31
Not far down the road, Lucas’s phone buzzed insistently.
“Hey!” Fetsko said. “You’re out from under.”
“Yeah. Has anything happened while I’ve been gone?”
“I’ve got lots to tell you, but I’d prefer a face-to-face.”
“I’ll be back there by two. I’m already on my way.”
It had been so hard to pull himself away from Audra. However, the wind in his face, coupled with what he was facing, was enough to sober him. Perhaps in a few hours Blanco would be in custody, and they could enter the second phase of Audra’s protection. Not that the second phase would be much different from the first, but it still was progress. Hopefully, Blanco’s incarceration would throw the organization into chaos for a while, leaving them alone and allowing them to get to a new safe house.
It was a shame they couldn’t stay at Gordon’s, but overstaying their welcome couldn’t be good for Gordon’s operation, as well as the fact that Audra was putting a wall between herself and them.
They meant well, and in the majority of circumstances, they would have been right. Hell, hadn’t he given the same advice to friends of his own in the Service? He wanted to say it was different with him and Audra, but he knew it wasn’t. Who could give any accounting for matters of the heart?
He knew she just didn’t want to feel their doubts, which might cause her to doubt both him and herself. Right now, she needed him, and he wanted her to need him. More than that, they had mutual need, mutual desire, and mutual care.
Lucas was back in Calexico inside of four hours, went directly to Fetsko’s room, and plopped into a chair.
“Good to see you, Lucas. Damned if you don’t look a sight healthier than when you left.”
Lucas smiled. “So what do you know?”
“I have a meeting with Blanco on Saturday. He’s having a party at his beach house, and Marlena and I are invited. Apparently, Michaelson made the phone call because the adjutant told her he knew who I was and what I wanted.”
“What’s your plan?” Lucas asked.
“That’s what we need to discuss.”
# # #
The brief ride to Mexicali was uneventful. Per his instructions, Marlena had gotten a room at the Lausanne. Things were progressing between them, he thought, anyway. He knew she had a lot of men, but somehow she made him feel like he was the only one. He wanted to be with her before, and to be able to lose himself in her after the operation went down.
She greeted him at the room door in bathrobe which hung loose around her, exposing her silk slip and stockings.
“Ah, caro,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck and showering him with kisses. “Marlena is so happy to see you.”
He walked into the room and pulled his belt off. She threw the robe on the chair and helped him unbutton and unzip. Immediately her fingers found what they sought, and he was hard within seconds. She dropped his pants to the floor and pushed him back into the chair. She sat on the floor in front of him, then got onto her knees and immediately began to lick his cock.
“Marlena,” he said, wanting her attention. “Marlena.”
“Sí, caro,” she said, looking up with her beautiful eyes, but without relinquishing her hold on his member. She looked so innocent but continued to stroke him.
“Marlena, I want more than this,” he said.
“Marlena knows. You no want just servicio. You want novia.”
“That’s right, honey. I want a girlfriend.”
“We talk about it,” Marlena said, “right after I finish this,” she said, waggling his member back and forth. “Men cannot talk while this is full,” she said.
He laughed. He thought about how true that was, especially when she had awakened such a beast in him. God! Her mouth was so warm and wet and….he ceased being able to think clearly, so he sank back into the chair and allowed her to continue her ministrations.
He spurted so hard into her mouth, and she quaffed every drop of it. Then, she cleaned him up and crawled onto his lap.
“Now what you want to say to Marlena?” she asked.
He felt barely conscious; he was caught up in a delicious stupor. “Uh, I think I love you?”
“You love Marlena?” She tipped her head back and laughed in that typical Marilyn style. “Marlena loves you, too.”
She snuggled up in his arms, her head beneath his chin, and they both fell asleep.
He awoke not too much later. She was already dressed and applying the last of her makeup.
He stood and tucked himself back together, putting his belt back on.
She went to the closet. “Here,” she said. “Marlena buy this for you.”
It was a black blazer, with a raised pattern of black floral embroidery on the shoulders—perfect really with his black jeans, Justin boots, and crisp, white shirt.
