Locked and Loaded (8 page)

She gave Bruno a look that told him, short of bodily carrying her out of there, which he knew full well that he couldn’t do without causing a scene and thus a police issue, she would not be moved. He was also not stupid enough to put his hands on the boss’s woman, so it was a standoff, pure and simple.

“All right!” he said, clearly peeved, and then whipped out his cell from his pants pocket. “But you’ll owe me.”

“Bruno … you’re the best,” she said with a sexy smile.

“Yeah, well, no telling if he’ll go for it—and if he doesn’t, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just doing my job.” Bruno put the cell phone to his ear. “Found her, boss. She’s just eating an early dinner over here and been shopping all day, judging from the bags.”

She watched Bruno nod.

“Yeah, but see that’s the thing … she wants to go to the spa to get a manicure and pedicure … a massage and stuff, and get all beautiful for you … then maybe she was gonna meet up with a coupla her girlfriends for a drink before coming back.” He turned to the side and lowered his voice. “She’s kinda giving me the blues about leaving right this second and wants to talk to you.”

Bruno pivoted in his chair and held out the cell phone to her. “Here. He said to put you on.”

“Baby…” she cooed, spinning in her seat so that Bruno could only see her right side, and not giving Roberto a chance to fire the first salvo. “You will
not believe
my day! Thank God Bruno came over here and got me to not be so mad. Oh, the county is so inept and allowed mongrels to run over the property—and what happened after that, well, I just couldn’t stand to pass by it, let alone watch it. So I left. I needed to be on the water to shake the sights and the sounds out of my mind. It was just so … so … oh, I cannot even describe it.”

Still not allowing Roberto a chance to get a word in edgewise, she went on in theatrical feminine fashion. “Then I
fell
.”

She paused for dramatic effect, which would give Roberto his first conversational entrée, and she hoped it would earn her a dose of sympathy. The plan worked. What was sure to be a stern directive from him mellowed when he asked how she had fallen.

“I was on the patio when one of the scraggly strays came up there and I almost fell trying to get away from it. I guess I was already off balance when I went running across the slippery grass in my heels and another one of those hounds scared me and I tripped. I bruised my arms, I bumped my cheek, and then I was so upset that I got into one of the small boats just to get away. Then I slipped again trying to get into the stupid boat and banged my shin,” she added, allowing tears to rise and her voice to warble. “That’s why I just want to go to the spa and unwind a little … maybe stay at the Ritz until you come home. And after all that upset, Bruno said you had business to take care of and weren’t even coming home tonight—and
you didn’t even tell me
when you left today.”

She paused, listening to Roberto’s vague explanation about how his meeting had morphed into an unexpected business trip, and was very careful not to reference New Orleans or to ask him any details. The more he thought she was ignorant of his whereabouts, the better, and the key was to get him on the defensive, on the explaining side of the verbal joust. That way, she could press for concessions—the main one she needed right now was space away from the compound to maneuver.

“But Bruno says I can’t go to the spa or out to eat with my friends, or even stay at the Ritz until you come back. What’s going on, Roberto? Is something wrong? And since when did Bruno become the boss of me? Why is everyone treating me like this today?”

Roberto’s voice was firm and yet oddly consoling as he tried to make her think she was living in a fairy tale. “Baby, it’s gonna be all right,” he murmured, patronizing her. “Bruno is
definitely
not the boss of you, all right … don’t cry. I just want you to be safe. Nothing’s wrong, but the economy is bad and wealthy women are a target. So go easy on Bruno and do what he says security-wise … and I give you permission to go to the spa and go out with your girlfriends. If you don’t want to go home and want to stay at the Ritz, just make sure Bruno knows where you are at all times. Put Bruno back on the telephone.”

Triumphant, she turned back to Bruno, and now that her cover story had been accepted, she could allow him to see the puffy side of her face. Thanks filled Bruno’s eyes for making him seem like he was her hero and was also following his boss’s directive. Bruno gave her a brief nod when he accepted the cell phone from her.

“Yeah, boss.… Okay. I’ll send Rico back here with her car. Yeah, yeah, two-man detail outside the spa, the Ritz, and any club she goes to. I’m on it.”

