Garrison's Creed (Titan) (32 page)

“Stop it. Get off me.” She pushed away, but David was on the other side.
Shit.

The sick smile hadn’t faded, all bright and white with perfectly lined teeth, ready for display. Her reaction made his grin more vibrant. Made it sparkle.

“Speaking of getting off, that never happened between us. Did it? I intend to fix that today. But first, let’s get through introductions. I understand Gabriella isn’t your true name. Nicola, is it? Lovely.”

Cash had to be following. She needed to see a familiar vehicle out the window. Her stomach bottomed as she swept a look every which way. Nothing familiar. Antilla’s fingers feathered over her cheek, and she lashed out.

“Get off me, goddamn it.” The words ground out but did zip to make him stop.

David laughed close to her ear. She turned, kicking at him, his bag, the door. Anything she could connect with.

“Now to the warehouse,” David said to the driver, then looked back at her. “Antilla and I have things to work out before our transaction is complete.”

“Yes, we do.” Antilla ignored her for the first time. He sounded disappointed or disapproving. She couldn’t tell which he leaned toward more. “The second bomb hasn’t done its job, so I’m not ready to discuss—”

“Second bomb?”

“Not that it’s your business, but yes, Gabri—I mean, Nicola. Second bomb. Addressed to Janet and Rick—”

Nicola slammed her fist into his face, elbowing David as he tried to pull her back. Blood trickled out of Antilla’s nose, and he took a cloth from his breast pocket to dab at it.

“You will pay for that, you little bitch.”

“There isn’t a second bomb,” she challenged him. “Leave my parents alone.”

“There isn’t a second bomb, just like I’m dead, darling.”

David spoke up. “We should enlighten her.” He turned to her. “Nicola, I was confused at first also. This is a very interesting story, so listen, and it will all make sense.”

“Leave my family alone.”

They drove past a warehouse with boarded up windows and no signs of life except for the hip-high weeds littering the parking lot. Trees lined both sides of what looked like an electrified fence. Parts of it were rusted out. The building looked ready to be condemned.

“Leave your family alone? Now why would I do that?” Antilla asked. “I won’t walk away from this opportunity. The CIA killed my brother. In return, I’ll kill your family. David was smart enough to out himself as CIA and to try to protect the Smooth family. You remained one of the infidels, part of the organization—”

Nothing made sense. “You were shot. I saw you.”

“Wrong again. Welcome to the Smooth family secret. Not even David knew the truth until after the incident, but there were two of us. My identical twin brother was named Fernando. My father, a businessman, raised us as if only one child existed. It was a strategy of sorts. We were to take on his empire, which we did successfully. My name is not Antilla. Antilla is
our
name, the joint name my late brother and I embodied in the public eye. My name is Javier. He and I were perfect replicas. We spoke the same, fucked the same. No one knew the difference. Not our business partners. Not our whores. You never knew.”

“And I never fucked you. Either of you, so I wouldn’t know,” Nicola spat.

“Like I said, that will change tonight. Willing or not.”

The driver stopped the sedan in front of an abandoned building, smaller than the first ones they’d passed. She studied it. The door had new locks and hinges that gleamed in summer’s early evening light. Three car doors opened, and the men got out. David and Antilla walked a few steps away, and the driver trained a subcompact machine gun on her. This driver was a real winner.

“Give me your purse,” the driver said.

Of course she’d lose the purse. It was Louis Vuitton. She always lost the good stuff.

David’s bag was on the floorboard.

The driver motioned with his baby machine gun. “Now get out.”

He wouldn’t shoot her yet, right? “No.”

She stomped her feet like a child readying for a terrible two throw down.

“Listen, lady, out.”

Stomp. Kick. Stomp, stomp. “No!”

Grabbing at her, the driver pulled her from the backseat, but not before she tried to do serious damage to David’s bag. The jammer had to be in there. It wouldn’t have worked in the plane if had it been in their luggage. Hoping to hell she did enough damage to the sensitive piece of equipment, Nicola relented and finished exiting on her own.

“Can you just search my purse and give it back to me? I’ve got gum and lip gloss that I need.”

David shrugged. “Christ, yes. Search her stupid bag. Take anything with a bullet or blade. Just stop whining. How are you so stupid?”

Moron, the better question is, how are you this dumb?

Nicola picked up her purse, grabbed the lip gloss listening device, and smoothed on a fresh layer of Berry Cherry shine. She powdered her nose, slipping on a geographical tracking tag that dissolved immediately on contact with her skin. “Thank you.”

“Whatever.” David seemed frustrated. Maybe not just at her.

“Trouble between criminals?” she asked.

“Destroy her phone,” Antilla, or Javier, or whoever he was demanded.

“No problem.”
She handed it to the driver, knowing it was her burner phone. If she had a fighting chance of Cash hearing or locating them, it had nothing to do with her phone.

“We’re not transmitting out here anyway,” David offered. “I set up a portable jammer after she ineffectually planted a listening device on me.”

A listening device? As in one?
That was good news.

She was fifteen minutes shy of a check-in with Beth. Someone would wonder about her whereabouts, and Cash was out there somewhere, as her backup. No way he’d leave her hanging, though no doubt he was sweating their loss of communication.

She had a few minutes until they realized the jammer was out. If one of their phones rang, the jig was up. No time like the present to go after the dirt. “Antilla.”

“Javier.”

“Whatever. Seen one twin, seen them all. Same person, right? I had no idea you were so good with bombs. Your daddy taught you that in your gun running education?”

He laughed, harsh and sarcastic. “Nicola. I delegate. You should know that about me. You did spend months by my side, though it should have been between my knees.”

She ignored that and pointed to David. “You delegated to this guy? I’ve learned a lot about him recently. You should really pick better team members.”

