Unruly

by Bethany-Kris

  A few backroads, and the main town—mostly French—of Grand Falls would lead him onto the Trans-Canada Highway. Twelve hours later, and he would be dropping his load of smuggled guns off to the waiting Guzzi family in Ontario.

  Then, he would catch a plane and head back home.

  Simple.

  Routine.

  Nothing new.

  Cross flipped open the glove compartment, and pulled out the items he would need to get across the border crossing. He set the Passport, IDs, truck information, and falsified driving log to the passenger seat.

  As far as the crossing guards would know, he was a long-haul Canadian trucker returning home from a work trip. The address on his IDs said he lived just beyond Grand Falls in New Demark, about a thirty minute drive once past the border. It would absolutely make sense to the custom guards that the trucker would want to pass on a border with no scale while he had an empty load. On the other hand, a driver with a full load would have crossed the border further down Maine—one Cross knew he couldn’t pass without being caught.

  The burner phone in the cup holder rang with a call. Cross’s gaze drifted between the road in front of him, and the phone. Only a couple of people had the phone’s number. Zeke, Rick, and Catherine. That was it. Once the run was over, he would destroy the phone as he always did.

  The eighteen-wheeler didn’t have Bluetooth, and picking up a call while driving in this area was a crapshoot. He did not need to be pulled over by cops for having a phone stuck to his ear while behind the wheel.

  Soon, the call cut off.

  Cross saw the flashing blue and red just a couple of miles ahead of him as the phone began to ring again.

  Something in his mind whispered, Fuck.

  He didn’t know what was wrong, but something was.

  His heart thrummed with it.

  His blood thickened with it.

  He just knew.

  Cross slowed the rig down another gear, but not enough to be noticeable. Cars and trucks were backed up a good mile from the border crossing. Entirely unusual for the spot. A lot of workers for hospitals and Canadians who went to the University of Maine and Presque Isle used the border, so traffic moved smoothly.

  It should not be backed up.

  Those red and blue lights kept flashing.

  Cross answered the call, put it on speaker, and set it into his lap. His rig came to a stop at the very back of the line.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  He could not turn back, now.

  There was no fucking way he could get this truck turned around without drawing attention to himself.

  Cross eyed the long line of cars leading up to the border as a voice filtered over the phone.

  “Cross, man, you there?”

  “Zeke,” Cross said.

  “Tell me you’re not at the border, Cross.”

  His body went cold.

  His fingertips numbed.

  “There’s dogs,” Cross murmured.

  K9 units were sniffing down the line of cars. The colored patch on the dogs’ vests told him they were drug, currency, and weapons trained.

  He was fucked all over.

  “Shit, you’re at the border,” Zeke hissed.

  “Yeah. At the back of a mile long line, but they’re closing in. I’ve got five, maybe ten, minutes.”

  “Katya got a call.”

  Of course she did.

  “A friend let her know that a guy she was involved with had a hand in getting information about you, and some of your business. She thought Katya would like to know some of it had to do with gunrunning. The girl specifically mentioned you had a trip coming up for Canada, and that you liked using the Limestone and California Settlement border.”

  “People don’t know that information, Zeke.”

  “Some of the people in Andino’s organization would know, Cross. Consider that it’s a possibility one of them might have been paid a good enough price to hand a bit of information over.”

  Shit.

  This was what the Russian meant, he realized. This was what Vlad meant when he said plans were already in motion, and his promise to ruin Cross’s family was not over.

  The understanding came on swift and dangerous. Like the undertow in a river, it was going to pull him down and drown him all at once.

  He wouldn’t be able to fight back.

  Cross wet his lips, and took a deep breath. He couldn’t talk because the more important thing for him to do in that moment was think. Plan. Or rather, go through the plans he already had made for this run.

  “It’s a heavily forested area,” Cross said out loud. “Twelve miles past the border and into the woods about fifteen minutes, and I’m at a brook. Downstream another fifteen miles is a private cabin.”

  “You said dogs.”

  “I need to hit water, especially if they’re human-scent trained.”

  “They’ll go down the brook, man.”

  “Likely,” Cross agreed. “There’s more cabins, though. Mostly unused given the time of the year.”

  “Except you’re at the border right now.”

  Cross’s gaze darted left.

  Trees stared back at him.

  A wall of them. Dense, thick, and great to get lost in. He’d gone over maps, scoured Google Images and Maps for trails and more. He knew these woods just in case.

  “As long as I get out of this rig, I am home free.”

  His gaze drifted to the window again. A few vehicles and one eighteen-wheeler up, the dogs were coming down with their handler.

  “Give me an address,” Zeke demanded. “Somewhere to go, Cross.”

  He didn’t have one.

  None of those shitty little cabins had addresses.

  Nothing.

  Rain started falling down outside the rig.

  It was going to be wet and cold.

  “I’ll call you once I’m … somewhere,” Cross settled on saying.

  “Cross—”

  “Catherine will know where my stuff is. She’ll know what to look for.”

