Flash Fire Page 25

  She felt as if all the air had suddenly been sucked out of the attic. She could barely say, “Duly warned.”

  He smiled at her—a torn, tortured smile filled with wanting.

  She closed her eyes, because if she kept looking at him, she would go back into his arms.

  The bed in the room below them stopped creaking. Oh, thank the heavenly host.

  They lay in the silence that was now only broken by their breathing and the patter of the rain on the roof.

  “Try not to get killed tomorrow,” she said after a while, thinking it might be safe now to open her eyes, so she did.

  She found him still watching her.

  He gave a half smile. He was so incredibly handsome, it made her heart ache. His voice still had the rasp of desire as he asked, “If I disappear, will you come and find me?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  A million doubts bombarded Clara while Walker drove her to Mercita’s one and only car rental office. They were standing outside the door when the place opened. He walked in with her and used his ID to rent a small sedan. She didn’t need anything big. She had no luggage.

  She wore the red shorts and a blue-striped sleeveless linen shirt Walker had found in a box in the attic. She felt underdressed compared to the young woman behind the counter—neat and professional in her gray suit, full of smiles for Walker. The woman had the paperwork done in fifteen minutes, then passed Walker the keys.

  He walked out back with Clara, surprising her by taking her hand.

  It was their first physical contact this morning. He’d been careful to be out of bed by the time she woke. He’d gone out and brought her breakfast and coffee. But as grateful as she’d been for caffeine, she would have preferred waking up in his arms.

  At least, now he was touching her again, and she was determined to enjoy every second of his long fingers folded around hers in a secure but gentle grip.

  He didn’t let go until they got to her car, then he handed her the paperwork, the keys, and cash from his pocket, enough for gas, tolls, and for her to stop and eat when she got hungry.

  He looked at her as little as possible, as if their gazes meeting might push him over some kind of edge, as if he found sending her away as difficult as she found leaving him.

  Her heart thumped loudly in her chest. She put a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

  Never in a million years would she have believed that she’d be attracted to someone like him. Yet here she was. She liked him. She more than liked him. Leaving him was hurting her heart.

  Yes, he was a mercenary, but he was also a lot more. He challenged her preconceived notions of good and bad. She saw past the rough-and-tough façade now, to his scars, to his heart.

  He leaned forward and brushed his mouth over hers.

  Immediately, her body filled with heat.

  He kept the kiss light. Then he pulled his mouth away and tugged her tightly against him, wrapped his arms around her in a hug of bands of steel. For a moment, she was frustrated with the brief kiss, then she suddenly understood. Anything more, and she might decide not to leave. Anything more, and he might decide not to let her.

  “You think you’ll ever go back to the US?” she asked, mumbling the words into the crook of his neck, against his warm skin, inhaling his scent, wanting to memorize the moment so she could take it with her.

  “Probably not.”

  Her throat constricted.

  He stepped back. Instead of his usual cocky smile, he flashed her a regretful, conflicted one. “Go save the world, one person at a time.”

  All she could respond with was, “Don’t get hurt.”

  He nodded.

  “When what you’re doing is over, could you please somehow get word to me that you made it?” she asked. “So I don’t worry.”

  “I will.”

  There was nothing more to say. Or maybe too much to say. But they’d made their choices. Except, she hated his.

  Her frustration bubbled over.

  “You know that this whole revenge thing is not for your brother, right? It’s for you,” she said, angry that she couldn’t make him see it. “By being at war, you’re distracting yourself from feeling the pain. You keep yourself in constant battle that requires your full focus. This way, you don’t have to stop and think about how you feel.”

  She expected him to say something like, I don’t feel.

  Instead, he said softly, “This is me. This is what I do. You can’t cut and paste me from the column where I am to the column where you want me to be.”

  Tears burned her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of him, which meant she needed to leave. She blinked hard as she opened the driver’s door and slipped behind the steering wheel. With one last nod, Walker turned and walked away.

