Street Game (GhostWalkers, #8)(128)

He pushed open the door and the four men looked up with quick smiles. Serious eyes. He caught that right away as well as the elevated tension in the room. His stomach knotted. Yeah—this was going to be a bad one. So much for being happy about coming home.

He nodded to the others. “Good to be back.”

“How’s Drake?” Felipe asked.

Drake was probably the most popular of all the leopards they worked with and often ran the team on rescue missions. He was the most methodical and disciplined. Leopard males were notoriously bad-tempered, and so many in close proximity could cause outbreaks of anger that quickly escalated, but not with Drake around. The man was a born diplomat and leader. He’d been injured so severely during a rescue that he’d needed plates put in his legs, plates that prevented him from shifting. Everyone knew what that meant. Sooner or later, he would be unable to live with the loss of his other half.

“Drake seems to be doing well.” Drake had gone to the States, putting distance between himself and the rain forest in an effort to alleviate the pain of not being able to shift. He had taken a job with Jake Bannaconni, a leopard unknowning of their ways who lived in the United States. Conner had followed Drake to the States and had worked for Bannaconni. “We had some trouble and Drake was injured again, but Jake Bannaconni arranged for a bone graft to replace the plates. We’re all hoping it works.”

“You mean Drake might be able to shift again.” Leonardo’s eyebrow shot up and some of the worry in his black eyes receded.

“That’s what we’re hoping for,” Conner replied. He glanced at Rio. “I wouldn’t have come back with Drake in the hospital but you said it was urgent.”

Rio nodded. “I wouldn’t have asked but we really need you on this one. None of us is familiar with this territory.”

“Have you informed the locals?” Conner meant the elders of his own village. They were reclusive and difficult to find, but the leopards could send word when they were passing through one another’s backyards.

Rio shook his head. “The client’s representative warned us that a couple of the leopards have gone rogue and now work for this woman.” Rio tossed a photograph on the rough tabletop. “They call her mujer sin corazón.”

“Woman without a heart,” Conner translated. “Imelda Cortez. I know of her; anyone growing up in these parts knows her family. She’s also known as vibora, the viper. You don’t want anything to do with her. When they say she has no heart, they mean it. She’s been murdering the local Indians for years, and stealing their land for her coca growing. Rumor has it she’s been pressing deeper and deeper into the jungle, trying to open up more smuggling routes.”

“Rumor is right,” Rio said. “What else do you know about her?”

Conner shrugged. “Imelda is the daughter of the late Manuel Cortez. She learned her cruelty and arrogance in the cradle and took over his connections after his death. She pays top dollar to all the local militia and buys officials like they were candy.”

His eyes met Rio’s. “Whatever the operation is, everyone will be against you. Even some of my own people will have been bought off. You won’t be able to trust anyone. You certain you want to do this?”

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Rio replied. His eyes met Conner’s. “I understand she’s a man-eater and prefers very masculine, dominant males.”

The room went silent. The tension stretched thin. Conner’s golden cat’s eyes deepened to pure whiskey, gleaming with some faint threat. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You do it, Rio. I don’t do that kind of work anymore.”

“You know I can’t. Rachel would kill me and, quite frankly, I don’t have the same kind of dominant quality you have. Women always go for you.”

“I have a mate. She may hate my guts, but I will not betray her any more than I already have. No.” He half turned, ready to leave.

“Your father sent much of the information to us,” Rio said, his voice quiet.

Conner had his back to the man. He stopped, closing his eyes briefly before turning back. His entire demeanor changed. The leopard blazed in his eyes. There was a threat in the movements of his body, in the fluid, dangerous glide toward Rio. The threat was sufficient enough to get the other three men on their feet. Conner ignored them, stopping just in front of Rio, his golden eyes focused completely on his prey. “My father observed the old ways. He would not ask outsiders for help. Ever. And he has not spoken to me since he disowned me many years ago.”

Rio pulled a tanned leather skin from his backpack. “I was told you wouldn’t believe me and was asked to give you this. They said you would know what it meant.”

Conner’s fingers closed over the thick fur, tunneling deep. His breath caught in his lungs. His throat burned raw. He turned away from the others and stood at the door, breathing in the night air. Twice he opened his mouth but nothing came out. He forced air through his lungs. “What’s the job?”

“I’m sorry,” Rio said.

All of them knew what a leopard pelt meant and the way Conner held it to him, there was no doubt he knew and loved the owner.

“Conner . . . man . . .” Felipe started and then broke off.

“What’s the job?” Conner repeated without looking at any of them. He couldn’t. His eyes burned like acid. He stood with his back to the others, holding his mother’s pelt against his heart, trying not to let anything into his mind but the job.