Just the Messenger (11 page)

The lemony bite to the cream sauce overwhelmed her senses, and her stomach welcomed the food eagerly. She’d already had several bites without a word, pausing only to daintily dab her lips with a napkin or flirt with Gomez through eye contact, when a clatter near the door drew their attention away from the meal.

Luis stood, gun drawn, facing the door, as three men in suits burst through, shouting. Grace could not make out what they were saying, but it was obvious they were there to see Gomez.

The large man made no movement, and he did not look at her. “I’m so sorry,
chiquita
,” he said, “but we’ll have to do our dinner another time. Go ahead and run along now.” He kept his eyes trained on the intruders but gave her leg a small tap under the table, urging her to get away from the bar.

She didn’t need to be told twice.

No sooner had she edged away from the counter than the strange men started shooting. Bullets peppered off the woodwork, ricocheting throughout the room. She felt a sharp breeze right by her ear before something large hit her from behind, hurtling her to the ground with such force her camera bounced.

Her camera.

She grabbed it and started snapping shots.

“Not now!” Marco yelled as he dragged her into a corner.

They were both on their stomachs, and Grace realized he must have tackled her to get her out of the bullet storm. The two groups seemed to take little notice of them, or any of the other customers scrambling for the door, and Grace shrugged herself into the shadows, Marco’s arms tightly around her.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Marco said. “All I know is that we have to get out of here.”

“Okay, but wait.” She aimed the camera again, this time zooming in. A close-up of Gomez. A close-up of Luis. A slightly off-center shot of the three men shooting. The bartender, who was now brandishing his own gun. A wide-shot of the scared patrons.

“Hey!”

The shout came from just two feet away from her, and she looked up, startled. Luis bore down on her, wrestling for the camera.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he asked through gritted teeth, his voice strained with the effort of grappling.

Marco took out his legs in a sweeping kick, and Luis’s gun went clattering across the floor.

“Grace,” Marco shouted, “run!”

She flicked off her heels and scampered toward the door barefoot, knocking down chairs in her path. She’d just reached it when a hand grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm behind her at a painful angle.

“Now, now, Graciela. Let’s not be so hasty.” Gomez’s breath hit her neck as he spoke.

She looked up, scanning the room. Two of the men who had attacked the place were lying in pools of their own blood, but the third stood resolute, gun trained on Gomez and Grace. Gomez was pointing his own weapon right back at him. Marco was scuffling with Luis in the corner, trying to grab the gun that had landed against the far wall. Everyone else was filing out as if nothing had happened.

Grace was still looking at the back of the last person to leave the dingy restaurant when the sound of a single shot rang out. Luis swore, gripping his arm and cowering in the corner. Gomez’s hold on her strengthened. Grace knew he couldn’t point the weapon at her or Marco because of the other man.

The seconds trickled by in deathly silence. Grace went through her options. She couldn’t stomp on Gomez’s foot. She’d taken her heels off and would do no damage. If she struggled, she risked getting shot for making a disturbance. Nerves were running hot. Marco was inching around the bar. He got within ten feet before Gomez dragged her to a corner providing cover from gunfire that might come from the third man and changed his gun’s position.

“Don’t come any closer,” the Colombian said. “I’ll shoot her.”

The cool metal of the barrel rested against Grace’s temple. She calculated. If the gun was this cold, that meant Gomez hadn’t shot at anyone. Maybe he wasn’t as blood-thirsty as everyone assumed.

“What do you want from us?” her voice squeaked out.

“The camera, for one,” Gomez said.

“Take it,” she said. “Just let us go.”

Gomez shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Graciela Merced. I can’t let a beautiful woman who knows who I am just walk out of here. Especially when she’s escorted by an IIB agent and meeting a news reporter.”

“What? How did you—”

“You didn’t make it hard to trace you, Graciela. You didn’t even give us a fake name. You didn’t move hotels. We ransacked your suite from top to bottom. You can’t check this, but if you could, you’d find your passport missing. Because I have it.”

“You son of a bitch!”

The gun moved against her head, reminding her of its presence. “Sorry we had to do that. I gave you flowers to make up for it. But you can’t just traipse around taking photos and think you’re going to get away with it.”

“So, what are you going to do with us?” Marco interrupted, his gun still marking Gomez’s face.

But before Gomez could reply, the door burst open again and Warren Bell plowed through.

“Hey, y’all, I hate to bust up the party, but the fireworks are going to start in less than an hour! We’d better get seats!” The reporter looked around at the people staring at him. “Oh, shit,” he said.

A double gunshot sounded, and the arm around Grace loosened, allowing her to drop to the ground. She crawled on her stomach toward Warren, who was crouched down with his hand outstretched to her. His other held the door open. Gomez was swearing and jumping up and down, the blood pouring out of his foot. Marco sprinted to the far corner in the back of the bar and squatted behind a table, his still-smoking gun poised. The other man—wearing a tan linen suit, Grace noticed in her adrenaline-fueled haze—still had his weapon pointed at Gomez.

The man shot, hitting Gomez in the shoulder. Gomez’s cries of pain were drowned out by a second shot, but Grace didn’t see what happened. Warren was already dragging her out of the establishment.

“What do we do? What do we do? What do we do?” she repeated, unable to think past those four words.

“Run!”

Without looking back, she raced after Warren, through little back alleys and side streets, her bare feet burning on the still-hot pavement, searing pain ravaging the bottoms of her limbs. Still, she ran and ran, without stopping, until her lungs were bursting, until she felt she could no longer take another breath.

