Sheik's Revenge(2)
Before executing the first two men in Spain, Omair had forced them to yield information on the third man. He got more than he bargained for—he was told Da’ud’s third killer would be coming to Colombia as the bodyguard of a North African arms dealer to buy a cache of black market weapons from the Tagua cartel boss. The weapons were rumored to be of Chinese origin, just like the guns being supplied to rebels in Al Na’Jar. The deal was supposed to go down sometime this month, somewhere along this estuary. The truckloads of arms were to be driven onto barges that would be floated down to the sea. The weapons would then be transferred to a ship waiting offshore and transported through the Panama Canal disguised as a cacao crop. From there the shipment was destined for the Western Sahara.
Omair’s plan was to quietly and quickly capture, interrogate, then kill the North African’s bodyguard. If he did it right, the man would simply go missing from the entourage as if snatched by a jaguar and dragged silently off into the dense surrounding jungle—it was not an unusual occurrence here. Time would continue to tick, and although the men might be put on edge by the disappearance of one of their hired guns, the weapons deal would by necessity still go through.
Omair would then track the arms shipment to the Sahara where he hoped to learn who was fronting the cash, hopefully getting closer to learning the identity of the man behind the coordinated attacks on his family and country.
Notice of the exact time and place of the weapons transaction was to be delivered to a contact in this riverside cantina, and it was why Omair had secured a job as a truck driver at a nearby plantation. It gave him an excuse to come into town daily for supplies. It gave him a reason to sit nightly at this table where he could watch and assess the locals, and wait for a hint of something big going down.
And he could watch Liliana. That was the bonus.
Lifting his cup to his lips he caught her gaze. She lowered her thick lashes and the corners of her full mouth tilted into a slow smile. Omair’s blood heated.
She held his gaze for a long moment before easing her thick hair over her shoulder and returning her attention to a customer at the bar. She took the old man’s order, reached for a bottle on the shelves behind her, then flashed another look at Omair. Her dark eyes sparkled as she leaned forward to pour the man’s drink, affording Omair a clear view of the smooth delta between her breasts.
She was toying with him. It had become a game, and hot damn, he liked it.
Lili returned the bottle to the shelf and made for a door that led to the kitchen, her high heels giving a seductive sway to her walk. And as Omair watched the movement of her buttocks under the tight red fabric, his mouth went dry. She made him want. Dangerously so, because he couldn’t—not this time. Not in this place.
As the kitchen door swung shut behind her, he breathed out slowly.
She was an enigma. Despite exuding a provocative sex appeal, Omair detected a quiet, calculating intelligence in Lili—a different kind of awareness. He’d glimpsed it when she thought no one was looking. While she appeared to feign disinterest in business talk at the tables, sometimes he’d catch her watching, or listening intently to her patrons, as if weighing, gauging, assessing them, like he was. Omair figured she was an opportunist looking for her next big step—or lay—up the cartel ladder. A more influential, wealthier cartel member would mean a big hacienda, more clothes, more opportunity for a woman like Lili.
He didn’t hold this against her. It was likely her only ticket out of this Colombian cesspool. A body like hers was to die for. Be a shame not to use it.
Lili exited the kitchen carrying a plate of food. She set it on the table where the group of men huddled. They exchanged rapid-fire banter with her and she laughed, throwing her head back, the column of her neck gleaming in muted light.