“Shut up,” David snapped.

“Seriously. I can tell you that one bomb didn’t do shit, because I spoke to the man whose truck blew. And my parents? Trust me, if you went after my parents, someone’s already on it. Two dud bombs. And to top that off, you did a piss poor job of entering the local arms market. I’m telling you,
Antilla
, I didn’t expect you to pull the door-to-door salesman routine after your network was disrupted. I expected you to run off to South America or the Middle East to reassure your best clients. Virginia good ole boys seem so beneath you.”

“Shut up!” David yelled.

“What are you speaking of? Of course, I’m reorganizing after this CIA disaster.”

“You’re not moving product?”

“No. To local Americans? Not at all.”

Wait a minute. Smooth didn’t sell the ammo.
David’s face wore a splash of dread. “It couldn’t be this simple.”

“Shut up!” David yelled again. “Stupid woman can’t keep her mouth shut.”

Antilla glanced at David but spoke to Nic. “What do you mean simple?”

“I saw Smooth ammo. Only days ago. Your emblem, .50 cal, tracer, incendiary tipped. It was purchased by some yahoos in somewheresville, Virginia. I had thought,” she pointed at Antilla, then moved her finger toward David, “…but, I wouldn’t put it past this smarmy dude—”

David smacked her silent. The sting roared from cheek to chest, fireworks exploding behind her eyelids.
God, that hurts.

Nicola blinked fast, tears welling, then looked down. Her feet were planted on the weed-pocked parking lot. She was still standing. Small accomplishments were amazing at times like this. The stars faded from her watering eyes just in time to focus on Antilla. Rage boiled across his face.

“No. No. No.” David lifted his hands. “It wasn’t me. I told you I worked with the Gianori—”

“The Gianori mob doesn’t need my ammunition or arms. I do not sell to them. They do not move my product.” Antilla took a step toward David, who shrank into himself. “Tell me again about the Gianori mob.”

“Sorry. S-orr-y.” David’s voice shook. “I meant to say that I hired them to build and plant the bombs.”

“And why would they do that for you, David? Give me a logical reason why,” Antilla growled. “Now.”

“Because…”

“Because they also wanted Nicola. Am I correct? You mentioned she could be leverage for another project. The Gianori mob wants her? You had no intention of leaving her with me?”

“I, uh… I figured if you finished with her, they could have a go at her. Both of you wanted retribution. Offing her family would do that…” David’s teeth chattered as he stammered in rhetorical circles.

“Am I stupid, David?”

“No, sir.”

“But you played games with me?”

“Not games. But I thought you’d appreciate the Gianoris taking out her family. You always say bloodshed requires equal or more blood. Her parents for your brother.”

“And you stole from me?”

“I didn’t. It wasn’t much. Throwaways. Please. Please, let me explain.”

“But above all, you thought you could deceive me?” Antilla laughed loudly and evilly. He looked at the driver. “Shoot him.”

David fumbled for his concealed, wetting himself and moaning more explanations
.
A single pop and David coughed up blood. That throat shot would take several seconds to finish him off. Nicola watched blood gurgle and sputter as his hands tried to close off the wound.

Seconds later, it was over. David’s crimson-lacquered fingers remained near his neck.

“Check her for concealeds,” Antilla directed the driver, who was quickly proving to be very adept at several things: chauffeuring, bleed outs, and pat downs. Her ankle-holstered .38 was removed as well as the knife tucked into the back of her pants. “And get her inside.”

The driver manhandled her through the door. If Cash’d seen that subcompact at her back and the unfriendly shove, there was a solid chance the driver was going to die tonight.

Despite David’s murder, Nic wasn’t as nervous as before. The fear was gone. She was stone-cold ready to work. Her backup was a sniper extraordinaire, and somehow, he’d get eyes on them. Hopefully, he’d heard everything.

Antilla walked to a far corner to make a phone call and started talking. Sweet Jesus, she’d knocked out the phone jammer, and Antilla was too preoccupied to worry about it. The driver walked outside, most likely to remove David.

Nicola bent her chin as close to her collarbone as possible and whispered, “Cash, can you hear me?”

She held her breath. A noise clattered on the metal roof.
An acorn or a tree branch. Something.
Something that Cash shot long range. A smile melted across her face that she faked as a yawn, just in case.

“Hi,” she whispered again and waited. “Second bomb. My parents’ house.”

A dull bang echoed through the empty room.
Definitely Cash.
He’d take care of her family. God, she loved him.

“Fucking squirrels,” the driver murmured, pulling David into a corner. “What are we doing with her?”

“We wait. I need to handle my inventory problem. Tie her to something. I don’t care. And then find me dinner. Try to have it still hot when you return. And none of that American fast food crap.”

The driver snagged a rickety folding chair and pushed her into it, zip-tying her arms together around a metal piece.

All right, Smooth. Just you and me now. Let’s do this.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Whatever Nicola had done to fix their jammer problem had worked. Their earpieces squealed, and both Cash and Jared grabbed at them.
Perfect clarity that’d make Verizon jealous. Talk about a listen and learn session.
Cash prayed to the techie gods that Parker also had access to this feedback at headquarters.

“There were twins? Smooth’s still alive. Fuck me.” Cash whistled, lying prone on a warehouse roof. A warm breeze swirled around them, bringing with it the gasoline and plastic smells of an abandoned factory.

He looked through Miss Betty’s scope and caressed her perfectly molded trigger.

“Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.” Jared growled slowly next to him and rolled onto his back, laying the binoculars to his side and texting into his secure phone. “Talk about a huge hole in intelligence. How did the CIA not know there were two of them?”

“Not even a rumor. You know gun runners talk. Nothing.” He followed through the eye of his scope, still listening. Nicola was pushing the conversation, narrowing in on a crack between her captors.