Chapter 42

Chapter Forty-Two

Trujillo, Puerto Jardin

2 Weeks Later

THE MERC BAR was crowded and smoke-filled. Finn had been damn lucky to get a seat when he'd arrived, but it wasn't his first choice. It wasn't even in the top five. The scarred wooden table rocked every time he put his beer bottle down. At least it had a partial wall behind it, and he'd shifted his chair to take full advantage of it.

His idea that it would be exciting to work covert ops one final time had faded quickly, and all he wanted to do was get this mission over with and go home to his woman. Two weeks since Zo had boarded that copter. It felt like an eternity.

At least she was in LA—his captain had verified her safe arrival—but Finn wanted to talk to her. And he couldn't. He had a phone now, a temporary one supplied by his team, but he didn't want her number tied to this mobile. Just in case.

He could pick up another, but because the Puerto Jardinese government continued to look for him, he'd have to buy it through some underground market. It meant he'd have to trust that the device would actually work and that no one was monitoring keystrokes or conversations or pinging the GPS and tracking him. It was a risk he couldn't afford.

Telling Zo he loved her seconds before she left wasn't the bravest move he'd ever made. He'd thought it would be easier. The problem now was wondering what her response would have been. Would she have said the words to him? Would she have donned a sympathetic look and said, you know I like you, but…?

He swiped a hand over his mouth. Zo had to love him back. She wouldn't have let him move in with her if she didn't. He'd told Ski that not discussing it meant she couldn't say no, but if there was one woman he could trust to speak her mind, it was his loquita. If she hadn't wanted him there, his ass would have been out the door.

What if it's only the sex?

Finn scowled and shook his head. He couldn't let his thoughts circle like this for the months it took to wrap up this operation. He'd make himself insane if he did.

He spotted Griff when he entered El Taller . His teammate scanned the room, located Finn, and headed to the bar to get his own beer. By the time he sprawled into the chair across from him, it was twenty minutes past their meeting time. "You're late," Finn said tersely. Check-ins, when there was nothing to report, were a fucking waste of energy.

Griff shrugged. "Sue me." He looked around, took a swig from his beer bottle, and added, "You couldn't grab a better table than this? My back is to the room."

"Do you see another open table?" Finn tried to keep his voice even. Griff was the one who flashed attitude, but his own mood was snarly as fuck this evening.

"Why the hell is this place so damn busy at 1700 anyway? Did they start a happy hour?"

"1720," he corrected .

Griff scowled at him. "Happy hour was a joke."

"Aren't jokes supposed to be funny?" Finn's mood started to lighten. Giving Griff shit was always a good time.

"Asshole," Griff said amiably. "Anything happening?"

"No. My phone calls are not being returned, and I haven't seen him anywhere this week. My guess he's busy setting up an auction."

"Fuck."

"The assassination made things a thousand times harder." Finn took a swig from his beer. "What do you know?"

Griff leaned back. "We got five of six," he said, referring to the high-tech weapons Ramos had bought earlier. "Don't know how long we'll be able to stick in there to recover the last one, though. Things are intense. We're reaching the point of the risk being too high for the reward."

Finn nodded. He wasn't surprised. "If I had to bet on who plugs the power vacuum in the cartel, my money is on Vargas."

"Safe bet. He's showing a ruthlessness that makes Ramos look like a humanitarian. You know anything about that dude?"

"Not much. I'd lay odds that he's done more than a few hits in his time, but Ramos trusted him more than the rest of his lieutenants. That's not saying a lot since he didn't have faith in any of his men."

Pushing his dark hair out of his eyes, Griff said, "Word is that someone tipped off Bianchi about where the exchange was taking place. It's how he was able to get a sniper and the rest of his men in position. Maybe our dude, Vargas, was looking for a promotion."

"Or any of Ramos' other top men or someone outside his org that he managed to piss off. He almost blew my deal for the merchandise by being an asshole to our supplier."

Griff's sigh was audible. "So, basically, our list of potentials is everyone. "

"You got it." Finn had a feeling this information might help them take down Torres, and he trusted his instincts. He wanted the intel. He wanted to know if the setup had solely been to take out Ramos or if the action was intended to get the weapons back on the market. It might be a convoluted way to go about it, but Silva and Torres didn't break deals once they were agreed upon—reputation was everything in the illegal arms world.

The only way someone else was getting the shipment of precision-guided rifles was if Ramos dropped out of the sale. And the drug lord wouldn't have done that. No fucking way. He'd wanted those weapons badly enough to set his own tangled plot in motion. One that had ensnared Tia Izel and Zo.

