by Logan Fox
And then she was reaching for the phone again.
He lifted his badge, slamming it down again. “I have every reason to believe that this hotel housed a member of a drug cartel, Charlie. And if you were working that day, you spoke with them. That’s probable cause, right there, Charlie. I could drag you down to holding and start asking you some serious questions. But I’ll go easy on you if you let me see the room. You with me, Charlie? Is it a deal?”
Charlie had gone white. And, apparently, mute.
“Charlie?”
“It’s…it’s been cleaned…” she murmured, but slid off the stool and grabbed down the keys for the room anyway.
She stood stiff and silent inside the elevator, so close to the doors that they’d barely opened before she squeezed her way out. She power walked over to the room at the end of the hall, and hurriedly unlocked it. Then she stood wide so he could pass her into the room.
Charlie spun around and headed for the stairs.
“Charlie?”
She froze, hands curling into fists, but didn’t turn.
“I’d prefer it if you stayed. I wouldn’t want you tipping off the cartel the moment you get to the phone, now would I?”
Then she did turn, face an open-mouthed tableau of shock. “You think I work for them?” she whispered in utter disbelief. “Sir, I have nothing to do with—”
He lifted a hand, and she cut off. Then he beckoned her inside with a finger. He reached past her and pulled the door closed. She jerked at the sound, and almost looked about to start crying.
“You stay where I can see you,” he murmured. “I won’t be a minute.”
It took him ten, but Charlie seemed perfectly happy to stand quivering in front of the closed door. The hotel room was clean; nothing in the trash, nothing in the drawers, nothing in the closets. He went to the living room’s window and glanced out through the blinds.
A feeling came over him them. Almost as if someone was standing right beside him.
Charlie was still by the door, of course…but he knew it wasn’t her he was sensing.
The man in the sketch. He must have stood here. Must have looked out of this very window.
What had he seen?
It was drizzling. Rain smeared the outside world into a drab, surrealist painting.
The artist had attempted to render an empty intersection, but the traffic lights melted into blobs of green and orange. A restaurant sign, picked out in red neon, glowed too bright in the premature twilight. Impossible to make out the name, but the green and reds made him think it was Italian. Possibly a pizzeria.
Pizza. Close enough to order in, but a man like the man in the sketch liked to walk. Maybe he’d get a better lead from the restaurant.
When he turned to the door, Charlie jumped. He came towards her, and she hurriedly licked her lips.
“Is that all, sir?” she murmured, already feeling behind her for the door handle.
“Yes, thank you, Charlie,” he said. “That’ll be all.”
Charlie gave him a grimace that was probably supposed to be a smile, and whipped open the door so fast that she caught herself on the shoulder. She hurried down the hallway, repeatedly jabbing at the elevator button until the doors opened.
Once inside, she spun around to face him.
He hadn’t moved. It was obvious Charlie had something to hide, but he wasn’t interested in whatever degenerate activities she was involved in.
The cartel was his only priority. He wouldn’t stop until he’d taken down Plata o Plomo.
Maybe, once he was done eradicating that cartel, he’d come back and ask Charlie some of those serious questions he’d threatened her with earlier.
The elevator door closed, but not before he saw the girl’s shoulders slump with relief.
Amazing—yesterday, Brenna had let him fuck her on a porch. Today, just because he wasn’t hiding the fact that he was a DEA, his presence terrified.
No one in this damned country respected the law anymore. Not a fucking sole.
46
Five days, chica
She was as powerless to stop Bailey from leaving her room as she had been with Lars. The urge to crawl into a ball and cry was intense, but anger snuffed out that self-pity a few seconds later.
How dare they make her out to be some kind of slut? She hadn’t chosen this. This had all just happened. She couldn’t help her feelings. Was she supposed to ignore them? To lie to everyone? What good would that do?
She’d spent so many years of her life pretending to be the daughter of a wealthy businessman, when in fact she was the heir of a drug cartel.
The time for masquerading as anything less than who she truly was…it was over.
Resolve filling her to the brim, Cora made for the door.
But it opened before she’d reached it.
Neo stepped inside, and from the angry set of his jaw, she already knew why he’d come.
“Neo, before you—”
But he was in front of her a second later, grabbing for her.
She knocked his hand away with her arm, twisted with the flow of her momentum, and drove her knee into his groin. He groaned as he folded up and fell onto the floor.
“You bitch!” he spat, digging his hand into the carpet as if he wanted to drag himself closer to her.
“Stay down, or I’ll kick out the other one,” she said. She pulled Lars’s pistol from her belt and aimed it at Neo. “I mean it.”
“Fuck!” he pulled his legs into a fetal position, and stared daggers at her from the floor. “My men are right outside,” he said. “So you’d better put that gun—”
She pulled back the hammer. “You’ll be dead before they get here.”
Neo’s eyes glittered with rage, but he seemed to reach the same conclusion as her. He sat up, moving arctic-slow, with his mouth twisted in pain. “You too busy brushing your goddamn hair?”
