KICK ASS: A Boxed Set (21 page)

“You don’t believe in sleep,
Señor
Perez?” Marisela asked, her voice appropriately thicker with the accent of her parent’s native country, plus deeper and richer with her exhaustion.

“I do adore a good night’s rest,
Señora
Tosca. But I was so pleased with your success that I wanted to share my congratulations. You and your husband have exceeded my expectations in every way.”

Marisela sniffed. Yawned. Loudly. “We did what you paid us to do. No more, no less.”

Over the phone line, Javier Perez’s chuckle seemed extraordinarily hollow, raising the hackles along the back of Ian’s neck.

“I wish to meet with you and your husband later this morning. I want to present the final payment personally, and of course, discuss further business dealings, as my man proposed to your associate.”

“¿Dónde?
” Marisela asked.

“At my hotel,” Perez answered. “I’d Like to invite you and your husband to be my guests for breakfast. I’ll send a car.”

“Make it lunch and we’ll drive ourselves. What time?”

She sounded tired and bored, but Perez retained the smile in his voice—one that grated on the fine tune of Ian’s nerves. “You name the time. I’m leaving the States in the early evening tomorrow, so—”

She cut him off with a curt, “One o’clock.”

“Wonderful,” he said, then named the hotel and provided the room number. “I look forward to—”

Marisela disconnected the call. A tense silence ensued until Max buzzed back in.

“I’ll have Dion and Romulus tail them from the hotel.”

“Do that,” Ian snapped. He’d wanted Marisela to assume the part of Dolores Tosca, but if she’d gone too far…

“She did fine,” Max reassured him, correctly interpreting Ian’s mood.

“She was rude,” Ian countered.

“By all accounts, Dolores Tosca was not Miss Congeniality. Don’t forget what she did for a living.”

Ian stretched, knowing Max was right. “Is everything in place to pursue Marisela and Frank if Perez takes them with him to Puerto Rico tomorrow?”

Max paused, but as expected, came up with an affirmative response. “The team that worked on the
Sharp’s Destruction
is already en route to the island and will pick up a new boat by tomorrow that has all the equipment we’ll need. The plane is fueled and ready to go. We won’t let them out of sight.”

“Good. Is there any news on Pan?”

“Stable. Doctor won’t know about permanent damage until he wakes up.”

“You contacted his wife?”

“She’s there already.”

“Cover story?”

“Mugging.”

“Ochoa’s family?”

“Under wraps. The wife is terrified. I don’t expect she’ll cause us any trouble so long as we keep her and the baby comfortable.”

“The bodyguard?”

“Moved to another location.”

“No complications, Max,” Ian said by way of warning.

“Of course. Goodnight, sir.”

Ian disconnected the link, rolled over, and opened the blinds on the window behind his bed. The moon was a sharp slice of light in the early morning sky, with no sign of the rising sun yet in the eastern waters. He couldn’t remember the last night he’d slept more than three hours in one stretch, and yet he also couldn’t dredge up the slightest memory of looking out the window or over the railing at a singularly spectacular view. Who had the time anymore? Who had the heart to give a damn?

He’d bet Marisela looked at the stars, probably every night if the mood suited her. Frank, too, if for no other reason than because he could after years in the pen.

The mental picture of his agents standing near a window while admiring the moon together drove a slim pin through the center of his brain. He speared his hands through his hair and rested his head in his palms, wondering what the hell had been going through his mind tonight. His first error in judgment had been going to her hotel room in the first place. He’d used the excuse that he was delivering the tapped cell phone, but any of his agents could have done that duty, including Max, who’d asked twice for the assignment. His friend undoubtedly sensed the growing fascination he had with Marisela and in his boundless insight, saw the train wreck that would occur if the dynamics of his interactions with Marisela skimmed anywhere near an intimate dalliance. Hadn’t the disaster of his last affair with an agent taught him anything?

Women who made their living pretending to be other people never revealed their true selves.

Women who made their living by betrayal, lies, and death could not shift back into the civilized world without causing destruction.

Women who made their living as agents in his employ should remain, always, off-limits.

So why had he nearly destroyed the tentative hold he had on Titan by touching Marisela’s skin in the privacy of a cheap motel room?

