Page 8 of Dirty Roxie
Ronan
Roxie’s sharp intake of breath brings my attention to the magnificence in front of us. A massive four-story stone structure with walls of windows, and a plethora of verandas and pergolas in all shapes and sizes. Making what should have looked like an architectural mess appear like a mountaintop oasis.
We pull onto a winding crushed-stone drive surrounded by palm trees and hundreds of exotic flowers in hues of pinks, purples, oranges, and reds. Mature evergreens separated by long expanses of greenbelt sprinkled with dieffenbachia and philodendron.
I hand her a hat to tuck her hair into along with a large pair of sunglasses. Then watch with a twinge of disappointment as she hides away that magnificent mane. But until we’ve decided on disguises—which my contact will obtain for us—we must keep our identities hidden as much as possible.
The SUV pulls to a stop in the middle of a circular entrance surrounding a large multi-level fountain. Valet attendants appear out of nowhere to open our doors and collect the luggage. Roxie raises her arms above her head and stretches with a yawn. Her tank raising dangerously high above her waist, catching my eye and the eyes of the attendants. Something tells me she’s not only used to the attention but also craves it.
I admire such an attitude.
* * *
We’ve been waiting in this little meeting room at the resort for over ten minutes by the time my Colombian contact finally shows up. I’d originally asked Roxie to wait in our room, to which she responded, “Fuck no,” and followed me downstairs to one of the private meeting rooms the resort has to offer.
I stand when he enters the room and offer my hand. “Roberto, good to see you.”
“You as well, my friend.” He pulls me in for a one-arm hug and an air kiss beside each cheek. That’s when he notices Roxie.
“Ah, ella es la bella compañera de viaje, ¿no?” He smiles wide at her but addresses his comments to me. “No eres de los que usualmente tienen a alguien contigo. Al menos no una mujer hermosa como ella.”
“It is not what you think,” I respond. “Ella me está ayudando a rastrear a Andrei.”
“Um, hello! English, please. Not all of us speak or understand fifty-seven different languages, you know.” Roxie waves her hand in my direction as she complains.
“Perdóneme, señorita.” Roberto turns to Roxie. “I mean no disrespect. It is simply how Ronan and I are accustomed to communicating with one another. I assure you, my English is good. Therefore I will no longer mask parts of our conversation from you.”
“Thank you.” Roxie settles back in her chair, arms folded across her chest, pushing those magnificent breasts up while also accentuating the word “dick” on the tank.
Roberto chuckles and reaches forward to pull her arms away so he can read the shirt. “May I?”
She nods and lowers her arms to reveal the shirt, the same one I’d read on the plane earlier. Roberto laughs, a wholehearted, full bellied laugh. “You have all the sass, no?”
“That and more.” Roxie winks at him, a saucy smile on her face. I feel a sharp pang of something unfamiliar in my chest. Jealousy, maybe? Anger? Only one of which I am familiar with. As quickly as I feel it, I force it to pass. It will do me no good to become enamored with Roxie Stevens. I have only death and destruction to offer another person.
A soft knock on the door interrupts my thoughts and a server enters with a tray containing three tumbler sized glasses and a bottle of tequila. One I’ve never seen before, in what looks like hand-painted ceramic bottle.
“I have your order here, Mr. Rodriguez.” She looks to Roberto for instruction.
“Yes, please set it down on the table, thank you so much, Anita.”
She smiles softly and quietly backs out of the room, shutting the door after her.
I raise a brow at Roberto.
“When in Rome,” he says, raising the bottle in my direction and then filling three glasses. “I’m sure you are wishing to know the whereabouts of our acquaintance, no?”
I nod.
“But first, we drink.” He hands us each a glass, then raises his. “Salud.” He finishes the small amount in the glass and pours himself another before turning to the tequila bottle and apologizing to it with a gentle caress. “Lo siento mi amor. Por favor perdóneme.”
Roberto returns his gaze to us. “Another?”
Roxie pushes her glass forward, having also finished hers. He fills the bottom of her glass again.
“I thought tequila was for sipping?” I ask.
“Absolutely, my friend. Especially with theClase Azul Anejo. A most beautiful beverage, hailing from Jalisco. But . . . for this, what I am about to tell you, I recommend first we shoot, and second we sip.” He gestures for me to finish mine so he can refill it.
