Not the Ritz. The lobby held a couple of cracked plastic chairs, a fake plant and a TV in the corner of the room that flickered with a late-night Spanish soap opera. A chair scraped the floor in the back room. Then a middle-aged man with black hair and dark skin rounded the corner and approached with wary eyes.
“Sí, Señor. En que puedo servirle?”
“Um . . .” Finn held up one finger, ran through his crappy Spanish. “¿Un cuarto?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “¿Tu hablas español?”
“Not very well,” Finn muttered.
“What you need?” the man asked in English, his voice heavily accented.
Finn reached for his wallet. “Just a room for the night.”
The man looked over the counter at Lauren, glanced at her bare feet. His curious gaze slid back to Finn. “Thirty dollars. U.S.”
Finn pulled cash from his wallet, slapped it on the counter. “We’d like a first-floor room if you’ve got it.” He added another twenty, hesitating before handing the bill directly to the man. “We don’t want to be disturbed. By anyone. If you know what I mean.”
The man glanced at Lauren again, nodded in a knowing way, then turned, grabbed a key from a hook and pointed toward the door. “Last room. Numero eleven. No disturbance.”
“One more thing,” Finn said as Lauren turned for the door.
“¿Sí?”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where we could rent a car, would you?”
The man’s eyes lit up. He stepped back from the counter, motioned with his hand. “Come, come. You see.”
Finn sized the man up, didn’t sense any danger. He turned to Lauren. “Stay put.”
He followed the man around the corner into a small office. The man moved to the window on the far side of the room, pulled the curtain back and pointed through the glass.
Finn stepped closed and peered out. What seemed to be a blue, beat-up seventies Chevy pickup sat parked behind the office. “You want to rent me that?”
“You buy,” the man said. “I make you good deal.”
Like Finn had never heard that before. “Does it even run?”
“Sí, sí. Runs good.” The man reached for a key on the desk, held it up. “You buy.”
It looked pretty old, but the condition of the tires, the fresh bugs on the grille and the dust outlining only the edge of the windshield all indicated it had recently been driven. Finn wasn’t above roughing it. And they did need wheels. Ones that weren’t stolen. He just didn’t have time to take it for a test drive. “How much?”
“How much you give me?”
Finn reached for his wallet again. “I’ve got a hundred bucks.”
“Is yours.” The man handed him the key.
If only all auto purchases were that easy.
Finn took the key, headed back out into the lobby. When he reached Lauren, he said, “Gracias,” to the man, then steered Lauren toward the door.
“What was that all about?” She stumbled when they reached the sidewalk, and cringed.
He caught her by the arm before she went down. “Got us a car.”
“Does it run?”
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
She didn’t say anything else, and he figured her meltdown was imminent. She was taking longer to break down than most women, which just told him when she did finally crumble, it’d be a whopper.
The room held a double bed, a chipped nightstand with a lamp and rotary phone, and a scarred desk and chair. No TV, no DVD, none of life’s creature comforts. The door snapped closed behind them. Finn pushed the bathroom door open, swept a look through the hole-of-a-room, then stepped to the window and looked through the blinds. Lauren stood still in the small entry hall, unmoving. Behind the building, no lights twinkled. From what Finn could see, a barren field ran to jungle and God knew what else beyond.
Lauren took a deep breath. “I’m filthy. I . . . I need a shower.”
She stared at him a beat, nodded, then disappeared.
The vulnerable look he’d seen in her eyes stuck with him as the shower was turned on. He should go in there and make sure she was okay. She wasn’t used to the seedier side of life. Not like him. She’d grown up with money, assistants and bodyguards waiting on her twenty-four-seven. While her emotional well-being wasn’t in his job description, he still didn’t like the idea of her melting into a puddle on the dingy bathroom floor.
Indecision brewed inside him. There were more pressing matters than Lauren’s mental stability. Before he could change his mind, he whipped his cell from his pocket and dialed.
Jake Ryder, CEO and founder of Aegis, picked up on the first ring. “Does bad luck just follow you or what, Tierney? I’ve been waiting for your damn call. You secure?”
