"Yes, I am Dietz." He spoke in a deep voice with a crisp British accent tinged with a trace of the Creole spoken in the Caribbean.

The men shook hands. "You know why we're here," Johnnie said.

Dietz nodded. "Agent Wheeler's email contained the information you sent him regarding the missing woman, as well as a photograph."

"Rachael Brewer. This is her sister, Amy."

She ignored the squares dancing in front of her eyes and dragged in another lungful of humid air. "It's very nice to meet you...Mr. Dietz."

"It is just Nate or Dietz." He tipped his head toward the parking lot. "My van is over there. We can talk on the way to the plane."

Johnnie just nodded as if he knew exactly what was going on.

"What plane?" Amy asked. "We just got off the plane."

Dietz talked to her over his shoulder. "We are flying into Placencia. Ortega's villa is a few miles south. It is less than a hundred miles away, but the roads in this country are primitive. Flying is far more efficient."

They started toward the parking lot, tugging their rolling bags behind them over the uneven asphalt. Palm trees waved along the streets in front of the airport but the breeze did nothing to cool the air.

Dietz slid open the van door. Johnnie helped her climb into the backseat, and the men climbed into the front. The vehicle had to be a hundred and twenty degrees inside. The air conditioner was already cranked to high as Dietz started the engine, but the wind blasting out of the vents was even hotter than the air outside.

Perspiration soaked through her clothes. She had never felt anything like it.

"What kind of intel have you been able to dig up on the girl?" Johnnie asked. "Can you confirm Rachael Brewer was on Ortega's jet?"

"I have very good sources...people who can be trusted. One of them recognized her photo as one of the pa.s.sengers who arrived on Ortega's last trip. She is very beautiful, the sort of face a man remembers."

Amy's heart started pounding. Oh, G.o.d, Rachael was here. Or at least she had been.

"How about Manny Ortega? Was he on the plane?"

"Carlos was among the pa.s.sengers. No one knows if his son was with him."

"What else?"

"The woman left with Ortega and the others on the private plane he uses to get him to his villa. I can only a.s.sume that is where they were going."

"You know whether the girl was on Ortega's jet when it left Belize a week later?"

"My people say only Ortega and two other men left on the plane. The woman may have left at a later date, I do not know. That is all I was able to find out. There hasn't been much time. Until I received Agent Wheeler's message, I knew nothing about the woman's disappearance."

Amy forced herself to breathe. Her sister had been there. They still couldn't be sure, but it looked as if she hadn't returned with the plane. If that was so... She refused to finish the thought. "If you know my sister came here with Ortega, we should go to the police, get them to start searching for her here."

"I am afraid that is not possible. There is no real proof. The word of an airport worker against a powerful man like Carlos Ortega, the police will do nothing. All you will do is put Ortega on alert."

"He's right," Johnnie said. "If Rachael is here and still alive, going to the police would only put her in danger."

Amy's chest squeezed. Johnnie and Dietz were right. If Ortega hadn't killed Rachael already, he might do it now if he found out people believed he was involved in her disappearance.

Amy fixed her eyes on the road ahead. It was lined with palm trees, and the asphalt in front of them seemed to melt into the sand, which was everywhere. As they neared Belize City, she saw that it sprawled across a flat plain bordered by endless water.

The van turned off the main road and began winding its way through the narrow, crowded streets and her attention sharpened. Whatever she had expected, this wasn't it. The buildings were shabby and run-down. The signs on the stores were faded, and laundry hung from ropes tied between salt-corroded balconies. She reminded herself this was a third world country, but she had never been to a third world country, and she wasn't really prepared for the level of poverty or the way people lived.

Still, they seemed happy. Most were smiling as they walked the streets, black-skinned women in colorful sarongs, little children in ragged clothes playing kickball and laughing, dogs barking as they ran along beside the van.

Dietz kept driving until they were on the opposite side of town. A little ways farther along the road, a private airstrip loomed off to the left. Dietz pulled the van through the gate of a chain-link fence and drove up beside a small single engine plane.

Amy eyed the plane with trepidation.

"Another first, I gather," Johnnie said.

"Well, yes. I've never flown in a plane this size." Amy steeled herself. "But I'm sure it will be an interesting experience."

Johnnie smiled knowingly as he stowed her bag and his own, and Dietz stowed the bag he had carried out of the van.

Amy leaned toward Johnnie, speaking softly. "I know this can't be cheap. As I said, I've got a little money in the bank, not much, but my mom has some money from Dad's life insurance policy. I know she'd loan me some. I can call her when we get back."

