Prologue

Rhys Wielde was an extremely attractive man in his early thirties: physically and financially. From all accounts he was a confirmed bachelor with a healthy appetite for beautiful athletic women who possessed an additional store of stamina. He didn't have a reputation for longevity in his relationships though he was monogamous in them. She had to give the consortium credit for providing her with an easy target with the added bonus of being deliciously enjoyable. He was a ridiculously na‹ve, bleeding heart, sanctimonious American, but then there was no one left in the world who expected anything of substance and significance from that quarter of the world anyway. It really didn't matter so long as he kept the contents of his empty head inside his shut mouth while she used his body to sate her lust and allowed her to shield crimes behind his philanthropic projects. She smiled slyly at the irony of her intent. She would to rape him of every ounce of his empty words and disillusioned plans for restoring educational opportunity and humanity dignity in Mexico during his little outreach effort in this wretchedly backward country.

She watched him give his impassioned presentation to the United Nations High Commission on Refugees, or UNHCR, of which she was a part and used to disguise her more lucrative criminal purposes. The UNHCR had agreed to partner with this man of international renown in his efforts to create an educational compound on which Mexican and Guatemalan refugee children were fed, clothed, housed, and educated in preparing them as future leaders in their country's economic and political stability. She exchanged looks with several dual-role colleagues whom were part of the narcotic consortium as they sharing their mutual contempt of the man and his high ideals. She returned her attention to the tall, dark, and powerful Genoreach Technologies, inc. CEO as his presentation transitioned to a video simulation of the completed compound, proposed curriculum and resultant human product. He was six feet tall with rich thick nearly impossible black hair which he wore to his shoulders. His well-cut expensive navy blue serge suit and crisp white collar shirt did little to conceal the muscularly athletic strength and confidence of the man. His mouth was sensual and the hard planes of his face were enhanced with naturally suntanned skin. It was his eyes that were the most alive and the most probing. They were an entity apart from the whole; a fiery ice blue impassioned one moment and a sensually compelling siren the next. His eyes simultaneously touched all the room occupants: collectively and personally. His charismatic delivery had already persuaded the gullible legitimate members of the United Nations council before he'd even reached the midway point of his presentation.

She sat as if in rapt attention to his dynamic presentation while the consortium's plan reeled quickly through her mind. She voraciously calculated the multi-million U.S. dollar profits and the resultant political expansion from their success. She started from the concluding applause and uncrossed her long attractive legs to stand with the audience in their adoring ovation. As Rhys Wielde began moving toward her on his way to the exit door at her back she reached into her valise and slipped on flesh-toned fingerguards before extracting the small gauze pad, careful not to allow the contents to touch her skin. Rhys turned briefly toward her with a ready smile and a smoldering look of attraction as he assessed her Eurasian beauty with a glance of desire. Just as he moved past her, the woman reached out and brushed his exposed hand in the crush of his admirers so that the high and mighty American, Rhys Wielde, only made it to the door before the chemical commenced an assault.

Chapter 1.

Alexandria, Virginia

Skye Mathews glared ominously at her boss, DEA Chief of Special Operations Gabe Kinski, while quickly losing patience with his inability to understand that she was exhausted and required not a little down time. She had just returned from a grueling mission in Bolivia where she'd collected a few nasty additions to her extensive designs of body scars. Her American assignee had, somehow, guessed her identity after his virulent attack of passionate lust for her and reverted to his chivalrous cultural roots. After having suffered a beating from a thug in an effort to remain in character due to the American's blundering, she had promptly drugged him up with her store of pharmaceuticals, concealed his unconscious carcass for 36 hours in her hidden aircraft and wrapped up the mission in that exact order. Her reward for bringing in the successful mission apparently was not time off for healing and mental recuperation but being tossed into a pond teeming with starving flesh-eating piranhas. The only positive point in Gabe's explanation was that she didn't have to directly deal with an American man this go-round; just the Canadian government and some corporations trying to hitch a ride on a United Nation's vehicle in fulfilling their do-gooder requirement for political or tax purposes. She had long since dispensed with the need or desire for male intimacy in her life. She found it to be too messy, emotionally unfulfilling, and the enormous investment far exceeded the scant rewards.

Skye exhaled heartily and rubbed her red eyes with a hand devoid of two fingernails; compliments of a Bolivian thug's concept of torture. Her hair was black and large soft curls fell to just below her shoulder. Her features were mostly Spanish from her mother and her full lips were the only genetic concession from her African-American father. At 29 years and 5'7'' she was slim and athletic and, in fact, wearing her Syracuse University sweatshirt, favorite shorts, white socks and athletic shoes as she was just leaving her hotel suite for a run at the moment that Gabe had ominously shown up at her door.