Finn let out a breath. Jake had already heard the news. Finn hoped that meant things weren’t as bad as they seemed. “Yeah. We’re good. Did you talk to Hedley? Is he okay?”
“Hedley’s fine. Took a bullet to the shoulder, but it’s nothing the sonofabitch can’t handle. He’s at the ER now getting patched up. The shooters weren’t cops, though they were dressed like them.”
Not cops. Finn’s suspicions had been right. “Same ones from the bar?”
“Or linked to them. How’s Kauffman?”
Finn glanced toward the bathroom door, felt that tug to go check on her again. “Fine. For now. So far she’s shown balls of steel, but it’s not gonna last.” He looked away, fighting the weird pull she seemed to have on him. “What about the others?”
“No casualties. There was a woman . . . Mierna—”
“Moira.” Shit. “That’s Lauren’s assistant.”
“Moira. Right. According to Hedley, she got a little banged up in the scuffle. Nothing a few days of R&R won’t fix.”
Relief pulsed through Finn. But just as quickly anger over the situation pushed in. “What the hell’s going on, Jake? The hit on Santiago was professional. And they had a hard-on for Lauren. I almost didn’t make it out with her.”
“Anything stand out from the shooting?”
Finn thought back to that moment. Images flashed behind his eyes. He saw the group of men step into the bar and Santiago’s immediate reaction. He saw Santiago push Lauren to the ground behind him, heard the leader shout something in Spanish. Heard Santiago’s bellowed response. And he saw . . .
“Maybe,” he said. “They were shouting something that sounded like . . . ‘rojo diablo.’ Donde está . . . ’” Crap, he was no good at Spanish. “What . . . who . . . No, where. Where is el diablo rojo? That was it.”
“You sure that’s what they said?’
“Yeah. Why?”
“Diablo rojo means red devil,” Jake said in a knowing voice.
“Does that mean something to you?” Finn asked.
“Unfortunately, it does.” Paper rustled over the line. “Javier Santiago is the son of a Maria Elena Rosarió Vargas and Philippe Leon Santiago Cárdenas. Ring any bells?”
Finn’s chest went cold. “No way. Santiago’s linked to the Cárdenas drug cartel?”
“Bing.”
“Holy shit.” Finn’s mind tumbled. The Cárdenas Cartel was one of the largest in this region of Mexico, responsible for numerous killings in the Acapulco area alone. “And Cárdenas’s son is a model? How is that even possible?”
“One of his sons.” Papers rustled again, and Finn imagined Jake behind the big mahogany desk in the dimly lit office he kept in his monster of a house. “Javier is the youngest of three sons. The older two—Manuel and Philippe, Jr.—followed in good ol’ Dad’s footsteps, running drugs north for the cartel. From what I can deduce, Javier’s been the black sheep of the family for quite some time. He doesn’t play by the rules and he makes no bones over the fact he has no interest in joining the family biz. He’s a player, a spoiled rich kid. Modeling apparently pisses his old man off, which is why he keeps doing it, but he’s small time in the industry. Most of his cash comes from Cárdenas sources, though lately rep
orts have surfaced that he’s had intimate contact with the Tijuana Cartel.”
“Shit,” Finn whispered. “So what was this? An honor killing?”
“Sorta,” Jake said. “Though not in the way you think. One of the Cárdenas Cartel’s lesser known drugs is Seconal, a barbiturate. Ever heard of it?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. It’s also called ‘red dillies’ or ‘red devils.’” It’s been around since the twenties, but it fell out of popularity a while back. Word on the street is the Cárdenas Cartel’s created a new, more potent form of the drug—bigger highs, longer lasting—really nasty shit, and they were getting ready to start shipping it. They’ve got several key Mexican politicians in their back pocket, several with ties to the U.S. The influx of these new red devils on the street could turn the drug trade upside down in Mexico and seriously cut into the other cartels’ profits.”
