My eyes widen. “You drew him?”
She adjusts, nearly squirming in her seat. “It started as a joke. I was getting back at him…” Her voice fades away, so I’ll have to wait to find out what he’d done to earn her wrath. “One of his buddies posted a picture on social media. Another buddy shared, and the post went viral.”
“Social media can make you or break you.” I move up, waiting for the truck to turn.
“We were swamped. After a couple of weeks, we took on part-timers to help. Every time the buzz started to die down, I changed him, and we’d get swamped all over again.”
“What do you mean, you changed him?”
“He’s had several hats, the belly, a piece of grass or a toothpick in his mouth.” The image is so well drawn I can picture every one of the descriptions. “Then I tried holidays.”
I tilt my head in question. What the hell had she done to him for the holidays?
“You know, bunny ears at Easter.” She puts two fingers behind her head. “A kiss on the cheek on Valentine’s day, a box covered in Christmas decorations, overflowing with beer and T-bones.” I chuckle, and her answering smile is incredible. “It was promo when we added the meat market.”
“Of course.”
But her smile dies away. “I should go in.”
The loss weighs on me, yet she’s still in the seat next to me. “Can I see you tonight?”
Her brows meet, and she looks over with regret in her eyes. “I close.”
“Tomorrow?”
She shakes her head, apology in the peak of her brows. “I close all week.”
Damn. Then her words come back to me. You’re going to have a long wait because I don’t have a car. “How do you get home?” I frown, knowing the answer before she can say anything.
She shrugs. “It’s not far, and sometimes—”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, hit by a wave of resolution. “No. I’m not hearing this.”
“Dante—”
“I’m picking you up.” I cut her off, annoyed the fucking bastard lets her walk home in the middle of the night, by herself, in this neighborhood.
“No, you’re not.” Her tone turns sharp as she squares her shoulders.
I’m used to getting my way, so her wanting to argue the point leaves me stumbling into reality. Her look of determination warns me this might take a turn I won’t like. However, I haven’t gotten where I am by letting someone else control the situation. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that there are easier ways to get what I want, even if I have to set things up myself.
“So, if I show up for one of the coldest drinks in town,” I say, quoting the words on the fridge. “You won’t let me take you home afterward?”
She purses her lips. “Uhn-uhn. Even if you’re sitting out here, I’m not going to let you pick me up.”
With that, she seals her fate. She just doesn’t realize it.
I tighten my lips, letting her think I accept her decision. “Fine.” I lower my head in mock defeat. “You can be sure I won’t be here tonight.”
Her shoulders lose most of their stiffness. I pull her close, and she leans in then immediately pulls back, as if she suddenly remembers where we are. Her gaze goes to Conrado’s car, parked two aisles away then to the sliding door. I glare at the ridiculous car as if I’m burning through the guy himself. Damn it all, I’m tempted to pull up. Because if I drive by, I’ll be visible from inside, and he’ll know. But that’ll make things more difficult for Iris, and she’s clearly rattled.
“I need to go.” She unbuckles the seat belt, looking anywhere but at me. “I’m—I’m really late.”
Something scrapes at my insides. There were times I’d been with a woman while she was tied to someone else. I’d had no qualms about it because the decision was hers. This time, things are different. I don’t like that she’s going back to him. And I don’t like that I’m supposed to be some dirty little secret.
I’m not stupid enough to ignore that it’s pride and jealousy that are eating me up. I feel like I’m a second stringer to him—and I don’t consider him more than a piece of shit.
She opens the door and starts to step down. I put the gearshift in park and reach out, grasping her wrist to hold her in place. “I want to see you again.” It’s a statement, not a request.
“I don’t know, Dante,” she says, her voice full of uncertainty. She draws an unsteady breath, as if she’s trying to find something to say and failing. Her gaze runs across the parking lot. “Carol’s off tomorrow, and Thursday things start picking up for the weekend.”
Would I end up waiting a whole week? Anxiety tightens my chest. “Saturday, then.”
