Page 65 of Business vs. Pleasure

“You too.” August swallowed, his expression unsettlingly serious. “I expect you to fly home with me in the passenger cabin, not the cargo bay.”

Ricardo shuddered. “Likewise.”

Despite his disgust at his own handiwork on Ricardo’s face, August leaned in for a quick, light kiss.

Then they stashed a few more weapons in their clothes and headed out.

Ricardo had worried that NightRaven would want to meet them someplace public and crowded. He knew little about the guy, but his gut said that collateral damage wasn’t a significant concern of his. Ricardo didn’t do collateral damage. If this idiot had demanded they meet where there were a lot of people, he’d have done his level best to negotiate something else. Especially since they were meeting in broad daylight—mid-morning, the day after NightRaven had made contact.

To his surprise, the location du jour was a small boat landing area on the Chagres River near where it branched off from Gatun Lake. It wasn’t far from the Miraflores Locks of the Canal, either; something Ricardo tucked away in case they needed to make an escape, ideally without drawing attention from the ships passing through or the authorities monitoring them.

The boat landing itself was down several winding roads in an area that was just a handful of miles from civilization, but as August drove them closer, it seemed incredibly remote. As if they were heading far out into the middle of nowhere even while they were a mere stone’s throw from the Locks and its surrounding towns.

“I don’t like this,” August declared as he followed the narrow road through the thickening jungle.

“I don’t either.” Ricardo shifted in the passenger seat. “But I’m not sure what choice we have.”

August grunted unhappily. He’d already been pissed that he had to drive, but he’d agreed that it would help sell their charade. NightRaven wouldn’t buy Ricardo’s awful condition if he was behind the wheel.

“Can we shoot him and feed him to the crocodiles?” August asked.

“There aren’t any crocodiles in the lake.”

“Um, actually there are, and I’ll prove that by throwing chunks of NightChicken into the water until they come eat him.”

“You’re not going to use them to lure a jaguar out of the jungle so you can pet it?”

August quirked his lips.

Ricardo huffed. “No, August. You are not petting a jaguar.”

“Ugh.” August pouted noisily. “You never let me do anything fun.”

“Uh-huh. And if you pet that kitty, then we really will have to make a trip to the emergency room. How about we just stick to the story of one of us fictionally being attacked by the local wildlife?”

“As long as we’re still in agreement that you never let me do anything fun.”

Ricardo just sighed.

“And technically you were attacked by the local wildlife, so it’s not even completely fiction.”

The scorpion sting beneath the bandage itched as if awakened by August’s remark.

“Just… shut up and drive.”

Moments later, the GPS directed them onto a small dirt—well, mud—road that led down to the boat launch. There, half a dozen boats covered with canopies bobbed against the docks. Judging by the signs and logos, these were for companies that ran boat tours of Gatun Lake.

Ricardo’s neck prickled as he took in the scene. It was weird that there was no one here right now. Then lightning flashed over the lake, and it made sense. Hopefully the tours didn’t start until later in the morning, though they likely ran before the afternoon deluge started. Especially on days like today when thunder already rumbled in the distance and lightning forked across the gunmetal gray sky.

August descended the hill slowly, looking around as he did. Ricardo did too, though he only moved his eyes; he had to keep up appearances of being sickly and lethargic.

In the small, muddy area between the road and the boat launch, August turned the car around so it was facing up the hill. They could make a quick escape if they needed to. They took off their seat belts for the same reason—in case they needed to make a run for it, though Ricardo prayed August didn’t have to run on his damaged feet.

And then, engine idling while rain battered the car, they waited. Out in the open. Fully exposed. They waited.

Neither of them spoke. Neither moved. Even their breathing seemed to have fallen completely silent, though it may have also just been drowned out by the torrential downpour beating on the roof and windshield. Ricardo couldn’t hear the thunder, but he could feel it rumbling through his bones.

He was still unsure of NightRaven’s intentions. At first, he’d told August they would meet up and “finish this,” hinting at some kind of duel or something. When he’d called to give them the location, though, he’d seemed more willing to approach this as a civil negotiation. To what end, Ricardo couldn’t say, but the idiot had sounded less like he wanted to come in guns blazing and more like this could—somehow—end without bloodshed. Or with minimal bloodshed.