by Elise Noble
“Just do me a favour and get those damn goldfish back in their tank,” Black said over one shoulder as they left the room.
Back at the Riverley estate, he abandoned his Porsche Cayenne outside the main house. Emmy leapt out of the vehicle before he turned the engine off, then strode towards the front door with a sense of purpose that made him both proud and slightly nervous. He’d spent over a decade training her to compartmentalise her feelings and get the job done, and now she wanted blood.
Bradley was waiting in the hallway, two bags beside him—Black’s leather duffel and a dark purple suitcase for Emmy.
“I wasn’t sure whether you needed beachwear, so I just packed one bikini for Emmy and a pair of swim shorts for you. And flip-flops. Everybody needs flip-flops.”
“We’re not going to the beach.”
“I don’t need a bikini. I need a fucking bullet,” Emmy said.
“Why? What happened?”
“Someone shot Eduardo.”
Bradley’s hands flew to his mouth. “Ohmigosh! Is he dead?”
“No, but the asshole who pulled the trigger soon will be.”
A chill fell over the cavernous room. Okay, so Black might have been imagining that, but Ana was eternal fucking winter with a black bob and bright red lipstick. Carmen stood behind her with a sniper rifle cradled in her arms.
“You need to kill someone?” Ana asked.
“Somebody shot Eduardo,” Bradley told her. “I have a whole selection of sympathy cards upstairs. Should we send flowers? Lilies? Roses?”
“Flowers? Pshhht. You should send a message instead.”
“Duh. That’s what you write in the card.”
Ana rolled her eyes, and Black swallowed a snort. Ana wasn’t talking about a note, she was talking about finding the son of a bitch who put Eduardo in the hospital and slitting his throat from ear to ear. Knowing Ana, she’d probably tie the guy spread-eagle over the hood of his car and insert his gun barrel up his rectum too. Thank goodness she wasn’t coming to join the party, or things could get messy.
“I’m gonna rip his fucking guts out,” Emmy said.
“Sounds fun. Give me five minutes; I’ll pack a bag.”
Oh, shit. “I’m going with Emmy,” Black told her.
“And I’ll come too.”
“What about your daughter?”
“Sam’s taken her to visit her grandparents for a week.”
“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘two’s company, three’s a crowd’?”
Ana was a fearsome assassin, but somewhat of an unknown quantity. Black still hadn’t quite fathomed her out, and he wasn’t sure anyone else had either. Ana’s loyalties lay with Emmy, the two of them bound by blood, and the prospect of Ana ricocheting around Colombia like a loose cannon with Emmy, who was driven by anger at the moment, didn’t exactly fill him with glee.
But Eduardo had helped Ana out in the past too, and now she fixed her violet eyes on Black’s. She was one of the few people who didn’t back down from his stare.
“Berís’ drúzhno, ne búdet grúzno.”
Loosely translated as “take hold of it together, it won’t feel heavy.” Many hands make light work.
Fuck.
Black ticked the points off on his fingers. “No grenades, no rocket launchers, no high explosives.”
Ana had a knife in her hand before he could blink, a wicked-looking Emerson CQC-7B with a matt black tanto blade, perfect for slicing through a man’s chest.
“This will be enough.”
Heaven help him.
CHAPTER 12 - EMMY
EMMY PACED THE aisle of Black’s jet as it flew south over Virginia. She’d managed to stay in her seat for takeoff, but now her stress leaked out around the edges. What if Eduardo didn’t make it? She hadn’t even seen him in three months, and soon guilt crept in too. She should have made more time to visit because Skype was no substitute for a hug.
Black snagged her hand as she walked past and pulled her into his lap. Without the help Eduardo had given, her husband would be either dead or festering in a hole in Colombia’s Amazonian region, and Emmy would still be piecing together the remains of her shattered life. They both owed Eduardo everything.
