Page 81 of Bad Rio

“Rio.” She clutched his arm, her brow creasing. “Youarecoming back. Right? You’re coming back?”

He marveled at her intuition. Somehow she seemed to know he was going into danger. But he couldn’t admit that.

“In a couple of hours. I’ll take the old rental car and leave your SUV here.” He moved to the door. “Looking forward to that chicken and pie.”

Worry clouded her features. “Wait. You’re taking your gun?”

She must have seen the telltale bump on his back. There was nothing he could do about that now. “It’s just habit.”

Before she could protest further, he moved into the night. No way could he tell her that in the next few hours, somebody might be killed. He couldn’t tell her there was a chance that somebody could be him.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Rio sat half his buttonto a barstool in the hotel lounge, and stretched out a leg to leave one foot on the floor. Without appearing to search for anyone, he had a look around.

One of the nicest hotels in San Antonio, the Magnolia Inn was eight stories high, featured two restaurants, the bar, two pools, three conference halls, and a few hundred guest rooms. In the early evening, the place was busy with patrons enjoying a pre-meal drink, checking in at registration, and coming and going from their rooms.

An old establishment, it was built in the Spanish Colonial Revival style, with soaring arches and heavy iron lanterns. Giant potted palms against the walls sprouted from huge ceramic containers. The ceilings were cathedral-high. Flickering torches on rough-textured walls gave the feel of ancient Spain.

On the lounge stage, a hot Latina in a thigh-slitted sparkling dress crooned a love song, her legs sexily crossed. Behind her, an accompanying guitarist strummed away. As she sang, she caressed the microphone.

From the bartender, Rio ordered plain iced tea. “Put it in a highball glass. Lots of ice.” When the drink arrived, he casually held it to his chest as though it were straight whiskey. Taking Becca’s phone from his pocket, he again made sure her number was blocked and placed a call. “I’m in the hotel lounge,” he told Harrison. “Come on down, have a drink.”

As expected, he got an argument.

“Lang, I need you up here, in my room. I’ve got sensitive documentation to show you for the contract. I can’t bring that out of my room. Just come up. You’ve got the girl, Rebecca, right?”

“Aw, c’mon,” Rio said. “We’ve never met before. Let’s have a drink. I’ll go up to your room and see your papers after that. What do you want? I’ll order it.”

“No, you need to—”

“Bartender,” Rio raised his voice at the worker behind the bar, “another one of these.” He raised his glass. Into the receiver, he said, “Come on down. One drink. There’s a hot chick, a lounge singer. She’s sexy as fuck. You’ll like her. I’ll wait.” And he hung up.

In a careful perusal of the room, he thought about the job waiting for him. He sure needed the work.

All seemed normal, with people chatting, moving around the hotel, going about their business. He liked the reassuring weight of his pistol sitting in his waistband.

---