by Amy Jarecki
Not more than fifteen minutes later, a car raced down the drive and came to a screeching halt in front of the house.
Mia dashed to the window. Down below, Lucas hopped out of the driver’s side, ran around and opened the passenger door. He pulled The Godfather into his arms and headed up the steps.
Gracious, El Padrino is hurt.
“Mia!” Lucas bellowed from the foyer.
She ran to the stairs just as the pilot began to ascend. “What happened?”
Luke’s face smeared with dirt and unshaven, he shifted his pale eyes her way. “Ran into Zambada in Buenos Aires. Gunfight.”
El Padrino’s features contorted with pain. “Morphine,” he growled through his teeth.
“Take him to his room, east wing, third door on the right. I’ll bring the first aid kit.”
By the time she grabbed the kit and made it up to The Godfather’s room, Lucas had El Padrino resting on the bed with pillows under his head. “Where was he shot?” she asked.
“In the shin. Do you have scissors? I’ll cut his pants leg.”
“Here.” After handing Lucas the scissors, she fished for the morphine pen. “Are you in pain, El Padrino?”
The man had never looked so ashen and drawn. “Unbearable.”
“This will help.” Mia gave him the jab and gently rubbed the medicine in. She’d seen Vincent Morales wounded before, and caring for him brought forth a tempest of emotions—even more so with Lucas in the room.
He spread open the pants leg and hissed. “His tibia is broken.”
“Splint it,” Padrino growled.
Mia’s stomach squelched. The bone was broken, all right, and poking through a mass of gory flesh. She drew her hand over her mouth. “My God.”
“Juan turned backstabber,” said the pilot. “He’s dead—so are most of the others. Paco took Marco to the hospital. Lord knows if he’ll live.”
Mia’s gaze shifted to Lucas’ arm. “And you’re hurt, too.”
“Broken glass.” He shrugged. “I’ll be fine. Morales needs your help more.”
She gave the leg a closer inspection. “This needs a doctor. I can clean the wound and give him some antibiotics, but I can’t set a bone.”
“Is there someone you can call?”
She nodded. “Dr. Labastida is the only one Padrino trusts. He lives in Culiacán. If we call him now, he won’t be here until tomorrow.”
“Where’s the nearest hospital?” Lucas asked.
“No hospital,” Padrino garbled from his stupor.
“But—”
“No hospital!”
Mia scooted away from the bed, clutching her fists against her stomach. “I’ll call Dr. Labastida.”
***
After Mia left to ring the doctor, Morales beckoned Luke to the bedside. His eyelids were heavy with the effects of the narcotic, but the man’s hateful and determined stare had not faded one iota. “No one must know I am injured. I hereby declare war on the Zambada Cartel.” He flicked his fingers. “Hand me the phone.”
Luke lifted the wireless from the bedside table and gave it to Morales. “What can I do?”
“Wait.” The man pressed the speed dial and held the receiver to his ear. “Zambada dies. Ruin him.” He handed the phone back to Luke. “I have factions all over Mexico who will carry out my orders with one single call.”
“But won’t Zambada retaliate?”
“He will—which is why I’ve allowed him to stay in business.”
“How easy will it be for your men to kill him?”
“My guess is he’s already gone underground.”
“Not easy, huh?”
“You are to take over the protection of Hacienda Paraiso until I have recovered.” Morales closed his eyes and exhaled. “I must sleep. Tell the men you are in charge.”
“But—?”
The man opened his eyes. “Hmm?”
“How do you communicate with the outside world without computers?”
“You don’t need them. Mia will show you what you need to know.”
“Si, señor.” Luke rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. Nothing like being thrown into the fire. He’d hoped his attraction to the brunette had fizzled but, as soon as he’d seen her on the staircase, her allure hit him between the eyes like a sucker punch. She wore a thin silk robe tied around her slender waist. The V of the collar revealed a pink lace nightie beneath. More than once, Luke had strained for a glimpse of a lace-wrapped breast.
Behind him, the door opened and her ladyship stepped inside, the silk robe wrapped tighter around her well-proportioned frame. “The doctor is on his way. Said he will drive all night.”
“Seriously?” Luke asked “What, is he on the payroll?”
“Yes.”
“Figures.”
She moved to the bedside and examined the patient. “You must sleep.”
Morales nodded weakly. “I’ve declared war on Zambada. Help Lucas with matters here until I recover. You two are the only ones here I can trust.”
Mia shifted her gaze to Luke, her eyebrows arching. “Very well.”
“He saved my life.”
This time, her glance was both questioning and filled with admiration, though it didn’t linger long. She patted The Godfather’s hand. “The medicine will help you sleep.”
“You take good care of me, my pet.”
Once Morales drifted into slumber, Luke followed Mia and her kit to the west wing. “If you are acting for El Padrino, you must stay in the house,” she said over her shoulder.
“Is that necessary?”
“I think so.” She opened the door to a large bedroom and led him inside. “This is one of the guest rooms. There’s a balcony overlooking the pool and a bathroom with a spa.”