“God, you’re talking about a bloodbath between rival cartels. And Javier knew about this? He was feeding info to the Tijuana Cartel about the new drug?”
“Possibly. No one knows for sure. But it’s probable he had access to family documents. Names, dates, shipments . . . maybe even the new drug formula. Tierney, the Cárdenas Cartel put a price on young Javier’s head just this morning.”
Holy hell. Things were seriously heading straight for the toilet. Finn blew out a breath. “What does all this have to do with Lauren?”
“I don’t know. How well does she know Santiago?”
How the hell would Finn know? “Well enough to let him grab her ass in public.”
Jake chuckled. “She’s a supermodel, Tierney. I imagine a lot of guys get to grab her ass on camera.”
No shit. And Finn didn’t like it one bit.
He pushed down the frustration. “Javier’s been with us at the shoot for the last week. He wasn’t at Cárdenas headquarters, spying on the cartel. Why now, all of the sudden, would they take him down, when if what you’re saying is true, he could have had the info a week ago?”
“I don’t know. But any way you toss this, it doesn’t look good. Are you still in Acapulco?”
“No. But within driving distance.”
“You got access to a vehicle?”
“I’ve got something lined up.”
“Good. Zane Archer’s a couple hours south of you, in the mountains northeast of San Marco.” Jake rattled off the GPS coordinates. “I’m going to alert him that ou’re coming. He can get you two on a chopper out of there, unseen. You can’t risk going to the authorities in the area. The Cárdenas Cartel has too much influence over local P.D. in the state of Guerrero, and Kauffman’s face is too well known. My guess is all eyes are watching for you, so it won’t be easy.”
“You sure Archer’s up for this?” Zane Archer was a former Aegis operative. Last Finn had heard, the man had taken an extended leave of absence after his principal was killed in a botched rescue attempt. Most of the guys in the agency figured Archer was knee-deep in Therapy 101 with good ol’ José Cuervo. But no one knew for sure just what he was up to in Mexico. Or for how long.
“He’s up for it. You just worry about getting Kauffman’s ass to his compound. Let Archer do the rest.”
Finn’s mind drifted to Lauren in the bathroom and he looked that way again. “Will do, but she needs an hour or two of rest first.”
Jake’s sigh said he didn’t like the delay. “You sure you’re secure where you’re at?”
No, but it was the best they had for the moment. Lauren was in no condition to move just yet. “Trust me. It’s as good as it’s gonna get for the time being.”
“Okay,” Jake said, his voice growing tight. “Keep your eyes peeled. And Tierney?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let history repeat itself.”
Finn hung up, unsure just what history Jake was referring to. Archer’s botched extraction? Or was the warning more personal, regarding Finn’s mistake with his own principal?
Telling himself he was reading more into it than he needed, he waited a handful of minutes, then figured enough time had passed for Lauren to wrap up her shower. Screw Jake’s warning. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake he’d made before. He was just checking to see if she was okay.
He stopped at the bathroom door and listened. The water had been shut off minutes before, but no other sound met his ears. He knocked gently. “Slim?”
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
“Fine. I’ll be done in a minute.”
Her rushed words amped his already strung-tight nerves. He reached for the door handle. “I’m coming in.”
“No, don’t. I—”
He pushed the door open. Bright light flooded his eyes. He blinked twice and found her sitting on the edge of the tub facing the door, her blond hair dripping down her bare shoulders. One foot was propped up on her opposite knee, the towel laid out beneath her.
She jerked, and her foot hit the dirty tile floor as she grabbed the ends of the towel and wrapped them up around her breasts. Around her very naked, perfect breasts. But there was no point in covering herself. The image of her bare and glistening from her shower was now alive in his mind.
She shot him an irritated look. “I said don’t come in.”
He looked from her face to her foot and back again, catching the glint of red in the gem she wore around her neck. The only thing she wore. She didn’t look like a woman about to have a mental breakdown. He saw no signs of tears. In fact, the irritation marring her features drew his brows together. “I thought . . . what are you doing?”