Chapter Eight

Marco surveyed the bar with grim displeasure. He’d knocked Gomez out with the butt of his gun then tied him and Luis together using rope he’d found behind the counter. The men from the rival cartel were dead. He barricaded the door before calling for backup. Worry over Grace was making his stomach twist, but he had to trust that Warren would keep her safe. Marco couldn’t help them now.

He flipped open his phone and dialed his boss.

“Valencia here. I need backup.”

His boss sighed audibly over the line. “Our main units are tied up right now, Marco,” he said. “And I’m dealing with another emergency. Rinkleton is dead.”

“Oh shit. What happened?”

“They expected him to play ball, take a bribe. I guess they knew he was IIB. He must have let it slip at some point. Remind me to stop training agents who like to drink. Loosens the tongue.”

“Do they know what’s going on down here?”

“Not as of this afternoon. What do you need?”

“I’ve got two of Angel’s leaders tied up and injured. Three other dead Colombians. It’s only a matter of minutes before their buddies show up, and I’m by myself.”

“Where’s Warren?”

“He left. Took a girl we were working with. She’s got photo evidence, but don’t expect it to stay private. Warren’s going to bust this thing wide open tonight.”

“Sit tight. I’ll send a backup team to clean up your mess and take Gomez into custody. But who knows how long it will take.”

Marco clicked the phone closed, overwhelmed with apprehension. He tried calling Warren, but no answer. Next up was Gene. Marco checked his watch. It was only 10:00 p.m. Another hour until the man landed, and even when he did, what could Hardy possibly do to help? Marco expected a throng of cartel members to come battering down the door at any moment. When Gomez didn’t show up to settle the terms of the merger, both bands of thugs would come to the bar in full force. If they didn’t kill each other first. Gomez’s absence could be taken as a sign of defiance, in which case guns would blaze. Marco thought of Grace again and hoped she was in hiding.

“You’re a fool,” Gomez groaned from the corner as he came back to consciousness.

“How’s that?” Marco asked distractedly, not bothering to look at the man struggling pointlessly with the rope.

“This whole town is going to explode.”

Now Gomez had his attention.

“What?”

“You have to let me go.”

“No can do.”

“Then kiss your girlfriend goodbye. She’ll die with the rest of them.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Marco feigned indifference, though his heart had leapt into his throat.

Gomez shrugged. “If I don’t get to the center before the fireworks start, we’re all going to die, so you won’t even miss her. I’ve got my guys waiting with explosives hidden in the display. They don’t see me, they blow the whole town up.”

Nausea rolled over Marco at the thought of all those civilians dying. He had to find out more, but he couldn’t look too eager. “Why? How does that possibly help you?”

“Well, I’ve got a second in command, and he’s not in town. However, all the leaders of the other cartel are here. Sure, I go, you go, a lot of the party-goers die, but we get the drug market.” He shrugged again. “Simple math.”

“Even if I untied you right now, and we ran like hell to the center, we wouldn’t make it. You’re hobbled at best.”

Gomez shrugged again.

Swearing softly, Marco called his boss and told him about the explosives and the fireworks. That, the man assured Marco, would get the team moving a lot faster.

Only a few moments after Marco disconnected, his phone buzzed. Gene. He checked the time. It was only 10:15.

He walked over to Gomez and hit him in the head again, so the man wouldn’t overhear the conversation or find a way to escape while Marco’s attention was turned. Clicking open the phone, he spoke no introduction. “Where are you?”

“I’m on the ground. I used my old credentials to get the pilot to fly as fast as he safely could. I went to your hotel. You guys are so stupid. The place is wrecked.”

“Bigger problems right now, Gene.”

“Like what?”

“Grace and Warren are in the center, doing God knows what, waiting for the fireworks show. If it starts and Gomez doesn’t show up, his guys are going to blow up the whole town.”

“What do you mean, ‘blow up the whole town’? As in literally? Where’s Gomez?”

“I’ve got him here. Knocked out. Shot in the foot and shoulder. And yes, as in literally.”

“Shit. Did you call the police?”

“No. My guys are coming, and I trust them more than the corrupt system over here. You know it’s basically owned by the cartels. But you also know the IIB. Who knows when they’ll show up. I’m ordered to stay here until they do. My boss is telling them about the explosives so they’re prepped. You got a way out of here?”

Gene sighed. “I’ll have to call in a favor. Let’s hope the IIB does its job for once. Tell your guys to stall those explosives. I’m going to find Grace. If you get out of there alive and before 11:00, get your ass to the hospital.”

“The hospital?”

“There’s a helipad there.” Gene hung up.

* * * *

“Gracie, girl, how’s it going over there?” Warren was on a call and put his hand over the speaker as he talked to her.

She merely grunted in reply, her clumsy fingers fumbling over uploading her bar shots to the CableNette database.

“Okay,” Warren said into the phone. “Dial me in for a phoner. You got the first pic, right? We’re trying to get you the rest.” He turned to Grace. “We’re on air live in two minutes. They’ve bumped the sitcom rerun, and they’re going to do a full hour of news. We’re starting with the picture, and I’ll do a thumb sucker off the top. Then they’ve got a guy in New York at that café where you nearly got me killed. Shit’s going down there, too. Third up is the news of Rinkleton’s death, then they’re coming back to us. When I go off air, I’ll need the camera. I’ve got to get some ‘man on the street’ soundbites. It’s the best we have.”

“What’s a thumb sucker?”

Warren rolled his eyes. “I just talk live on air, so you don’t have to have any video loaded. It’s what you do when you don’t have any information but you know your story is the most important even without it. You set the scene.”

Grace nodded, typing furiously. She waited for the uploads to finish but clicked her fingernails nervously. The camera had to be free in less than three minutes’ time, which was when Warren’s liveshot would be over and he’d need it to collect more footage.