Undercover Nightingale

by Rosnau, Wendy

  The gunfire stopped as soon as Filip disappeared into the trees. But the reprieve didn’t last long before the gunman began to unload a pound of lead into the car again shattering the side windows. She heard Matyash groan and gasp from the front seat. He must have taken another hit. Maybe more than one.

  She heard Filip yell from the trees, ordering her to get out of the car. While she was weighing her decision on how to do that without being cut down, the sound of squealing tires entered the chaos. Through the open door, Allegra saw a black limo pull up beside the car. The back door swung open and a heavy male voice inside ordered her to get in.

  “Move, or die!”

  Allegra hesitated only a split second before she scrambled off the floor and dove into the backseat of the limousine. As soon as she was inside, the black stretch raced backward, the back door still hanging open. The unexpected speed pitched her into the stranger’s lap. She heard him grunt, felt his hands wrap around her waist. He pulled her into the seat beside him and pushed her head into his lap.

  “Stay there, señorita.”

  Her head was spinning as the car continued to speed backward.

  “Pararse, Naldo,” the stranger ordered, and the car immediately came to a screeching stop. Allegra jerked her head up to see what was going on. Through the tinted window she saw Filip break away from the trees and sprint toward the car in an effort to catch a ride. Dodging an onslaught of bullets he dove inside.

  Once Filip was seated, the stranger ordered his driver to get them out of there.

  As if the chauffeur was once a race car pro, the long stretch whipped around and sped away from the gate like it had grown a pair of wings. Seconds later an explosion shook the limo, and Allegra looked back to see that the car stalled at the gate entrance to Casso Salavich’s bastion was engulfed in flames.

  “Where to, Señor Toriago?” the chauffeur asked.

  “Back to the hotel. Dese prisa.”

  The limo picked up speed.

  Allegra had just started to relax when Filip pulled a 9 mm SIG from his pocket and aimed it at their savior. Just as quickly, the stranger pulled a Spanish Astra with similar lines to the Sig, and curled his arm around her, poking the weapon into her ribs.

  “You have lost much today, señor. Do you wish to lose more?”

  “If you shoot her, I shoot you.”

  “Where I come from, that is called a Mexican standoff. A situation such as this usually ends up with someone getting anxious and making a hasty decision. In the end no one wins.”

  “What do you want?” Filip demanded.

  “A little gratitude, perhaps. You are still breathing, no?”

  “For how long?”

  “That is up to you. I have no wish to kill you, señor. That was the shooter’s agenda, the one hiding on the other side of the river.”

  “Your driver called you Toriago. That name is familiar. An old name dead and gone.”

  “It is an old name, sì, but I am not dead. And who would you be?”

  “Filip Petrov.”

  “Petrov… I recently read something in the paper about the Petrov family. You’ve had a string of bad luck lately. A pity to lose the pretty woman, too.”

  “I have only your word that you didn’t hire that shooter.”

  “You have nothing I want. Almost nothing.” Suddenly the stranger pulled Allegra closer to him. “Where I come from, when a man saves another man’s life, he is rewarded with a gift.” He angled his head and boldly inhaled Allegra’s scent like an animal sniffing fresh meat. “You are a lucky man, Petrov. I wish to be so lucky.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t accommodate you, Mr. Toriago. The woman is mine.”

  “If she was mine, I would not give her up either.”

  His voice was deep, his Spanish accent as charismatic as his clear blue eyes and killer grin.

  He was a combination of contradictions. Pale brown hair, streaked with sunbaked highlights, olive skin, and an American flare for boldness and nice clothes.

  A man of mixed worlds.

  Filip said, “Toriago… The Toriago cartel from Mexico?”

  “Sì, from Mexico.”

  “Your family was also in the newspaper.” Filip lowered his gun. “It was a few years ago, but I remember it well. Estabon Toriago and his son died in a Mexican prison. Who are you, the cousin who escaped on his belly like a snake in the grass?”

  Suddenly the car sped up, taking on renewed speed. A reckless suicide speed.

