On pure instinct, Dutch grabbed Vargas and hauled him to the floor.
The sharp knife sliced into the back of the sofa where Vargas had been sitting, spraying feathers in the air.
“Stay down,” Dutch said. Then he whirled on his knees and leaped up, tackling the killer to the floor.
Dutch grabbed his helmet from the table—the only improvised weapon within reach. He slammed the sturdy piece of gear into the man’s face, throttling him over and over until he stopped moving.
From the corner of his eye, Dutch caught movement. Rodrigo and Max were racing up the stairs. Two more lieutenants were behind them.
What in the hell was happening?
“Don Emilio!” Max rushed to Vargas’s side, got him up off the floor and ushered him toward the stairs.
Dutch followed them closely to the office off the landing on the third floor. Two guards brought up the rear, weapons drawn.
“Are you all right?” Max asked. “Were you injured?”
“I’m fine.” Vargas waved him away. “Dutch saved my life. If it weren’t for him, I’d be dead.”
The realization chilled Dutch to the bone as all eyes in the room shifted to him. He’d saved the life of a cartel boss, a man the world would be better off without. A man whose death might’ve put the US Marshals in a better position if they already had the stolen hard drive.
Damn it.
“It was nothing,” Dutch said. “Instinct kicked in. That’s all.”
“You have excellent instincts. And it wasn’t nothing.” Vargas straightened his shirt and smoothed down his jacket. “It had happened so fast. One minute, everything had been under control. The next... How could anyone have gotten that close to me? What was the problem with the delivery?”
“Miscommunication,” Rodrigo said. “Some heated words were exchanged, but I handled it before it turned into something major.”
“A distraction.” Vargas wagged a finger. “To lure you away. To give someone an opportunity to get to me.”
Rodrigo turned to the guards. “I want one of you posted at the door. The other, go make sure the mess downstairs gets cleaned up. Clean this up pronto.”
The two men nodded and left, closing the door. Max turned his hard gaze to Dutch like he was an interloper instead of the guy who’d just saved his boss’s life.
Vargas poured two glasses of Scotch from his personal en suite bar and handed one to Dutch. “Here.”
Dutch took a sip of the amber liquid. It was just as full-bodied as the Macallan, but deeper, richer. Or maybe the adrenaline surge sharpened everything, including his taste buds. “Smooth.”
“Isle of Jura. A thirty-year-old.” Vargas poured more in Dutch’s glass. “What did you do in the army?”
“I was Special Ops. Delta Force.”
“Ah,” Vargas said in a tone that implied he’d grossly underestimated Dutch. “That explains those finely honed instincts of yours.” He sat behind the desk and gestured for Dutch to take the seat opposite him. “Why did you get out of the service?”
“I was kicked out.”
Vargas raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “What did you do?”
“I killed a man.” Dutch took another sip, not rushing to explain his cover story. Not giving any hint of shame. Not an iota of regret. “It was self-defense, but he outranked me and had a lot of powerful buddies. Fortunately, I had a stellar record and a few friends of my own. The army gave me the boot, but with a general instead of dishonorable discharge. To hell with them.”
“Isa tells me that you stopped a man from mugging her. The thought of such an assault on my niece turns my stomach, makes me want to tear someone to pieces.”
Dutch understood the sentiment far too well. “To be honest, sir, she saved herself. Kicked the guy’s butt. All I did was pick up her purse, shoes and get a piece of glass out of her foot.”
Vargas chuckled. “Sounds like her. The women in my family are headstrong, independent. Fiery. As my brother’s only child, I have a responsibility to her. I love Isa as a daughter. When I say that the Vargas legacy is the same as the Five Families in New York or the Chicago syndicate, do you understand what I mean?”
It meant he was the top dog, the mobster who controlled this region.
Dutch straightened. “Yes.”
“I’m going through a bit of a turf war at the moment,” Vargas continued. He pulled something out of his suit-jacket pocket and tossed it onto the desk.
It was a playing card. Ace of spades.
“First they sent me the king of spades. Then that one. The death card. It’s from the Guzman cartel and means they’re coming for me. But I have something in the works to fix this problem.” He leaned forward, putting his forearms on his desk. “Isabel doesn’t know any of this. Her father wanted her sheltered from our affairs. She was sent to the very best all-girl boarding schools until she went to college. Scripps.”
