Los Zetas Cartel Collection (3 book series)

by AJ Adams

“Any evidence?”

  “None. What’s more, the CCTV in her street was out.”

  That might or might not be good news. It meant no evidence either way. “See if you can find out who got to the suegro. If we can fix that, the rest of the charges will vanish.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I gave Natalia my phone. “Talk as long as you need.” Then I went to check the house.

  It was sparkling clean, and it felt like a home. In the kitchen I found the girls had fixed a cold roast chicken, a big salad and stocked up on groceries. Upstairs they’d set up two bedrooms, and the jefa had sent over a box of women’s things, from tampons to nail polish remover. She’d even thought of clothes: three summer dresses, a set of PJs and stretch underwear.

  I called her instantly to thank her. “Jefa, everything is perfect. Thank you!”

  “It’s a pleasure. The Marias will be with you for a couple of days. They’re new, down from LA. I’ve hired them for the new production company, Heavenly Moments. We’re setting up a studio in the two empty properties down the road from you.”

  “That’s a good idea. Lots of room for sets, a pool, and the crew can sleep there, too.”

  “That’s the plan. The big Maria is wardrobe mistress, and little Maria does makeup. They’re third-generation US Latino, so their Spanish needs a boost.”

  I’d forgotten that the jefa was branching out into adult movies. It explained the belly and the fact I hadn’t known them.

  “Their husbands are also in the business. They’re in Sweden on a shoot. They’ll be back in a week. The Marias said they could do with some extra cash, so they stepped up.”

  “Terrific. It gives me time to scout for a replacement.”

  “Luz’ cousin Beatriz is looking for a job. She starts Monday.”

  Luz was the jefe’s chef. I was fixed up. “Thanks, guapa. I really appreciate it.”

  “As soon as you’re settled, bring Natalia for a drink.”

  That wasn’t going to be soon. Natalia wasn’t just in pain; she was falling apart.

  “Millie thought I did it.” Her face was pale, her eyes filled with tears. “She really did!”

  “But not anymore.”

  “I don’t know. I think so. But Roger says I did it, and Donald thought—”

  It was like before. Her family were feuding, undecided over who they believed.

  “I’ll have to lump it,” Natalia said bravely. “Quique, can you liberate my money? I don’t even have a hairbrush.”

  I let her put up a front and showed her the bedroom. “You need your own space,” and I left her to wash up.

  That was a mistake. She took one look in the mirror, and her gasp of horror travelled down the stairs with the speed and punch of a bullet. I was straight back in there, curling up with her in the bed and letting her cry it out.

  Frankly, it was a relief. Call me sexist if you like, but it’s unnatural for a girl to get a beating and not weep. Women are different from men, and as my girl had taken more than most men can take, she needed to let all that grief pour out. It did, too, in a river of woe. Poor Natalia. I really felt for her.

  “I’m sorry.” She was a puddle of tears, her eyes swollen and red. “Poor Quique. You save me from life in prison, and you get a watering pot.”

  Definitely Kaibiles material. Generous, too. Her beating was my fault, but with Bobby being attacked, too, she would have had to run anyway. It made me feel less guilty, but it was still a disaster for her.

  “Natalia, we’re going to find out who got Bobby. Jorge’s all over it. The other is self-defence.”

  “Smith will be on the war path.”

  “And you have me.”

  She put her face in my neck and her arms around me. “Thank God you’re on my side. You’re a rock, you know that?”

  I was rock-hard, that was for certain. Even tear-stained and bruised, Natalia was one hell of a girl.

  “With you on the job I know it will work out,” Natalia sighed. “I need your brain on this, Quique, because I’m too close to it to think clearly.”

  She was trusting me again, not with her body this time but with her life. It sent a surge of protectiveness rushing through me. I’d work this out, figure out who was at the bottom of it, and I’d kill the fucker. In the meantime, I’d take care of this girl, keep her grounded and happy.

  “Natalia, we’re going to fix this. Trust me.”