The buzzer broke into his thoughts.

“He called back?” he asked Max, surprised Javier Perez would be so insistent.

Max hesitated, then replied matter-of-factly. “Brynn would like to speak with you.”

Ian’s gut suddenly filled with burning hot lead.

“Is she here?”

“No, sir. Calling from an undisclosed location in Toronto, if my triangulation is correct.”

Ian swallowed his annoyance. His sister rarely came back to North America. But so long as Brynn wasn’t on the other side of his door, he didn’t give a damn where she was.

“Patch her through. I’ve apparently had what little rest I’m getting tonight.”

And what little peace of mind
.

Ian shook his head and delivered the cheeriest hello he could summon to his twin. He anticipated that she’d chitchat a few minutes, then fill him in on her exploits in whatever case she’d undoubtedly made great progress on. And just after she’d lulled him to relax in their familiar sibling exchange, she’d slide in a loaded question—a query he couldn’t avoid without outright lying. He’d done enough of that over the past few months and each mistruth chipped away at him. Still, he had to do whatever was necessary to keep Titan in his hands, where his legacy belonged.

* * *

Javier Perez’s hotel, a tiny boutique establishment with a prime location on snowy white sand in the heart of South Beach encompassed everything Marisela had ever dreamed about Miami. From the salsa beat piped into the mirrored elevator to the pastel, art deco designs of the furnishings and tile floor, she half-expected to see Gloria Estefan sipping a mojito on the balcony as Perez’s bodyguards ushered them through the luxurious penthouse. Instead, she found Javier Perez and a woman with a fake tan and vapid blue eyes sitting at a table set with fine china and crisp linens that fluttered in the ocean breeze.

Perez stood the minute his bodyguards stepped aside and Frankie and Marisela, as Rogelio and Dolores Tosca, walked through the impressive archway onto the terrace. The arms dealer looked exactly like his pictures, only more in focus. He was slim, but not tall. Elegant, and yet quick—just like a man who’d orchestrated his own rise to wealth and power should be.

He held out his hand, which Frankie accepted. “
Señor
Tosco. I’m honored, And
señora
,” he said to Marisela, offering his cool palm to her next, “you are indeed as beautiful as I’ve been told.”

Marisela cocked an eyebrow. Either this was a lame compliment or Dolores’s beauty had been highly exaggerated. Not that Marisela had seen more than the one grainy picture, but she wasn’t exactly a classic beauty, Latina or not.

“You flatter me,
señor.”

“Yes, I do,” he said, winking warmly. “But it is deserved. Please, sit down.”

He spoke in rapid-fire Spanish to the blonde, who didn’t even bother to look offended that she hadn’t been introduced or that she’d been instantaneously dismissed. Arm candy. Once the bimbo left, they were alone, except, of course, for the two formidable bodyguards that flanked the entrance to the second-story suite.

Frankie cleared his throat, but otherwise remained silent, his gaze drifting over the balcony while his ears clearly remained trained on the conversation at the table. From all accounts, Rogelio Tosca allowed his wife to do most of the talking, especially the niceties and chitchat. He was the executioner; she the planner.

Secretly, Marisela couldn’t help but enjoy the situation. If not for the Toscas’ established roles, Frankie would never have allowed her to take the lead. She knew he had reservations about her inexperience, reservations she’d probably heightened thanks to her poor judgment the night before. And yet, when Frankie had slipped into their room last night, he’d said nothing except to report Pan’s tentatively stable condition. While he’d showered, she’d taken Perez’s call. With him nearby, she’d finally fallen asleep. During the night, he’d swung his arm possessively across her belly, and damn if the likely accidental gesture hadn’t warmed her to the core.

Now, as he held out the chair for her, he glanced at her with eyes that revealed nothing—reminding her to do the same.

Perez snapped his fingers and one of the bodyguards fetched two silver carafes, one piping with hot coffee and the other with equally steamy milk. Marisela directed him in Spanish on the ratio she preferred. Frankie waved away the milk altogether.

“
Señor
Perez,” she said, taking a sip from her coffee. “My husband and I appreciate your hospitality, but we are anxious to leave Miami. If you don’t mind, we’d like to hear your proposal so we can consider our immediate options.”