Dietz must have heard her. "The plane is at your disposal. Agent Wheeler says he owes you."

"We'll worry about all of that later," Johnnie said, and urged her toward the tiny red-and-white plane.

Johnny led Amy to a spot in the shade under the wing of the aircraft. Her pretty face was flushed, her white shirt and navy shorts soaked clear through with perspiration. The blond hair she had pulled into a ponytail hung limply down her back. She was hot and sweaty and miserable, but he had to give her credit. So far she hadn't complained.

"This is Marcos Westby." Dietz appeared beside them with the pilot of the little Cessna 180, a man with skin even darker than Dietz's. "He will get us safely where we need to go."

"Do not worry," Westby said to Amy, his accent a mix of British and Creole. "It is a very short flight and the plane is well maintained."

Johnnie wasn't sure she believed it, but she gamely climbed into one of the four worn leather seats. Dietz climbed in beside her, the pilot slid in behind the controls, and Johnnie sat in the copilot's seat.

In minutes they were taxiing down the runway, the wheels lifting off the ground. Amy's hand went to her middle as if she tried to calm the b.u.t.terflies in her stomach.

"You okay?" Johnnie asked, speaking loud enough for her to hear.

She looked down at the ground falling away as the plane went higher, the short strip of tarmac shrinking to the size of a narrow black ribbon. "I'm fine, I'm just...it takes a little getting used to."

He'd been in the air so many times he didn't give it much thought, but it didn't seem to take long for Amy to forget her fears and become fascinated with the flight.

"It's beautiful," she said. "You can't appreciate the view from thirty thousand feet the way you can from here."

Johnnie settled back in his seat while Amy stared out the window at the vast stretches of green below, tropical forest interspersed with rivers, and the wide expanse of turquoise ocean off to the east side of the plane. Hundreds of tiny islands and cayes sprang up in the water along the coastline of Belize, some inhabited, most of them not.

The trip to Placencia wasn't long and soon the plane began its descent.

Dietz leaned toward him, speaking over the roar of the engine. "We will do a flyover, give you a look at the Las Palmas compound."

Johnnie nodded. The plane swooped a little lower and he could make out a huge, yellow, two-story villa shaped in a U that fronted the sea. A road snaked toward it through a patch of jungle, turned into a gated approach. The place was entirely fenced but only a couple of gardeners and the guard in the gatehouse could be seen.

"When Ortega is not in residence, the security is somewhat relaxed."

Johnnie gave another nod and the pilot swung away, buzzing a short way to the north, then descending again toward a small, local airport. Dietz had a rental car waiting, a nondescript brown four-door Ford. They tossed their stuff into the trunk and the car made the short drive to a place called The Orchid Inn. The building was pink stucco with white trim, two stories, with a walkway beneath the roof around the second floor providing access to the upstairs rooms.

"It is not fancy," Dietz said, "but here you will be unremarked among the tourists, though they are much fewer this time of year. And the property is surrounded by the sea, and open land on either side. I reserved only one room. Will you need another?"

Johnnie flashed a look at Amy. "No," was all he said.

He opened the car door, letting in a fresh round of heat. Though the sea was an inviting blue-green and the sand a sugary white, the sunlight was blinding and the temperature as sizzling as it had been since they stepped off the jet in Belize City.

It wasn't high season in paradise.

Dietz handed Johnnie a room key. "Number twenty-two. That is upstairs. I have the other items you requested, as well."

"Fine, let's take the gear inside." Johnnie took Amy's carry-on and his own and started up the stairs, while Dietz carried the black vinyl bag he had brought aboard the plane. The room looked like a shabby version of a Motel 6, stripped of even the smallest luxury, just a queen-size bed, a dresser and two nightstands. Two wooden chairs sat across from each other at a small round table.

But Amy wasn't looking at the room, she was standing in front of the big plate gla.s.s window, staring at the spectacular view of the sea. As far as he was concerned, the best view was the curve of her pretty little backside. And the best news was, the air conditioner was humming away, the ceiling fan rotating over the bed, making the room feel almost chill.

Dietz slung his black vinyl bag onto the table and unzipped it, then stepped back out of the way to let Johnnie inspect the contents.

Standing next to him, Amy's eyes widened as he pulled out a shiny black handgun. "Sig Sauer P250, 9 mil." He popped the clip, saw it was fully loaded, and shoved it back in place with the flat of his hand. Lifting the weapon, he aimed it toward the door, then slowly brought it back down. "Nice choice."

