Warren laughed. “Don’t worry, you two. I uploaded the shots onto my laptop and erased them. Someone could easily rip that camera from you, girlie, but they’re not going to get my satchel from me. Plus, the machine is CableNette’s and hooked into their network. If I need to get something on air tonight, I’m going to need that photo.”
“You’re planning on doing a story tonight?” Marco seethed, crossing his arms.
“Well, I’m not planning on it,” Warren replied, looking out the window at the passing ramshackle homes. “But I have to be prepared. We go live as soon as I’ve got something to go with.”
“What about safety?”
“God, Marco, you’re such a stick, dude. This is TV. What association did you think you were working with, NPR? We don’t sit on stories here.”
“I signed up to be your assistant, not your bodyguard.”
“You signed up to leech my shit and give it to the IIB. So why don’t we cut the charade and start working together, hmm?”
Grace had to give it to Warren; he had brains and balls to boot. She only hoped his reckless attitude wouldn’t get them all killed…or worse.
The cab pulled up to a street corner, and Marco paid the tab while Grace and Warren stepped out onto the cobblestone sidewalk. The buildings here were quaint and unassuming, mostly one-level stucco offices, with a few ornate multi-level buildings sprouting here and there. The streets around the center were bustling with traffic, but the center itself was pedestrian only. Great for tourists who wanted to amble around. Not so good for people who needed to make a quick escape.
Warren positioned his satchel diagonally across his body so that the pouch was secured under his arm.
“Look, there’s Maria,” he said, pointing. “I’ll meet you at the fountain at eight o’clock, okay? I’m going to go sightseeing.”
Grace could only nod at Warren’s retreating back.
“Where’s he going?” Marco asked, coming up behind her and placing a proprietary hand on her shoulder.
“He saw his waitress over there.” Grace shrugged. “I guess we’re on our own. What do we do?”
“We’ve got to stick together,” Marco said, his mouth a grim line. “Let’s follow Bell for a while. If we see the two goons, we’ll break off from him. He’s a big boy. I’m sure he’ll be fine. But you,” Marco looked at her, his brown eyes filled with worry. “I can’t let you go off with them tonight. You understand that, right?”
Grace nodded again. “You’ll have to play the embittered ex-boyfriend, though.”
Marco laughed, a trace of harshness in his tone. “I’m sure that won’t be hard.”
They tailed Warren at a distance, Marco sighing as the man draped his arm casually around the waitress’s shoulders as they walked into a large building used for community events.
“Such a ladies’ man,” he said wistfully.
Grace felt suddenly self-conscious, remembering Marco’s flaring jealousy just hours before. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she conceded, training her gray gaze on his facial structure. She admired the hard planes of his jaw, the slightest shadow of stubble already forming there. “When this is over—”
“We’ll talk about what happens when this is over when this is actually over.” Marco took Grace’s hands in his, stopping them for a brief moment. “For now, we play our parts, and we do our damnedest not to get killed.”
He leaned in and kissed her mouth fully, sucking in her lower lip and brushing over it with his tongue. She was about to lean into him when a voice startled her, and she jerked her head up.
“Making up after your little lover’s quarrel?” The sharp, almost squeaky voice of Luis fit his character.
Grace felt herself blush but hastened to recover.
“No, he’s just trying to embarrass me into being with him again,” she said coolly, rolling her eyes and praying they took the bait. “You found us just in time.”
Luis contemplated them with a shrewd eye before shrugging. “Gomez is at La Canta getting a beer. He requests your company.”
They turned to follow the small man.
“Just her,” he said.
Marco shook his head. “I go where she goes,” he said.
“Suit yourself.” Luis shrugged again. “But you’re not invited. I advise you not to make any trouble.”
“Surely you can handle that, can’t you?” Grace hated her sugary sweet tone, but she knew Marco would understand.
He grunted and fell into step behind her and Luis.