Once again, an all-girls school, just outside of LA.
“I wish to honor her father’s desire to keep her in the dark,” Vargas said. “But I worry about her up here by herself. She refuses to move back to San Diego and won’t let me give her any bodyguards. I believe she thinks they’d spy on her for me.”
“Would they?” Dutch asked.
Vargas waved his hands out. “Por su puesto.” Of course. “I have the best of intentions.” He sat back and crossed his legs. “I believe there is a place for you in the fold, where your skills could be of use to me. I would like to offer you a job.”
“Doing what? I hope it’s not spying on your niece because the answer would be no.”
“You have integrity. I respect that.” Vargas drained his glass. “I want you to protect Isabel. That’s why I’m trusting you with this information. You need to understand what we’re dealing with if you are to keep her safe.”
“But Don Emilio,” Max said. “You can’t trust an outsider with her safety.”
“Are you questioning my judgment?” Vargas said in Spanish.
Rodrigo stepped forward. “He would never. Neither would I, but we don’t know him.”
“Isabel knows him.” This time Vargas spoke in English. “Likes him. Trusts him. She’s rejected everyone else I’ve proposed, including you two.” He cast them both a look that screamed don’t dare say another word. Neither man spoke again as Vargas shifted his gaze back to Dutch. “It’s no secret to my enemies that I love Isabel dearly. That could make her a target to some. I need to insulate her from danger. Immediately, with this attack tonight. I think you’re the man to help me do that without frightening her. I doubt she’d have any objections to your presence and as you’ve stated, your loyalty is to her.”
Dutch nodded, slowly, considering the surprising offer. “What does it pay?”
“Ten grand a month.”
“Just to keep her safe?” Dutch whistled. “Heck, I’d do it for free.” And he would.
“A man has to eat. Does he not?”
Dutch lowered his gaze and clucked his tongue. “Not all of us want to dine on white truffles and Strottarga Bianco.”
“You know of the finer things,” Vargas said.
What Dutch knew about them had come from reading an article after Googling expensive indulgences of the stupid rich.
“But you don’t need it.” Vargas studied him a minute. “I can see why Isabel is fond of you.”
“I can’t formally say yes to your offer until I know Isabel won’t object to me working for you.”
“And if she does?” Vargas asked.
“Then I’ll still be there for her, to keep her safe as best I can.”
“I will tell Isabel that I approve of you and I’ll have a new helmet sent. A Schuberth, yes?”
“Yeah,” he said, noticing that Vargas hadn’t asked for his address.
“It was good to meet you, Dutch.”
“Likewise, sir.” He stood and shook Vargas’s hand.
“Take my card,” Vargas said, offering him one. “It has my private number in case you need to speak with me about my niece.”
Dutch pocketed the card. On the way out, he met Max’s glare and caught the suspicion in Rodrigo’s eyes.
He closed the door and headed down the stairs, hoping that the USMS had taken the time to cement his cover story online and in hard records, making it ironclad, because Vargas was about to run a full-scope background check on him.
If one wasn’t already underway.
THE CELL PHONE woke Isabel. After tossing and turning for hours, fretting over Dutch’s meeting with her uncle, she’d finally managed to fall asleep.
She glanced at the caller ID, hoping it was Dutch with good news.
Uncle Emilio. And it was two in the morning.
“Tío,” she said, surprise brushing away the dredges of sleep. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, my dear. I met Dutch. I wanted to let you know that I like him.”
“You do?” The instant the words left her mouth she regretted sounding so shocked.
“I give my approval and won’t interfere.”
Isabel pressed her hand to her forehead. Was she dreaming? She must be delirious from lack of sleep. “That’s wonderful.”
What was the catch? Uncle Emilio wouldn’t make it this easy unless there was one.
“But I have one condition,” he said.
Here it comes. Isabel was half-tempted to hang up the phone. She was grown and independently wealthy thanks to the money her father had left her. She’d trade it all, the lavish lifestyle and the trappings that came with it, the eight figures sitting in her bank account, for a normal life, where she was safe and not subjected to the tight reins of her uncle. To live without anything hanging over her.
