by AJ Adams
I found her in the kitchen, drinking a glass of milk. I gazed at her, trying to see what was so special. She had a heart-shaped face, a sweet little nose and good strong cheekbones. The lean lines, slender hands and feet, and large eyes were deliciously feminine, but the decisive, economic movements were in direct contrast.
It was the eyes, I decided. They were most unusual, charcoal sparkling with gold. The grey reflected her mood, turning from ash to slate when she was angry. Mostly though, they revealed her inner self. The soft girl with the core of steel was quite unlike any other woman I’d ever met.
I put the kettle on. “Tea, Morgan? And a smoothie or eggs?”
“Eggs, please.”
I turned around and it was a couple of seconds before I got what was different. “I’ve asked you that for weeks and always answered myself.”
Her eyes were curious. “I remember only bits here and there.”
“You were on some serious drugs. I thought it was better than having you in pain.”
Morgan looked rather startled. “Thank you.”
At the time, I’d made the choice because it suited my needs, but now I was glad of it. I didn’t like the idea of Morgan suffering. Mind you, I’m an evil bastard, so I wasn’t even vaguely tempted to tell her the truth. If it helped her to like me, I’d take the kudos and be shameless about it.
It was strange to cook with company. For a moment, long-forgotten memories surfaced.
“You make the coddled eggs, Rip, while I get the kedgeree together.” My father was smiling as we cooked up a splendid Sunday breakfast. “There’s nothing like the smell of smoked haddock in the morning.”
I pushed the memory away; I didn’t want to sour the day by thinking back to what I’d lost. Instead, I focused on the present: a smashing girl of my own and a dream home. Even the eggs scrambled beautifully and smelled delicious.
I put a plate in front of her. “I cooked, so you clear.”
“Okay.”
Yes, definitely a practical no-fuss girl. While Morgan tucked in, making growly noises of pleasure as she ate, I eyed the pink PJs with the unicorn on the front and decided I’d been very lucky indeed. Any other girl would have stormed and wept, driving me to distraction. Morgan was sensible and easy to have around.
Anticipating good times to come, I checked the news on my tablet and was delighted to see Velasquez Cervantes was on every front page.
With my Spanish still rather shaky, I couldn’t understand the in-depth articles, but the highlights were happily showcasing Angelita, various lovers, and finally, splendid shots of his corpse in her bed. Arturo was ace at leaking because there wasn’t a word about the Zetas.
When I put my tablet down, Morgan was looking me over, and the friendliness had vanished, “Going splendidly, is it?”
Casting my own words back at me, the cheeky thing. I was far too pumped to let her sarcasm get to me. “Absolutely. Actually, it’s good news all round. Kyle won’t be asking about your past.”
The eyes narrowed. “You get to keep me, no questions asked? Reward for a job well done?”
I was astonished. “You really know your way around the cartel, don’t you, Morgan? How interesting!”
She flushed, annoyed at giving me more background. “Everyone knows how that works.”
“No, they don’t. At least, nice girls don’t.”
“I’m not a nice girl.”
“You were last night.”
The blush deepened. She really was very pretty. “So I have lousy taste in men, but you knew that.”
I had to laugh. “Meow! Is that why you ended up in the river, Morgan?”
The eyes darkened, but she didn’t answer.
“You can tell me. We shouldn’t keep secrets from each other.”
She looked at my tablet and shuddered, “Because I’m too deep into this to walk away?”
“Spot on. You do know the rules, don’t you?”
“Enough to know that watching the news with you doesn’t count for a hill of beans. Only eyewitness testimony is valid in court.”
“Very true. Except that we don’t take any chances.” I was looking at the worried mouth. “But why are we discussing this, Morgan? You were so keen to stay with me. Anything I want, remember?”
“True.” She looked out of the window as if she didn’t care, but I could see her tremble. “But when you’re bored with me, do I become a spectacular kill?”