  Toriago pulled his gun away from Allegra’s side and laid it on the seat next to him. “There are no cowards in the Toriago family. We also believe that a good rumor is priceless.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Estabon’s son did not die. Not unless I’m a ghost.”

  “You’re Marco Toriago?”

  “The very one, señor. How bad were you hit?”

  Hit? Allegra glanced at Filip, and there, inside his leather jacket, she saw his bloody shirt.

  “Filip!”

  “Shut up.”

  The minute Toriago loosened his hold on her, Allegra scrambled across the seat to sit next to Filip. He looked dreadfully pale—why she hadn’t noticed that before she couldn’t say. She tried to take a closer look at his wound, but he shoved her away.

  “Later.”

  “There’s so much blood, Filip. You need a doctor.”

  “No doctor.”

  “But—”

  “No doctor.”

  “We have to stop the bleeding.”

  “I’ve lived through worse.”

  “It looks like Señor Salavich doesn’t like you much,” Toriago said.

  “It wasn’t Salavich who ambushed me.”

  The stranger leaned forward and took one end of Filip’s jacket and opened it. “The señorita is right. You’re in bad shape. I can stop the bleeding. That’s if you’re not afraid of a bit more pain and a little fire.”

  Toriago grinned. The grin suggested that he was joking, but his cool demeanor, and the worldly experience he exuded, promised otherwise.

  “It’s the quickest way I know to cauterize a wound when a man is on the run and wants to wake up tomorrow. Of course, it’s your call.”

  “Is this experience talking?” Filip asked.

  “I’m not a man who puts much truth in rumors. A man who lives in our world shouldn’t.” He shrugged. “You might be able to survive. That depends on you. Who can say, Señor Petrov? Life is a gamble, no?”

  “Show me.”

  “Show you what?”

  “Bullet holes and fire leave scars. You should have both if you’re a man who deals in truth instead of rumors.”

  Toriago hesitated a moment before slipping off his brown leather jacket. He unbuttoned his white shirt, pulling it from his jeans to expose hard muscles and a bronze six pack. Unfastening his belt one handed—as if he’d done it a thousand times in a dark alley on a minute’s notice—he unzipped his pants.

  Allegra didn’t look away, even when he rolled his right hip forward and jerked his pants low to expose a hideous scar just below his hip bone—a bullet wound that had been cauterized by fire.

  His eyes shifted from Filip to her, then back again. “As I said, rumors are for weak men who enter the fight after the smoke has settled.”

  Allegra studied the puckered wound—a wound that should have killed him. His pants rode low, another inch and it would expose the rest of his perfection. And it would be perfect. A man like him would have the complete package.

  Her attention drifted. Any woman would have done the same. The smattering of hair on his chest continued past his deep-set navel and headed south—a narrow strip disappearing into his pants.

  She glanced up, saw that his eyes were once again on her. His grin turned rogue, and they shared a moment. He hadn’t only caught her in the act of staring, but he’d read her mind as well.

  The awkward moment was broken by Filip. “Do it.”

  Do it? Allegra jerked her head toward Filip. He had t
o be insane if he was going to let Toriago set him on fire. She was about to tell him as much, then thought better of it.

  She kept quite while Toriago zipped his pants, then reached for a box tucked in a compact cupboard built into the limo’s console.

  “Take off your coat.”

  Filip tried, but in the end Allegra had to assist him.

  Toriago took something from the box, then a cigarette lighter from his jacket pocket. “Get rid of your shirt, too.”

  Allegra unbuttoned Filip’s bloody shirt, and as she helped him out of it, she saw that the bullet had passed through him high on his chest—a chest that was covered with old scars, souvenirs that branded him as much of a survivor as Toriago.

  Toriago sat forward and that’s when she saw the disks that resembled lemon drops. She recognized them for what they were. The question was, where had he gotten state-of-the-art explosives?

  “Tell your woman to come back and sit by me. You’re going to turn into a wild animal in a minute. After that, if you’re lucky, you’ll pass out.”