He pulled out a new belt and matching bolo tie from his bag, but she shook her head. “Belt, sí, bolo, no. The belt is nice. It makes you look wealthy. The bolo makes you look like you’re trying too hard,” she said and giggled.
“I appreciate the advice,” he said, grinning at her. “I certainly wouldn’t want Blanco to think I was trying too hard.”
As they got ready to walk out the door, he pulled her to him. “Will you come back here with me tonight? We’ll have champagne and make it a celebration.”
Her eyes lit up. “Of course, cariño, I would love to.”
That was the first time he had heard her refer to herself in the first person. He began to realize that the pidgin English was just an act. He had suspected she was highly intelligent, and now he was sure of it. Just the kind of woman he needed.
# # #
Marlena pointed the way to the villa. She wore a simple black sundress with traditional Mexican embroidery and beading and matching beaded earrings consisting of twisted strands. Fetsko was impressed, not only with how she looked, but in her sense of wearing something traditional that Blanco would likely take for trustworthiness.
For both of them, the tension mounted as they arrived and was not dispelled upon seeing other guests, realizing how much they stood out among them. But then, the idea was not to blend, but to be visible to Blanco’s adjutant. Marlena’s ostentation had always made him somewhat nervous, but he had felt it would be to his advantage in this case.
The sumptuous villa did, indeed, overlook the marina with a small yacht docked directly in front. The abode was spaciously decorated in colorful Talavera style with warm woods and traditional styling. There was a table overflowing with tapas of all kinds.
Fetsko looked at it, but his stomach was in knots because of the impending meeting. He did take a flute of champagne that someone handed him, hoping the fizz would help settle his stomach. Marlena left him and flitted in and out among the distinguished guests.
Fetsko looked toward a set of closed ornately carved double doors in front of which stood a couple of uniformed guards. The uniforms were indistinguishable as to any organization, so he figured that Blanco had his men uniformed in one-off Federale garb. It must bolster his ego, Fetsko thought, to be taken for an important official.
The champagne did help his stomach, so he sought another one, hoping it would slightly dull his edge of fear and help him relax. As he was finishing the second flute, he was approached by another uniformed man, this one of obvious rank by his insignia.
“Señor Fetsko?” the man asked.
“Yes, I’m Fetsko,” he said too loudly. He grabbed the man’s hand and pumped it firmly, in an effort to appear dumb and eager.
The man withdrew his hand in obvious disdain. “General Blanco would like to speak with you now, señor. Would you follow me?”
The man turned on his heel, and Fetsko followed him. Suddenly, Marlena rejoined him. He wasn’t sure she should be there, but he thought it might disarm Blanco a bit. They were frisked at the door. Fetsko stiffened a bit when the guard thrust his hand into Fetsko’s inner jacket pocket, withdrawing three Cuban
cigars, his cell phone, and his wallet.
“Why these?” he asked, holding up the cigars.
Duh, Fetsko thought. Did he think they were exploding cigars?
“A gift for General Blanco,” Fetsko said.
The guard looked at the adjutant who nodded and returned the cigars to the pocket. He held the cell phone, turning it over and over, as if looking for explosive devices.
Fetsko held his breath. If they took the cell phone, he was fucked. It had two functions—to alert waiting marshals that he was face to face with Blanco and to record their conversation.
The guard looked again at the adjutant, and then, apparently satisfied, returned the cell phone to the pocket, as well. The guard gave only a cursory look at the wallet and replaced it last. He gave a hard nod to the adjutant, indicating that he was satisfied.
“Only you,” the adjutant said, blocking Marlena. Fetsko nodded to Marlena, indicating that it would be okay, but she grabbed his arm, looking coquettishly at the adjutant.
“But I know General Blanco very well,” she said. “Querrá verme.”
The man hesitated, but her insistence that Blanco would want to see her seemed to sway him, and he allowed her to enter with Fetsko.