She’d seen my true self. I was a fool to think she could ever like me even a little. She was here because she had no options. A shaft of pain lanced through me. I hid it, though, saying lightly, “I’ll never be bored of you.”
Morgan didn’t seem convinced, but our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a visitor, pulling up in a fancy sports car.
“You can ask Quique,” I said nastily. “He’s Kyle’s deputy.”
Morgan pokered up instantly, vanishing into the garden with a muttered, “I don’t want to witness any business.”
It suited me because Quique was full of news. Bearing a thumb drive, a stack of cash, and freshly baked bread, he announced, “Eduardo was released from hospital yesterday morning and the jefe had a word with him.”
My ears pricked up. “What happened?”
“Eduardo agrees Campello was a thieving bastard who deserved what he got,” Quique explained carefully. “The boss told him that Campello was taken out by a sicario and that you had nothing to do with it.”
So Kyle had stepped up, not for love of me, but to protect my cover.
“Eduardo accepts the jefe gave you this house as a gift for saving his life,” Quique said. “He knows now you had nothing to do with Campello’s death, and he will apologise to you, if you want.”
That was easy. I’d witnessed these reconciliations. They inevitably led to a bloodbath, as apologies fuel feuds with humiliation and shame rather than settle them. “Absolutely not. Let’s forget about it.”
“Thanks.” Quique was sighing with relief. “I knew you’d see this the right way.”
“Let me make some coffee.” I needed to think it through from other perspectives. By the time the milk had been heated, I had a handle on it. “Does Eduardo believe it?”
“No way,” Quique replied. “He knows something is up, and he’s out for your blood.”
Right. Cousin Eduardo had seen the real me. There was no way he’d let this go. He’d know in his bones I’d killed Campello. Only his respect and fear of Arturo had made him cave.
I was in a tight spot, and I was wishing I’d killed the bugger. “How many supporters does Eduardo have?”
“Loads,” Quique said gloomily. “His family are all in the business.”
I was missing something. “Does Arturo want me to leave?”
“Shit no! Absolutely not!” Quique was genuinely appalled. “You’re doing a superb job. Much better than our wildest expectations. This is just a heads-up, so you know, okay?”
“Okay.”
Quique looked out the window. Seeing Morgan inspecting the boat, he smiled. “You know, Rip, I thought you were a cold bastard, but seeing you with Morgan, I realise you were just all business.”
See? I told you! “Personal is different.”
“Yes!” Quique was enthusiastic, delighted we were on the same page. Then, just like Chumillo had before, he filled me in on what was worrying him. “Rip, we’re in for a tonne of shit. The real issue is the Sokolov connection.”
My past was coming back to haunt my future. “Why?”
“Outside of us, nobody knows what your role is. But we had to alert the halcones and our border contacts. Eduardo is part of the airport security team, and the jefe thinks he’ll put two and two together and reckon it’s you they’re after.”
“Will he let them through?”
“No. That would be seen as insubordination, and the jefe won’t tolerate that.” Quique rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “My worry is that he’ll use it to run a campaign to say you’re more trouble th
an you’re worth.”
At first I didn’t see that as a problem. But I took a minute and put myself in Arturo’s place: I was powerful, a king, really, running an empire... I worked through it and realised what the issues were.
“You mean that at some point Eduardo will ask for a favour and it will be to kick me out.”
“Exactly,” Quique said. “Eduardo has worked for the jefe all his life, and he’s never asked for a thing.”
“So Arturo will have to grant any reasonable request.”
“Yes. If you were officially one of us, there’d be no question of removing you, because your value would be clear.”
“But as my work is secret, it looks like I’m just here at Arturo’s whim.”
“We don’t want to blow your cover,” Quique said.
“No, we certainly don’t.”
I was cold at the mere thought of my true work being revealed. Not only would it make hunting a lot harder, but it would mean every single one of my enemies would be honing in on me. I was really wishing I’d killed the weaselly son of a bitch.
