Badass: Jungle Fever (Complete): A Billionaire Military Romance Page 11

  I lean over the sink and raise the water to my cheeks. I do it over and over and over, until she tells me to stop.

  “Stand up.”

  I do and she places her hands on my shoulders, turning me toward her, patting paper towels on my cheeks. She reaches into her purse and takes out a hairbrush and runs it through my hair. Then she pulls out some make-up and spreads it across my face. A soft brush strokes across my cheekbones. With her pinky, she spreads some gloss over my lips and then steps back. “Better.” She nods and begins straightening my clothes.

  She pushes her hair back behind her ears and I notice the pretty earrings she’s wearing. They seem familiar. She sees me notice them and her lips curve up into a grin that makes me shiver.

  “You’re doing great, Camille. Really good. Now we need to go back out into the bank and get the money, okay. Ignore the hallucinations, remember.”

  I stare at her. Stare at her face as it changes shape.

  “Tell me you’ll ignore the hallucinations.”

  “I’ll ignore the hallucinations.” But the screaming is getting louder and the room has blood dripping down the walls. Her mouth is opening, growing wider and wider.

  “After we get the money, you can sleep for a while.”

  I stare at her, terror filling me. She frowns and shakes her head.

  Reaching into her purse again, she pulls out a little vial of liquid. She takes off the top and lifts it to my lips. “Drink.”

  I do.

  The edge of my vision turns soft and out of focus while the muscles in my legs seem to lose strength. But the screaming isn’t as loud now. The buzzing in my ears quiets too.

  I sway to the side and Janine catches me, her fingers gripping my arms. “Better?” she asks.

  I stare at her. Her face looks more like her face. Her voice sounds more like her voice.

  “Tell me you feel better.”

  “I feel better.”

  I think it’s true.

  She turns me around and leads me back inside the bank, sitting me down in the same chair and slips a pair of sunglasses over my eyes. The pretty lady comes back with a black bag.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  Am I?

  “I think I’ll take her to the hospital,” Janine says, and helps me stand up again. “This food poisoning has hit her really hard.”

  “That’s a very good idea. Do you know the way?” the lady asks.

  “Yes. I know exactly the way.”

  The woman nods and tells me she hopes I feel better. Then Janine grabs the bag and turns me away.

  Outside, the sun is so bright. Too bright. Blindingly bright. I close my eyes behind the sunglasses and let Janine lead the way.

  There are voices and I’m pushed into a car. Maybe it’s a van. Janine pulls me down by the shoulders and lays my head in her lap. I close my eyes as she strokes my hair.

  “She hallucinated big time in there,” Janine says. “Scared the shit out of me.”

  “We need to get out of Medellin,” a man’s voice says. Then I hear a zipper and open my eyes. Two men are in the front seat. One of them is driving, while the other takes money from the black bag and adds it to several layers of bills that are already in a suitcase. I close my eyes again.

  “Yes, the bank teller seemed to be getting suspicious,” Janine says. “I had to give her some of that sleep medicine, she was freaking out so much.”

  “Dammit, Janine,” one of the men yells at her. “That throws us off our schedule.”

  “Going to jail will throw us off our schedule,” she yells back at him.

  The other man says, “Let’s head to the house. It’ll take six hours to get there. If she wakes up and is coherent, we can try some other banks.”

  “And if she doesn’t…?”

  “If she doesn’t, we’ll just wait for daddy to ransom her. We’ll be okay. We have enough here to jet, if it comes down to it.”

  Their voices are fading and I’m sinking deeper into a black abyss. But there’s a monster there. I can hear it. Feel it. Sense its intent to do harm.

  “Shit, she’s hallucinating again.”

  Janine grabs me by the shoulders, holding me down. Then another pair of hands hold me down too.

  “She’s having a seizure,” someone says, their voice echoing from the endless black pool.

  “How much did you give her?” someone yells, as a needle sinks into my arm. “Fuck.”

  Sinking.

