As Jack showered early the following morning, Jamie decided she had better call Monty back before the boss lady began to worry.
A woman answered on the first ring. “Hello, Jamie. What happened with the meeting yesterday?”
Jamie swallowed hard, sensing something terrible on the immediate horizon. “Where’s Monty?” The woman on the other end laughed, and Jamie realized with dread that this must be the woman who set up the mission, the same voice she’d spoken with when she first took on the job. “Why are you answering Monty’s phone? What have you done with him?”
“Monty will be just fine as long as you do your part of the job. When I give instructions, I expect them to be followed implicitly.”
Her hand holding the phone began to tremble as her heart skipped a jagged beat. What had she done? Monty could be in grave danger, and here she was, in Jack’s room, after spending another wonderful night with him.
She wanted to scream at this woman who put her in this dangerous situation, but instead Jamie forced herself to breathe steady. Freaking out wouldn’t do Monty any good. She’d never forgive herself if he got hurt because she failed to do her part of the mission, and as much as she didn’t want to explain herself to this woman, she knew she had to. “The wrong man showed up yesterday. I swear it wasn’t my fault. I went to the café at the exact time as I was supposed to and I followed your instructions to the T. A man showed up carrying a bag, we exchanged a few words, and he led me to believe that we had to make the exchange away from people. He and his buddy turned out to be hustlers and they would’ve robbed and possibly raped me—”
“The briefcase?” the woman snapped.
Jamie glared at the phone as tears welled in her eyes. Don’t cry now. Lift your chin and show this bitch that you can be tough. “Don’t worry, your precious briefcase is safe. What the hell is going on? Tell me that Monty is okay.”
“Did you see who shot those men?”
“No.” Her cheeks heated. “I’ve never witnessed a murder up close before. I fainted, right as the guy was walking toward me.”
There was a long pause. “What happened when you woke up? The shooter was gone?”
She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders, although the woman on the other end couldn’t see that Jamie had had enough of this. “I want to talk to Monty.”
“I’m sorry but that’s not possible.”
The carefree, posh tone of the woman’s voice made Jamie grit her teeth. “If you don’t put Monty on the phone, then I won’t go through with this!” She never should’ve accepted this mission, especially if it put her best and only friend in danger. If Monty got killed because of her, she’d never forgive herself.
“Oh, you will, if you want to see your friend alive again.” The sharp tone ripped right through Jamie’s heart. There was no getting away from this now, she was certain.
The tears she tried to force away slipped down her cheeks. This was getting worse by the minute. “A man rescued me. I’m here with him right now.”
“Really?” The voice seethed through the receiver. “What do you know about this man?”
Jamie’s eyes widened and her heart stilled. “What do you mean?”
The woman’s voice took on a hard tone. “Very coincidental that this man, who you know nothing about, rescued you just as you were about to switch briefcases?”
“Oh my God,” Jamie whispered out loud. She had wondered last night how Jack managed to rescue her without getting hurt, or at least, shot at. What if this woman was right and Jamie’s earlier suspicion of him turned out to be true? How could she be so stupid? She should’ve put the pieces together when he said he was retiring on the same night as the first exchange was supposed to take place. He could be the one she was originally supposed to meet.
A cold clasp of terror gripped the back of her neck.
Jamie stepped closer to the curtains at the opening of the balcony and peeked into the room. The shower was still running. Steam billowed out from the bathroom into the bedroom. “Do you think it’s him? I admit I was a little suspicious at first, but he doesn’t seem like—”
“Seem and is are two very different things, Miss Fields. Believe me, I know what men are all about. They gain your trust so you give your body to them. That’s all they want. Do you know anything else about him to make you think otherwise?”
No. She felt strangled by the words. Dissected like an animal. The woman was right. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know anything other than how his body felt against hers. How when he looked at her with those sexy eyes, she felt unraveled. She really thought he wanted her, that maybe, just maybe, they could have something. She closed her eyes and exhaled. I’m such a fool. All over again, the terror hit her, and she felt betrayed, by Jack and by herself, and also by this woman who had all the control. A woman she’d never even met.
