Los Zetas Cartel Collection (3 book series)

by AJ Adams

  Gordo was particularly upset because he’s a Kaibil, too. He left a year after me, and it was me who suggested he join us Zetas, so of course we’re pretty tight.

  I remembered Natalia’s instructions. “He’s a nothing. I’m thinking it’s time to do something about downtown Nuevo Laredo. We could do with injecting some tourist cash.”

  Chumillo is in charge of operations in northern Mexico, so he was all over it in a second. “That’s just what the jefe was saying!” He grinned at me. “Seeing you just pulled off the London deal, I’d like your input.”

  Like I said, I’ve always been security, and before London, nobody would’ve asked my opinion on a commercial deal, yet now everyone was looking at me like I was Bill Gates. I silently blessed the bruja.

  “The way I see it,” I told Chumillo, “we need an attraction to pack them in, and then good service will have them coming back for more.”

  Everyone was listening and nodding. Yes, I was getting my respect back.

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Natalia

  I was rolling pastry, making cheese and spinach ravioli. The lasagne was resting, and the poppers were all set to go. There would be a dozen people for dinner, plus a dozen more kids, so I was happily occupied.

  I’d been in Mexico for three weeks, and I’d discovered the Zetas were a close-knit bunch, very much like the Trueloves. There was a constant stream of visitors, because, much to my surprise and relief, Juanita had decided to accept me. As she pointed out, she was Quique’s cousin, not Tina’s. Also, she was soon admitting that she didn’t much like Quique’s ex.

  “She thinks being a born Zeta makes you superior, and because she was born rich and went to college, I always feel like a country bumpkin,” Juanita confessed. “She used to lord it over Quique, too, but when he got promotion after promotion, I think she got jealous.”

  Tina sounded an awful lot like Frank, but I kept my trap shut. For one thing, I was the other woman, and for another, talking about home hurt. In the weeks I’d been away, Bobby was still unconscious. However, the news wasn’t all black, because he’d surfaced once or twice.

  “He didn’t say anything, but he blinked!” Millie reported jubilantly.

  “That's good, right? Will he be okay?”

  “They don’t know…” Millie’d been tearful just thinking about it. “Whoever bashed him got him good, Nats!”

  “I’m sure he’s bounce back,” I comforted her. “He’s always been hard-headed, love. Just be patient.”

  I spoke sensibly, but I was finding it hard to take my own advice. It didn’t help that the family were still split on whether I was guilty. Every day they all got on Facebook chat at the same time, and I was inundated with pings as they caught me up on the gossip.

  Frank’s pissed all day long, Pat wrote. He misses you, Nats.

  You should come back and clear your name, Roger said.

  For God’s sake, don’t come back, Suzie urged. At least now they have to look for other suspects.

  I miss you, from Delicia. Mum cries a lot.

  That one almost had me on my way back, even though my head told me that my sitting in jail would be just as useless to Delicia as my being in Mexico.

  There was also a curt message from Scott. Have taken Frank to a clinic. You should come back.

  Millie was on to me straight after, though. Don't come, Nats. Frank can't see anyone while he detoxes.

  For three days I wondered if maybe Frank had belted Bobby, but when he dried out and there was no news, that fear died a merciful death.

  Frank’s depressed, but he's getting better, Millie reported. Scott's being a great support.

  Scott might have been a good friend to the family, but he wasn't talking to me. Maybe I should've reached out, but I couldn't stand the idea of a long-distance lecture.

  After waiting a week and getting no news, I Skyped Terry. “Any news?”

  “I’m afraid not,” he was yawning. “Quique just called, he was with a bloke called Arturo. I’ve got orders to keep digging.”

  I didn’t tell him the ‘bloke called Arturo’ was the head of the Zetas. “Thanks, Terry.”

  “Hey, want to rent out your flat? I’ve got a cousin looking for a place. She’s tidy, not like me.”

  It gave me the creeps to think of a stranger in my home, but it meant I’d have funds. “Yes, please, Terry.”

  "She can move in next month. I'll introduce you over WhatsApp."

