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“We should let Beckett and Moore know,” Mike said, two names I didn’t know, then jumped up with his phone in his hand. He stopped short when Cole rushed back to the table.
“Frank said there’s some action four miles from here. John, grab our bags. We gotta go.”
I quickly picked up my own bag. In my world, plans often changed like the wind, and if something big was about to happen, who knew if I’d be back? I stood when they did. I itched to see Jack’s texts, but this was happening now.
“No,” Paul shook his head and held up a hand, “this isn’t press related.”
“Says you,” I huffed and didn’t back down.
“We’re an American special ops team, Nicole. We don’t take tagalongs.”
“Tagalongs?” I hissed at him. He made me feel like I was six, following a sibling to the movies.
“Stay here and stay out of trouble,” he ordered as I fumed.
“Nice meeting you in person, Nicole.” Mark, the nice one, stole a piece of bread off another table as he raced off. Paul was right on his heels.
“Jackass.” I flipped him the bird then looked at my phone as I headed out the side gate.
Jack: Major activity near Santa Clara. Sources say Jerry Canos was spotted.
I called him as I wiggled into my GoPro harness. Any Cartel presence needed to be filmed. I’d learned early that a missed shot was someone else’s gain.
“Damn, girl, what do you see?” He jumped right in, which I loved. There was no room for small talk in our world.
“Nothing yet, but I’m getting a ride there now.” I waved, and a taxi’s tires squealed as the driver pulled over. “Jack, I need an address.”
“Yeah, umm,” I could hear the clicking of the keyboard, “head south to Santa Clara, and keep along the coast. You can’t miss them.”
“Got it. I’ll call you back.”
“Stay alive.” The line went dead.
I gave the driver the address and urged him to hurry. “Apúrate!” My excitement grew as we flew down the coast, the blur of the ocean from the corner of my eye a constant stripe of tropical blue. It was heartbreaking that such a beautiful country had such evil woven through it. Though the same could easily be said about America.
The car skidded to a stop, and I was barely able to brace myself against the seat in front of me.
The driver screamed at me to get out. “Bájate!” My stomach was still in my throat from his sudden stop. “Bájate!” he repeated and hit the steering wheel to get my attention. I followed his line of sight and saw why he wanted me out.
Nando, Armondo, the man I left for dead back at the hotel, had a gun pointed at the driver. His face was torn up with cuts that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight like some sort of demon.
“Muévete!” Nando waved his gun for me to get out, and when I hesitated, he pointed his weapon at the driver and drilled one into his chest.
“No!” I lurched forward and used both hands to press against the hole in his chest. “No! No! No!” I pleaded with any one of the gods above to save the poor man. “Just hold on,” I begged, but then I was hauled out of the car by my ankle. I managed to grab my purse before my back slammed down on the bottom of the doorframe, then the wind was knocked out of me as I smacked down on the pavement.
“Nando!” someone yelled and got his attention. I took the opportunity to flip onto my stomach and try to get up, but he grabbed me by my hair and lifted me to my feet. The pain was intense, but I blocked it out thanks to the adrenaline rush that filled me.
“You think I wouldn’t find you?” he yelled then pushed me forward, but I struggled to get my footing. His nasty hand clamped down on my arm, and he dragged me behind him. “I’m smarter than you!” He hauled me past his men who were in the middle of a gun battle. We were caught in a full-blown shootout, but Nando didn’t seem to care whether we got hit by a bullet or not. “Why did you come here? Did you find el niño?”
“No, I didn’t. I have nothing,” I pleaded. The soles of my boots fought to grip the chewed-up cobblestones.
“Liar!” He shook me like I weighed nothing. “Those are Canos’ men.” He pushed me up against a wall and stood pressed against my front. His nasty face was inches from mine, and I had to turn my head to avoid his breath. He reached up and squeezed my cheeks then allowed one hand to drop down to painfully pinch my thigh. I yelped, and it dropped away. “They followed you here, yes?”
“I don’t know!” I was as confused as he was as to how everyone came to be there. “I followed my gut, okay? You understand? Mi instinto, and—and—” I couldn’t think straight, “and maybe they did too.”
He suddenly turned and raised his gun and shot a man who ran toward us. “What do you know?” he tried again, and I squeezed the bag on my shoulder a little tighter. It was one of those times I wished I had a weapon in it. “You were at the orphanage. What did you find there?”
Holy shit. How did he know I’d been there?