Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Joel repeated my order to the girl in the truck—and added a beer.
If he was gay, or bi, how come Piper hadn’t mentioned anything? Christ, it was all she could do at dinner sometimes, talk about Joel.
We shuffled over to the side while we waited for our food, and I had to ask.
“What’s the plan here, Hayward?”
He flashed me a smile that was half cockiness, half nerves.
It was hot. I couldn’t lie. He was hot, period. He had these deep blue eyes that revealed a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. Perfect combo if you asked me. Summer freckles barely visible through his natural tan. And his body… He was as tall as me now. Definitely not lanky anymore. It was easy to tell he surfed a lot, played football, and ran every morning.
That was the shit Piper shared. Not a damn thing about his sexuality.
“I told you earlier,” he said over the music. “I’m gonna get shot down.”
Fuck.
I looked over at where they were preparing our food, and I ran a hand through my hair.
What if I didn’t shoot him down? Goddammit, could I even—I mean, with my sister… She’d never confessed she was into Joel, but it was so obvious.
“Looks like our order is ready,” Joel said. “You wanna eat down on the beach? I know, I know, we’re not supposed to leave the area with the beer—but I’ve never gotten into trouble for it. They don’t care.”
Oh yeah, sure, let’s cross the street and disappear into the darkness of a giant bed of sand.
Horrible idea. I wasn’t gonna agree to that.
“Sure,” I replied.
Chapter Four
“What’s taking so long?”
I turned around and pointed at the truck. “Get back in the truck.”
I didn’t need Vincente’s staff to get a good look at Joel. The fewer faces they saw, the better.
“Stop treating me like a fucking dog,” he growled. Then he returned to the truck and slammed the door shut.
I clenched my jaw and turned back toward the hacienda. A large spectacle of an estate—in the middle of the desert, of course. I’d made it about twenty feet up the winding driveway-like path to the house before two armed guards had darted toward us. Desert sand on both sides, shrubs and cacti, and then this perfectly built path that was tiled…and lined by a low concrete wall. The whole fucking driveway, tiles and mosaic. I wasn’t exaggerating if I estimated it was about a hundred feet long. Slanting upward too, because the hacienda sat on a man-made hill.
My goofball of a niece would’ve suggested pouring dish soap and water down the driveway to create a slide.
I checked my watch.
Fucking hell, I was gonna burn up before the guard came back. The other one waited some thirty feet away and hadn’t taken his eyes off me once.
Vincente had to see me. I didn’t care where he was, as long as he agreed to let me go to him. If I had to hop on a plane, I would. And I’d leave Joel behind. He couldn’t very well show his face in an airport. If that somehow made it back to US authorities, they’d have questions about why he wasn’t reaching out to Piper. Joel’s absence depended on his off-the-grid fishing trip.
I pulled out my phone and sent the guys a message.
Status update? EJ
I’d bookmarked the server so it was just a click away. It was a simple message setup, with a black background and a pale-gray, typewriter-like font.
Crew responded immediately.
Tracking a possible member along Madison Av. You? CF
I glanced up toward the house, then typed quickly.
Waiting for our next move outside Blanco’s estate. EJ
Ortega’s message popped up at the same time.
Our cover is secured at the office. I’m on my way to SD to talk to the police. The Feds are involved now too.
No surprise there.
Movement caught my eye, and I pocketed my phone again as the guard, at long fucking last, hurried back to us.
I steeled myself.
The guy couldn’t be old, maybe twenty-five or something, but he’d been around long enough to get this position.
When he reached me, he handed me a note and spoke in rapid Spanish that I was to go to this location and wait for someone to pick us up tomorrow at eight PM.
Vincente was gonna see me. This was his MO.
Relief strengthened my resolve, and I thanked the guard before I limped back to the truck.
We were on our way.
I cranked up the AC and handed Joel the note. “Look up those coordinates. That’s where we’re going.”
It was going to be a long wait till eight PM tomorrow. Possibly a long journey too.
“It’s outside Navojoa,” he replied, zooming in on his phone. “Christ, it’s a twelve-hour drive.”
I blew out a breath and rubbed my forehead. Twelve fucking hours. Sure, I could fly down and leave Joel’s sorry ass behind, but I still wouldn’t be picked up for almost thirty hours.