Had Jack been using her all along? Her gaze darted to the briefcase. What was so important about the contents inside?
“What do you want me to do?” Even though she didn’t trust this woman as far as she could spit, right now, Monty’s safety meant more than anything.
“Get out of there, that’s what I want you to do. Make the exchange and disappear. Wait for me to call you, and stay away from that man. Monty’s life depends on you.”
Jamie closed her eyes and fought the sting of tears as her entire body turned cold. She didn’t even give the woman the pleasure of an answer. She hung up, cursing the bitch under her breath, and rushed for the briefcase. The shower was still running. The soft lilt of Jack singing in the shower should’ve been a happy sound, but it only made her wonder what kind of man she had fallen in love with.
What kind of people was she dealing with?
She was terrified that something bad would happen to Monty if she didn’t complete her part of the mission, at the same time her heart ached knowing that her time with Jack last night would be her last.
Jamie paused as she gripped the doorknob. It felt wrong to leave him like this again, without saying something, but she had no choice. She didn’t believe Jack was a man out to get her, but she couldn’t take any chances. If Monty wasn’t safe, and the woman wanted her to leave, then she would. She didn’t give her any other choice.
With regret and her heart heavy with sadness, Jamie slipped out the door as silently as she could and ran for her room. In five minutes she had her suitcase packed, quickly changed from the red dress and high heels into a tank top, shorts, and comfortable sandals, and managed to exit the hotel without being seen.
She felt like a damsel in a Bond movie. Or maybe the villain’s assistant. Nothing was what it seemed, and everything was slipping through her fingers like rain water through a cracked eave. Only the water was leaking through the outer walls and ruining the foundation of her life.
Her heart hammered as she flagged down the same young man on the bicycle taxi who had approached her before. Several blocks away, he brought her to a backpacker’s hostel discreetly nestled between two huge stone buildings that suited her situation perfectly. The hostel was overcrowded and well hidden—as she needed to be. She paid cash for the room, used a fake name, and settled in to wait for the woman’s call.
All she wanted was to get this over with and go home. She thought about what Monty must be going through. Visions filled her head of him tied up in a basement, or being held in the trunk of a car. She didn’t even want to think about Monty already being dead. He couldn’t be. And as much as she wanted to leave that briefcase in this room and leave it all behind, she knew she couldn’t.
Just when she was beginning to have feelings for a stranger, a man who broke his way into her heart, this shit had to happen.
The phone rang twenty minutes later just as she was starting to nod off, exhausted from the nonstop excitement since she’d gotten here. The woman gave her new instructions on where to go and how to get there, and let her know what time she would be expected. As she wrote down the information, her mind wandered back to that hotel room and what her lover was doing. Did he try to look for her or was she just a passing excitement for him? So many questions chased each other in her mind that her head ached with resentment, fear, and anger. When she ended the call, she got up, grabbed the briefcase, and headed to the new destination. There was no time to gain her composure. This was it.
Plaza Vieja was packed at noon. Children played around the old fountain in the center of the square. A group of teenagers wearing backpacks stood admiring, or maybe questioning the meaning of the sculpture of a bald woman, holding a huge fork, sitting atop a rooster at one corner of the square. Every table at the outdoor restaurant was filled with happy, smiling people. Even a few cats and dogs wandered freely through the open space, hoping to catch a morsel of food.
Everybody was happy, except for Jamie. She was a frazzled mess, thrown into a dangerous world much different than anything she’d lived through before.
Potted palms and other shrubs dotted the cobblestones in the open square, as well as behind the columns of the open main floor of the buildings surrounding the plaza. Although all four sections of buildings were connected, every façade was painted a different color. Yellow. Peach. Blue and beige. Even orange.