  I’m sinking into the pool, the water closing around my legs, my arms, my shoulders. As the water closes over my head, someone yells, “We’re losing her.”

  Then a hand closes around my ankle and pulls.

  Chapter Three – Tate

  Pen in hand, I jot down “occurrence” times on the notepad beside me, as I scroll through the hotel’s computer. I raised total hell to have access to the security room, nearly gotten my ass thrown out. But finally, one manager spoke to another manager, who spoke to someone else, and I was offered admittance for only five hundred dollars.

  Saved me from asking my guys to hack the system anyway. Got me in front of the videos in less time. Now I’m watching myself step out of Camille’s room for a second time, head down to the restaurant and talk to the crew. I click the video feed off, about the time I start yelling at the manager and look back down at the notepad.

  11:00 – I leave the room and speak to Antonio, who is standing guard.

  11:07 – Camille comes out of the room, something I can’t see in her hand, holding it against her chest. The guard speaks into a radio and follows. They get on an elevator.

  11:09 – Camille and the guard step off and she looks around the lobby, before running onto the street.

  11:10 – Street camera view shows her looking for someone. She walks several paces up the sidewalk, then back again. The security guard talks into a radio.

  11:12 – A woman I recognize as Janine comes up behind her and stands there for a few seconds. Camille turns and nearly runs into her, stepping backwards. But the guard is directly behind her now and she backs into him. He covers his face with a gloved hand, while Janine lifts her hand and appears to blow on her palm. Camille pulls away, then stills. Her arms drop to her sides. Whatever she is carrying — her iPad? — falls to the sidewalk. I curse the grainy black and white image.

  11:13 – Janine extends her hand to Camille and Camille takes it. The guard picks up what was dropped and the three of them walk back into the hotel and head to the elevators.

  11:15 – The three step off and Camille pulls her keycard from her pocket and opens the door. They disappear into the room.

  11:57 – The other security guard, Josiah, steps off the elevator and knocks on Camille’s door. There’s an argument of some sort, at least it looks that way. Josiah’s arms are flailing, he seems to be yelling, then he walks into the room.

  12:02 – The door opens again and Josiah is pushing a cart containing luggage and bags of equipment. Camille and the other two follow and get on the elevator.

  12:04 – The four get off and head toward the exit. They stop and look to the left. Janine lifts a hand and waves and then says something to Antonio. There is a brief discussion and Josiah continues to push the cart to the exit.

  12:05 – Another camera view shows Camille, Janine and Antonio walking over to the crew. There’s a conversation for a couple of minutes, then the three of them leave.

  12:08 – Street view camera shows Camille getting into a black van. It pulls away.

  12:12 – I walk into the hotel, wave at the crew and head to the stairs, then spend eight minutes searching her room before going back downstairs.

  I throw my pen against the wall and one of the hotel security guards stands up, walks over to it and brings it back to me. He doesn’t say a word. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t say a word to me right now either.

  Four fucking minutes.

  I missed her by four fucking minutes.

  I curse the Medellin traffic. The met
ro that put me off a mile away. And I curse myself for not running faster.

  Four minutes.

  What if I’d gone straight over to the crew, instead of up to her room?

  Could I have run them down in the traffic?

  Probably.

  I stop just short of throwing the pen again.

  Focus.

  Solve one problem. Then the next.

  Leaning forward, I rewind the tape and concentrate on the van, snapping screen shots of the plate. I can’t tell the numbers, but hopefully, my guys can use their equipment to sort it out. I email the image to Deakins, with instructions to get me at least a partial plate number, stat.

  Then I rewind again, this time looking for clear face shots. I’ll need them to begin the search. Still cursing the black and white, I capture four shots and send them to my phone. I also print off two copies each, just in case my battery dies.

  Examining the copies, I pause on the one of Janine. The bitch is looking pretty damn pleased with herself. Then I notice them. The earrings. Camille’s gran’s earrings. I’d recognize them anywhere. A piece of the puzzle clicks into place. The robbery was a setup.

