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Nothing about tonight indicated Anna would turn on Diaz, except that she’d recognized Jackson when he’d slid into the bar and she hadn’t outed him. She could’ve exposed him to any of the men in this bar and they would’ve swarmed on him like vultures on fresh roadkill.
Jackson had assumed Diaz didn’t know she’d taken that shot. The fear in Anna’s eyes at the warehouse might’ve simply been because she knew an agent had seen her take it. Maybe it had nothing to do with Diaz knowing.
But, if she was truly on Diaz’s side, why hadn’t she outed Jackson tonight?
Jackson put his glass down and stood.
“Evening,” he said to Anna, but his eyes were on Diaz.
Their eyes met, but neither said a word.
This wasn’t finished, Jackson just needed a few minutes to think and some fresh air always helped clear his mind.
As he turned to leave, he looked to Anna, whose face was composed, expressionless... but there was something in her eyes. A plea, if he wasn’t mistaken. He glanced toward the bartender.
“Your hospitality is top-notch,” Jackson said with a smirk. “I’ll see you around.”
He turned to leave and felt eyes burning into his back like a hot rod.
He knew he’d ignited Diaz just enough for him to follow Jackson out.
But Jackson didn’t make it to the front door before Diaz spoke again.
“You know what, sit,” Diaz called out. “Forgive me, I’ve had a hell of a day. I forgot my manners. Sit. Have a drink with me.”
This was the Diaz he knew from the files. Calm, composed, calculating.
This was the Diaz he could play against, because this version was more predictable.
“Thanks, but no thanks. Enjoy your night with your girlfriend,” Jackson said as he turned his back on Diaz.
It was a risk, but he wasn’t alone. And he hoped like hell he could trust the men he’d been paired up with tonight. It was times like this he missed his Redwater team—he knew without a doubt they would have his back. They’d die for him, and he for them.
Jackson made it to the front door before the voice came through his earpiece.
“Diaz is following you.”
Jackson stepped outside onto the veranda of the old bar which looked like an even older house that had been converted, and pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He didn’t smoke often, but sometimes on the job a cigarette gave him a reason to loiter without drawing suspicion.
He lit up, inhaled, and waited.
One, two, three...
Jackson turned. “You leaving?” he asked casually.
Diaz’s eyes blazed.
“You come into my bar and disrespect me?” Diaz asked, stalking toward him.
Jackson raised his eyebrows. “Man, I was just having a drink. The stool next to your girlfriend was free. I wasn’t hitting on her. She’s a bit frosty for my liking but I can see you two are well-suited. I had my glass of whiskey and left for a cigarette before I get into my car,” he said, nodding toward the dark-gray SUV he’d been supplied with a few days ago. He’d need to change the plate once he left here.
“Now you insult my girlfriend?” Diaz asked, taking a step forward.
He was clearly in the mood for a fight.
Jackson took another drag of his cigarette. If Diaz took another step forward, Jackson was going to press his cigarette into Diaz’s forehead.
“I don’t give a damn about your girlfriend,” Jackson said, meeting Diaz’s glare. “Get out of my face, or this is going to end badly.”