She blinked at him, the muzzle of Lars’s pistol dipping for a second before she forced her arm straight again. “What are you on about?”
Neo held up his fingers. “Five days, chica. We’ve got less than a week to figure out how the hell we’re getting out of this.”
Her arm dropped to her side. “We?” she asked bitterly, sliding her gun behind her back.
“I’m the groom, remember?” Neo got to his feet, but still bent over, and cupped his groin as he shuffled over to the settee. He sat with a hiss, and turned a white face to her. “And?”
“And what?” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.
Neo grimaced at her. “You don’t have a clue, do you?”
She shifted her weight, but didn’t say anything.
“You’re just as useless as my mother.” Neo shook his head, lips parting in a sardonic smile. “She goes on and on about how she’s got my dad wrapped around her finger.” He gave her a hard stare. “But she can’t even get him to cancel the wedding.”
“And what about you?” Cora asked, stepping closer. “What are you doing to get us out of this?”
“Me?” Neo touched his fingertips to his chest, for an instant a perfect replica of his father. “There wasn’t even mention of anything like this until you came along.” He laughed, winced as he got to his feet, and wagged a finger at her. “Oh no. This isn’t my fuck up to fix. You’re the reason there’s a wedding in the first place.” He poked her shoulder. “You fix it.”
She wanted to tell him to fuck off, but right then, the insinuation that she was useless cut her so deep that she couldn’t hold back.
“I have a plan.”
Neo’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, do you?” He winced again as he took a step closer. “Pray tell.”
“I’m working on smuggling us out of here.” She wouldn’t give Gabriella all the credit; especially since she didn’t understand why the woman would keep Neo out of the loop. Shit…unless she was worried he might tell Javier. But Neo seemed so pissed off at his dad, she couldn’t believe he’d do that.
Neo didn
’t seem impressed by the news. He studied her for a long moment, and then turned his gaze from her as he shook his head. “If you’re just trying to buy some more time, let me remind you that we don’t have any. Okay? Do you understand? The wedding is in five—”
“I’m not a moron,” Cora cut in. “But we don’t know if it’s going to work yet.”
Neo stepped closer, but then stopped as if he wasn’t sure when she’d decide he was standing too close. “So when will you know?”
“My men are working on it,” she said airily.
“When?” Neo muttered, shivering as if he was finding it hard to restrain himself.
“Two days,” she lied. She licked her lips. “I’ll know in two days.”
Neo lifted his chin at her, drawing air in a hiss through his nose. He pointed at his groin, jaw so tight that his muscles twitched. “This fucking hurt.”
“Then go put some ice on it,” she said calmly.
He swung around, muttering, “¡Chúpame la pija!” under his breath.
She should have been offended at the curse, but instead she smiled. Maybe she had no control of her men yet, but at least Neo would know not to fuck with her again.
Cora stood with Javier in front of the metal gates that led to the poppy plantation. It was warm, but not hot; clouds veiled the sun and kept the rocks from baking like they usually did.
Javier had been silent the entire ride. He climbed out and went ahead. She trailed him at a few paces, wary about his seemingly sour mood.
Like last time, his lieutenants waited outside. Santino didn’t even give her a smile like he usually did—maybe they were all affected by Javier’s moods. Or maybe they didn’t want to do anything to piss him off even more.
When they reached the platform that looked out over the field, Javier took hold of the railing and stared out over the view like a captain on a ship regarding the ocean.
The silence stretched until she was so desperate to break it, she said the first thing that popped into her head.
“Are they busy harvesting yet?”
A handful of workers wearing bright yellow raincoats moved through the rows of plants although they were too distant for her to see what they were doing.
“It will be another few days,” Javier murmured.
So after the wedding then.
She curled her hand into a fist, and touched her thumb against the ring clinging to her finger as she thought back to last night.
It was true—she didn’t call the shots in her own bedroom. And even out here…it seemed she’d always be answering to someone else. She could fool herself as much as she wanted, but her title of capo was as fake as the marriage she was destined to be part of in a few days.
Maybe she’d never had a choice. Maybe this was her lot in life, decided by a random toss of the dice thrown from a skeletal hand by a saint who listened to the prayers of those others shunned…but at a hefty price.
Javier’s voice tore her from that depressing thought, and she was almost grateful to him for it. “You have a lot to learn in a very short time, Elle.”
“I do?” Her voice sounded as dull as the sky.
“Your father played a vital role in the cartel. It will be difficult, but you’ll have to rebuild his connections. I know of some, but unfortunately…” Javier turned to her. “Those archives were the cartel’s life blood. A map of every connection; from this poppy field to the dope fiends in their crack dens.”
“Our customers,” she said quietly.
“No, mi reinita,” Javier said. “We sell to drug dealers. What they do with our product, is their business.”
“And that makes it okay?”
“I wasn’t aware Riveras felt guilt,” Javier said. There was something subtle to his tone of voice, but she couldn’t say why.
“You’re killing people.”
“I’m not killing anyone,” Javier murmured. “I am no different than a store, or a florist, or a doctor. We supply what they demand.”
“It’s illegal.”