  “I won’t pass out,” Filip insisted.

  “You should hope that you do. Tell her.”

  Filip glanced at Allegra. “Do what he says.”

  She hesitated, then slid across the seat.

  “Take a deep breath, señor, and let it out slowly.”

  One minute Filip was inhaling air, and the next minute Toriago was on the edge of his seat inserting the candy into Filip’s wound. A second later he flicked his lighter to life and said, “Fire in the hole.”

  When the flame touched the small charge of explosives there was a popping noise and then flames were scorching Filip’s chest, cauterizing the wound.

  Filip twisted in pain, moaned like a dying animal. The stench of burnt flesh filled the inside of the car and immediately Allegra felt sick to her stomach. When Filip wrenched forward and began to convulse, Toriago grabbed him by the back of the neck and held him down while he inserted the second disk into the exit wound, then touched it with his lighter once again.

  More moaning filled the inside of the limo, more of Filip convulsing in endless pain.

  Then he passed out.

  Allegra’s stomach rolled. She turned to look out the window, the air so putrid and caustic she could taste it in the back of her throat. She didn’t look back for several minutes, but when she did Toriago had laid Filip flat and tossed his jacket over him.

  She glanced at Toriago who was now reclining in his seat. He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it with his lighter. He seemed unaffected by what he’d done, unaffected by the lingering stench inside the limo.

  He began to button his shirt, and as he did, he glanced at her. “Smoke, señorita?”

  “No.”

  “If you’re going to be sick, let me know. Naldo will pull over.”

  She shook her head, swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “Will he be all right?”

  “The odds are better than they were a few minutes ago. Now then, señorita. Tell me why a pretty face, with a body made for love, is with a man who knows nothing about what a woman wants or needs?”

  “That would be my business.”

  “Bad business decisions can be deadly. You should rethink this one.”

  She didn’t answer. She slid as far as she could toward the window and looked out at the passing scenery as they followed the river back into Budapest.

  “Don’t worry, señorita. If he dies, I will see that you don’t go hungry. If your body is as beautiful as your face, I’m sure I can find a use for you.”

  He seemed to take great pleasure in baiting her. Let him, she thought. Let him think she was nothing more than a silly woman to be used by the men in this crazy world. Bonnie had taught her different, a way to survive no matter the cost.

  Filip never regained consciousness the entire drive into the city. Allegra continued to stare out the window while Toriago smoked.

  Finally he said, “It’s going to be important that you keep him immobile for at least twenty-four hours. I’ve got a suite at the Grand Royal with an extra bedroom. You’re welcome to it.”

  With Filip passed out, Allegra was forced to make a decision. Not sure what to do, she debated on what Filip would want.

  Toriago must have read her indecision. “My driver can drop you wherever you wish, señorita. Perhaps Filip has a friend you can call.”

  The only friends Filip had were dead, left behind in a burning car. Filip hadn’t explained why they were headed to Casso Salavich’s bastion, and going back there seemed reckless at the moment. Maybe Toriago was right. Maybe Salavich was responsible for the attack on their car.

  He raised his hand and brushed a strand of her dark hair away from her cheek, tucked it behind her ear. “You should let me treat that cut on your cheek.”

  It was the first she realized that she’d been injured. She touched her cheek, and came away with blood on her fingers.

  “I think gunpowder and a little fire…in the hole is extreme in my case. I’ll pass on your offer.”

  “A woman with a sense of humor. I like that.” He was grinning again. “I have something in my room that will prevent a scar. Interested?”

  “I’m not worried about a little scar.”

  “But why live with one if you don’t have to?”

  His phone rang, and he reached into his pocket for his cell. Flipping it open, he said, “Toriago, here. You’re the man with the iron fortress, you should have that answer, not me. I’d say one shooter by the timing of the rounds. Across the river. No. I’ll pass today. If you can prove that the shooter was an outside interference, I’ll reschedule our appointment. If not, I’ll find someone else to sell my merchandise to.”