So much beauty to look at and listen to. Too bad she couldn’t enjoy it.
Jamie wandered around the plaza pretending to take in the beautiful views, all the while watching everyone around her.
She smiled as she passed a man leaning against one of the huge columns playing a saxophone. The sound was so heart wrenching, it made her think of Jack and all the mistakes she’d made since being here. She nearly cried right in front of the musician.
At 1 p.m. she entered the photo gallery as instructed. On a wrought iron bench in front of a huge panoramic view of the plaza, sat a man with his back to her, and a briefcase on the seat beside him.
This is it. Taking a deep breath, Jamie squared her shoulders, summed up her courage, and approached the bench. Her eyes widened, but she said nothing when she recognized the man from Zamira’s bar. He had been watching her from his seat the day before, while she and Jack had a mojito. Maybe he had been following her right from the beginning. Yet another coincidence since coming to Havana. Jack had said he didn’t know this man, but maybe he did. Maybe he’d been lying to her all along.
She couldn’t screw this up. Monty’s life was in her hands now.
“Beautiful picture, isn’t it?” She set her briefcase beside his and took a seat.
The man nodded and stood. “It sure is.” His deep voice slithered over her skin as if his words were a threat. He grabbed her briefcase and left without another word.
She lowered her head and had to catch her breath. Shaking, Jamie pulled the other briefcase close to her hip and stared at the photo for a long while. She felt lost and alone. She had a feeling this whole exchange wouldn’t end as she thought it might. It felt as though she were about to drive off a cliff and there wouldn’t be anyone around to save her.
* * * *
Sam stepped out of the shower and toweled himself dry, relaxed and content in the decision he had made. He wanted to help her. He didn’t know how, but he knew that it was the right thing to do. He felt it in his bones. She wasn’t the villain here, somebody else held the power over her. If he made arrangements to switch briefcases now and followed her once she had the money, then he’d get their true target.
He wondered if she even knew what was in the briefcases. Did she know she was about to trade proof of the McCoys dealings in exchange for ten million bucks? If she didn’t, then she was being completely blindsided. He needed to coax the truth out of her before it was too late.
The moment he stepped out of the bathroom, the words he was about to say to her died in his throat when he noticed she was gone, and his room had been ransacked. He leaned heavily against the bathroom doorframe and stared at the upturned room.
His suitcase lay on the floor, its contents scattered everywhere. The mattress had been lifted from the bed and lay half on the box spring, half on the floor. The bedding he and Jamie had made love on lay in a heap at the foot of the bed. Every drawer in the dresser and doors of the small armoire were open. A couple of the drawers lay on the floor as well. How the hell didn’t he hear all of that?
Good thing he kept the other briefcase at Zamira’s.
He shook his head, ripped the towel off his waist, and whipped it at the wall. It slid down and landed on the bedside lamp, knocking it off balance. The lamp tumbled off the nightstand and bounced off the floor; the bulb smashed into pieces. Sam didn’t care. The place could burn down with everyone in it. Having Jamie leave yet again and rip through his stuff like a common thief was probably the hardest gut-punch he’d ever had.
How could I be so stupid?
Fueled by anger, he called his contact, fully expecting the background on her to be substantial. But as he listened to the officer on the other end, he realized with dread that Jamie Fields was just a regular woman who really did work as a housekeeper. A few years ago the cops had her on their radar for suspicion of selling cocaine, but she was never caught or charged for anything. She didn’t even have a speeding ticket. She had no known relatives and suffered a horrible past in the foster system. Sam understood, to a certain degree, how lonely she must feel. Even though he had his Auntie Rose, he still understood the loneliness of not really knowing his parents; of having a hard time trusting people because of feeling left behind by the ones you love the most.