The small restaurant was only a block from the large dance hall where Grace had seen Warren stepping inside. The yellow stucco was molding at the corners and an old drainage pipe hung uselessly from where it used to be fully attached.
“Your friend likes high dining, huh?” Marco quipped.
Luis didn’t turn around. “The service here is…good,” he said.
They entered a dimly lit room, the smoky atmosphere making Grace’s eyes water.
When Gomez spotted her, he motioned to the empty seat next to him. A glass of chardonnay was already placed at the spot. She lifted it to take a sip, but out of the corner of her eye saw Marco shake his head at her. She put the glass down.
“Did you like your flowers?” Gomez asked with a smile full of charm.
“They were extraordinary,” Grace gushed, not hinting that it was entirely inappropriate to send dozens of bouquets to her hotel room.
“The people at the desk were very helpful.” Gomez’s face turned flat, unreadable. “They later reported that while you had one of the bedrooms alone, you may now be sharing it?”
Grace’s laughter sounded nervous to her, and she tried to overcome it by babbling, even while her mind raced over the fact that Gomez had people tracking her every move.
“Oh, him?” she said as casually as she could. “That’s temporary. Our friend got himself a love interest and needed their room alone for a while.”
“Doesn’t like to share, eh?” The smile returned, but Gomez’s eyes remained intense upon her face. “Neither do I.” He took her hand. She let him.
“So, when do the festivities start?” she asked before the silence could stretch too long.
“Well, I have some business to do tonight, so I won’t be around for the majority of it, but there’s a concert on the green at nine and fireworks after that. Should be quite a show. I was hoping you would eat here with me, and we could get to know each other a little better.” His other hand reached under the bar and caressed her thigh. “Then, I’ll try to find you at the fireworks show and treat you to a real after-hours party. What do you say?”
Grace looked toward Marco.
“Don’t worry,” Gomez said. “The boyfriend can come. He just has to stay out of my way.”
She nodded, swallowing hard. “So, what are we eating?” She tried to make her voice sound light and carefree.
“They have a great clam dish here. It’s got a paella side and is plenty big enough for two. Share it with me?”
Just as the words left his mouth, the plate appeared, gigantic and aromatic. Grace realized she hadn’t eaten since their previous meeting, and she was famished. Gomez offered her a fork before cutting into his side of the plate.
The lemony bite to the cream sauce overwhelmed her senses, and her stomach welcomed the food eagerly. She’d already had several bites without a word, pausing only to daintily dab her lips with a napkin or flirt with Gomez through eye contact, when a clatter near the door drew their attention away from the meal.
Luis stood, gun drawn, facing the door, as three men in suits burst through, shouting. Grace could not make out what they were saying, but it was obvious they were there to see Gomez.
The large man made no movement, and he did not look at her. “I’m so sorry, chiquita,” he said, “but we’ll have to do our dinner another time. Go ahead and run along now.” He kept his eyes trained on the intruders but gave her leg a small tap under the table, urging her to get away from the bar.
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She didn’t need to be told twice.
No sooner had she edged away from the counter than the strange men started shooting. Bullets peppered off the woodwork, ricocheting throughout the room. She felt a sharp breeze right by her ear before something large hit her from behind, hurtling her to the ground with such force her camera bounced.
Her camera.
She grabbed it and started snapping shots.
“Not now!” Marco yelled as he dragged her into a corner.
They were both on their stomachs, and Grace realized he must have tackled her to get her out of the bullet storm. The two groups seemed to take little notice of them, or any of the other customers scrambling for the door, and Grace shrugged herself into the shadows, Marco’s arms tightly around her.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Marco said. “All I know is that we have to get out of here.”
“Okay, but wait.” She aimed the camera again, this time zooming in. A close-up of Gomez. A close-up of Luis. A slightly off-center shot of the three men shooting. The bartender, who was now brandishing his own gun. A wide-shot of the scared patrons.