She takes a deep breath. “It’s our busiest night…and I…”
I want to drag her back to the seat and slam down on the gas until we’re far away. I don’t do any of those things. Instead, I come up with a way to keep her secret. “Tell Conrado I invited you to a party, at my place, Saturday night.” I fight the bile pushing its way up my throat. “And he can be your plus one.”
The fucker will likely change his tune in a heartbeat once she tells him. She’ll be fine. He’ll be ready to piss himself. I kiss her hard because I’ll need something to hold me. I have to wait for most of the week to see her then spend the whole night figuring out a way to separate her from him.
*****
DANTE
“That’s it.” Kassy, my IT guru, closes the file she shared on the seventy-inch screen. It’s how she joins us for these pre-event meetings, from her home in the upper northeast part of the country. Montoya calls in from the lodge. And this time Tino and I sit in the office at my place in the city.
“That’s all?” Tino asks from the oversized couch. “Seemed kinda quick,” he adds, pulling up the files on his iPad.
“Yeah. Only twenty-three this time,” she explains, looking back at us from a secondary screen. She drags a beanie with cat ears over her long, purple-tipped hair. Why someone who’s always cold would choose to move up to snow country is beyond me. “D’Santo hasn’t made the transfer, and the Russian came up on FBI chatter so I nixed him.”
“Is D’Santo backing out?” Montoya asks through the phone line. He prefers not to use the video function on the computer.
“It can’t be a money issue,” I supply, since I did the first leg of the extensive background check. “He has several offshore accounts. In fact, one of my first recommendations includes changing his banking habits. If I can find all his information, anyone can.” Many times, when it comes to money, the threats come from those closest to a client.
“The guests will start arriving at the estate starting at three.”
The estate. I still can’t wrap my head around the term. The ranch had been home during the summer, and breaks, when I was a kid. Just a big room with a kitchen and an outhouse, up until I was about thirteen. Now, thanks to an unforeseen accident that landed Montoya on the ranch, we have room for twenty-five, plus staff, at the main house. A separate building houses the ladies who choose to entertain or participate in the auction. We bring our guests in via two private airstrips, so they won’t know where they’re landing.
“Iris Gloria.”
Hearing her name snaps me back to attention. Her DMV photo fills the screen, younger, and with a little more weight on her. “What?” I push up in my seat, trying to grasp the strands of the conversation.
Tino adjusts on the couch, looking straight over to where I sit at my desk. Meanwhile, Kassy brings up her live feed on the big screen, scoping out the scene with more detail. “I said I ran the plates Tino sent me.” She scrutinizes me as she speaks. “Tan, late model Toyota Camry registered to Iris Gloria.”
The image of Iris strutting by in little more than a towel fills my head. I don’t have a car. She just confirmed it, not more than a couple of hours ago. Didn’t she? It’s not far… I frown at the memory. I’d cut her off earlier. She hadn’t actually said anything about the car this time.
&nbs
p; “What’d I miss?” Kassy asks in a stage whisper. She’s looking at Tino, expecting more details. She’s not the only one wanting an explanation. Why is Conrado Villa driving around in Iris’s car while she’s walking home in the middle of the night? If she sold him the car, there would be a registration. Unless he hasn’t transferred the title yet.
“I’m not sure,” Tino answers as I’m trying to put the pieces together. “It’s a recent thing. At least I think so.”
I can’t really blame either one of them. Nobody, least of all myself, would expect me to be hanging onto a woman.
Kassy turns back to the keyboard, hitting a couple of keys. “I can take a look—”
“No.” My voice booms out with more strength than I intend.
“No,” Montoya agrees. “Not yet,” he adds pensively.
All three of us stare at the speaker, as if we can see Montoya, and that’ll provide an answer to the cryptic remark. I don’t want to know more about her. I don’t want her weaknesses listed in a neat little column. If I do, I’ll want to exploit them, and see how I can tear them apart to my advantage. What exactly does that say about me? And which is more important, the fact I know I’ll go for the position of power or the fact I passed on the opportunity?
