So polite, so suave.

She wrenched a modicum of dignity from within and tugged her hand from his gentle grip. 'I believe a trip to the ladies room might restore a little of my decorum.'

Rafe swept his arm to the right where the restrooms lay and executed a courtly bow. She laughed. Classy woman, he thought. She'd need a moment to recover her pride, and he needed to deal with his very tardy informant.

When Rafe turned back to the booth again, Lupe had already settled into the opposite corner, a toothpick protruding from between his teeth, a whiskey in front of him.

'You're late,' Rafe growled. 'Again.' He slid into the booth across from his informant.

Lupe Rodriquez tilted his head to observe the retreating figure of the woman Rafe had just pulled off the floor. 'Hey, man, seems like you was passin' your time real nice.'

Rafe glowered and leaned across the space between them. 'Don't screw around, Lupe. What have you got for me?'

Rodriquez withdrew a crumpled envelope from his jeans pocket, smoothed out the crinkled edges, and handed it across the table. Rafe scanned the contents quickly. Dates, docking times, and pier numbers, but no ship names or ports of entry.

'What the hell, Lupe? I need more information than this.' He slipped the paper into his inside jacket pocket and crumpled up the envelope.

Lupe glanced around and lowered his voice. 'Don't worry. I'm seeing a guy tonight. He has the rest of the info.'

Rafe nodded. 'Were you followed?'

'Possibly.' Lupe spread his hands and grinned. 'But, hermano, I am as slick as the oil on my mama's tortilla pan. No one sees me if I do not want them to.'

'Some day that cocky attitude is going to get you killed,' Rafe warned, wondering again why he trusted this exasperating, over-confident man. He opened his wallet, extracted a large bill, and pushed it across the table. Lupe swiped it up faster than a street huckster.

'See you around, amigo,' the little man said, sliding across the bench.

At that precise moment, the woman in the red dress glided past the table on her way back from the restroom.

'Chica,' Lupe hailed her retreating back, 'mi amigo esta aqui.' My friend is here.

When she turned at the sound of his voice, he added. 'Por favor. Mi amigo piensa que usted es muy bonita.'

My friend thinks you are very pretty. Christ, no one was more of an ass than Lupe with a few whiskeys in him.

Rafe stood belatedly and indicated the seat opposite him. The woman hesitated a moment, then inclined her head as regally as a queen and occupied the place Lupe had just vacated.

'Buenos noches,' Lupe tossed over his shoulder as he sauntered across the room and exited through the large wide doors of Stuckey's entrance.

Now what?

What did this bold, dark-eyed beauty want? If Rafe hadn't glimpsed the underlying vulnerability in her eyes, he'd have thought she was a high-priced call girl. If he hadn't observed how the sisters watched like hawks from their position nearby, ready to swoop down at the first sign of danger, he'd have thought she wanted something quick and elemental.

At her smile a swirl of desire quickened his groin. A few hours with a woman like her would do wonders for his mood.

He stretched his hand across the table. 'Hello,' he said, giving her the slow smile his mother always said could melt the icebergs of Greenland. 'I'm Ashraf, long A, call me Rafe.'

Chapter Four

Lupe almost reached Francisca's apartment.

He had delivered the information to Rafe. Tomorrow he would meet with the young Norteno gang member who could supply him with the last pieces of information to pass along to Rafe. Life was good. The night was still young, and the thrill of his love for his girlfriend overshadowed his natural caution.

Lupe was only half a block away, deep in the thought of snuggling up close to his esposita, when a warning raised the hackles on his neck. The limousine appeared out of nowhere, its windows tinted so darkly Lupe could not see inside. He did not need to.

He had no doubt who drove the black sedan. Who sat in the backseat. Though he had no reason to believe his cover had been blown, he felt irrational fear as he fingered the Guadalupe Virgin's medallion.

The driver's door swung open. Gabriel Santos climbed out and rested his giant's hands covered in expensive leather gloves on top of the car. 'Hola.' The single-word greeting sounded ominous to Lupe's guilty ears.

'El jefe,' Lupe said, '?Porque esta usted aqui?' But he was very much afraid that he knew why Santos was here, so close to the home of the woman he loved.

'Consiga en el coche.' Get in the car.

Lupe did not dare disobey Santos' command, so he quickly slid into the back seat.

At first he thought there were two passengers in the back. He smelled the distinctive cologne and knew one of the occupants was Diego Vargas, El Vaquero. The other person sat in the middle, but his head slumped forward and his limp hands dangled between his legs. Lupe feared to look at either of the men and kept his eyes drilled to the back of Santos' head as he pulled the car onto the street.

They drove in silence for thirty, forty minutes. Lupe lost track of the time. His only thoughts were of Francisca. He pictured her waiting for him, a bowl of salsa and chips on the coffee table, the television tuned to her favorite show. Waiting. But he was not sure he would return to her this night.

He desperately wanted to ask the name of the third man.

Abruptly the car stopped and Santos reached up to turn on the dome light. Lupe glanced involuntarily toward the person beside him like a man drawn to a fatal car crash. Jesus Novato, the young Norteno.

His face was a bloody pulp, but Lupe recognized the tattoo on the left side of his neck, a red X4, fourteen. Home-grown, a prison tat. He glanced at the hands between Novato's knees and saw the missing fingers and the dark stain that covered the groin of his jeans.

?Madre del Dios! Lo castraron. Lupe would never see Francisca again. Nor his beautiful baby boy. They would castrate him too.

*

Fueled by the unaccustomed liquor, Bella had babbled about her family's immigration from Zihuatanejo, Mexico, before she was born, of her three older brothers and sisters and the family's difficult adjustment to life in North America.

After two hours of conversation and coffee – no dancing – her loose-tongued chatter revealed that she had three older sisters, one who'd died at a young age. Died, she'd told Rafe, although in her heart of hearts she believed Maria was still alive somewhere.

Frivolous chatter between strangers. Neither had revealed a last name.

All the while, she'd escaped in the swirling emeralds of his eyes slashed through with tiny black flecks like angry cuts. Sharp and probing, the eyes were a strange contrast to his coppery skin and short thick lashes. A wide scar bisected his left eyebrow and gave him the roguish look of a pirate. A rush of pheromones flooded her as his gaze wandered to her mouth and lingered there, then dipped to the cleavage that spilled from the juncture of her breasts.

By contrast to her, she realized, he'd revealed almost nothing about himself. Which was fine because all she

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