them, and the operations were solitary ones, completed with stealth and speed. They had no office and rarely saw one another, but all three of them had happened to be in Bogota at the same time, so they’d met to discuss this job. Cruz had wondered if Meredith had engineered the coincidence, though. The toughest of all of them, she usually made her decisions quickly and acted with confidence, but she was worried about her friend. In a way, her concern made him feel better about her. He’d wondered at times if she had any feelings left.
She kicked off her shoes then took the chair to Cruz’s left.
“The facts?” As she repeated his words, her voice was tight and angry with no sign of the drawl she could turn off and on. “The facts are very simple. Miguel Ramirez is a monster. He keeps his wife a virtual hostage by controlling her through their child. He beats her. She hates his guts and would like to see him dead.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But she’ll never leave him because, to do that, she’d have to abandon her child. I can guarantee you she won’t leave the country that way. Not without her son.”
Meredith made a visible effort to control herself. After a moment, she scrubbed her face with her hands, then she looked up at Cruz. “Julia Vandamme is the only friend I have. It killed me to see her tonight. I wanted to stick a blade right into that bastard’s black heart then grab her and get the hell out.”
“You would have ended up dead, along with your friend.”
She blinked, her eyes colder than Cruz had ever seen them. “Maybe, maybe not, but if I hadn’t known you guys were waiting for me, that’s exactly what I would have done.”
Cruz didn’t doubt a word of what she said, because Meredith Santera was a killer. Then again, so was Armando. And so was he. Killing was what the Operatives did.
They were assassins and Miguel Ramirez was their next target.
Cruz rose from his desk and walked to the bar. He took out three fresh beers, uncapped them and handed them out. Meredith’s was almost empty when he spoke again.
“Tell me more about the setup.”
She stared out the window. “The villa’s huge. It’s made up of one central building that contains everything but the bedrooms, which are in small casitas on either side. There are half a dozen smaller buildings scattered around the property and several patios. Needless to say, Ramirez has excellent security. There are guards around the fenced perimeter and dogs, too. Not to mention electronic sensors—motion, heat, noise detectors. You might get in, but you wouldn’t get out.”
“What about his people?”
“Very small inner circle. Has one guy who’s always close. His name is Jorge Guillermo. Hard to get a handle on him.”
Cruz nodded then switched topics. “Do you think she knows who her husband really is?”
Meredith’s expression twisted again, this time with such disgust that Cruz knew if he somehow failed to kill the man, the deed would be done regardless by the woman in front of him. For free. And with a cheerful heart.
“You told me what he did to her when she tried to escape. She has to be suspicious at the very least. She told me she knows he isn’t a diplomat, but before she could say more, she got spooked.”
“Did she say anything about her last attempt?”
“No.” Meredith shook her head slowly. “Julia’s a very private person and always has been. I was shocked she even told me what she did.”
By the time Meredith finished, an hour later, Cruz felt he’d been inside the Ramirez compound himself. Then Meredith looked at him and he knew trouble was coming.
“I know I handed this one over to you, Cruz, but I’m changing my mind. It doesn’t make sense for you to go in when I already know the situation. I’m taking this son of a bitch out myself.”
“No.”
“But Cruz—”
“You gave me the job for a very good reason, Meredith, and that reason hasn’t changed in the past twenty-four hours.”
“I understand,” she said evenly. “But Julia and I have been close for—”
“And that is exactly why you can’t do it. Personal involvement is too risky, for you and for the other party.”
“‘The other party’? She’s my friend, Cruz.” At her side, Meredith’s hands clenched. “If something goes wrong—”
“Nothing will go wrong,” Cruz promised. “But you won’t be the one doing the job and that’s for the best. You and your dad made that rule yourselves and it’s a good one.”
A stormy expression came into her eyes, but a minute later, her shoulders slumped in defeat. She and her father had made the rules, and she was too smart to let her emotions outweigh common sense.
“All right,” she conceded, “but you have to tell me what you’re going to do.”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“There’s no figuring to it.” From the depths of the couch, Armando finally spoke.
His silences could stretch for days, so Cruz wasn’t surprised it’d taken him this long to join the conversation. Cruz looked at the Argentinian physician and raised an eyebrow.
“She gave you the answer already.” Armando tilted his beer bottle in Meredith’s direction, but his gaze stayed on Cruz. “You don’t have enough time to go about this your usual way. Ramirez is going to start his killing in a matter of weeks, maybe even days. When he’s done, he’ll go underground and you will have an even harder time finding the man. You need to do this one quick.”
“What’s your point, Armando?” Cruz’s impatience was clear, Meredith’s attitude making him unusually edgy.
“Let the wife kill him for you.”
Meredith was standing before Cruz even saw her move. “No! That’s not a possibility, Armando. Julia couldn’t handle anything like that.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. But that’s not what I meant. She can’t kill him—”
“How do you know that?”
“Dammit, Armando, I know, all right? I just know. Julia is different. She’s too fragile for that kind of thing—”
“That’s enough.” Cruz’s deep voice cut through the argument. “You’ve already done what I couldn’t and that’s get inside tonight. That’s all you’re going to do, though. This is my job and I’ll plan it myself.”
TWO HOURS LATER, Cruz was still thinking.
Sitting alone in his dark hotel room, he sipped his Club Colombia and stared at the newspaper article Meredith had left him. His only illumination came from the streetlamp outside the barely parted draperies, but he didn’t need more to see the small photo that accompanied the write-up.
Blond hair. Blue