  But why?

  Before I can concentrate on that question, my phone rings and I snap it up. “Tate.”

  “Sir, we’re running location screens on Miss Duffy’s equipment. Her phone is off, so is her laptop. Both fully powered off.”

  “Her iPad?”

  “It’s still on and is located within her hotel. She must have left it behind.”

  I mentally search her room again and don’t remember seeing it. Not important. What’s important is that we have no fucking way to geo-locate her.

  “Did you get my email?”

  “Yes, sir. Tech is on it now.” He pauses. “Sir, Rich is not optimistic that he can get you a clear shot of the plate. The angle of the van and the distance isn’t encouraging.”

  “Tell him to try anyway. A partial. First number. Anything might help.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I ask the question I’ve been dreading. “Have you heard back from Duff yet?”

  “No, sir. Both his phone and Mrs. Duffy’s phone are powered off. It’s possible they are visiting Mrs. Duffy’s grandfather in the hospital.”

  “Keep trying.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anything on the drug?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve contacted Dr. Mary Logan. She’s on standby to speak with you.”

  “Good. Patch me through.”

  “One moment, sir.”

  When I’m placed on hold, I make a mental note to change our on-hold music. This shit sucks and is grating on my nerves. Finally, a woman’s voice comes across the line. “Dr. Logan speaking. I understand you’re dealing with a case of scopolamine drugging down in Colombia.”

  I like her already. Straight to the point.

  After briefing her on everything I’ve discovered, she says, “It does sound as if scopolamine was administered to this woman. It’s promising that she seemed to be in good health nearly an hour later. If death is the reaction to the drug, it generally happens quickly. Or if the perpetrator administers a second dose too soon.”

  “I have some knowledge of the drug, doctor. My understanding is that hallucinations are a side effect. What else?”

  “Your understanding is correct,” she says. “Because of the drug’s chemical makeup, it often induces powerful hallucinations and can also cause respiratory failure and seizures. Which is why scopolamine wasn’t successfully used as a truth serum during the cold war in the sixties. Now, although research is still discovering successful ways in which scopolamine treats illnesses such as depression and motion sickness, its primary use is for street crime in South America, particularly in Colombia, where it grows as beautiful white flowers on the borrachero tree. It’s found on practically every street corner.”

  “Doctor, tell me what I need to know.”

  I hear her inhale and my phone crackles with the exhale. “Commonly known as Devil’s Breath, the drug is one of the most dangerous in the world. It’s not recreational, like cocaine or other drugs. It doesn’t make the user feel good. Instead, within seconds or minutes of administration, the victim loses his or her free will. They are awake and articulate. They can talk to people. Go places. But only under the direction of others. They essentially lose control of their actions.” She hesitates and goes on. “This drug leaves the victim totally vulnerable and open to suggestion.”

  “They become a puppet,” I add. I don’t say what I’m thinking. Zombie.

  “Yes, the person who administers the drug owns that person. They are a child. They can be guided to do anything. Empty out bank accounts. Have sex. Commit crimes for the person who owns them. Whatever.” Her voice grows soft. “It’s the perfect drug for criminals.”

  “From what I can tell, it was blown into her face.”

  “Yes, that’s the most common way. It’s totally colorless, odorless, tasteless and takes effect very quickly. The effects are relatively long lasting and the drug has a unique way of blocking neurotransmitters to the part of the brain that stores memory.”

  “So the victims have amnesia coming out?”

  “Yes. Another reason the use is so prevalent. How handy is it to own your victim and they remember nothing the next morning? And if there’s no memory, the police can do nothing. It’s used for thousands of crimes each year in Colombia. Thousands more that aren’t reported because—”

  “Because the victim has no memory. They can’t identify their assailant.”

  “Correct.”

  “Doctor, why isn’t everyone using it? Outside of South America, I mean.”