Sometimes freedom seemed more necessary than maintaining familial ties. But she loved her uncle Emilio and her cousin Miguel. They were the only family she had left. She had been raised to respect her elders, to seek their praise and validation. Also, dealing with the nightmare of Chad Ellis was quite enough. She didn’t want to add her uncle to her list of problems.
“Why am I not surprised there are strings?” she asked.
“Watch your tone with me,” he snapped in that stern way of his. “Dutch told me about his Special Forces background, something you neglected to mention. I offered him a job, but he was hesitant to take it.”
“A job doing what?”
“Protecting you.”
Isabel bolted upright in the bed unsure she’d heard him correctly. McQueen shifted on top of the covers near her feet.
“When he discusses the matter with you,” he said, “I want you to take away his reservations.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Do this and you get the relationship you want with a man I approve of and I’ll know that you’re safe. If I can ensure that you’re protected and it happens to be by someone who makes you happy, then we both win. Yes?”
Her first instinct was to rail against the idea. It took extreme effort for her not to scream into the phone. She didn’t want Dutch taking her uncle’s money, beholden to do his bidding. The audacity to even propose such a thing to her boyfriend was unreal.
Churning it over in her head, she began to see the flip side. If she agreed, then she’d get to have Dutch around more often and keep her uncle off her back. She wanted both.
“Don’t ask him to spy on me,” she said. “It would muddy the waters between us.”
“Your young man already told me in no uncertain terms that he would do no such thing.”
Dutch stood up to her uncle.
She smiled, her cheeks heating, a dizzying sense of warmth seeping through her down to the bone. “I can’t promise anything,” she said. “He’s his own man and will make his own decision, but I’ll talk to him and let him know that I’m not opposed to the idea.”
“Excellent. I’m running a background check on him, just a formality of course. I feel certain he will be able to handle any threat to you. Despite what you might believe, your happiness is important to me. Good night, mi hija. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Isabel hung up, wondering what exactly had happened at the club for Dutch to have made such a profound impression on her uncle.
Going back to sleep was impossible. Part of her was ecstatic and eager to see Dutch, but there was a niggle of worry in the back of her mind that wouldn’t let her rest.
The sun took its time cracking over the horizon. As she sipped a cup of tea, watching daylight break through the sky, she got a text.
Dutch: We need to talk. Game for an early lunch?
Without hesitation, she messaged him back.
Let’s make it dinner. My place. I’ll cook.
She decided right then that her uncle’s call last night was a good sign and not an omen that there was something wrong with Dutch.
Isabel went through her routine for the day, started the heavy lifting on planning her uncle’s event, putting an emergency rush on the invitations, and had all but set aside her qualms until she updated Brenda.
“After one meeting, your uncle approved of Dutch instead of running him off with a shotgun?”
“I know, right?” Isabel went back to humming as she hung up the last new painting.
“What did Dutch have to do? Raid a corporation? Kill somebody?”
The melody died in Isabel’s throat. What a bizarre response. “Why on earth would you say that?” she asked, turning to face her friend.
Brenda opened her mouth as if to speak, then pressed her lips together and walked to the front desk.
Isabel followed her. “Why would you think killing someone would impress my uncle?”
“It was a poor joke,” Brenda said, avoiding eye contact while she shuffled paperwork around. “Sweetie, I know how much you love Uncle Emilio and because I love you, I’ll never say anything bad about him.”
“Bad like what?” The worst thing her uncle was guilty of was eating veal. Which admittedly was bad, but Brenda didn’t know about that.
Brenda huffed. “Nothing. I’m sorry.” She met her eyes and smiled. “I have a surprise. I was going to wait until later, but drumroll.” Brenda tapped imaginary drums in the air. “I told my hot yoga teacher how you were mugged and asked if he could start teaching a morning class or something and he offered to give me private lessons on Sundays. Just the two of us, where he can really help deepen my poses and give me a good stretch.” She winked.
Isabel gasped with delight. “You’ve been trying to get him one-on-one for months.”
“I know. He really made me work for it, too. I mean, you had to get robbed at knifepoint for Pete’s sake.” She walked back around the desk like she no longer needed it as a barrier. “I propose you skedaddle and go see your hottie early for dinner,” she said, using air quotes with the last word.
