“Pendejo,” Chiquito mutters, shaking his head. “You’ll never let that go, will you? It’s not my fault that chica said my name and not yours.”
Wow. I side-eye Esteban, engrossed in their playful yet competitive banter. I pick up that Esteban’s not saying his name because of something in their past. Sounds like a woman called him by his cousin’s name or something.
“Really, Esteban?” I ask, smirking.
“Pinche cabrón, primo.” Esteban chuckles and returns to my side, hooking his arm around my waist. “We were kids.”
“Exactly. That’s why—”
“All right, that’s enough. I have too much shit to do to reminisce with you. I brought you something. Let’s go inside.” Esteban tips his head, motioning toward the salon.
Chiquito’s expression hardens, and he gives Esteban a long look. Leading the way inside, Chiquito motions for us to sit on a leather sectional facing the panoramic window with a view of the harbor. Reaching into his jacket, Esteban pulls out a small baggy and drops it onto the coffee table. The sight of the drugs is like a slap to the face, reminding me that someone died.
“Where the fuck did you get this bullshit? It’s been a while since I’ve seen a batch.” Chiquito tosses it back to Esteban. “My DEA contact confiscated shit similar to this from a drug mule posed as a tourist.”
“Can you put me in touch? Someone’s trying to fuck with my territory. I need to find out if it’s an operation we need to worry about.” Esteban pockets the bag of drugs again. He rubs his palm over my knee, smoothing away my anxiety. I expect him to divulge to his cousin everything else going on, but he doesn’t.
Chiquito pulls out his phone. He taps his screen a couple of times, and Esteban’s phone chimes. “Whatever you need, primo. I just sent you the files I have on the mule. He’s still local.”
“He’s not in jail?” I ask, unable to keep my question to myself.
He shakes his head. “He comes from a wealthy family. According to my contact, the product mysteriously disappeared from evidence. The gringo’s lawyer got the charges knocked down to possession.”
Shit. Who the hell are we dealing with?
“I owe you, primo,” Esteban says. The two of them hug as I watch silently, a dozen thoughts flitting through my head. He offers his hand out to me. “Come on, mamacita. Let’s get this asshole.”
I only nod. I hope we really can. I’m tired of false leads and disappointment.
I just want my life back.
Whatever is left of it, at least.
17
Drug Mule
“Wherearewegoing?”I stand outside the rental car, folding my arms over my chest. “What about the others?”
“What about them?” Esteban opens the passenger’s side door for me and waits for me to get in.
If my feet weren’t hurting in my heels, I’d protest. But I’m tired. The stroll from the harbor was a lot longer than I expected, and now I know why. Esteban wasn’t taking me to the beach café to join Bianca and Christos.
“Bianca doesn’t want to deal with this shit. Check your phone, mamacita. She texted us.” Esteban closes the door and strides around the hood of the car. He climbs behind the wheel and starts the engine, lurching away from the curb without waiting for me to protest.
“They’ll meet up with us for dinner. This is a good thing.” Esteban puts on his sunglasses and motions for me to do the same.
“How so? You don’t think we need help?” I sit back in the seat, wondering how pissed off Leandro will be. I’m sure he was behind us, keeping his distance and probably didn’t expect Esteban to take off.
“Because I get some alone time with you. You look stunning. I want to take you out to get your mind off things.” Esteban grins and switches lanes, turning left at the end of the block.
“What about Leandro?” I ask, pulling my phone from my purse. He wasn’t lying about the text messages.
He chuckles. “Again, what about him? I’m sure he’s tracking us.”
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I spot another text on the screen. Bianca didn’t just text me. She created a group chat with all of us, including Leandro.
Bianca: What’s taking so long?