Chapter 17

A top assassin had to acquire many skills, and one of them was patience. Almanza had honed that one into a fine art. He could wait as long as he needed to, certain that the kill was his.

At the Kemah boardwalk, he’d blended in, acting like a tourist. It had been a better tactic to use the crowds as cover, rather than enter the private houseboat and risk exposure.

He’d watched, not bothering to count the hours. All the while, he’d salivated for the taste of death. Rip and Lela would come out in plain view, and he’d been primed for action. The event had taken place flawlessly. He’d flowed with the crowd, carrying his weapon under his long coat. He’d imagined it as a warrior’s robe, just like the ancients had worn.

He’d glided by like a dark ghost. The SEAL’s life was his to take. He had power over life and death, a heady elixir. The knife had gone in smoothly, razor sharp, cutting deeply.

Almanza hadn’t waited for the coroner to arrive. He’d bumped into his victim and stabbed him at just the right angle, putting muscle behind the narrow blade. Without stopping, turning, or reacting, he’d moved on down the boardwalk.

He’d continued walking at a steady pace and left the tourist area. When safely away, a cab had picked him up. It had been that easy.

Almanza took pride in his professionalism, his lack of emotion. He’d taken a life, one more to add to the list. And he felt no sadness for the victim, only a sense of accomplishment. It was his job and he’d done it well.

For days, Almanza had holed up in the crumbling house in Third Ward. The residents were unaware of his deed, and had their own fights for survival to worry about. But he had no need to brag. He expected no less of himself than to conclude his task and take payment for it.

Zap was generous in these matters, and the jobs he’d assigned had filled the assassin’s coffers—not that he was saving for retirement. In his line of work, the special assignments wouldn’t stop coming until he was as dead as his victims.

Then word came. A messenger delivered the news that the SEAL had survived.

That couldn’t be true. It was impossible. The dagger he’d used, the sharpness of the blade, and the entry point guaranteed extermination. There was no chance of a victim cheating death. If the wound hadn’t killed him, bleeding out would have finished him off.

Yet the messenger had the nerve to relay that bit of unwelcome news, then vanish back into the neighborhood. It was a lie. Almanza would find the idiot who’d deceived him and kill him.

It was a very poor joke, and Almanza wasn’t laughing.

He sat in a dank bar, drinking cheap beer. A couple of drunks clung to their barstools, waiting for refills. And gang members hung out, drinking from bottles and playing pool. The smoke-filled room was suffocating, and the other customers got on his nerves.

Itching to kill someone, Almanza ordered another beer. The place was a dive, but it had a TV. He had to see for himself. Halfway through his second beer, the news came on. It was mostly stories that didn’t interest him at all, since the rules of society didn’t have anything to do with him.

Almanza needed a shower. But the water at the house was murky, and the pressure was so low that it made showering impractical. He was sick of the dump and anxious to go home.

His tolerance for people was low, and he contemplated leaving. The news anchor droned on about the stock market, then interest rates. Who gave a shit?

Almanza downed the last of his beer and stared at the screen. Then a view of Kemah flashed above. “Turn it up.” The bartender complied.

There were photos of the SEAL on the ground, drowning in his own blood. No doubt onlookers had snapped pictures of the gore. The report started with reciting what Almanza already knew. A man had been stabbed while on vacation at Kemah. He’d been staying on a houseboat with an unidentified woman.

Unidentified my ass.

Then the tone shifted. The reporter admitted amazement at the string of events. The victim had been flown to the hospital then rushed into surgery. The injury had been a stab wound, close to the heart. But after a lengthy operation, he’d stabilized.

Shit. That couldn’t be.

The reporter finished the story: “We have no additional information on the man. Against doctor’s advice, he fled the hospital within hours of the surgery. It’s unknown how he managed to leave, whether he had assistance, or where he is now. We’ll keep you updated as more information is released.”

Disbelief turned to rage. Almanza had stabbed that military asshole. The injury had killed him. It must have. The execution method hadn’t failed before.

Unless the victim was some sort of bionic man, the dude was dead. No other answer made sense. Yet fate seemed determined to shove an alternative down Almanza’s throat.

The fucking SEAL had survived and was out walking around, refreshed from his vacation instead of dead. And that was what Almanza would be. His life was worth no more than dirt. He’d worked for Zap for many years, but that didn’t mean he would get away with screwing up.

Almanza shoved his beer glass away and stared at the wall. Maybe he should have another drink. It might be his last.

*****

At the house, Almanza stretched out on the bed, waiting for the call he knew would come. Or maybe he’d be murdered in his sleep. He wasn’t afraid to die. He’d killed enough that death wasn’t a stranger. He wouldn’t turn into some sniveling coward.

But if Zap thought that he’d give in without a fight, he was wrong.

Sleep didn’t take him. Almanza closed his eyes, only able to envision the SEAL bleeding out. He had to accept that the guy had survived, but that didn’t mean he’d live very much longer. He was on Almanza’s hit list, no matter what his boss directed.

No man survived an assassination. It hadn’t happened before. The way Almanza saw it, the dude had received a temporary stay, that was all. His life was over one way or the other.

When dawn lit the windows, Almanza’s phone vibrated. He hesitated a second before answering.

“I assume you received the news.”

“Si, jefe.” Almanza wasn’t about to apologize. A show of strength was best.

“I don’t tolerate screw-ups,” Zap said. “I want the woman. Am I clear? No more delays. No excuses.”

Almanza couldn’t believe his ears. The boss had given him an order. He was to live a little longer.

“I’ve sent a crew your way. Use the soldiers to execute my orders.” Zap paused. “If the SEAL gets in the way, kill him. And don’t miss this time.”

“Si, jefe.”