Perez watched her intently, as if every word crossing her lips contained a secret code. Luckily, she’d prepared for such scrutiny.

“I understand, of course,” he assured her. His voice was rich and languid, not unlike the ocean breeze swirling through the palms on the terrace. “But my proposal is complicated and requires the input of my top associates, which is why I would like you to accompany me to Puerto Rico.”

Marisela glanced at Frankie, who sullenly shook his head. “My husband and I have other obligations,
señor
. Perhaps we can join you, let’s say, in a week?”

Perez neither smiled nor frowned. He merely contemplated her suggestion. Marisela hoped their plan to not appear too anxious didn’t backfire.

“I’m not a patient man, I’m afraid. But I am generous. If you join me now, you will enjoy a relatively uninterrupted vacation in the tropics, as a reward for the fine job you did last night.”

Frankie rustled noncommittally in his chair while Marisela carefully replaced her coffee cup on the delicate china saucer. “We’re sure your home is lovely,
señor
, but we are independent contractors. Our business is lucrative. We have no need to limit our client base at this time.”

Perez nodded thoughtfully, smoothly draping a napkin across his lap. A second later, two waiters arrived with three colorful plates laden with crispy greens, artfully cut vegetables, and a tangy mango-based salsa. Despite her concentration on the conversation, Marisela’s mouth watered. They’d skipped breakfast and cluster-fuck or not, last night had built up a ravenous appetite—on too many levels to count.

She unfurled her napkin, but ignored the silverware. Food in her mouth—particularly delicious food—would undoubtedly derail her concentration.

“Please do not take our reluctance as a personal insult,” she said earnestly. “We mean no disrespect.”

Perez reached out and patted her hand, then gestured for her to pick up her fork. “I understand completely,
señora
. My needs are not long-term, but timing is of the essence. With careful planning, your services could ensure my continued domination in my field, which could benefit both of us,
¿sí?
However, I have personal reasons for returning to Puerto Rico
inmediatamente
. I assumed that a week or two on my private island, with fine food and ultimate luxury as an incentive, would lure you to listen to my proposal.”

Frankie stabbed a few leaves of lettuce onto his fork. “You don’t have to hire us,
señor
. If you pay, we’ll listen.”

Marisela smiled with an extra dose of patience to make up for Frankie’s gruff, but practiced, tone. It wasn’t such a stretch for him to act the reticent conversationalist, Marisela thought with a secret grin. Then again, she wasn’t exactly earning an Academy award by playing the coldhearted bitch, either.

“What my husband means,
señor
, is that now that we’ve done business together, niceties are appreciated, but not necessary. We are at your disposal should the need arise.”

Perez took his time to chew and swallow, his gaze never locking on either of them for long, but darting casually between his guests and the view—completely comfortable in his surroundings. And rightfully so. Chances were, if one of his holding companies didn’t own this hotel, he at least owned every single person inside.

“I appreciate your trust. Which reminds me.”

Another snap of fingers and a briefcase appeared at Marisela’s feet. She checked to make sure the lock was secure and coded with the prearranged combination, but otherwise ignored the cash payment inside.

“We’re happy you’re satisfied with our work,” she said with a solemn nod.

“I’m more than satisfied,
señora
. I’m thrilled. I had extreme reservations about destroying such a lovely family. The fact that the woman and child were inexplicably delayed was a stroke of genius, not to mention a show of true generosity of spirit.”

A chill crept along Marisela’s spine, a prelude to a shiver she tamped down with another sip of coffee. Was this some sort of trick question? “I cannot take credit where none is due, señor. We had nothing to do with the family not showing up. Rogelio and I guessed that you had been behind the change in plans.”

Perez’s eyebrows arched over wide hazelnut eyes. “Me? No, no. I have no taste for the blood of innocents, but my enemy cast his own lot when he brought his family with him into my territory.”

Marisela decided to lay her cards on the line. Well, Dolores’s cards, anyway.

“Is this a test?”

“¿Perdone?”

She shifted in her seat. “If you want to know something,
Señor
Perez, please, ask.”