"There is an extra clip and ammunition in the bag."

There was also a shoulder holster. Johnnie pulled it out and set it on the table. He'd asked for a backup weapon. There was a lightweight revolver, Ruger LCR .38 Special in the bag, housed in an ankle holster.

"This'll do just fine," he said, stowing the weapon back in the bag. There was a SoG knife, four-inch blade, which he drew out of its sheath, slid back in and shoved into the top of his high, lace-up boot.

When he glanced over at Amy, he saw that her face was pale.

"Odds are I won't be needing any of this," he said just to put some color back in her cheeks. "But you never know."

"Better to be armed," Dietz said. "This country can eat you alive if you are not careful."

Johnnie turned his attention to the map Dietz rolled out on the table.

"Ortega's villa, Las Palmas, is well-known here," Dietz said. "You have seen an aerial view of the house and grounds. There is an envelope in the bag with a map of the area, aerial photos and directions to the house, which is back down the peninsula road on the mainland."

Dietz took out the envelope and handed it to Johnnie, satisfied he had given him the information he needed.

"I'll take you back to the airport," Johnnie said to Dietz. "Around dusk I'll take a drive by the property." He wanted to see the compound from the road, take a look at possible approaches. He'd like nothing better than to get inside, but unless he had reason to believe Rachael might still be in there, it wasn't worth the risk. "Anything else I should know?"

Dietz shook his head. "I wish I had more. But as I said, time has been short."

"We haven't come up with much on our end, either. This is the first real lead we've had."

"Is there anything more I can get you?" Dietz asked.

"I'll let you know if there is."

"The phone service here is not good."

Johnnie tipped his head toward his carry-on. "Satellite phone. Not a problem."

"When you are ready to return to Belize City, give me a call. And be careful, my friend. Ortega...he is a businessman first, but also extremely ruthless, a man with no conscience."

"Which is why he's been so successful."

"This is true." Dietz handed Johnnie the keys to the rental car. "I will take that ride you promised."

Johnnie turned to Amy. "It's only a mile or so back to the airport. I won't be gone long."

Amy just nodded as he and Dietz headed out the door.

"Don't let anyone in," Johnnie said to her. And from the fear in her pretty blue eyes he figured this time she would do what he said.

Amy's heart was pounding. Somehow the danger Johnnie had warned her about had seemed a distant possibility. Never had she imagined it could mean weapons and death. She thought of Rachael, thought of men who carried guns and knives, and shivered.

She forced a breath of frosty air into her lungs. After the scorching heat outside, the room felt icy cold. She was glad for the bracing chill that chased away a little of her fear. Few people knew they were in Belize, she reminded herself. Ortega was thousands of miles away and he had no idea they had discovered information that would link him to Rachael's disappearance.

She flicked a glance toward the tiny bathroom. She needed to shower and change into fresh clothes-not that it would do much good once she walked back out the door later.

Johnnie planned to drive by Ortega's estate and she meant to go with him. She wanted to know as much about the place as she could. Rachael might be in there. There was no way to know if she was still alive, but Amy had been given a fresh surge of hope and she refused to consider the alternative. And whether Johnnie believed it or not, she could be useful. She was smart and she was determined. And she was a teacher, so she learned very fast.

Amy opened her carry-on and pulled out a pair of khaki shorts, a pink tank top and a pair of sandals to exchange for her sneakers.

With a fortifying breath, Amy headed for the bathroom and a much needed shower.

Twenty-One.

It started raining, pouring out of the sky in buckets. Johnnie stepped through the door and saw Amy sitting on the bed, combing her damp blond hair. Amy had showered and changed. Just looking at her made him want her.

"It's the rainy season now," he said, ignoring the hard-on he was getting, walking instead to the window. "June to November. It's the same in the rest of Central America."

"You were there, you said, with the Rangers?"

"I was there...but I wasn't, if you know what I mean."

"It means you can't talk about it, right?"

"Right." And he didn't really want to. He did his best not to think about some of the things he had seen, some of the things he'd had to do. Heading for his carry-on, he took out a small notebook computer, set it up on the table.

"Do they have wireless service here?" Amy asked, the brush stroking down through her long, sleek hair. He wanted to go over there and run his fingers through the silky strands, set his mouth on the side of her neck. He wanted to do a lot more than that but now wasn't the time.

"I'm on satellite," he said, sitting down at the table. "I tether the computer to the sat phone. I drove the length of the peninsula on my way back, took a quick look around. I want to find out a little more about the area."