Deadly Intent

by Misty Evans

  He didn’t change his expression, nor did he stop lording his bigger body over her petite one. “How many other strays have you taken in since you’ve been here?”

  She balled her fist and slugged his arm.

  “Hey!” He uncrossed his arms, but refused to rub his stinging bicep. Instead he set his hands on his hips and glared down harder on her.

  “Don’t call them that. They can’t help it that they’re poor.”

  “You have a job to do, sweetheart. I suggest you stop flirting with danger and get to it.”

  She lifted one pretty eyebrow. “Flirting with danger? Are you referring to yourself or the strays?”

  The tough FBI agent who wouldn’t let anyone inside her head or her heart felt deeply about many things besides work. Saying that to her, even suggesting it, would earn him another slug, this one in the gut. Stepping out of her way, he motioned for her to climb the steps. “After you.”

  She took the first few stairs, realized he was following her, and turned on him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’m your bodyguard. If you’re going upstairs, so am I.”

  “I work alone.”

  “So you keep reminding me.”

  She put her hands on her curvy hips hidden under the skirt. “Morales gave me explicit instructions not to let you near the money.”

  “I don’t care about the money. I care…” About you. “You’re not leaving my sight.”

  Her lips turned down in an exaggerated frown. “Aw, poor Nico.” She reached over and patted his cheek. “Rodrigo Morales doesn’t trust you after all.”

  Shifting her weight, she leaned her right hip against the stair railing. “Did you really think after knowing you for less than twenty-four hours, he would let you in on the cash side of the entire operation? It took me three months before he trusted me enough to leave me alone with the cash, and another five before he trusted me completely with his books, and I studied at the feet of his father’s beloved accountant. Rodrigo may trust you enough with security to give you a test run, but that’s as far as it goes.”

  With that, she whirled and jogged up the steps. Biting off a curse, he let his gaze follow her exposed shoulder blades and lovely back.

  Then he followed her. “Stay away from the two-way mirrors.”

  Her hand was on the doorknob. She looked over her shoulder. “Why?”

  “According to my sources, everyone knows that’s where you sit, watching the hall while you work. One of Guido’s men could walk in and machine gun those windows. You may believe you’re bulletproof, Sophie, but even you can’t survive that.”

  “You’ve already changed our normal schedule and screwed up my pickup timeline,” she huffed. “This stop is normally my second to the last one for the day. Today it’s my first. If Guido was going to send someone to shoot me down, they won’t be here for another three hours.”

  The gambling hall’s flow of money from tourists made it the perfect laundering establishment for good, hard cash. From what he’d gathered from Morales and the other men, Sophie preferred it to be the final stop on cash days because she picked up the marked money from the other drops and brought it here to exchange it for the constant flow of clean bills. When the staff paid out winnings or gave change for food and drinks to tourists, the tourists unknowingly took marked bills home with them.

  “Even without a bounty on your back, you know better than to keep the same routine. You make yourself an easy target. Morales too.”

  She didn’t move, but something changed in her eyes. The muscles in the back of her hand, still on the doorknob, flexed ever so slightly. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Disappearing inside, she closed the door behind her. He heard a lock click into place.

  She was hiding something; he could feel it in his bones.

  The hallway was poorly lit, the worn, brown carpet smelled like grease and body odor. He checked the handgun Morales had given him, an HK45 pistol with the registration number filed off. Ten rounds in the magazine, another in the chamber.

  There were five more drops to make after this. If Guido was smart, he would have lookouts at every stop along the way. A plant inside the bingo hall could have already tipped him off that Sophie was here.

  Which is why Morales isn’t here.

  Fucker wasn’t all that bright, but he was smart enough not to put his ass on the line.

  Nelson had done his scan of the players in the hall and none had set off his internal warning system. He’d established a three-layered security circle with Morales’s men, and he knew their loyalties were probably as strong as he could hope for. Not to him or Sophie but to their boss. They were in position around the bingo hall—one inside with him, three outside the building, one on the roof and another in the lead SUV for a speedy getaway if needed. His radio occasionally buzzed with their background chatter as they checked in with each other.

