Only A Whisper Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  About the Author

  Books by Gayle Wilson

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Cast of Characters

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Copyright

  “Do I amuse you?”

  Rae thought she could detect a slight annoyance in the dark voice, and found she couldn’t resist goading him. “You really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble—the wine and the music. I’ve heard of trying to impress a girl, but you’ve got a ‘captive’ audience. The James Bond routine really isn’t necessary.”

  His startled laugh was genuine. Her own lips lifted again, in involuntary response to accept that she was laughing at him for a change.

  “James Bond?” he repeated finally, unbelievingly.

  “I suppose that puts me in my place. A prick for any man’s ego.”

  “No pun intended?” She questioned innocently, and was again rewarded by his smile.

  Stop it, her rational mind scolded. Who do you think this is? Dudley Doright? He holds your life in his hands…and you’re flirting with him like a freshman at her first prom.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Gayle Wilson, who has a masters degree in education, is a former teacher of English and history to gifted high school students. Her love of both subjects led her to first write historical novels before turning to romantic suspense. Gayle and her husband, whom she met on a blind date, live in Alabama where they both grew up. She has been blessed with a wonderful son, a warm and loving extended Southern family, and a growing menagerie of cats and dogs.

  Books by Gayle Wilson

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  344—ECHOES IN THE DARK

  HARLEQUIN HISTORICALS

  211—THE HEARTS DESIRE

  263—THE HEARTS WAGER

  299—THE GAMBLER’S HEART

  Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for Information on our newest releases.

  Harlequin Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont L2A 5X3

  Only a Whisper

  Gayle Wilson

  To my mother

  for unconditional love

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Rae Phillips—an experienced federal agent abducted by a man whose face she is never allowed to see and whose voice whispers too compellingly from the treachery that surrounds her.

  Paul Hardesty—his job is to find the traitor in the task force he created while trying desperately to prevent another agent’s death.

  Kyle Peters—tells Rae that Hardesty knows far more about what’s going on than he’s ever admitted.

  Franklin Holcomb—Rae’s partner on an important nighttime mission to Virginia, he is the first to disappear.

  Dell Stewart—DEA operative who warns that what Rae doesn’t know may be as dangerous as what she does.

  Carlos Rameriz—a Colombian official who appears to have ties to the cartels.

  Diego—his only loyalty is to the master he so willingly serves.

  Rafe—the man at the dark heart of the mystery.

  Prologue

  December 1993

  Freezing rain glazed the pavement under the headlights of the black Mercedes. Their glow cut through the glittering darkness like twin swords, the hiss of the wipers and the click of ice against the windshield the only sound in the private light show.

  The chauffeur threaded the car through the narrowing streets, the buildings on either side dark, their workers having long ago deserted the area and headed to the lighted safety of their own neighborhoods.

  The two men in the back had not spoken since leaving the huge underground garage, but in spite of their individual tensions, the silence was not uncomfortable. With the soundproof glass barrier before them, they were virtually alone, each lost in his own thoughts.

  The driver finally brought the Mercedes to a halt before one of the run-down warehouses that lined the street. He had doused the lights before he made the final turn into this block, and the powerful car glided silently as a ghost to the curb. The engine continued to purr.

  “You don’t have to do this,” said a voice, breaking the silence. The speaker sensed rather than saw the amusement in response to his anxiety.

  “Someone does. And I am, you must agree, the one who is better equipped.” The answering voice was gently ironic.

  “There are other ways. Safer ways.”

  “We’ve been through this. You said Hardesty was trustworthy.”

  “As far as we can tell from the information that’s available. But who can know what men will to do for this kind of money? We’re gambling with your life.” The voice was strained, trying to make long-discarded arguments convincing, trying to give them new life.

  He could hear the patient resignation in his brother’s answer. “It is, after all, my life, and only one against so many others. The information I’ll provide to Hardesty tonight will bring down the cartel, which is why we began, and we didn’t embark on this without sufficient reasons.”

  “I remember the reasons—all of them. And I believed, until now, that I could let you go, knowing that the outcome outweighed the risks.”

  “Nothing will go wrong. All the arrangements have been made. There is no way to turn back now. It’s too important. You don’t mean what you’re saying. That’s your heart and not your head talking. Too many years of playing big brother.”

  “And you outgrew the need for big brother long ago.”

  “No,” the other countered, laughing. “No one ever outgrows the need to be loved.”

  The speaker turned his head, pretending to look out the window at the darkened warehouses. They were men uncomfortable expressing their deep affection for each other, but that didn’t mean they weren’t aware of it. It provided a guarantee of their instant rapport even when they had been separated by years or distance. The speaker turned back, having mastered the pull on his emotions. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to allow him to see the outline of his brother’s head and shoulders against the lesser blackness of the night.