“Luxury accommodations, hey?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind being a prisoner in paradise.”
“I should be able to live with that—for now.” He turned full circle and whistled. With a four-poster bed, it was almost as nice as Morales’ room, though smaller by half. “Why not give me a room over in the east wing?”
“Only El Padrino stays there. You’re probably one of two or three others who have seen his bedroom.”
“Should I be honored.”
“No.” She tugged him by the hand, her touch making goosebumps spread up his arm. “Come. I want to look at your wound.”
Luke had almost forgotten about the cut he’d received from the shattering glass. The bathroom was about the size of his flat, decorated with white marble. Even the spa bath was marble. He leaned his bum against the counter and watched Mia unbutton the cuff of his sleeve, but she couldn’t roll it high enough to expose all the damages. “I’ll take it off,” he offered.
In a flash, he had it unbuttoned. He tossed it beside the sink and grinned at the heat in her gaze. Her tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth as her stare lingered on his chest before she cleared her throat and reached for his arm.
Her touch was cool and soft as feathers. “We need to wash it—make sure all the glass is out.”
He gave her a wink that made her blush like scarlet roses. “You’re the boss, love.”
She turned on the tap and pulled his arm under the stream. With his face an inch away from hers, Luke barely noticed the sting. He leaned forward and inhaled the fresh, clean scent of her hair and closed his eyes.
“It doesn’t look as bad when all the grime is cleared away.”
He didn’t shift his gaze from her profile. “Like I said, it’s just a scratch.”
“I think it needs a couple stitches.”
“A butterfly bandage or two will do.”
She nodded. “And you should soak in Epsom salts.”
“Will you join me?” Luke’s Adam’s apple bobbed with his gulp. He shouldn’t have let that one slip.
She stared him straight in the eye, her lips opening with a quick little gasp. Mia wanted to get naked with him all right—lips parted, eyes dilated. Then she shi
fted her gaze eastward. “Don’t even joke about it. Especially not in this house.”
“Well then, I think I like living in the flat better.” He arched his eyebrows, giving her a challenging grin and running his finger up the outside of her arm. “At least you didn’t mind kissing me there.”
“I thought you told me to forget I ever met you.” She glanced at his finger. “And now you’re making it very difficult to do so.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
She opened a butterfly bandage and peeled off the paper over the adhesive. “Mm hmm.”
“But that was before Morales was shot.”
Saying nothing, she pinched the wound together and applied the bandage. It hurt, though Luke didn’t flinch.
“He won’t know.” Bloody hell, I shouldn’t have let that slip.
“You don’t understand what will happen if he finds out.”
“Why is that any different than when you visited my flat?”
She pinched him harder when she applied the next bandage. “Because I was in control there. And I knew I hadn’t been seen.”
Luke eyed the ceiling. “Are there security cameras in here?”
“No.”
“You’re making about as much sense as a hen sitting on an empty nest.”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you before.”
“Now that I can buy.”
“In this house, I feel like the walls are watching me.” She shuddered, curving her shoulders forward and twirling a lock of hair around her finger. The gesture was one of instant withdrawal.
Luke could only guess the horrors she’d endured, but her fear was palpable. “What has he done to you?”
“Bad things—things I never want to talk about.”
“Or will he not let you talk about them?” Luke drew her into his arms and ran his hand over her hair, pressing his lips to her temple. If only there were some way for him to sneak Mia out of there before he took the Morales Cartel down. But he could hardly hope to protect her until then. And he couldn’t reveal his hand, no matter how much he trusted her. How many times did he need to tell himself she was off limits?
“Both,” she said, looking up and giving him a peck on the lips.
“Do you have a family?”
She shook her head.
“Anyone? I could try to contact them for you—”
“No! Don’t you understand? I have no one.” She pulled a packet of Epsom salts out of the kit, tossed it on the counter and headed for the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’m sorry,” Luke said while he watched her leave. After the door closed, he turned and scrubbed his knuckles through his hair.
That woman is going to get me killed.
Chapter Sixteen
“I want you to watch out for Mia,” El Padrino said, squeezing Lucas’ hand as the orderlies wheeled him to the waiting ambulance. Dr. Labastida was taking The Godfather to a private hospital for surgery and rehabilitation.
“Si, Señor,” said the pilot in a steady voice as he walked alongside the stretcher. “You can count on me.”
If she hadn’t heard it for herself, Mia never would have believed El Padrino asked Lucas to be her bodyguard. “I think Mr. Lewis should teach me self-defense,” she blurted before she thought.
“Stop.” The Godfather reached back and took Mia’s hand. “Are you afraid?”
Mia nodded rapidly. “Zambada will retaliate. I know he will.” News had already come that the enemy’s plantations were burning across Mexico. An all-out war was a matter of time.
“Then, yes. Learn well, for I do not want anything to happen to you, my pet.”
Doing her best not to dance with excitement, Mia drew her lips into a frown. “I hope your surgery goes smoothly and your recovery is swift.” She almost wanted to take the words away as soon as she said them. The longer it took for El Padrino to recover, the more time she’d have alone with Lucas.
