Page 67 of Hit Man

I smile at him and it broadens when I catch his frown.

“What have you found out?” he murmurs, with the slightest hint of excitement in his tone. One thing about McDuff, he doesn’t get excited about anything ever. Low-key and chill is his motto.

“I need to report in. If Hayden wants to share my news . . .”

“Wanker.”

“Leprechaun.”

His gaze drops to my bag and rises again, quicker than a blink. For such a laid-back guy, he doesn’t miss much.

“I’ll give you this. Mendoza is double-crossing hispapi.”

“He doesn’t have the mental capacity to pull something like that off,” McDuff replies.

“My thoughts exactly. But . . . he is.” But first things first. As much as I’m reluctant to make this call, Hayden needs to be the first person I share my news with. I pull the burner phone from the center console and, grimacing, hit his number.

He answers on the first ring. “Diego.”

“Boss.” I glance at Shamrock who’s crouched in the seat. “I’m here with Finn McDuff. “

“I know.”

I scowl at the Irishman, who shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. But we both jump when there’s a knock on the window.

The door unlocks then opens.

Hayden slides into the seat across from us both and pulls the door closed behind him.

“Put the burner away.”

“Aw, blimey,” McDuff mutters, his accent thickening. “What the feck’s he doing ’ere?”

We’re both from the streets, McDuff and I. Derry and Loreto, respectively. Hard to shake the hood, and the cartel life we grew up within years before being recruited by TORC. By the boss of the Lobos cartel turned CEO of a team of killers. The most ruthless of us all.

Hayden.

“Mierda.”

He sits across from us, dressed in an expensive suit, with his shoes polished to a high shine and his perfect teeth flashing bright and white. Posh. Sophisticated. So far away from being how I remember him. He helped me out of a bad situation by recruiting me into his cartel. Protected me—and my sister, Luciana. I scowl. Yeah, he did more than protect her, thebastardo. Yet, he was responsible for getting her out of Loreto and shipping her off to our aunt in Copenhagen where it was safe. His money. His call, which I fully supported. Though he’s done some truly fucked-up things since then that make me doubt there is a kinder side to the man.

For him to return to Mexico . . .

“Quite the fireworks show up at Casa Bella last night.”

I grind my teeth together. “It couldn’t be helped.”

He leans forward and stares me down. An intimidating move, one I learned from him and nearly perfected myself. “If I’d sent McDuff in instead of you, the sky wouldn’t have been ablaze with gunfire. Low-key. Quiet. That was a goddamn order. You’ve jeopardized a year’s worth of work.”

I keep quiet.

“Don’t play the silent card with me,” he snaps. “You allowed a woman to ruin your judgment.” He tosses a sheet of paper on my lap. “Her goddamn picture is all over the place.”

I feel my Adam’s apple lodge in my throat.

“I ran a check on Aubrey Hamilton. She received a degree in architecture from Stanford, on full scholarship. She has a two year visa to work in Mexico, listing a nonprofit called Architects Beyond Borders as her employer.”

“She was at Casa Bella trying to hit Mendoza up to finance a project.”