“So you found her,” Montoya says with a certain brush of self-satisfaction.
“You knew,” I counter, annoyed that he’s aware of what’s going on, even here.
“I couldn’t be sure,” he corrects. “So much in the world gets in the way when I’m trying to focus. All I can tell you is sometimes I have an overwhelming feeling something I’m thinking is right.”
At moments like this, when I can feel Kassy and Tino looking my way, without actually seeing them, I understand Montoya. They’re expecting the next installment of this tangled explanation, and I’ll have no choice but to say I invited Iris to the house on Saturday. Why? This isn’t a social occasion, it’s business. Cold, hard business dealings with some of the most dangerous people in the country. Not to mention the occasional guest brought in a low flying plane, under cover of night.
Still gathering my wits, I confront the curious gazes. “Iris is…” I race to the edge of that particular cliff and stop abruptly, looking down at a dark chasm. I’m not sure how to explain who she is, much less what she is to me. I can’t get the woman out of my head, but there’s no clear description for that. Is there? “She’s someone I met recently.”
“That’s it?” Kassy exclaims in astonishment. “That’s all you’re going to tell us?”
“There’s nothing more to say.” Not anything I’m willing to share. While I can go on about every inch of her body, I know very little about the woman herself.
“So how is she connected to Conrado?” Why couldn’t Tino wait until later to ask?
“Who’s Conrado?” Kassy asks, exasperated.
Defeated, I inhale a calming breath and set out to explain with as little detail as I can. “Conrado Villa is a small-time dealer who wants to be a transporter for our group.”
Tino scoffs. “He’s more of a punk.”
“Yes,” I agree. “A much better description.”
“You know this guy?” Kassy sits forward in her chair.
Tino shrugs. “We met him Sunday night.”
“You did?” Montoya’s tone raises in interest.
“Can this guy even handle the type of weight our clientele manages?” Kassy asks.
“No,” Tino and I answer at once.
“So then…” She looks to each of us, expectantly. “Why is he even part of the picture?”
The room gets so quiet, I can hear birds singing outside Kassy’s window. Tino looks to me, as if he expects me to say something. I’m not about to tell them about my first face-to-face with Conrado. That leaves Montoya to weigh in. But the seconds tick by, and he doesn’t say anything. I can feel the pressure of her question, but I stand firm.
“He holds something of great value,” he delivers, as I hoped. And suddenly my shoulders feel lighter.
Kassy frowns into the monitor. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?” But Montoya says no more.
I sit back in the leather chair. “Your guess is as good as mine. I can’t find anything of interest on him.” I didn’t try very hard, but that’s not something I’ll be sharing with the group. “I got word through one of our clients.”
Her brow furrows. “Did he vouch for him?”
“No, and apparently he refused to acknowledge we exist. Conrado’s just been making a lot of noise, exactly what we try to avoid.” She scrunches her nose. “I checked, but five minutes in, I knew he wouldn’t make the cut.”
She immediately turns back to her desk and stops. Her fingers hover over the keyboard as my heart beats against my chest. “Can I look him up?”
I lift a shoulder as unobtrusively as I can manage. “Well, according to Montoya he’s a potential client, so I don’t see why not.” Maybe she can find something I couldn’t.
Her slim fingers hit the keys like automatic fire. “I found several by that name.”
“His social ends in a bunch of zeros.”
“Seems appropriate,” Tino mumbles.
“Here ’e is.” She skims the screen as my shoulders tense. “There’s a whole lot of nothing.” She hits a key. “Which could be something.” She tilts her head, tightening her lips. “Or it could be nothing.”
Tino reaches for his beer. “Whatcha got?”
“Twenty-eight. No arrests. No tax returns. No job listed. No home or apartment. No vehicle registration. No utilities. No phone.”
“I told you he lives with his mother,” Tino shoots through.