  Cross hung up the call. Keeping one eye on the team of dogs and handlers maybe fifty feet away, he gathered the only things that would help him in the woods. A pocket knife under the seat. The lighter in the cup holder. And the phone in his lap.

  The fake documents were just that … fake. They weren’t going to lead to him, and even the images used had been altered just enough to fit the disguise he liked to use during runs. A fake, sandy blond wig, and blue eye contacts that he covered with a pair of aviator sunglasses when he drove. He never ever took the sunglasses off. Should he need to stop for diesel, he only used stations that allowed him to pay at the pump. He didn’t take his sunglasses off, and only exited the truck with a ball cap on and a hoodie pulled over it.

  Now or never.

  Cross leaned over and opened the passenger door as he unbuckled his seat belt. He slid across the seats with the items in his pockets. He didn’t even think to grab his jacket in the back bed of the truck.

  He hit the ground running. Dog barks and human shouts echoed at his back as he darted into the tree line.

  The large, black wide-brimmed sunhat kept Catherine’s face hidden from view as a knock echoed on the door of the Hilton hotel room. She couldn’t very well use the penthouse suite at the Four Seasons.

  Suspicion for her guest would be very bad.

  Without moving away from her position at the window overlooking the pools down below, Catherine said, “It’s open.”

  Raspier than her voice usually was. Softer than how she normally spoke. Careful with each word. The cigar she had half-smoked just a few minutes before helped her along with the slight voice change, although now she had the worst taste in her mouth.

  And her lungs burned like hell.

  Worth it.

  For now.

  Catherine didn’t turn to greet the guest that entered the hotel room. She kept her back turned to the woman while she sat on her chaise, and people-watched. The spaghetti strap
, black dress was only visibly from the back, and she had been careful to curl her brown waves into a style she was not known to wear.

  Nothing about her—from behind, anyway—was immediately recognizable.

  She had been careful about this. All of it was planned to the smallest detail.

  Catherine could not afford for one thing to go wrong at the moment. She had one job to do today, and she planned on doing it right.

  The room door clicked shut, and then the audible slide of the lock fell into place as well. Apparently, the woman could follow directions she was given.

  Too bad she hadn’t followed them before.

  “Oh, I assumed I was meeting a man today,” the woman said from behind Catherine.

  “No.”

  “I was told—”

  “I’m sure you can understand why I might want my identity to be layered a bit for my … protection,” Catherine said quietly.

  Even she was a little surprised at how the sound of her voice changed with a couple of things to help it along. As long as she was mindful to speak at a level she usually didn’t, everything should be okay.

  Besides, she had never actually had a face to face with Evira Masters.

  Never once.

  Catrina had always been particularly careful with her girls, and how she handled them. She only allowed meetings between her and one girl at a time. She rarely shared info about other girls with another one. When she did call a meeting between several, it was over faster than someone could blink, and Catrina did not allow them to linger.

  For good reason, Catherine knew.

  Her mother did not want the girls getting their own ideas about business. Frankly, it wasn’t good practice.

  “The delicate nature of this arrangement I intend to make with you needs to be kept quiet at all times,” Catherine said as Evira’s footsteps clicked across the hardwood, coming closer. “It is the utmost importance to me.”

  “Of course, Miss …”

  Catherine heard Evira’s unspoken question as she trailed off. Still, she didn’t answer. At this point, who she was under the large sunhat was simply not important. It would only speed up something that she was not yet ready to put in motion.

  “Sit,” Catherine said with a wave at the chair next to her chaise.

  Everything had been arranged just so. Each seating placement was moved into a position just enough to keep Catherine’s face from view, even with the wide-brimmed black hat. Her idea—Miguel helped to do what was needed.

  Evira sat down, and put her bag at her feet.

  “You don’t ever question clients who call out of the blue to make arrangements with you?” Catherine dared to ask. Out of the corner of her eye, just beneath the brim of her hat, Catherine saw the delicate line of Evira’s shoulders lift and fall. “Not at all?”

  “Word of mouth is my best friend in this business. It’s not like I’m in the phone book, after all. Typically new clients name drop someone I am already working with. That’s usually enough for me to know everything is on the up and up.”

  It was a little stupid of the girl, really.

  Dangerous.

  Catrina had always made it clear to Catherine that even if a client was looking her in the face, and she knew who they were on sight because of their status, it didn’t matter. Every i needed dotted and every t needed crossed. Any checks that could be done into a client should be done for the safety of their organization.

  Namedropping and referrals were garbage.

  Catherine supposed, in the grand scheme of things, that Evira didn’t truly have that same kind of luxury where her clients were concerned. Money was money to her, and as long as it was green, she didn’t mind taking it.

  Even if that meant risking her freedom.

  Or her life.

  “Would you mind—”

  “Why only cocaine?” Catherine asked, interrupting the girl before she could speak.

  Evira cleared her throat. “That’s a bit of an odd question.”

  “Curiosity. I’m trying to shake my nerves about all of this. Talking helps.”

  Lies.