They entered a large room filled with overstuffed leather furniture and alpaca rugs on the floor and on the backs of some of the furniture pieces. Two men stood near a window, and the general sat behind an ironwood desk, perched on the edge of a leather wingback chair with brass studs.
Fetsko had seen pictures of Blanco before, but nothing prepared him for the man’s presence. Blanco’s jet black eyes spoke of his intelligence. This man would not be easy to fool. His craggy features showed he had earned his stripes the hard way. Fetsko realized he had miscalculated concerning Blanco’s ego. It wasn’t about ego. He was no fat, stupid aristocrat. He didn’t have to demand respect; he warranted it.
Blanco’s eyes followed Marlena. Lucas had told him that she and Blanco had been intimate, but Lucas had conjectured that it was a matter of convenient timing and lust rather than any kind of relationship. It wouldn’t be in Blanco’s personality to be jealous, but Fetsko realized that he might be very possessive. Fetsko saw that he may have made a mistake by allowing her to come in with him.
Fetsko looked at her, but she seemed oblivious. He ran through various scenarios in his mind but realized she would have no reason to double-cross him. Blanco didn’t know or want him. He wanted Lucas and the girl. The only way that Marlena would be useful there was if she knew who Lucas was, and Fetsko was certain she did not.
Fetsko reached in his pocket to pull out the cigars for Blanco and pressed a button on his cell phone to engage the recorder.
“A gift, General,” Fetsko said, handing the man two of the cigars, “in appreciation for our interview today.”
Blanco accepted them, indicating they should sit. Fetsko sat on one end of a walnut-colored davenport, and Marlena sat in the middle. She spread her skirt carefully around her, but she remained a respectful distance from Fetsko. Smart woman, he thought. Safer for him.
Blanco’s focus was clearly on Marlena.
“Marlena,” Blanco said, “¡Ven a mí! Sientes en mi rodilla.”
Marlena glanced nervously at Fetsko then walked over to Blanco. She bent to kiss him, and he pulled her down to sit on his knee, encircling her waist.
Fetsko saw the strategy. With Marlena on his knee, Blanco could focus his attention solely on Fetsko.
“So, Mr. Fetsko—former U.S. Marshal. How is it that you come looking for work?”
Fetsko raised his arms and shrugged. “I’m sick of the government pimping me out, risking my life for a pittance. Senior Deputy Michaelson thought I might be interested in working for you.”
“You are acquainted with Marshal Lucas Roberts, no?” Blanco asked.
“I am.”
“Are you aware of his detail responsibilities now?”
“I am,” Fetsko responded.
“Do you know where he is?”
Fetsko shook his head. “The Marshals Service has pinpointed his whereabouts somewhere in the Mojave, but they have no clear location.”
“Why? Why don’t they know where he is exactly?”
“He’s gone rogue, sir.”
“I see. I actually knew all of that. I just wanted to see if you are as informed as I am.”
Fetsko nodded.
“Do you think you can find him?”
“With the right intel.”
“And where would you find this intelligencia, señor?”
“I have my ways. I knew where to look for you, didn’t I?”
“Michaelson told you where I am.”
“Michaelson only said you were in Mexicali.”
Fetsko realized that might have been the wrong thing to say if Blanco took the time to put two and two together between him and Marlena. But, he hoped, to Blanco’s mind, she wouldn’t have necessarily been giving away sensitive information.
“Así, what will you charge me to kill Marshal Roberts and the girl, and how long will it take you?”
Fetsko reached into his pocket again and pushed the alert button, indicating to the waiting reinforcements that he had his evidence and was ready to proceed. He withdrew the third cigar, and Blanco continued.
“I don’t know why I should be willing to trust Michaelson again. The first man failed.”
Fetsko proceeded to roll the cigar between his fingers, turn it end to end, and to taste the end of it. It soothed his nerves and gave him time to think.
“Brighton was stupid,” Fetsko said. “I’m not. Brighton exhausted himself walking all the way into the camp. By the time he encountered Roberts, he was half frozen and deranged. He got the drop on Roberts, but Roberts quickly outsmarted him.”
Blanco nodded.
