Abducted:Reconnaissance Team (Texas Rangers: Special Ops) by Tarah Scott, Evan Trevane Page B

about his behavior. After twenty-five years in the fashion industry, she knew models—their attitudes, their sense of self-importance. When Adam modeled for the job, he’d done nothing untoward to set off alarms. But tonight he’d acted more like a date than an employee. Then he’d disappeared with Larissa.
    The Mercedes stopped in front of the hacienda. Liz’s heart jumped into her throat.
    The American shoved open the door, then grasped her arm, pulled her from the car. “You go ahead and scream now, if you like. No one will notice. But you’ll piss off Carlos and you won’t like the consequences.” 
    “What?” she snapped. “He’ll kill me twice?” 
    “A lot can happen before death.” He dragged her toward the house.
    Liz kicked his shin. He cursed and she twisted free. As he raised his hand, she slammed her knee toward his groin, but the back of his hand smacked her cheek. She spun and hit sand. Numbing pain spread across her face. The American yanked her to her feet.
    Hysterical laughter bubbled up. If Adam Billings was an undercover cop, she hoped like hell his real name was Rambo.

Chapter Eight
    The man who’d spoken with Sanchez earlier entered the dining room and Ben sipped his wine as he crossed to Sanchez and whispered in his ear. Sanchez’s gaze shifted onto Ben, and cold dread seeped through him. Sanchez nodded and the man left, pulling the doors closed behind him
    “Perhaps you can explain something,” Sanchez said.
    “If I can,” Ben replied.
    Sanchez rose. “Come with me.” 
    Ben stared. The bodyguard standing nearest the door took a step forward.
    “Have I offended you?” Ben asked
    “Not yet.” 
    Ben glanced at the goon, then followed Sanchez down a short hall. The goon trailed him. Sanchez stopped in front of the third closed door on the left. He opened the door and Ben caught sight of a queen-sized bed covered with a Southwestern style quilt in reds and greens. His heart hammered when the traffics dealer motioned him inside. 
    “What am I getting myself into here?” Ben kept his tone casual.
    “A simple explanation.” 
    A strong shove propelled him into the room. Liz Monahan stood to the far right of the bed, a man gripping each arm. Her expression mirrored his: What the hell are you doing here?
    Her hair was disheveled and Ben detected a slight swelling on the upper left hand corner of her mouth. One of the goons had slapped her. Rage tightened his insides. She didn’t look or act like a woman who’d been raped. That thought kept him from pummeling the two goons on the spot. But he would arrest them before this operation was finished.
    Ben riveted his gaze onto Sanchez. “What’s she doing here?” 
    “She was caught eavesdropping on my men.” 
    Eavesdropping? He hadn’t heard right.
    “What are you talking about?” 
    “We caught her on the balcony,” the man to her left said.
    Ben shifted his gaze onto the muscular Mexican and demanded, “What balcony?”
    “What difference does it make?” the man said.
    Ben turned toward Sanchez. “Tell your man to answer my question.”  
    Sanchez nodded and the other man, an American, said, “We went into one of the upstairs rooms to talk business and caught her out there listening.” 
    Ben looked at Sanchez. “Don’t your men know to check a room before talking business?” Before Sanchez could reply, Ben added, “This woman isn’t some kid who won’t be missed for a couple of weeks. She runs a top design company. Her colleagues will be expecting her back at her hotel tonight. Your men stepped in it this time, Sanchez.” 
    “You are so sure?” Sanchez asked.
    “If you’re foolish enough to think that the disappearance of any woman won’t put the cops on alert, then you’re not the businessman I thought you were. Those two dead girls got national media attention. Reporters are aching for more action from the Border Patrol. You can bet calls for the Rangers won’t be far behind. You’ll have to