Oh, Christ, please. She couldn’t do this.

A sob left her, and she clamped her mouth shut, holding everything inside. She couldn’t afford to fall apart, not here, not now.

A fake Memphis Sphinx.

Somebody was going to be very unhappy when they looked at the bottom of the statue and figured out they’d gotten exactly nothing for their trouble, and that very unhappy person might just decide to come back.

With the realization came a fresh wash of fear, born in panic and running like a streak of wildfire down her spine, all of it leading to one undeniable conclusion: She needed to get the hell out of the Gran Chaco.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dax saw the bad news the minute he pulled into the parking lot of the Gran Chaco-Esteban Ponce’s Range Rover parked in front of the hotel’s grand entrance with one of his boys standing guard.

Fuck. This was a party, and he most definitely should not have been late. Goddamn.

He braked to a stop and pulled the Jeep into first gear. Jimmy Ruiz’s Land Cruiser was sitting a few rows over, and he bet that guy wasn’t too damn happy to have Ponce show up at his afternoon soiree.

Guaranteed, nobody was going to be happy to see him either. There was nothing like bad odds and a dead body to put him into Don’t Fuck with Me mode, and while the Frenchman was going cold on the floor of his shop, Ruiz and Suzi’s odds at the Gran Chaco had laid out at two to one against.

He crossed the lot and the hotel’s drive, entered the lobby, and headed straight to the front desk.

Halfway there, he changed his mind and his direction, heading instead toward Esteban Ponce. The guy was crossing the lobby in his white sports coat and red silk shirt, with one of his bodyguards and one of the cops from the gallery, complete with carbine. To top the bad scene off, Esteban had Beranger’s damn messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

Sonuvabitch. The Sphinx. Somehow, some way, he was getting played on this deal every which way from Sunday, and just who in the hell was Suzi Toussi really working for here? The bulge in the bag was the right size, the right shape, and Esteban had the world’s most satisfied expression on his face, the asshole, but Dax was just going to have to let it go.

Because everything that had happened this afternoon had happened way too damn fast to suit him, and he had this little problem. This little doubt eating at him, chewing him up in chunks and spitting him out with the last of his common sense and every step he took, and that little problem was all legs, slinky curves, and auburn hair, tearing him up and whispering her name in his ear-Suzanna Royale Toussi.

Truth was, he didn’t give a damn who she was working for in Ciudad del Este, a state of affairs he was not going to be analyzing anytime soon. She hadn’t gotten out of the middle of this thing, not by a long shot, and he needed to make that happen ASAP. Yeah, that was the smart move, go find the girl, the Sphinx be damned. Sweat out the deal for two years, bust his ass for four months, and then just walk on by and let the damn thing take a hike out the door.

Hell. It wouldn’t get far. Dax swore it.

But Suzi, dammit, if the Memphis Sphinx was heading one way, and she was heading the other, then chances were that things had not gone her way, and in Ciudad del Este that was a damn good way to get killed.

Another Ponce boy was standing on the wide, curving staircase that led up to the second floor. The guy was talking on his phone, but his attention was on his boss, and as soon as he closed his phone, he hurried the rest of the way down the stairs and caught up to the group.

Second floor, Dax thought, without slowing his stride, his gaze raking the veranda, looking for something… anything. The Gran Chaco had a glass elevator servicing the other seven floors of the hotel, but the courtyard stairs ended at the second-floor veranda. There were only five room doors on that level, on the side opposite the restaurant, and the door in the middle was ajar, which gave Dax a very cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Panic was against his nature, so he didn’t know what the fuck to call that cold feeling, but it definitely kicked his alert system up to code red.

He kept moving across the courtyard, passing by Ponce and crew and giving them a casual glance, before he headed up the stairs. When he turned to walk down the veranda, he checked the Brazilians’ location. They were heading toward the hotel entrance, their intent clear, and the best Dax could hope for was that they would leave with the prize. He could pick those pieces up later, including the statue and every single one of the bastards if he needed them. He had a license plate and photographs in his computer, and even in the short time that he’d been in his room at the Posada with Suzi, a couple of names had come up on his screen, matching up with the photos, and he’d sent it all to Colonel Hanson, the same way he would those scraps of paper and the lading document.

No, the Brazilians wouldn’t be hard to track, no matter how fast or how far they went with the Memphis Sphinx, but what he needed right now, right here, was to get his hands on little Miss Suzi Q-literally hands on, physical contact, under his control, and most importantly, under his protection.

This was not mission protocol, and he didn’t give a damn.

At the open door, he walked straight in, drawing his pistol as he entered, his strides long, his weapon up, his gaze cataloguing everything in the suite, searching for targets-clearing, moving-searching for Suzi.

Jimmy Ruiz dead.

Multiple shots to the chest and abdomen.

Dax kept moving, out of the living area, into the bedroom.

Bed a little rumpled, but still made.

Closet door open. Closet empty.

He didn’t hit pay dirt until the bathroom.

Peep-toe pumps drying on a towel.

Her suit lying on the vanity next to a brown leather satchel. Makeup, toothpaste, hairbrush.

But no Suzi.

He kept moving, straight through the bedroom to the French doors leading to the outside. On the patio, he stopped, his gaze quartering the gardens and pool area below. The pool was a gem, like an opal sparkling in the sunlight, set down in a jungle of green-and walking quickly through the jungle, following the path paralleling the pool deck, was the gazelle he was hunting.

The relief he felt was damn near overwhelming.

Geezus.

He cleared the stairs and took out after her. She was almost to the bougainvillea-covered wall separating the gardens from the parking lot. Ponce and his boys would be hitting that lot any time now, and whatever had happened in the hotel room, he didn’t think it was a good idea for her to cross Ponce’s path-unless she really was in cahoots with the Brazilian and not here working for the congressman.

Sure. Splitting up and everybody going their own way after the commission of a crime, especially one as heinous as cold-blooded murder, was always a good idea.

Shit.

He hated being so goddamned clueless.

She stopped for a moment at an ironwork gate in the wall and pulled a ball cap out of a fanny pack clipped around her waist. Her hair went up under the ball cap with a quick twist, and then she was gone. With one step, she passed through the gate and disappeared from view.

Goddammit.

He sped up, pushing himself harder, and ran through the gate in time to see her slip into the driver’s side seat of Jimmy Ruiz’s Land Cruiser, and he kept running, not stopping for a second.

Gazelle had been an understatement. She was moving with all the precision and efficiency of a cheetah, smooth and sleek, the fastest land animal on earth-but not faster than him.

With his heart pumping up into overdrive, and his adrenaline hitting on fight and flight, he came abreast of the Cruiser just as she started to pull out of the parking spot. He slammed his open palm down on the hood of the SUV, giving her only two choices, gas or brake, and brake won.