Suddenly, there was a sharp knock at the door. A small man in a waiter’s uniform who Fetsko had not seen before opened it without waiting for clearance. The henchmen in the room immediately alerted.
“¡General Blanco! Hay soldados en la puerta. Se buscan Señor Fetsko.”
He wasn’t kidding when he said “at the door” Fetsko realized. Before anyone in the room could move, the doors were thrown open and four U.S. Marshals entered with plenty of firepower.
Blanco jumped up, pushing Marlena to the floor. “Not soldiers!” he shouted. “¡Federales Americanos!”
Fetsko would later think how ironic it was that Blanco felt it necessary to correct the little man, as if his own henchman wouldn’t realize the peril.
The adjutant lurched across the floor, grabbing the messenger by the lapels. The marshals cocked their rifles. “¡Bozo! ¡Payaso!” the adjutant shouted at the man. “You brought federal marshals to our door!”
The doors swung aside, and everyone looking could see the room was empty. The guests were gone, and the guards lay sprawled on the floor.
Blanco’s henchmen reached for their weapons, but the marshals spread out, pointing their weapons at each one. One of the details nodded at Fetsko and tossed him a pair of handcuffs.
Fetsko helped Marlena up from the floor and pushed her back against the wall. Blanco opened a desk drawer, but one of the marshals quickly got the drop on him. One of Blanco’s men used the momentary distraction to grab his weapon and shoot the marshal who was covering Blanco. In turn, one of the marshals shot the shooter.
Fetsko grabbed the marshals gun as he went down. A second marshal came to Fetsko’s aid, and together, they yanked Blanco’s arms behind him, and Fetsko handcuffed him. Fetsko really wished that enough fire had erupted that Blanco himself would have been killed, but he realized that would have resulted in several fatalities.
“Ernesto Blanco,” Fetsko began, “you’re under arrest for solicitation to commit the murders of Lucas Roberts and Audra Donahue, solicitation and conspiracy to murder Ethan Roberts, and you are under arrest for the murder of Jaime Garcia.”
Now that his heart had begun to slow from the adrenaline rush, Fe
tsko looked around for Marlena and found her laying beneath the henchman who had shot the marshal. He started to go to her, but the detail chief, waved them out of the room with his rifle.
Without a word, Fetsko and another marshal walked Blanco out of his villa and to the waiting vehicle of the Mexican Federales. Fetsko put Blanco into the car and secured him. He conferred with the driver, who then drove off with Blanco who would sit in jail in Mexicali until he was arraigned.
Sirens shrilled as ambulances arrived on the scene. Fetsko started back toward the house, but his knees buckled as the tension went out of his body. An EMT came to help him up and steady him, moving him back toward an ambulance. Fetsko looked up to see the remaining henchman being brought out in handcuffs, followed by the downed shooter, the downed marshal, and Marlena all on gurneys.
He wanted to go to her, but the EMT wouldn’t allow him off of the tailgate of the ambulance as he took his vitals. He stood as he saw them bringing her toward him, realizing they were going to load her into the ambulance.
They had a mask on her face, giving her oxygen, but she was still. Very still. He reached for her, but all he caught was the hem of her dress. That was when he saw the blood across the bodice.
The EMTs were working furiously and pushed him out of the way…now that the one EMT had assured himself that Fetsko was okay. Two jumped in back with her. He wanted to go with her, but realized he needed to focus on the scene. One slammed the door closed and got in with the driver, and they sped away, lights and siren.
32
Back in Calexico, Fetsko’s cell phone rang. He answered it, and Lucas saw his jaw clench. “Okay,” Fetsko said. “Okay. Thanks very much. I appreciate it.” He disconnected the call and gave Lucas a look of semi-relief.
“She’s out of surgery. It’ll be touch and go for a while, but they think she’s going to make it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll just have to keep in touch with the hospital. I don’t think it would be wise for me to go back into Mexicali for a while. The hospital is the one place they would expect me to be.”
Lucas nodded. “It will be at least another 72 hours before we can extradite, and possibly longer.”
BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books Page 60
