No reaction.
Diego crouched and moved closer behind the door. Just as he edged in enough to see inside there was a soft whoosh. Papers, a whole stack of them, cascaded to the floor.
He’d already memorized the layout of her office. His diving tuck and roll put him squarely behind the short end of her desk. More papers and folders went careening across the floor as Diego came up just over the edge of the desk, knife arm poised for immediate action.
Nothing.
The thud of a book snapped his attention to the window behind her desk. The darting shadow had barely registered when the knife was already winging in deadly pursuit.
It impaled the object in the upper left shoulder. Enough to slow and allow capture without causing unconsciousness. Perfect hit.
Unfortunately, he’d just nailed a poncho on a coat tree. He’d known it before the knife hit.
“Damn.” He didn’t usually make such an obvious mistake. That nine out of ten men would have not only fired, but “killed” this particular target did little to ease his frustration. He was better than that. He didn’t make mistakes.
The falling book had simply tilted over the coat-rack. No one else was in the cramped room. But someone had been. Someone who had upset the precarious balance of chaos. Who? And had they been taking something … or leaving something?
Diego knew the caliber of men he was up against. Trained killers. He understood the mentality intimately. The only difference between him and them was motivation for the job they performed.
They wanted Blue Delgado as a bargaining chip to use against her father. And they would go about securing that chip by any means available. And when they were done, the chip would be expendable.
Diego’s job was to see that they never had the chip at all. He would also use any means available to him. His only edge was that he knew they were coming. They didn’t know he was there. And if everything went down as planned, Blue would never know there had been a threat in the first place.
After all, it would be a little difficult explaining to her that she was being used as a pawn against a dead man.
A shout echoed down the hall from the bar, preventing further investigation.
“Oh, hold on to your backside, Gordo. Or better yet hold on to Joe’s, he might enjoy that.”
Blue’s good-natured chuckle was drowned out by the raucous complaints of her customers.
“Yes, the food is coming,” she continued. “Get the rest of that glass off the pool table, por favor.”
Her father had been right about one thing. The lady could handle herself. She was bold, confident, and as self-contained as any man he’d ever met. In a word, she was deadly.
To his instincts. And therefore to herself.
No time to deal with that now. It was enough that he’d learned his lesson early and with no real consequences. It wouldn’t happen again.
He gauged the distance to his knife, still buried in the poncho. Too far.
Damn. And it was one of his favorites, though it served him right for being so damn trigger-happy all of a sudden.
He slipped across the hall and back into the kitchen, taking his place at the griddle just as Blue came into the room.
“Fajitas almost ready?”
She’d just had her bar nearly trashed and faced down enough beer-fueled testosterone to put any man on edge, yet her voice flowed into his system as smooth and easy as the apricot brandy he knew Tejo kept stashed behind the flour canisters.
Diego shook his head. She was doing it again.
“Coming right up.” He felt her pause hang in the air behind him like a breath trapped in his lungs. He also felt her gaze roam his body. It was as distinct and visceral as if she’d used two hands instead of her black eyes.
“Good.”
One word-shouldn’t cause that deep, undeniable twitch low inside him. If he could just find a way of completing this job without having to listen to her voice.
She stepped to his side, leaning in to see what he was cooking.
He managed not to tighten every muscle in his body.
“Smells great.” She put her hand on his biceps. It flexed hard, the instant reaction totally beyond his control.
She stepped away and he tried not to release an audible sigh.
“I’m taking this tray,” she added, obviously referring to the one loaded with bowls of chips and pots of salsa. “Bring more.”
So she thought she could command him as easily as a couple of drunks? “Sí, señorita. Pronto.”
“See that you do.”
There hadn’t been the least trace of sarcasm in his voice, yet he knew she’d heard it loud and clear anyway.
The lady was sharp.
The lady was also going to be the death of them both.
There was a pause, then she said, “I’ll have your paperwork ready to fill out just as soon as the after-work crowd settles down. I’ll give you your schedule before you leave tonight.”
The job. He had to get back in her office before she did. “Fine,” he answered, but a glance over his shoulder told him she’d already gone.
Diego arranged the bowls of fajita fixings on a large serving tray.
“Three more weeks, Santerra,” he muttered. Three more weeks and Del would testify against Hermes Jacounda. And then, for all intents and purposes, Seve “Del” Delgado would cease to exist.
Diego would never see his team leader again. Or Del’s daughter either.
No matter how badly he might want to.
Until There Was You (Coming Home, #2) Page 26
