Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(122)
The woman recovered her equilibrium and pointed down the hallway. “El se?or está en la biblioteca.”
Jennifer’s Spanish was nowhere near as good as Mark’s, but she could get by. The don was in his private library. Although Don Espe?osa loved it, Jennifer had only been in the room one time. The high-ceilinged windowless space, with its twin leather chairs, dark hardwood floor, and tall bookshelves made her feel that she was trapped at the bottom of a well. The thick odor of cigar smoke only added to the oppressive atmosphere that permeated the room. For a lover of books to abhor a room filled with them seemed terribly wrong, but that was how she felt.
Two sharp raps on the door preceded Jennifer’s entrance into the drug lord’s inner sanctum. Don Espe?osa sat in the rightmost reading chair, a fat Cuban cigar wedged between the index and middle finger of his left hand, a hardcopy of Dean Koontz’s Watchers open in the other. His angry look faded as he saw who dared to interrupt his private time.
“Ah, Jennifer.” The don set his book aside. “So you decided to take advantage of my library after all.”
“That’s not why I came.” Jennifer’s tone caused Don Espe?osa’s left eyebrow to rise. “Something has been taken from my room. Two pieces of personal jewelry.”
The drug baron motioned to the other chair. “Sit down and tell me about it. None of my staff would dare take anything in this household.”
Reluctantly Jennifer forced herself to sit, although the tension in her body kept her at the forward edge of the chair.
“It wasn’t your staff.”
“You saw the thief?”
“Not exactly.” Jennifer hesitated. Don Espe?osa had said Eduardo was a personal friend, but there was no substitute for directness. “I believe Eduardo took them.”
Don Espe?osa’s eyes narrowed. “You are sure of this?”
“I am. There were two decorative headbands, gifts from my mother. I want them back.”
The drug lord smiled. “Such spirit in so small a package.” He puffed deeply on the cigar, breathing out a large plume of smoke before continuing. “Eduardo is a friend, but he is also a man of strange passions. I told him not to touch you, but it would not be beyond him to take a memento from someone such as you.”
Jennifer’s anger bubbled over. “Then make him give them back.”
“Unfortunately, he left the estate thirty minutes ago.” Noting her distress, Don Espe?osa put a hand on her arm. “Do not worry. I will send word that I want them returned as soon as he gets back from his business trip.”
Jennifer made no attempt to hide the bitterness in her voice. “Knowing what he was like, why did you introduce that man to me?”
After another long draw on the cigar, Don Espe?osa leaned back in his chair. “You know I have developed a fondness for you. In my business, such sentiment can get a man killed. I have known Eduardo for several years, and he possesses a number of unusual talents. He was here because I asked him if I could trust you. Before he left, he stopped in to tell me.”
Jennifer felt her chest constrict. “And his answer?”
The glowing ash at the end of the Cuban had grown so long it threatened to tumble to the hardwood floor at any moment. “He said I had stumbled upon a great treasure, a true prodigy. And he said I could trust you not to leave me.”
“Did he say how he knows this?”
The Don’s eyes locked with hers. “Because you love your parents. Because you don’t want Eduardo paying them a special visit.”
Her psychic ability left no doubt in her mind. Don Espe?osa was telling her the truth. There would be no leaving for Jennifer Smythe.
129
Loading docks are never located in the best parts of town, and Manhattan Island’s were no exception. It was a rough place, where men got hurt on the job and where some men got hurt as part of much darker business. It wasn’t exactly where Freddy wanted to end up, but burrowed deep in the ass end of a long-haul truck, hidden amongst the cargo, he hadn’t been in position to ask the trucker to drop him someplace more convenient. For that matter, the way he’d been passing in and out of consciousness, he was lucky to have awakened at all.
He’d picked this particular truck out of the others at the Kansas City loading docks for two reasons. First, it had a shipment headed to New York. Second, it was pulling one of the new canvas-sided trailers, the kind that were so common in Europe. Perhaps that hadn’t been such a great move. While it made it easier for him to slip inside, it did the same for the wind, and November wasn’t the greatest of times for a ride from Kansas to New York in a windy trailer. Especially with an infected leg.
Freddy leaned back against the warehouse wall, struggling to catch his breath in the dark alley. Funny about that. He’d sliced himself badly on rusty barbed wire, but that was healing up nicely. Overconfidence was what was busy killing him.
Should’ve known the feds would be all over his cell phone. Hell, he had known it. Just hadn’t expected them to be on his ass the instant he used it. Who would’ve thought the people trying to shut him up were that good? And his editor hadn’t even answered. Gutless bitch.
Only incredibly good luck and a passing train had saved his ass. If you call catching a bullet in the left calf lucky. Now he looked the part of a drunken vagabond, having swapped his old clothes and a C note for his current wardrobe, courtesy of a Kansas City wino named Phil. The filthy garb was probably what had infected his wound.