CHAPTER ELEVEN
Miramar, Mallorca
December 3
Cam's first thought when he awoke was, what the fuck did I drink last night. A small man with a jackhammer was going to town on his brain, and his mouth tasted like an old sock. The cloying scent of Stargazer lilies in the vase next to the bed was making him sick. He rolled away and nestled into the luxurious bedding, lowering his head to block out the sliver of sunlight peeking through the drapes.
He tried unsuccessfully to clear his head, his consciousness fighting a losing battle with the bed. He remembered walking into the bar in Spanish Harlem, meeting with a man. Before he could analyze the situation further, he was asleep.
An hour later, Cam opened his eyes to a glorious morning. Sun poured through open french doors, and a breeze tinged with the scent of the sea billowed the sheer curtains. He sat up fighting nausea, noting he was wearing a new plain white T-shirt and boxer briefs. His head was still in a fog as he glanced around the luxurious room with blurry eyes. It was on the main floor, and glass-paned doors led to a flagstone terrace where a table was set with a silver coffee service, a bowl of glistening sliced fruit, and a pastry tray. Beyond the patio lay a lush lawn leading to a vineyard and neat rows of orchard trees. He furrowed his brow; he could be gone from this place in an instant, but curiosity kept him rooted in the room. There were two open doors: one led to a walk-in closet at least half the main room's size and filled with men's clothing. On the opposite wall, double doors led to a marble-tiled bathroom. In his fieldwork, Cam had experienced the full lavatory spectrum; this one buried the needle. On the far side of the jetted shower and soaking tub, a retractable wall was open, and the space extended out to a Marbella stone deck and rectangular swimming pool.
Then, as if his mind had completed the fantasy, the head of a woman appeared from the water, coming up the submerged concentric steps at the near-end of the pool—head, shoulders, breasts, stomach, and mile-long legs. Gloriously nude, glistening water sluicing down her blonde hair and bronzed body, the woman walked straight toward him. She stepped into the open bathroom and plucked a sleek robe from a hook but didn’t put it on; she dragged it behind her as she continued toward him. All Cam could do was sit in the massive bed and watch.
“Hello, Miguel. It's been a long time.”
Her words had Cam jerking his eyes up from her flawless body to her bewitching face. Yes. Even through the haze, he knew that face. He had been with a lot of women over the years, and while he had felt no deep connection to this woman a year ago, a man didn’t forget Gemini March. Even if the sex had been forgettable, the pages of fashion magazines and designer ad campaigns were an ego-boosting but regrettable reminder. Her temper tantrum over the hotel's available selection of champagne at 3 a.m. certainly didn’t help. Cam was wary of the temptress before him, but Miguel Ramirez would have no such reservations. With his head still heavy on the pillow, he licked his lips.
She spoke with the confidence of a woman who had never been looked upon and found lacking. “Cat got your tongue?”
He thought about pretending not to know who she was, but his face had given him away. Instead, speaking in thickly accented English, he went with the truth.
“What the fuck is going on?”
She laughed then. “So much. Don’t worry, Miguel, it's all good.”
“Where am I? Because I know I wasn’t good enough on earth for this to be heaven.” Cam licked his lips.
She giggled. “We are not far from the place we first met. Do you remember, Miguel? Do you remember my shoes? My dress?”
Oh, he remembered.
“Because I do. I remember grabbing fistfuls of that auburn hair and licking the tattoo of the cross that I know is on your back.” Her face morphed into an affected moue. “And I remember waking up all alone.”
“Ibiza?” he guessed.
“Close. We’re about ten kilometers outside of Palma,” she replied.
“Mallorca?” Cam confirmed.
She clapped little, girly claps, the robe resting over her forearm.
Cam scanned the room again, then returned his gaze to Gemini's perfection. Had he been abducted by a supermodel? God, it sounded like the title of a bad porno. Something was going on, and he intended to find out what. “Why?” he asked.
He attempted to sit up, but dizziness overtook him.
Gemini donned the robe but didn’t tie it, then sauntered over to him. She leaned over and placed her full lips to the shell of his ear. “Because today is your lucky day.” She moved her face an inch in front of him. “When you’re up and changed, my cousin would like a word.”
Cam couldn’t miss the sudden ice in her voice.
“Your cousin?” he repeated.
She gave a hum in confirmation. “Atlas March.”
Slowly the pieces were fitting into place, but Cam couldn’t make out the picture that was being revealed. “Atlas March is your cousin?” Now he remembered. Atlas March was the head of a mining conglomerate based in Mallorca.
He was also on the CIA's radar for some suspicious activity when he had lived and worked in Colombia.
A sultry smile touched her lips. “Mmm-hmm.”
She crossed the room and struck a seductive pose in the doorway, the open robe exposing a swath of tan, lustrous skin. “I’ll see you for lunch by the pool.” And with that promise, she was gone.
Cam flopped back on the bed and ran a hand down his face muttering a string of Spanish expletives that would have his grandmother swatting the back of his head.
He had met Gemini March just over a year ago at a club on the neighboring island of Ibiza. He foolishly had chased a lead on The Conductor and had been left high and dry waiting for an informant who had either been killed or had never existed in the first place. Just when he thought the night was a complete bust, in a hail of camera flashes, in walked Gemini March.
He didn’t know much about the cousin. Atlas March had taken over the March Conglomerate last year when the senior March, Ulysses, if Cam remembered correctly, died in a suspicious plane crash.
Maybe Cam simply didn’t want to face the fact that a spoiled, possibly unhinged princess had kidnapped him in the hope of making him her lover, but something deep in his gut told him there was more going on than the state of play indicated.