Page 47 of The Perfect Stranger

Chapter Fifteen

“I need you to stop by the club.”

I listened for any hint of betrayal in his voice. Gabriel was a good actor.

“Okay, what for?” I was casual, eating my breakfast as my boss watched me closely. He too was watching for any sign of weakness.

“I have a client dropping off some product. I need to test its purity before I approve production.”

“Okay. His name?”

“Frederico. He’ll be in at midday.”

He was cold. Stoic. Not an inch of his usual humorous self.

“Something wrong?” I dared.

It was eight in the morning, and he poured two glasses of Tequila, sliding one across the table toward me. I watched as the liquid sloshed over the sides next to my bowl. I wasn’t enthused about chasing my cereal with a Tequila shot. He downed his in one attempt, his face twisting into a scowl in the aftermath.

“My uncle is on a war path.”

My wide eyes met his and I swallowed hard to remain cool. It was the first real time Gabriel had initiated a conversation about Luis Santos.

“Oh?”

“La Balsa was a fuck up.”

I gripped my spoon, knuckles turning white. This was also the first time he had addressed La Balsa since the night of the brothel when I killed Colonel Gregorio.

“We lost a whole army and the people have regained their land. What’s left of it.” He laughed at the end and I wanted to hurl my bowl at his smug face. “The crop was only weeks out from harvest, too. We have suppliers waiting, and our backlog is growing. La Balsa was supposed to be the payoff. I should never have left that useless fucking Gregorio in charge.”

“It’s done. Your uncle will have to think outside the square.”

His smile reached ear to ear, a pitying look in his eyes. “You haven’t had the privilege of meeting him yet. When you do, you’ll understand. La Balsa was on my shoulders, and as soon as I turn my back armed with the guarantee that everything will be sorted, the whole town gets blown up and the rebel army slaughtered.”

I wanted to tell him that it was his rebel army who ‘slaughtered’ the people of La Balsa including my father. I wanted to tell him that it was the rebel army who had raped my mother on my last visit to La Balsa all those years ago. I wanted to tell him that he positioned Colombian against Colombian for a war they had no right in fighting.

Instead, I remained silent.

My ducks all needed to be a row—sitting neat and pretty for shooting season.

Something was off.

I could feel it the moment I got out of the SUV. The bouncers who usually occupied the front entry were missing. The carpark lacked any evidence of patrons. The door was already ajar when I approached, no music was playing. At this time of day, despite it being early for some, the club was typically already in full swing.

No one looked up when I entered, instead Clara the hostess, the waitresses and strippers united in the middle, hugging each other in comfort. The bouncers and in-club security sat on whatever chair or stage they could find, some with heads in hands, others looking to the floor in a daze.

“Clara.” I touched her shoulder, gently and encouraging. Her grieving, bloodshot eyes met mine. “What’s happened?”

The girls she had been comforting erupted into more sobs. I took a step back when Clara urged me away from the others. She was trembling, mascara staining her cheeks a dull gray.

“Tell me what’s happened,” I urged again, gripping her petite shoulders.

“Ana,” she said simply.

My hands dropped to my side, blood running ice cold. “Where is she?”

Clara’s hand covered her mouth as more sobs erupted. Her free hand clutched mine, guiding me through the club to Ana’s showroom.

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