Crossfire Page 10

  “Yes, you did. But that was right before you quoted an Al Pacino movie, so I don’t think you were being serious.”

  “Right now, I don’t think you’re being serious…”

  Her expression hardened in an instant. “Be careful, Ray. I’m being very serious. In fact, as we speak, a very talented professional in my employment has a high-powered rifle aimed at you. Purely a precaution, you understand. But unless you make me believe your apology, your debt will be wiped for a completely different reason.”

  “That’s bollocks,” he said, shaking his head. “I know ya, Patty. Ya ain’t that crazy.”

  She took out her cell phone, dialed a number, and muttered something inaudible when it was answered. A second later, a small red dot appeared on Collins’ chest. She gestured to it, and he looked down.

  His shoulders slumped forward as he realized he had mistakenly underestimated Patty Velasquez.

  “Ah, shite…”

  She smiled. “As I was saying… I’m going to need you to apologize.”

  Beads of sweat formed on his brow. He shifted again in his seat, contemplating making a break for it. He looked around. After a minute of indecision, he concluded he wouldn’t get very far.

  “Christ, Patty, this is crazy. Can I just—”

  She whispered something else into the phone, and a heartbeat later, the empty glass in front of Collins exploded with a high-pitched ping.

  “Jesus!” he yelled, jumping in his seat.

  Velasquez shrugged. “No, you can’t just… You don’t have the money you owe me, Ray. You already offered to do this job, and this task is a precursor to that agreement. Please don’t make the mistake of interpreting the casual nature of this meeting as a sign you have any kind of choice in this.”

  Collins took a long moment to assess everything. The guards. The red dot on his chest. The sincerity in Velasquez’s voice.

  Finally, he let out a long breath, resigning himself to the fact she was right.

  “Fine. Patty, I’m sorry. I am. I was an asshole, and I regret any hurt I caused ya. Okay?”

  She shook her head slightly, as if not understanding.

  “Who?”

  He cursed to himself and gritted his teeth. “Miss Velasquez, I apologize.”

  She glanced away, playing absently with her hair as she stared out at the coast before them. Then she said, “No, I still don’t believe you.”

  “Shite!” he hissed, squirming in his seat.

  “D’you know what I think it is? I think it’s the fact you’re sitting opposite me, like an equal. Like we’re on the same level. I just can’t see past your arrogance.” She pointed to the space next to their table. “Kneel and say it.”

  He exhaled a taut breath. “Are ya kidding me?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding you?”

  He looked into her eyes. She didn’t.

  He slowly got to his feet, adjusting his T-shirt and looking around as he felt the embarrassment growing. He moved beside her and lowered himself to one knee, as if he were proposing. He checked to see if the red dot had stayed on him.

  It had.

  He tensed his jaw muscles, begrudging every second of what she was making him do.

  “Miss Velasquez,” he began. “I’m really sorry I broke ya heart all them years ago. It never would’ve worked between us, but there were a million different ways I could’ve handled it that were better than the way I did. Do ya forgive me?”

  She held his gaze and took a deep breath. Then she got to her feet and raised a leg, resting the point of her stiletto heel on the soft flesh of his shoulder, close to his neck. Her skirt rode up, revealing even more of her tanned thighs, but Collins made a conscious effort not to let his gaze wander to what was inevitably on show to someone in his position. He locked his eyes on hers, grimacing as she applied more pressure with her heel.

  “Don’t ever forget what I just made you do,” she said to him. “I have the power to make a man like you literally beg for his life. You would do well to remember that.”

  She lowered her leg and stepped away, giving him room to stand. As he did, he looked around again. The bodyguards hadn’t acknowledged anything, but he still felt ashamed of himself. He composed himself, then stepped casually toward Velasquez, moving to the side as he placed a hand gently on her waist.

  He leaned in close, as if kissing her cheek. With his mouth next to her ear, he whispered, “Just so ya know, Patty, when we’re square and my debt is paid, I’m gonna make ya pay for that.”

