Against every instinct, I reach for the hem and glide it down slowly as I turn to face him. “Maybe I’ll model it for you later. Without the dress…or anything else.”
A rush of air leaves his lips. “You may be more dangerous than I’ve ever given you credit for.” He leans in, taking my mouth with the perfect firmness of his. “Dirty little saint,” he whispers, his need like gravel inside the words.
“I’m hardly a saint, Tristan.”
Not now. Not ever. Not after the things I’ve done.
“You are. Don’t ever doubt it.” He touches my cheek gently and kisses me deeper.
I’m about to lose my willpower when he pulls away, slowly and painstakingly. His eyes on me draw everything out and feed our connection. Those silver-blue orbs unravel me and hold me together in the same moment.
“I’m serious, Isabel. Be careful. It’s a busy bar, but that’s not a reason to let your guard down. You have no idea what this guy is capable of.”
“I’ll keep both eyes open. Trust me. I let my guard down before, and it almost got me killed. I haven’t nearly forgotten.”
He takes a step back, as tense as he was before. “Are you ready?”
“I’m ready.”
“Then let’s do this,” he says, taking my hand.
Ford drives Mateus and me down the strip to another equally ritzy hotel. Tristan left well before us. I have no idea where he’ll be, but I trust I’ll feel his presence somehow. Hopefully everything goes as planned and he can stay in the shadows until it’s all over.
Mateus and I settle into a leather booth at the hotel bar and order drinks while we wait for Medina to show. We’re side by side, only a few inches apart, which is all part of the act. He looks different tonight, more professional than usual, dressed in dark-navy pants and a crisp white shirt that’s unbuttoned casually at the top. The bar is busy but not overwhelming, which makes me wonder where Tristan is hiding. Crowds are easier, but they can also be more dangerous. My thoughts drift to the festival on Freret and how the chaos of those streets probably hid my abduction well for Bones. Never again…
“Are you nervous?” Mateus asks, distracting me from reliving all of it.
I force a smile and cross one leg over the other. The motion draws my body a little closer to his and reminds me of the weapon hidden under my dress.
“I’m okay.”
He rests his arm along the top edge of the booth and drums his fingers on the leather a few inches from my shoulder. “Tristan worries about you. I do too. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
I lean my head back on his arm, relaxing into the act of being more intimate with Mateus than I ever would be otherwise. “I know what’s at stake. And you don’t make me uncomfortable.”
He smiles. “Good.”
“Thank you for doing this.”
“No thanks needed. I owe Tristan a debt.”
“I know. He told me about what happened with Karina.”
He’s thoughtful a moment. “I’m forever grateful. He did what many others failed to do. He has a gift. He’s been wasting it on this path.”
There’s a tinge of judgment to his tone. Not that I would defend the heinous things Tristan’s done, but I’m ready to defend the man who did them.
“He wasn’t entirely on this path until he accepted your offer.”
Mateus frowns, confusion crinkling the edges of his eyes.
“He told me he didn’t know what he was capable of before that night. The things he had to do in order to bring her out… Everything changed for him after.”
Mateus holds my stare before lifting his drink to his lips. He takes a healthy swallow, hiding the displeasure this news has given him.
All this time, he must have thought this is who Tristan already was. A trained killer. Someone he could use but couldn’t save.
I trace the rim of the glass with my fingertip, certain I’ve said too much.
“Mr. da Silva?”
I look up as a man is hovering near our table. I blink quickly and straighten. Mateus and I don’t look like lovers this way, scowling into our drinks. Oh well. Lovers’ quarrel.
Mateus rises and takes the man’s outstretched hand. “You must be Javier. Thank you for meeting on such short notice.”
“Of course.” Javier’s attention lowers to me. “And this is?”
Mateus waves his hand toward me. “This is Jazmín.”
TRISTAN
I’ve been pretending to read the New York Times in the lobby lounge for the better part of an hour, which gives me the barest glimpse into the hotel bar and a clear vantage to track Medina’s walk from the entrance to the table where Isabel and Mateus are cozied up together, a circumstance that irritates the shit out of me.
I console myself with thoughts of peeling her knife strap off with my teeth later.
“This joint is too fancy for the likes of you.”
I look toward the sound. Townsend is walking my way, out of place here in his cargo pants and cotton T-shirt. He’s got a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a nasty smile on his mouth.
“What are you doing here?”
He lifts his chin toward the bar. “Jay said you were meeting up with Medina. I got into town and started tracking him yesterday. Figured I’d find you somewhere along the way. Who’s your man?”
I exhale a frustrated sigh. “A friend. Do you mind if we catch up later?”
“You think she can’t handle herself? She can be a vicious little thing. I’ve seen it for myself. I wouldn’t worry about her, mate.”
I lock my jaw at his mocking tone. If he’s trying to start trouble with me, this isn’t the time nor the place.
“I thought the plan was to split up,” I say through gritted teeth.
“And we did. Now that Jay’s all tucked in, I’m back. Let’s step out for a few, shall we?”
His timing could not be worse. Medina just showed up, and I’m not ready to give up my post until he’s gone again.
“Let’s not.”
