“Danny Kane,” he muttered. Suzi always went for brawn instead of brains. It’s why she never went for him, though she’d come close tonight, up until she’d gotten so unreasonably upset.
But up until then, she’d definitely been on track for his bed.
He smiled at himself in the mirror-and something caught his eye and held his beady little orbs like they were in a vise. His smile froze in a moment of stark and utter terror, his lips stuck to his teeth, his arms trembling on either side of the sink.
A shadow, that’s what he’d thought, if he’d given the dark reflection in the mirror any thought at all, which he hadn’t-not until he’d smiled and the shadow had smiled back.
It was him, the crazy dangerous man from Costa del Rey in the suite’s living room, standing quietly against a wall, and for an odd, confusing second, Levi wondered if he’d walked right past him while he’d been taking off his clothes, not even aware that he hadn’t been alone.
“The woman,” the man said. He was big, just like Gervais had said, with short dark hair and very well defined features, chiseled, high cheekbones, a strong jaw, firm mouth, arms like pile drivers. “The redhead, Suzanna Toussi, where is she?”
Now, this was shameful, truly it was, but Levi didn’t hesitate for a second to give the girl away. There was no thought to it at all, let alone a second thought.
“I-I picked her up at th-the Po-po-po-”
“Posada Plaza?” the man asked.
“Y-yes.”
“Where is she now?” For a crazy man, his voice was very calm, very measured, and somehow, very reassuring.
“On h-her way back, I th-think, w-with a m-m-m-m-m-”
“Take a breath, Levi. Everything is fine.”
He did exactly as he was told. That was his new plan, to do everything exactly as he was told, to not cause this man any trouble, so he took a breath.
“A m-man,” he finished. “D-danny Kane, a repor-porter.”
“How well do you know her, Suzanna Toussi?”
Oh, God, a trick question. Levi’s panic skyrocketed again. He didn’t know what to say. If he didn’t know her very well, would the man leave? Or would it be best to admit that he did know her very well, and leave himself wide open for God only knew what?
He was frozen in indecision, nearly crushed senseless by the weight of the question. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake. The truth? Or a lie?
God, he shouldn’t have had so much champagne.
In the end, with the seconds ticking away and his indecision spiraling out of control, the heat and the booze and the fear got the best of him-and he crumpled in a faint to the floor.
“One dead body rotting in the heat,” Creed said into the phone, talking to Dylan. “The place was torn apart. No sign of any priceless statue, that’s for damn sure.”
“Who’s the body?”
“Remy Beranger,” Creed said, making a right-hand turn in the Jeep. “I checked his wallet. He’d been moved around a little since he died, and I moved him a little more, but I don’t think anybody really much cares about old Remy.”
“Why not?”
“Well, boss, he’s been there for a while, all day I’d say, and if the police did this, like Suzi told Grant, then I’d say nobody gives a hill of beans for this guy and his gallery.”
“So you think the statue is gone.”
“Hell and gone.”
“And who the hell has it?” Dylan asked.
Creed took the next left and shifted up into third. “I think we need to ask Suzi. I’m headed over to El Caribe and this Levi Asher guy, and if I come up empty-handed there, then we’ve got a real problem on our hands.”
“Suzi can handle herself.”
Creed wasn’t so sure, but he kept his mouth shut. Dylan had more faith in the girl than he did. Oh, he adored her, all right, but he had to say, despite Hawkins’s stellar success with Skeeter and Red Dog-okay, astounding success-Creed thought Superman had pushed his luck with Suzi. The girl was just too girly too hothouse orchid.
Hawkins, though, hell, he thought every girl could be toughened up with PT, physical training, and a.45-and he was right, of course. Creed just didn’t think that made them tough enough for Ciudad del Este, especially with dead bodies piling up all around-except, of course, for Skeeter and Red Dog. Those two were tough enough, period.
“I’m almost to the hotel,” he said. “I’ll call you after I talk to Asher.”
He ended the call and pocketed his phone.
Talk. Right. Suzi Toussi had gone missing off a damn “pink” op that should have been a cake-walk-and Creed was damn well going to find her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Well, that had gone well, Dax thought, pulling up in front of the Posada Plaza and throwing the Land Cruiser into park.
He looked over at Suzi, who was just sitting there in the passenger seat. She hadn’t said a word, not one word since he’d kept her from jumping Levi Asher and hauled her out of El Caribe.
Geezus.
The girl had been ready to rumble. She actually had a little muscle action in her arms, some biceps business, and some deltoid business. He didn’t doubt for a minute that she could have done some damage.
Of course, he would have had to take Gervais out, and then the other bodyguard would have shown up, and on and on. In a social situation like that, the best fight was no fight, every time.
He put his hand over his mouth and looked out the windshield, thinking, but all he could think was Three years old.
He’d known-he was damn good at his job-but reading it in a pile of documents and hearing it bandied about in a damn casino restaurant by some drunk were two different things, and he couldn’t let it stand, not like it was, with her shell-shocked and silent, and definitely exhausted, emotionally and physically.
Geezus. Levi Asher might be the stupidest bastard on the planet.
“Tell me your daughter’s name.” It wasn’t a request, no matter how careful he was to keep his tone neutral.
When she didn’t answer, he slanted his gaze across the front seat. There weren’t many streetlights in Ciudad del Este, but the Posada Plaza had a big pink neon sign on the front of the building, and the light shone down on her, limning her profile, softening the garish colors of her bustier, and turning her skin into a silken wash of rose and pale peach.
Her eyes were dark, the downward cast of her gaze making it hard to discern her mood. She was so quiet.
Too quiet.
“Your daughter’s name,” he said. “I need to know.”
And he waited, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest.
“Here,” he said, opening one of the bottles of water they’d left in the Cruiser and handing it over. “Take a drink.”
He was being very deliberate with his words, keeping everything simple and direct.
With the water bottle half in her lap, she went ahead and took it from his hand. A small drink later, she gave him what he’d asked for.
“Adriana,” she said, her voice not very loud but very distinct. “Adriana Louise Weymouth.”
“Thank you.” It hurt hearing it, because he hurt for her. He wasn’t going to tell her he was sorry, though. There wasn’t enough sorry in the world to cover this.
“It was an accident,” she said, and he nodded silently over on his side of the car.