Their eyes met as Bruno accepted his orders; she mouthed “Thank you.” He nodded. As soon as the call ended, Bruno let out a long breath.

“You should put some ice on that,” he said, studying her face, “before it turns into a real shiner.”

CHAPTER 5

Getting rid of Bruno was fairly easy—she just handed the man all her shopping bags, kissed his cheek, and asked him to please take her loot over to the Ritz Carlton where she’d be checking in later. Oh, yes, and if he could be a sweetheart and get her a suite. There was nothing a security guy hated more than being made an errand boy for the boss’s woman. But Bruno was in no position to argue. She’d just taken a lot of heat off his ass, so he owed her.

Quid pro quo allowed her to exploit her short-term hold over Bruno to give him something constructive to do, specifically, to get out of her face and let one of his other brutes watch her sashay down the street to the spa.

It wasn’t that big of a deal, actually. Bruno only gave her a cursory scowl and complied. Everything was located along the open-air pedestrian mall on Lincoln Road. Thankfully, there was no need to get into one of the rigged vehicles with any of them—something she’d have to definitely talk to Captain Davis about at some point very soon.

Miami heat, speed bumps, and unwitting, innocent civilians were giving her the hives as she thought of the hundred and fifty things that could set off an accidental detonation.

But she had to get to the spa. The über upscale establishment was right next to her selected eating emporium, by design, just like the gym was right across the pedestrian thoroughfare. It was the only place she could make a safe call and visit regularly without suspicion. And just as membership had its privileges, so did being a regular spa-salon patron at the chic enterprise that was competing with all the services offered at the Ritz.

There, she had a permanent locker with a false back in it. Going to a salon and spa three times a week wouldn’t raise suspicions. Roberto had been the one to insist that she quit her teaching job, move in with him, and become acquainted with a lavish lifestyle. She’d moved her contact cell, weapons, and backup ID from the hidden location within her school locker to the spa. Everything about the places she chose was strategic. She’d picked this particular spa, even above the Ritz Carlton’s fabulous services, because given Roberto’s jealousy and paranoia, if she made regular trips to a hotel, her virtue could be called into question. That would have been a dangerous complication. At a spa or at a non-hotel-related gym, her activities could be monitored easily by one of his goons.

To stay on the safe side, she even had a female personal trainer at the gym, one that she was almost sure Bruno was doing. However, the last thing she had to worry about was for one of Roberto’s henchmen to follow her into the ladies’ locker room at the spa, or barge in while she was getting a facial, or burst in to argue with the queen who was the undisputed czar of fashion in the hair salon section.

Sage entered the open, pristine sanctuary and felt her body relax. Light lavender and eucalyptus scents helped calm her wire-taut nerves. Soft, rippling wall fountains flowed in gentle currents over smooth stones.

“Hello, Ms. Rodriguez,” a well-coiffed blonde intoned with a wide smile. Her smile faded a bit as worry entered her eyes. “Welcome … and what will we be able to help you with today?”

“Oh, thanks so much, Julie. I just have time for a mani-pedi, can you fit me in?”

“Of course we can,” Julie mewed, opening the book. Then she looked up again, seeming as though she was trying to hold on to her professional distance, but not quite able to fully conceal her concern. “Chen Lee will be able to help you in a moment. We’ll get you right back in a private room today, all right?”

“I just need to powder my nose,” Sage replied. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course. You know the way back to our lockers, right?”

“Definitely,” Sage said with a smile. Julie’s remark had been a mere courtesy; as a regular, they both knew that Sage knew the place inside and out. “Thanks again.”

“You’re more than welcome. There are fresh robes and slippers in the back, if you do decide to change your mind and get more done. You know we’ll
always
accommodate one of our best clients … and all you have to do is tell whoever is giving you your services to adjust the pressure.”

“Thanks,” Sage said quietly and slipped away from the front desk toward the back of the spa.

Julie’s discreet appraisal of her cheek said it all—we’ll help move out the bruised blood and can treat this, but we know what happened and have seen this before.

A facial and massage were out of the question, even though it would have bought her time away from Bruno and his men. But the thought of anybody touching her face or body right now didn’t seem appealing in the least, not when every inch of it ached.

