This Side of Heaven

check every boy would have an ID to prove he's of age.'

'Yeah, fake ID.'

'They really think they're tough, don't they? I was just like them once. I thought that growing up in a tough neigh­borhood had prepared me for anything. Until I went to Nam.'

'They'd all flip out if they knew a big, badass DEA agent was sitting across the room from them.'

'I'm not here tonight as an agent.' Romero gave his old SEAL comrade a hard, intent look. 'I'm here as your friend.'

'Yeah, I know, and I'm grateful even if I don't act like I am.'

'I've arranged for some protection for John's family. Unofficially, of course. By the way, how is he now that he's a happily married man?' Romero grinned, then took an­other sip of his drink.

'Happy,' Nate said, not looking directly at Romero, but at some point over his shoulder where a tall, buxom bru­nette was giving him the eye. 'He says he's in love, and damn if I don't believe him.'

'Who would have thought it, huh? The three of us shared some good times together, didn't we?'

'Yeah.' Nate gave his head a negative shake when he noticed that the brunette was coming straight toward him. He wanted her to know he wasn't interested. He'd lost his taste for her type years ago. 'But you and I shared some bad times, too.'

'Mm-mm, starting with when we first got to Nam and our entire platoon got the runs from drinking the Vietnam­ese water.'

Nate chuckled, the memory distant and harmless enough to laugh about. 'So, Ryker's made it to Miami. No big news. We knew it was just a matter of time.' Nate lifted the glass of straight bourbon to his lips, savoring the taste when it hit his tongue.

'He's working for the Marquez family as a bodyguard.'

'Big-time drug dealers.' Nate wasn't surprised. Ian Ry-ker had been a mercenary, a soldier of fortune and a drug smuggler. He was the type who understood the system and used it to his advantage. No matter what, he always found a loophole, a back door out of trouble. 'What else does Ryker do for them?'

'He's an enforcer,' Romero said. 'He's been with the family for over a year, first in South America, now here.'

'Were they the ones who got him out of the prison where we thought he'd died?' Nate asked.

'Our information is sketchy, but it's possible. All we know is that Ryker was reported killed five years ago when he was serving a sentence for smuggling, then miracu­lously, he reappeared a few months ago, alive and well and back to business as usual.'

'Who spotted him?' Nate knew that Ryker would have taken no chances of being seen, of making himself visible, and, with his looks—a patch over one eye and his left hand missing—it would have been difficult for him to move around Miami incognito.

'Not one of our guys.' Romero looked squarely at Nate. 'Remember the man I asked you about earlier today?'

'Ramon Carranza?'

'It seems Senor Carranza's right-hand man made a dis­creet phone call to someone at the agency. He knew the connection between you and Ryker. He used your name. The man knew too much about you, Nate.'

'Just what was the message, and why didn't Senor Car­ranza make the call himself?'

'Carranza never gets his own hands dirty. You know the type. But I'd say, for some reason, he wants you to know that he's involved,' Romero said, shrugging. 'As for the message, well, I'd call it a warning.'

Nate grunted as he rubbed the side of his jaw. 'A warn­ing from Carranza?'

'Oh, yeah. From the big man himself. You've been ad­vised to go into hiding if you're smart.'

'Just who is this Ramon Carranza?' Nate asked.

'He's a retired businessman. A former Miami resident. He moved to St. Augustine a few years ago, about the same time you came back home.' Romero picked up his glass, downing the last drops of his Scotch and soda.

'Are you saying there's a connection?' Nate narrowed his eyes, wrinkling his forehead.

'I was hoping you could tell me. Carranza is associated with all the right people and all the wrong people. The man knows everybody, and I mean everybody. He ran a ritzy ca­sino in Havana back in the forties and fifties. When he moved to Miami before Castro took over in Cuba, he al­ready had connections.' Romero opened his dark eyes in a wide if-you-know-what-I-mean stare. 'He's an old man, late seventies, but he's still powerful.'

'Did you get the name of the guy who called the agency for Carranza?'

'Emilio Rivera. They've been together for years.'

Nate shook his head. 'Never heard of him.'

'We've been doing some checking—'

'We?' Nate didn't like the sound of this. Something was damned queer about the whole thing.

'When a man like Ramon Carranza starts giving us in­formation, it's only natural that we'd wonder why.'

'What did you find out?'

Romero glanced around the room, motioned for the bar­maid, then ran one dark, lean hand across his face. 'This isn't the first time Carranza has shown an interest in you. It seems that, through both legal and illegal sources, he's been keeping track of your activities for years.'

Nate felt a hard tightening in the pit of his stomach. Some man, some fonner godfather figure, had been keeping tabs on him. 'How long?'

'Best we can figure out, ever since Nam.'

'Ever since I first met Ryker. Is that what you're say­ing?' Nate asked.

'Carranza and Ryker have friends and associates in common. Presently the Marquez family. Who's to say that Ryker wasn't working for Carranza back in the seventies? The black market, drugs. Could be Carranza's been keep­ ing tabs on you as a favor for an old buddy.'

'Then why would Carranza have his man send me a warning?'

'To add a little extra pressure, maybe?'

'Ryker wants to see me sweat,' Nate said.

The barmaid appeared, took the men's order, and left.

'The DEA is very interested in Ryker, and even more in­terested in his connection with the Marquez family, so we're in on this with you Nate, whether you want us or not.'

'I don't have much choice, do I?' Nate finished off his bourbon just as the barmaid set his second drink down in front of him. 'And what interest does the DEA have in Carranza?'

'None, other than his possible connection to Ryker.'

Nate gripped the glass in his big hand, sloshing the con­tents around and around as he stared down sightlessly at the liquid. He had enough problems in his life right now with­out having a puzzle to solve. Was Carranza friend or foe? Was he really trying to warn Nate or was he trying to help Ryker?

'Well, well, take a look at that, would you?' Romero said, emitting a low, sensual growl as he stared across the room. 'What is something like that doing in a place like this?'

Slowly, with total disinterest, Nate glanced across the room, looking at the woman who'd gained his friend's at­tention. He felt as if he'd been hit in the stomach with a sledgehammer. It was her. The woman from the beach. The woman who was staying at the cottage across the road from his house. And she looked sorely out of place walking into the Brazen Hussy, although she had obviously tried to dress for the occasion. Wearing a red silk jumpsuit, a pair of four-inch red heels and teacup-size gold hoops dangling from her ears, she should have looked like any of the other 'work­ing girls' casing the bar for an easy mark, but she didn't. Even with the added touch of red lipstick and red nail pol­ish, she still emitted an aura of innocence. Her beautiful face was too fresh, her eyes too warm and bright, her move­ments too hesitant for her to be a pro.

'Maybe her car broke down,' Nate said. 'Or maybe she's slumming.'

'I don't think so,' Romero said, smiling as he watched the woman cross the room. 'She looks too classy for a one-night stand. But, if I thought she was interested—'

'You always did have a weakness for blondes.' Nate had seen his friend succumb to the charms of more than one blond beauty over the years. But this woman wasn't for Nick Romero.

Laughing, Romero slapped Nate on the back. 'And you, my friend, never had a weakness for anything.'

Until now, Nate almost said. Hell, what was the matter with him? The woman didn't mean a damn thing to him. He didn't even know her. So what if just looking at her aroused him? Half the guys