Lover At Last

TWENTY-THREE

As Sola Morte stood in her “boss’s” office, her body was poised for a fight. Then again, that was her SOP, and not anything specific to the environment—or the way the conversation was going.

The latter certainly didn’t improve her mood, however.

“I’m sorry, what?” she demanded.

Ricardo Benloise smiled in his typical cool, calm way. “Your assignment is completed. Thank you for your time.”

“I haven’t even told you what I found out there.”

The man eased back in his chair. “You may collect your fee from my brother.”

“I don’t get this.” When he’d called her no more than forty-eight hours ago, it had been a priority. “You said—”

“Your services are no longer required for that particular purpose. Thank you.”

Was he working with someone else? But who in Caldwell did the kinds of things she did?

“You don’t even want to know what I found out.”

“Your assignment has been terminated.” The man smiled again in such a professional manner, you’d have sworn he was a lawyer or a judge. Not a lawbreaker on a global scale. “I’m looking forward to working with you again in the future.”

One of the bodyguards in the back took a couple steps forward, as if he were getting ready to take the trash out.

“There’s something going on in that house,” she said as she turned away. “Whoever it is, is hiding—”

“I don’t want you going back there.”

Sola stopped and looked over her shoulder. Benloise’s voice was as mild as ever, but his eyes were dead on.

Well, this was interesting.

And the only possible explanation that held any logic was that Mr. Mysterious in that big glass house had warned Benloise off. Had her little visit been discovered? Or was this the result of the kind of hardball that routinely went down in the drug trade?

“Getting sentimental on me?” she said softly. After all, she and Benloise went back quite a ways.

“You are a very useful commodity.” His slow smile took the sting out of the words. “Now go and be safe, niña.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake…there was no reason to bicker with the man. And she was going to get paid—so what the hell did she care?

She gave him a wave, strode to the door, and proceeded down the stairwell. Out in the gallery space, she headed into the back of the house, where the legitimate employees worked during legitimate business hours. Bypassing the file cabinets and the desks, which looked Barbie-size thanks to the industrial ceiling fifty feet overhead, she went into a narrow corridor that was marked only with security cameras.

Knocking on the door was pointless, but she did it anyway, the stout fireproof panels absorbing the sound of her knuckles like they were hungry. To help Benloise’s brother out—not that Eduardo needed it—she turned to the nearest lens so her full face showed.

The locks released a moment later. And as strong as she was, even she had to put her shoulder into opening the way in.

Talk about another world. Ricardo’s office was minimalist to the extreme; Eduardo’s was something even Donald Trump, with his gold fetish, would feel suffocated by.

Any more marble and lamé in here and you’d be in a whorehouse.

As Eduardo smiled, his fake teeth were the shape and color of piano keys, and his tan was so deep and uniform, it looked like it had been colored on him with Magic Marker. As always, he was dressed in a three-piece suit—a uniform, kind of like Mr. Roarke’s from Fantasy Island, except black instead of white.

“And how are you tonight?” His eyes took a travel down her body. “You’re looking very well.”

“Ricardo said to come see you for my money.”

Instantly, Eduardo went stone-cold serious—and she was reminded of why Ricardo kept him around: Blood ties and competence together were a powerful combination.

“Yes, he told me to expect you.” Eduardo opened up a desk drawer and took out an envelope. “Here it is.”

He extended his arm across his desk, and she took what he offered, opening it immediately.

“This is half.” She looked up. “This is twenty-five hundred.”

Eduardo smiled exactly like his brother did: facially, but not in the eyes. “The assignment was not completed.”

“Your brother called it off. Not me.”

Eduardo put his palms up. “That is what you will be paid. Or you can leave the money here.”

Sola narrowed her stare.

Slowly closing the flap of the envelope, she turned the thing over in her hand, reached forward, and put it faceup on the desk. Keeping her forefinger on it, she nodded once. “As you wish.”

Turning away, she went to the door and waited for the unlock.

“Niña, don’t be like this,” Eduardo said. When she didn’t reply, the creak of his chair suggested he was getting up and coming around.

Sure enough, his cologne wafted right into her nose and his hands landed on her shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he said. “You are very important to Ricardo and me. We do not take you for granted—mucho respect, yes?”