  It should’ve made me happy, knowing I had some money coming, but it just underlined that I was exiled—and permanently if Bobby didn’t make it. It tore me apart, but there was nothing I could do about it.

  So I pushed my own problems away and focused on helping Quique get his groove back. Thanks to Juanita, the Zetas came round every night, and with friends shoring him up, Quique was beginning to relax.

  It helped that the jefe had sent Tina away. Quique hadn’t said a word, but with everyone gossiping worse than in London, there were no secrets.

  “The jefe gave her a pass to New York fashion week,” Juanita sighed enviously. “And Kyle, her cousin, has ordered her to sign the divorce papers as soon as she comes back.”

  That didn’t sound right. “Surely it’s nothing to do with him!”

  “She’s got it coming,” Juanita shrugged.

  As I’d heard about the lovers, the screaming fights and the rest of it from a dozen people by then, I didn’t say anything. Quique knew what was going on, and as he hadn’t put a stop to it, I understood this was what he wanted, too. He never said anything directly about his ex, but his relief at having her out of the country was obvious. Also, he was revelling in his home and having a social life.

  I heard variations on the same conversation every night.

  “This is heaven, Quique, why didn’t you move into this place years ago?”

  “Thanks. I love it, too.”

  “And the parties! Man, it’s like old times.”

  “Yeah, we’ve missed party Quique!”

  Quique just smiled. I think he saw it as betrayal to criticize Tina, but Juanita and the others filled in that gap.

  “Tina didn’t like hostessing.”

  “She never wanted kids around, either.”

  “And the last few times he had people over, she reamed him in front of everyone, remember?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t know where to look. Some marriages just weren’t meant to be.”

  So I was learning a lot about Quique that I hadn’t seen in London, and frankly, it was a problem. Quique was clever, hard-working, loyal, and underneath all the machismo, he had a soft centre. He was everything I wanted in a man, and I was falling head over heels for him. The problem was that he wasn’t falling for me.

  Oh, Quique liked me. In fact, we got on remarkably well. I’d tried not to be my usual managing self, but on the third day, when he went back to work, he handed me a stack of cash and a dictionary. “Take charge and run the house any way you like, guapa.”

  “But it’s your place—I’m a guest here!”

  He’d just grinned. “You twitch when the Marias store meat above the cheese in the fridge, and I saw you clean a corner of the kitchen after they went home.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interfere. I’m too anal.”

  Quique just shook his head. “Natalia, cooking is in your bones. You can’t help yourself. It’s like me and security. If I see sloppy guards, it bugs the hell out of me.”

  The Marias turned out to be helping out as their real work was in adult films. They didn't mind me interfering at all, and as they were bilingual, they taught me some Spanish, and I learned a lot about the adult film business.

  I really enjoyed their company, but when Quique's new lady came, a sweetheart called Beatriz, I tried to take a backseat. That fell flat straight away.

  "Corazon, Beatriz called to say you won't give her instructions."

  "You're her boss; I'm visiting."

  "We've been through this, bruja. You're not a pain in the ass. J
ust do what comes naturally: take charge!"

  “But Beatriz is your housekeeper.”

  “She’s new, so you won’t put her nose out of joint. Just take over.”

  So I ran the house, and I was enjoying the parties, the food, the climate and everything else about Mexico. Being with Quique just made it perfect. As I’d healed fast, we were bonking every night, enjoying the fact that familiarity makes for perfection.

  I would’ve tumbled in love if only Quique hadn’t made it perfectly clear he was planning to stay single. When his friends quizzed him, he was open about his plans. “I’m better than good. I guess I wasn’t made for marriage.”

  We’d been clear from the start that we were a fling, and although I’d changed my mind, he clearly hadn’t changed his.

  That’s why I decided I’d better look for a job and start making my own way. If I stayed with Quique much longer, I’d fall for him hook, line and sinker. It was bad enough losing my family; I didn’t want the additional heartbreak. It was going to be a wrench as it was.

