Page 32 of Harbor

“Grab the door, Ren!” Lucia shouted from the bathroom where she was currently brushing Diego’s teeth. “It’s probably the lunch we ordered.”

Hopefully.

He was fucking starved.

Renzo scooped up Diego’s handful of cars—he’d gotten to pick one toy when they went shopping, and of course, picked a pack of small cars—and tossed them into a pile by the side of the couch. He didn’t even bother to check in the peephole before grabbing hold of the door, and swinging it open. The guy waiting on the other side with a paper bag in hand was definitely not the food they’d ordered for lunch.

Maybe it was the way the guy carried himself, the aviator shades covering his eyes, or the leather jacket molded to his chest, but he just didn’t scream delivery man. He also wasn’t recognizable to Renzo, which was a problem. He didn’t fucking trust anyone lately.

“What can I do for you?” Renzo asked.

“You Renzo?”

Renzo arched a brow. “Depends on who is asking.”

The man grunted in the hallway, shoved his aviators high on his head, and glanced down the empty hallway. “Tuck sent me, actually. Are you gonna make me stand out here in the hallway all afternoon, or what?”

Well, in that case …

Renzo stepped back, and widened the door. Opening one arm as if to invite the man in, he asked, “Do you have a name?”

“Not for you.”

Jesus.

Just who was Tuck messing around with in Vegas, anyway? Renzo had to push that question out of his mind because he couldn’t afford to know. If this guy had the shit he needed to move a little easier and breathe a little freer, then nothing else mattered.

The guy headed for the table in the small kitchenette area of the room, and dropped the paper bag down uncaringly. By the time Renzo joined him at the table, he’d already pulled out the items from the bag. Two sleek, black burner phones with cards to activate them. Two IDs.

Renzo picked up the one ID, and looked it over. The brunette on the front looked nothing like Lucia, but if she flashed it fast enough and someone didn’t really care to look at anything else but the birthdate stamped on the front, then they would be fine. Frankly, the ID that had been brought along for him wasn’t in better shape. The guy in the picture didn’t even have the same hair color as he did, and he was at least three inches too short according to the height listed. But again, it wouldn’t matter, if no one paid too close attention to the ID when it was flashed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Renzo watched Lucia direct a towel-wrapped Diego through the main section and into the bedroom. She shot him a look—a silent, you good?—but he only nodded back in response. She didn’t need to get involved in his business with Tucker. The more he could keep her away from while they were in Vegas, the better he figured it would be for both of them.

“Well, there you are,” the guy muttered, bringing Renzo’s attention back to the task at hand. “That’s what you asked for, isn’t it?”

Renzo nodded, and packed the items away in the brown paper bag once more. “It is. Let Tuck know I appreciate it.”

“Can let him know that yourself when he calls one of those two phones. He’s gonna have a job for you to do—payback for all of this, if you will,” the guy said, gesturing at the bag.

Payback?

Renzo didn’t think so.

He wasn’t doing shit for free.

“I already paid him for the phones and IDs,” Renzo pointed out.

The man grinned, but it wasn’t warm at all. In fact, it came off as entirely cold and almost a little patronizing when he nodded, saying, “Yeah, that’s not really how Tuck works. Money is a given, but he likes to make sure you really appreciate his willingness to … take care of you, so to speak.”

“Is that so?”

“The cost is always doubled with Tuck.”

Renzo’s jaw tightened with anger, but he managed to keep it in. It seemed that Tuck hadn’t changed all that much since he left New York. He was still a fucking prick at the highest level when he wanted to be. Besides, there wasn’t very much he could do either way. He didn’t need problems here, too. Not when they just arrived.

“Fine,” Renzo said.

The guy smiled in that cold way again. “Good. Tuck will call. And when you go for the job, just bring you. No one else. Got it, New York?”