Page 83 of Lone Star

Young, slim, clothes – a silk long-sleeved button-up over fitted white slacks and mirror-shiny loafers – all tailored and molded perfectly to his trim physique. A long, prominent, straight nose, and full lips; Ray-Bans hid his eyes, but the dramatic arch of his brows told her they were lovely. He wore his long, silky hair pulled back in a bun, a few loose tendrils framing his sharp face. Diamonds caught the light at his ears, and on the cross he wore. When he reached to smooth a hand along the crown of his head, she saw a matte black watch that cost more than her car. He belonged on a yacht somewhere, sipping Cristal. On the upper balcony of a Mexican villa, one of those glorious, sprawling white stucco affairs with infinity pools shaded by manicured palms, overlooking white sand beaches.

But he was being escorted up to the back of an industrial auto shop, so she was leaning towardcartel bossrather thaninternational playboy.

“Damn, it’s them.”

“The cartel?” Axelle asked. “What do we do?”

That was a damn good question.

~*~

To Eden, the shouting in the back sounded like a warning. A last scramble before something went to shit. She whirled to search for the receptionist, and found the girl struggling to stuff her laptop into a bag, shaking terribly, eyes wild. Trying to grab her things and get the hell out.

Eden lunged toward the counter.

The girl squealed and tried to bolt.

But she wasn’t willing to drop her bag, and that slowed her. Eden snagged her wrist and gripped tight, pinning it down to the counter. “What’s happening?” she demanded.

“Shit, stop, please,” the girl panted, face blanched white. “I have to go! They’re coming!”

“Who’s coming?”

The shouting had given way to loud, what sounded like forced laughter. Greetings and welcomes and beneath that a low, smooth, lightly-accented voice that left the girl shuddering hard.

“Who?” Eden repeated. “Tell me and I can help you.”

Footfalls – many steps – drew closer, echoing off the concrete and steel of the workshop.

“Is it the cartel?”

The girl finally jerked a nod, her lips trembling.

“Come on.” Eden all but hauled her over the counter – she didn’t weigh a thing – and then shoved her down to the ground beneath it. “What’s your name?”

“G-Gwen.” Her teeth were chattering with nerves.

“Gwen, I’m Eden. When I tell you to, run out that front door and get as far away from here as you can, okay?”

Gwen swallowed, and nodded, tears bright in her eyes.

Eden pulled her gun. Above and behind her, she could hear that the entourage – because that’s what it was, no doubt – was heading for the office – where Jinx was all alone with a Chupacabra ally, and about to be face-to-face with the real thing.

She had a moment to think about the smart option – the selfish but far safer urge to go bolting out the door with Gwen and wait for backup. Maybe try to go around the side of the building, and search for a window, a rear door that would give her the drop on somebody.

But stubborn pride wouldn’t let her abandon someone – even if he was a surly biker she’d just met.

“Christ,” she muttered, and crawled down the length of the counter toward the office.

~*~

Carlos shot to his feet, still clutching the walkie with one hand, groping at the air with the other, eyes frantic as a spooked horse’s.

Jinx tensed all over, but he didn’t stand, not yet. He wanted to – wanted to be on his feet and away – but as the knob turned, and the door opened, he knew that moving was the most likely thing to get him shot. He gripped the flimsy metal arms of the chair and kept his face neutral.

A big, thick-necked white guy in a muscle shirt entered first, stone-faced.Hired goon, Jinx knew, immediately. Two well-dressed Latino men with visible guns on their hips came next, gazes shifting around the room, searching for threats. They clocked Jinx, but didn’t stare fixedly; took up casual positions against the filing cabinets. Unbothered, at ease.

There was no mistaking the young man who waltzed in next. Dressed just flashy enough to show off his wealth, but not to be garish, with his sleek black hair and his shades and the rocks in his earlobes: this was the man in charge.

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