  So there I was, making pasta and worrying about the future when the girls arrived. Juanita was bearing chocolate cake, and her sister-in-law Rosa, who was married to Quique's cousin Carlos, had a massive salad. Their bestie Estrella carried bottles of Adobe Guadalupe, one of the best local vinos.

  Sadly, I was on the wagon. Even the smell of wine made my stomach lurch. It was pure nerves, worrying about Bobby and trying to keep my head about Quique—or perhaps it was just a consequence of too many stuffed chillies.

  I didn’t let on about my having the collywobbles, because Quique had a protective streak a mile wide. I never would’ve guessed it in London, but now he was back in home territory, he combined sheepdog, Labrador and Rottweiler. I was shepherded, helped and guarded day and night.

  “Corazon, take your painkillers.”

  “Guapa, let me look at your ribs.”

  “Bruja, go nap!”

  It was sweet but a little stifling. I felt not so much wrapped in cotton wool as insulated.

  I’d thought at first it was guilt, because he insisted on blaming himself for my being attacked, but I soon learned that Quique was famous for his cosseting skills. So I hid the fact that I was scared into stomach-wrenching terror by my worries.

  However, getting back on my feet had to be dealt with. “Girls, I need a job. Do any of you know of a restaurant looking for a chef?”

  Three sets of dark brown eyes were speculative.

  “Well, there’s a new place,” Rosa said a little doubtfully. “The Orchid Garden.”

  “Great! Do you know the owner?”

  Rosa nodded. “Sure. Let me make a call.”

  As she dialled, the others filled me in on the gossip.

  “Tina’s back,” Juanita worried.

  “And the jefe wants you to come to the party this weekend,” Estrella added.

  Neither bit of news was doing anything for my peace of mind, but I sucked it up. “Good, Quique will be relieved to get his affairs settled, and the jefe sounds interesting.” I was careful not to add that interesting meant a cartel boss who was known for both boiling his enemies alive and his Princeton education.

  Rosa hung up her phone. “You’re to go tomorrow for an interview,” she announced. “The owner is in LA, but he says to talk to the chef, Ricky Waverley. He’s from Texas.”

  “Thanks, love. I really appreciate it.” Work would be a blessing. If I got stuck in Mexico, I’d have less time to worry about my family, about my feelings for Quique or about meeting the head of the Zetas.

  “Does Quique know you’re looking for work?” Juanita asked me.

  “I’ll tell him, but not now.”

  He blew in an hour later, looking knicker-dropping good in jeans and a white tee. “Corazon! Beautiful as always!” That was me. “Guapa! How’s my favourite cousin?” Juanita. “Preciosa! Ay-yay-yay!” Rosa and Estrella got hugs, too.

  It was typical of Zeta men. Two minutes later the rest of the crew came barrelling in, also hugging, kissing and exclaiming. I was fussed over, too, enjoying it much more than the understated “Hello, love” that was standard in London.

  “Did you have a good day?” Quique was digging into the fridge and exclaiming over the fresh fruit salad with ginger I’d made for afters. “Oh man, I love this!”

  He really is easy to please. “Yes, I had a blast in the kitchen today. But it’s time I got my arse into gear. I’ve got a job interview. Rosa arranged it for me.”

  As it turned out, gossip went both ways. “I heard.” Quique was opening a beer. “I cancelled it.”

  For a moment I thought I’d misheard him. “What?”

  “I said it’s off.”

  Suddenly it was all attention on us. You could’ve heard a pin drop. There was a second of silence that effortlessly morphed into an eon of tension. As if in slow motion, I saw Quique’s eyes change from dark and friendly to blank. He was expecting me to yell.

  God knows I wanted to. Maybe I should have. My heart was dying to rip him to pieces, but my head was urging me that Quique never does anything without good reason.

  I took a deep breath. “Lousy job or lousy boss?”

  Quique breathed again. “Both.”

  Seeing we weren’t having a showdown, everyone else was talking again, pouring drinks, nibbling at poppers and catching up on the day.

  Quique moved closer, leaning against me and putting an arm around my waist. He was looking ultra-casual, but the eyes were warm. “Corazon, the man has a serious problem.” His voice was a private murmur. “He can’t leave the girls alone.”