Yes, he was a drug lord, and yes, he’d done some pretty fucked-up shit in the past, but over the last few years, he’d changed. He’d seen the damage drugs did, and the final straw had been the raid at the Ramos compound that freed Black. Since then, he’d made a concerted effort to diversify his investments so his sons wouldn’t have to sell coke for a living. Now the Garcia family owned a string of nightclubs, bars, and restaurants, four coffee plantations, an airline, a shopping mall, a handful of hotels, and a portfolio of rental properties among other things.
And Eduardo had a heart. If you were a friend, his loyalty was unquestionable.
“Diamond, they call Eduardo ‘The Cat’ for a reason. He’s got nine lives. He’s survived the drug war for fifty-eight years so far, and there’s every chance he’ll pull through this.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“The hospital said he’s stable right now.”
“Stable but critical.”
“Quit with the negativity. Sometimes you’re your own worst enemy.”
Dammit, Black was right, just like always. Emmy had totally lost the plot when she thought he’d died a couple of years back, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d do the same again. No, she needed to focus on something else. Like finding whoever did this and carving the skin off his body in tiny flakes. But according to Seb, he was a fucking fantasma. A ghost. A wraith. A shadow. The bloody bogeyman. He’d got into Eduardo’s compound unnoticed before evading a dozen bodyguards and all the other household staff on his way out. Then he’d vanished.
But they’d find him.
No question, they’d find him.
See? Emmy could do positivity.
One of Eduardo’s men picked the trio up at the airport—Ramiro, a guy Emmy recognised from previous visits. He barely fitted behind the wheel of the SUV, and although he wasn’t taller than Black, he was significantly wider.
“Is there any more news?” she asked.
“No change. We will go straight to the hospital. Sebastien and Marco are waiting there.”
Usually, Emmy stayed at Eduardo’s estate in the country, but today, they drove towards the concrete jungle. Still, this was Colombia, so the sun was shining and colourful birds flitted from tree to scrawny tree at the side of the road. Cali was a mix of beauty and poverty, good and bad, but apart from the odd sicario, the people were invariably friendly, and if Emmy had learned one thing on her previous visits, it was that they were fiercely proud of their country.
The hospital loomed ahead, and Ana squeezed Emmy’s hand. Although they’d only met recently, Ana was the puzzle piece that had been missing for the whole of Emmy’s life, and now she couldn’t imagine them being apart.
And Black was her rock. Her soulmate as well as her husband. She couldn’t have asked for two better people to be with her today.
“Where is he?” Emmy asked Ramiro.
The big man pointed towards the elevator, not with his finger, but with his lips in that funny way they did in Colombia, almost a pout. “On the second floor.”
Upstairs, Emmy spotted Seb right away, sitting on a plastic chair in the corridor, flanked by two bodyguards. His defeated posture—slumped forward with his elbows on his knees—told her there was no good news.
But she asked the question anyway. “How is he?”
Seb stood to hug her, and if she thought of Eduardo as a father, then Seb and Marco were her brothers.
“Still in a coma. The doctors are worried about his head. If the swelling on his brain doesn’t go down today, they’ll have to operate.”
“Are they good? Competent?”
“We have the two best neurosurgeons in the country on standby.”
“Can I see him?”
“Of course.”
Eduardo lay
deathly still. He’d always been larger than life, but now he looked older than his years, his tanned skin papery under the fluorescent lights. Floriana sat in a chair beside him, and by the looks of her puffy eyes, she hadn’t stopped crying since the incident happened.
“Thank you for coming,” she whispered, standing to give Emmy a hug.
She’d always been a quiet woman, deferential around Eduardo, and some of his frailty had transferred to her.
“Eduardo means a lot to me.”
“I just can’t…” More tears came. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”
“I heard you shot the guy.”
“Not well enough.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll finish it. Have you had any sleep?”
“How can I sleep when my husband is like this?” She waved her arm towards the bed. “I’m staying here until he wakes up, or…or…”
“Don’t think that way. He’ll wake up.”