  Allegra listened to every word of the one-sided conversation. It had to be Salavich on the phone.

  When Toriago disconnected he confirmed her suspicion. He said, “Salavich wants me to return to Ballvaro. He says his men are out searching for the shooter. If you want, my driver will take you and Petrov back once he drops me at my hotel.”

  Allegra thought a moment, then shook her head. “I think you’re right. I’d like to know who blew up our car, and why, before I get trapped behind Ballvaro’s iron gate.”

  Toriago’s piercing blue eyes went on a slow, thorough shakedown of her body. “So there’s more to you than just a pretty face, and a sense of humor. This is good to know, señorita.”

  When Naldo pulled the limo up in front of the Grand Royal, Ash handed the dark-haired señorita his suite key. “I’ll be there shortly.”

  “With Filip?”

  “That was the plan. Unless you’re anxious to be alone with me. In that case I’ll stash him in the trunk for a couple of hours.”

  “You’ve picked an odd time to make a joke.”

  “It was no joke.”

  She pulled the Beretta from her pocket and leveled it at his chest. Ash had guessed right. She’d had her hand in her pocket the entire way into town.

  “So, señorita, you have appeased my curiosity. Do you know how to use it?”

  “Sì,” she mimicked, “and without the slightest hesitation.”

  She had a sweet brown mole at the corner of her full upper lip, a sexy French accent, and flashy green eyes. She reminded Ash of the old days. As Marco Toriago, he would have had her undressed by now and halfway to nirvana, even if there had been an audience—unconscious or not. Back in Mexico, Toriago had had an unquenchable thirst for ten-minute sex.

  The beauty seated beside him deserved more than ten minutes, however. The question was, if he had time and she was willing, could he get it up? For the past year he’d had a problem. It was like his body had simply gone on strike. Too much liquor and guilt, the shrink had said.

  “How are you going to get Filip up to the room?”

  Her question brought him back. “You let me worry about your boyfriend. I’ll figure something out. I always do.” He offered her his best killer smile, the one Toriago would have used in
Mexico to get her into the back alley. “Now why don’t you put your toy away and head up to my room?”

  “I promise you that if Filip isn’t with you when you show up, I won’t think twice about firing my toy at your head.”

  “It doesn’t make much sense for me to go to the trouble of keeping Petrov alive, only to kill him a half hour later. Now, I never repeat myself, but I’m making an exception this once because you’ve had bad day. Put the gun away, señorita.”

  Her nostrils flared, and she parted her lips as if she had more to say. She was a strong woman, but then she would have to be to survive in Filip Petrov’s world. The question was, why would she want to?

  She waited too long. Challenging him was a mistake, but she had done it and now he would have to make good on his threat.

  He gripped her knee with his right hand, and his bold trespass startled her. She immediately dropped her gaze. A normal reaction, but the wrong one in this case. He knocked the gun from her hand and forced her back against the seat. Curling his body inward, his face inches from hers, his fingers moved farther into the warm space between her thighs. He said, “I’m a man of my word, señorita. Something to remember.”

  To drive the point home, he slid his hand upward, trespassing further, his fingers moving over the front of her pants.

  Her heart was pounding, her eyes wide, but she didn’t lose her composure. “What now, Toriago?”

  He released her and picked the gun up off the floor and gave it back to her. “Now we start over.” He offered her his key. “Room 811.”

  She took the key, then glanced at Filip. She touched his neck, searching for a pulse. When she found it she said, “Make sure he’s still breathing when you bring him up.”

  “Or you’re going to take my head off.”

  She pocketed her gun. “You surprised me once. It won’t happen again.” Then she swung the door open and exited the limo.

  A blast of crisp air joined Ash in the back seat as he watched her walk away and disappear inside.

  “You done looking and licking your chops?”

  Ash turned to see Naldo eyeing him from the front seat.

  “Sì, I’m done.” Ash pulled the door shut. “Find the cargo entrance.”