  His tone was firm. It was respectful, but there wasn’t any of the playfulness in his voice that he usually spoke with. He was deadly serious, and she knew him well enough to know he meant every word.

  She moved her lips next to his ear, kissing his cheek. In a low, sultry voice, she replied, “I can’t wait.”

  She moved away and clicked her fingers. One of the bodyguards came over and took a cell phone from his pocket, which he handed to her before walking away.

  She held it out toward Collins, who took it without a word.

  “Keep this on you at all times. I’ll send you details of the target and their location within the hour. How you do it is up to you, but I will have eyes on you the whole time, so don’t try anything cute. You will have a small window of opportunity in which to carry this out, which will be explained in the message. Any questions?”

  He looked at the phone before sliding it into his pocket. “Do I get a gun?”

  “This task is as delicate as it is important. It absolutely cannot be traced back to me. I will not be risking exposure by supplying you with anything. You want a gun, find one.”

  He sighed. “Fine. Whatever.”

  She brushed past him and was immediately surrounded by the four bodyguards. As she walked away, she glanced over her shoulder and winked back at him.

  “Happy hunting, my love.” She nodded toward his crotch, and in her best Al Pacino accent, said, “Say hello to your little friend for me.”

  He smiled sarcastically but said nothing. He watched her leave and sat down at the table. He looked down to see the red dot had disappeared from his chest.

  He let out a tired sigh as he took out the phone and rested it beside him on the table, next to a large shard of what used to be his glass.

  “Shite.”

  11.

  Once Hyatt’s meeting with Silva had concluded, Jericho and Julie had accompanied him back to his office, where he completed his day in virtual silence. Jericho had spoken with Buchanan during one of his patrols around the floor. Julie, meanwhile, had tried to coax some more information out of Hyatt about what to expect at the port but hadn’t managed to get anything useful.

  Back at the hotel, Hyatt was safely installed in his room, and Jericho and Julie divided their time into hour-long shifts, alternating between guarding Hyatt and watching the entrance in the lobby.

  Jericho cracked his neck to ease some built-up tension as he leaned against the doorframe of Hyatt’s room, staring along the corridor ahead of him that led to the elevators. He hadn’t seen anyone since his latest shift began.

  He glanced over his shoulder toward the large window behind him, at the opposite end of the hallway. Outside, the final traces of natural light were fading, and the low cloud that had threatened rain throughout the day stubbornly held the moon’s glow at bay.

  He checked his watch.

  Ten minutes left.

  As he was thinking how great it would be to get in bed, there was a hiss of static, and Julie’s voice sounded through his earpiece. “Hey, Johnny. You there?”

  Jericho straightened, immediately alert, tensing every inch of his body.

  He, Julie, and Collins had a system in place where they used fake names on comms if there was danger and they were compromised. He was Johnny.

  Something was wrong.

  “I’m here, Kate,” he replied. “How’s everything in the lobby?”

  “All quiet. There was a slight rush of evening check-ins
about twenty minutes ago but nothing that worried me. Most exciting thing that happened was when an old lady asked me for directions because she thought I worked here.”

  “If it stays that uneventful, I’ll be a happy man.”

  There was a pause.

  “I was thinking,” Julie began. “We should get away for a few days, just the two of us.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I know it hasn’t been long since we got back from our last trip, but we had such a blast there, didn’t we? Sitting by that fire, shooting the breeze… Plus, I know Ray enjoyed it. That cute young girl took a real shine to him, didn’t she? We should go back there. Or, if we can’t, at least get a room together somewhere… party a little, maybe bring a piece of that place to us. I guess I’m just feeling the pressure right now, and it would be nice to get away, y’know? Do you know what I mean, Johnny? Does that make sense? Or do you think I’m crazy?”

  He took a deep breath, processing everything she had said.