  All he could do now was pray Sophie was fast at her job. The sooner they got out of Old Tijuana and back to the compound, the sooner he’d be able to breathe.

  Leaning back against the door, he listened to the sounds below in the hall and wondered how to buy Sophie the extra time she’d begged him for. He tapped the handgun against his leg and whistled softly under his breath.

  Chapter Nine

  That damn sexy whistling would drive her to do something stupid. Like kiss Nelson just to shut him up.

  Sophie stood in front of the two-way, like Nelson didn’t want her to, and watched a woman enter the hall from the east side.

  At least we aren’t too early to catch Rosalie. It might be the last time she’d see the woman who reminded her so much of her mother.

  Sophie crossed herself.

  And hoped the boy she’d given the burritos to remembered to give her the one marked with a red X.

  As Nelson whistled a seductive tune outside the door, Rosalie slowly made her way across the bingo floor to her lucky chair. A tourist was sitting in it, some young, bleached blond who’d spent too many hours baking in a tanning booth before coming to Tijuana to gamble her rich father’s money away. A set of gold bangles fell back and forth on her arm as she stamped her card and laughed with her group of equally rich, young female friends.

  Rosalie stopped and frowned for a second when she saw her. Then she hefted her bag a little higher on her shoulder and made her way to the table, an air of righteous indignation trailing behind her.

  Oh, boy. Not good. Habitual gamblers were superstitious. Lucky clothes, lucky jewelry, lucky chairs.

  As Rosalie passed their tables, a few regulars spoke to her. She spoke back, her gaze never leaving the young woman invading her chair.

  Rosalie was a legend in the area for her sixth sense when it came to gambling. Some of the regulars who feared her, ducked their heads as she passed by, others crossed themselves behind her back.

  The bleached blonde and her friends stopped laughing once Rosalie reached their table. The older woman’s size alone could be intimidating, and her self-confidence even more so. The regulars never ventured near her table during bingo. Bingo was her job these days, her very life.

  But the tourists seemed mildly confused by the smile on Rosalie’s face as she towered over them. Words were exchanged and Rosalie motioned for them to leave. A couple of disdainful looks passed between the girls. Finally, Rosalie simply grabbed the back of her chair, lifted it, and sent Miss Bangles tumbling to the ground.

  A minor bit of outrage ensued, Rosalie ignoring it as she sent the cards already on the table scattering like the women. She plopped down in the now-vacant chair, making Sophie smile, and began her ritual of setting out her lucky charms.

  Three trolls with orange hair emerged from her bag first, then a lace doily upon which she reverently sat a Madonna statue. Next came a picture of a young girl that Sophie knew was Rosalie’s dead daughter. Lastly, she draped a rosary bead necklace over the Madonna and around one corner of the picture frame.

  By the time Rosa
lie brought out her own specially selected set of sixteen bingo cards, Miss Bangles and her friends had gone to find the manager. The same manager who let Rosalie break the house rules with her cards and sometimes with her antics. Sophie knew the tourists would get comped a drink and shown to a new table in the VIP section normally reserved for parties of ten or more.

  Watching the woman, memories of Sophie’s early childhood materialized. Her mother’s lucky trolls had sported green and pink hair and had been holding hands. A miniature bluebird of happiness had to be positioned just so at their feet. A candle engraved with Sophie’s father’s initials and a bundle of sage came next. Rounding out the setup was a diet Coke and a chocolate bar.

  Sophie wasn’t allowed to touch any of Juanita’s lucky charms, even when she was dying of thirst or her stomach growled loud enough to illicit questioning looks from those around them.

  Juanita had always worn her charm bracelet and a set of blue bird earrings. She haunted the bingo halls, making enough money each month to keep her girls in clothes and shoes and the cable hooked up to the TV. On days when Juanita was in a foul mood, she’d sometimes forget to take Sophie with her. So Sophie stayed home alone and watched cartoons.