“Hey!”
The shout came from just two feet away from her, and she looked up, startled. Luis bore down on her, wrestling for the camera.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he asked through gritted teeth, his voice strained with the effort of grappling.
Marco took out his legs in a sweeping kick, and Luis’s gun went clattering across the floor.
“Grace,” Marco shouted, “run!”
She flicked off her heels and scampered toward the door barefoot, knocking down chairs in her path. She’d just reached it when a hand grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm behind her at a painful angle.
“Now, now, Graciela. Let’s not be so hasty.” Gomez’s breath hit her neck as he spoke.
She looked up, scanning the room. Two of the men who had attacked the place were lying in pools of their own blood, but the third stood resolute, gun trained on Gomez and Grace. Gomez was pointing his own weapon right back at him. Marco was scuffling with Luis in the corner, trying to grab the gun that had landed against the far wall. Everyone else was filing out as if nothing had happened.
Grace was still looking at the back of the last person to leave the dingy restaurant when the sound of a single shot rang out. Luis swore, gripping his arm and cowering in the corner. Gomez’s hold on her strengthened. Grace knew he couldn’t point the weapon at her or Marco because of the other man.
The seconds trickled by in deathly silence. Grace went through her options. She couldn’t stomp on Gomez’s foot. She’d taken her heels off and would do no damage. If she struggled, she risked getting shot for making a disturbance. Nerves were running hot. Marco was inching around the bar. He got within ten feet before Gomez dragged her to a corner providing cover from gunfire that might come from the third man and changed his gun’s position.
“Don’t come any closer,” the Colombian said. “I’ll shoot her.”
The cool metal of the barrel rested against Grace’s temple. She calculated. If the gun was this cold, that meant Gomez hadn’t shot at anyone. Maybe he wasn’t as blood-thirsty as everyone assumed.
“What do you want from us?” her voice squeaked out.
“The camera, for one,” Gomez said.
“Take it,” she said. “Just let us go.”
Gomez shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Graciela Merced. I can’t let a beautiful woman who knows who I am just walk out of here. Especially when she’s escorted by an IIB agent and meeting a news reporter.”
“What? How did you—”
“You didn’t make it hard to trace you, Graciela. You didn’t even give us a fake name. You didn’t move hotels. We ransacked your suite from top to bottom. You can’t check this, but if you could, you’d find your passport missing. Because I have it.”
“You son of a bitch!”
The gun moved against her head, reminding her of its presence. “Sorry we had to do that. I gave you flowers to make up for it. But you can’t just traipse around taking photos and think you’re going to get away with it.”
“So, what are you going to do with us?” Marco interrupted, his gun still marking Gomez’s face.
But before Gomez could reply, the door burst open again and Warren Bell plowed through.
“Hey, y’all, I hate to bust up the party, but the fireworks are going to start in less than an hour! We’d better get seats!” The reporter looked around at the people staring at him. “Oh, shit,” he said.
A double gunshot sounded, and the arm around Grace loosened, allowing her to drop to the ground. She crawled on her stomach toward Warren, who was crouched down with his hand outstretched to her. His other held the door open. Gomez was swearing and jumping up and down, the blood pouring out of his foot. Marco sprinted to the far corner in the back of the bar and squatted behind a table, his still-smoking gun poised. The other man—wearing a tan linen suit, Grace noticed in her adrenaline-fueled haze—still had his weapon pointed at Gomez.
The man shot, hitting Gomez in the shoulder. Gomez’s cries of pain were drowned out by a second shot, but Grace didn’t see what happened. Warren was already dragging her out of the establishment.
“What do we do? What do we do? What do we do?” she repeated, unable to think past those four words.
“Run!”
Without looking back, she raced after Warren, through little back alleys and side streets, her bare feet burning on the still-hot pavement, searing pain ravaging the bottoms of her limbs. Still, she ran and ran, without stopping, until her lungs were bursting, until she felt she could no longer take another breath.