Now he didn’t know what the hell to do. If she wasn’t a criminal, then why would she rip apart his room? Maybe whoever she was working for discovered that he was here and notified her of his identity. That wouldn’t be good. If she learned his true identity, and what he was capable of, well then she’d probably feel betrayed and used and outraged. Maybe she was running into something that could get her killed before he could stop her.
He dressed quickly and retrieved his gun from the locked case, slipping it into the back of his pants. As he headed down the hallway toward her room, his cell phone rang—it was Gabe.
He didn’t answer the call, and let it go to voicemail as he slipped the spare key card through the slit and entered Jamie’s room. He scoured every inch of the place only to find she’d disappeared. Not a trace of her had been left behind except the flowery smell from her hair. He stood there like a fool, not sure if he missed her or if he hated her, as he checked the message Gabe left for him.
“One p.m. at Plaza Vieja, in the photo gallery. If you can’t go through with it, then I will.”
Then I will...
Every muscle in his body flared to life. He imagined Gabe standing behind his beautiful Jamie and raising his gun to the back of her golden hair. “Like hell you will,” he growled.
Sam checked his watch. He had fifteen minutes to get there. “Fuck.” He ran from the room, took the stairs at a breakneck speed, swearing to God that if Gabe killed her, he’d break his face. Jamie was his responsibility, and his alone. He hoped it wasn’t too late as he charged out of the hotel front door and ran down the street.
This was his mission—not Gabe’s. Not once did any of the boys have to take over Sam’s job. It pricked at him like a needle in his gums that Gabe doubted him. The fucker had no right to step on his toes like that. Sam knew what he was doing. Just because he happened to sleep with her, twice, didn’t mean he couldn’t still do his job…if he had to. But he didn’t want to.
The plaza was busy as Sam slowed his steps, coughed hard, and surveyed the crowd. Considering his years of being a smoker, his chest was tight and he struggled to stay on foot. Perhaps it was time to give up that nasty habit and finally breathe steady.
Tourists and locals milled about. Kids used the square as their playground. A dog sniffed his knee and barked up at him. He rubbed the mutt’s head and made his way toward the photo gallery.
As he walked up to one of the columns flanking the doorway, Gabe stepped through the opening carrying the other briefcase. He didn’t notice Sam standing there by the column, and Sam didn’t alert him to his presence. He watched as Gabe glanced over his shoulder, then quickly darted around the column. It was then that Jamie exited the same door carrying the briefcase with the money. She picked up her pace, darting around people, yet keeping close for safety, her frantic gaze watching everyone around her. But she didn’t see either of them.
When Gabe followed her away from the crowd and toward an alley, Sam followed as well. He kept his distance as they ventured deeper into the heart of Old Havana. Children laughed and whizzed between the adults. A dog chased the children in a clumsy gallop as Sam chased after Gabe who chased after Jamie.
Yesterday Jamie had said that she still had a few days left of her vacation. But after the failed exchange between her and Sam, he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d be gone after today. He couldn’t let her out of his sight, and he couldn’t let Gabe get his hands on her either.
Jamie waved down a taxi and opened the back passenger door. Sam sucked in a sharp breath, every muscle tense as Gabe reached into his pocket and withdrew his handgun. No. Don’t do it. Sam ran to him, his exhausted lungs screaming in protest, and yanked his own piece from the back of his pants. He whacked the handle of his pistol against the back of Gabe’s head just as he pulled the trigger.
The bullet smacked into the wall behind the taxi at the same moment as Jamie shut the passenger door. The old Studebaker sped off.
People screamed and scattered in the streets as Sam managed to grab Gabe from behind the moment his legs crumbled beneath him. As Gabe’s heavy body slumped to the ground, Sam dragged him over the curb to lean his back against the wall. Sam stood back and tucked his gun into his pants. He bent down and murmured to an unconscious Gabe, “Sorry, bud, but you left me no choice.”
He immediately called Zamira to send Luis to pick him up.
