Mia tucked a fist under her chin and caught the smell of him on her knuckles from when he helped her up. He smelled red-blooded and robust, a mixture of soap, sweat, and gunpowder. She caught herself sighing.

What was that? Madmen kidnappers shouldn’t smell that memorable. This case of Stockholm Syndrome might’ve started earlier than normal.

She needed to think her next move through. Why did she try to escape without that disk? It brought her to Louisville and got her into this mess. She couldn’t abandon it now. It was too important.

Another option had to exist, and Mia decided to sit in the backseat until that opportunity arrived.

CHAPTER THREE

Cartagena, Colombia

“Find out who took her.” Juan Carlos Silva bellowed into his satellite phone and hung up. Standing poolside under the fierce Colombian sun, he dabbed at his brow with a freshly pressed linen kerchief, then smoothed his tailor-cut silk shirt.

It was bad enough his men traveled all the way to the United States and couldn’t complete their mission. The job was to collect a simple package containing a disk. But they ran halfway across that country, only to lose it again? Appalling.

He inspected the pristine pool water for a speck of dirt. He wanted to find something wrong. An excuse to yell at the knobby-kneed boy charged with his gardens and pool. Not that he needed one.

His neck pain flared, as it did when inept employees prattled their excuses. If he thought the job would be so complicated, he would have sent more men. Men experienced in American subterfuge. His judgment call on this one was foolish, and while it was his fault, it would be easier to take his frustrations out on someone’s hide. He cracked his knuckles and called out for the pool boy.

The phone chirped again, and he thought to ignore it. If those idiots couldn’t find a simple woman who escaped with the disk, he would kill them to prove a point. Maybe string them up by their necks and hang them from the front gate of his estate. Perhaps he would make them pick out a machete from his collection and select a limb to lose.

He never should have assigned junior members. But at least two of his men still trailed the woman and that wretched package, and Juan Carlos would grace them with another opportunity to make it right.

Answering the chirping phone, he didn’t listen to his man on the phone. “Retrieve what is mine. Take the woman. Both are more valuable than your life.”

America wasn’t Colombia. The practice of kidnapping was frowned upon more so in the States. Though much of his high-end product originated there, usually his men showed more finesse. Kidnapping was a practiced art.

Perhaps, he should give some direction. It was imperative both items were presented to him. He inspected his manicured fingernails. What advice would help? No, advice was wrong. Incentives were most effective. “Pray to the Blessed Virgin Mary for guidance. For if you fail, I will hand your mother your head.”