“It’s highly unlikely Eduardo will do anything,” Quique assured me. “But just in case, the jefe wants you to mingle a bit more. It’s easy to kick out a stranger but not someone you’ve partied with and who knows your kids.”
Oh great! Their solution would bring me real trouble. The more people knew me, the more would see the true me. I had visions of the mob baying for my blood.
“We’re thinking you should come to the Sunday lunch,” Quique said. “Bring Morgan.”
I wasn’t going to promote that kind of proximity. Morgan could mingle in my home, under my watchful gaze, but I didn’t want her at huge parties, saying god knows what to god knows who. “She’s a bit shy.”
“Solitaire says she’ll make extra sure Morgan won’t be mobbed.”
Icing on the cake. Arturo’s wife was sticking her nose in. I had a vision of Morgan falling around her neck and of the disaster that would mean for me.
This day was rapidly turning into a clusterfuck. “We’ll see how it goes.” I was determined not to follow Arturo’s plan, but diplomacy would give me time to figure out a way to slide out of this.
“Good!” Quique was cheerful again. “Now, the jefe asked if you could do the top three files, the ones marked urgent, first. He’s not sure yet when they need to go, but it’s going to be soon.”
“Okay.”
“Any questions, call me or Kyle.”
“Absolutely.”
Quique twitched a bit. “Kyle’s a good man, totally straight. Don’t think he’ll fuck you over. He’s all business.”
So he too knew I didn’t like him. I really wasn’t doing very well at charming the important Zetas. “He’s the jefe’s brother. Of course I trust him.”
“No, you don’t. And he feels the same way about you!” Quique laughed. “Jesus, Rip. You and he are two peas in a pod in so many ways.”
I’d heard some of the stories and knew Quique was partly right. “Okay, I get it. I will do my best!”
Imitating the Zeta style went over well. Quique laughed, slapped me on the back and rushed off. “See you Sunday.”
The quick hits were simple enough. Three men, all in Halford. They were low-level players, all members of the Sinaloa cartel. They were not the usual predators I targeted.
But as I read on, it became clear they were all pimps, and a lot of their girls were barely teenagers. Bastards, putting kids up for sale. Given it was to be a bullet in the head, they were getting off lightly.
Arturo had added a sticky note with, “Don’t be spotted on CCTV.” There would be cameras, for security and blackmail purposes, so I’d have to wear a disguise. Or several different ones to be sure. I’d need to plan it carefully, but the maps and notes on their routines, all countersigned by Quique, Pedro Rojo and Kyle, were superb.
If I could trust them. I needed time to think and plan. Without conscious thought, I sought out Morgan. She was in the garden, still dressed in her unicorn PJs. My mum had done that. Every morning she’d taken her cup of tea outside, roaming in the garden whether it was wet or dry, warm or cold. I’m connecting, she used to say. Standing here, I can feel myself as a part of the web of life. And now she was gone. Ashes to ashes…
I forced away the black memories threatening to swamp me. Outside, Morgan was not communing with nature. My very practical girl was looking over the boat with mingled awe and disgust.
She was grumbling the second she saw me, “The engine is a disgrace. It hasn’t been maintained at all.”
The mystery woman was more than handy. A dab hand at plumbing, and from the sound of it, an engine lover too. That argued mechanical engineering. Morgan really was unusual.
“If you want to fix it, there are tools in the garage.”
“I’ve salvaged what isn’t rusted.”
“Excellent.” She was so taken up by the dirty job in front of her that she forgot to be edgy around me. Intrigued, I leaned closer. “Can this be rescued?”
“Yes, but it will have to be stripped down completely.”
Morgan stripping. Yum. Just thinking of it was giving me a boner.
“Really, it’s a sin to do this to a good boat,” Morgan muttered. “As for the SuperLow, it needs a complete overhaul.”
“That’s the bike?”
Morgan gave me a look. “Didn’t think it was yours.”
“You’ve been thinking about me? How nice!”
Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t like me much, but she wasn’t shrinking from me. “You really have a knack for irritating people, don’t you?”