Almanza had an opportunity to get in good with the boss again. He wasn’t about to blow it. There wouldn’t be a next time. The boss would see to that.

*****

Lela didn’t mind staying in her apartment with Rip. She just wished the circumstances were different. But she’d made the best of it.

The good part was sharing her bed with him. She could get used to that, yet didn’t know if she’d have that chance. But Rip remained confident that he’d get her through all of this alive.

As much as Lela wanted to believe him, it was difficult to quell her fears. She was hiding out in her own apartment, listening to music on headphones and microwaving meals. Meanwhile, a deadly assassin lurked in the city, waiting for another opportunity.

It didn’t seem like she had the winning hand. But maybe things would change.

On the third morning, Rip heard from Travis. The call lasted a few minutes. It seemed there were details to be relayed, and the next move to be agreed upon. Lela hung on every word, trying to decipher the conversation from Rip’s responses.

When the call ended, Rip smiled. “Good stuff.”

“Tell me, please. The suspense is too much.”

“Ortiz has money stashed overseas, a lot of it. And the information you handed over includes the banks and account numbers.”

“You’re kidding.”

“He’s been at this for a while, probably stealing from campaign funds and scooping from the cartel,” Rip said. “That connection Ortiz has in the organization probably suspects him of ripping them off. The cartel doesn’t gain and retain control by being stupid.”

“Jesus…Ortiz thinks he can hide that much money?” Lela furrowed her brow. “Things are beginning to fall into place.”

“Are you thinking what I am?”

“The cartel is hot on my trail because they suspect I know about the hidden stash. And they want it,” Lela said.

“Travis agrees,” Rip said. “An alternative would be to torture the senator and make him spill it, give the account numbers. But there would be problems with that route.”

“Yeah, like the fact that he’s out on bail.” Lela shook her head. “If the cartel messes with him, it’s like admitting complicity.”

“That’s why it would be a last resort. It’s more direct to get the information from you, take possession of the cash, and let Ortiz face the court.”

Lela cringed. “I only now learned of the accounts. The cartel’s interrogation would have come up dry.”

“There’s no way I’d allow you to fall into their hands,” Rip said.

After pacing in front of the sofa, Lela stopped. “The senator has no escape. He faces prison.”

“Yep, and once the cartel funds are under government control, there won’t be any gold at the end of the rainbow for Ortiz.”

“Now, all we have to do is get the cartel to back off,” Lela said.

“I know you didn’t want to go to the feds, and I agreed. But this changes things,” Rip said. “Once the cartel knows the money is out of reach, there’s no motivation to come after you.”

“I hope you’re right.” Lela was inspired by the prospect of ending all the violence. “It hadn’t really made sense that the cartel feared what I’d say in court. They’re so powerful, untouchable…”

“That’s often true, so they don’t shake in their boots when accusations are levied at them,” Rip said. “It was about greed, had to be.”

Lela’s courage resurged. “Then I have to get this information to the agency, and the sooner the better.”

*****

Like the predator he was, Almanza watched Lela’s apartment building. And he wasn’t alone. Zap had put a small army at his disposal.

In the days he’d been on surveillance, he hadn’t seen Lela or her SEAL boyfriend—which only meant that he hadn’t seen her go inside.

That didn’t mean that she wasn’t in there. It was a hunch. It wasn’t unusual for a person on the run to show up at a familiar place. It was a human flaw.

Almanza had secured a room across the street, with a clear view to her building. Taking shifts, his guys kept eyes on the place from other vantage points.

When Almanza wasn’t in the room, he lingered at the nearby coffee shop or the metro stop, keeping her building in sight. He was a patient man, but Zap wouldn’t wait forever.

If Lela wasn’t there, then he’d have to move on. He’d give it another day. Meanwhile, he had spies cruising and looking for her.

*****

The plan was to bring the feds in on this new development. The drive was secured in the safe. But once the agency understood the situation, the information would be transmitted. Travis would see to that.

Rip hugged Lela. “I’ll be there, by your side, every step of the way.” He released her but held her hands. “If things start to go sideways, I’ll get you out of there, okay?”

Lela lifted up on her toes and kissed him. “It’s going to work. When the cartel has no more reason to come after me, this will all be over. I’ve put too many lives in danger. I’m anxious to put an end to it.”

Rip stuck his gun in his belt. “All right. We’ll take the metro. It’s safer in a public venue, where there are more options for escape.”

“I trust you.” Lela unlocked the deadbolt. “I’m ready.”

It was midmorning and the city was filled with throngs of people. Rip took in the surroundings, but saw no sign of the cartel. He guided Lela along the sidewalk for several blocks. It wasn’t too far to the metro stop. He’d considered taking a cab, but that had disadvantages. Once inside a vehicle, Lela would be an easier target.

The metro would be transportation out of the city, and then Rip would switch to another mode for the last few miles to the FBI field office.

Houston had the dangers of most big cities, but was relatively safe. It was daytime, and there tended to be less crime during business hours. Yet that didn’t rule it out entirely.

Half a block up, a woman yelled, “Stop him!”

Rip glanced in that direction and saw a man running away. It was a purse snatching in progress. Not his business. He had only one focus, and that was Lela.

But when Rip looked back, Lela was gone. Adrenaline flooded his veins like a narcotic.

Four gang members stood shoulder to shoulder blocking him in. Just beyond them, two other huge, muscled guys had Lela. One of them had a hand over her mouth, and the other opened the door to a low-riding sedan with blackened windows.

The sidewalk was filled with pedestrians. Rip couldn’t fire his gun. The crowd behind the gang members separated him from Lela’s abductor, and the chances were too great that innocent bystanders would be injured. The gangster slid into the back seat with Lela, and the car peeled away from the curb into traffic.

The army of guys in Rip’s face lunged for him.

Fucking hell.