Sam grabbed the briefcase out of Gabe’s limp hand and shot off down the road after the taxi. One block over, just as Jamie’s taxi took a corner, Sam noticed a group of scooters sitting outside of a bar. He hopped onto the nearest one, ignoring the shout from somebody inside, and started the engine. Like a bullet firing from a chamber, Sam shot off after the woman, who may or may not be a criminal, who managed to make him fall in love with her.
Damn woman. How she managed to grip his heart and make it pound like a drum, just for her, should be a goddamned crime.
He veered through traffic but the taxi gained momentum. Determined to reach her before it was too late, Sam pushed the scooter to its max. The little engine screamed in protest as he jumped onto a sidewalk to barrel closer to the old Studebaker. A woman screamed, throwing her grocery bags in the air. A head of lettuce whipped against his face, but it did not deter him. Nothing would get in his way, until a woman and a stroller ventured out onto the sidewalk.
Sam’s eyes bulged as he neared the stroller. The woman, talking to somebody beside her, had no idea what was about to happen. Sam veered to the side, just as the woman turned her head and realization struck home. She screamed and pulled the stroller back. But it was too late for Sam. As he’d turned back onto the street, to save the baby, a delivery truck pulled out in front of him. There was no time to stop.
He shifted to the side. The bike bounced off the pavement and skidded toward the truck. Still holding on and gritting his teeth as sparks flew up, Sam and the scooter slid to a heart-pounding stop underneath the truck.
Exhaust filled the air around him. He thought the fumes might also be making tears well up in his eyes as he watched Jamie’s taxi take the corner and disappear. Lying there under the delivery truck like a fool with his legs still clinging to the scooter, Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. He failed to catch her. He hated failure.
She was gone. It could take days, weeks, or months to find her now, and by then the briefcase could be long gone. It might very well be in someone else’s hands already. Nothing was certain. But Sam was beyond terrified that she could be in grave danger.
Ashamed and angry, he picked the scooter up and pulled it out from under the truck. The driver, hanging out of his window, shook his fist at Sam. “Idiota!”
Sam sighed. He certainly wasn’t going to argue with the man. Yeah, I know. He headed back to where he’d left Gabe. The left side mirror hung by a couple of wires. Most of the paint had become part of the pavement now. The warped front wheel made the bike bounce as Sam drove the thing back in complete defeat. People stared at him as if he were some kind of lunatic, driving a barely operable, mashed-up scooter, with a briefcase in one hand. But he didn’t care. He’d lost her. Jamie Fields was gone.
He pulled the scooter up a short walk away from the bar where he’d stolen the machine, and dropped the thing right onto its side. When he rounded the corner, he found Luis helping Gabe up from the street. As Gabe’s eyes darted to Sam, he gave him a sheepish grin. The meaning behind Gabe’s glare should’ve at least maimed him as Sam walked over holding the briefcase.
“I should’ve known you’d do that to me, thinking with your dick all the time. I’ll get you back for that, mark my words.” Gabe rubbed his head and winced.
“I deserve it. And now that she got away with the money, I accept whatever death you and Terry might have planned for me.”
Luis stood to the side looking bored. Sam figured he was probably thirsty, then suddenly wondered how much he knew about Zamira’s connection to them.
Gabe yanked the briefcase out of Sam’s hand, jolting him back to the scene. “You’d think with all the years you’ve been in this business, you’d be smart enough to put a tracking device on that woman.” Gabe started walking back in the direction from where they came. “Good thing one of us is smart.” Sam glared at Gabe’s back, suddenly wishing he’d let him fall and smack his face against the curb when he gun-butted him. He knew his brother was only kidding and being an ass, but it still pissed him off.
“What do you mean?” Sam ran to catch up to him with Luis on his tail. “When did you put a tracking device on her?” He touched her? Maybe he should break a few fingers, too. As far as he was concerned, Jamie Fields was off-limits to any other man. When he looked back at Luis, the old drunk only shrugged.