“You have no idea.” That came out rather unexpectedly and I rushed to fill in the gap. “Sounds like you’ll have plenty to keep you busy.”
“Hmmm. The Cayenne needs attention too.”
“Excellent.”
Morgan’s eyes widened. “Rip, that’s the SUV you’re driving. It’s a 2016 Porsche Cayenne.”
“And now you know I’m a mechanical dunce.”
“And I guess you already knew I’m not.”
“From the second you fixed the kitchen tap with a rubber band.”
As Morgan stood up, the boat rocked. I put an arm around her shoulder, just to steady her, and to my surprise she didn’t pull away.
I looked her over, feeling close to her. “I like the idea of you doing a Bob the Builder in your jammies but we should buy you some clothes.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“But I do.”
I’d always heard that women were magpies for cash and clothes, but Morgan was different. “Rip, I can’t do this.”
I thought she was talking about our deal, and so I was a bit exasperated. “That again?”
“I’ve never taken money from a man, and I’m not starting now!”
“Oh.” It was a surprise, and so was her still not moving away. “Well, you do look fetching in pink.”
“I look like a rainbow-farting Barbie nightmare!” Morgan exploded.
I had to laugh, and after a second, Morgan giggled too. The eyes sparkled gold and ash, and the mouth was irresistible.
By extraordinary good luck, that’s when our visitors appeared. I recognised the cavalcade instantly. Solitaire. And from the others who were piling out, she’d brought company.
I was happy they’d found us laughing and me with my arm around Morgan. Maybe that would stop them from poking their noses into my business. I really wanted to keep this girl; I needed her but more than that, I wanted her.
“Have a seat,” I called out. “We’ll be there in a minute!”
“Who’s that?” Morgan asked.
“Arturo Vazquez’s girl.”
Morgan paled, her knees buckled, and I caught her just before she hit the deck. “Oh dear God!”
I could see our visitors staring as they took in the scene. “Is she all right?” Solitaire called.
“Yes,” I called out. “Just give us a moment.”
Morgan�
��s face was sheet white, and my heart sank.
“Do you know Arturo?” I asked her.
“No,” Morgan whispered. “I’ve just heard the name.”
I breathed again. For a long horrible moment, I’d thought she might really be an enemy of Arturo’s. Of course that was nuts. The Zetas had checked her out, and she wasn’t on any of their lists. Morgan was just frightened of his reputation. The fact that she’d heard it was significant, but I could leave that till later.
“Well, come and be nice to his girlfriend.”
I wasn’t prepped—it had the potential for disaster, but it was unavoidable. So I made the best of it. “Solitaire! How lovely to see you.”
Morgan was at my side, still rattled but looking relieved as she saw our visitors were three women.
“Chloe, Nats, this is Rip.” Solitaire was brisk, but her eyes raked Morgan over, and they weren’t missing a thing. She nodded and addressed Morgan, “We heard you were awake and thought we’d come and say hello.”
More like check on me. She was here to ask Morgan if I was treating her properly. Except she started by pretending it was strictly social.
“I brought you roses,” Solitaire said, “cuttings from the garden.”
“Thank you.”
“Nats made you lasagne.”
“Lovely!”
“I just brought myself,” Chloe announced. “I didn’t realise we were doing presents.”
They were an astonishing trio. Solitaire looked like a fashion model, tall and elegant, Nats was pregnant, rich with curves and promise, while Chloe was small, with a heart-shaped face and exquisite features.
What united them was a visible strength. I recognised it; Morgan had it in spades. Now she was eyeing the women and glancing at me. She was getting her colour back.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” I announced.
At that, Morgan was holding my hand. She really didn’t like the Zetas, not even the women. “I’ll help.”
“But we can’t leave our guests alone,” I told her. “And asking if I’m abusing you will be easier if I’m not here.”
Other women would have blushed or protested, but the three Zeta witches just stared at me. I shrugged and eyeballed them right back.
