Mach One: An International Clandestine Enterprise Novel (ICE Book 3) Page 2

  ***

  The bolt creaked as it scraped open in the cell door—a cell Luke had been sharing with five other men for the past month.

  “Lewis,” the guard used his alias surname with a heavy Spanish accent.

  “Me?”

  “Ven comingo.” The guard gestured for him to come.

  Luke didn’t need to be told twice. He’d thought he might be locked up for a week, two at most. He was starting to think Garth was planning to let him rot.

  After the guard cuffed him, he followed the man to an interview room—chipped paint, metal table and chairs, a one-way window, but what Luke didn’t expect was the woman. He gulped. Jesus, she was the sweetest thing he’d seen in—well, in yonks. She sat at the table with an oaf of a Mexican standing behind her, his arms folded. The ape even had a jagged scar on his right cheek to help him appear more menacing.

  But Luke didn’t fixate on Goliath. Not when a woman sat assessing him with eyes the color of a cobalt sky. A young, stunningly beautiful woman. Fair skinned, she wasn’t of Mexican descent. Her long brunette hair hung in soft curls and framed her eyes. The dark against the light made them electrifying and difficult to ignore. She watched him with a wary expression, her petite, lightly-glossed lips slightly parted as if she wanted to say something but held back. Oddly, she didn’t appear any older than twenty—twenty-one tops.

  She gestured to the chair across the table, stretching out the arm of a well-tailored navy suit. “Please sit, Mr. Lewis.”

  Luke slid into the seat, still a bit awkward with the name assigned by ICE. “You’re American?” he asked.

  Her shoulder ticked up, though she neither confirmed nor denied his question.

  He scratched the months’ worth of thick and unkempt beard on his chin. “Forgive my appearance. The guards failed to inform me that I’d be meeting with a lady.”

  She folded her hands on the table and glanced to her bodyguard. “I am not here to judge your looks, sir.”

  “Then why, may I ask, are we having this sweet little tea party?”

  “Why? Do you have someplace to go?” She twirled a lock of silky hair around her finger, almost a flirtatious move though the expression on her face was pensive.

  Luke leaned back and crossed his arms, arching his eyebrows without a word.

  A slight smile played upon her lips, but faded as fast as it had come. “I represent Vincent Morales. Does that name mean anything to you?”

  Luke let out a long whistle. Finally, the wheels had started in motion. Thank God. “El Padrino?”

  She gave a nod, her eyes growing darker, almost haunting.

  He tilted up his chin and feigned a wary expression. “What does Morales want from me?”

  “Loyalty.”

  “Huh?” Luke cogitated his next response before he said, “Does he need a pilot?”

  “We’ll discuss loyalty first.” She wasn’t going to let it rest. “Are you an honest man, Lucas Lewis?”

  “As honest as any pilot who flies in this business.” Smirking, he looked from one wall to the next. If he held forth about being a completely honest, bum-kissing crook, she’d see right through him. Blokes arrested for smuggling drugs in Mexico were no sweethearts. He leaned forward on his elbow. “Tell you what, love, I work for money. If I’m paid top dollar, I’ll be loyal to the devil—that is as long as I’m not used as a bloody patsy.”

  She didn’t flinch—didn’t even blink. “Is that why you’re in here?”

  “Bloody oath it is. Zambada fed me to the sharks to save his ass.”

  She gave another nod. “So, your loyalty can be bought?”

  He rapped his knuckles on the table. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And what if you’re asked to do something illegal?”

  Luke knit his brows. “This is a prison, cupcake. That kind of talk won’t get anyone a commuted sentence.” He inclined his head toward the one-way mirror. “I said I would be loyal, especially if someone can spring me from this shithole and pay me what I’m worth.”

  “And you would be a servant of your overlord?”

  Jeez, the woman sounded like a robot. “Let me put it this way. If Mr. Morales wants a pilot to fly his goods across borders, a pilot who is willing to take risks and deliver on time no matter what, then I’m his man. I’m one of the best and I have a dossier to prove it. You ask about my loyalty? Let me put it this way: I will put my life on the line for a boss who understands my value to his business. I will look danger square in the eye and I’ll bite it in the bum while I deliver the goods.” He glared at her with a twitch to his jaw, praying he’d hit all the right buttons.