  She sat there for a few more minutes, familiarizing herself with the car, until she conquered the tears, and her heart and mind settled down a little.

  By the time she drove out of the lot, Walker’s pickup was gone from the front of the building.

  She set the GPS for the Tuxtla Gutiérrez airport, then leaned back in the seat, ready for the trip. Except something hard poked her in the back.

  The Glock.

  “Dammit.”

  She couldn’t go through airport security with a firearm. She couldn’t leave the weapon in the rental either. The gun was linked to the US Consulate. If it turned up in a crime, it’d create an international incident.

  Would have been nice to remember the damn gun ten minutes ago.

  Of course, ten minutes ago, she hadn’t been able to focus on anything but Walker.

  She stifled a groan. Still, better to remember now than later. At least she was still in Mercita. With a small detour, she could leave the Glock at Brunhilda’s for Walker, including a note for him to try to get it back to the embassy.

  She turned the car left at the intersection instead of going straight.

  Maybe Walker had to go back to the attic for something too. Then she could see him one last time. She held her breath for most of the drive, hoping. But when she pulled up in front of the brick house—forty-five minutes later, thanks to rush hour traffic—instead of his pickup, an ancient, light-blue Volkswagen Rabbit waited by the curb.

  Brunhilda was squeezing in.

  “Forgot something, Liebling?” she asked as Clara pulled up.

  “I need to leave something for Walker, then I’m off,” Clara said. “Where are you going?”

  “To the market in Furino.” The woman patted her crown of hair into place. “The small village markets are cheaper. Und the fruit ist frischer.”

  Clara paused.

  “You need something, ja?” Brunhilda drew up a blond eyebrow.

  And after a moment of hesitation, Clara asked, “Do you know Consuela’s guesthouse?”

  “Ja. Por qué?”

  “I left my suitcase there.”

  “Und you want me to bring it? No hay ningun problema.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll drive right by Consuela’s place. You go und have a cup of coffee in the kitchen.”

  Clara hesitated. “When do you think you’ll be back?”

  The woman shrugged her pillowy shoulders. “Dos horas.”

  Okay. Clara had two hours. She had plenty of time before her flight was leaving. Having her belongings was worth the wait. She’d called the embassy that morning and they were going to fax temporary papers for her to the airport security office, but she’d feel better having her passport. Her father had bought plane tickets for her online, but she would feel better having her wallet. At least she wouldn’t have to cancel all her credit cards.

  She thanked Brunhilda and headed into the house as the woman drove away.

  The girls seemed to be sleeping, everything quiet. Clara carried the gun up to Walker’s hideout and left it with a note, then went back down to the kitchen and started making coffee.

  “Are you Walker’s girlfriend?” a young woman asked in Spanish from the do
orway, startling her. Carmen. She looked Clara over, her expression nothing but friendly.

  “No. He was just helping me with something. Actually, I’m leaving today.”

  Carmen flashed her a dubious look. “He took you upstairs. He’s never taken anybody upstairs before.”

  Before Clara could figure out what to say to that, Carmen launched into a long tirade about her dilemma whether to apply for a job with the pharmaceutical company that was opening, or stay here at Brunhilda’s.

  “I’d like to have a husband someday,” she said, then her expression turned dreamy, “and children. Boys. It’s hard to be a girl around here.” She smiled. “I’d like to be rich, you know? Have a house with two bedrooms, one for the adults and one for the kids. And the kids would have a bed, so the snakes and the scorpions wouldn’t crawl on them while they slept.”

  As they each grabbed a cup of coffee, she told Clara about the one-room hut she’d grown up in at the edge of a banana farm.

  “I can read,” she said with pride. “Brunhilda taught me. If I asked, she’d help me find a job. She’s done it before for other girls. We don’t give her money, you know. It’s the other way around. Sometimes she helps out and pays for things if one of the girls gets sick.”

  Clara wasn’t surprised.

