Page 32 of Bad Rio

“No! You’re getting paid to deliver her to me—to my men. There’s a protocol here, a chain of command. And you’re at the bottom. Hear me? This is political. Not your area of expertise.”

“Yeah? Well, so far on this job I’ve been shot attwice. That sort of thing focuses the mind, you know?” He hesitated. “What do you mean it’s political?”

“Just deliver the girl,” Harrison growled. “You’ll get a big bonus at the end. Double pay.” The connection went dead.

Rio stood, his gaze still scanning the landscape. Nothing Harrison said alarmed him as much as the doubling of his pay. That had never happened before. What the hell was going on here?

Obviously he was being given only a small wedge of the information pie. He wanted the whole pie.

He thought of the woman below who waited for him in a warm nest of quilts. In bed, Becca had been sexually adventuresome, eagerly uninhibited, and sexy as hell. She was every man’s dream bedmate and he felt his body hardening, just remembering.

But why was her life so valuable that different factions were fighting over her, with some desperately wanting her back, and some apparently trying to kill her?

The bad guys in pursuit weren’t going to tell him. Harrison certainly wouldn’t.

That left Becca. He had to talk to her.

First, he made a phone call and arranged for a flight to ferry them to a dirt landing strip just outside Nuevo Laredo. The trip was privately arranged, and no flight plan would be filed. The trip wouldn’t exactly fall within the narrow parameters of flight law. However, he knew the pilot and would fill his palms with cash. The trip would be covert, with neither the knowledge of the Mexican authorities, nor Harrison’s, to hinder their travel.

Nothing Harrison had told him had given him confidence. He didn’t like the uncertainty, or the possibility of yet another double crossing. And more deaths—maybe theirs. His boss had warned him to do as he was told.

He would, and he’d get that double-pay bonus. But he’d do it his own way.

Chapter Fourteen

When Rio got back tothe cabin, he found Becca sitting on the edge of the bed braiding her hair. On top of the cooler was food she’d prepared in a simple meal. Granola bars, grapes, and dry salami slices were arranged on napkins. She smiled at him.

He was struck anew by her natural beauty, her dark eyes, her long hair and slim figure.

The homey scene put him in mind of a sweet little wife waiting for her husband to come home from a long day at work. The image was fleeting and for him, fanciful. He would never have a wife. His lifestyle wasn’t conducive to marital happiness or longevity. His temperament was too independent, too restless. He wasn’t the committing kind.

In seconds, the fantasy evaporated into the ether.

“We have to talk,” he said, in a tone rougher than he intended. “Those guys waiting for you last night killed the team that was supposed to get you.”

Becca’s hands fell to her lap and her eyes grew huge. “Oh, my God. They—they were murdered?”

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