  “Lots of chefs have wandering hands. It’s a macho world, and they act like arseholes sometimes.”

  He took the hit well. “Like me, huh?”

  “You do have a touch of the caveman.”

  “Yeah, I know. The thing is, the silly fuck groped the jefe’s niece earlier today.”

  Three weeks had been enough to educate me into the ways of the cartel. From the casual conversations around me and some judicious pumping of Juanita and her mates, I’d learned that the Zetas ran a tight ship. Anyone operating in their territory obeyed the rules, and transgressors paid for their crimes in blood.

  “He’s had notice to keep his hands to himself?”

  “Just notice to quit, actually.”

  Quique was looking guileless, but I suddenly understood the Texan was in hospital. And Quique had put him there. For a moment I wondered what on earth I saw in this Zeta. I wasn’t just halfway round the world from home; I was on a different planet.

  Sometimes I think he can read my mind because Quique looked serious. “It was more than a pat on the ass, Natalia. She’s a kid, just seventeen. She went for lunch with her friends. The chef was drunk. He came to the table and stuck his hands under her tee, and when she pushed him away, he called her a cheap piece of Mexican tail.”

  My breath caught. “Fucking wanker!”

  “Yeah, well, he’s on his way back across the border. The thing is, the message was a public one.”

  “The Orchid Garden is a mess?”

  “It’ll take them a month, minimum, to set it up again.”

  “I guess I won’t be working there.”

  I looked at Quique, loving his protectiveness and knowing it would drive me insane, too.

  “Listen,” I said carefully. “I get that you want to keep me safe, and God knows that you’re an expert at that, but I have my pride.”

  His eyes were thoughtful. “Sí corazon.”

  “When I’m about to make a mistake, tell me. But please, don’t slap me down in public, okay? It hurts my pride."

  "Ay guapa! I'm sorry! I didn't mean that."

  "That's okay. But from now on, let's make a deal: you remember to cosset my pride, and I’ll cosset yours.”

  "Deal." Quique grinned and hugged me. “Ay bruja! I never thought about it that way.”

  I leaned into the warm, loving muscles, feeling safe and happy. Quique was a sweethea
rt, and easy to talk to, as well. “I know I’m difficult.”

  “No, you’re not! And I know you need work,” Quique was talking quietly. “The jefa’s looking for someone to do some major catering. You’re meeting her Saturday.”

  See? That’s typical of the man. “Looking out for me, huh?”

  His eyes were soft. “I know it’s difficult.” The arm around me tightened. “You don’t say it, but I know you miss your family.”

  Actually, just a mention had me tearing up. “Yeah, well, there’s nothing to be done.”

  “The doctors are optimistic. You’ll be cleared soon, I know it. You’re not here forever.”

  Sympathy, empathy, but he wasn’t asking me to stay, no matter what. “Terry has found someone who wants to rent the flat. It may take a while. I should find a place here of my own.”

  He shushed me. “Ay no, Natalia! Not now.” The arm pulled me up tight against him. “No hurry,” he said softly.

  I gave in to my weakness. A few more days wouldn’t hurt me, I told myself. And anyway, Quique’d need me if Tina was difficult. He acted cool, but whatever had gone wrong between them was still hurting. I knew it, and I wasn’t pushing. It had taken me three years to get over Frank, so I wasn’t going to pressure Quique. He’d talk when he was ready.

  So I put on more poppers, and we settled in, watching the kids play in the pool and relaxing as dinner cooked.

  “I was looking at the strip, thinking we should overall a five-street block,” Quique was updating Gordo on his business plans. He was working hard at it, reading books on property management, commerce, economic theory and everything else he thought would be useful. However, you can’t learn it all from books, so we were having long chats about practical applications. But Quique’s take-all-you-can-get attitude was still regularly getting the best of him.

  Now he was planning for a quick profit. “I figure we can offer loans in return for a third of the business.”

  Like I said, his perspective was sometimes out of whack. “Quique, love, a third is too much. Try three per cent.”

  Brown eyes were focused. “Three? Without us they’d have nothing!”