Page 29 of For the Love of Animals

“Promise me and mean it.”

Aaaaaand he was back to being pushy. “I’ve been in GAFE High Command for over a year. I am trained to kill people, you know.”

He stepped closer, only three inches away now. “Mean it.”

“Fine.” I crossed my fingers behind my back. “I promise I won’t take any risks.”

“Better.” He fished around in his pocket and came up with a brooch, a multicoloured sugar skull complete with flowers and a malevolent grin. “I got this for you.”

A gift? He’d bought me a gift? “Cute.”

“It’s got a transmitter built into the back. Make sure you wear it when you go to visit Lozano so I can hear what’s going on.”

Not so cute. “You don’t trust me?”

“I worry about you.”

“I keep telling you—”

“Yes, I know, but I’m not going to stop worrying.” He leaned down to kiss me on the forehead, just like in my dream, and my knees went weak. “Time for me to go, querida. See you tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 13 - NATE

NATE SMILED TO himself as he listened through a hidden earpiece. Carmen obviously hadn’t realised the brooch was transmitting already, because she was singing softly to herself as she moved around his apartment.

Unfortunately, Verónica assumed the smile was meant for her and took the opportunity to flick open one of his buttons and slide her hand inside his shirt. Nine o’clock, she was still only halfway drunk, and she’d already made noises about retiring back to her place. Heading to the apartment over the costume shop had always been part of Nate’s plan, but not while Verónica was still conscious.

He turned to the barman. “Got a bottle of Asombroso Añejo?”

“Of course.”

Beside Nate, Verónica giggled with delight. He’d quickly learned that she placed a lot of importance on both appearances and money, so she’d be sure to drink a two-hundred-dollar bottle of tequila. The barman poured them both shots—Nate’s second drink of the night and Verónica’s sixth—and Nate clinked his glass against hers.

“Here’s to tonight, to great music and the company of a beautiful woman.”

“Here’s to getting naked.”

Fucking great. At least she’d started slurring slightly. When he’d spoken to Black earlier, predictably his so-called friend had found the situation all too amusing. Not that he’d told Black about his feelings for Carmen—he still didn’t understand those himself. And Black’s pearl of wisdom? Be prepared, buddy. Remember Kaitlyn Swanson.

Like Nate would ever forget that night. Bruce Swanson, a fifty-five-year-old accountant with a penchant for the finer things in life, had managed the finances of a particularly dirty politician, one long suspected of accepting foreign bribes while remaining squeaky clean on the surface. On a viciously cold Friday evening two years previously, when Bruce and his wife were on a weekend break in Aspen, Black had come up with the bright idea of enlisting Kaitlyn’s help to get into her father’s home, a three-storey Victorian he’d turned into a homage to Fort Knox.

All Black needed to do was get friendly with Kaitlyn then take a look around when she fell asleep. Simple, right? It should have been, but Kaitlyn had a sorority sister with her, so Nate got enlisted to play wingman. Then the two girls decided they wanted a four-way, and they’d been fucking insatiable. In the end, Black had given both of them a taste of GHB before the two men died of exhaustion. On the bright side, Black had cleaned up the mess of champagne and condoms in the bedroom while Nate hacked into Swanson’s computer and found what they were looking for.

With that in mind, when midnight hit, Nate slipped a roofie into Verónica’s final shot of tequila. She’d already tried to drag him into the bar’s bathroom with her, and there was no way she’d behave on the car ride home otherwise.

Problem solved.

Or so he thought at first. Verónica’s driver gave Nate a sympathetic look as he carried her out of the car back at the shop.

“Did Señorita Camacho drink too much again?”

Nate grimaced. “I couldn’t stop her. She do this often?”

“About every other week, although usually she can still walk. Want me to get the door for you?”

“Thanks, buddy.”

With Verónica safely snoring in bed, still fully clothed apart from her shoes, Nate settled onto the sofa in her room to keep an eye on her vitals. Having her choke on her own vomit would throw an unnecessary wrench into the works.

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