Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4)(22)
Pity they had miscalculated and his body hadn’t hit the Atlantic Ocean. He would have been lost forever. But no, another mistake in a long line of mistakes.
“Nico?” he called as the man was walking toward the door. “I want this handled fast and quietly.”
“Of course. I’ll take care of it myself,” the Russian answered.
Maldonado had always followed his instincts, and getting Nico to work for him had been a jackpot.
If he’d been on the plane, things would have gone differently, and they wouldn’t be in their current predicament. But he’d been supervising the labs and dealing with shit back home while Maldonado was left with incompetent imbeciles who not only snuffed the only hope of resolving their logistical issues but were incapable of cleaning up their own messes.
He should have listened to his gut feeling and shot Emiliano when they were just kids. Family brought nothing but trouble.
“What about the last shipment?”
“Still stuck in the port. Paperwork hasn’t come through yet. Controls have tightened.”
Damn. Counting the one the police intercepted at open sea, that was the second shipment they’d lost in ten days. “Business is suffering. We need to deliver the product and get paid for it.” They couldn’t afford more losses. He was beginning to be strapped for cash. Suppliers had to be paid. Funding that never-ending territory war back at home wasn’t cheap. “Payment is overdue. I can try buying some extra time but this situation better resolve quickly.”
They needed to find more effective ways to move the product. Especially now that Aalto was gone and with him the possibility of using the old bastard’s kinkiness to Maldonado’s advantage.
Maybe his successor would be more agreeable. Thank God there were so many ready to take Aalto’s place. Politicians were like cockroaches: they were never in short supply.
It was two in the morning and Elle was sitting in his truck, humming and swaying to the music on the radio. More of that fifties-sounding, great-balls-of-fire shit. All after her stint in the police station, the red-eye from hell, working her shift at the airport, hurrying around Boston for a flash mob, and being at Rosita’s over seven hours playing the perfect hostess. Jack was dead on his feet just from keeping up with her and she was fresh as a rose, humming and swaying. At two a.-f*cking-m.
“Well, thanks for the ride. You going now, right?” she asked as he parked in front of her house, in a quiet residential area on the outskirts of Boston.
“Wrong. I’m staying here,” Jack said, gesturing toward the house.
Elle frowned. “You could plant another bug on me. I promise not to get rid of it. Them, if you want.” She lifted her arms, like a martyr. “Wire me. I surrender.”
“My place is across town.”
“And now that we’re on the subject, where’s your place?” she asked. “I would love to go take a look.”
“We are not on the subject.”
“Don’t tell me you already have a wife and a couple of kids there.” He held her scrutinizing gaze and kept quiet until she spoke again. “Either way, you can’t stay at my house. Don’t you have anything else to do than stalk me? What about that biker bar of yours? Aren’t you needed there now that you’re back from doing whatever it was you were doing in Florida?”
“I was saving your ass in Florida. And I’m not stalking you. I’m watching over you.”
“There seems to be a very fine line between stalking and watching over.”
“I don’t understand fine lines, pet.”
She snorted. “No shit.”
“You’re a good one to talk.”
“I do understand about fine lines,” she said, a saccharine smile on her face. “I just don’t give a damn.”
He stared at her for a long while. “If I have to stay in the car, I will. In a residential area like this, all the neighbors will see me and call the cops, and probably your mom and sister as well, but we can play it that way if you want.”
He’d noticed how she’d avoided answering Rosita’s phone. She was trying to dodge someone and his money was on Tate.
Elle caved. “Okay, come in if you must. The house is big enough that we don’t have to see each other. But keep in mind I’m doing you a favor. If my neighbor Mrs. Copernicus spots you, and she will, she’ll bring a thermos and sit with you. They take neighborhood watch very seriously around here. And they are very nosy and chatty.”
Fuck, no, please.
He’d had enough of that at Rosita’s. Thank God people seemed to understand he didn’t want to socialize and left him be. Not before bothering the shit out of him for a while though.
He gestured to the pink house. “Copernicus is that one, right?”
“Yes. Why?”
Because when he’d picked the lock to get in earlier that day, he’d bumped into her on his way out. He’d been swearing and looking mighty pissed, but the lady hadn’t even blinked. She’d smiled, handed him a plate full of cookies, and informed him that she’d seen him and Elle arriving and that the Coopers left a spare key under the second flowerpot from the right. No need to break and enter, she’d added.
“Met her already,” he answered curtly. “Cookies on the table. The spare key under the flowerpot I confiscated.”