CHAPTER 19
The makeup jobs took a little over three hours, plus the hour Cruz wanted to go to his hotel and get ready, putting Lucky at the Embassy Suites at ten. He parked the Escalade at an angle to avoid car doors opening onto the shiny surface, like he thought a good henchman would, and strode inside—or, rather, limped inside. This meeting better pan out to pay Lucky back for his trouble.
He texted Cruz when he stepped into the lobby. The hotel was open in the center, creating a column of light from the skylight. Balconies lined each floor, overlooking the lobby, with plants hanging over the railings, and an artificial stream wound its way through the space. Nice, but not as nice as some of the places he’d stayed during his time as a drug lord’s plaything.
Lucky caught sight of Cruz as he left a room on the fourth floor and made his unhurried way to the glass elevator and down to the lobby.
He emerged and joined Lucky. If Lucky reeked of money, Cruz might as well have it pouring out of his pockets.
Royal blue shirt, dark patterned tie, and a suit coat thrown lazily over one shoulder, Cruz could’ve stepped off the cover of one of those celebrity gossip magazines Charlotte liked in their younger days. He’d slicked back his dark waves, and his disarming smile and sultry, “Good morning,” had men and women alike staring after him.
Since meeting Viv, Lucky now understood Cruz’s flirty manner was all for show. Cruz watched her every move with such admiration on his face.
Besides, if he strayed, she probably knew places to hide a body on at least four different continents.
If only Bo could be here, Lucky’s own partner. However, while Walter could justify sending Lucky out on a bogus assignment, having what Walter had begun calling his “dream team” leave the office together would definitely cause suspicion.
As promised, Cruz handed over Lucky’s new driver’s license.
They visited two banks and an attorney’s office, Lucky sitting in the waiting area of both, and Cruz treating him as invisible. When Cruz exited a building, Lucky trailed behind, acting as driver and bodyguard. His limp grew with each footstep, and once they’d finished for the day, he’d toss those painful-assed shoes out the window.
Cruz checked his cell phone screen. “Okay. Time to go. We’re meeting in my hotel room. I don’t expect privacy, so watch what you do or say, or even those facial expressions of yours that give away more than you realize.”
What?
At least smiling wasn’t a worry. Scowling. Oh, hell yeah. How Lucky hated acting as Cruz’s flunky, though he understood the necessity. He’d run the show for so long, taking a backseat “rubbed his fur the wrong way”, as his mother used to say.
Cruz did allow a quick trip to Starbucks. “What about food?” Lucky’d gotten used to Bo feeding him on a regular basis. He’d missed two meals today.
“Later. I suggested a restaurant, but the director can’t afford to be seen with us.” No matter the situation, Cruz appeared totally at ease. Did his heart never hammer?
Cruz’s room proved to be a suite, with a sitting room, complete with a couch and chair separated by a coffee table, a four-top dining table with chairs, and a small hallway leading to what Lucky supposed was the bedroom. A bathroom separated the two. A mini-fridge, microwave, and a stand holding a coffee maker and supplies took up space in the hallway.
Nice hotel. Not the Ritz, but the kind a man of means might choose if he didn’t want to draw too much attention. While Lucky checked the place out, Cruz made last minute adjustments to the camera made to look like a smoke detector, and microphones he tucked into the back of the couch and chair.
Unlike the room in Atlanta where they’d found the gun, Cruz took pains to make the place appear as though someone actually stayed here, with personal effects strewn around the room and a hint of cologne, soap, and shampoo drifting from the bathroom.
Cruz had scarcely settled on the edge of the chair when a knock sounded on the door. He motioned toward the door with a wave of his hand, then set about positioning his gun at the small of his back. Oh, yeah. Hired minions answered doors.
Lucky checked his own ankle holster and exposed shoulder holster. He’d be expected to be packing.
He opened the door. A man in a suit stood in the doorframe, his hair the not-found-in-nature brown many used to hide their gray. Definitely not a professional job.
Viv would be horrified.
Lucky stepped back, letting the man inside. “Mr. Garrison, how wonderful to see you again.” Cruz let a trace of an accent flavor his words. He rose from his place on the couch. Lucky stood, back to the door and hands clasped before him.
Garrison shot Lucky a questioning glance, then turned his attention to Cruz. Yup. Invisible hired gun. “Again? Have we met?”
Cruz nearly pumped the man’s hand off with an over-enthusiastic handshake. “Yes. I accompanied our mutual acquaintance, Nestor Sauceda, when he attended one of your functions. How are your lovely wife and adorable children?”
Somehow, Cruz’s polite inquiry came out as a thinly veiled threat.
“They… they’re fine.”
Cruz waved a hand at the couch. “Where are my manners. Sit, sit.” He took a seat in the chair, facing his guest with his back to Lucky. Garrison sat on the couch. “I had expected Mr. Diaz, as well.”
A nervous tick caused the man’s eyebrow to jump. Telling. “He had a prior engagement. He sends his apologies.”