  Chapter Twenty: Natalia

  Dear Quique. He’d come flying back to rescue me when he heard of the fight, before he even knew about the man who’d bled out or Bobby’s attack. Jorge must have had kittens when he heard Smith had a warrant for my arrest. If I were a snitch, the Zetas would have been in real trouble.

  A lesser man would have abandoned me, saying I was just a casual girlfriend, but Quique had swiftly taken me away and put me under his protection, and what’s more, he’d done it with no terms, conditions or thought for himself. I mean, I’m impossible to live with, and even if I weren’t, Quique had made it clear he wanted to stay a bachelor, so I really appreciated it.

  The private planes and the roundabout route to Mexico, made without a passport or even clothes, must have cost a bomb. He also took me into his own home, a beautiful place, and he gently broke the news of what had happened. “Natalia, we’re going to fix this. Trust me.”

  I tried to keep it together, but inside I was falling apart. I couldn’t figure out how everything had gone so totally pear-shaped. I knew in hospital that I’d have to face Smith, but as it was clearly self-defence, I hadn’t been worried. But Bobby’s attack knocked me for six. I just couldn’t believe it.

  “But he was fine! I mean, he was raging, throwing things at me! What the hell can have happened?”

  “Querida, maybe he threw something at the wrong person.” Quique’s eyes were worried. “You’re in no shape to worry now. You have to rest.”

  I knew he was right, but when I tottered into the bathroom—a home-deco vision of navy blue and white fixtures complete with a clamshell sunken bath—and I saw myself in the mirror, I just disintegrated. The bruises and scrapes, especially the violet cheekbone, were just too much. I just sat on the edge of the bath and cried my eyes out.

  Quique was there in a flash, picking me up and cuddling me like I was a baby. This time I didn’t fight it. I was too hurt, too frightened and too depressed. He didn’t bother talking; he just hugged me and put me to bed.

  “Sorry,” I told him. “I’m okay.”

  “Sure you are, querida. It sucks, right? But there’s no permanent damage. It’s just healthy bruising.”

  “Terrific. I’m a healthy aubergine.”

  He was worried about me; I could see it in his eyes. “Pain is depressing, Natalia. You just hold onto me, okay?”

  I did, and feeling his hard body curled into mine did cheer me up. I lay there, feeling comforted. That’s the thing about Quique: when you’re down, having a one-man army to snuggle and tell you it’ll be all right is a tonic.

  Although I began to feel more optimistic, the mattress shifted whenever he moved, making my ribs ache. He could see, had probably suffered the same thing a million times, and was totally sweet about it.

  “Natalia, you need company, but I’m hurting you.”

  The daft bugger was about to be noble about sleeping on the floor. “I’m good, honest. Look, it’s late and you’re tired. Go to bed, love. I’ll be asleep in minutes.”

  Quique was edgy. “You’re in pain, and I’m out of caps.”

  “Got an aspirin?”

  “Are you okay with codeine?”

  Trust a cartel man to be a walking pharmacy. “Yes.”

  It came with a glass of milk and a chicken sandwich, which he served to me in bed, for goodness sake, and then he kissed me on the forehead. “Call me if you need anything. I’m just next door.”

  You know, I’d not had anyone fuss over me like that since my mum passed. “Quique, you’re the best.” It earned me another kiss, on the lips
this time, and then I was alone.

  I said I’d sleep straight away, but the truth is that I lay awake, going over it all again and again. Of course I was exhausted, so I couldn’t think straight. I ended up wondering if being blamed for Bobby’s attack and driven out of my home was divine retribution for having killed Francis Duke and the Twittertons. If it was, it hadn’t worked, because I still didn’t have regrets.

  As for heaven, hell and damnation, well I’m not religious, but I was thinking that any god worth her salt would understand what I’d done. At that point I fell asleep, and I spent the rest of the night dreaming about Xena-like goddesses chucking chakrams about.

  When I woke up, the first thing I saw was the sun blazing in a blue sky. For a moment I had no idea where I was. Definitely not London. I was on holiday. In Italy maybe.

  Then it burst in on me: I was on the run, exiled to Mexico. It wasn’t a pleasant thought. The misery of being torn away from my home, from everyone I loved, overwhelmed me again.