Dinner and dessert with lots of icing and several cherries. Isabel’s heart fluttered with anticipation, but guilt was quick on its heels. “I’ve already missed two days this week, leaving you to handle everything. I’d be a horrible friend if I skipped out early tonight, especially when I asked you not to change your schedule for me.”
“Pish, posh. Make it up to me by sharing a few juicy tidbits.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Okay. You really are the best friend I could ask for.”
Brenda nodded with a smug smile.
Isabel called for her car, wrapped up the rest of what she was doing, grabbed her purse from the office and went to the grocery store.
Inside, she headed straight for the fish department and waited in line for her turn.
A young man wearing Dickies work pants and a black shirt buttoned only at the top with a white tank top underneath, sneakers and a black-and-white bandana on his head came up to the front of the large case where the fish was displayed and looked around.
“How can I help you?” the fishmonger asked her after he was done with the last customer.
“I’m cooking seafood fra diavolo for two. Can you wrap up a mix of what’s freshest?”
“I’ve got some nice lobster tails, scallops and these beauties.” The fishmonger held up a handful of the plumpest shrimp she’d ever seen.
“Perfect.”
“Want me to prep it for you, remove the shells and devein the shrimp?”
That was why this was her favorite grocery store. “Yes, that’d be lovely.”
“Finish shopping, ma’am, and it’ll be here on the counter for you.”
“Thank you.” Isabel strode off and grabbed linguini and a can of tomatoes. She turned to find the rest of the ingredients and spotted the same guy in a black shirt and Dickies strolling past her aisle.
He glanced at her for one heartbeat too long, but he kept going. A creeping tension sent a shiver up her spine when she realized he wasn’t pushing a cart and didn’t have a basket.
Her first impulse was to call Dutch, but she was in a well-lit public place and could handle herself. She didn’t need anyone’s help.
Get a grip, Isabel. You of all people know better than to stereotype that guy. The whole world isn’t out to get you. Only Chad.
She mentally checked off what else she needed and hurried to get the items. As she picked out a couple of salad dressings Dutch might like, the guy with the bandana showed up again. He didn’t look at her. Standing in front of the ketchup, he took a bottle from the shelf and turned it over, as if he was reading the ingredients.
“It’s nothing,” she said to herself, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about the guy.
She went to the produce section. Looking over the herbs, she threw a bundle of parsley in her basket. The main dessert would hopefully be in the bedroom, but they’d cap off dinner with something light. Maybe a fruit salad.
Breezing past the stands, she tossed a ripe variety in her basket. She stopped in front of the cantaloupe, deciding if she wanted to dice one up or simply buy it chopped and prepackaged.
Another customer waltzed up beside her, bumping her basket. A hand with tattoos inked on the back grabbed a cantaloupe. “Do you know how to pick a good melon?” he asked.
She glanced over at the man. The one who looked like a gangbanger and kept popping up in the same parts of the store. He had two teardrop tattoos below the corner of his eye.
“No. Sorry.” Spinning on her heel, she walked away. Forget the melon.
“Hey. Your stuff is ready,” he called to her.
She pivoted and looked back at him. “What did you say?”
“Your seafood.” He hiked a thumb toward the fish department. “It’s on the counter waiting for you.”
All the spit dried in her mouth, but she managed to say, “Thank you.”
It was odd, yes, but he was only being friendly, and she was being ridiculous, right? No need to be rude, as well.
She passed another man who didn’t have a basket or a cart and because he was dressed in business attire, she didn’t question his motives for being in the store.
Isabel grabbed the seafood bundle from the counter in the fish department, tossed it into her basket and went to a register. She loaded her stuff on the conveyor belt, itching to get out of the store. As she bent over to place the empty basket on the floor, she stilled.
At the bottom of the basket was a playing card. She picked it up and turned it over.
Queen of spades.
But it hadn’t been in there earlier when she’d first taken a basket. She was certain.
She dropped the card in the basket and shoved it under the conveyor belt.
