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Wednesday, August 20
Acapulco
Coastal Mexico in August was more humid than the ass crack of hell.
Trees downed the last of his beer as the sun set over the little seaside restaurant attached to their shithole motel in Acapulco. The few tourists vacationing here looked happy to disappear into their tequila. One-Mile shoveled in the last of his fish and scanned the area. Nothing out of the ordinary…but the back of his neck tingled and felt tight.
Like someone was watching.
He played it casual and glanced at his watch. “We should go. It will be easier to find our location before the sun sets.”
Trees tossed a few bills on the table, then hoisted the duffel at his side as he stood. “Yep. Might as well get this shit over with.”
One of the three remaining EM Security operatives—One-Mile didn’t know which—had been told he and Trees were meeting a member of a rival faction tomorrow here in Acapulco who could help them bust inside Montilla’s compound and free Valeria’s sister. The second of the three operatives had been advised of a rendezvous in Taxco on Friday, while the last had been spoon-fed the bullshit about a clandestine meet-up in Petalán on Saturday night.
One-Mile was braced for trouble, but he had no idea when or where it would appear. The setup was making him twitchy.
He heaved a sigh as he paid his own bill and got to his feet. “Got the map?”
“Yep.” Trees headed off the restaurant’s terrace, toward the parking lot where they’d left their rental. “You been thinking about who’s guilty?”
“Hard not to.” But every one of the suspects had pros and cons.
“Any conclusions?”
“No.” At least none he felt like sharing.
Trees eyed him. “You’d like Cutter to be guilty.”
On some level, sure. But it would crush Brea. “I’d prefer not to have a traitor in our ranks at all.”
“Same. I’m telling you, man. It’s not Zy.”
“We’ll find out, I guess.”
“The truth is, I can’t picture any of these guys betraying us.”
Maybe Trees just didn’t want to. But One-Mile knew good men could be capable of bad things, given the right circumstances.
“And Joaquin felt the same,” Trees added. “So did the colonel.”
“Hmm.” It was nice to know the elder Edgington believed in the motley crew he’d assembled shortly before his retirement…but that didn’t change the fact they were in Mexico to hunt the snake slithering in their midst.
“Hey, when we’re done with the first setup, do you want to head to the strip? Catch some pretty girls jiggling to some terrible music?”
That wasn’t his speed. Besides, with every step he took, his dread kept sharpening. If he was feeling uneasy in broad daylight in the middle of a tourist area, visiting the city’s seedy underbelly well after dark would only make him paranoid.
But another scan of the parking lot proved it devoid of people.
“Nah. Let’s get the fuck out of here. I’m going to head north early in the morning, so I’d like to go to bed early.”
“Fair enough.” Trees nodded as they reached the car. “Hey, mind putting this in the trunk while I tie my shoe?”
One-Mile took the heavy duffel from the tall guy. “No sweat.”
Trees popped the trunk with the fob and bent to his laces when One-Mile caught sight of a quintet of heavily armed men emerging from vehicles and behind trees at the perimeter of the parking lot and spreading out to surround them. They had the hardened look of cartel soldiers.
His blood ran cold. Fuck.
“Get in the car!” he shouted at Trees as he tossed the equipment into the gaping trunk and slammed it closed.
Trees whirled and caught sight of the foot soldiers charging at them, then dived into the front seat. One-Mile sprinted for the passenger door, weapon drawn, as Trees hit the button on the fob to unlock it, then shoved the key in the ignition. He turned the car over as One-Mile popped off a shot, hitting one thug square between the eyes just before he grabbed at the door handle—
Then someone tackled him from behind and forced him down to the gravel, trapping him under a heavy weight that smelled like sweat, testosterone, and gunpowder.
Blood roaring, One-Mile struggled for leverage so he could get off his belly and fight back. He’d learned to defend himself on the streets, goddamn it. He could get himself out of a scrape. But the bruiser on top of him had obviously learned to fight dirty, too, and countered every one of his moves.
He wasn’t getting free from this.
“Go!” he managed to scream at Trees as the asshole sitting on top of him pounded his fingers into the crumbling asphalt and wrenched the weapon from his stinging hand.
His fellow operative hesitated for a split second, and he could feel Trees’ indecision. Then the car peeled out and began to speed away. The other foot soldiers shot at the little white rental, but One-Mile watched it shudder out of the lot and jostle down the road, both glad Trees had gotten away…and terrified of what happened next.
