Her fingers slide down my biceps and tighten on the sleeves of my shirt. Before I know what’s happening, she jerks me around, her forearm pressed to my neck, and forces me to the floor. My instincts kick in, and I barely manage to stop myself from sweeping my arm out and taking her down with me.
“Ryo katadori,” she says as she offers to help me up. “See? Not so helpless.”
“Unfair attack.” I ignore her hand and roll to my feet. “Also, dangerous. Don’t ever do that to me again.” Frustration sharpens my words, and I stalk back towards my own room, pausing at the threshold to give her one last hard stare. “Gym and back here. Text me every thirty minutes. No exceptions.”
After my ultimatum, I shut the door with more force than necessary and run my hands through my hair. I can’t protect someone who doesn’t want to be protected. I hear her slip out of her room, and the urge to follow her, to stay glued to her side, is so strong, I have my hand on the knob before I realize I’ve moved.
“Enough,” I mutter. “Leo’s waiting.”
In under five minutes, I’ve hidden two ceramic blades—one under the mattress and another between the folds of one of the bathroom towels—and strung pieces of translucent filament across the windows in both rooms. On my way out, I drape another strand over the top of my door and let it hang down three inches, well above a normal man’s eye line.
Repeating the process with Dani’s door—I made the front desk attendant give me keys for both rooms—I kick myself for losing my temper. If I hadn’t, I could have shown her what to look for.
As it is, I just hope I get back here before she finishes her run.
Chapter Seven
Trevor
The hotel is onlytwo blocks from the Plaza Bolívar. Its history doesn’t escape me. Political dissidents used to be executed here, and in the dark corners of the square, I can almost see their ghosts.
Locals fill small cafes and line up at food carts. The scents make my stomach rumble. Finding a table at the back of one of the bars on the outskirts of the square, I order a flight of rum and a plate of arepas while I wait for Leo.
A tall, dark-haired man with an eye patch and a long scar running down his right cheek from under the patch to the corner of his mouth picks his way among the other tables, his gait uneven.
I stand as he grabs the chair across from me. He extends his left hand, his right not fully functional these days, and we shake awkwardly. “Trevor Moana. Never thought I’d see you back here again.”
“Never thought you would either.” I signal for the young woman who took my order, and Leo Basher slides a small messenger bag off his shoulder and shoves it under the table between my feet. “You get everything I asked for?”
He nods, orders his own rum, and then leans closer. “I threw in a couple of new toys as a bonus. Magnetic GPS tracking chip, the CIA’s smallest earwigs currently available outside of Langley, and something only the techs have seen.” With what I suspect is a wink—hard to tell since he only has one eye—he leans his good arm on the table. “Figured you wouldn’t have set foot here without a serious reason, so some extra help would be appreciated.”
“Damn straight.”
“So? What is it?”
Leo and I never kept secrets from one another unless we were forced to, so I rake my fingers through my hair and wait for the server to drop off our drinks. “To stupid misadventures,” I say as I hoist my glass.
“And their consequences,” he replies.
The rum is smooth as shit, and I savor the silky burn as it slides down my throat. “Damn. Can’t get anything this good in the States without spending a fucking fortune.”
“Not going to tell me?” Leo asks.
“Gil Monroe’s sister.”
Leo whistles—or tries to. The right half of his face has extensive nerve damage. The Loma Collectivo tortured him eight years ago. They wanted the names of all of the CIA’s assets in the region. Leo resisted for a week until I located him in a warehouse an hour from here. Those fuckers were my first three kills.
“You’re shitting me.”
“Nope. She’s a journalist. Arranged some big interview at The Crypt.” I take another sip of rum and meet Leo’s gaze. “You ever hear of a Luis Rojas?”
“Yeah. He and his brothers, Andrés and Franco, have a large following in Venezuela. Luis and Andrés disappeared, and Franco went into hiding. No one has seen them in months.El Presidenteconfirmed that Luis had been jailed for treason, but Andrés…rumors are, he’s dead.” Leo wipes a sheen of rum from his lips, then orders a second glass when the server drops off my plate of arepas. “Doble, por favor.”
“Spill,” I say as I pick up one of the arepas—a messy sandwich with shredded beef and a spicy crema between two crunchy cornmeal discs. “What am I in for that I’m not expecting?”
Tossing back the remains of the first drink, Leo shakes his head. “My friend, I have no idea. But Farías isn’t one to forgive. Or admit to any of the shit we know is going on at The Crypt. If Gil’s sister—Daniella?”
“Dani.”