Her lips pressed together. She lifted her foot back to her knee. “Trying to get a damn piece of glass out of my foot.”
“Glass?”
“I must have stepped on something outside on the sidewalk when you put me down. It’s not big, but it hurts like hell. I’d give just about anything for tweezers right now.”
“Let me look.” He crossed the floor and dropped to his knees in front of her. Pushing her hand away, he inspected the bottom of her foot. The skin was red and irritated near her arch.
She ground her teeth, but didn’t fight him. When he ran his finger over the spot to feel for the shard, she sucked in a breath.
He looked up at her face, then reached back for the pocketknife in his pocket. “Okay, hold still. I think I can get it.”
Her eyes grew wide as he pulled out the knife, flipped open the blade. But she didn’t flinch, not even when he put the tip of the knife against the bottom of her foot and applied just enough pressure to work it under the edge of the shard.
“Oh, shit.” She drew out the word as he applied more pressure. Her hands hit the edge of the tub and she grabbed on to steady herself.
“Almost have it.”
Her body tensed, and then the small shard of green glass popped free and hit the dingy tile with a soft tinkle.
“Oh, my God, that hurt,” Lauren breathed.
“Sorry.” Finn clicked the knife closed, set it on the ground and reached for a wad of toilet paper, which he held against the bottom of her foot. It wasn’t bleeding too badly, but considering everything else she’d been through tonight, he didn’t need her passing out from seeing her own blood. He dabbed at the wound. Looked. Dabbed again. Wished they had something to clean it properly.
From the corner of his eye he noticed the towel had dropped to her lap, leaving her beautiful breasts bare in the dim overhead light. His thoughts shifted. Naked with only that red stone against her chest, she looked like a goddess. His throat grew thick. He tried like hell to keep his eyes on her foot. “It should be okay now.”
Lauren let go of the edge of the tub, grasped the towel and pulled it tight again. But he didn’t miss the way her cheeks turned pink as she said, “Thanks. My Givenchys might not have been practical while we were running, but they would have deterred glass.”
“Your Gi-what?”
“Givenchys.” Her gaze lifted to his. “My shoes. Famous French desig
ner. You’ve never heard of him?”
“French?” What the hell was she mumbling about? And why wasn’t she still naked? “Ah, no. I’m a guy, remember?”
He sat back on his heels as she shook her head like he was an idiot, took the toilet paper from his hand and dabbed at the bottom of her foot. Her skin was dewy and soft, her blond hair curling around her shoulders as it dried. With her foot still propped on her knee, he could just see the long line of her bare thighs hiding the treasure nestled in the shadow between her legs. The memory of touching her there exploded in his head, followed by her cry of pleasure as she came against his hand.
His blood pulsed, and warmth circulated in his veins, slid down his torso to pool in his groin. Don’t let history repeat itself. . . .
Okay, he needed to back off. Like . . . now. So why wasn’t he moving?
“What?” Lauren asked, looking away from her foot to glance at his face.
“What, ‘what’?” he tossed back, startled by her voice. Was he sweating? He reached for the wet washclon the edge of the tub and swiped it across his face, wiping away the sweat and dirt and dried blood.
“You’re watching me.”
He dropped his hand, frowned. “I thought we went through this before. It’s my job to watch you.”
Her knowing blue eyes held his before glancing back to her foot. “And I thought you set me straight on that kind of watching.”
He flashed back to their conversation in her suite earlier in the day, and the proposition she’d offered him then. Warmth turned to white-hot heat. Why the hell had he turned her down? God, had that been only a few hours ago? It seemed like days. Weeks.
He swallowed hard, trying to keep his brain from shorting out. She smelled really good. Fresh. Clean. Like God intended.
“You’re watching me again,” she said.
He was. He couldn’t seem to look away. He tried to change the subject. “Why aren’t you freaking out?”
“Should I be?”
He tossed the washcloth into the tub behind her, braced both hands against his thighs. “Considering everything? Yeah.”
She dropped her foot to the ground, focused on his eyes. “Will it do any good?”
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