Lover At Last(66)

“You don’t even want to know what I found out.”

“Your assignment has been terminated.” The man smiled again in such a professional manner, you’d have sworn he was a lawyer or a judge. Not a lawbreaker on a global scale. “I’m looking forward to working with you again in the future.”

One of the bodyguards in the back took a couple steps forward, as if he were getting ready to take the trash out.

“There’s something going on in that house,” she said as she turned away. “Whoever it is, is hiding—”

“I don’t want you going back there.”

Sola stopped and looked over her shoulder. Benloise’s voice was as mild as ever, but his eyes were dead on.

Well, this was interesting.

And the only possible explanation that held any logic was that Mr. Mysterious in that big glass house had warned Benloise off. Had her little visit been discovered? Or was this the result of the kind of hardball that routinely went down in the drug trade?

“Getting sentimental on me?” she said softly. After all, she and Benloise went back quite a ways.

“You are a very useful commodity.” His slow smile took the sting out of the words. “Now go and be safe, niña.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake…there was no reason to bicker with the man. And she was going to get paid—so what the hell did she care?

She gave him a wave, strode to the door, and proceeded down the stairwell. Out in the gallery space, she headed into the back of the house, where the legitimate employees worked during legitimate business hours. Bypassing the file cabinets and the desks, which looked Barbie-size thanks to the industrial ceiling fifty feet overhead, she went into a narrow corridor that was marked only with security cameras.

Knocking on the door was pointless, but she did it anyway, the stout fireproof panels absorbing the sound of her knuckles like they were hungry. To help Benloise’s brother out—not that Eduardo needed it—she turned to the nearest lens so her full face showed.

The locks released a moment later. And as strong as she was, even she had to put her shoulder into opening the way in.

Talk about another world. Ricardo’s office was minimalist to the extreme; Eduardo’s was something even Donald Trump, with his gold fetish, would feel suffocated by.

Any more marble and lamé in here and you’d be in a whorehouse.

As Eduardo smiled, his fake teeth were the shape and color of piano keys, and his tan was so deep and uniform, it looked like it had been colored on him with Magic Marker. As always, he was dressed in a three-piece suit—a uniform, kind of like Mr. Roarke’s from Fantasy Island, except black instead of white.

“And how are you tonight?” His eyes took a travel down her body. “You’re looking very well.”

“Ricardo said to come see you for my money.”

Instantly, Eduardo went stone-cold serious—and she was reminded of why Ricardo kept him around: Blood ties and competence together were a powerful combination.

“Yes, he told me to expect you.” Eduardo opened up a desk drawer and took out an envelope. “Here it is.”

He extended his arm across his desk, and she took what he offered, opening it immediately.

“This is half.” She looked up. “This is twenty-five hundred.”

Eduardo smiled exactly like his brother did: facially, but not in the eyes. “The assignment was not completed.”

“Your brother called it off. Not me.”

Eduardo put his palms up. “That is what you will be paid. Or you can leave the money here.”

Sola narrowed her stare.

Slowly closing the flap of the envelope, she turned the thing over in her hand, reached forward, and put it faceup on the desk. Keeping her forefinger on it, she nodded once. “As you wish.”

Turning away, she went to the door and waited for the unlock.

“Niña, don’t be like this,” Eduardo said. When she didn’t reply, the creak of his chair suggested he was getting up and coming around.

Sure enough, his cologne wafted right into her nose and his hands landed on her shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he said. “You are very important to Ricardo and me. We do not take you for granted—mucho respect, yes?”

Sola looked over her shoulder. “Let me out.”

“Niña.”

“Right now.”

“Take the money.”

“No.”

Eduardo sighed. “You do not need to be this way.”

Sola enjoyed the guilt that threaded through the man’s voice—the reaction was, in fact, precisely what she was after. Like a lot of men from their culture, Eduardo and Ricardo Benloise had been reared by a traditional mother—and that meant feeling guilt was a reflex.