Isabel paid, opting for paper bags, and hurried to her car. Hitting the new key fob, the lights flashed on her Maserati, and the doors unlocked. She opened the trunk and set her bags inside. Before closing it, she unzipped her purse and grasped the handle of her fully charged Pacifier.
Better safe than sorry.
Trying to slow her breaths that started coming too quickly, she scanned her surroundings.
No sign of the man.
She slipped inside her car, locked the doors and started the engine. Putting on her seat belt, she noticed something on her windshield, trapped under her wipers.
The queen of spades.
Her whole body went cold, but every nerve pulsed with energy. Isabel looked around outside, twisting in her seat. There was no one near her car, but was anyone watching her? Waiting for a reaction to seeing the card? How did the same queen of spades get on her windshield without her noticing anyone?
She flipped on the wipers. The wind snatched the card, carrying it on a breeze across the parking lot.
A shadow moved up alongside her window. She almost jumped out of her skin, her heart throbbing in her throat.
An older woman got inside a sedan parked beside hers and pulled off.
Isabel took a deep breath, calming herself down. She threw her car in gear and drove to the doggie day care center, going well over the speed limit, not running red lights, but gunning it when any turned yellow.
Once McQueen was in the car she felt better, knowing she had immediate backup in case she needed it. He wouldn’t let anyone get near her if he sensed danger. Too bad she couldn’t take him with her everywhere.
On the way home, she checked her mirrors constantly, making sure she wasn’t being followed. Not that she had any training in picking up a tail, but she’d notice if the same car stayed glued behind her.
Nothing unusual stuck out and by the time she pulled into her garage, her nerves had settled somewhat.
Entering her building, she waved hello to the concierge, who worked from eight to six at the front desk. “Good evening, Bill,” she said with a shopping bag in either hand.
“Evening, Isabel. You got a package. I ran it upstairs for you, put it in front of your door.”
“You’re a saint,” she said, wondering what it could be since she hadn’t ordered anything. “Thank you.”
“Need help with those groceries?”
“No, I’ve got it.” She hit the button for the elevator. Normally she took the stairs, but tonight, she wanted to get inside her condo as soon as possible.
The chime dinged and the doors opened. She got in the lift with McQueen. The ride up was quick.
At her front door, McQueen ran up to the package and sniffed it. She put her key in the door and unlocked it. Inside, she shut off her alarm and set her groceries down, relieved to be home.
She put everything away, took out her phone and called Dutch. “Hi.”
“Hey, beautiful.” His deep, smoky voice brought another layer of comfort.
“Brenda is closing up tonight,” she said, retrieving the package, with the phone sandwiched between her ear and shoulder. “I already swung by the grocery, where something weird happened.”
“Weird how?”
She shrugged to herself. “I’m not really sure, but I’ll tell you about it later.” She locked the door and put the box on the counter. “I’ve had the busiest day, running around like crazy because my uncle wants me to organize an art auction for him down in San Diego.”
“Really? When’s the auction?”
“Sunday. Fifty guests. I can’t believe it’s such short notice. Talk about pressure.” She sighed, hoping to pull everything together, not wanting to disappoint her uncle. “I’m set to cook dinner tonight, though. How quickly can you get here?”
The package was covered in brown shipping wrap and her name was typed on a label on the top, but there was no return address. Today was full of weird stuff. Was Mercury retrograde? A full moon or something?
“I just stepped out of the shower,” he said, conjuring delicious images in her mind. “I’ll throw on clothes and head over.”
“I was thinking, why don’t you bring your toothbrush and spend the night?” Smiling, she pulled at the taped-down flaps along the side and unwrapped it. “That’s strange.”
“What?”
“I got a package. It’s a foam box.”
“Foam?” Sternness spiked the word.
“Yes, an insulated cooler,” she said, taking off the lid.
“Wait. Don’t open it.”
A rancid smell hit her as she peered inside. A strangled scream escaped her lips. The cell phone slipped from her hand, crashing to the floor. She gagged, her stomach convulsing.
McQueen started barking.
Sickened and terrified, she heard Dutch yelling to her from the phone on the floor. But her mind went blank. She squeezed her eyes shut, staggering back from the box in horrified revulsion, spun toward the sink and retched.
In her entire life, she’d never seen anything more gruesome.