  “All right.” She flipped her hair away from her face. “I think that will do.”

  “It will? Ah—do I have the job?”

  “The decision’s not up to me.”

  “No?” He wiped his palms on his coveralls. Had he been too cocky? And why the hell was the woman there? “Ah…what…er…you didn’t tell me your name, Miss—”

  “Mia.”

  “Miss Mia?”

  “Just Mia.”

  He needed to keep her talking. “What do you do for Vincent Morales?”

  “I am his representative and that is all you need to know, sir.”

  “Your English is very good.” Luke tried another tack. “Where did you study?”

  “You ask too many questions.”

  “Forgive me.” He shook his head, his gut telling him to get on this woman’s good side. Fast. He gave her a grin—that always worked on the Sheilas, though he was about as scruffy-looking as an outback swagman. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  Mia pushed her chair back and stood—she was taller than he’d estimated, maybe 5’6”, but looked even taller in heels. “El Padrino tolerates no one who crosses him.”

  “Understood.” Luke hopped to his feet while the goon stepped forward with an angry growl—a clear warning to stay back. Luke held up his handcuffed hands. “If Morales can spring me from this joint, I’ll be loyal. You can count on that.”

  She didn’t smile, but she did stare him down with those electric blues. “Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Lewis.”

  Ignoring the beast behind her, Luke stretched out his right palm. “Please, call me Lucas.” He preferred Luke, but there was no time like the present to embrace his alias.

  “That’s not wise.” She glanced to his hand, turned and headed for the door.

  He lowered his hands and took a step after her. “So…is El Padrino going to get me out of here?”

  Mia regarded him over her shoulder. “That will be up to him.”

  While Luke watched her leave, the hulk gave him a deprecating frown which was completely lost by the picture of pure feminine beauty moving away. Long legs, shapely hips, the woman looked like sin wrapped in navy gabardine. Hopefully, she was some agent Morales hired in Chihuahua. A woman like that could be damned distracting in the field. Bottom line, it was clear Luke needed to impress her before he moved on to the next step. He’d been prepared for a face-to-face with a gruff flunky, if not Morales himself, but meeting with a too-young, too-attractive brunette had taken him by surprise—flipped the hard-ass pilot routine on its ass. With luck, he had impressed her well enough. Who knew what she was looking for? She didn’t seem like a drug lord’s woman. She reminded him more of a law student who was repaying a favor to a dirty uncle.

  But then, she was of northern European descent. Why was she in Mexico?

  Luke shook his head. None of his questions mattered. Mia didn’t matter. The only thing he needed to do was to get out of the pen and start working for Morales so he could feed details of the cartel’s operation back to ICE. The sooner he uncovered the heart of the machinations of the cartel, the sooner they’d obliterate Rhapsody from the black market once and for all.

  Chapter Four

  Though she’d been given permission to do so, Mia preferred not to stay overnight in Chihuahua. As soon as the meeting with Mr. Lewis was over, she asked Marco to drive
her home. During the entire seven-hour ride, she hid in the backseat of the limo and kept her sunglasses on, even after dark.

  Encountering the pilot had been disconcerting in many ways. The man had predatory eyes—pale blue, the color of an early-morning sky, but intense. Beneath his blond beard, his face was chiseled with high cheekbones. Bold eyebrows slanted over those eyes like a hawk—as if he missed nothing—as if he could see how fast her heart was beating beneath her navy-blue suit. It was odd to sit across the table from a blond man, his tanned skin making his beard look like corn silk. None of El Padrino’s men had fair hair. None of them ever looked at her as intensely as the Australian had—they wouldn’t dare.

  Worse, the tenor of his voice had stirred something deep inside, had seared her heart like wildfire, made more luring by an Aussie accent. How could a man as alarming as Mr. Lewis be so attractive? What was it about him that had knocked her off balance? No one, not even El Padrino ever made her so self-aware. True, The Godfather made her nervous and fearful, but Mr. Lewis was different. For some reason, she felt no fear when she’d faced the man in the jail. Perhaps because he’d been handcuffed and Marco stood guard behind her?

