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)
I walked away a few feet before I relieved myself to the view of a desert sunset.
If someone had told me two days ago I’d be here today, with Joel as my travel companion, I would’ve laughed in their face.
After tucking myself back into my jeans, I zipped up and returned to the truck, where I grabbed a bottle of water. I’d had the sun blazing against my neck all afternoon. I bent over and emptied half the bottle over my head, and I ran my fingers through my hair. Then I poured the rest over my face and scrubbed off.
I felt marginally better.
I tossed the bottle into the truck and lifted my tee to wipe my face.
Joel joined me on my side, and he’d brought the food.
Right. My background with Vincente Blanco.
He set the container on the hood and opened it, revealing a generous serving of quesadillas, chips, and guac. My mouth fucking watered.
“First time I ran across Blanco, he was just a low-man,” I said. “Hillcroft sent me to locate a cartel member that the DEA wanted extradited. I was undercover—the next two times too. I was responsible for his old man getting killed, and I brought home a German banker they’d held hostage.”
I picked up one of the quesadillas, the food warm enough for the cheese to string along, literally.
“You could say he wasn’t happy with me.” Goddammit. Shrimp quesadillas. He’d bought shrimp quesadillas for me. See, that was enough to make my mind spin, and I couldn’t fucking afford that now. I chewed quickly. “Then last year—Tariq and I took a final contract with Hillcroft, and they sent us right back to Mexico for a briefing. Before I knew it, we were at a hotel in Mexicali, and none other than Blanco walked in. He was the fucking client. He’d managed to track me down—but instead of killing me, he wanted me to do this job for him, and he’d gone through Hillcroft to ensure it.”
Surprise flitted across Joel’s features before he folded his arms over his chest and knitted his brows. “Can just anyone hire a PMC through that agency?”
“No.” I finished the quesadilla. “But if you’re a multimillionaire and launder money through a big corporation where you’re the CEO, chances are you get through the vetting process without much hassle.” The thing with Vincente was that he had brains. He knew how to play the entire field. He didn’t see private contractors as the enemy. He didn’t even view the DEA as the enemy all the time. We were just tools. “He wanted Carillo locked away—actually, he wanted him dead, but his baby sister is married to the fucker. To Carillo,” I clarified. “And I guess Vincente was sympathetic enough to settle for a prison sentence. So he hired Tariq and me to go undercover as freelancers. That was how Frank Rivera was born. First time I used that identity. Our job was to get close to Carillo—just enough to rack up his charges. And to make sure the charges would stick properly, Vincente had tipped off the DEA too. It was a joint op. We did the dirty work, got Carillo extradited, and the DEA took care of everything else.”
Plus got the fucking credit, but whatever.
It hurt to think about Tariq. He’d been my best friend for years.
“Wait, so you actually know Carillo,” Joel said. “You know his ways, how he—”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” I had to interrupt him before he got excited. “I know of him. I moved in the background at sit-downs, but I was never alone with him. Up until yesterday, I wouldn’t even have thought he remembered my face. He doesn’t let strangers go near him. At the same time, they’re goddamn arrogant, because they have so many people in their pocket that they can move freely and get away with anything. Cops, border patrol agents, judges—fuck, I don’t have to tell you this, do I? You know how it is.”
He nodded with a dip of his chin and glanced out at the desert, at the setting sun.
“Do you think he’s crossed the border yet?” he wondered.
I took another quesadilla and did the math while I chewed. I mean, it was definitely possible. If Carillo and his men could orchestrate an escape like that, they could probably make sure the right guys were on duty at the border. But we would know about it. Our side, that was. They would get footage of each vehicle that was and wasn’t searched.
“Lemme put it this way,” I said, “I’m sure we have a team of unlucky DEA agents going through footage from the crossings right now.”
He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face.
He wasn’t wearing a wedding band anymore. He obviously shouldn’t; it was just the first time I’d seen it.