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“Fifteen minutes.”
“Alright, I’m going.”
I crouch back down, giving her time to get away before making my own way toward the west wing of the compound. Kate was right about one thing: I do prefer working alone. But at least with her here, we can cover ground in half the time. She’s more than proved herself capable of this kind of stealth work.
Finally, I make my way over to the door to begin my own search. I snatch the balaclava from the head of the dead man as I go.
The benefit of theBlack Coatsbeing the cartel’s primary line of defense is that I don’t need to worry so much about cameras. Dressing head to toe in black and walking at a steady pace shouldn’t set off any alarm bells.
Still, I keep an eye out for any lenses as I walk down the main corridor of the west wing.
The decor throughout is fairly consistent, nothing overly grand looking, but clearly hardy enough to last several generations. I can’t help but think if we were robbing the place, I’d be a bit disappointed.
I push another door open and walk through with purpose. Empty again. An office, maybe, or at least a library of some sort.
Kate was probably right; every room I try down here seems to be more administration than incarceration. I silently leave the room, resigning myself to simply heading back to the rendezvous point and cutting my losses.
But as I step back into the corridor, I glance over at the door opposite. A faint light shines through the gap in the door frame.
Usually, the point of a stealth assignment is that I don’t have to confront people. But, if I can use my disguise to my advantage and persuade the person inside to give me more details on Roisin’s location, it might be worth it.
I square my shoulders and knock on the door, pushing it open before the occupant can invite me in.
Much like the room before, this one resembles an office as well—the key difference is the roaring fire lighting up the far end of the room. An ancient-looking clock sits on top of the mantlepiece, and comfortable-looking armchairs are positioned beside it. A mini bar showcasing an expensive array of liquor has been pulled up next to the seat’s occupant.
“You’re a clever boy, aren’t you, Arnold?”
Though she speaks softly, I can still hear the bite of Eda Romero’s voice as it reaches me.
I close the door behind me and remove my mask with one hand. The other automatically reaches for my revolver.
“I almost didn’t see you come in,” the cartel matriarch continues as she holds up a tablet for me to see that she’s been watching me walk through the west wing, trying door after door. “Come, take a seat. It seems we have much to discuss.”
I don’t move an inch. “Where is she?”
“I thought you might be relieved.” She smiles at me, undeterred by my flat tone. “No one enjoys an arranged marriage. It did not end well between me and my first husband… well, for him at least.”
She cackles as if her joke isn’t truly horrifying.
“I’m not going to ask again,” I say as I lift up my gun and take a step closer.
Eda sighs melodramatically. “I really hoped you’d be smarter than your business partner. He was always the type to shoot first, ask questions later.”
“What have you done to Connor?” I growl.
“Oh, nothing really,” Eda teases. “He’s on a wild goose chase trying to find his sister. Pointing him in Jack Duffy’s direction is all too easy. That idiot can’t focus on anything else.”
Click.
The telltale sound of a primed gun echoes through the room from my left.
“Hiya, Arnie.”
I close my eyes in frustration. “Fuck you, Diane.”
The pretty mixologist strides up close, almost draping herself over me.
“You would have, wouldn’t you?” she purrs. “If that red-headed bitch hadn’t gotten in the way.”