Gabe released a throaty laugh and shook his head. “Not on her, you idiot. On the briefcase. Whether she runs off with it or hands it to somebody else, we’ll know where it goes, and it’s rigged with a little surprise, too.” He paused and smirked at Sam. “That’s how it’s done, brother.”
Sam released a deep, pent-up breath. “I’m sorry I hit you with my gun.” He felt like an asshole, but not really. Gabe would’ve done the same to him if Sam was about to pop Mima in the back of the head. “I just couldn’t let you shoot her.”
Gabe stared at him for a long moment, his brows furrowed and forehead crinkled in frustration, before his eyes widened with awareness. “You fell in love with her, didn’t you?”
Luis let out a long whistle. “Oh, boy.”
Sam cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. He shrugged, not wanting to admit the truth to these hardened men. One tougher than granite, the other usually drunk. “She’s…fun.”
“And could get you killed.”
“Maybe that’s what I deserve.”
“Maybe it is.”
Silence dragged on as they eyeballed each other. Finally, Gabe checked his watch. “I need a fuckin’ drink. How about you?”
“Yes!” Luis answered from the back.
“We should be going after her, not drinking! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I’m going for a drink, with or without you. I’m tired of being told I can’t have a shot of whiskey until after 5 p.m.,” Gabe belted. Sam raised an amused brow, surprised Mima managed to control this brutish bastard. It was actually a funny bit of knowledge he’d have to remember. “And after I finish a good sip and see what’s inside this briefcase, I’ll check the tracker. Is that quick enough for your lonely pecker?”
No, it isn’t. Sam fell in step with Gabe, feeling really low and pissed-off at the same time. He had a nagging feeling that Jamie could be in serious trouble. The boys could think all they want about him living by the eye of his pecker, but that wasn’t true. Sure, he’d had his fun, but he wasn’t a man-whore. He had a heart and feelings and needs like anybody else in this world. He just didn’t show his as much as others, didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. For that, he felt alone. Maybe if he opened up a little more, he’d have something good in his life.
He didn’t care about the fucking briefcase. Jamie worried him most. What if the person she was working for decided to beat her up, or even kill her? If they suspected that she knew something, well then there was one sure way of shutting her up.
They made their way to Zamira’s. She closed and locked the door behind them for privacy as they opened the briefcase.
As promised, yet to everyone’s surprise, everything was there. Video surveillance, photos, voice recordings, even a record book with cash transactions of drug lords from Spain to Canada, and everywhere in between.
“How is this even possible?” Gabe said, his expression wrought with barely suppressed rage and utter shock. “Even I didn’t know all of this.”
“Got to be somebody who worked with Colton since the beginning,” Sam added. “There are men in these photos who are long dead.”
Zamira clucked her tongue. “Only Ben was with him from the start, and he’s dead, too.” She eyeballed Sam and gave a brief nod before she headed toward the back room.
Sam glanced at Gabe who was engrossed in the contents of the briefcase. He slid out of his chair and followed Zamira. He didn’t know what she wanted, but Sam was glad to get away from Gabe for a moment or two.
He entered the room as Zamira switched on the overhead lights. “Close the door,” she said, and wandered to a shelf along the back wall. As Sam closed the door behind him, Zamira hit a switch and to Sam’s amazement, the panel slid to the side, revealing a weapons’ stash that could rival that of the deadliest of warlords. He couldn’t hide his shock. Some of those guns were worth more than a new vehicle.
Zamira stood there, hands on generous hips, looking up at her collection as a mother might gaze upon her newborn child. “I’ve been collecting some of these for over thirty years now. Some were given to me, some I took,” she giggled, “and some of them are yours.”
Sam walked up and admired the collection of pistols, rifles, machine guns, and various knives. He shook his head in bewilderment. He knew Zamira was the right hand to a Cuban kingpin in her younger days, but he had no idea—
“What do you mean some of these are mine?” He stared at her in confusion. They may be friends, but he was pretty certain he played no part in this collection.