  “You’re not crazy, Kate. I understand you completely. And I feel the same. I would love to visit there again. Relive some of the excitement. Why not come up to the room now? We can start the party early.”

  She sighed with relief. “I thought you would never ask, big guy.”

  The line clicked off again.

  His vision blurred as he stared blankly at the wall in front of him, his jaw tensing, his brow furrowed, his fist clenched as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

  He knew exactly what she meant.

  Her voice had an unnatural edge to it, and the way she spoke was deliberately strange. It was rigid and awkward, and she emphasized words that didn’t need it. And, most importantly, she talked about the two of them being together—something she hadn’t ever—and likely never would—talk about.

  He took a short moment to decipher their conversation.

  Sitting by the fire… Shooting the breeze… Collins with a young girl…

  She was talking about Mexico. No doubt.

  Bringing a piece of it to us… Feeling the pressure…

  People from Mexico were at the hotel. There had to be more than four, because any less and Julie would have kicked their asses. Whoever they were, they had a gun on her, and they could hear the conversation.

  He refocused and subconsciously tapped his hand against the weapon he had holstered beneath his jacket. They would be coming for him any moment. He didn’t have much time.

  In the lobby, the hustle of late check-ins had died down. Two people sat behind the front desk, one speaking into the phone while the other worked away at the keyboard. A young couple walked leisurely across the far side of the lobby, heading for the bar and pulling small suitcases behind them, laughing together.

  Ten minutes earlier, five Hispanic men had walked through the doors. They had huddled together, talking discreetly between themselves while conspicuously looking around at the positioning of the security cameras and personnel. Then they had split up, all taking seats close to the front desk but sitting separately, spread out across the middle of the lobby.

  Julie was standing close to the staircase that led to the second floor, leaning against a wall beside a large, circular indoor plant, idly flipping through the pages of an old magazine. She was alert while expertly blended in with her surroundings.

  She clocked the group of men almost immediately. Her suspicions weren’t raised at first. She merely noticed them arrive. But their body language and behavior soon put them on her radar. She had watched them take their seats, noting the strategic positioning. She went to activate her comms, to let Jericho know of a potential threat, but at that moment, she felt the unmistakable touch of a gun barrel press against her lower back. The coldness of the steel penetrated her jacket.

  The unseen sixth man had ushered her toward the others, pushing her into the seat beside one of the men while keeping his gun discreetly hidden by his jacket. He had then explained to her that they knew who she was, and they knew her partner was guarding Hyatt. He had told her to make contact on comms and, without alerting him, persuade him to go to his room and leave Hyatt unprotected. If she didn’t, they would shoot her in the head where she sat.

  As far as they were concerned, she had done as they asked.

  “There,” she announced. “He’s going to meet me in my room. Hyatt should be alone now.”

  “Very good,” said the man with the gun, nodding his approval with the faintest of sneers on his face. “You should be an actress, y’know?”

  Julie shrugged. “I’d rather be anything than a bodyguard right now…”

  “You are funny. You’re a funny lady,” he laughed. He leaned forward and brushed a loose hair from her face, which Julie did her best not to flinch at. “It’s a shame I’ll have to kill you.”

  She frowned. “Huh? Why? You just said you’d shoot me if I didn’t do what you asked. You can’t then say you’ll shoot me anyway—that doesn’t make any sense.”

  He fell silent. His smiled faded. His gaze hardened.

  “You talk too much. Nervous?”

  She shrugged again. “Not really. I just like to understand the people I’m eventually going to punch in the face. And right now, I understand you guys are amateur hour.”

  He straightened, gesturing with the gun in his pocket. “You should probably stop talking now. Time to go.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and crossed her legs, raising a challenging eyebrow. “Not until you tell me what you want with Hyatt.”

  “What difference does it make to you?”

  “Hey, if I’m going to die protecting his ass, I at least want it to be for a good reason.”

