trace shouldn’t be too hard.

He glanced at the two men in the back of the limo with him. They were there for muscle—a kidnapping in broad daylight in the middle of Miami took more than one pair of hands. He wasn’t about to show himself. He was going to play this smart, planned and coordinated. This was his chance to break out, to leave small-time and give himself a promotion.

Once they had Sonya, these two would smuggle her out of the country, to Pedro in Ladera. Jose and the rest of the team would stay behind to tie up loose ends. He would pick up the ransom money and ditch the master plan at that point, start following his own path. He wasn’t going back to Ladera. Ever. He was going in the opposite direction. And when he got there, he’d buy himself the life he deserved.

“Get ready,” he said to the men as Sonya Botero’s sleek new limo pulled up to the curb.

Johnson, her driver, got out and opened the door for her. The rich bitch who’d exited the bridal salon a few minutes ago stopped to watch. What was she doing? Hoping to spot a celebrity?

Well, hell, he didn’t have time to worry about her.

“Watch for the security cameras. You know where they are,” he said.

Gordy pulled the car up behind Botero’s; his other two men jumped from the car and dashed for Sonya as planned.

What the hell was her driver doing? Why was he putting up a fight?

Okay, not much of a fight, just enough to make it look good. Stupid bastard still thought he’d do his part and get out with his pay. He’d be taken care of before the day was out.

Then Sonya was in the car, on the seat opposite from him, and the doors slammed shut.

“Who are you? What do you want? Why are you doing this to me?” She started on a tone of outrage but finished the last sentence on a sob, her eyes wide with panic. “Please—” She yanked her head around as a needle sank into her arm—along with a drug, courtesy of Dr. Ramon, the man proving useful for something after all. She tried to jerk away but was held firmly until she gave up struggling.

Gordy put the car in Reverse.

Botero’s driver was still on the ground, playing his role to the hilt.

Jose Fuentes considered him for a second. Might as well take care of him now. No sense letting the police have a go at him. “Run the bastard over.”

Gordy complied, but Johnson rolled out of the way.

The man who’d been there with his ritzy bimbo since before Sonya’s arrival was rushing toward them, looking hell-bent on playing saviour.

What the hell did he think he had to do with any of this? Had a hero complex, did he? Anybody that stupid didn’t deserve to live. “Get the bastard.”

Gordy turned the steering wheel and aimed toward the man, but he dove aside. Had pretty good reflexes, that one. The woman, standing a few yards behind him, wasn’t as nimble. She took the full brunt of the hit, bouncing off the hood with a satisfying thud.

One less witness. Jose clicked his tongue with satisfaction that was short-lived.

People were running from up the street and Weddings Your Way. He didn’t like the look of one in particular, a tall Hispanic guy who was pulling a small handgun as he ran. Probably their in-house security. Seemed like nobody could mind their own damned business.

“Go! Go! Go!”

Gordy aimed the limo into the city, toward the dark garage that was ready with another car to make the switch. Like clockwork, that’s how it would all go. The initial idea might not have been his, but by God he’d done the on-site planning. Their success would be due to him and no one else.

Gordy flew through the red light at the intersection, dodging cars like a pro, proving he was the right man for the job. A minute later they were lost in traffic, just a few blocks from being safe.

Jose Fuentes picked up the phone, ready to report now. Had to keep everyone happy and make sure nobody suspected a thing until after he’d gone his own way.

He bit back a smile as he dialed. The first part of his mission had been accomplished. He was eager to move on to the next phase.

Chapter One

A few weeks later

She shouldn’t have agreed to the mission.

Isabelle Rush hung on to the rock ledge with the tip of her fingers, dangling over a 300-foot drop to the rocks below. A tangy scent from some small fern she’d inadvertently crushed in the last handhold tickled her nose. Would she fall if she sneezed?

She was secured with knots and ropes she didn’t understand and didn’t trust, petrified of slipping. The current of air that moved above the tree line seemed to pick up speed, the odd gusts pushing against her.

Please, don’t let there be a serious wind.

“A few more yards and we can stop to rest,” Rafe said from somewhere above her, barely breathing heavily.

She, on the other hand, was gasping for oxygen in the thin, high-altitude air, sweat running down her back from exertion.

She should have stayed in Miami.

He was the absolute worst man for her to be teamed up with. Of course she couldn’t refuse, not when a client’s life hung in the balance.

But, at the very least, when Rafe had said “shortcut” she should have run screaming into the night—in the opposite direction. What was it with men and their shortcuts? Like chasing murderous, kidnapping drug lords wasn’t enough excitement? They had to add getting lost in the Andes Mountains to the mix?

“This will save us a full extra day,” he said as he tightened the rope.

She hoped he was right and that her instincts, which screamed lost and on the brink of disaster, were sounding a false alarm. Speed was their only hope for finding Sonya Botero alive.