Page 45 of One Secret

Still wearing my shades, it's easy to hide my lack of reaction. Easier still to give the spy a closer inspection. Average looks, blue eyes, and a lanky build. His posture reminds me of the casual ease of a top martial artist.

Instead of offering to shake my hand, he gives a half-wave of introduction.

'Hector Ramirez. You're the one Felix is bringing over?' he prompts, reaching to push his over-long hair back from his face. A black stud of onyx is revealed in his left ear and his jacket parts wider. I can see the butt of a pistol under his right arm. Which makes him a leftie.

I tilt my head in quizzical interest.

'You one of his?' I ask, casually.

Ramirez nods with a greedy smile.

'Best game around, right now.'

And there it is… One sentence and I know all I need to about this mercenary.

This guy can be bought.

In it for the money and prestige, Ramirez isn't loyal to Felix Caruso but to the privileges that come with his employment "right now". Which could make him useful. Or more dangerous. Lack of loyalty for the bossman means a lack of camaraderie with other employees.

This guy would throw a fellow contractor clean under the bus if it got him in tight with the rich and powerful.

In the split second it takes me to assess the man, Ramirez's expression has shifted into a calculating sneer.

The kind that poker players try to hide when pondering their opponents' cards.

'It'll be good to have someone of your caliber on the team...' he says with far more emphasis than is comfortable.

'You know me?'

That grin of his deepens and I resist the urge to smack it off his face.

'Catanzaro. Nine years ago.'

His memory is too specific to be denied so I don't even try.

'I was there.' I nod.

'Some good work there...'

The comment is a trap. "Good work" is not how I remember Catanzaro. That day was one of my few but significant mistakes. A mistake that got me trapped in a very dangerous—very public—shootout in one of the poorer districts of the city. I took eleven lives and two bullets to the arm before Leon had shown up. His timely arrival—and refusal to leave without me—is the only reason I survived the day.

Hector Ramirez is looking at me with more intelligence than a man with that stupid earring deserves to possess.

If he remembers my presence in Catanzaro, he probably remembers who came to my aid.

So why, his eyes seem to ask, would I leave an employer to whom I owe my life? And, if I'm willing to stab that particular back, how long before I try and do the same to his boss, Caruso?

And just how can he exploit that information for a better in with the head honcho?

This whole thing is a show of dominance. A warning that he has something damning on me that he's willing to use should I ever become a threat to his aspirations.

'You have a good memory,' I concede simply, unwilling to surrender Ramirez any more ammunition than he's already packing.

The mercenary chuckles, satisfied that his power-play has been received loud and clear. The sycophant probably has a hard-on. He's so pleased with himself.

Caruso sure knows how to pick 'em.

'And you have good instincts,' Ramirez offers condescendingly. 'Getting the lay of the land, are we?'

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