Page 69 of Strike Fast

Impatience pulsed through him. “Whatever it is, whoever it is, I want in.” They needed an agent; he was it. And he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Taggart folded his arms across his chest and stared at him. “You sure about that? You don’t even know what we’re thinking about yet.”

“Hundred percent.” If it meant getting his daughter back, he’d do fucking anything. Including giving his own life.

His commander nodded once, not seeming the least bit surprised, then turned to DeLuca, the hint of a grim smile Reid recognized all too well on his face. It meant serious shit was about to go down. The kind that resulted in captured or dead tangos.

And a recovered little girl.

“And there’s your answer, DeLuca,” Taggart said. “Make the call.”

Chapter Eighteen

Carlos undid the top button of his shirt as the hired car sped toward the private airstrip outside Orlando. The sun was low in the sky. In another hour it would sink below the horizon. He’d made good time getting down here, but he wasn’t in the clear yet.

Even in the comfortable, air-conditioned interior, he was sweating, the humidity like a blanket of moisture on his skin. A cartel plane was waiting for him at the airstrip, the crew already aboard and ready to take off for Mexico the moment he boarded.

Not that he was happy about having to run back there with his tail between his legs, about to be hauled up on the carpet by his master like a fucking dog that had shit on the kitchen floor. That was mostly the cause of his inability to stop sweating.

El Escorpionhad taken the unusual step of calling him to a face-to-face meeting at the leader’s compound near the Mexican Riviera. Powerful and feared as Carlos was within the cartel world, even he didn’t have the balls to disregard that summons.

Either the meeting was because of today’s raid at the North Carolina compound, that bitch Victoria Gomez, or the little girl. Fucking women, they were nothing but trouble. At least he’d been able to offload the girl, giving him one less problem to worry about.

The driver turned onto the access road and the runway came into view as they cleared the trees. A sleek Learjet waited on the tarmac. Carlos’s men were there standing by, their weapons concealed as they maintained security for him. Others would be hidden out of sight to keep watch and alert him to any potential threats.

Carlos didn’t anticipate any. He’d kept a low profile during his stay in the States, and was glad he’d listened to his gut and not gone to see the little girl or inspect the new shipment of women in North Carolina.

Unfortunately, his men hadn’t ended up killing any DEA or other federal agents during the assault today. But his point had been made.

He could get to them and the people they cared about whenever he chose. One more reason people would be too scared to cross him.

Now it was time to cut his losses, be smart, and retreat back to the safety of his home country where he could hide out of sight and gain protection from the locals. He’d have to kiss ass during the meeting withEl Escorpion, but he would survive it.

When the car stopped, Antonio hopped out of the front and came around to open Carlos’s door, one hand on the butt of the pistol holstered on his thigh, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. “Everything’s clear,” he said to Carlos, scanning the area.

Carlos slid on his own shades before grabbing his small suitcase and stepping out onto the tarmac. A stiff breeze swept across the airstrip, tugging at his linen suit and bringing a blessed measure of relief from the humidity he hated so much. He didn’t know how people stood living in the South during spring and summer.

Without a word, he headed for the plane, Antonio following him. Two more of his men stood guard at the bottom of the stairs leading into the cabin. They nodded at him. “Everything’s ready. Have a good flight, boss,” one of them said.

Carlos ignored them and climbed into the spacious cabin, already feeling more relaxed. He was under the protection of the cartel now. The interior was the most luxurious money could buy, with plush, top-grain leather seats and polished oak trim.

Tossing his bag onto the aisle seat, he sank into the one next to the window with a satisfied sigh. As always, a crystal decanter and tumbler sat ready for him. He poured himself three fingers of whiskey and settled back into the seat as Antonio closed the cabin door and secured it.

Even with all his usual security measures in place, he kept an eye on what was happening outside his window as the pilots turned the aircraft and taxied to the end of the runway. His men all stood near the hangar doors now, and there were no other people or vehicles around.

The aircraft paused at the end of the runway for a moment, then the engines powered up. As they sped down the strip of asphalt, Carlos allowed his guard to drop completely. Leaning his head back against the plush leather seat, he sipped at his drink and allowed his mind to go blank. God, he needed some downtime.

A subtle upward tilt of the nose, and they were airborne. Seconds later the landing gear tucked away, and they soared skyward, leaving Florida below them. He let his mind drift, only partially aware of the banking turns of the aircraft. Soon they’d be over the Gulf and headed toward Mexico.

Before he landed, he needed to come up with what he would say toEl Escorpionabout recent events.

He was still going over some possible excuses and defenses he’d come up with earlier when he became conscious of the wide, circling turn the aircraft was making. Opening his eyes, he looked out the window. They were nearly at cruising altitude now, the tufts of clouds beneath them like pillows of cotton candy.

Except the water was on the wrong side of the aircraft. And they were flying away from it rather than toward it.

What thehell?

Snapping his head around, Carlos looked between the seats. Antonio was sprawled out against the window, legs stretched out across the seats, arms folded across his chest and the brim of a ball cap pulled low over his eyes as he slept. “Antonio.”

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