“No, Poma.”
She shrugged. “He’s a liability we can’t afford. Volk and Zorra’s lives are on the line. Intel to end NSH. Those are our priorities. It’ll look like a heart attack.” He watched as she tucked away Poma’s phone. She was slick.
She started for the door, and he said, “You had no intention of hurting his family. Where is Gonchaya?”
“He’s picking up a van. And, yes, that’s true, but thanks for the vote of confidence. I never hurt innocents if I can help it, especially children.” She paused and turned toward him. “I knew Hugo’s name, but I didn’t know his alias or where to find him. I’m sorry to lose Mario as a contact, but he is a greedy man, and I wouldn’t put it past him knowing way more than he’s said. I can’t be certain he wouldn’t contact NSH and tip them off. Play us off each other. This had to be wholly contained between us for now and when we obtain a location, your team.”
He nodded. “I understand all that. We do what we have to do.”
“You know the way to my assassin’s heart.” She touched his face and kissed him, and for a second he was lost in the feel of her soft mouth beneath his.
She released him and he let out a long breath, muttering something about her mouth driving him to distraction.
She opened the door, and they walked through the pool hall. There was a commotion at the front, and Preacher glimpsed Poma on the floor, his eyes open and blank as people tried to help him. He and Karasu slid past and out the door.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later,he and Karasu were outside the Red 84. Preacher spied Hugo the moment they pulled up. There was a black van across the street. Gonchaya. “Target acquired,” she said.
“Copy,” Gonchaya responded.
She touched Preacher’s arm, and they crossed the street. Her gaze was firmly on the bouncer. He wasn’t sure what tipped Hugo off, maybe the fact that NSH was looking for him to silence him or it was just a sixth sense ingrained in him from working in the belly of the underground.
He took off, pushing through the crowd waiting to get into the club, and Karasu went off like a shot, a blur of black. The woman was as fast as a marathon runner and this was her world, so he would again be her backup. When the bouncer disappeared down a side street, Preacher ran, turning down a second street to box him in. He passed a road and saw her gaining on their HVT, but the man was the size of a linebacker, and he plowed through the narrow corridor, yanking down clotheslines and tossing trash cans to block her path. Karasu wasn’t letting up. She was his pit bull and he loved that about her. She hurtled the heaps, then disappeared from his sight. He ran south to cut them off and made the block in time to see her target rush into the cross street.
Karasu appeared from the alley, leapfrogging on cans and crates, then jumping. She hit her target’s back, and they both smacked the ground. She recovered swiftly and pushed her knee into his spine, yanking his hand back and twisting his wrist. With the other hand, she gripped a handful of hair and pulled his head back. Hugo cried out, cursing like a sailor.
Preacher came to her, glancing around. The street was deserted, but there were lights on in the residential apartments. Before they could react, Gonchaya was there, the door to the van opening.
Gonchaya came around the van and grabbed one side while Preacher grabbed the other. The dazed hit man was in the van and Karasu was already zip tying him tight before he could recover. Then they pulled out of the neighborhood.
Karasu went to her knees and grabbed another handful of the guy’s hair. “I need answers and I hear you’re the guy to give them to me.”
“Fuck you, bitch.”
She slammed the back of his head against the wall of the van. “Now is that any way to make friends?”
“I don’t need friends. Let me the fuck out of here.” He struggled, but Karasu dragged his face close to hers.
“The enemies of my enemies are my friend,” she said, and Hugo stilled.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I hear you have a No Safe Haven problem. You want to live, don’t you?”
He scowled. “Yes, bitch,” he snarled.
Preacher kicked him in the leg and said, “Have some respect or we’ll tie you and leave you for NSH. You look like you’d make some hefty bait.”
“Who are you people?” He flipped her a quick angry glance, but his attention remained on Preacher, his face impassive. He sized up Preacher, then Karasu. “CIA? Covert ops? Special forces?”
“That doesn’t matter. Just suffice it to say we want the coordinates of their bunker in the jungle. You give us that information and you can walk away with your life.”
Hugo Suarez wasn’t a dumb fuck, that was for sure. He was a hit man, one who had lived and survived on his wits, confidence, and instincts in the underbelly of La Paz. His lips compressed.
“Maybe Interpol would be interested in your whereabouts. I hear La Paz prisons are so much fun. I’m sure NSH will hear all about your arrest. We’ll make sure of it.” Karasu’s tone sent a chill into the air. “It’s rumored that NSH has money to burn. It would be easy to buy off a guard, inmate, hell, the whole prison. You’re a dead man walking, Hugo. Let us help.”
He was smart not to trust them, but he had no choice. His expression was just like Poma—trapped. He knew it and they knew it. He was hiding and being hunted. He silently weighed his options and came up with only one desperate answer.