Page 19 of Stealing Iris

“I’m not sure,” Tino answers as I’m trying to put the pieces together. “It’s a recent thing. At least I think so.”

I can’t really blame either one of them. Nobody, least of all myself, would expect me to be hanging onto a woman.

Kassy turns back to the keyboard, hitting a couple of keys. “I can take a look—”

“No.” My voice booms out with more strength than I intend.

“No,” Montoya agrees. “Not yet,” he adds pensively.

All three of us stare at the speaker, as if we can see Montoya, and that’ll provide an answer to the cryptic remark. I don’t want to know more about her. I don’t want her weaknesses listed in a neat little column. If I do, I’ll want to exploit them, and see how I can tear them apart to my advantage. What exactly does that say about me? And which is more important, the fact I know I’ll go for the position of power or the fact I passed on the opportunity?

“So you found her,” Montoya says with a certain brush of self-satisfaction.

“You knew,” I counter, annoyed that he’s aware of what’s going on, even here.

“I couldn’t be sure,” he corrects. “So much in the world gets in the way when I’m trying to focus. All I can tell you is sometimes I have an overwhelming feeling something I’m thinking is right.”

At moments like this, when I can feel Kassy and Tino looking my way, without actually seeing them, I understand Montoya. They’re expecting the next installment of this tangled explanation, and I’ll have no choice but to say I invited Iris to the house on Saturday. Why? This isn’t a social occasion, it’s business. Cold, hard business dealings with some of the most dangerous people in the country. Not to mention the occasional guest brought in a low flying plane, under cover of night.

Still gathering my wits, I confront the curious gazes. “Iris is…” I race to the edge of that particular cliff and stop abruptly, looking down at a dark chasm. I’m not sure how to explain who she is, much less what she is to me. I can’t get the woman out of my head, but there’s no clear description for that. Is there? “She’s someone I met recently.”

“That’s it?” Kassy exclaims in astonishment. “That’s all you’re going to tell us?”

“There’s nothing more to say.” Not anything I’m willing to share. While I can go on about every inch of her body, I know very little about the woman herself.

“So how is she connected to Conrado?” Why couldn’t Tino wait until later to ask?

“Who’s Conrado?” Kassy asks, exasperated.

Defeated, I inhale a calming breath and set out to explain with as little detail as I can. “Conrado Villa is a small-time dealer who wants to be a transporter for our group.”

Tino scoffs. “He’s more of a punk.”

“Yes,” I agree. “A much better description.”

“You know this guy?” Kassy sits forward in her chair.

Tino shrugs. “We met him Sunday night.”

“You did?” Montoya’s tone raises in interest.

“Can this guy even handle the type of weight our clientele manages?” Kassy asks.

“No,” Tino and I answer at once.

“So then…” She looks to each of us, expectantly. “Why is he even part of the picture?”

The room gets so quiet, I can hear birds singing outside Kassy’s window. Tino looks to me, as if he expects me to say something. I’m not about to tell them about my first face-to-face with Conrado. That leaves Montoya to weigh in. But the seconds tick by, and he doesn’t say anything. I can feel the pressure of her question, but I stand firm.

“He holds something of great value,” he delivers, as I hoped. And suddenly my shoulders feel lighter.

Kassy frowns into the monitor. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?” But Montoya says no more.

I sit back in the leather chair. “Your guess is as good as mine. I can’t find anything of interest on him.” I didn’t try very hard, but that’s not something I’ll be sharing with the group. “I got word through one of our clients.”

Her brow furrows. “Did he vouch for him?”

“No, and apparently he refused to acknowledge we exist. Conrado’s just been making a lot of noise, exactly what we try to avoid.” She scrunches her nose. “I checked, but five minutes in, I knew he wouldn’t make the cut.”

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