“Happy New Year, Doc. See you back in LA. Soon, I hope.”
—Mason
There’s no number, not even a request to meet, but somehow it’s enough. And while I know Nina and I are going to tie one on at this party, I have no intention of looking for another man to spend the night with.
14 Mason
My starched dress shirt itches, but I don’t move a muscle as I wait beside Booth in a small alcove surrounded by the three closed doors to the Brown Palace’s presidential suites. It’s an effort to keep myself buttoned down, because inside I’m jumping out of my skin with the need to get this done.
Somehow Booth senses my agitation, even though I’m positive I haven’t given any signs. I’m the model of fucking calm and patience, a skill that’s served me well in the three years since I was conscripted into this assignment, but which threatens to abandon me entirely tonight.
He rests a hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. “It’s not going to happen overnight. I hope you understand that.”
I grit my teeth. “Every day this takes, my odds of survival in this town get slimmer. Amador or Gustavo are going to catch up with me eventually. If I don’t make it back to Mexico, I don’t want to think about what happens to Zoe.”
He presses his lips into a tight line, his jaw flexing. “After that incident two days ago, we haven’t had any other issues. You and Zoe are both useful to Zavala, so he’ll protect his investment until he gets what he wants. But I requested a detail on us anyway, so don’t be alarmed if you see a handful of suits shadowing you until we leave town.”
After our lunch the other day, we hit a barber shop, where I was more or less transformed back into the clean-cut sailor I’d been before my Navy discharge. Halfway through my shave, Booth’s phone started going nuts. When he called in, he learned that a trio of bodies had been found in an alley not far from our location, all of whom were identified as members of the Amador Cartel by the matching skull and rose tattoos on each man’s wrist. The killers were in the wind, but it wasn’t as if we didn’t know who’d done it. As much as I appreciated Zavala running interference for me, it didn’t exactly ease my mind. I’d be next if I didn’t deliver what he wanted.
I don’t have time to respond to Booth, because the door swings open and a slim, dark-haired young man in a tuxedo greets us. “Mr. Booth, Mr. Black. I’m Anton, Senator Longo’s assistant. The senator is ready for you. Please follow me.”
He leads us into a marble-floored foyer, through a comfortable living room with blue carpet and brocade furniture, and into an office filled with rich, dark wood. Behind the mahogany desk sits a middle-aged woman with neatly styled, shoulder-length blonde hair. When she looks up and gives me a friendly smile, I have the strangest flash of Callie’s face when I saw her walking through the door of Mom’s hospital room.
But this is no time to entertain romantic fantasies of pretty blonde doctors. Despite this woman’s smile, she has a steely, calculating glint in her icy blue eyes, only made starker by the faint crow’s feet at the corners. It’s the look of someone who knows how to get what she wants and isn’t afraid to piss people off in the process. Which is good, as long as she’s on my side.
She half-stands and gestures at the two chairs facing the desk, the deep blue fabric of her party dress rustling softly. “Mason, Wyatt, I’m thrilled you agreed to join me for the party tonight. Have a seat and let’s talk strategy for a few minutes. Do you have the intel?”
Trying not to let my impatience show at the whole song and dance, I settle into one of the chairs and reach into my inside jacket pocket for the flash drive, then hand it to her. She plugs it into the laptop in front of her, and I wait.
Booth hasn’t told me much about Senator Katherine Longo, only that she chairs a committee to combat cartel activity in both the US and across the border. They have allies within the Mexican government, with a special operations division comprised of multiple organizations in both governments.
Technically I’m part of one of their units, though Booth is the only other member I’ve ever met, that I know of. For all I know, they have other agents embedded with Zavala, but for Zoe’s sake, I hope I’m the only one capable of getting them the intel they need.
“Wyatt’s superiors have briefed me on César Zavala’s request,” Longo says. Her eyes scan the screen in front of her, her perfectly manicured finger carefully rotating the wheel on her mouse and clicking every so often. “It’s a big ask. Getting his brother released is the easy part. Convincing the administration to make allowances for his activity is going to be more difficult.”
I clear my throat, leaning forward in my seat. She meets my gaze and I hold it, ignoring another weird flash of familiarity. “The way I see it, you have no choice,” I tell her. “If you want Amador gone, you have to get in bed with Zavala. The alternative is the pair of them teaming up and becoming a fucking juggernaut. Keeping them at each other’s throats is better for everyone.”
She straightens, holding my gaze. “Zavala isn’t Arturo Flores, as I’m sure you’re aware. He can’t promise to instill any kind of code of honor in the men who work for him, to throttle drug and gun trafficking and maintain peace in an urban center the way Flores does with Los Angeles. Zavala
