Page 1 of Wicked Ambition

Chapter 1

Trujillo, Puerto Jardin

South America

Special Forces Sergeant Oziah “Wizard” West was bored.

Not just a little bored. He was drowning in tedium. Usually, he was undercover working for a drug lord named Vargas, but he’d gotten fired last week. Since then, his captain had assigned him to exciting tasks like taking check-ins from teammates who were currently playing roles.

Today’s assignment was worse.

Oz sighed as he turned into one of the worst areas of Trujillo.Thatwas saying something, considering the city’s condition. Dirt roads and remnants of cobblestones hinted at a bygone era. Soot and grime covered the buildings, dulling the paint underneath. The café had once-bright yellow walls with murals painted on the side and tables with torn faded-red umbrellas over them. Odors of rotting garbage and urine overwhelmed whatever the restaurant was selling.

He went inside, bought a soda, and headed to the outdoor seating. The tables were short and narrow. If he stretched his legs out, he’d see his boots on the other side. The chairs were red plastic, and he examined them until he found one without cracks.

After adjusting the table’s umbrella for maximum shade, he sat, turned so his back was against the yellow façade, and waited. That’s what his captain wanted him to do today. Bus station surveillance. Oz wasn’t sure there was enough caffeine in Puerto Jardin to keep him alert. Maybe he’d get lucky, and the dude he was supposed to watch for would show up.

If that happened, he was supposed to follow the man. Things would definitely become more interesting then, but the intel had been iffy. Oz had his doubts he’d get to do more than hold down a table for a few hours.

One of the afternoon buses from Rio Blanco.Could it be vaguer than that?

Three arrived every day from different parts of the nation’s capital. The final one rolled in around five, so he had about four hours to kill.

Oz popped the tab on his cola. The man he waited on was low level. Anyone high in international arms dealer Jorge Torres’s hierarchy would fly in, not take a bus. But his team was looking for any inroad they could find. Torres insulated himself. He rarely left his estate, and it was next to impossible to talk to him. He decided who he met with, and that list was short.

A bus pulled into the station across the street, but the sole person who got off was the driver. The vehicle would have made multiple stops throughout the city and most passengers exited at one of them. Only those with ties to some illegal enterprise rode into this neighborhood.

This part of town belonged to the smugglers. Illicit goods from narcotics to gold to stolen artifacts to counterfeitmerchandise passed through here daily. Even the local police gave it a wide berth. This made it the second worst section of Trujillo. The most dangerous was around the mercenary bar—where his team routinely hung out.

Oz sipped his cola and kept his eyes on a group of young men loitering near the bus station. He didn’t think they’d bother him. Even the gangs were leery of mercenaries and that was the role he was playing. Merc. He was also heavily armed and highly trained. That didn’t mean he was going to ignore the potential threat they posed.

At the far end, an elderly man read a newspaper and sipped coffee, leaving Oz alone on the patio.

He spent a few minutes wondering if the man had connections to smuggling or if he was simply old enough for the assholes to leave him alone. It could go either way. It didn’t matter, not unless he had ties to Torres.

Forty-five minutes later, Oz was bored half-comatose. The old man had folded up his newspaper and left about fifteen minutes ago. It was tempting to slump in his chair and kick his feet up, but the gang remained across the street, and he didn’t want to appear like a target.

Outwardly, he seemed alert, but his thoughts drifted to Los Angeles and the prissy little blonde he’d spent the night with seven weeks ago. His hand patted his pocket before he realized what he was doing. Touching the outline of the small hoop earring she’d left behind had become a habit. One he needed to break. Soon.

If she hadn’t run out on him, they could have enjoyed a few more nights together, but she’d disappeared while he was in the shower, and they’d never exchanged names. Oz frowned. He did hookups, not relationships. She should be easy to forget.

But she kept slipping into his head.

A flash of camo in his peripheral vision caught his attention. As Oz turned, he forcefully pushed away thoughts of little Miss Priss. A merc down here could mean trouble.

It wasn’t some random mercenary.

His teammate, Kyle Winter, spotted him an instant later, and he headed toward the patio, grabbing the seat across the table. KW was undercover at one of the local convents and Oz had taken a check-in from him days ago.

“What are you doing here, dude?” he asked. “Did BD ask you to keep me awake?”

KW grinned. “I didn’t know you’d be around.” The smile faded. “One of the religious relics in the convent’s chapel disappeared. I came over to talk to a man.”

“Did he have any intel for you?”

Shaking his head, KW said, “Not yet, but he was angry. I guarantee you he’s going to locate it and make sure it’s returned. I’d hate to be the guy who stole it.”

“Payback’s a bitch.”

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