  Evira ate them up, though.

  “Cocaine seems to be the drug of choice in this town, isn’t it?”

  Catherine lifted a single eyebrow, although she knew Evira couldn’t see it. “Is that really the reason, or is it something else?”

  “Something else?”

  “I mean, is that all you have supplied at the moment?”

  “Is your need broader than cocaine?”

  “Far broader,” Catherine admitted.

  “Then perhaps I won’t be the best person to fill your needs.”

  “Or is it that you prefer men, Evira?”

  Catherine watched the girl stiffen when she used her name, and couldn’t help but smile to herself. Game, set, and match.

  It was all tied up in a pretty bow.

  All most over.

  Tilting her head down, Catherine lifted the edge of the wide-brimmed hat just enough that she could finally look at Evira fully. The woman met her gaze head on, and her blue eyes instantly widened at who she saw looking back at her.

  Sure, Evira had not met Catherine face to face.

  Catherine, however, looked just like her mother.

  Evira had met Catrina.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been properly acquainted, Evira,” Catherine said with a cold smile. “I’m Catherine Donati. Forgive me for being rude, but I’m sure you can understand when I say it’s not very pleasurable to meet you.”

  It took a whole three seconds for fear to register in Evira’s eyes. The woman grabbed her bag at her feet, and stood, making the mistake of turning her back to Catherine.

  Catherine, on the other hand, shook her head as she stood from the chaise. Evira wasn’t getting out of this hotel room alive, so what did it really matter?

  “Oh,” Evira whispered.

  Standing at the locked door, with his hands behind his back, was Miguel. No one was getting past him. Evira looked over her shoulder at Catherine, and inhaled a quick, shaky breath. Shame, really.

  “We have all the time in the world today to settle this out,” Catherine said with a shrug.

  Evira tried to straighten her shoulders. Her features schooled into a calm expression, yet her gaze couldn’t possibly hide the fear. Catherine saw what the woman was doing—respected her for it, even—but it would not help her in the end.

  “There is nothing to settle between us,” Evira said, moving toward Miguel at the door, “and so if you’ll excuse me, I think I will—”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Evira stiffened and her steps halted at Catherine’s words. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard what I said.”

  The woman spun on her heel, but the fire Catherine expected to see was nonexistent. Some women had fire and brimstone bred into their hearts. Women like her were born with it, passed on from a better woman who taught them how to use it.

  This girl?

  Evira?

  She could only fake it.

  “You know,” Catherine said, tossing her hat aside to a table, “I might actually have felt sorry for you under any other circumstance. I fully believe you’re some girl who grew up in a shitty situation that learned any opportunity was your opportunity to take. This whole thing was likely no different. How long did you expect this to go on before someone noticed you were stealing our clients? How long did you think we would allow you to go unchecked for this kind of slight on our business?”

  Confusion dimmed Evira’s eyes.

  Catherine didn’t back down. “What, now you don’t have anything to say? The least you could do is explain to me why you assumed neither my mother, nor I, would figure out after you left our organization you snuck back in like a little rat to steal what you could.”

  “I—”

  “Shame on you, Evira. You dumb girl. My mother did not get as far as she has in this business because she is known for turning cheek to
competition. Honestly, you’re lucky it’s me in this room right now and not her.”

  “The regina does have quite a flair for handling girls who betray her,” Miguel murmured from his position at the door. “Not only does it rid the problem, but she always made sure to drive the point home with the other girls about what is expected.”

  Catherine tilted her head to the side as she eyed Evira once more. “Didn’t you hear any of those stories? Didn’t you know?”

  “Pretty sure you were here for the whole Marnie incident a couple of years back, Evira,” Miguel added. “Catrina bled that girl out like a dead pig while the rest of you watched.”

  “Stupid girl,” Catherine repeated.

  “Then why did she let me go?” Evira asked, barely whispering and hiding shaking hands down at her sides. “Why when she caught me a year ago did she let me go?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your mother,” Evira said, a bit of heat and courage coming back in her voice, “why did she let me go when she cornered me a year ago? Don’t you think I would have been concerned and more careful about my business if I thought Catrina Fucking Marcello was going to come after me? She already did—the bitch let me go!”

  Catherine turned to ice on the spot. Behind Evira, Miguel’s gaze darted to meet Catherine’s with a question.

  Suddenly, things became a hell of a lot clearer for her.

  All at once, she understood.

  This was why her mother never mentioned missing clients. This was why the girls had been brushed off again and again when they brought up their missed drops. This was why Catrina allowed Catherine—forced her, really—to handle this issue on her own.

  Another lesson.

  Another one of her mother’s ways.

  At the moment, Catherine couldn’t possibly deal with what that meant, or how angry it made her inside. She had more important things to handle.

  Evira, mostly.

  “The fact remains the same,” Catherine said, cutting Evira with a cold look, “that you stole our clients after we practically handfed you all the ways to make this business work. The second you thought you could get away with it, you stabbed us in the back and ran. Your mistake, not ours.”