With a Twist (Last Call #4)(32)

I force neutrality on my face again and swallow the urge to strangle him for his crude words about Andrea. I know I'm taking this a bit too personally at this point, but fuck …  the fact I just came down her throat not all that long ago sort of changes my perspective on things.

"I hear ya," I say, and then turn toward the stock room. "I'm going bring a few cases of beer over to the main bar. I saw they were running a little low earlier."

"Later dude," Lance says, and then he's heading toward the main stage.

Once inside the storeroom with the door firmly shut, I move in deeper past rows of stacked cases of beer and liquor. The music is muffled, and I'm confident I can't be overheard in here. Still, I keep my eye on the door while I quickly pull out my cell to call Mike.

"What's up?" he says when he answers.

"Bad news and good news. What do you want first?"

"Bad," he says.

"No more details on where it's going down. All I've been told is to have her drugged and waiting in Simon's office after closing."



       
         
       
        

"How about we put a tracker on Andrea?"

"No," I immediately say. "In fact, I'm not even going to have her armed when I put her in the car in the off chance Simon takes precautions and searches her. I'll slip her one of my guns at some point before it happens."

"Sounds like you're doing a lot of this without any formal plan," Mike muses. "Not sure I like that."

"Well, tough shit. I'm in the best position right now to know what will fly and what won't. You're just going to have to lock on my phone's GPS and follow as best you can. Get in as close as you can but don't make any move until I do."

"Got it," he says resolutely. "What's the good news?"

"Lance isn't going to be present, so that's makes it easier on me and Andrea when we make the bust. But you need to be ready to put a tail on him starting now. I don't have a lot of time to talk but Simon is expanding. Going to bring in women up from Mexico that have been kidnapped. Lance is going to iron out the details on that deal tomorrow night."

"You have anything else on that?" he asks, and I can hear him typing notes on his computer as he talks to me.

"Only that Simon will be lining up buyers and that the women will come in at Antelope-Wells in New Mexico. He says they have a border patrol guard on the payroll."

"Got it. Good work. Do you need anything else from us tomorrow night?"

"Just ping my phone GPS and have a team nearby."

"You got it," he says and then after a short hesitation, "Good luck, Wyatt. You've done amazing work so far on this. You're close to bringing it all down, buddy."

"Andrea too," I say quickly, and why I'm wasting my time to make sure he knows this is beyond me.

"Pardon?" Mike asks, confused.

"Andrea has done a great job too, so far. She's a real asset to the FBI."

"I'll pass that on," Mike says genially.

"Alright …  I'm out and probably won't call again unless I learn something new that changes things."

"Alright, buddy," Mike says quietly. "See you on the other side."

We disconnect, and I grab a few cases of beer. I have no clue if we're low or not, but if Lance is watching, I don't want to give him any reason to doubt my trip there just now.

When I walk back into the main area, I take immediate notice of Andrea on the stage doing her last dance of the night. I can tell by the look on her face …  that sort of faraway, detached look …  that she isn't even present other than in body. In fact, her eyes sweep over me as she looks around and then they keep on going. Not like the other night when our gazes locked and for several tense-filled moments, neither one of us was able to look away. 

I wonder what that says about me right now? Is she ashamed of what we did? Is her soul tainted by having to go that far in her undercover work? Has she cut me out of that small part of her she keeps locked up tight so she remains protected?

I don't like any of the possible answers that come to mind, so I move along and turn my back on Andrea's erotic dance. Dumping the cases of beer up on the counter, I get a confused look from the bartender so I tell him, "Thought you might be running low."

Walking behind the bar, I busy myself with stocking the beer in the coolers, an action that is not unknown to me. When we're packed like we are tonight, I want the bartenders pouring liquor, which in turn loosens up the wallets, so I don't mind pitching in to do stuff like this.