Page 30 of Saving Grace

“We have informants in Loreto.” Matt realized she was addressing him again. “I’ll give you their contact details when it’s time.”

Matt nodded. Timing was everything. Too soon and there was a risk of a leak.

A strange stab of regret pierced him as he watched her exit the room.

Matt’s thoughts returned to the present, his gaze tracked the length of the blanket covering Grace’s form. At first his interest in her was purely carnal, and it had fueled his fantasies for months. They had met several times over the next year, usually in backrooms of Mexican beer gardens, and they’d slowly become more acquainted, although Matt wouldn’t exactly call them friends. Unfortunately, Grace never did indulge in beer and tequila, preferring to remain sober during her check-ins with him. They did engage in small talk after the business end of the meeting was over. Several times Matt wanted to lean in, and take a nibble on that pouty lower lip before shoving his tongue into her mouth to kiss her senseless, but somehow he had managed restraint. Little did he know his self-control would be sorely tested soon after.

Matt wasn’t sure he read the text message correctly, telling him to pack up and move into another house in Loreto. It was in a busy part of town away from the lazy beach-front shack he usually stayed in where he did his cocaine pickups to maintain his cover. DEA and FBI, with the CIA in the background, were moving in on Vargas and all the pieces were in play. He had arrived at the house before Grace, but the SEAL team was already there. When she showed up, the sight of her knocked the breath out of him. Grace usually dressed in khaki pants and white linen shirts when she was down in Mexico, but today, she was in fatigue shorts and a cream tank. She’d had some sun as attested by the warm olive tone of her skin. One would think Matt would zero-in on the abundant cleavage on display as the other guys were trying so hard not to ogle, but no, he couldn’t take his eyes off her face. It was the first time he’d seen her in a loose pony tail and without her glasses. He’d admired her milky skin before, but this bronzed version with a light smattering of freckles made the hazel in her green eyes pop. She was breathtaking. Right then and there, Matt knew he was in a world of trouble. Before, he’d only considered her as a fantastic piece of ass he wanted to tap, but now there was an added desperation to get under her skin.

“You look different,” Matt blurted out gruffly as he reached out to take her duffel bag.

“No glasses,” she beamed.

“So, you finally did it, huh?”

They had talked about her desire to get rid of her contacts and glasses in one of their meet ups and she was gathering her courage to do laser surgery.

“Yes,” she grinned and then grimaced.“Damn, it’s freakishly hot today.”

“Weather waits for no one,” one of the SEALs said, walking up to them. Matt wanted to tell the man to get lost.

“Neither does the cartel,” Grace muttered. She turned to Matt. “What did Lt. Peña say?”

Lt. Roger Peña was their eyes and ears in the Mexico Federal Police. Corruption was rampant in that organization, and it was tricky to figure out who was honest and who was in the cartel’s pockets.

“There’s a seventy percent chance that Vargas will show up Thursday night.”

“Those are better odds than we’ve ever had in the past year,” Grace commented.

Like most cartel kingpins, Vargas was constantly on the move and his whereabouts were usually hard to pin down. He also surrounded himself with his trusted inner circle. Rumor also was that “El Segador” kept watch on his boss from the shadows, so no one really knew what he looked like. Also known as The Reaper, he was the cartel’s feared hitman who epitomized a cold-blooded killer. He had seen some of his handiwork and, Matt, as a former assassin himself, could only deduce that the man was also a sadist because he tortured his victims first before beheading them. The Reaper hung the heads on display for the public to see—a warning to the masses to keep their mouths shut regarding cartel business.

“Well, the house party on Thursday hints he’ll definitely show up,” Matt said. “His right-hand man invited me, seeing that I’ve hooked them up with a motorcycle gang that’d made them a fortune.”

“Troy deLamar’s gang?”

“Yes.”

“Will he be there?”

Matt shook his head. “Troy arrives Saturday, so he’ll miss all the fun.”

“Either of them suspect you?”

“I’ve been careful,” Matt replied. “Don’t worry, babe.”

Grace’s face turned ruddy under her tan. It was the first time he’d ever used the endearment on her. The SEAL beside them coughed into his closed fist and strode away. Matt didn’t flinch or budge but kept his eyes steady on her.

“Uh. Okay,” Grace broke eye contact, stared to the side and then returned his look. “That was a bit too familiar, Foster,” she chided.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

Grace narrowed her eyes and grabbed Matt’s arm, dragging him outside to the scorching heat and humidity, but out of earshot of the occupants inside.

“Matt, I’m not trying to be a bitch,” she said. “But I have an op to run and your being too familiar is undermining my authority.”

“We’re friends. I meant nothing by it,” he lied. He definitely wanted to stake a claim in front of the other guys who’d been showing more interest than he’d like.

“I know, but not every man in there knows that,” she explained with exasperation as she ran agitated fingers through her hair that dislodged her pony tail. A mass of loose dark curls fell on her face in a way that sent Matt’s thoughts on a different track. “It’s difficult enough that I’m a woman and there’s a shitload of testosterone in there.”

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