  “It’s time,” the younger said finally, reaching to touch his arm.

  His brother took the outstretched fingers and brought them to his lips to kiss. “Go with God.” He whispered the traditional farewell, releasing the strong hand.

  The familiar laughter almost broke his faltering control, and he heard the softly mocking voice in the stillness. “Or to the devil.”

  The man who had spoken opened the door and, moving with an athletic grace, was quickly swallowed up by the waiting darkness.

  Remembering his instructions, the brother he had left behind tapped softly on the glass. The chauffeur put the big car in gear, and it rolled silently along the deserted street, turning the corner to disappear.

  Chapter One

  “Get your coat.” Franklin Holcomb’s voice broke through Rae Phillips’s concentration on the information displayed on her computer screen. “The old man wants you. He asked specifically for you. It seems we need your particular expertise.”

  Rae understood the slight sarcasm. They were both aware that she had no particular skill that was not shared by each member of
the task force for which they worked. They were all law-enforcement officers who had been selected based on their records and their well-documented abilities. Rae sometimes wondered if the fact she was Austin Phillips’s daughter hadn’t tipped the scales in her favor, but at more rational moments she put those doubts down to latent feminist suspicions. She was the only woman in the twelve-man group and, unless femininity counted as an area of expertise, she was as stumped by Paul Hardesty’s request as Holcomb.

  “Do you have a clue?” she asked as she cleaned up the file she was working on and saved her material.

  “Nope, just meet him at the pad and he’ll explain later. It’s colder than a witch’s…Sorry, but that’s sleet you hear against the windows. That chopper’s going to be like a deep freeze. I don’t think the old man even notices, but my shoulders’ll be stiff into next week. I’m getting old, kid. Time to move on and leave it to you young ones.”

  He helped Rae into her navy wool coat, and she was grateful for the lined boots she had worn under the forestgreen sweater dress. She wasn’t looking forward to the helicopter ride any more than Frank was.

  They were silent as they left the office, making their way to the elevator that would take them to the stairs at the top of the building, each imagining what might lie at the end of this late-night journey.

  Rae could feel the thrump of the Huey’s rotor vibrating through the metal stairway before Holcomb opened the door. The icy wind took her breath, and her eyes watered even though she lowered her head as soon as she stepped out on the roof. She followed Frank’s scuffed wing tips to the chopper, never looking up, in an attempt to protect her eyes, cheeks and sinuses from the biting cold. She had grown up in El Paso and, like all desert creatures, she was most comfortable basking in the sun. She’d never made the adjustment to the D.C. climate.

  The interior of the chopper was not noticeably warmer, but at least they were shielded from the wind. The fact that Hardesty himself was along on whatever mission they had undertaken was significant. He hadn’t been an in-field agent in years. The knowledge that this wasn’t going to be the land of assignment that ended in the possibility of danger was, as always, comforting, so Rae began to relax for the first time since she’d been summoned.

  She heard Hardesty shouting instructions to the pilot. Although she didn’t catch the words, she knew by Frank’s raised eyebrows that he had and that they’d surprised him. She put her hand on his knee, expressing her question with her own brows. He leaned against her ear, speaking in an almost-normal voice, but still she had to strain to hear the words over the engine’s noise.

  “Hardesty’s worried about a tail. He told the pilot to watch and evade. Who the hell does he think he’s kidding? We’re the only ones crazy enough to be up in weather like this.”

  Apparently Holcomb’s assessment of their ownership of the air was correct, for after only the most cursory search for trailers, the Huey dipped nose and headed into the night sky to the south.

  The flight lasted less than half an hour, and they landed on the back lawn of what appeared to be a 1920s mansion. Rae again signed her question to Frank, but he only shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. They all ran under the blades to the “patio”—a term too casual for the expanse of tile and the stone banisters that stretched across the back of the huge house.

  The interior was almost as dark as the lawn had been, but Hardesty led the way through the dun rooms with unerring familiarity. Rae heard the chopper shut down, and the silence was broken only by the click of their steps on the dimly visible black-and-white squares of the hall. Hardesty led them into the library, finally turning on some lights. Rae realized then why he had chosen this room, lined from floor to ceiling with books, with no windows to betray their presence.

  “Sit down,” Hardesty invited, but as always, there was no doubting the unconscious assertion of command. He was a man used to being in charge. He even looked the part, with his white hair and still-erect military bearing. Rae knew that he was only in his early fifties, but his decisive nature and premature graying had given him an advantage of looking “in charge” that he had parlayed into position years ago.

  “There’s liquor in the decanters. I know Frank’s wanting something. Do you drink, Rae?”