  Juanita had been an illegal immigrant, squatting in an abandoned hotel in East L.A., and Sophie hadn’t attended school until first grade. But she’d received enough training in the way of letters and numbers, thanks to bingo and Nick Jr., that she’d fared just fine. She’d also learned enough social skills in the bingo halls, begging other players for sips of their drinks and bites of their food, that she managed to convince her first grade teacher, Miss Krandle, not to tell the principal when she caught Sophie setting up her own bingo den on the playground with chalk drawn cards and pea gravel to mark the letter-number combos she called from memory.

  By fifth grade, however, the gig was up. Juanita, now pregnant with Angelique, was kicked out of the country. Sophie, who’d been born in America and was a U.S. citizen, left the country of her birth and went with her, back to Mexico and a grandmother she’d never met.

  The whistling outside died away and Sophie shook herself out of her reverie. Rosalie was firmly entrenched in the game, and Sophie knew it was time to get back to work.

  She just hoped in her heart of hearts that Rosalie never met the ending that her mother had. If she got the burrito marked with an X, with its hidden immigration papers wrapped inside instead of food, she had a fighting chance.

  Nelson secured Sophie in the black Range Rover and checked that the rest of the security team was packed and ready to go. As the afternoon sun reflected off the stucco buildings and storefront windows, a storm system built over the ocean to the southwest. While the last few days had been dry, the November rains were never far away.

  He had a couple of new suits from the local men’s shop in the back, thanks to Rodrigo Morales who insisted he wear suits while working for him. Nelson checked in with his lead security team, already half a mile ahead of them, to make sure the path to Casa Morales was clear. The team confirmed what Nelson wanted to hear, but the twitch in his shoulders insisted something was wrong. If Guido had put a target on Sophie’s back, why hadn’t anyone taken a shot at her today?

  He’d instructed the different teams to chat up store owners, people on the street, even contact their snitches and offer a reward for anyone with information that might be pertinent. Not one response, not even a hint of what Guido might be up to.

  Climbing into the front passenger seat, he tapped the dash. “Let’s go,” he said to the driver.

  Leaning forward from the backseat, Sophie disconnected a call on her cellphone. “Change of plans. Señor Morales is involved in an important meeting. We are to pick Lexie up from school.”

  The Range Rover pulled away from the curb, merging into traffic. Nelson half turned in his seat. “Who’s Lexie?”

  Sophie gave him a look usually reserved for ignorant men, slanting a look at the driver, then back to Nelson. “Señor Morales’s sister. She lives with him.”

  His intel was obviously not up to date, and Rodrigo hadn’t mentioned the girl at all. “Alexa? I thought she went to boarding school in Mexico City.”

  “After her parents were killed and Señor Morales returned home from Europe, he brought Lexie here a month ago. She receives her schooling from a private tutor, Sister Leslie, at the Holy Francis nunnery.”

  The driver took a turn that lead them away from the Morales compound to the west. “I take it Sister Leslie lives in the opposite direction I had planned to take home.”

  Sophie simply shrugged and sat back.

  This wouldn’t do. Guido could be lying in wait, anticipating exactly this sort of thing. “Pull over,” he said to the driver.

  “What are you doing?” Sophie leaned forward again. “We have to pick up Lexie at three-thirty. We’ll barely make it in time.”

  “We’re not going without my team scouting the area first.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Do you have the number for the good Sister? Better call her and tell her we’ll be a little late.”

  “We can’t be late. Lexie has a fear of no one being there for her.”

  Grabbing his radio, Nelson buzzed his lead team. “And Guido could be waiting for us. Taking out Lexie, as well as you, would definitely cripple Morales and his operation. Lexie should have a full-time bodyguard herself.”

  Her righteous anger deflated. “You think he’d come after Lexie?” She raised a hand to stop his confirmation. “Of course he would. I should have thought of that.”

  As Nelson rerouted the teams, Sophie called Sister Leslie. A minute later, they were on their way and the nun knew to keep the girl sequestered and safe until they arrived.