Zamira turned around and Sam’s eyes bulged at the rare and pristine Persian contract Luger with its long barrel resting in her hands. It was one of only a thousand ever made.
“Do you know where this came from, mijo?”
He frowned, staring at the gun as if it was made of pure gold. “No. Should I?”
Her sad smile sunk right into his heart. “This is a gift to you from your mother.”
He blinked. “My mother?”
Zamira nodded and lifted her hands, gesturing for Sam to take it. As he held the weight of the rare piece in his hands, he was beyond confused by this odd conversation. A strange conversation that was making his heart pound.
“Rose was instructed not to tell you the truth about your parents. There is a reason why they didn’t visit you as much as they should have, my boy. Because it was too dangerous.”
He frowned. This wasn’t making any sense. His parents were irresponsible party animals that didn’t give a shit about him and their responsibilities. Maybe they loved him, in some small way, but they certainly didn’t show it.
“Your parents were spies, Samuel. They met on a job and fell in love.” The love and pride he saw in her big brown eyes made his breath hitch. “When you came along, they had to make a decision. It was either me or Rose who would take you in, but I wasn’t in a position to raise a child.”
Sam shook his head. “You or Auntie Rose? I don’t understand…”
Zamira smiled and reached her weathered hand up to touch his hair. “Your mother and Rose are my sisters.”
“You’re my aunt?” Sam couldn’t believe it. All along he thought they were just friends, connected to the business. He couldn’t hide his shock. “I thought you were Cuban.”
She clucked her tongue. “I am. You are, too. Our family is Afro-Cuban, Samuel, and your father’s side is Irish, which I’m sure you already knew.”
Sam blew out a long, exasperated breath. “This is a lot to take in.”
“It’s a small world, is it not? I had been doing business with Colton for many years before he took you in. The first time you walked into this place, it took everything in me not to tell you the truth. I stayed because of you, to watch over you. I promised your mother I would.”
“Wait a minute. You said my parents were spies? What are they doing now? I haven’t seen them in”—he had to think hard to the last special occasion when Auntie Rose burned the turkey—“since last Thanksgiving, I think.”
Tears filled Zamira’s eyes, and after a long silence…he knew. His throat clinched tight. He struggled to breathe. “How? When?” It felt as if the last breath of air parted his lungs, never to be taken again.
She wiped her tears and squared her shoulders. “It was a car accident a week ago. They were together, that’s all the detail I know.” She cleared her throat and smiled up at him, big brown eyes glistening. “They left everything to you. A villa in Spain. A chalet in Alaska. Even a yacht here on the island, although I must tell you that your Uncle Luis doesn’t want to part with it.”
He wanted to smash his fist through a window. A week ago his life had begun to change at the same time as his estranged parents took their last breath. Did they think of him as they died together?
“That drunk husband of yours is my uncle, eh?” Sam chuckled and shook his head, trying to make light of the news but numb at the same time. “How did I get so lucky?” He didn’t want her to see the depth of his pain.
“You are very lucky to have Luis as your uncle, you silly boy. He’d kill for you.”
Overloaded with this information, he turned toward the rack of weapons, his mind filled with the rare moments he saw his parents. Now that he was older and wiser in life, it suddenly dawned on him all those moments when his mother hugged him hard before having to leave again. He hated her then. He regretted not knowing her now. Suddenly, he missed her beautiful face. Her sweet smile. Those dark eyes, almost black, staring at him with what must’ve been love. He just didn’t know it then.
A week ago, as his parents drove to their demise, Sam was heading out to kill a woman that he apparently fell in love with. A woman who might very well be a spy, or at least, the pawn of a blackmailer. He shook his head as his heart ached.
He jerked when Zamira touched his shoulder. Tears had filled his eyes. Why now? Why did they have to die before he could know the truth about them?