“I insist.” Townsend’s eyes darken. “You don’t want me making a scene, do you?”
I flare my nostrils and shoot one last glance toward the bar. They’re all smiles and cozy as ever. I curse to myself and whip the newspaper onto the coffee table before I rise.
“You have three minutes. Three.”
Townsend doesn’t acknowledge this, but he follows me around the bar to the back entrance of the hotel, which may still give me a view inside. I push through the doors and find the path to the pools void of other patrons. When I turn, the choice words I’ve been saving for him are swiftly cut off when he slams his fist into my cheek. The contact makes a dull crack. Knuckles on bone.
I raise my fist before the zing of the impact has a chance to fade, but a couple paces away, Townsend’s no longer on the offensive. His hands are balled at his sides, his mouth is curled into a hateful sneer, but he doesn’t come at me again. It’s enough to make me hesitate and think before I satisfy my instinct to pummel him to dust.
“What the fuck was that for?”
“That was for Jay.”
A fraction of the fight leaves my body as his meaning sinks in. Jay. Crow. The barn in New Jersey where it all went down. I vowed to be far away when Townsend found out the truth, but I hadn’t expected him to show up again to settle the score.
“I didn’t know that was going to happen, okay?”
“I know. Because if you did, you’d be fuckin’ dead!” He emphasizes the last word, a bit of spit flying with the force of it. The veins in his neck bulge, and I get the sense he’s restraining himself. The important thing is that he is restraining himself and not giving me an excuse to beat the shit out of him—or worse.
I work my jaw and rub the place where he made contact. I could argue in my defense, but the truth is, Jay wouldn’t have been taken advantage of had I not lured her out for Crow. And if the tables were turned and Isabel had gone through something like that, it wouldn’t matter if Townsend ha
d been complicit or not. He’d be dead if he had any part in it.
For that reason, I allow my anger to simmer.
“Are we through?” I keep my voice as even as possible, void of any challenge that will draw this into more dangerous territory.
“Where’s Crow?”
“His family is in New Jers—”
“I fuckin’ know that already. I want to know where he is now.” He pitches forward a step.
I hold my ground and brace myself for another physical attack. “How would I know?”
“Well, you’re partners, aren’t you?”
“About as much as you and Dunny were. He wants to take the Company down. That’s all we have in common.”
“Why would he want to do that? They weren’t after him.”
“He’s greedy. Figures he can pocket more with blackmail than carrying out assignments.”
He shakes his head stiffly. “He better enjoy it while he can, because I’m going to fuckin’ kill him.”
I could try to reason with him, but the look in his eyes tells me it’s pointless. He’s out for blood, one way or the other.
“Do what you want. Not that it matters to you, but I already took care of the guy who touched her. If he lived through it, I’d be surprised.”
His jaw bulges as he gnashes his teeth. “She told me. It’s the only reason you don’t have a hole in your head. Now you’re going to help me find Crow so I can put a hole in his.”
Fuck. I don’t have time for this. All I can do is play along so I can get back to the situation inside.
“Fine. But until Soloman’s taken care of, I can’t help you. So can we take up this conversation at a more appropriate time and venue? Because I don’t have eyes on Isabel right now, and that’s a problem.”
His seething cools a little. “I’m not letting you out of my sight until I get what I want.”
I suppress a frustrated groan. “If you fuck this up for me, you’re going to really wish you didn’t. Believe it.” I point to the door. “I’m going back in there to pretend to read my paper. I want you far away from me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Isabel
Javier Medina has an energetic air about him. His vivid blue eyes dance around as if he’s taking in every detail of our surroundings. His eager smile and shoulder-length brown hair pulled into a neat ponytail at his nape are disarming features too. Dressed in a pale-blue collared shirt and dark slacks, he looks like he just got out from a day at the office, but I doubt that’s the case. Instantly I like him and am drawn to his charisma and good looks even though my rational mind is reminding me he can’t be trusted.
The waiter brings his beer, and now that introductions have been made, the intention behind our meeting hangs like a heavy fog over the table. I catch myself holding my breath but try my best to curb any outward show of anxiety.
“So,” Medina says, resting his hands on his knees. “What brings you to Miami, Mr. da Silva? Your assistant was a little vague.”
“I’m here often for business. And sometimes pleasure too. This visit is a little of both.”
A grin plays at his lips. I take the hint and twine our fingers together as I angle my body toward him like he’s my king. In my periphery, I catch the other man sizing me up, but I pretend not to notice.
“This is the perfect city for both.” He clears his throat. “I’ll be honest… I read up about you a little. I assume with your business, you’re interested in discussing port matters.”
Mateus tilts his head. “Not exactly.” He absently strokes his thumb over mine. “This is a particularly…sensitive matter.”
Medina folds his hands together and leans in. “You have my utmost discretion.”
“Thank you.” A brief pause. “I’m interested in arranging a meeting with an associate of yours. He goes by the name of Soloman.”
It takes all my willpower not to turn and study Medina’s reaction. Instead I play with the collar of Mateus’s shirt like I have roughly four brain cells. According to our decided backstory, I’m his girlfriend du jour and my English isn’t great, so very little about this conversation would interest me. Of course, every syllable matters.