“Born to Olga Villa in Freer, Texas. Started school in Laredo.” She hits the keyboard several times, her head dipping from one shoulder to the next as she reads under her breath. “Average student, at best.” The reading continues. “Nothing of note until high school. He got called in…for stalking a girl, though they avoided using the term.”
Knowing there’s nothing else there, I reroute her search, considering the stalking issues Kassy dealt with in the past. “Where does he spend his time?” All I’d been able to find was intel on Iz, Conrado’s boy, though Kassy can access infinitely more data.
“He goes across a lot.” I’ve never been more conscious of how hard she hits the keyboard. “Uses Iris’s car…” She left the words hanging, aware I messed with her search. “And a suburban registered to his mother.”
“Think he’s living in Nuevo Laredo?” Tino looks in my direction. Things aren’t as easy to track in Mexico. With an ability to bribe or steal, people can live under the radar if they have enough to pay. “I can go over and see what I can find.”
“Nah.” I shake my head. Tino doesn’t know it, but I already have plans for him. “He’s not worth the effort.”
Kassy rolls her finger over the scroll button. “From the crossing times, he lives over here but goes to visit.”
“Mom?”
“Nothing on Mother’s Day or Christmas.”
“Check May tenth,” I suggest. “Mexico has a set date for the holiday.” Considering he tattooed her name across his chest, he’s bound to have a solid connection to his mother.
“Checking,” she mumbles, going through the list again. “No, he’s actually not crossed around that date.” So, how does that explain him being at the store? “Nothing much going on for Mom, either. Hang on…” Seconds drag by as she reads to herself, surely just to torture me. “She updated her driver’s license last year. The address she listed is an apartment on South Louisiana Street. Two bedroom.” The picture of Olga comes up on the screen. A middle-aged woman with gray-streaked hair and too many pounds on her. “She works at a tortilla factory on the same street. Her credit took a hit a few years ago, but she managed to buy the Suburban using cash.”
“That’s it?” Tino asks.
“Clearly not a candidate,” Kassy tsks.
“You sure your mojo isn’t on the fritz, Montoya?�
�� Tino ribs.
“All I can tell you is what the universe sends me.”
Kassy drops her head back on the office chair’s headrest. “Well, that’s a letdown.”
I grin. Trust Kassy to diffuse the situation with a quick comment.
“I’m outta here. Laters.” Kassy disconnects the call, cutting off Montoya also.
Tino eyes me as he shuts down his iPad. “You’re not done with this.”
I don’t owe him an explanation, so I just say what I couldn’t in front of the others. “I need you to look after Iris.”
He raises a brow. “What’s the problem?”
“Nothing, really,” I answer honestly. “Right now it’s as simple as me wanting her to get home safe at night.”
He picks up the beer bottle. “Am I keeping a distance?”
“No.” My grin wins out. “You’re picking her up.”
“I am?” He frowns, taking a quick drink.
“Yes, because I promised I wouldn’t be there.”
Tino’s gaze shifts to a spot above me, his version of an eye roll. Regardless of what he thinks of my plan, he’s one of the few people to “get” me.
“We’ll see what happens from here to Saturday because she’ll be joining us at the ranch.”
CHAPTER NINE
IRIS
It’s a quarter after ten when I’m finally turning off the lights, leaving the store illuminated by the sign on the dairy fridge. Exhaustion weighs me down, as if I’ve been doing hard labor since sunrise. Carol and I head to the door, more than ready to call it a night.
“Hey, there’s a car in the parking lot,” she says, pulling her backpack up on one shoulder as she cranes her neck. Tuesday and Thursday she works a split shift so she can go to college, while I try not to be jealous of her opportunity.
I shift my weight, letting my head fall back. “A regular?” Because it isn’t unusual for someone to show up needing just one more thing before I lock up.
“Nah.” She shakes her head, staring out the door, thoughtfully. “None of our regulars drive anything like this.”
Stealing Iris: A Dark Mafia Romance (Blood Ties Book 1) Page 7