“Don’t be like them, mijo,” she whispered. “That’s no way to live. You still have years of life and love, and maybe children, ahead of you. If this woman I saw you with is the one you want, then you go after her. Don’t let life slip through your fingers as your parents did.”
He shook his head, at war with what he should do. “That woman might be the death of me.”
Zamira clucked her tongue and released a throaty laugh. “As all women should be, my boy. Otherwise, what fun would life and love be?”
With a groan of anguish, he turned around and gathered Zamira in his arms and hugged her hard. He had no words. Nothing he could ever say would adequately describe the pain in his heart over his parents, the happiness to know that Zamira and Luis were family, or the insecurity of his love for Jamie. What would come of it all?
“I know it’s hard, sweetheart.” She rubbed his back as Sam let his tears fall unheeded. “You can’t be tough forever.”
When she stepped back and gazed up at him, Sam knew that this woman he’d cared for, for many years as a dear friend, was tough as nails and smart as a whip. He couldn’t be more elated to learn that they shared the same blood.
“Come now,” she said, pressing the button to close the paneled wall. They walked arm in arm from the back room. He quickly wiped his tears before the others noticed. Gabe would never let it go if he saw Sam crying. They were men after all. Only women cried.
Gabe looked up from a handful of photos, a quizzical look on his face. Luis sat beside him, and when the old man glanced up and smiled, Sam couldn’t help his own. They nodded in silent awareness. One day they would have a good talk, and he would tell Luis that the yacht he suddenly inherited could stay right here. Sam had no use for it anyway.
Gabe looked from Luis to Zamira, to Sam again, and shook his head. “What’s with you guys today?”
“I’ll tell you later, shitstick,” Sam said, his voice thick with emotion. He was anxious to find Jamie. “Check your tracker before I lose my patience. I’m done waiting around for you.”
“Still haven’t learned anything, have you? Well, you’re on your own with that one.” Gabe shook his head, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked the location of the briefcase. “It’s heading west out of the city. Route 1.”
“Lleva el coche,” Zamira said to Luis. He raised his brow and chuckled as he slipped out of his chair and disappeared through the door leading into the alley out back.
A few minutes later, Sam heard a rumble out front. He walked up to the windows looking onto the street and laughed out loud as Luis got out of a beat-up Plymouth Belvedere straight out of the fifties.
“Don’t let the looks fool you,” Zamira commented. “That baby will get you anywhere, and quick.”
Sam looked over his shoulder. Gabe sat there shaking his head at him. It was time his brother was put into his place.
“You and Terry got what you wanted. At least give me the chance to find out if I can have mine.”
Gabe’s top lip twitched as he nodded. The humor in his eyes changed into something more like understanding, and concern. “Want me to come with you for backup?”
Sam shook his head. “Nah. You burn the contents of that briefcase then go home to Mima. Tell Terry I have everything under control. I need to do this alone.”
“I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay. Argue with me all you want, I’m still four months older than you.”
“And not blood related.”
“Does that really matter?” Gabe raised his brows high, waiting for the right answer.
A slow smile crossed Sam’s face as they eyeballed each other. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Good. Now fuck off and go after that girl. I’ll keep you updated on the location, bud. Be careful.”
Sam took one last look at Gabe and Zamira, hoping it wouldn’t be his last. He walked through the door and approached Luis who was leaning against the passenger door, a fat cigar hanging from his mouth. A swirl of pungent smoke wafted up in the air above his five-foot frame.
“Are you sure you can handle this beast?”
Sam chuckled, reached out, and shook his hand. “You know it.”
“You bring this back in one piece or your aunt will have my balls.” He smacked the roof of the car twice then headed toward the bar without looking back.
“I promise.” Sam got into the driver’s seat and shifted the beast into gear. The old Plymouth sped off toward Route 1, as if old Luis put a Hemi under its rusty hood.
He had a woman to catch.