Why was it always easier to be optimistic with other people than with yourself? Emmy perched on the edge of the bed and took one of Eduardo’s hands in hers.
“Hey, old man. You’d better wake the fuck up because who else is gonna shoot pizza with me?” Emmy’s dislike of pineapple on pizza was well known, but only Eduardo joined in enthusiastically when she lined up the slices out back and introduced them to her Walther P88. “And the holidays wouldn’t be complete without you sending me a whole bunch of shiny stuff I have no idea what to do with.”
Nothing. Just the wheeze and hiss of the ventilator and the steady beep of the heart monitor. The guy was a mess. The hole in his chest would have been bad enough on its own without the head injury. Brains were funny things, and who knew what went on in Eduardo’s.
“Where’s Marco?” Black asked Seb.
“He’s out looking for the motherfucker who did this.”
Figured. Over the last two years, Seb had aligned himself with the Garcias’ more legitimate enterprises, while Marco dealt mainly with what was left of the coke business. His connections on the street were better than Seb’s, although the younger brother’s methods sometimes lacked a little finesse.
“We’re here to assist. Whatever you need.”
“And we appreciate that,” Seb said. “The men back at the house are going through the security camera footage, but there are no fingerprints. He wore gloves.”
“You have his blood. What about DNA?”
“Our country’s database is still in its infancy.”
“We should still cover all bases. Our lab can help with the testing. But the most important thing right now is to protect Eduardo. The guy’s still loose, and you need a man in this room.”
“We have men in the hallway outside.”
“You also have a window.”
“We’re on the second floor.”
“Trust me, that isn’t a problem.”
Sebastien stared at Black for a beat, then nodded. “We’ll put a man in the room.”
A nurse tried to walk in, but Ana blocked her with an arm.
“I need to see an ID badge.”
The nurse stared blankly, and Emmy helped them out. “Ella necesita ver una insignia de identidad.”
The poor woman fumbled in her pocket, never taking her eyes off Ana. “Aquí está.”
“Gracias.”
Good thing Ana’s shooting was better than her Spanish.
The nurse fussed around Eduardo, checking his vital signs and rearranging his pillows. If she minded treating a known drug dealer, she didn’t show it. Mind you, Eduardo had always been good to the ordinary citizens of Cali, and he’d donated a lot of money to the hospital. Yes, he sometimes killed people, but only bad guys, and Emmy could hardly judge him for that seeing as she did exactly the same thing herself.
Black crouched beside Emmy and rested a hand on her leg. “Do you want to stay while I lend a hand at the estate?”
“I’ll come with you. There’s more I can do there than here. Seb, will you call me if anything changes?”
“Right away.”
“I’ll come back in the evening.”
“Can you bring a bag for Floriana? One of the maids will pack.”
“Sure.” Emmy gave him a hug. “Wish us luck.”
Seb sucked in a breath. “It’s not you who will need the luck. The man who did this to my father… He will need the luck.”
CHAPTER 13 - BLACK
BLACK MIGHT HAVE told Emmy to stay positive, but shit… The old man didn’t look good.
This time, it was Ramiro who asked the question when they got into the SUV. “Any change to the boss?”
Emmy shook her head. “Still asleep.”
At least she hadn’t wanted to stay at the hospital. It would be easier to keep her mind on track at the estate, and Black needed her help if they were going to find the man responsible. He barely knew Sebastien and Marco, Ana spoke about five words of Spanish, plus there was the small matter of the Colombian authorities thinking he was the son of a drug lord himself. Long story.
Anyhow, he’d spent more time locked up in Colombia than walking the streets there, which was going to make this investigation a little…challenging. Let’s say challenging. It was better than “fucked.”
Eduardo’s sprawling hacienda wrapped around three sides of a courtyard and opened up into a wide terrace at the rear. Emmy had a bedroom on the second floor with a view over the back lawn, and Black followed her as she headed for the stairs, shoulders slumped.
“Want me to take your bag?”