“That’s what makes it so profitable.” Javier faced her, sliding his hands behind his back and studying her. “It’s a pity your father never prepared you for this day.”
And then she got it. It sounded like he was fishing, trying to find out what her father had told her about the cartel.
Although he’d told her stuff, it hadn’t been anything to do with El Calacas Vivo’s inner workings. Nothing about the connections Javier was on about. So why did Javier think that Papa would have said something?
Because he’d given her the archives. He’d trusted her with that information. Was she supposed to have looked at it? He couldn’t fault her for handing it over in exchange for his life, could he? Even though it had been pointless, he’d have done the same. What was money—dirty money, at that—compared with saving her father’s life?
“When?” she asked.
“After the wedding,” Javier said. “I want our distributors to meet Mr and Mrs Martin.”
Her skin turned to ice at the thought that in a week, she’d be married.
Unless Gabriella’s plan to get her out of here worked. She’d agreed to it, but Finn didn’t seem to trust Bailey at all.
But there was no way she was getting married. Not to someone she hardly knew as some part of a convoluted scheme that would most likely end up with her dead.
She was getting out of here, whether her men approved of the way she did or not. Lars had said she called the shots. Even if it didn’t feel like she had the power to, she was damn well going to try.
Maybe it was best to make Javier think that she was playing along…just for now. Less friction. Less conflict.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Javier cocked his eyebrows at her. “The wedding?”
“Meeting my distributors,” she said in an even voice. “I think it’s important they know who I am.”
The thought chilled her to the core; meeting with heroin dealers? She couldn’t imagine what it would be like. But she refused to show fear to this man ever again.
If he’d been satisfied that she was finally coming around…her last comment dried up that pleasure.
Let him think she wouldn’t just be a puppet. Maybe it would keep him busy long enough for her to get out.
Except…ever since Lars had been in her room last night. Ever since he’d said those things to her…there was one thought that kept swirling around in her mind. A dollar bill, pressed against the window of a washing machine while the clothes splashed against it in their gray water.
If it wasn’t for the wedding…would she have stayed?
47
A toast
Cora slid into the SUV, running her fingers through her hair and letting out a big sigh. Shopping with Gabriella had been exhausting. She’d never known there would be so much fitting involved. Her shoulder muscles burned from how many times she’d had to wriggle into—and then out of—the outfits Gabriella had wanted to see her in. She felt like a doll playing dress up.
This was all supposed to be pretend, anyway—why the hell did she have to endure the torture of three hours of clothes shopping?
Despite how she’d complained, Gabriella had insisted she kept trying on outfits. And, when a sizable mound of clothes had accumulated next to the sofa Gabriella had sat on while Cora twirled around like a reluctant ballerina, she went and bought everything. In cash.
The girl at the register had done a double-take, and then taken Gabriella’s wad of cash with careful, trembling hands. It had taken a while for her to run each note through the UV scanner to check for counterfeits; and she’d glanced up at them the whole time as if to apologize that she had to authenticate their money.
Cora could have told the clerk not to bother; everyone knew that a cartel’s drug money was so dirty, they spent a considerable percentage of their profits cleaning it up. Which, ironically, meant making it physically dirty.
Gabriella had insisted Ana come with; the woman had been lik
e a bird trapped in a cage, flitting from one aisle to the next. She wouldn’t be surprised if the girl had taken every single garment off the racks for inspection. Ana had also tried on a few things, but Gabriella only had to murmur, “No,” before Ana would tear it off.
She’d have thought the relationship between Javier’s wife and his mistress—one of them, anyway—would have been more strained. But Gabriella seemed to tolerate Ana like a normal person would a hyperactive pet.
“Are you ladies hungry?” Gabriella asked, glancing back at Ana and Cora. She rode shotgun while one of Javier’s sicarios drove. There was another SUV following them, and Cora had no idea how many armed men were inside. Javier obviously didn’t want anyone getting hold of Gabriella while she was out on her shopping spree. Which made her wonder if it was something that had happened before, and if it was something that could be brought up in polite conversation.
El Guapo had been surprisingly charming again this morning when he’d seen them off outside the villa. He’d even seemed faintly surprised when Cora didn’t take any of her men with.
She doubted any of them would have come with if she’d asked. They’d stood a few feet behind Javier, a silent row of blank faces. Even Bailey stood in line with them, if a few feet away.
Well, let them sulk. They weren’t the ones who’d be forced to get married in less than a week.
“I could eat,” Ana burst out, and then glanced across at Cora. “Aren’t you hungry?”
She had a sneaking suspicion this was part of Gabriella’s test, so she shrugged. “Sure.”
Gabriella slid her sunglasses up her nose and clicked at the sicario, almost exactly like Javier did. “Find us somewhere.”
The man nodded almost imperceptibly, and indicated for a right turn.
They arrived at a small restaurant a few minutes later. It looked like the owners had wanted to give it an Italian vibe with all the red-and-white checkered tablecloths, fake trellises with their fake ivy plants, and the rack upon rack of red wine bottles on the walls.