“You do care for me?” The Godfather asked.
Forcing herself not to look at her new bodyguard, she gave a single nod while her stomach clamped into a ball.
The doctor moved beside them. “There’s no need to worry.”
“But will The Godfather be safe?”
“No one knows where he’s going.” Dr. Labastida patted her shoulder. “Not even you.”
“What about the orderlies?”
“They only go as far as La Ceniza. Then I will drive the ambulance from there.”
El Padrino took Lucas’ hand. “The old fox will need time to lick his wounds. I doubt Zambada will strike before my return.”
“I hope you are right, sir.”
“I am. Mark me.”
With that, the rear doors of the ambulance opened and they slid El Padrino inside.
Mia crossed her arms and stood beside Lucas while they watched the ambulance take The Godfather. The eastern sunlight reflected in the rear windows as if sending a warm farewell. This was the first time since she’d come to Hacienda Paraiso she could say without a doubt The Godfather would be gone for at least a month. The doctor had insisted El Padrino’s recovery would take six weeks or more, but Mia knew better than to rely on Dr. Labastida’s estimation. The overlord would be the one to decide when he was ready to return. Nonetheless, he needed reconstructive surgery to repair the bone. Numerous things could go wrong and the first month was the most critical. The Godfather would obey doctor’s orders until he was no longer in jeopardy of losing his leg. After that, he’d start calling the shots. He always did.
As soon as the ambulance was out of sight, Luke turned to Mia and grasped her by the shoulders. “If I’m going to manage things until he returns, I need to know shipments, crop reports, manufacturing outputs and details of money transfers.”
“I-I don’t know all of that.”
“But Morales said you can help me.”
“I can with money and running the hacienda. Does someone need to be paid?”
“I need to understand the operation and you need to help me. Remember?” He took her hand and tugged her up to El Padrino’s office. “The pieces of the puzzle are all there, but how they fit together is foggy. Crops are grown, shipped to a gazillion different places to be cooked up, then transferred to even more warehouses.”
“Not always.”
“What?” He leaned against the desk and crossed his ankles.
“Sometimes the goods are shipped direct.”
“How did you know this?”
“I listen. El Padrino conducts most of his business by phone—encrypted phone that can’t be traced.”
“That I know.” Lucas spread his palms to his sides. “But how does he pay people? Juan gave me a wad of cash—”
“He uses cash most of the time—all employees are paid in cash. Sometimes he pays cash for large things like TVs or boats.”
“Houses?”
“Yeah.”
“Where does he keep it?”
“I don’t know about his cash. No one knows. The employees joke about his mother’s tomb though no one has ever unearthed anything.”
“So he has bank accounts?”
“Not in his name.”
“Then how does he move money?”
“Cash is moved by guards—Marco always brings it to the hacienda. But El Padrino has thousands of bank accounts in other names.”
“Other names?” he asked.
“Not real people.”
“So, how did Morales pay for the Gulfstream, for example? Was there a large transfer of funds?”
“Oh no, he never transfers large sums. He’d be caught.”
“How do you know this?”
“I keep track of his accounts.”
“You have a list? On a computer?”
“No computers, remember?”
“So, you keep track by hand?”
“Ledger paper and calculator—El Padrino taught me how.”
“Okay…back to the Gulfstream, if he didn’t use cash, how did he pay
for it?”
“Well, he didn’t exactly use cash. He used a shipment.”
“A shipment?”
“You know. He laundered the payment—isn’t that what’s done in his business?”
Luke nodded. “Uh—yeah. Tell me more about it.”
“The delivery was made to the U.S. by submarine. I-I don’t know all the details, but the company that acquired the drugs has a legitimate business—a popular women’s apparel line. They purchased the plane.”
“And who sold the drugs—after they were delivered?”
“LuLu Togs.”
“The women’s apparel company?”
“Mm hmm.”
“How do they manage it?”
Mia shrugged. “That’s as far as my knowledge goes. How they run things on their end is up to them, I guess. And there’s no way I would ask El Padrino about it. He hates me to ask questions.”
“How did you learn this much?”
“He always tells me what to do. Now he uses me as a front person.”
“Like when you interviewed me?”
“Yes, and to meet with bankers. El Padrino manages the growing, manufacturing and distribution, but when it comes to moving money, he doesn’t want anyone knowing who is really behind it.”
“Hence the fictitious account names?”
“Mm hmm.”
“And your face is tied to them all?”
“Yes.” She looked down at her hands. “You see, I am a criminal, just like El Padrino—just like you.”
Lucas shook his head. “I think not.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you are carrying out his orders under duress. He is responsible for your actions.”
She huffed. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“Would you like to get away from him?” The corner of his mouth turned up along with the arch of a single eyebrow.
Every muscle in her body tensed. The last time she’d run, he’d tortured her for three days. She’d never live through that again. “I-I-I can’t. He’ll find me—no matter where I am in the world. And he can do it. I’ve seen him track people down in Africa and have them executed—with the whole gruesome act on video.”