The pause is palpable, though. To Mateus’s credit, he maintains a stellar poker face. An easy, patient confidence as Medina ponders his reply.
“What would be the nature of this meeting?”
Mateus chuckles softly. “I have a feeling you know.”
“Soloman deals in many different areas. I’d like to narrow it down before I bring it to him for consideration.”
I attempt to tamp down the excitement welling inside me. The acknowledgment of Soloman’s existence by someone with ready access to him has me almost salivating. God, I wish Medina was Soloman and I could end this right now. Punish him for the hell he’s brought on our lives.
“Very well. I have…” Mateus twists his lips into an uneasy smile. “I have a problem I would like to extinguish.”
“And where does the problem live?”
“The problem doesn’t stay in one place too long. Buenos Aires. Rio. Ibiza. He’s not always easy to keep a finger on.”
Immediately I’m impressed by Mateus’s ability to describe our imaginary target. I’m almost intrigued to learn more about him.
“Sounds like he’s in your neck of the woods. Why seek us out here?”
Mateus pauses again briefly. I hold my breath and pray he has a ready answer for this too. I’ve never seen Mateus flustered or off balance. My inherent trust in his abilities goes to war with a crippling fear that everything could go horribly wrong.
“I’m seeking Soloman out because this is very personal and very important to me. I would like it handled quickly, professionally and, above all, discreetly. That is not always such an easy request to make in one’s own backyard. At least not without repercussions.”
“Understood. How did you get my information?”
“You weren’t so difficult to find.”
“Generally, I’m not. But finding a channel to a man like Soloman is.” Medina takes a swallow of his beer, but he’s anything but casual now. He went from easygoing to painfully direct the second Soloman’s name was uttered.
Mateus maintains a stone face. “Is it me you underestimate or my relationships?”
I don’t love the challenging turn the conversation is taking, so I sigh heavily and study my nails, preparing myself to pitch a bored girlfriend fit as soon as I need to.
“Neither,” Medina answers briskly. “But Soloman doesn’t take meetings with just anyone. You need a reference.”
I pull my phone out of my purse to check my messages.
“No phones.” Medina levels his sharp blue eyes at me.
My heart beats like a barrel drum in my chest as we linger in the standoff for several seconds. I don’t have to act pissed off, because I am.
“Not now, querida,” Mateus whispers to me in soothing Portuguese.
“Are you almost done? I’m hungry,” I reply in the same tongue, dropping my phone back into my purse.
“Soon, querida. We’re taking care of some business. Then we can eat.”
“You promised it would be quick. This is boring,” I whine.
“We will. Five minutes. I promise.”
“Is there a problem?” Medina interjects.
Mateus pauses, seeming to collect his thoughts. “If it’s a reference you need, you’re welcome to seek one out. My secrets are few, and I honor confidences. If you feel this is a worthwhile undertaking, you know how to reach me. Money, of course, is not an object. Now”— Mateus brings my hand to his lips and gives it a warm kiss, as if he’s exercising infinite patience tolerating both of us—“if you’ll excuse me. I’ve promised Jazmín a night out.”
He stands and brings me up with him.
“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Medina. I do hope to be hearing from you.”
TRISTAN
I give Mateus and Isabel a head start back to the Fontainebleau. Medina l
ingers in the booth, drinking his beer for several minutes before making a call. The exchange is brief. So is the next call he makes. Unfortunately I’m not close enough to make out the conversation. Finally he finishes, pays the tab, and leaves the hotel moments later.
I catch a glimpse of Townsend outside smoking a cigarette, pacing the hotel driveway, looking like a deranged degenerate. I don’t relish the idea of taking him back to the penthouse and introducing him to Mateus, who has already gone above and beyond. And while I don’t know the details of the meeting yet, I’m hopeful the outcome will be a second meeting—one with Soloman. Townsend’s reasons for being here could not be further from the mission. He’s emotional and too impulsive for this, but I don’t have much choice other than to bring him with. If I have any chance of controlling him, I’ll have to keep him close.
Twenty minutes later, Townsend and I are on our way to the penthouse. The elevator deposits us on the top floor and the doors glide closed behind us, leaving us to our palace in the sky. The opulence of the place seems to momentarily distract Townsend from his angst.
“Nice place,” he mutters, looking around the living room with round eyes before Ford suddenly appears.
Townsend barely gives him a glance as he takes another step inside.
“Wait up. Who are you?” Ford creates a barrier with his massive hand on Townsend’s chest.
“The name’s get the fuck out of the way.”
Ford doesn’t waste a second moving the barrier forward, pushing Townsend until he’s pressed against the wall. “Wrong answer.”
Townsend snarls at the man who could snap him like a twig. He looks to me, but I’m disinclined to help him. I don’t want him here at all, let alone spouting off to everyone in sight. He’s been intolerable since the second he showed up. If Ford can teach him a lesson, all the better.
Finally Townsend seems to relent, unfisting his hands, no doubt realizing the fight he’s picking is unwinnable.
“My name is Killian Townsend, and I’m traveling with this ugly fuck for the foreseeable future, so you may as well get used to it.”
The Red Ledger: 6 Page 5