Sola looked over her shoulder. “Let me out.”

“Niña.”

“Right now.”

“Take the money.”

“No.”

Eduardo sighed. “You do not need to be this way.”

Sola enjoyed the guilt that threaded through the man’s voice—the reaction was, in fact, precisely what she was after. Like a lot of men from their culture, Eduardo and Ricardo Benloise had been reared by a traditional mother—and that meant feeling guilt was a reflex.

More effective than yelling at them or kneeing them in the balls.

“Out,” she said. “Now.”

Eduardo sighed again, deeper and longer this time, the sound a confirmation that her manipulation had once again truly found home.

He wouldn’t give her the money she was owed, however. Over-the-top office decor and flashback to his childhood dynamic aside, he was tighter than a bank vault. That being said, she was confident that she’d effectively ruined his evening, so there was satisfaction in that…and she was going to take care of what Ricardo owed her.

He could do it aboveboard. Or, as he had chosen, he could force her hand.

That came with a surcharge, of course.

Yup, it would have been so much cheaper for him just to give her the contract price, but she was not responsible for the decisions of others.

“Ricardo will be upset,” Eduardo said. “He hates being upset. Please just accept the money—this is not right.”

The logical part of her brain suggested that she take the opportunity to point out the unfairness of being cheated out of what she was owed. But if she knew these brothers, silence…oh, the silence…

As nature abhorred a vacuum, so did the conscience of a well-raised, well-bred South American.

“Sola…”

She just crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead. Cue the Spanish: Eduardo broke into his native tongue, as if his angst had stripped him of his English skills.

He finally gave up and let her out about ten minutes later.

There would be roses on her doorstep at nine a.m. She wasn’t going to be home, however.

She had work to do.

“What do you mean, they didn’t show up?” Assail demanded in the Old Language.

As he sat back in the seat of his Range Rover, he held his cell phone tight to his ear. The red traffic light up ahead was hindering his forward progress, and it was difficult not to see it as a cosmic parallel.

His cousin was factual, as always. “The pickups did not arrive at the prescribed time.”

“How many of them?”

“Four.”

“What?” But there was no need for the male to repeat it. “And no explanations?”

“Nothing on the street from the seven others, if that’s what you mean.”

“What did you do with the extra product?”

“I brought it home with me just now.”

As green flashed overhead, Assail hit the gas. “I’m making the interim payment to Benloise, and then I’ll meet you.”

“As you wish.”

Assail turned right and headed away from the river. Two blocks up, a left had him approaching the gallery again; another left and he was going behind it.

There was a car already parked in the back, a black Audi, and he eased in behind the sedan. Reaching into the foot of the passenger seat, he took the silver metal briefcase by its black handle and got out of the SUV.

At that moment, the rear door of the gallery opened and someone emerged.

A female human, going by the scent.

She was tall and had long legs. Dark, heavy hair pulled back. Chin was up, as if she were ready to fight—or had just been in one.

But none of that was material to him. It was her parka—a camouflage white-on-cream parka.

“Good evening,” he said in a low voice as they met in the middle of the alley, he on his way in, she on her way out.

She stopped and frowned, her hand sneaking into the interior of that coat of hers. In a flash, he wondered what her breasts looked like.

“Have we met?” she said.

“We are right now.” He put his hand out and deliberately enunciated his words. “How do you do?”

She stared at his palm, and then refocused on his face. “Anyone tell you that you sound like Dracula with that accent?”

He smiled tightly so his fangs didn’t show. “There have been certain comparisons made from time to time. Are you not going to shake my hand?”

“No.” She nodded to the gallery’s back door. “You a friend of the Benloises?”

“Indeed. And you?”

“I don’t know them at all. Nice briefcase, by the way.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked over to the Audi. After the blinkers flashed, she got in, the wind catching her hair and blowing it over her shoulder as she disappeared behind the wheel.

He stepped out of her way as she pulled forward and sped off.

Assail watched her go—and found himself thinking with disdain about his business associate Benloise.

What kind of man sent a female to do that kind of business?

As the brake lights flared briefly, and then rounded the corner, Assail sincerely hoped that the line that had been drawn earlier in the night was respected. It would be a shame to have to kill her.

Not that he would hesitate for an instant if it came down to that.