Shady Lady

Dios.”

“I take it you do,” Shannon said.

The breath slipped out of him in a pained sound. “That’s Diego Montoya’s younger brother, Vicente.”

Holy shit. I hadn’t been prepared for that. “Tell me what you know about him.”

“Not much. He’s been out of Mexico for a long time.”

I nodded. “Anything you can share would be helpful.”

Zaragoza thought for a moment and then conferred with some of his men. “He’s always been a hedge wizard, little training. And for a while, he managed their business in Colombia, but lately the word is Diego sent him to the islands after his warlock died to learn the dark magick.”

“What islands?” Shannon asked.

I gave her a nod; I would’ve asked that myself. Leaning forward, I sipped my drink, listening, and considered what this meant. If he had some magickal talent even then, Vicente would have been present for the ritual Min conducted, and he would’ve known it for a true summoning. The Knights of Hell couldn’t be faked. But he must have been sent back to Colombia when she was stalling there at the end, claiming the astrological elements weren’t aligned for curse removal. Otherwise he’d have certainly told Diego that she was full of it. Therefore, the dynamics had shifted, and there was no telling what he’d learned since then. The scope of his power must be considerable since he’d sent Caim after me.

“Haiti, Jamaica,” Zaragoza said with a shrug. “After he mastered his craft—and I’m telling street stories now, nothing more—Montoya sent Vicente to put the fear of God in his Colombian partners.”

“But he called him back,” I guessed. “When he realized he needed help dealing with me.”

“Tell me about it. Two brujas are way too much for one normal man to handle.” Zaragoza flashed us a sly grin edged in mischief.

I tucked the sketch into my bag, shaking my head. “His brother. He’ll definitely keep him close, after what happened to his warlock, Moon.”

“What?” he asked.

“My people killed him,” I said softly. “I’ll take the men with me now.”

He nodded. After he spoke with Escobar and then us, Zaragoza’s manner became deferential. Evidently he saw in my demeanor a woman worthy of respect. I’d never known the like.

“García, Petrel, Santos, and Morales!” He beckoned to them.

The four men, who had been playing cards, stood up and headed over to our table. García was mid- thirties, short and stocky, with unexpectedly graceful hands. Petrel was a tall, lanky youth who I would’ve taken for French or Belgian, if I’d seen him anywhere but here. Santos had the look of a grizzled war veteran, gone gray, and acne scarred, whereas Morales was the best-looking—smooth brown skin, dark liquid eyes, and the handsome features of a man who was used to getting what he wanted from women. I suspected that if anybody gave us trouble, it’d be him.

“¿Sí, jefe?” Santos asked.

“¡Inglés, cabrón!” Zaragoza switched to English himself. “Escobar has given you to these ladies. I expect you to obey their orders as if I gave them. ¿Comprenden?”

Morales said, “Yeah, we got it.”

I finished my drink in a long swallow. Though one cocktail wasn’t enough to impair me, I tossed the keys to Shan. I’d rather be in the passenger seat with this crew, where I could keep an eye on them.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Santos nodded. “Claro.”

The men filed out behind us. Since Santos was the oldest, I judged him the senior member of the crew. “¿Tienes un carro aquí?” You have a car here?

A flicker of approval in dark, deep-set eyes said he’d rather take orders from a güera who spoke passable Spanish. “Sí, patrona.”

“Entonces sígame con . . .” I glanced at the rest of the crew and decided aloud, “Morales. Petrel y García conmigo.” Then follow me with Morales. Petrel and Garcia with me.

Shannon swung into the driver’s seat while I rode shotgun. As she took off, I punched the address Zaragoza had given me into the GPS. I kept one eye on the men, using the side mirrors, but Petrel and Garcia seemed content to wait until we rejoined the others. Just as well—I wouldn’t answer questions. I needed time to put on my game face, convince them I was tough, scary, and I meant business.

In the dark, the neighborhoods grew progressively worse. We passed the railroad tracks and the streets became more industrial: warehouses, crumbling apartments with broken windows. Shannon parked the Forester in front of a run-down building. It had once been white, but graffiti had nearly obscured the paint on the front.

“Around back,” Garcia said. “Don’t leave your ride on the street.”

Petrel jumped out and went to open the gate. He fiddled with the combination lock and then swung it open for us. Shannon put the SUV in gear and passed through. He waited for the other car to slip in behind us, then locked up and followed at a lope.

Santos led us in the back way. The inside was surprisingly nice. Clean. Worn tile covered the hallway, leading up to the ground-floor apartment. Inside, it had been decorated in tasteful rustic style. Heavy blackout shades beneath the bars on the windows prevented anyone on the street from seeing what went on in here.

Perfect.

“Here’s the job,” I said, once we all settled in. “You drive to San Antonio. Once there, you hit this address.” I passed it to Santos. “I want it blown the fuck up. Montoya spent a lot of money in Sonterra, and when you’re finished, it should be nothing but soot and smoke. If anyone gets in your way, end ’em. I mean Montoya’s guys, of course. Try to stay away from the five-oh. Any questions?”

Shannon’s soft intake of breath said I’d surprised her. She sank down on the plain brown sofa with dismay written on her face. Before we were through, she might want to go live with her dad after all.

Morales leveled a slow smile on me. “Naw, jefa. You want us to go in hard and quiet and slip out like ghosts.”

“Exactly. And make it quick. After you get some sleep, I’ll have more work.”

“No hay problema,” Petrel said. “There’s a reason Zaragoza tapped us.”

Santos gestured and the soldiers rolled out. Once we were alone, I went back out to the SUV and brought our things in: Shannon’s battered bag and my new flowered suitcase. It was hard to believe that earlier today, we had been shopping. I had been with Jesse and he’d said he loved me. Everything was different now.

I wasn’t just allied with Escobar with the vague agreement that I would serve as bait. I’d given orders to his men, like his lieutenant. Part of me felt sick, while the rest knew I’d do whatever it took to end this. I refused to consider what the final cost might be.

This was my breaking point—even a cornered rat would fight, sometimes with more ferocity than folks believed possible. While I hated the necessity, I wouldn’t shrink from it. They had gone too far. I didn’t want this. I hadn’t started it. But from this point on, I would make an implacable adversary; I would protect the people I loved.

I set the bags down and scoped out the place thoroughly—two bedrooms, living room, kitchen, and bath. One bedroom had a full-size bed; the other offered bunk beds. I guessed this was where they stashed their women and children. The furniture was clean, despite the neighborhood, and the door had a heavy steel core. Seven dead bolts, plus a chain and crossbar reinforced it. Clearly they didn’t mean for anyone to get in who didn’t belong.

“You know he might have family there,” she said softly. “People who haven’t done anything. There might be staff who don’t know what he does for a living, only that he pays well.”

“I considered all of that.”

“And you’re still going through with it?” I hated the disillusionment in her voice. She rested her elbows on her knees and wouldn’t look me in the eyes.

“Escobar made it clear I need to drive Montoya crazy. I have to push him over the edge if he’s going to contact me, so I can arrange a meet.” Where he’ll be shot like a dog. “And I don’t know