A popular South American president wants his women and children educated to protect themselves. He also wants to find something new in his country that can be exported around the world. And he wants to stop the drug trade. He turns to the U.S. and Canada for help.
Three women are assigned to help him restructure his country: martial arts instructor Michael Gauchet, environmental expert Alicia Clayton, and drug control specialist Cameron Andrews. They are tasked with advising him on how to implement his plans.
But others in the country are determined to stop him. When disaster strikes, Cam finds herself with the challenge of her life. It is up to CIA Control Dr. Maggie Thomason and Agent Paul Tarelli to find her and bring her home ... preferably alive.
Her head was still foggy from the drugged sleep as Cam slowly became aware of her surroundings. She rolled onto her side and blinked her eyes as the dirt and trash of the darkening alley began to come into focus. She started to push herself to a sitting position, but a sharp pain stabbed through her left arm. Sitting back against the brick wall, she reached to rub at the painful spot. As her right hand sensed warm, sticky wetness, her mind fought for more clarity. She knew the feeling in her arm, she'd felt the pain many times before. She looked at the red fluid on her hand. Blood. She'd been shot.
What had happened? Where was she?
She struggled to her feet, using the wall for balance. Her mind didn't seem to be working fully yet and she struggled to remember where she was, and why. She slowly became aware of commotion in the street at the end of the alley. People were running, shouting. She knew, instinctively, that something terrible had happened, but she couldn't focus on a reason. Her mind was still very cloudy.
As bright lights searched the alley, she lifted her hand to shield her eyes. There were heavy running steps and yelling. Suddenly hands grabbed her roughly and threw her, face first, against the concrete wall.
"Do not move, señora." A deep baritone voice ordered. "We would love to shoot you right here." She heard rifle pins being set and felt first the stab of one gun barrel in her ribs, then the cold hard steel of another at the back of her head. She was rudely frisked.
There was more yelling and running as her hands were roughly shackled behind her back. No care was taken for the wound on her arm but Cam didn't even feel the pain.
Cameron fought for full consciousness. What the hell was going on?
She was abruptly spun around and found herself looking up into the face of one of the guards she'd seen at the president's office.
"Yes, this is her," he growled. "Take her to the colonel."
"What is ...?" She started to inquire, but before the words were out of her mouth, the guard struck her sharply across the face. She could taste the metallic, warm blood as it oozed from her split lip.
"Ah, Señora Andrews, we meet again," Colonel Vallez said as he walked up to her. "I hope you had a pleasant day." Then he turned to his troops. "Take her away," he said.
She was dragged to the end of the alley. A mob of people had started to form. Angry, almost hysterical shouts greeted them. Several of the people tried to strike at her as the guards pushed her through the crowd. She was thrown into the back of a police van and the door was slammed shut behind her.
As Cameron felt the vehicle start to move, she struggled to a sitting position and leaned against the side wall to balance herself as the van bumped through the streets and around corners, the sirens blaring.
