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The tunnel did have intersections where other tunnels connected with it, but she was fairly sure the main passage would take her to the garage. It finally dead ended. She could go left or right but could no longer go straight ahead. To the left, she thought she detected the faint odor of the sea. A boat might be faster, but she was sure Bodie would have people patrolling the beach. Right it was.
After a few minutes she found herself confronting a wall. Shining the flashlight over the surface, she looked for some kind of doorway and almost missed it. She unlatched the door and peeked to see what was on the other side, having a hard time containing her excitement. Her suppositions had been correct, and she had reached the garage.
She located the keys to one of the Jeeps and then turned to look at all of the vehicles that would be in hot pursuit. She had to disable them, but how? Quinn knew that most newer cars no longer had distributor caps, which really wasn’t important as she had no idea what they even looked like. She could open all the hoods and jerk out a bunch of the wiring, but there was no way to know if it was the right wiring. Besides that would take a long time.
There was a small gym bag sitting on the table beneath the pegboard that held all the keys. Grinning, Quinn began pulling keys off and stuffing them into the gym bag. She was sure they had second sets of keys to everything, but that would take them time, and hopefully she would get away before then. When she was done, she hefted the gym bag off the table, which was surprisingly heavier than she had thought. Slinging the gym bag into the back of the vehicle, Quinn went around and got into the Jeep, adjusting the seat and mirrors to accommodate her.
God, she loved organized people. Clipped to the driver’s side visor was a remote with buttons labeledgarageandgate. Damn! She was in business. Starting up the Jeep, she hit the remote for the door and floored the Jeep, just racing under the door before it was completely raised. She could hear the hue and cry almost immediately and barreled down the drive toward the gates, which weren’t even closed. Before the guard posted at the entrance to the estate could react, Quinn sped through them, making a fishtailed turn onto the main road with the tires screeching as she did so.
Take that, El Tigre!
She flew down the backroads that led away fromForce et Honneurand realized she was closer to the meeting place than she’d thought. Quinn glanced at the dashboard clock and grinned. She just might make this meeting on time, but without enough time to give Bodie much of a chance to do anything about it.
Quinn made good time and arrived at the Sassafras Tea a few minutes before the designated meeting. She drove to the back of the coffeehouse and parked in her usual spot. She hadn’t seen Bodie, or anyone else, for that matter. Alvaro’s electric car was parked out front. Quinn eased out of the Jeep and made her way to the side entrance, staying close to the wall so she could keep an eye out for Bodie or any of his men. Alvaro was sitting at their usual table, with his back to her position.
The place usually wasn’t busy on a Sunday morning, but Quinn had never seen it so empty. They must have had a minimal crew on, as she didn’t see their normal waitress bustling around. She slid with her back to the wall, trying to stay in the shadows and stay inconspicuous.
“Alvaro,” she hissed. He didn’t respond, didn’t even look around. “Alvaro,” she said a little louder.
What the hell was wrong with him? And where the fuck was everybody?
“Al-va-ro,” she called quietly, pronouncing each syllable of his name.
Still nothing. Glancing around, she made her way to his table and touched his shoulder. His body slumped forward. She raced around to find Alvaro’s face firmly planted in his broiled grapefruit. She felt for his pulse, and feeling none, drew her fingers back and saw they were coated in blood.
Shit! It was then that she saw the happy, sunny waitress who had been so excited about getting into the art history school at New Orleans’ famed Tulane University, splayed against the back wall by the door into the kitchen. She’d been shot, the force of it slamming her into the wall, splattering her blood behind her. Quinn was sure that no one else was alive, but she had to find Bodie.
She turned back to Alvaro, searching for his cell phone. She found it in his jacket pocket and pulled it out. As she started to dial 9-1-1 a hard muscled arm that ended in brown, aged male fingers reached over her to pluck the cell phone from her hand, ending the call before the dispatcher could answer, and then pulled the battery and SIM card out of the phone before crushing it under his foot.
Quinn had no idea where Bodie was, but she could feel his calm presence rolling down the tether. Not knowing what was happening, she turned to face the man she knew to be the head of the Gutierrez Cartel.
“Riccardo Gutierrez, I presume?”
He smiled—a single gold tooth just left of center glinting in the bright sunshine. “So, you know who I am.”
“I’m a crime reporter. I make it my business to know the face of every scum bag who thinks he can come into my country and sell his newest version of misery and death.”
Gutierrez backhanded her cheek so that she stumbled back into Alvaro’s body, and he fell off the chair and onto the ground. She stifled a startled cry.
“Your mate has yet to teach you to respect your betters,” snarled Gutierrez.
“Mate? Did you just call meEl Tigre’smate?”
“I did. I can smell that he has bred you, but not this morning. Perhaps he grows tired of you already. And why not? Human females are only good for one thing, but one cunt is the same as another.”
She sniffed the air, grimacing as she did so. There was something different to Gutierrez’s scent. Quinn was pretty sure he wasn’t human, but he didn’t smell like the tiger-shifters, either.
“So…” she drawled, edging toward the raised bed boxwoods that surrounded the courtyard at the restaurant, “…you aren’t human, but I don’t think you have the cojónes to be a tiger-shifter.”
Gutierrez lashed out and connected with her cheek again.
“I would kill myself if I had to be one of them. And you little one, has he raked your cunt with his barbs, yet? You do know it ruins your pussy for any other man to enjoy, but perhaps before I kill you, my men would like to have a little fun with you.”
“If not a tiger, then what—a snake?”
He drew himself up, straight and proud. “I am capybara.”
Quinn laughed; she couldn’t help herself. “Capybara? You mean those oversized gophers from South America? Those things are so goofy-looking. That must be why you had to develop a drug that makes people wildly aroused and incapable of good judgment. God knows it would be the only way you and your little rodent buddies could get laid.”
