Page 68 of Hit Man

“Wrong place, wrong time,” McDuff mutters.

“She’s a nobody,” I say.

“Not anymore. Mendoza put a bounty out on her head.”

“Aw, feck. I hate collateral damage. She’s a pretty ride, too,” the asshole next to me murmurs.

“Fuck you, McDuff.”

I feel Hayden’s stare. What happens to Aubrey isn’t my business. She’s collateral damage like McAsshole says. A pretty, beautiful, intelligent, soon-to-be-dead woman.

“Don’t be getting any ideas.”

Damn it. “About what?”

Hayden leans in closer. “She is not your concern.”

“Is there a wanted flyer out on Pretty Boy too?” McDuff asks, breaking the tension between Hayden and me.

“No picture. Just his name. Diego ‘Rodriguez.’”

“So I’ve heard.” McDuff snorts. “Rodriguez. Is that the Spanish equivalent of Smith or O’Brien?”

I ignore him and address Hayden. “I didn’t leave Casa Bella empty-handed. I’ve bad news that should please you. I found out what was inside those crates.”

“Crates?” McDuff repeats.

“Yes.”

“More guns?” he asks.

“You’ll never guess.”

His eyes flash with challenge. “Money? Drugs?”

“Not even close.”

“I won’t be fucking guessing. We don’t have time for this,” Hayden snaps. “Stop fucking around. Tell me.”

“I’ll show you.” I unzip my bag and withdraw the smooth gray disc, placing it on my knee.

“Rocks?” McDuff questions. “They looking to hide drugs inside? Easy way to smuggle drugs across the US border. Better than drug mules swallowing condoms full of narcotics.”

I hand Hayden the uranium disc. “The contents of that special delivery. Enriched uranium. Stolen or bought illegally.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” McDuff says. Yeah, nothing like a smooth sliver of nuclear fuel to get a rise out of the Irishman.

“How many crates?”

“Twenty-four. All about a third full. Probably too heavy to transport otherwise.”

“Any markings on the crate? Signs of a country of origin? Markings made in Russian or Iranian?”

“Not that I could see.” Not that I was looking. Christ, why do I always feel like a fucking amateur around this man? But there hadn’t been any marks, not unless they were scribbled beneath the heavy, immovable crates and hidden from sight. Impossible for one man to move one, no matter how big his guns are. “Mendoza was hell-bent on keeping this shipment a secret.”

Hayden addresses McDuff. “You hear any mention of this in Acapulco?”

“This is the first I’m hearing about it.”