Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
The ride to the racetrack south of Orlando was both a frustrating snarl of traffic and a total waste of time. The big guard in the wifebeater showed up with nothing but bad attitude and a seeming case of amnesia, because he claimed he couldn’t remember anything. A few hundred bucks loosened his tongue but didn’t help him impart any new light. According to him, the minute Laila had followed him and his no-show counterpart to the guard shack, she’d trapped them inside and fled.
The interview lasted less than ten minutes.
Matt drove away from the racetrack, navigating his way into a turn lane with a scowl. “What did you think?”
If he was going to have to deal with the albatross of Walker’s bestie, he might as well use the guy as a sounding board. “Not much more than I thought before. Laila is helping Ramos for a reason. At first I thought it was because he threatened her.”
“That’s still possible.”
“Likely, even. But I keep replaying things she said to me… She’s fucking done with her family being hunted. She wants her sister to be happy and her nephew to have a normal childhood.”
“What does she want for herself?”
Trees shook his head. “Laila doesn’t think about that. I doubt it’s even crossed her mind. But there’s a chance she’s cooperating with Ramos because she thinks something will change.”
“Like?”
Elbow resting on the car door, he tapped his thumb against the hard plastic beneath. “Like helping Ramos will somehow get Montilla—and maybe even Ramos, too—out of the picture.”
Matt snorted. “Eliminating them both would be ballsy, but maybe she’s onto something. It’s not far-fetched to think that Montilla will hunt Ramos down and squash him like a bug for stealing his classic Ferrari. After all, if we got our hands on the footage of the theft in a couple of hours, what are the odds the owner of the stolen vehicle hasn’t seen it?”
Trees had thought of that. “He has, way before us. It also stands to reason that if we could figure out who Ramos was from the clip, so could Montilla—if he didn’t already guess.”
“You don’t get where Montilla is without knowing shit.”
“You don’t. You also don’t get where Montilla is by turning the other cheek or ruling with anything less than an iron fist. He’ll come after Ramos—hard.”
“If he can find the weasel. Do you know where he might hole up?”
“Since EM Security raided Emilo Montilla’s Mexican compound and One-Mile killed the bastard?” Trees shook his head. “But I’ve done a round with him before. If I can find him, I can take him.”
“If you were Ramos, would you stay in the States?”
“Knowing Geraldo Montilla had a long enough reach to get me in either country? I’d go where I have home-turf advantage. Someplace I know better than my adversary ever will and can rely on the locals not to out me for a buck.”
“Same.” Matt pulled onto the freeway. “Any idea where this fucker is from?”
Trees wished he had a place to hunker down with his computer and dig into this son of a bitch’s life, but he could make do with his phone. After a few searches, some cross-checking, and tapping into a couple of hush-hush resources, he found what he needed. “On the Gulf coast in Mexico, in the state of Tamaulipas. It’s a little fishing village. La Pesca. I think we go there.”
Matt hesitated. “Check in with Trevor and Ghost. See if Ramos is still headed with the U-Haul in the same direction.”
Trees texted Trevor and got an instant reply. “Given the truck’s most recent sighting by a traffic cam, yep. But they’re a good three hours behind Victor and Laila. They’re trying to catch up, but…”
“It’ll be a while before Trevor and Ghost lay eyes on them. Still, I think you’re right. We fly to Ramos’s turf, keep a low fucking profile, and wait a day or two. See if he shows up.”
“And if he does”—Trees flashed a smile full of teeth and malevolence—“I’ll be waiting.”
Mexico
Victor’s loud demands over the gentle ocean breeze jerked Laila awake from her nap the following afternoon. She jackknifed up and stared around the unfamiliar bedroom blankly, trying to remember how she got here.
After driving all night and half of yesterday, Victor had finally pulled his truck beside a bright green villa, sandwiched between the turquoise water of the Gulf and a similar unit in sunny yellow. Other than food and bathroom breaks, their only other stop had been in Brownsville, just before they’d left the US. There, they had transferred the Ferrari from the U-Haul and into a truck some of his henchmen had brought. They’d abandoned the rental in a retail parking lot and pressed into Mexico after a drive-thru breakfast Laila had declined. She refused to owe Victor for anything.