  “Occasionally, but I’m fine.”

  “Good, because we need you clearheaded. This is your show, and I’m afraid it’s going to be difficult and prolonged.”

  Paul Hardesty paused, allowing himself a moment to study the lovely ivory oval of Rae’s face. It was amazing that Austin and Elizabeth Phillips, the most ordinary-looking couple he’d ever known, had produced this woman.

  Strands of dark auburn hair, helped by the wind outside, had escaped the low chignon to curl around her cheeks and temples. Rae waited for his explanation, her aquamarine eyes calmly resting on his face in spite of what he had just told her. She looked like a model or an actress—anything other than the steel-trap mind and finely coordinated body he knew Rae Phillips to be.

  “We screwed up, and someone else paid the price,” he said finally. She watched the tightening of his lips, and knew that he hated to be fallible. Any blunder of the force instantly became Paul’s burden.

  Rae simply waited, knowing that he would have to tell this in his own way, work around to what was obviously a painful situation. He took a long drink of the brandy Frank handed him, the light from the low chandelier reflecting off the crystal of his glass.

  “A man contacted us through diplomatic channels at the highest level indicating that he had information that would enable us to damage the financial operations of the Medellin cartel, to identify the distributors, the middlemen. He even offered us a blueprint of their money-laundering procedures, the banks and companies involved, the ownership structures. You can imagine our reaction. Mine was disbelief, but we checked through those same diplomatic circles from our end and found the source to be…exactly what he’d said.”

  Rae wondered what the almost-indiscernible pause signified. That was something she had learned from her father. Use every clue, every facial twitch, every vocal nuance. Listen with your brain, not your ears.

  “We made contact and arranged for transport of the merchandise, set up the meeting, but somehow—” again the pain intruded into the careful control “-somehow he was betrayed. The cartel got there before we did. They took some rather classic revenge before we arrived. They were brutal, but not very efficient. He was alive when we got to the pickup point. Barely alive, and obviously…” Paul paused again and shook his head.

  Rae was grateful for the lack of details. She could only guess what the courier had suffered. She knew that even with her experience she was probably incapable of imagining the full extent of the damage the cartels committed without a moment’s thought.

  “And the information?” she asked, as Paul seemed disinclined to continue. He looked up in surprise.

  “I thought you understood. He has the information in his head. Some kind of freak memory. He’s committed it all to memory. He is the information. The doctor is trying right now to do what he can to help him hang on until you can take it down. He’ll let us know when we can go up.”

  “‘The medium is the message,’” Frank quoted softly, speaking for the first time since their arrival.

  “Do you mean he’s here?” Rae asked, incredulous.

  “Of course. He was transported here while we were on the way. Why did you think we’re here?”

  “My God, Paul, you’re playing with a man’s life. He should be in the finest trauma center this country has. If we lose this man, we lose the possibility of finishing off one of the major cocaine suppliers in this country.”

  “We’re going to lose him. He’s going to die. Accept that because I assure you it’s true. He wants to make that dying worthwhile. He came to give us information, and he’s holding on by sheer force of will until he can. Your job is to help him.”

  “Why me?”

  “Spanish is his native lan
guage. It’s easier for him to give the information as he memorized it. You’re the only one of us who is really fluent enough to do this under what will be, I’m afraid, very difficult circumstances.”

  The door to the library opened and a heavyset man walked in. He met Hardesty’s eyes, shaking his head.

  “Damned if I know how he’s managing,” he said, and shook his head again. “He’s as ready as I can make him. I’ve given him what locals I can, not that they’re going to make a lot of difference. Get her up there and let’s get this over. It’s against every principle I ever thought I had. I hope this is worth it, Paul. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Rae.” Hardesty spoke the one-word command. As she stood, she could feel her knees tremble. She dreaded what she would witness as a dying man struggled to convict his torturers, but like Paul, she knew the necessity. He handed her the laptop he’d carried on the chopper, and she followed the doctor out of the warmth and light of the library up the dark, winding grand staircase that graced the front hall.

  She thought about the scenes such a setting always accompanied in movies and on television. Floating ball gowns and romantic encounters. Rhett and Scarlett. Not death and pain. Not torture and murder and drugs. When they reached the top, the doctor hesitated, speaking to her directly for the first time.

  “There’s some trauma to the throat. I’m afraid a whisper is all he can manage.”

  “I understand,” Rae said, her sense of dread growing.

  “And he’s asked that there be no light. When he found out you’re a woman…Maybe he’s protecting you. Whatever his reasons, given what he’s willing to do for us, I thought…”

  “Of course,” Rae said, but an involuntary shiver not caused by the cold darkness touched her. “The screen will be lighted. It’s all right. Will you stay?”