  They talked for a while, then Carmen went back upstairs. But then Julieta, another curvaceous beauty, popped into the kitchen, looking for a snack. Julieta wanted to know about Clara and Walker too, and stayed to talk for at least half an hour before she left to get some sleep.

  Then Clara had nothing to do but wait, watching for Brunhilda, hoping for Walker.

  Walker never came, but eventually, Brunhilda did return. With company.

  Clara had her back to the window, making another cup of coffee, so she hadn’t heard the car pull up by the curb. With the coffeemaker gurgling and sputtering, she hadn’t heard anyone approach until the front door banged open, and at that point it was too late.

  Four scary-looking thugs escorted Brunhilda into the house, guns in hand.

  One of them wore a police uniform. He barked at Clara to put her hands in the air.

  Brunhilda was swearing in three languages, blood dripping on her face. Her nose looked broken.

  Bloody scratches decorated the cop’s face. Brunhilda hadn’t given in without a fight. Clara drew some satisfaction from that.

  Adrenaline spiked through her as her mind raced. Hands in the air, she desperately scanned the kitchen. Where was the knife drawer?

  The Glock was in the attic, dammit. But even if she had it… She was a fast draw, but not fast enough to take out four guys before one of them could shoot Brunhilda in the head.

  As it was, Clara had no gun, and no other weapon in sight either. The game was over before it started.

  * * *

  Tonight was the night.

  All Walker had to do was survive it.

  The Xibalba compound in Mercita was a whole different matter from the Tamchén camp in the jungle. But even if the mansion looked a lot more civilized, it was certainly no less dangerous, something Walker tried to keep in mind as he drove there in another one of Pedro’s trucks in the oppressive noon heat.

  Pedro’s fleet was scattered all over Furino. Eventually, the Xibalba would take over the bandits’ assets, since Furino was under their control. The process had probably begun already, but it wasn’t going to be finished anytime soon. First the Xibalba had to track down every last bandito hideout.

  Walker had no scruples about borrowing another truck in the meanwhile. In the back, he had the second half of the drug shipment he’d stolen in the clearing.

  D-day.

  He rolled to a stop in front of the compound’s gate. Since he’d called ahead, the guards let him through without trouble. Santiago was coming from one of the outbuildings, waving at him.

  Instead of drawing his gun right then and there and shooting the bastard between the eyes, Walker parked the truck and got out, walked to the tailgate with Santiago, then yanked aside the tarp with a forced grin.

  Santiago’s chin dropped when he saw stacked pallets. He let out a low whistle. “Is this what I think it is?”

  Walker shrugged, holding back the cold urge to kill. “A present for my new brothers. I managed to grab the truck on my way out of the Tamchén camp.”

  Santiago’s eyes narrowed. “They still have the other half of the shipment?”

  “They had it last night.”

  The man’s gaze turned calculating. “People are talking about an explosion in the jungle.”

  Walker shrugged again. “I think their lab blew up. Not my doing.”

  Santiago waved a twenty-something guard over. “Take this to storage.” Then he led Walker past the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, toward the mansion.

  He kept clapping Walker on the shoulder. “You’re the man, amigo. You’re the man.”

  He had to be shitting himself with relief. He’d been responsible for the shipment. Carlos was probably ready to take it out on his skin.

  Santiago was grinning like a jackass. Every time he touched Walker, Walker wanted to break the bastard’s arm. Instead, he grinned too, and resisted. He could wait a few short hours to get to that part. Probably.

  They stepped inside the foyer together.

  Santiago clapped him on the shoulder one last time before hurrying up the stairs, calling back, “You wait here.”

  Walker had never been allowed on the upper level, not once during his half a dozen previous visits to the compound. The upstairs was Carlos Petranos’s private quarters, his bedroom and office and who knew what else.

  That Walker had gotten as far as he had was a minor miracle. He’d begun building his relationship with the Xibalba on the boxing circuit, making some members money, then by doing small favors for those members, backing them in a cantina fight, then providing muscle at shipment drop-offs and pickups.