  Security confirmed the convent was locked up and no one was hanging around outside. After doing his own scan and finding nothing, Nelson insisted on walking Sophie to the door and escorting her inside.

  The girl was sitting in a small room with a cot and a large golden retriever next to her. She looked up when the door opened.

  Skinny and pale, Alexa Morales was a miniature of her brother, except her eyes were hidden behind dark glasses too big for her face. She wore pigtails, her widow’s peak on display, and her too-big clothes hung on her like her glasses—as if she wanted to disappear behind her coverings.

  When she heard Sophie’s voice, she charged off the edge of the bed and flew toward her. Sophie lined herself up and bent down to accept the hug. The girl’s arms wrapped around Sophie’s neck, a stack of colorful friendship bracelets encircling her left wrist.

  A dog came to stand at Alexa’s side. Sophie patted his head and spoke soothingly to Lexie. The girl was clearly anxious, but within seconds, Sophie had her relaxed. “Your brother is very sorry he couldn’t be here, chica. Next time, okay?”

  Lexie released Sophie and stepped back, tilting her face up. “Is someone here with you?”

  Sophie stood, guiding Lexie’s hand out. “This is my fr—I mean, your brother’s new head of security, Nico.”

  “Nice to meet you, Nico,” Lexie said.

  Nelson took her small hand in his and shook it. “A pleasure, señorita.”

  Lexie giggled. “Can we go for ice cream now?”

  Nelson met Sophie’s eye and shook his head. They needed to return to Casa Morales where he could control the situation.

  “You can have one, too, Nico. My brother will pay,” Lexie added. “He owes me for not showing up.”

  Sophie patted the child’s shoulder. “Today may not be the best day.”

  Lexie frowned an exaggerated frown. “Pleeeease.”

  Sophie sent a pleading look in Nelson’s direction. He shook his head again.

  “I suppose,” Sophie said, ignoring him. “But only if you promise to follow Nico’s directions explicitly.”

  Lexie’s expression morphed instantly into delight. “Is it a game, Nico? Like Simon Says?”

  Sophie’s lips moved, miming Lexie’s
plea. Pleease.

  Rolling his eyes at Sophie, Nelson bent down so he was on Lexie’s level. “Simon Says is for babies. We’re going to play the adult version. You think you can handle that?”

  Lexie’s head bobbed up and down. She tapped her glasses. “I may be blind, but believe me, I can handle a lot.”

  He hoped that was true. The kid had no idea what she was about to be handed once her brother went to prison in America. “Fair enough.” He took her hand and barked instructions to his security team waiting outside. Once everyone was set, he led her and Sophie out the door.

  Ten minutes later, they stopped at an out-of-the-way ice cream shop. The wind had picked up and fat drops of rain landed on the Range Rover’s windshield. Lexie had insisted on going to her favorite place, but Nelson had told her no. Staying away from any further usual haunts was a must.

  He also insisted they get the ice cream to go. He radioed one of the men in the SUV bringing up the rear and gave the man Lexie’s order.

  “What about Maria-Sophia?” the girl asked. “She likes two scoops of café au lait.”

  Sophie grinned at him over Lexie’s head. “One scoop will do.”

  God help him. “And a scoop of café au lait,” he said into the radio.

  “Sugar cone, please” Sophie added.

  “On a sugar cone, Miguel.”

  Once they had the ice cream and resumed their drive, Nelson kept an eye on the road ahead. At least the ice cream had shut the two females in the back up.

  The peace and quiet didn’t last long. Soon he heard Lexie say, “Tell me another story about your sister, Maria-Sophia.”

  There was a pregnant pause. Sophie had told Lexie about Angelique? Nelson dared a glance at her over his shoulder.

  Her gaze was fixed on the scenery flying by outside, the ice cream cone in her hands forgotten. “She was beautiful, like you, and almost as smart, Lexie. She had the most amazing voice. You would have sworn the gates of heaven parted and the angels were singing to you when you heard her.”