  I don’t know.

  And what was she supposed to report to El Padrino?

  Certainly not the truth.

  Mia swiped a hand across her mouth. It had felt so weird to speak English. At first, she’d been afraid she might not be able to form the words. But as soon as she parted her lips, she spoke as if it hadn’t been fifteen years. Indeed, for two-thirds of her life she’d spoken Spanish. She’d only thought in English—at least her innermost thoughts were always in her native tongue. She read in English, too. All the best books in El Padrino’s library were written in English, though he’d never spoken to her in any language but Spanish.

  Aside from that, none of Mia’s internal stirrings from her meeting with Mr. Lewis could ever show. She needed to tuck her opinions away and provide El Padrino with an accurate and unbiased assessment of the Australian. In no way could Lewis come to Hacienda Paraiso as an employee. The pilot would cause too much trouble. He was too divergent—he’d never fit in.

  She only needed to think of a steel-clad flaw—one that wouldn’t expose anything about her internal reaction at the jail.

  The hours passed in a blur, startling Mia when the limo drove through the gates of Hacienda Paraiso. Her breathing sped and she grew hot under the arms. She glanced at the digital clock in the passenger’s console.

  11 pm. El Padrino ought to be asleep. Since he’d given her leave to stay in Chihuahua, he wouldn’t be expecting her. Surely she’d think of a good reason not to hire Mr. Lewis by morning.

  “I’ll drop you off at the door,” Marco’s voice cut through her thoughts.

  Her sunglasses slipped down her nose as she jolted. “Gracias.” She removed them and tucked them into her purse as the car rolled to a stop, then she slipped her shoes off. No use having clicking heels wake the dragon. After Marco opened the door, she silently slipped into the marble foyer and dashed for the grand staircase.

  On the landing, Mia didn’t even look to the east wing where El Padrino kept his rooms. Skipping two steps at a time, she headed up the west staircase where her room was tucked away. To be honest, it was more like a suite at a hotel with a living room and double doors that opened to her bedroom. She even had a balcony that overlooked the pool. El Padrino didn’t allow anyone else to live in the house—only Mia. The others lived in apartments on the Hacienda. The accommodations were nice, at least what she’d seen of them. Without a doubt, Mia would prefer to be in an apartment rather than under The Godfather’s roof. She might even be able to sleep an entire night without fear.

  “Were you planning to sneak off to bed before telling me the details of your meeting?”

  Mia froze on the step—looking westward. Five more stairs and she would have disappeared down the corridor. She hated the soft reedy sound of his voice—hated how it made ice pulse through her blood. Her shoulders sagged as she glanced backward. “Sorry. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep.”

  “As you can see, I’m not sleeping.” El Padrino gestured, indicating for her to change course and follow him to his study. “Are you tired?”

  “I am.” Sighing, she proceeded as ordered. Meetings in The Godfather’s office were never pleasant, especially knowing what was hidden behind the black Japanese screen. If displeased, The Godfather never hesitated to use the crown of pain. She shuddered before she took her usual seat.

  He poured her a glass of sangria, then gave himself a tumbler half-filled with tequila and garnished with lime and salt. After taking his seat behind the desk, he eyed her like a wolf. He always looked at her like that when he was about to strike out with a slap. But Mia was too far away for him to reach. Perhaps he was angry that she intended to wait until morning to speak to him.

  “Tell me about the pilot.”

  She sipped the wine and put it on the side table. “I don’t know if he’s a good pilot or not.”

  El Padrino narrowed his gaze as his fist clenched on the desk. “That’s not why I sent you and you know it.”

  She nodded and purposely drank again while her mind raced.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “He—he’s like all men in his situation. His loyalty can be bought.”

  “What about his character?”

  “It was difficult to gauge in the short amount of time I met with him.” She ran her sweaty palms down her skirt to dry them. “I-I felt he was wary of me.”

  “Because I sent a woman.”

  “Mm hmm.” Perhaps that was it. Mr. Lewis manipulated her with his shifty stare.

