Spy Hard

As he moved forward through the shadows, the moon peeked from behind the clouds at last and illuminated the figure on the balcony. Long hair framed an oval face, spilling down slim shoulders. Not Don Pedro, after all.

A woman.

Her light hair framed Western features, definitely not Hispanic or a mixture of Hispanic and native, like most of the people on the compound. The hauntingly beautiful face caught Jase off guard. Of course, Don Pedro never settled for anything but the absolute best. He could afford it.

Looking at something pretty felt good after the gruesome massacre he’d seen today. Jase slowed. Then he caught himself and moved along. The last thing he needed was a shot in the head for ogling the boss’s girlfriend.

Since the downstairs windows were dark, Alejandro clearly wasn’t in the house. Jase strode toward the packaging facility behind the hacienda and scanned the men who stood around up front, but didn’t see Alejandro among them, either. He did spot Don Pedro, however. Since he couldn’t afford to miss any opportunities to get closer to the boss, he walked forward.

The men were standing in a circle, surrounding Paulo, a burly guy of about forty who usually worked with the runners.

“Where is the missing kilo?” Don Pedro asked in Spanish, his eyes filled with pure menace.

“I swear I didn’t touch it. I don’t touch what’s yours. I never have.” The man’s voice shook.

The Don nodded to the thug who held Paulo’s arm, and the guy planted his fist into Paulo’s stomach hard enough to make him double over.

“All I want is that kilo back,” the Don said in a deceptively mild tone.

But the accused knew the boss wanted a lot more—his blood and life, in fact. Everyone knew Don Pedro didn’t forgive. He didn’t believe in setting a bad precedent.

So Paulo went for it, coming up swinging. Since they were all standing together and Don Pedro among them, nobody dared to squeeze off a shot. The men froze for a moment, unsure of what to do, which Jase used to his advantage.

He lunged forward and tackled Paulo to the ground, ignoring the forty or so pounds the man had on him.

Others moved to get in on the action, but a word from Don Pedro called them back, even as he nodded to Jase to go ahead.

Raw violence went from zero to a hundred in the first second. Paulo fought for his life, while Jase fought for a promotion. He needed to move up in the ranks to get closer to the Don.

The knee to his stomach almost made him lose his dinner. He responded with an elbow to the chin. They rolled in the dust like savages, looking for an opening, a handhold, anything. Paulo had probably been sitting around camp all day, while Jase’s body felt every mile of their long trek, his muscles achy, his energy exhausted. He didn’t let that stop him.

His eyebrow split from a headbutt as they fought on, then his lips split from a punch the guy had somehow gotten in. He tasted blood and saw stars.

Flipped the man.

The good thing with big ones was that they usually tired faster, since they had to move all that weight. Paulo had never heard of that rule, it seemed. He rolled right over Jase, making his ribs crack and pop under the pressure. But Jase rose and got the upper hand at last, got the man in a headlock and immobilized him. They were both bleeding and breathing hard, nearly choking on the dust-filled air they desperately tried to suck in.

Jase looked over his shoulder at the Don just as the boss nodded to one of his lieutenants, who was holding a gun on Paulo.

The bullet grazed Jase’s cheek on its way to slamming into his opponent’s head.

He dropped the suddenly limp body to the ground, then pushed to his feet, trying to avoid the growing pool of blood. He looked back at the Don, hoping the man would at least ask his name. But the boss was already walking away.

He didn’t give his men orders to clean up the mess; he simply expected it to be done. Two of them were already grabbing Paulo by the feet to drag him away.

A third man, Roberto, clapped Jase on the shoulder. “Want to come over to the fire for some whiskey?”

He was one of the Don’s inner circle, not a bad friend to make. But not tonight. Jase couldn’t afford to anger his immediate boss by making him wait too long.

“Lucas sent me up for Alejandro. I better find him and get him back to the kitchen,” he told the man, and limped back the way he came.

If Alejandro was up this way, he would have come out for the fight. And if he wasn’t at the packaging building, he was most likely either with the dogs or the mules.

Jase passed by the main house again, giving it another careful look as he walked. He would come up in the morning and ask for Paulo’s job. He’d be turned down with a scoff, but all he needed was an excuse to get inside, see exactly where the office was located.

The woman stood on the balcony in the same spot as before. Something glinted on her face. Sure looked like tears. As the wind changed, he could hear her soft whisper.

“Dear God, please help me away from this place before he kills me. I beg you, please, please send someone to save me.” She had a slight Texas accent.

Her words were so filled with desperation they twisted even his stone-cold heart. He kept his gaze on her. So they were both Texans. He told himself that didn’t mean they had any sort of connection.

She was the spoiled girlfriend of a murderous criminal, probably upset because she didn’t get as many diamonds this week as she’d expected. Sounded like she’d had a fight with Don Pedro earlier. None of Jase’s business.

Suddenly she turned his way and peered into the shadows, alarm ringing in her voice as she asked, “Who’s there?”

He stepped forward. “Sorry if I bothered you. I’m Jase. I’m looking for one of the men.”

She shrunk back.

And he realized what he must look like, fresh from a fight, with blood on his shirt and face, violence still hanging around him in the air. “Sorry.” He turned to go.

“Wait,” she called after him. “Are you the one who brought that little boy in?”

He raised his gaze back to her. Her large eyes watched him carefully from above a straight, pert nose.

“Consuela from the kitchen told me,” she said.

He swore silently. Consuela talked too much. “Scrawny little thing.” He gave a dismissive gesture. “I don’t think we’ll see much work out of him. He might not even make it.”

Her face turned even sadder, if possible, the corners of her full lips turning down. She nodded and walked inside the house without looking at him again.

She wasn’t what he’d expected from the Don’s girlfriend. Although Jase could only see her from the chest up—the wooden railing hid the rest—she looked more like a schoolteacher than a Brazilian photo model, which was Don Pedro’s usual entertainment, if the rumors around camp were true.

This one looked wholesome and fragile, completely inappropriate for the Don. How in hell did someone like her find her way to a place like this?

Clearly a mistake. A mistake she was rapidly realizing, judging by her whispered prayer. Well, he couldn’t help her with her troubles. His hands were plenty full already. She’d be nothing but a distraction. And a distracted undercover operative was a dead undercover operative.

He moved on. Dogs barked in their enclosures. The river rushed on in the distance. He didn’t take a dozen steps before Alejandro materialized from the darkness.

The man’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

“Lucas sent me to find you.”

“You shouldn’t be hanging around the house.” His voice dripped with disapproval. He puffed his chest out as if he wasn’t just another lackey, one measly step above Jase.

“I thought you might have gone up to play cards with the guys in packing.”

“Shot the dice with the idiots at the stables.” His grim look said he didn’t win. “Jorge got back. Says he saw another burned village to the south. Cristobal is definitely heading this way.”