  “Mr. Rodgers, most petty criminals aren’t interested in killing their victims, and scopolamine is a very dangerous drug. One gram of scopolamine is like a gram of cocaine, except that gram can kill ten to fifteen people. It looks like cocaine. Very delicate and hard to harvest. Hard to get. Very easy to overdose, if the dose to weight isn’t correct. In a nutshell, the risks are too high for most criminals. But for those who risk it, the rewards are substantial.”

  Yeah. Like a billion dollars substantial.

  “One last question, doctor. Is there an antidote?”

  There’s a hesitation. “Time, Mr. Rodgers. Generally, eighteen to twenty-four hours or so, but that can vary up to several hours or days either way, depending on the person or how many doses they are given.”

  “Thank you for your time, doctor.”

  “You’re welcome. And, Mr. Rodgers…?”

  “Yes?”

  “Good luck. I hope you’re able to find this woman alive.”

  Chapter Four – Camille

  I’m floating in a sea that is bathwater warm, waves lifting me and lowering me, one by one. The sky is blue and so clear I could gaze at it forever. White fluffy clouds float by. One’s an elephant. One looks like a seal with a ball on its nose, while another resembles a mother holding her child.

  I float. Weightless. Painless.

  Hopeless.

  I know I will never find land.

  I don’t even startle when I’m nudged from underneath. The rubbery slick back of an animal swimming just below me brushes my thigh. It’s been here before. Circling. Waiting. Biding its time until I give up and it can carry me down to a watery grave.

  Why it doesn’t take me now? I don’t understand. Maybe some animals prefer to play. I amuse myself by thinking of my mother scolding me for playing with my food. Will sharks also obey those directives? I reach out and touch its fin as it swims by one more time. Maybe if I agitate it, it will just get this over with. I’m tired. So very tired.

  From below me comes another sensation, tiled ridges beneath my back, beneath my legs.

  “Cling to me, Camille. All hope isn’t lost just yet.”

  I turn onto my stomach and grasp the ancient turtle’s neck.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, closing my eyes as I lay my cheek onto the massive shell. He swims, gli
des through the water, his heartbeat beneath my ear.

  “What are you seeking, Camille?”

  I look up and gaze around a campfire and into the eyes of a shaman, so old his face has no smooth areas to speak of. His wizardly cheeks crease up into a smile. “What do you seek?”

  I realize I don’t know.

  Love?

  Peace?

  Happiness?

  A sense of service? Of making a difference in the world?

  Those are the right answers. But I’m not sure they’re my answer.

  I don’t know what my answer is or what it would look like if I found it.

  A movement from my left distracts me as the door to the straw hut swings open. A tiger appears, its golden eyes pinned on me, capturing me in the intensity of its gaze. It steps into the room, the muscles of its shoulders rippling with each step. Closer. Each step brings the beast closer. I inhale and take in its musty scent.

  I turn back to the shaman, but he’s gone. So is the fire. I shiver at its loss of heat.

  “What do you want, Camille?”

  The tiger takes another step closer. Then closer. Its unblinking eyes never leaving mine.

  I shake my head as I answer the beast. “I don’t know.”

  The tiger leaps, knocking me backward, its weight pressing the air from my lungs. I cry out. Its teeth sink into my throat. Pain flares, as its claws rip into my shoulders, holding me down while it takes what it wants.

  With a sigh, I surrender to death.

  Before the exhale is complete, the tiger dissolves and there’s only Tate.

  The teeth become tongue as it strokes up my neck and lips capture the lobe of my ear. I wrap my limbs around him, holding him close, willing him to never leave me again. As his lips cover mine, I open for him, welcoming his tongue, greeting it with mine. He grinds into me, his pubic bone creating delicious friction on my clit. I cry out into his mouth as he deepens the kiss.

  This is what I want, I realize.

  It’s been him since the first moment we met.

  I try to tell him, but he slides up my body, planting one knee on each side of my head to feed me his cock. He presses the tip against my lips, then slides past them as I accept his offer. His taste explodes on my tongue as he pulses gently in and out of my throat.