  He sighed. “Because I’m being paid to take him to see my boss and his business partner, and my orders are to dispose of anyone who gets in the way.”

  Julie nodded. “So, is your boss the head of the cartel I shot the hell out of a few days ago, near the Mexican border?”

  The wave of rage that crashed across his face was sudden. His eyes burned with split-second fury. He lashed out, slicing the back of his hand across her face. The crack of the contact resonated around the mostly-deserted lobby. The people behind the desk looked over, concerned. The man glared at them until they looked away, then turned his attention back to Julie, who was wincing against the sting of the slap.

  “You really do talk too much. I’m thinking once I’ve killed your partner and retrieved Hyatt, I might spare you. I could use some… entertainment for the trip home.”

  Julie rolled her eyes. “Listen, you piece of shit. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I would make damn sure I ripped off anything you put near me, are we clear?”

  She held his gaze, the venom in her eyes matching the anger in his. After a long, tense few seconds, he looked away, addressing one of the other men in Spanish. A moment later, she was hauled to her feet and marched to the stairs.

  “Which floor?” asked the gunman.

  “Sixth,” she replied.

  He pointed to the stairs. “Move.”

  She watched as two of the men stepped in front of her. Two others moved behind. The gunman joined them, leaving one by her side.

  Smart, she thought. The gun isn’t within immediate reach, and the stairs will make it hard to gain any tactical advantage before they can take me out. Very smart.

  Surrounded, she began climbing, hoping Jericho understood her message and was ready for war.

  “I don’t understand,” said Hyatt. “You’re supposed to keep me safe!”

  Jericho sighed. “I am, Mr. Hyatt.”

  “How is this safe?”

  After speaking to Julie, Jericho had entered Hyatt’s room and explained the situation. He tried to stay as vague as he could, so he wouldn’t cause too much panic, but Hyatt was stubborn—and a little stupid—so he was forced to tell him, in great detail, how a group of Mexican cartel foot soldiers had compromised Julie and were heading up to the room, presumably to kill the pair of them. The color had drained from
Hyatt’s face. He struggled to find any words but had managed to ask what Jericho intended to do about it.

  His answer was simple: take them out.

  But to do that, he had explained, he needed to make sure he didn’t need to worry about Hyatt, should any bullets start flying, which is why he had insisted on him lying down in the bathtub.

  “If you keep as flat and as quiet as you can,” replied Jericho calmly, “you should be protected from any bullets in there.”

  Hyatt’s eyes popped wide. “What do you mean, should?”

  “Well… there are never any guarantees in a gunfight, but a thick, ceramic bathtub will offer more cover than a mattress.” He took a breath, seeing from the look of horror on Hyatt’s face that he wasn’t doing a great job of reassuring him. He crouched beside the tub, resting on the ledge. “Look, a gunfight is all about odds. It’s a numbers game. It’s also played out mostly on instinct. I estimate there are five guys…”

  “Why?”

  Jericho shrugged. “Any less than five, Julie would’ve taken them out in the lobby.”

  Hyatt’s eyes narrowed. “Jesus… really?”

  Jericho smiled. “You’ve met her, right? Would you mess with her?”

  “Hell no,” he replied, chuckling humorlessly.

  “Exactly. Now look at the location. That’s a pretty narrow corridor outside. For five guys, there isn’t much room to maneuver, which means they’ll be forced to stack up in a line and file in through the door. They will keep at least one guy on Julie. Maybe two. Let’s assume one because that’s the worst case—both for us and for the poor sonofabitch who’s left with her. So, that’s four guys who will storm this room. We have to assume they want you dead, which means they definitely want me dead. They will want to be fast and noisy, to create a sense of chaos and reduce the chances of me being able to react effectively. But these guys won’t be professionals. They will think they are, but compared to me and Julie, they’re the equivalent of kids in a playground, chasing each other and yelling Bang, Bang. I would say there’s an eighty percent chance they will run into the room and empty their guns into the bed.”