  I must have made a sound, because the next moment Quique was standing in the doorway, looking devastated. “Querida, are you okay?”

  I forced myself together. “Yes. Of course.”

  He was sitting on the edge of the bed, “Is it your side? Are you hurting?”

  If only it were that simple. I couldn’t tell him. My heart was telling me I should’ve stayed in London to clear my name and fought to uncover the truth, but my head knew Smith would simply have locked me up and thrown away the key. A court would’ve convicted me without hesitation.

  Quique had saved me from life in prison. I knew with certainty that he’d saved me from the Zetas, too. Jorge would have bumped me off. He couldn’t have risked me blabbing in order to make a deal.

  I looked into Quique’s worried eyes. To throw everything he had done to save me back in his face would make me as cruel as Bobby. It was a thought that made me wince, but I spoke casually. “I’m okay. It’s my ribs, that’s all.”

  “Lie down.” Quique was easing me back. “Let me see, corazon.”

  I let him check my side and pretended I was fine. “I sat up without thinking.”

  “You should take it easy.” He was fussing again. “You should see a doctor.”

  I had no money, no resources. Panic swept over me. To be halfway round the world from everything I knew without even a pair of knickers to my name terrified me. How could I get money? A job? I didn’t even have a passport, never mind a visa. And I spoke less than a dozen words of Spanish, and all of those were food-related.

  Next thing I knew, I was seeing spots. There was a steel band around my chest, squeezing my lungs. I was brought back by a gentle hand in my hair.

  “Natalia, breathe.” His eyes, dark with worry, were staring into mine. “Stop now. Just breathe.”

  There was a child crying somewhere. Someone should see to it. With a shock I realised it was me making a weird wailing sound. “Sorry.”

  God, the humiliation of it! But Quique didn’t care. “You’ve been through a lot. Have a good cry.”

  Like I hadn’t already cried a damn river. It cost me, but I sucked it up. “I’m fine. It’s like you said last night: pain causes depression.”

  He sat with me, gentling me till he was certain I was okay. God, he’s a sweetheart!

  When I smiled at him, he grinned. “Ay, Natalia! That smile! If you were better…!” I got a careful kiss that explained he would have rogered me on the spot. “Have a shower and come and eat. We’ll talk, okay?”

  Looking in the bathroom mirror after stripping off the gown, I stifled a groan. I was black and blue all over, front and back, souvenirs from the fight and tumbling down the stairs. My face was scraped along one side, too. And as a final hoorah, I had a black bruise spreading from my cheek to my neck. Zombies looked better than I did.

  What I wanted to do was hide in that bathroom for a year, but I didn’t want to hassle Quique even more. I showered and let myself air-dry. I was too bruised and bashed for towels, but the shower gave me some good news: standing in the spray of hot water, I could breathe. That argued the ribs weren’t cracked but bruised. It wasn’t much, but I’d take it and be grateful.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I spotted an open closet with dresses. They were simply cut tunics, and to my utter amazement they were my size and colours, too. There was a blue one and two patterned with tropical flowers. Seeing I looked like a corpse, I picked a cheerful lilac and fuchsia number that set off the black bruise on my cheek nicely.

  Walking downstairs, I saw it really was a lovely house. The sense of space and simple casual comfort gave my spirits a lift. I cheered up even more when I found Quique ensconced on the sunlit terrace and was promptly treated to fresh mangoes, papaya and the most heavenly egg dish, rich with spices and slices of chilli sausage.

  “Huevos rancheros,” Quique grinned. “It’s the Mexican answer to scrambled eggs.”

  “It’s delicious. I’m totally sold on this.”

  It was weird, sitting there with him. When we’d been together in London, we’d either been fighting or fucking. Both had been intense, and although the fucking had been amazing, we’d known they were limited engagements. Now I was looking at him and wondering what on earth would happen next.

  Quique was looking pretty shifty, and I quickly understood he had a guilty conscience.

  “Ay, Natalia,” he sighed. “We found out who attacked you!”

