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I was just about to walk away when I heard a rustling sound right outside the window.
It could have been one of the dogs, but something kept me pinned to my place, listening.
Then, sure enough, I heard a voice.
One-sided.
On a phone call.
Unfortunately, A had miscalculated in one way. Hiring a maid to snoop and eavesdrop who didn’t speak the language that a lot of his men did.
I reached for my phone as I listened, though, ignoring all the missed texts and calls from my family, and opening the browser to type the words I had caught into a translator.
Enorme.
Enormous.
Medianoche.
Midnight.
Martes.
Tuesday.
And, finally, the possible nail in the coffin: envío.
Shipment.
The call ended pretty soon after, and I didn’t dare move until the man moved away first.
I’d only seen his back.
And all of Andre’s men seemed to wear blue jeans and black tees, so it was kind of impossible to tell who he was just by his outfit. And because everyone sounded different in other languages, I wasn’t sure I would be able to point him out if I caught him speaking again, but in English.
Damnit.
A sizzle had me turning and rushing back toward the food, going through the motions of making the meal because I couldn’t exactly rush out there and talk to Andres, so I had to wait to catch him alone.
I finished the meal, let the guys all come in and get plates, then made my way out during all the chaos to go find Andres, who I hadn’t caught sight of most of the day.
He’d likely been on his own mission to try to overhear something, or see something.
I caught him coming in from the garage, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him with me down the hall.
Then, without thinking, yanked open the hall closet, and closed both of us inside it.
Andres reached out, flicking on a light.
“What’s going on, mama?” he asked, his gaze moving over me.
I was sure I looked like a mess. It turned out I was a messy cook, getting a little bit of everything on my dress.
“Do you have a big shipment at midnight on Tuesday?” I asked, watching as his face went from carefree to serious in the span of a blink.
His eyes were dark and his voice low and extra rumbly as he said, “What did you hear?”
“That’s about it,” I told him. “I was just opening the dining room window because it was hot, and some guy moved in there over by that bush and was having a conversation on his phone. But it was in Spanish,” I told him. “I translated the words that jumped out at me, so that is really all that I got. Please tell me you have a camera there. I didn’t see his face.”
There was a muscle ticking in his jaw right then, and that was the only answer I needed.
“It’s a blind spot,” I concluded.
“Yep,” he said, popping the p a bit in his agitation. “There was nowhere good to hang a camera over there. Guess I gotta figure that shit out,” he said.
He seemed a little too… calm about the shipment thing.
“Why aren’t you freaking out about the shipment? You should be canceling it.”
“There is no canceling it,” he said, shrugging. “Too late for that.”
“What are you going to do then?” I asked.
“What I got to,” he said, and I found myself more frustrated than I should have been about not knowing how he was going to handle the situation.
I mean, I knew nothing good happened when a crime lord ambushed a traitor.
But how was he going to pull it off if he still wasn’t sure who he trusted?
“But…” I started to object.
“It’s all good, mama,” he said, his deep eyes piercing mine, making me hyper-aware of the small space.
“You don’t have anyone to—“
“You worried about me?” he asked, and was it just me, or had he sort of… swayed closer?
All the air was getting sucked up out of the closet. And I swear my heart was starting to thud so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
“What? No. I’m just…” I started, not sure what I was going to say.
“You are,” he said, that sexy little smirk toying with his lips as he leaned in closer.
It was pure stubbornness keeping my feet planted on the spot. I mean, there was no way it was anything else. Like some desire to be close to him or something like that. No way.
“Don’t want anything happening to me, huh, mama?” he asked, close enough for me to feel his breath on my neck as he spoke.
It was the cocky edge to his voice that had me able to think past the haze of desire starting to swarm around me.
“I don’t get paid if you get dead,” I said, dragging a low, deep, appreciative chuckle out of him.