  Once he’d established trust, he met people higher and higher up in the organization. All the way to Santiago, the soon to be broken-armed bastard. But Walker hadn’t been able to reach Carlos. Until today.

  He scanned the closed-circuit cameras in the corners out of habit. He’d known that they were there. Since he knew he was being watched, he didn’t attempt to sneak into the office on his right. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, wished for a cup of coffee. He hadn’t gotten much rest last night.

  Clara had been fast asleep. But Walker, who could sleep anywhere and anytime on command, had barely been able to doze off toward dawn.

  He’d never held another woman through the night before. Had never wished he didn’t have to let go.

  Clara had snuggled against him in her sleep with subconscious trust. He’d kept his arms around her, feeling an overwhelming need to protect her, and other softer emotions he hadn’t felt in too long, if ever. After Ben’s death, he’d put himself on the search-and-destroy setting.

  And now the search part of his mission was complete.

  Of course, Clara was probably cursing him right now. Because he’d started a cartel war, it wasn’t safe for her to stay and investigate. He was ruining her perfect record. She’d wanted to take at least Rosita’s body home. But because of Walker’s agenda, she couldn’t. He had a feeling he wasn’t one of her favorite people at the moment. He knew she was disappointed with how her mission had ended, disappointed with him.

  But at least she was safe.

  “Is this the man of the hour?” an unfamiliar voice asked at the top of the stairs.

  Walker opened his eyes. He locked thoughts of Clara behind a wall in his mind.

  Carlos Petranos didn’t look like a crime boss. He was in his early thirties, wearing an impeccable suit, expensive watch, black hair neatly cut. He was polished in every way. He looked like a successful Silicon Valley entrepreneur. He could have been the CEO of a tech company, and Santiago a director. Except instead of social media platforms, they peddled in death and destruction.

&nb
sp; Not exactly polished. Walker took back his initial assessment on second thought. Slick was a better word. CEO, but someone recently come into the title when his little startup took off, someone who in the past had done rougher work.

  Walker could see the resemblance between the cartel boss and his half sister. From what he remembered of Rosita’s photograph, they had the same eyes, the same mouth. The difference was, Carlos was taller, had a more pronounced nose and chin.

  Walker pushed away from the wall. “Light Walker.” He gave a small, deferential nod.

  Santiago flashed him a look of approval from behind Carlos. Because of Walker, Santiago had been able to take credit for unmasking Pedro as a traitor. Now Santiago could take credit for having half the shipment back and having information on where the other half was. And by bringing Walker on board, Santiago would get credit for bringing in a competent soldier, an important asset.

  The piece of shit thought he was having a great day.

  Walker was eager to personally introduce him to grave disappointment.

  Carlos looked Walker over from head to toe, his sharp gaze assessing, the same kind of look on his face as a stockbroker might have when analyzing a company for potential investment: detached, and determined not to miss any detail.

  “Santiago vouches for you. I understand you have been a friend to my organization,” the cartel boss said. “And now you’re here to ask a favor.”

  Walker shifted from one foot to the other, as if uncomfortable in the presence of someone this high up the chain of command. He looked at his scuffed boots, then looked up at the man again. “People are looking for me.”

  Carlos kept watching him. “So I heard. It seems we have a common enemy.” He paused, but not for long. He’d probably made his decision before he’d come out of his office. “You can stay at the compound. Santiago will see if he can find some work for you. Then we’ll see.”

  A probation period. Walker nodded, putting plenty of relief in the small gesture. A way to stay at the compound tonight was all he needed. “That would be great. Thank you.”

  Carlos turned and walked away without another word. Santiago plodded down the stairs, looking pleased with himself. The sound of female laughter followed him, filtering down from upstairs, then Carlos’s office door closed, and the sound was cut off. Walker stood a little straighter, straining his ears, but he could hear nothing else.