The Surrogate's Secret by Barbour Mimi

Author:Barbour, Mimi [Barbour, Mimi]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Publisher: Mimi Barbour
Published: 2013-07-14T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

His mother had been right. He was a fool. By the time he’d organized backup, wired himself and added other necessary precautions, an hour had passed. He searched for the address Margarita had given him. It was an old building in Providencia fronted with a restaurant and apartments above. Uncomfortable, he nevertheless left his car parked on the street, made his way past the hungry patrons seated at the tables in front and climbed the staircase located to the side of the front door. The stench of overheated cooking oil, onions, and ripe garbage convinced him never to choose this as a place to eat.

“Amigos, are you in place?” He murmured into his mic. His team should have arrived to guard the exits by now.

“Si, Jefe. We are ready.” Miguel had passed around photos of Nick, and they all knew to be on the lookout, to protect him in case anything went wrong.

He knocked on the door in front of him and waited. Sobbing and cuss words filtered through from the wall behind, followed by the sound of a slap and a man’s disgust. “Silencio!” Miguel expression turned from grim to brutal but his business wasn’t to interfere in a domestic disturbance. He had a friend to save and a woman to pay back.

The door in front of him opened, and the man framed in the light wasn’t someone he knew or cared to know. Big, hairy and disgusting was Miguel’s first impression. A slight noise behind him warned, even as the gun poking in his ribs pushed. Just as he’d suspected, he’d walked into trap. Good.

“Welcome Señor big-shot. We’ve been waiting for you.” The blob spoke to the guy behind him. “Carlos, stay there. Guard the door. ”

Miguel sauntered into the room. Margarita had been right about one thing. Nick had been captured once again. The ropes tying him to a chair looked very uncomfortable, as did his face, bound and showing evidence of a recent beating. Surveying the room, Miguel noted three other men twenty feet away sitting at a round table playing cards. They looked at him, sneered and went on with their game.

Miguel shook off the hand that clutched his shoulder and strode near his friend. He leaned over him. “Nick, I came as soon as possible. I couldn’t believe they’d gone after you again.” No one else saw the faint wink. He turned back to the armed man and demanded. “Why do you insist on torturing this man? He hasn’t offended the Colombian government in any way that I know of.”

The sleazebag opened his mouth and then closed it. He let a sneer replace the words he’d meant to speak and gestured behind Miguel who turned.

A tall, debonair man dressed in a black suit, numerous waves in his short wet hair, entered from a room in the back. He chuckled and replied with a distinct edge to his cultured voice. “He lives and that fact alone is abhorrent to me. Five years ago, my mother left my father, left me, and married his rich old papá.

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