“I’ve got it.”
Of course she did, and usually, the offer would have earned him a sarcastic comment about her being perfectly capable, but today, Emmy was subdued. Black hated seeing her like that. Call him a masochist, but he preferred the snark. Ana stalked along behind them and shoved her backpack into the room next door, then went back outside, presumably to fetch more guns from the car.
“I’m glad you came,” Marco said from behind before stepping forward to hug Emmy.
Usually, Black wanted to kill anyone who put their hands on his wife, but today the urge didn’t arise. Strange times indeed.
“I’m so, so sorry about your father.”
“He always said his lifestyle would catch up with him, but now, when he is getting ready to quit? And in his own home? That was a line that should not have been crossed.”
“Agreed. What do you have so far?”
“Not much. Some blurry camera footage, but the cabrón kept his head down most of the time.”
“A coincidence?” Black asked. “Or did he know where the cameras were?”
Silence fell over the room, and Black gave Marco room to think. An uncomfortable gap often encouraged people to tell the truth.
“I’d say he knew where the cameras were.”
“Then he had somebody on the inside.”
“We can’t discount that possibility. But I have no idea who it is. Who do I trust?”
“No one. You don’t trust anybody except your brother, Emmy, and me.” Emmy trod on his foot. “And Ana,” he added.
Marco snorted a laugh. “You’re asking me to trust you above my own men? I barely know you.” True. “Following your theory, how can I be sure you didn’t try to kill my father?”
“Simple. If one of us three had hit Eduardo, you’d be picking out his casket right now.”
The bluster went out of Marco, and he sagged against the wall. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s been a tough twenty-four hours, but we’re here to help. You may not know me or Ana, but you know Emmy.”
“I wasn’t ready for this,” he whispered. “I knew my father lived dangerously and that my brother and I would have to take over the business one day, but not yet. It shouldn’t have happened yet.”
“And it may not happen at all. Your father’s still alive, and he’s more likely to stay that way if we can find whoever’s trying to kill him and stop the bastard from coming back for another go.” Because if the wannabe assassin
was working under contract, which Black very much suspected he was, he’d have to finish the job to get his money. “Or since he failed the first time, whoever hired him may simply sever ties and employ somebody else.”
They were in a race, and the clock was ticking.
“Will you take a look at the video with us? See if there’s anything we’ve missed?”
“That’s what we’re here for. And if any of the footage needs enhancing, we can send it to our tech people. They’re ready and waiting.”
Emmy was already fidgeting by the door, impatient, and Black realised he’d have to keep an eye on her. She could be impulsive sometimes, and she wanted blood. If he didn’t keep her under control, things had the potential to get messy.
“Roll back a bit. More.” Black squinted at the screen. “Dammit. You’re right—he always turns away.”
Whoever the guy was, he was good, Black had to grudgingly admit that. He seemed to have ridden in on the roof of the truck that delivered Floriana’s weekly order of flowers—the woman bought enough bouquets to cause a hay fever epidemic—too high up for any of the guards or the camera on the gatepost to see. One of the cameras on the outside of the house captured a blur as he dropped down and disappeared into the foliage beside the delivery entrance. He’d reappeared in the sunroom at the back of the house before skirting two pairs of guards and making his way upstairs, then caught Eduardo coming out of his study. The old man had made a run for the stairs before being shot in the back. The assassin was on his way forward to finish what he started when Floriana ran out of the bedroom with one of Eduardo’s gold-plated semi-automatics, but by the looks of things, she’d only winged him. They had blood, and they had DNA, but what they didn’t have was a face.
Unless…
“There. Stop. Zoom in.”
“What? He’s looking away from us.”
“Yes, but he’s facing a glass cabinet.” Full of china shit. What was the point of plates if you didn’t eat off them? “See there? It’s his reflection.”
Marco enlarged that portion of the image, and sure enough, a blurry, dark-eyed ghoul looked back at them, his mouth fixed in a hard line.
