Page 118 of Hit Man

Mixed with a little heartbreak.

I sigh as she steps toward the door. “Aubrey?”

“Yes, Señora?”

“I’m in the mood for a fresh salad with dinner. If you care to, would you mind picking a few tomatoes from my garden? You’ll never taste a sweeter fruit.”

35

Diego

Aubrey moves about the grounds, mindless of how I’m tracking her.

Unaware of the danger she’s in.

I itch to snatch her by the waistline and drag her into the bushes. Escort her back to my apartment, lock her inside, and toss away the key.

But to do so would jeopardize everything. I’m so close to ending this assignment, giving Hayden critical information to move forward with. Fahder might be dead yet a bigger threat exists. Someone whose been operating beneath the radar: Señora Killjoy.

I patiently bide my time. Even after Aubrey disappears inside the hacienda. To when I’m certain dinner is being served, and an opportune time to investigate the office.

I enter through the upstairs window. Pass silently through the blue room and into the hallway. Positioning myself at the top of the spiral stairwell, which is going to be the most critical part to navigate undetected.

Halfway down, I’m able to see straight into the dining room.

My attention immediately falls on Aubrey. Laughing and rolling her eyes at something the little boy to her left has done. Safe. Clueless to how Señora del Leon studies her, like a tigress watching over her cub. One. Wrong. Move.

The little boy’s nanny sits across from Aubrey. I pause and narrow my eyes on her. She’s a bit more subtle in her actions yet she’s also is focused on the unsuspecting woman facing her. I take a mental snapshot of her; chestnut-brown hair, pale skin, mousy, almost, unassuming with her looks. Intelligent. Her gaze lifts my way, and I hastily pull back.

Observant.

Señora keeps the conversation light. No religion. No politics. No shooting men in cold blood.

I’m forced to wait, and wait. Ready for any opportunity to finish my descent.

My stomach rumbles in protest as their main course is finished. I pray there is coffee. Or dessert. Time.

Three plates of salad are brought out.

Dios mío.

Señora digs in with great relish. But before Aubrey can get a bite in, the boy next to her jerks the tablecloth and the plate goes crashing to the floor.

I don’t wait around to see what happens next. I’m down the stairs and hallway, and into the office in no time. With the door half-closed, I begin my search.

As with the bureau, the desk is neatly organized. Sitting in the leather seat, I open the file drawer. And grin. Neat. Organized.Labeled.

The following catch my attention:Household. Investments. Linguistic Academy. Travel. Warehouse.

I arch an eyebrow and begin with the latter.

A bill for six months’ storage in a warehouse in Acapulco stands out. Not because of what it’s for or the location. No, it’s the red marks someone has scribbled over it.X’s and numbers that are significantly higher than the amount listed. Calculations. Quantity per cost. Whoever wrote them—most likely Señora—did so with an angry hand as red inkblots bleed through the paper. I stuff the paper inside my pocket and move on toTravel.

Perfecto. I immediately find a faxed itinerary for two. Looks like someone is going on safari in Kenya. Meeting with her uranium supplier, by chance? Most people believe Iran is a hotbed for off-the-grid facilities converting raw uranium into enriched, bomb-ready uranium. However Africa, in general, is a huge producer of uranium with mines in most countries. With government eyes cast toward the Middle East, could there be a facility for enriching uranium no one knows about hidden there? I tuck her itinerary inside my pocket as well. A simple call to Hayden and one of us will be headed on safari. Though if I have it my way, the only wild animal Señora is going to see is me.

Interesting enough, there’s nothing on Cork.

I hear a noise and freeze.