Page 22 of For the Love of Animals

“You can’t go back to sleep.” Nate brushed a few strands of dark hair out of her face and tucked them behind her ear. “We need to deal with Lozano.”

“My head hurts.”

Carmen’s shirt had ridden up, and it was all Nate could do to drag his gaze away from the dark triangle showing through her panties and direct it up to her face. The woman wore delicate underwear made from lace, and last night, he’d gone to sleep so hard it was painful. At least Mrs. Hernandez hadn’t made good on her promise to check in on them both later.

“Do you want me to take care of everything? I’ll need your help with one or two things, but I’ve got a plan.”

“A plan? You’ve got a plan? What plan?”

“You don’t need to worry about that yet. Shall I take over?”

Conflicting emotions warred in Carmen’s eyes. She’d fought so hard to keep control, to win the shooting match and prove her abilities, but inside, she knew she was out of her depth. The question was, would she concede to Nate?

Finally, she slumped forwards. “Okay. Please.”

Thank goodness. Missing that fucking dime was the best move Nate had ever made.

“And we’ll see you both soon? Sunday, for my final goodbye?”

Nate bent to give Grandma Hernandez a kiss on her leathery cheek. The old woman was batshit crazy with all her talk of death—she’d even chosen her own casket, walnut with a cream satin lining—but Nate still liked her. In fact, he liked the whole family and their closeness. Probably because his family had been the total opposite—his parents had divorced before he could talk; his mom was more interested in the twins, his half-sisters by her new husband; and Nate didn’t even know where his biological father was. Nor did he particularly care. The asshole had lasted long enough to give Nate his surname then vanished, never to call or pay child support again. Nate had mostly been brought up by his Cuban grandma, whom he’d doted on until her death a decade ago.

Being suddenly thrust into the middle of a new family was weird, but happy weird. And Carmen’s mom made great huevos rancheros. He’d eaten Carmen’s plateful too seeing as she wasn’t all that hungry.

“Sure, we’ll be here Sunday.”

Carmen muttered something that sounded like “kill me now,” but she nodded anyway.

Grandma was still holding onto Nate’s biceps. “I’m so happy Carmen’s found herself a nice young man.”

He ignored Carmen’s eye-roll. “It’s been a pleasure to meet her wonderful family. Do you want us to bring anything at the weekend?”

“Just yourselves. We’ll arrange everything else, don’t you worry.”

Nate didn’t worry. That afternoon, he was more concerned with getting Carmen back to bed and making the final arrangements for Lozano’s death. She didn’t look so good. Slightly green around the edges.

Back at the apartment, he scooped her out of the cab and carried her upstairs along with her travel bag. She’d packed a few essentials before she left, and secretly, Nate was damn happy she planned on staying with him, although he couldn’t let it show and risk scaring her off.

While Carmen slept peacefully in his bed, he set up his laptop and hacked into Lozano’s emails again. Without an informant, that was the best source of information Nate had left. Nothing had changed. Lozano would still be attending the Día de los Muertos parade on Saturday, and his costume was due to be delivered on the same morning, three hours before his scheduled lunch. Lozano had been using the same designer for years, an elegant woman named Verónica Camacho who specialised in the flamboyant designs worn in carnivals the world over. Since her studio was so near to Lozano’s home, she measured him personally and remained available for any alterations.

Nate had been intercepting Verónica’s emails too, and her phone calls, going back weeks on the off chance that a backup plan would be needed. He’d also passed some of those recordings to Yolanda, an old friend at the CIA and a Spanish speaker who’d impersonate anyone for a bottle of Patrón.

He fired off a quick email, asking her to stand by on Saturday, ready for the phone call Lozano was sure to make.

Finally, he headed to the bathroom and took a shower. Did he look better with stubble or without? His research said Verónica hadn’t been in a serious relationship for years, but when she dated, she preferred younger men a little on the rough side. He didn’t bother to shave.

After he’d added contacts to lighten his eyes and a squirt of aftershave, he shook the bottle labelled “shaving oil” that sat so innocently beside the sink. An acquaintance had passed it to him back in Virginia—another assassin—and no, he didn’t ask how the hell she’d managed to obtain the stuff. From what he knew about her, he suspected she’d made it herself, and the idea of the bitch cooking up nerve agents in her kitchen scared the shit out of him.

On the two occasions she’d invited him over for dinner, he’d politely declined.

Black, of course, had gone and lived to tell the tale.

Now, Nate headed back to the sleeping area and knelt beside the bed. Carmen stirred as he trailed the backs of his fingers down her cheek, and this time, she didn’t shout at him when she woke up. See? They were making progress.

“I have to go out, querida.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ll explain later. Just get some sleep, and I’ll be back to take you for dinner.”

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