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CHARLIE SANDS

July 2030

Buenos Aires was not turning out to be as much fun as he’d initially expected.

He’d thought tracing the roots of previously unknown paintings for an artist who’d supposedly died more than fifty years ago would be an exciting romp through the Argentine art world. Mix in danger, intrigue, sex, and some time on the beach, and Charlie would’ve called it a success.

But he and his team had been in Buenos Aires for nearly a week with nothing to show for it except for indigestion from lunch, and West had a sunburn on the back of his neck.

No danger.

No intrigue.

And no sex.

He was planning to at least fix that egregious oversight tonight, though. There were plenty of hot playthings strolling the gallery show, giving off those “come fuck me” vibes. It would be rude of him not to oblige.

“How do you do it?” The low rumble of Edison’s voice rolled through Charlie’s ear, and he turned to regard his undercover companion for the night. His demolitions expert looked good in his bespoke suit. Of course, it wasn’t like something off the rack was going to fit his broad shoulders, thick chest, and massive arms. The man was a walking tank. And yet the tailor had wrapped him in a soft camel-brown suit with a white shirt that perfectly complimented his dark, rich skin tone.

“Do what?” Charlie inquired, giving the left cuff of his midnight-blue shirt a small tug. His own suit for the evening was a mix of blues and blacks that set well against his tanned complexion and salt-and-pepper hair.

“In the land of sex and machismo, you still stand out as an old-school god of sex,” Edison replied.

There was a low snickering in his ear, and Kairo immediately added over their private communication system, “A stallion in heat.”

“Or just an old tomcat in heat,” Westin interjected for good measure.

Charlie didn’t react beyond a twitch of his mouth as he continued to stare at the post-modern painting in front of him that was an explosion of reds and grays. He wasn’t quite sure what it was supposed to be, but he hadn’t actually noticed most of the art in the showing. His attention was now on the members of his team who weren’t in the gallery.

Currently, Kairo was in the safe house they’d rented, digging into famed and supposedly dead painter Thiago Vergara as well as the gallery owners who were known to have sold his work. Kairo Jones was the best reconnaissance guy he’d ever worked with. There was nothing he couldn’t hack, no bit of information he couldn’t uncover. But even he was running into a wall when it came to what happened to Thiago Vergara after he disappeared in 1977.

Westin St. James had elected to find a dark and shadowy perch outside the gallery from which to watch people coming and going. The former Marine sniper didn’t do crowds or situations where he might be forced to have a face-to-face conversation with someone.

Ed was plenty backup for this reconnaissance mission, especially since Charlie didn’t expect to run into a single ounce of trouble.

Not that Buenos Aires didn’t offer up ample trouble. The lovely South American city had her fair share of crime, corruption, violence, and greed. They didn’t even have to turn over that many rocks to locate it. They just had trouble pinpointing the dark side that matched their problem: What really happened to Thiago Vergara?

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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