  While we’d been travelling, Jorge and the crew had been digging. It turned out the three blokes were out for revenge for their cousin, one “Squeezer,” who Quique had done something to during the little war the Zetas had run against the Peckham Knaves.

  Quique’s eyes were sad. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t see why it’s your fault. They decided to have a go at me, and I was just defending myself. If anyone’s to blame, it’s the silly bastard who went through the window.”

  I meant it, too. If they’d had proper balls, they would have gone for Quique, James or one of the other Zetas. They’d picked me as a soft target, and that just wasn’t on.

  “What I don’t get is who put Bobby in hospital,” I confessed. “He’s a nasty bugger at times, so he has lots of enemies, but none who would kill him.”

  Turns out the Zetas were looking into that, too.

  “He was hit with the cricket bat you kept under the bar,” Quique reported. “Just three blows to the chest and ribs, but he fell against the bar and hit his head.”

  “Was the place robbed?”

  “They left the money. There’s no saying if anything else was missing.”

  That sounded personal, an act of rage, not like a professional theft gone wrong. The cricket bat meant it was someone who’d known it was there and who had either been behind the bar or tall enough to reach over and grab it.

  It worried me, that, because all the regulars from Mo to Mrs Davidson knew where I kept my bat. Also, the state Bobby had been in meant that he might have pushed anyone into a rage. For all I knew, he might have attacked someone the way he did me. In that case, anyone might have reached for the bat, just to protect themselves. The bottom line: Bobby’s attacker didn’t need to have a motive.

  I laid it out for Quique, and that’s when we had another scrap.

  “It might be Millie,” he mused.

  “No bloody way!”

  He wasn’t bothered. “Querida, you know I’m right. He’d beaten her—”

  “Like he had a dozen times before!”

  “But this time was different.”

  “No!”

  But I remembered how Millie had changed. Guiltily, I also remembered how she’d told me she wasn’t going to let Delicia grow up in a violent home. Maybe Millie had decided to confront Bobby, and with him being drunk and violent... I didn’t like the idea at all.

  “It could also be the chiquitína, trying to protect Millie.” Quique was cruising for a bruising. “Or the boy, Johnathan, protecting them both.”

  “No bl
oody way! How dare you!” Rage was washing through me. “Just because you kill at the drop of a hat doesn’t mean everyone else does!”

  You know, he didn’t even flinch. “Except for you, Natalia. You do, too. We’ve that in common.”

  I was about to let rip when there was a cough. I turned around, thinking it was one of the Marias and almost died of fright. There was a colossus behind me. He was six foot something, dressed in black, and he had silvery eyes that were cold as ice. He was the Terminator come to life, only scarier. I sat frozen, unable to move.

  “You must be the bruja.” His voice was low, quiet and totally without emotion.

  “Hey, boss!” Quique was up, laughing and smiling. “Kyle, cabron, it’s good to see you! Pedro! Gordo!”

  That’s when I noticed the two blokes, both with the signature Zeta purposeful movements and dark looks, flanking him. They were powerful looking types, carrying machine guns, for God’s sake, and yet I hadn’t even spotted them. All my attention had been on the Terminator.

  “Quique, joder macho! Tanto tiempo!”

  It was man hugs all round. Then they were talking and laughing, clearly happy to see each other. Then they all looked at me.

  “This is Natalia,” Quique said genially. “Don’t touch her; she’s got cracked ribs.”

  The three of them eyed me up and down, and then I got three grins and had my hands kissed.

  “What a woman!” said Pedro, a burly bloke with a crooked nose.

  “Ay-yay-yay! Excellent work!” Gordo, the skinny one, said.

  It surprised me. I couldn’t figure out what was going on.

  “They beat you, and you kicked one of them through a window,” Kyle said quietly. “Impressive.”

  “You going to kick Quique out of a window now?” Pedro asked.

  “Should be interesting,” Gordo mused.

  Quique didn’t say a word, but there was a split-second when he tensed. I don’t think the others noticed, but I did. It was something about his eyes. Not rage. Something quite different. It was the same look I’d spotted the night before, when I’d joked about the pregnant Maria. He looked stricken, like someone had punched him in the gut.