“Come on, Turner, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud,” Alfred whined. “This strip club is so famous it’s a tourist attraction.”

“That’s why we shouldn’t go. A tourist attraction is a perfect target for thieves and thugs and muggers and every other conceivable scum. I stay away from places like that on principle.”

Alfred crossed his arms over his chest and pouted like a toddler. “I can go by myself.”

Right. As if he would let the guy out at night in a city where tourists were advised not to venture out after dark. Alfred was going to get robbed or kidnapped or worse.

“No.”

The toddler attitude continued. “You can’t tell me what to do. We are not in the army, and you’re not my commanding officer. You’re not my wife or mother either.”

That gave Turner an idea. “Does your wife know where you want to go?”

Alfred put his hands on his love handles and leaned forward. “Yes, she does. I told her it’s on my bucket list of things I want to do before I die. I promised not to touch anyone or anything.”

“Since when is it on your list? If it were, I’m sure you would have mentioned it before.”

“Since I found it last night on the internet and added it to my list. I sent a link to Janet, and she told me to go for it.”

The guy’s wife must’ve been the most understanding woman ever. Either that or she was so sick of his whining that she agreed to him going to the famous strip club just to shut him up.

But that was beside the point.

The club was on Alfred’s bloody bucket list, and it didn’t matter that it was a later addition. What were the guy’s chances of ever revisiting Cochabamba?

“Take your gun.”

Alfred dropped to his knees. “Thank you!”

“Stop the theatrics. And don’t forget the silencer.”

The guy pushed up and saluted. “Yes, sir.”

As Turner got dressed, he debated whether he should call Bridget and tell her that he was going to a strip club. But that was too much like asking her permission. It wasn’t as if he was going to do something morally wrong. After all, he was only going as a favor to Alfred.

Besides, he couldn’t risk her telling him not to go and look like an idiot in front of Alfred, or conversely go anyway and deal with Bridget’s temper later.

Not a good idea.

He’d tell her later tonight when he called her, and they would have a good laugh about Alfred and his bucket list.

After a quick phone call to the transport service he used while staying in the city, the two of them headed to the hotel’s small lobby and waited for the car to arrive.

It was a reputable establishment he’d vetted extensively the first time he’d done work for Sandoval, but that only meant that it was better than the alternatives. He’d been using it safely for years, so perhaps there was nothing to worry about.

Right. He was alive today because he always worried, always searched for potential threats, and always took precautions.

Except, none of his carefully planned and executed evasive maneuvers had prevented the ambush in his own hometown. The only thing that had saved him was luck, or fate as Bridget called it. That event could’ve ended much differently.

As the transport dropped them off in front of the club, Turner relaxed. It was located on one of the city’s better streets, and the crowd outside was mainly comprised of tourists, and not all of them were men. To his great surprise, Turner saw couples standing in line. Not what he’d expected, but then as someone who’d never been to a strip club he hadn’t known what to expect. It just seemed logical that men would want to watch pretty women dance naked on stage. Weren't there strip clubs that catered to women?

“I’m so excited,” Alfred said, bouncing on his feet.

“Let’s see that we are getting in first.”

If he wanted to ensure that Alfred got to put a check mark next to this item on his bucket list, he’d better bribe the bouncer to let them in.

“Come on, Alfred.”

A folded Benjamin in the bouncer’s hand put a toothy smile on the big guy’s face, and they were let in through the VIP entrance.

“Sweet,” Alfred said. “I owe you for this.”

“Dangerous words to say to someone like me. I’ll collect.”

“Anything, man. Other than my first born, that is. But I don’t think you'd want the brat.”

“No, thank you. You can keep him.”

When the show began, the hacker’s jaw dropped and stayed like that until it was over. He only closed it to sip on the soft drink Turner ordered for him, then the thing dropped again.

Ridiculous.

“Let’s go, Alfred.”

“It’s not over.”

“We are not staying for the lap dances. You promised your wife no touching.”

The guy sighed. “Yeah, I did.”

Leaving early meant that there was no crowd in front of the club. The bouncer stood with his back to the street, watching for disturbances inside the club.

Turner pulled out his phone and called the transport.

Alfred tucked his hands into his pockets and sighed again. “They were so beautiful. It’s a shame taking pictures was not allowed.”

“I saw a few guys snapping away with their phones.”

“I should have done the same. Fuck, I need to take a piss.”