  El Padrino splayed his fingers, then squirted his lime over his tequila and drank, his steely eyes staring at her. “But there was something more about him.”

  She shook her head no. She’d admit to nothing.

  With her next blink, he surged from around the desk and grabbed her chin, digging in his fingers to ensure it hurt. From his pocket he revealed the taser. “Tell me!”

  Her gaze shot to the ugly yellow weapon—ready to zap her. This was why she wanted to talk to him in the morning. He wasn’t as mean in the mornings. “M-Mr. Lewis is different, he’s not like any of your men.”

  “Explain.”

  Her mind froze. “Ah-ah.” He’ll zap you if you don’t tell him. With her next blink, she spoke quickly, “His skin—it’s fair like mine, and he’s blond, a-and he doesn’t seem to be afraid of your name.”

  “Not afraid?” He released her, returning the taser to his pocket.

  Mia rubbed her chin, an idea finally coming to her. True, the pilot hadn’t been afraid, but he surely harbored resentment, he’d said so himself. “He wants revenge. Vengeance,” she blurted. “I could read it in his eyes—the hate clawing at his insides empowered him. You don’t want a man with such venom in his heart.”

  “Revenge, eh?”

  “Si.” She let out a breath of relief. Surely, The Godfather would not hire on the Australian now.

  El Padrino reached back for his tequila, then downed it. After he wiped his mouth, he laughed out loud. “A fearless bastard with a vendetta against Amado Zambada?” He smacked Mia on the shoulder so hard she nearly fell out of the chair. “Good work, my pet.”

  ***

  It had been hours since Morales’ goons made Luke put on the blindfold. Though sightless, he didn’t miss a sound. Once they exited the highway, the old Chevy traveled fast over rough roads with a gazillion potholes and, from the clanking, nuts and bolts loosened by the mile. Hours later, they turned onto pavement and screeched to a stop. The window rolled down, followed by a greeting and discussion about the gringo in the backseat. The windows rolled up. The tires hummed. This road was paved and pothole free. About five minutes later, they came to a smooth stop.

  “Can I take the blindfold off?” Luke asked in Spanish.

  “Si.”

  His door opened as he pulled the bandana dow
n. The sun practically blinded him as he wiped his eyes and took a gander at the mansion adorned with palm trees sprouting from enormous terracotta planters. Made from adobe, the building seemed grander than the satellite images Luke had seen in the sit room at ICE. The house alone was estimated to be 20,000 square feet, and that didn’t take into consideration all the outbuildings. Across the plantation, waves of heat distorted the shrubs and trees in a surreal kaleidoscope of color. Humidity immediately made Luke’s shirt cling to his chest while the high-pitch of cicadas swarmed around him. May in Mexico—humid and hot. Jeez, it was hotter than the sand on a Darwin beach. Merely walking up the steps brought on a sweat.

  Morales was serious about security. There were two cameras above the door and, as Luke approached, he caught more than one lens peeking from the foliage. Once they stepped inside, cool air brought instant relief. Luke turned full circle, taking in the grandeur of the foyer. The chandelier alone probably cost twenty grand. It had a couple of hidden cameras, too. The security was state-of-the-art and wouldn’t be easily breached. The lunatic had to have computers monitoring the cameras somewhere.

  Marco, the guard who had been with Mia at the jail, shoved Luke’s shoulder. “This way.”

  Before he moved, he took one more turn, searching for the woman. Thank God she was nowhere to be seen. Lord knew a brunette with cobalt-blue eyes would be distracting. With a long exhale, he followed the big Mexican up the stairs carpeted in plush royal blue. At the landing, the staircase spit in two directions like Scarlett and Rhett’s house in Gone with the Wind. But they weren’t in Georgia. Two guards took up the rear as they climbed. It was like being marched to his execution. He half-expected a snare drum to beat a morose cadence. But his imagination came back in check when Marco pushed him into an office adorned with fantastic weapons displays. The first thing he noticed was a pair of gold Samurai swords on the wall behind…

  Vincent Morales—El Padrino in the flesh. The man stood. “Ah, this must be the pilot,” he said in Spanish.