"Gabe, you didn't have to come here for the debrief. I'd planned to visit you at the DEA headquarters this afternoon."

"There's no need for our best agent to suffer the inconvenience of the office. I know this mission has taken a toll on you. It's the least I can do to provide a more comfortable setting for your post mission requirements."

Skye had given him a squinty-eyed look and knew this didn't bode well. A sledge hammer was even now descending from the sky with a trajectory aimed for her head so that she turned her face upward so as not to be caught unawares. "I'd prefer a direct frontal execution and not this cowardly shot in the back approach," she'd reprimanded before giving him an icy look.

Gabe was nonplussed. His prot‚g‚ of five years had a prickly personality but consistently brought in a successful mission. He was the standard 45 year old Irish Catholic specimen born and raised in Boston, with the requisite accent, and mostly a full head of brown hair atop a muscular stocky height of 5'8. "We need you on a mission Skye; sorry we can't give you any downtime."

Skye detected no sign of remorse or apology in his statement. In her present mood she was inclined to think she was just another piece of furniture or tool in the administration's arsenal with no feelings or considerations with which the leadership need concern themselves. Before that thought could solidify the remembrance of Gabe's friendship, care, and unfaltering support through the past years flooded her heart with warmth. He'd been by her side upon her return from Latin America yesterday and during the DEA medical staff's borderline approval of her mission-ready status.

"I'm tired Gabe; bone weary. Just give me a day or two to get my balance."

"I'm sorry, winner. You know I'd give you that and more if I could. Canada is already moving funds and its interception by those UN pretenders could mean a significant increase of narco-trafficking into the US over the Mexican border. I can only give you 12 hours of recoup time at best. Your private flight is scheduled for ten tonight. I'll leave this mission dossier for your read through before I take you to the airport at nine for the pre-departure brief and to answer any questions you have."

While Gabe had been talking, Skye walked sluggishly to the hotel refrigerator and retrieved a bottle of orange juice from which she emptied in a long swallow. Tossing the bottle into the trash basket she settled back into the seat across from her boss just as he finished. She said not a word just sighed heavily and shook her head in the affirmative. Gabe stood and walked over to her before placing his hand upon her black silken head.

"Thanks kid. I promise you'll get a month at your Colorado cabin or that extravagant new mansion you just bought in Mississippi when this is done. There are pretty high international political stakes here, otherwise, we would have used someone else."

Skye nodded and Gabe made his way to the door. Before letting himself out he turned to face her as she untied and loosened her running shoes and flung them in the air with a strong twist of her ankle. Hauling herself from the chair to the couch, she flopped down in a spread eagle position and closed her eyes.

"I'll see you at 9," he reminded before departing. He was secure in her professionalism and sense of duty which would bring her another success. This in spite of her frustration with the administration scheduling and the throbbing aches and pain from her physical and emotional injuries sustained in the line of DEA duty.

Chapter 2.

Tampico, Mexico

Rhys awakened in his bed amidst the Mexican cultural splendor of his hotel suite overlooking the pristine white sands of the Beach Miramar. He was groggy and naked with a dry sour taste in his mouth. He tried to recall arriving in his room last night until pain stabbed through his brain from turning his head too sharply. He closed his eyes briefly to obtain relief before focusing on the bedside table clock. The red glowing numbers read 11:27 and a quick glance at the curtained window proved that it was indeed near noon. His last recollection was of concluding his dinner presentation to his audience of UN and Mexican officials in the hotel ballroom last night around nine. He vaguely remembered making his way from that stately hall to the lavish gold gilded crowded elevators and watching the doors close before a sensation of rising and then nothing else. He groaned audibly and hardly recognized his voice. He ran fingers habitually through his thick black hair and blinked a few times before noticing female apparel tossed messily about the room along with his own clothing.

"Oh no," he groaned, commented, pondered, and dreaded. "No God. Please no." He begged and pleaded.

"Rhys, I hope you're not praying for more stamina. I pride myself on my ability to go the distance with any man but after twelve continuous hours of your.creativity I'm going to have to plead exhaustion."

At seeing the gorgeous Eurasian woman emerge from the bathroom swathed in an oversized coral bath towel Rhys reflexively drew the coral and green designed comforter completely over his nakedness until only his head was visible.

"Your modesty is wasted with me, lover. I know your body better than your mother and your proctologist." She smiled sensually at him

"Who are you?" Rhys demanded even as his stomach roiled in disgust and his mind roamed his memory trying to retrieve why she looked so familiar. At 33 he was by no means a virgin but he didn't do casual.

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