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“Knowing Geraldo Montilla had a long enough reach to get me in either country? I’d go where I have home-turf advantage. Someplace I know better than my adversary ever will and can rely on the locals not to out me for a buck.”
“Same.” Matt pulled onto the freeway. “Any idea where this fucker is from?”
Trees wished he had a place to hunker down with his computer and dig into this son of a bitch’s life, but he could make do with his phone. After a few searches, some cross-checking, and tapping into a couple of hush-hush resources, he found what he needed. “On the Gulf coast in Mexico, in the state of Tamaulipas. It’s a little fishing village. La Pesca. I think we go there.”
Matt hesitated. “Check in with Trevor and Ghost. See if Ramos is still headed with the U-Haul in the same direction.”
Trees texted Trevor and got an instant reply. “Given the truck’s most recent sighting by a traffic cam, yep. But they’re a good three hours behind Victor and Laila. They’re trying to catch up, but…”
“It’ll be a while before Trevor and Ghost lay eyes on them. Still, I think you’re right. We fly to Ramos’s turf, keep a low fucking profile, and wait a day or two. See if he shows up.”
“And if he does”—Trees flashed a smile full of teeth and malevolence—“I’ll be waiting.”
* * *
Mexico
Victor’s loud demands over the gentle ocean breeze jerked Laila awake from her nap the following afternoon. She jackknifed up and stared around the unfamiliar bedroom blankly, trying to remember how she got here.
After driving all night and half of yesterday, Victor had finally pulled his truck beside a bright green villa, sandwiched between the turquoise water of the Gulf and a similar unit in sunny yellow. Other than food and bathroom breaks, their only other stop had been in Brownsville, just before they’d left the US. There, they had transferred the Ferrari from the U-Haul and into a truck some of his henchmen had brought. They’d abandoned the rental in a retail parking lot and pressed into Mexico after a drive-thru breakfast Laila had declined. She refused to owe Victor for anything.
Around noon, they’d driven through a town so small it could barely be called a village. Ten minutes after that, they’d stopped here. Laila hadn’t asked questions when he’d shown her into what looked like a vacation rental. She had simply locked the door, propped a chair under the knob, made sure her guns were loaded and within reach, then showered and collapsed into the fluffy white bed. Sleep had come slowly. She’d tried not to miss Trees while she’d tossed and turned. Despite her exhaustion, she ached for his strong arms, his woodsy scent, his understanding, his kiss. What must he be thinking? Feeling?
The next thing she knew, Victor’s raised voice outside her door awakened her. She sat up with a gasp and glanced out the window. The late afternoon sun dipped toward the horizon. Sighing, Laila rolled out of bed, tossed on the robe the resort had provided, then yanked the door open with a scowl. “Why are you yelling?”
He ended the call with a curse and dropped his phone on the kitchen table. “I’m tired of dealing with incompetent fools. I told Miguel to call me the minute he heard Montilla started looking for me.”
“And?” Laila eyed his device, wishing she could grab it and assure her sister that she was safe…at least for now. And she would love to hear Trees’s voice. But he must know she’d walked out of his house with Victor of her own free will. Why would he ever want her again after she had betrayed his trust?
“The cabrón waited nearly twenty-four hours to tell me anything.”
Laila wasn’t surprised. Miguel had always been more interested in looking tough than being useful. He’d happily sampled both the cartel’s product and whores daily. “Montilla knows you took the car, yes?”
“Of course. They have sicced their sicarios on me.”
Hitmen. Laila wasn’t surprised. Surely, Victor wasn’t, either. “That is good. You have el jefe’s attention. It is the perfect time to strike. Do you know who they sent to kill you?”
Off the top of her head, Laila could think of more than one killer Montilla employed. Most weren’t well paid—except in drugs. No one expected them to live long, so cartels viewed them as expendable. But knowing who Montilla had tasked with ending Victor would tell her a lot about the drug lord’s reaction.
Victor looked grim. “He sent them all. The first one to bring me to him—preferably alive—will be rewarded.”
Laila’s blood ran cold. Montilla was even more furious than she’d imagined. He would demand retribution of the worst kind. She needed to put distance between her and Victor, lie low somewhere else. And she had to come up with a good reason for leaving here. If she didn’t…when Montilla’s hitmen came, she would be a casualty, too. Or worse, a prisoner tortured repeatedly to within an inch of her life until she gladly begged for death.
“We must act quickly and—”
“And what? This fucking plan of yours is likely to get me killed.” His eyes narrowed with rage as he stalked closer. “Was that your plan all along?”
Laila’s heart rate surged. Since she’d been startled out of sleep, she’d forgotten her guns on her nightstand. Casually, she eased back into her bedroom and eyed the weapons—but she was still too far to reach them. “No. I simply want to protect my family. And do you truly want to work for that pendejo? The way he treats people as if they are beneath him, especially Emilo, who was your friend…”
Not that Victor would win any humanitarian awards. But he was egomaniac enough not to see the very flaws he hated in others reflected in himself.
“I cannot be under Geraldo’s thumb. And I would run the business better. Under my leadership, Tierra Caliente would be more powerful than ever.”
Laila tried not to scoff at his big dreams. “Exactly. So this is the path you must follow. Does Miguel know where to find Montilla?”
“No, but he has a contact, someone inside. He won’t say who, but this person claims to be unhappy with the way Montilla runs the organization. If we pay him well, he will tell us what he knows.”
Likely so, but in Laila’s experience, information that had to be bought was often full of half-truths at best.
“Once we learn where Montilla is holed up, tell Miguel to have his contact pass along our terms for the car’s return. This is where the bargaining chip I told you about comes in. If I explain now, it will not make sense. But information is power and once you know the hole where the fox is hiding—”
“No.” He charged her way again. “I’m tired of your games. Explain this bargaining chip now.”
Laila scrambled back, plucking the guns from the nightstand and aiming at him. She had known she wouldn’t be able to put Victor off for long. Her time was running out. “Think, Victor. Would I really mislead you?”
He stopped coming at her. “I’m beginning to wonder.”
“What would you do if I have?”
“I would hunt down your sister, and I would show her no mercy.”
“Precisely.” So she would have to kill him if he stopped believing her. “You know I would never want that. So I am positive my plan will put you on Montilla’s throne.”
Victor grumbled. “You promised me information.”
