Enticed By The Operative. Lara Lacombe

the point?

      “What I am suggesting is merely that you act as a courier for my employer.”

      “A courier?” Olivia felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise, and she suppressed a shudder. The man in front of her looked polished, but his continued use of euphemisms was suspicious.

      “My employer has a business arrangement with partners in Colombia, but what they lack is a reliable transporter. If you accept this offer, you will simply carry funds and once there, exchange them for product. Upon your return, you will deliver the product to me.”

      Olivia leaned back, wanting to get as far away from this man as possible. He hadn’t said anything overtly incriminating, but she wasn’t stupid. Product was just a nice word for drugs. “No,” she said flatly, faking a confidence she didn’t feel. She couldn’t afford to show weakness—it was clear the man in her office had unsavory connections, and she didn’t want to be seen as a target. “I’m not interested.”

      “I think you will find our offer is very generous,” Mr. Martinez replied, ignoring her words. “I know you have extensive debt, both from your medical training and your parents’ hospital bills. We can make that go away.”

      Olivia felt a spike of pain at the mention of her parents. Two years ago, they had been driving home in the middle of a storm when her father had lost control of the car and slid off the road into a tree. Both her parents had been seriously hurt and had lingered in intensive care for weeks before finally succumbing to their injuries. Losing them had almost broken Olivia, but over time, her blinding grief had morphed into a determination to live a life that would make them proud. Her pro bono work in Colombia was one way she found comfort, going back to her father’s home country to help those who needed it most.

      The fact that this man was asking her to corrupt the work of her heart triggered a black wave of anger in her chest. How dare he try to use the loss of her parents against her? Did he really think she was so desperate for money that she would resort to carrying drugs to pay her debts? She wanted to lash out, to scream at him to leave and then call the police to report him.

      But she didn’t. Despite her swirling emotions and racing thoughts, she was very aware of the man in front of her. His gaze was locked on her, and though he appeared calm, there was a predatory gleam in his dark eyes. He looked like a snake, waiting and watching for the right time to strike. A trickle of fear skittered down her back, and she realized that she needed to tread very carefully. Something about his demeanor told her that this was not a man who accepted the word no.

      “I appreciate your offer,” she said slowly, almost choking on the lie. Just get him out of here! her mind screamed. “But I don’t think I’m the right person for this job. My medical supplies are inspected both going to and coming from Colombia. I don’t see how I’d be able to bring your product back into the country without attracting the wrong kind of attention.” It was the truth, and hopefully he’d accept it.

      Her heart sank when he waved away her excuse. “We have provisions in place to make sure that doesn’t happen. I assure you, this job is entirely safe. We chose you because you are the last person anyone would suspect. You have a history of travel to the region, and your reputation as a selfless healer puts you above reproach. We will ensure you receive appropriate compensation for your efforts.” Then he named a figure that sucked the breath out of her lungs. “We’ll pay you half up front, and half upon delivery of the product.”

      She looked away and ran her hands down her thighs, stopping to grip her knees tightly. Did her fear show on her face? Could he tell how scared she was? She tried to keep her expression neutral, hoping she wasn’t giving anything away.

      Her mind raced, scrambling for a response. Carlos was an unknown quantity, and she didn’t want to make him angry. But really, said a small, subversive voice in her head. What can he do to me? She’d already lost her parents, she had no siblings and her two best friends lived in different states. He could always hurt her, but somehow she doubted he would try that tactic. If he wanted her cooperation, she had to be healthy enough to travel. And it would take more than a few bruises to convince her to work for this man.

      A strange calm settled over Olivia as she realized that she held all the power here, not the man in front of her. Yes, he worked for drug traffickers, and she watched enough news to know those were dangerous people. But he had come to her, which meant he needed her. And he had no leverage to force her to accept his offer.

      She met his gaze. “No.”

      He smiled, as if he’d expected this reaction. “Dr. Sandoval, I think you should reconsider.”

      “No,” she repeated. “I will not be a part of your business.”

      Carlos leaned back, his brows lifted in surprise. “That sounds very final.”

      “It is.”

      He shook his head. “In my experience, such answers never are.”

      Olivia opened her mouth to reply, but he waved it off and stood. She rose as well, unwilling to let him tower over her. “It was a pleasure meeting you today. I will give you a little time to think about your answer.” He reached into his suit jacket, and Olivia froze, adrenaline making her heart kick hard against her breastbone. Oh, God, was he going to shoot her?

      Carlos caught her expression and smirked. He withdrew his hand slowly and set a card on her desk. “My number,” he said. “I expect to hear from you soon.”

      “You won’t.” The words sounded strangled, and she cleared her throat. “As I said, my answer is final.”

      He smiled, but his eyes remained cold. “As you say.” He walked to the door and stopped, turning back. “I admire your spirit. It will serve you well.”

      She held her breath until the door closed behind him, then she rocked forward until her palms landed flat against the solid weight of her desk. It’s okay, she told herself, repeating the words over and over again until she no longer felt like her heart was trying to beat out of her chest. He’s gone.

      But for how long?

      * * *

      The rest of her day passed in a blur. Olivia tried to focus on her job, but the memory of Carlos Martinez was front and center in her mind, an unwelcome and disturbing distraction. Fortunately, she had no scheduled surgeries so her impaired attention was no danger to her patients.

      She had to report him to the authorities. It was her only option. The thought of him targeting someone else, someone who might not be able to refuse his offer, weighed on her. Could she really live with herself, knowing he was free to continue hurting people?

      But who should she call? Would the police help her? Or did she need to try the FBI? And how could she convince them she was telling the truth? After all, she hadn’t recorded their conversation. It was her word against his.

      “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered to herself as she navigated the evening traffic. “I have to tell someone. What they do with the information is on them.” At least she’d be able to sleep at night, knowing she’d done all she could.

      She’d tucked his business card and his medical file in her bag before leaving the office. When she got home, she pulled them both out and started up her computer, determined to find the number to the local police. She’d start there, and if the police didn’t take her seriously, she’d move on to the FBI or some other organization.

      The doorbell rang just as she pulled up the web page for the Alexandria, Virginia, police department. Good—her dinner was here. She’d ordered takeout before leaving the office so she wouldn’t have to cobble together a sad meal of crackers and stale cheese. Grabbing her wallet, she headed for the door and glanced through the peephole. A young man stood on her stoop, holding a bag that contained her food.

      Olivia opened her door with a smile and extended a hand to take the bag, holding out a few bills in payment. “Thanks,” she said, the word dying in her throat as a shadowy figure moved up the walk and into the glow cast by her porch light. She