For heaven’s sake, the guy was a toddler in an adult male chubby body. He probably wanted to go back and take pictures.

“Go. But do it quickly. I don’t want to have to come and get you.”

“No worries, boss.” Alfred turned around and approached the bouncer. “Can you tell me where the men’s room is?”

Glancing at Turner, the guy smiled. “I show you. Come.”

Turner shook his head. Obviously, the guy remembered the folded hundred dollar bill he’d put in his hand. But if the bouncer was hoping for a juicy tip from Alfred, he was going to be disappointed.

As he watched the two wind their way in between the tightly-packed small tables, the sight of the nearly nude girls rubbing themselves against male crotches was mildly disturbing.

It was a kind of prostitution, and Turner had lost his appetite for it.

He had been with a fair number of beautiful women, and some had even danced naked for him like the beauties on stage had done tonight. Professionals, who knew all the right moves. But none could compare to Bridget’s amateur performance. What made all the difference was that she’d wanted him and not the generous tip.

Preoccupied, and with the loud music blasting through the club’s open doors, Turner hadn’t heard a thing until the barrel of a gun was pressed against his temple. “Don’t make a sound, hombre. Walk.” A hand closed around his bicep, pulling him away from the entrance.

The voice sounded familiar—the barely there Spanish accent mild, the cultured tone bordering on snobbish.

Where had he heard it before? It had the same inflection as Sandoval’s.

The fucking nephew?

The guy he’d rescued from a gang that had kidnapped him for ransom?

Arturo Junior was Sandoval’s only nephew and the one he was grooming as his successor. Not because the kid was exceptional in any way, but because Sandoval had only daughters. In South American culture, Sandoval’s options were his less than spectacular nephew or the husband of one of his daughters. The problem was that none of them was of marrying age yet.

He was stuck with Arturo Junior.

Turner needed to keep the guy talking until Alfred and the bouncer returned. The hacker wasn’t a soldier, but he knew how to handle the handgun he was carrying under his suit jacket.

“Why, Arturo?”

“Why? You ask me why, you fucking idiot? You killed Xavier,” the guy whispered in his ear as he pulled him toward the alley between the club and the next building. “It wasn’t your finger on the trigger, but it was the same thing.”

The kid’s slight accent was the only indication he wasn’t American. Sandoval hadn’t stinted on his nephew’s education, sending him to the best business school in the States.

Turner resisted. “Who was Xavier to you?”

The grip on his arm tightened. “He was everything to me. And if not for you, we could’ve been living happily together far away from here. You think my uncle would’ve accepted a gay man as his successor? After he killed my lover, he would’ve had me killed to spare himself the shame.”

All the puzzle pieces snapped into place.

Arturo Junior had staged his own abduction to extort money from his uncle, hoping to spend the rest of his life in comfort with his lover by his side. The question was whether Xavier had been in it for Arturo, or for the money. The gang that had staged the kidnapping hadn’t been made up of amateurs. They had been major cocaine distributors.

But that wasn’t what Arturo Junior needed to hear while holding a gun to Turner’s temple.

What the hell was taking Alfred so long?”

Turner was running out of time. He would have to disarm the nephew himself before the kid dragged him into the alley and finished what his hired goons had failed to do in L.A.

It was risky.

All the kid needed to do was pull the trigger, and Turner’s brain would splatter all over the sidewalk.

A split second was all Turner needed. A little acting should confuse the guy and distract him for a moment. He started shaking. “I wish I could tell my wife I loved her one last time.”

The guy shoved him harder. “You don’t have a wife.”

“I was about to get married. I met a wonderful lady, a doctor…” He emitted what sounded like a sob.

The grip on his arm loosened just a fraction. It was all he needed.

Dropping down, Turner grabbed Arturo Junior’s ankles and pulled with all his strength. The guy went flying backward, but the gun was still clutched in his hand, and he fired.

The bullet missed.

From his crouching position, Turner kicked out, sending the weapon clattering to the pavement. The nephew flipped over and reached for it, but by then Turner had released his own from the holster, sat on the guy, and held it to the back of his neck.

“Don’t move.”

“Do it. Shoot me. I have nothing to live for anyway.”

Fucking hell. Why did he feel sorry for the kid?

“I’m not a murderer.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“What’s going on?” Alfred said from behind them.

“You missed all the action. Say hello to Arturo Junior.”