Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Given the total absence of body fat on their muscled frames, Cole and Van clearly shared Tate’s dedication to working out. If they strolled down the street together, the locals would notice.
But Cole had a plan for everything. A local woman would deliver groceries and necessities at a scheduled time every week. Vetted and paid handsomely, she would guard her job with the utmost discretion. In the meantime, they would be cooped up in the tiny one-bedroom apartment until Cole gave them the green light to venture out.
In the kitchen, he lifted a long duffel bag from the table. When they’d arrived at the apartment, the first thing Cole did was pull the bag from one of the tiles in the drop ceiling in the bedroom.
He set it on the coffee table and unzipped it, revealing an arsenal of firearms, knives, and high-tech gadgets. “I collected this stuff during my previous visit here.”
Made sense. It wasn’t like he could sneak an assault rifle into his carry-on.
“When we eventually go out there,” Cole said, “you’ll be fully armed and armored.” He held up a black t-shirt from the bag. “This is bullet-resistant.”
“What?” Tate reached out and touched what appeared to be high-quality cotton. “No way.”
“I was shot in the chest wearing something similar.” Cole lifted the hem of his shirt, baring flawless skin over washboard abs and sculpted pecs. “The bullet broke skin. Fractured ribs.”
“No scar.” Tate couldn’t believe it.
“The bullet didn’t enter my body.” Cole pulled another shirt from the bag and tossed at Van.
“Badass.” Van held it up to his chest. “Machine-washable?”
“Good luck finding a washing machine.” Cole laughed and nodded at the view beyond the window, where laundry hung from sagging balconies from one end of the alley to the other.
Who cared about laundry? Those shirts, though… If they could really bounce bullets, they were worth their weight in gold.
No wonder Cole’s fees were so outrageous. He didn’t just know what he was doing. He had the gear to stay alive. Tate couldn’t imagine what this arsenal cost on the black market or wherever he’d acquired it. And he’d left it all behind after his last trip?
“You have to build a new stockpile of weapons on every job?” Tate asked.
“Yeah.” Cole motioned at the duffel bag. “This was included in your finder fee. Now you’re going to learn how to use it.”
Over the next hour, Cole instructed Van and Tate on the nuances of each firearm and how to conceal the pieces beneath their clothing. They couldn’t hit the streets looking like avatars in a first-person shooter game. Discretion was paramount.
During the instruction, rain began to pelt the glass. By the time Tate made his way to the window, a tropical downpour was fully underway. The deluge of water fell from broken spouts and overfilled dumpsters, rushing a river of sewage through the alley.
Where was Lucia? Surely, she wasn’t walking the steep, winding streets in this storm? After eleven years in this shanty town, she was probably used to it. But he didn’t like it. Every instinct begged him to go out there, hunt her down, and drag her back to the States.
Instead, he stayed at the window, watching, waiting, and finally, she appeared.
“She’s back,” he said, drawing Cole and Van to his side.
Despite the torrential rain, her steps were unhurried, measured, as she navigated streams of rainwater. Her clothes stuck to her thin sodden body, her hair clinging to her face, and in her arms…
“What is she carrying?” He gave the binoculars to Cole, who shook his head and handed them back.
She strode toward her apartment, but before she got there, she stopped and knocked on the door next to hers.
“That’s the apartment that was robbed earlier,” Van said.
The woman poked her head out. Then she swung the door open and grabbed whatever Lucia was holding.
Amid the blur of motion, Tate spotted a furry head. “Holy shit, she has the dog. How did she—?”
“Badell owns this neighborhood,” Cole said. “She must’ve tracked down the officers and demanded Badell’s cut of the loot.”
“She could’ve taken the laptop or demanded money, right?” His chest filled with hope. “But she took the dog. That’s—”
“Don’t read too much into it. The most corrupt explanation is usually the right one. Lucia knows what the woman values most, and now she’s in Lucia’s debt.”
“Christ, you’re jaded.”
“I’m realistic.” Cole paced to the couch and packed away the weapons. “Lucia will stay in her apartment for the rest of the night. At dawn, she heads back to the compound.”
“Every morning?”
“Without fail,” Cole said behind him.
Tate remained at the window as she left the woman without saying a word and vanished inside her own apartment.
What’s going on in your head, Lucia? Why are you here?
“You know why I abducted Camila.” Van stepped beside him and stared out into the rain. “Why she was even on my radar.”