Chapter Eight
Marco surveyed the bar with grim displeasure. He’d knocked Gomez out with the butt of his gun then tied him and Luis together using rope he’d found behind the counter. The men from the rival cartel were dead. He barricaded the door before calling for backup. Worry over Grace was making his stomach twist, but he had to trust that Warren would keep her safe. Marco couldn’t help them now.
He flipped open his phone and dialed his boss.
“Valencia here. I need backup.”
His boss sighed audibly over the line. “Our main units are tied up right now, Marco,” he said. “And I’m dealing with another emergency. Rinkleton is dead.”
“Oh shit. What happened?”
“They expected him to play ball, take a bribe. I guess they knew he was IIB. He must have let it slip at some point. Remind me to stop training agents who like to drink. Loosens the tongue.”
“Do they know what’s going on down here?”
“Not as of this afternoon. What do you need?”
“I’ve got two of Angel’s leaders tied up and injured. Three other dead Colombians. It’s only a matter of minutes before their buddies show up, and I’m by myself.”
“Where’s Warren?”
“He left. Took a girl we were working with. She’s got photo evidence, but don’t expect it to stay private. Warren’s going to bust this thing wide open tonight.”
“Sit tight. I’ll send a backup team to clean up your mess and take Gomez into custody. But who knows how long it will take.”
Marco clicked the phone closed, overwhelmed with apprehension. He tried calling Warren, but no answer. Next up was Gene. Marco checked his watch. It was only 10:00 p.m. Another hour until the man landed, and even when he did, what could Hardy possibly do to help? Marco expected a throng of cartel members to come battering down the door at any moment. When Gomez didn’t show up to settle the terms of the merger, both bands of thugs would come to the bar in full force. If they didn’t kill each other first. Gomez’s absence could be taken as a sign of defiance, in which case guns would blaze. Marco thought of Grace again and hoped she was in hiding.
“You’re a fool,” Gomez groaned from the corner as he came back to consciousness.
“How’s that?
” Marco asked distractedly, not bothering to look at the man struggling pointlessly with the rope.
“This whole town is going to explode.”
Now Gomez had his attention.
“What?”
“You have to let me go.”
“No can do.”
“Then kiss your girlfriend goodbye. She’ll die with the rest of them.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Marco feigned indifference, though his heart had leapt into his throat.
Gomez shrugged. “If I don’t get to the center before the fireworks start, we’re all going to die, so you won’t even miss her. I’ve got my guys waiting with explosives hidden in the display. They don’t see me, they blow the whole town up.”
Nausea rolled over Marco at the thought of all those civilians dying. He had to find out more, but he couldn’t look too eager. “Why? How does that possibly help you?”
“Well, I’ve got a second in command, and he’s not in town. However, all the leaders of the other cartel are here. Sure, I go, you go, a lot of the party-goers die, but we get the drug market.” He shrugged again. “Simple math.”
“Even if I untied you right now, and we ran like hell to the center, we wouldn’t make it. You’re hobbled at best.”
Gomez shrugged again.
Swearing softly, Marco called his boss and told him about the explosives and the fireworks. That, the man assured Marco, would get the team moving a lot faster.
Only a few moments after Marco disconnected, his phone buzzed. Gene. He checked the time. It was only 10:15.
He walked over to Gomez and hit him in the head again, so the man wouldn’t overhear the conversation or find a way to escape while Marco’s attention was turned. Clicking open the phone, he spoke no introduction. “Where are you?”
“I’m on the ground. I used my old credentials to get the pilot to fly as fast as he safely could. I went to your hotel. You guys are so stupid. The place is wrecked.”
“Bigger problems right now, Gene.”
“Like what?”
“Grace and Warren are in the center, doing God knows what, waiting for the fireworks show. If it starts and Gomez doesn’t show up, his guys are going to blow up the whole town.”
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