Warm color flooded her cheeks. Pride demanded she ignore him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m ready whenever you are.”
He grinned. When he noticed her business attire, his dark brown eyebrows drew together. “I’m sorry, Abby, this is something I have to do alone. If Alamán agrees to our terms and gets us the permissions we need, we’ll be paying him a substantial fee for his efforts. Taking a bribe isn’t something he’s going to want to do in front of a witness.”
Inwardly, she sighed, surprised she hadn’t thought of that herself. “It makes sense, but surely there’s something I can do to help.”
“If the deal goes down, we can head for Mérida. I’m already packed. I’ll text you as soon as I know what’s going on. If it’s good news, you can call the airlines and change our flight.”
“All right, I’ll take care of it.”
“And stay in the room. If you’re hungry, order room service. If they know about the treasure, whoever was following us might come after you for information. I don’t want to take any chances.”
Her stomach did a roll. Kidnapping was a constant problem in third-world countries, even a developing country like Mexico.
She walked over and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. “Good luck with Alamán.”
Gage hauled her into his arms and kissed her the way she’d been wanting him to do since she’d seen him standing in the living room.
“Be careful,” he said a little gruffly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Gage headed off to his meeting, while Abby changed into a pair of jeans and a white scoop-neck top for traveling, hopeful they would be heading to Mérida that afternoon. Better to stay one step ahead of your enemies. She had learned that in the Superstitions.
While she waited for Gage’s text, she went in and packed her carry-on and set it beside the door next to his. The rest of their luggage had been sent directly to Mérida to be picked up by Edge or Mateo.
By the time she finished, her stomach was growling. She checked her phone. No text from Gage. Figuring on a long day, Abby ordered huevos rancheros and chorizo, though as her nervousness grew, she wasn’t sure how much she could eat.
She checked her messages while she waited for the food. Still no text from Gage.
* * *
“So we have a deal,” Gage said from his seat across the table from Victor Luego Alamán. “Your department will provide the necessary permits, and in return, the Mexican government will receive sixty percent of anything we might find of value during our expedition.” There was no question of a fifty-fifty split. The government held all the aces.
He and Alamán were dining on the roof terrace of the Balcón del Zócalo on Avenida Cinco de Mayo, just a few blocks from the hotel. The open-air restaurant overlooking the city was the perfect spot for a clandestine meeting. Like hiding in plain sight.
A small man with sallow skin and longer-on-top, short-on-the-sides, coal-black hair, Alamán wiped his mouth with a white linen napkin. “And . . . ?” he prompted.
“And in gratitude for your assistance, you will personally receive a gift in the amount of ten thousand US dollars, as well as three percent of our share of the bounty, should our endeavor be successful.”
Alamán’s thin lips curved into a wolfish smile as Gage reached into his pocket and pulled out a plain white envelope stuffed with hundred-dollar bills. A second envelope held more cash, but the greedy, eager look in Alamán’s black eyes said it wouldn’t be needed.
Gage passed the envelope across the table.
Alamán’s slender hand reached for the cash. He slid the envelope into his inside coat pocket without counting the bills and rose from the table. “The permits will arrive at your hotel within the hour.” His thin smile returned. “Gracias para la comida.” Thanks for lunch.
“DE nada,” Gage said.
As soon as Alamán disappeared out the door, Gage texted Abby.
MEETING SUCCESSFUL. PERMITS ARRIVE WITHIN THE HOUR.ON MY WAY BACK NOW.
* * *
Abby checked her phone and saw Gage’s text just as the doorbell rang. Her room service order had taken longer than she expected, but with Gage’s success, at least her appetite had returned.
Sliding the chain off the lock, she pulled open the door and stepped back to allow the white-coated waiter to wheel in a linen-draped food trolley. He lifted off a tray loaded with silver domes, and the room filled with delicious aromas.
“Where would you like this, señorita?” He was in his thirties, with smooth dark skin, a neatly trimmed mustache, and sideburns.
“Over on the coffee table is fine.” The waiter set the tray down and started back the way he had come, but instead of leaving, he opened the door, and a second waiter, bigger, more solidly built, with stick-straight black hair, walked into the room.
