Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“So, you think the government was justified in making him disappear,” Charlie replied tightly. It was becoming harder to watch his tone when he very much wanted to slug the bastard right in his nose.
The asshole snorted. “Those tales are an exaggeration at best, and utter bullshit at worst. As if any government would have an interest in Vergara. The man likely ran away to escape the husband of whichever woman he was sleeping with at the time. It’s more rational to believe that he was killed by an angry husband and his corpse buried in the woods.”
“That is certainly one theory,” Charlie murmured. He tipped his glass up, downing the last of his champagne.
The asshole sniffed at him and then turned his attention fully to Isabella. “I believe we have some business to discuss. I’d like to sign the paperwork tonight and have it done. I’ll be waiting in your office.” Without waiting for a response from her, the guy turned and strode away with a pair of large men who screamed “bodyguard” flanking him.
“I’m sorry to cut our conversation short,” Isabella paused and exhaled, “and to end it on such a sour note.”
Charlie held out his hand and Isabella instantly placed hers into it. With a warm smile, he graciously bowed over it. “Not the parting I would have preferred. May I ask who that was?”
“Benicio Perez, and I would suggest avoiding him, if at all possible,” she replied, slowly sliding her hand free from Charlie’s.
“Only if it increases my chances of seeing you again. Possibly over dinner. We could continue our more enjoyable discussion.”
The frost melted from her demeanor, replaced by a welcoming smile. “I think that could be arranged. You know where to find me.” She gave a wave to the gallery around them as she turned and strode in the direction of Benicio Perez.
“Yeah, I don’t think Soren could have done better. That was fucking smooth,” Edison purred beside Charlie like a giant cat.
“I could have done without the interruption from the truth-denying little shit,” Charlie grumbled. He placed his empty glass on a passing tray. He gave the server a glance this time to make sure he was one of the workers they’d identified when they arrived. Old habits were hard to break, and posing as temporary hired staff was always the easiest way into an event while remaining part of the scenery.
He and Edison continued through the gallery, pretending to view the art as they slowly made their way toward the exit.
“What did you think of Romero?” West inquired.
“Other than the fact that she’s hot and ready to climb into Charlie’s bed?” Edison joked.
“I think she believes what she told me—there are no lost paintings and Vergara has been dead for fifty years,” Charlie murmured, trying not to clench his teeth. “Apparently this was another dead end.”
“Maybe not,” Kairo countered.
“What do you mean?” Edison asked.
“That little shit Benicio Perez is the son of Lorenzo Perez, a prominent right-wing political leader. Not only is Lorenzo a member of the Chamber of Deputies with aspirations of the presidency, but he is also the chairman of one of the largest banks in Argentina. One of the most profitable, too, despite the country’s near-constant financial troubles.” Kairo fell silent for a moment, and Charlie glanced over to find Edison giving him a somewhat speculative look. “Huh. Seems like that bank was extremely profitable during the military’s dictatorship in the seventies and eighties.”
“The Perez family would likely prefer it if the country happened to forget about Los Desaparecidos, especially iconic figures such as Thiago Vergara,” Edison stated.
“True, but it’s not much to go on. There’s no specific link between Vergara and Perez,” West argued.
“Unfortunately, we’re running out of potential leads. The gallery owners and art world have been a bust. Our next step is to dig into the military leaders who had a hand in the coup and those who disappeared,” Kairo said through a clatter of keystrokes in the background. “And most of those old bastards are dead now.”
“Let’s add a tail to Little Shit and dig into his daddy’s past. See who he knows and if his path ever crossed Vergara’s,” Charlie decided. All this might turn up nothing, but he was starting to get the sneaking suspicion that they would need to walk away from this mystery. This was the kind of thing a person could spend a lifetime digging into with zero results. There were people out in the world hurting right now who could use their help. “We’ll give this one more week.”
“Got it, Boss,” Kairo agreed. The other two men grunted. No one was happy when a job didn’t go the way they expected, but it was something they’d all learned to accept over the years.
Charlie stepped outside the gallery and held the door for his companion, flashing him a grin as they stepped into the cool night air. It was hard to remember sometimes that July in Argentina was the height of winter. The temperature had dipped into the low forties, and the wind was biting through his jacket. Most of his missions, both with the CIA and after they’d parted ways, had been in Europe and parts of Asia—all locations north of the equator. In his mind, it should be sweltering hot, not a bitter wind nipping at his balls.