Sage hurried to her permanent locker, glanced around quickly, and grabbed a metal file out of her purse. The moment she spun the combination and popped open her locker, she hung her purse inside the long, walnut enclosure. She peered around again; the other ladies were oblivious as she quietly removed the false metal back wall and felt for the contact cell phone that was duct-taped behind it. Then, as smooth as silk, she extracted it, dropped it in her bag, locked her locker again, and hurried to the bathroom closets.

Each stall was its own spacious mini chamber, complete with pedestal sink, floor-to-ceiling slatted walnut doors, a commode, and a fresh stack of hand towels and fragrant lotions and soaps. She waited, listening, and then dialed Hank Wilson, keeping the message brief as soon as he connected.

“You okay?” he asked quickly.

“Never better,” she replied. “Target is in New Orleans—I’ve got a reprieve.”

“Good.” Hank released a long breath. “This means what?”

“Means he’s either doing the deal as we speak or went there to do a drop-check at one of his warehouses. I can’t confirm that, but my hunch is that he went to personally be sure the location is secure for his incoming inventory. I think he wants to make sure everything is airtight—locked and loaded—and he’d show that to his new, nervous supplier to reinforce that his word is his bond.”

“We should be hearing something from Agent Alvarez in New York, soon, then—if your hunch proves correct, Wagner. Because as soon as Salazar gets his shipment, he’s got to move it out and away from him as fast as possible.”

“Right,” Sage replied, and then cracked the stall door to peek out. “I’m gonna have to go soon, Hank, but Bruno said our target will be in Louisiana for a couple days, which leads me to believe that’s when he’ll divvy up the product for his distributors. But the shipment is definitely coming into New Orleans,” Sage added in quick, low-toned bursts of information, listening between sentences for potential eavesdroppers. “He also didn’t take his home security team. How much you wanna bet his A-team is positioned there? The real badass mercenaries. But he’s nervous, has the B-team, Bruno and company, watching me and the house like he’s ready for all hell to break loose from his original supplier.”

“Man … I thought everything was gonna blow in Miami,” Hank shot back.

“Me, too. But think about it. If his supplier needs arms, New Orleans is a good place to smuggle them out of with a base and naval air station down there. Flip some manifests, grease the right civilian palms, and it’s not too difficult to make something seem like it’s part of a military shipment from a government contractor.

“Plus, it’s a port city and right there in the Gulf—with quick access to Mexico, which has practically nonexistent security on their docks, and from there to wherever in the world. Getting stuff from Mexico to Canada or whatever isn’t a stretch. It’s not like the Big Easy’s infrastructure is fully back in place, and I don’t have to tell you that their law enforcement is maxed out, hasn’t come back since Katrina. Their port patrols are a whole lot softer than Miami’s, by a long shot. So jump on it, Hank. Our target went to the airport this morning to meet his supplier and never came back. His jet may still be in the air if they had a long meeting first, for all I know … or they most likely did the meeting on the jet and could have landed hours ago. That’s where the Captain’s MI can help. You’ve got the call letters on the craft. Maybe satellite imaging will show him debarking, what vehicle they entered, and which warehouse they headed to, et cetera.”

“We’re on it,” Hank said, quickly. “What else do you need, Wagner?”

“Tell my new best friends, Jacqueline and Suzanne, to listen for a cell phone call from me early this evening—like eight or nine
P.M.
I’m supposed to be hanging out with my girlfriends and having a drink.”

“Done. I’ll let agents McCoy and Whittaker know.” Hank paused. “You be careful.”

“Hank, I’m good. I’m about to get my nails done.”

She hung up and closed her eyes, fighting fatigue, and then something within made her fingers dial the number that she’d memorized during the van ride over to South Beach.

Captain Davis picked up on the first ring. She hesitated a moment and she could tell he was waiting to ID her voice.

“Captain?”

“Roger. What’s your status?”

“I’m all right.”

This time he hesitated, and it gave her a chance to process the deep baritone concern that resonated in his voice. The sound bottomed out in the pit of her stomach until her entire midsection clenched.