Zo. He took a deep breath. Damn, he wanted to be home with her. He wanted to have the overdue discussion about their future. For someone who was trained to be observant, he'd sure dropped the ball here. Finn had met her parents, he'd watched her interactions with them, and he'd seen her fucking cry every time they visited, for God's sake. And yet he'd thought she was more whole than he was. More able to express emotion.

He'd told Ski once that the biggest problem he and Zo had was how much alike they were. Even he hadn't realized how true the statement was. Finn wanted to hold her and tell her she was perfect, that she didn't need to contort who she was to please anyone else, especially not him. He wanted—

"Stony, would you pay attention and not let your thoughts wander to your firecracker? My back is exposed."

"Sorry," he apologized. "I lost focus." His loquita had done that to him from the instant he'd laid eyes on her.

Shaking his head, Griff asked, "She's not flying in soon, right? You did get her to promise to stay out of this?"

"Yes, she gave me her word." Griff relaxed. "You're just relieved she won't be down here to bust your ass. Zo doesn't let you get away with shit." Finn's lips quirked up. A lot of people were intimidated by JT's surliness, but not his loquita.

"It's because you lied to her and said I'm sweet. She told me."

"I never said sweet."

Griff waved off his comment. "Words to that effect, then."

"I don't know how to break this to you, but Zo's never been wary of you. I only confirmed what she already knew."

JT frowned.

"It's your own fault. You turned up at the condo breathing fire and treating her as if you expected her to murder me at any minute. You infuriated her enough to face off with you, and once she did, your secret was out." Finn hid his grin by scowling. "Ski and the hellcat had cleared Zo three weeks earlier. You should have trusted their report instead of flying out with KW to interrogate her for yourself."

"It's called looking out for a friend," Griff said. "And—"

Finn tuned Griff out, his gaze going to the bar's entrance.

The woman was tall, maybe a couple inches shorter than Zo, and her pale blonde hair was bluntly cut at a point well past her shoulders. Finn had seen how much those haircuts went for in LA, and it wasn't a ten-dollar special. She was dressed in a brown skirt which ended a couple of inches above her knees and a matching jacket with double gold buttons running up the front. She carried a purse which cost a fortune—he recognized the designer logo because his loquita had refused to pay that much for a bag. He pegged her age as late twenties, same as Zo.

The look on the woman's face clearly said fuck you, but as she moved deeper into the bar, another expression fought for dominance. Kind of similar to someone realizing they'd stepped in dog shit.

Her presence didn't go unnoticed, but she made the situation worse by staring at man after man, studying them. Finn's scowl deepened. The last thing he wanted to do today was get into a fight to save some woman dumb enough to walk in here.

"Dude, you listening?" Griff asked.

Shaking his head, Finn said, "We got trouble brewing."

Griff turned, following his gaze. "Holy fuck, she's hot."

Finn shrugged. "That's one problem. Her attitude is the other." A lot of the mercs had decided to ignore her, but he identified the ones who remained interested. It took another scan to pick out who would be leading the pack—the alpha asshole.

"Her attitude is part of the reason why she's hot." Griff shook his head. "She's dressed for a business meeting in Rio Blanco, not a merc bar in Trujillo."

"We are two minutes away from things going to hell. Round her up and get her the fuck out of here," he ordered. "I'll hold them off so you can get away."

"Copy that," Griff said, moving before he finished speaking.

Finn pushed himself out of his chair and kept his eyes on the men he'd marked as trouble. In his peripheral vision, he saw the blonde arguing with Griff. Fuck. Why the hell was he discussing this with her? A moment later, he bent down, hoisted the woman in a fireman's carry, and headed for the door. Finally.

Now Finn moved, blocking the pack leader and the men trailing behind him. "Dudes," he said, "don't you know better than to put yourself in the middle of a domestic dispute between a man and his wife?"

"They ain't married."

He smiled, turning on the Tom Finley bullshit. "Of course they are. Only a wife full of fury at her husband would walk into El Taller . Let me buy you a beer, and I'll tell you about what set her off this time."

Clapping a hand on the man's shoulder, Finn applied pressure to steer him toward the bar. For a moment, the merc resisted, then with a shrug, he capitulated. As he'd expected, the rest of the mercenaries he'd been worried about followed his lead.

" Dos cervezas ," Finn said to the bartender. He didn't draw an easy breath until the alpha asshole picked up the bottle and took a swig.

Crisis averted. He cast a quick glance at the door and hoped Griff could handle the situation. His lips quirked. Given his buddy's reaction to her, Finn's money was on the blonde.