Dangerous Pursuit (OSI Dark Ops #3)

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Okay, keep me informed.” Lorenzo ended the call and slid his phone into his back pocket. “According to my man on board the ship, they are currently ten miles offshore. Unless there is some sort of surprise cargo inspection, they should be cleared for entry to the port right on time.”

“What are the chances of them being boarded for inspection?” Rafael desperately needed everything to go off without a hitch. “We already have buyers who have put down sizable deposits for their merchandise. If anything interferes with our ability to take delivery, our reputation will be ruined.”

Rafael had already signed on the dotted line and committed those funds to purchase several buildings to be used as brothels and holding facilities throughout the northern part of South America. His inability to fulfill his contractual commitments would result in a giant bull’s-eye being placed squarely on his back. And the people he’d become involved with would take their payment in other, more painful ways .

“Any news on who’s fucking with my bottom line?” For the first time ever, an organization that had been around for three generations was now on the brink of collapse. And all because of some mysterious asshole who’d decided to interfere with his supply chain.

“Since you put the word out, everyone has clammed up pretty tight. But I did talk to one guy who was at a bar called Locals Only the same night the Alcarez brothers were there.” He indicated the chair in front of Rafael’s desk. “May I?”

He nodded once, and Lorenzo sat.

“It took a lot of tequila, but the guy finally told me about a drunk American who was hanging out at the bar that night.” He leaned his elbow on the arm of the chair. “He said there was just something off about the way the man was watching Mateo and Ignacio. Unfortunately, my source left before all three of them, so he didn’t see what happened or if the American was even involved.”

“Off? How so?” An American butting into his business presented a different set of problems.

“He said the guy had asesinato en sus ojos.” Murder in his eyes.

“What did this mystery man look like?” He would offer a sizable reward to anyone who could provide information about the guy’s whereabouts.

“Tall, broad shoulders, scruff on his face, shaggy hair to about here.” He tapped the top of his shoulder. “He was wearing one of those touristy button-up shirts with flowers all over it. I guess he sat in a corner booth watching Mateo and Ignacio.”

“I am having difficulty believing that one drunk American could be responsible for the problems we are having.” In his experience, most Americans who lived in Colombia just wanted to be left alone. “Now that you have a description, I want you to ask around.”

Was the American working undercover for his government in some capacity? Perhaps for the Central Intelligence Agency or the Department of Homeland Security? Those bastards had been nipping at Triano’s heels for decades.

“I want him found.” Rafael sat forward. “Both of our lives depend on it.”

“Yes, sir.” Lorenzo stood and left the office.

Rafael reached out and pressed a button on the phone.

“Yes, sir?” Regina’s voice came through the speaker. His secretary had been with him since he took over the company from his father several years ago.

“Can you please find Paloma and tell her I’d like to see her in my office?”

There was a time he would’ve called his daughter and she would’ve come running, excited to see her papa. Now, thanks to an education at a fancy American university, she’d figured out the truth about what her father did for a living. Since then, she’d been nothing but aloof and contemptuous toward him. However, her principles and disdain for him and his organization did not extend to the money he sent her every month.

“Certainly.” Paloma loved Regina too much to ignore her.

“Thank you.” He stood and walked over to the large window that looked out over the valley where his wife’s ashes had been spread.

Times like this, he missed his Julieta.

She would’ve known how to bridge the ever-expanding gap between him and his daughter. His relationship with their only child had always been contentious, because, like him, Paloma had a temper and a hair trigger. Julieta had had a calming effect on both of them. She was the ultimate family diplomat and knew how to keep them both from self-destructing.

Then, out of nowhere, Julieta was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. Three months later, when Paloma was in her first year of college, his beautiful wife died in their bed at the age of fifty-seven. Sadly, their daughter didn’t make it home in time to say goodbye. To this day, Paloma blamed him for not letting her know sooner.

He turned when his office door flew open, and in stomped his daughter in her ugly, clunky boots. Today’s outfit was a pair of green military-style pants rolled up at the bottom, a red scarf tied around her neck, and a T-shirt with the image of Che Guevara screen-printed on the front.

His spoiled daughter liked to think she was quite the revolutionary, yet she knew nothing about personal sacrifice.

Her long dark hair hung down in a stringy mess, and though she was only twenty-two, her toxic attitude had aged her face a great deal.

“You summoned me.” She stopped in front of him, crossed her arms, and cocked her hip.

Without her mother to balance her, Paloma had become a five-foot-seven-inch bundle of insolence and negativity.

“I wouldn’t have to summon you if you would answer my calls.” He was not in the mood for her attitude. “How have you been?”

She’d arrived home two weeks ago for her summer break, and he’d only seen her in passing as she was coming or going.

“Seriously? We’re doing this? Fine.” Her voice dripped with condescension. “School is fine. My friends are fine. I’m fine. Can I go now?” She made a move as if to leave.

“Sit! Down!” Rafael pointed toward the couch.

Her eyes widened at his shouted command.

“Now!” Typically, he only used that tone with people who worked for him .

Too late, she tried to mask her fear, then plodded over to the couch on the other side of the room and dropped onto it with a heavy sigh.

He rubbed his hand over his mouth and forced a deep breath.

“For almost three years, I have tolerated your anger, your attitude, and your unbelievable hypocrisy.” She opened her mouth to protest. “I am talking now, and you will sit quietly and listen. While you are at school or gallivanting around the world with your friends—spending the money I graciously provide to you, by the way—I am here, in this house, with only memories of your mother to keep me company. Then you have the audacity, the unmitigated gall to show up here but only because you want to keep the money flowing. You spend every minute of every day sulking and punishing me with your scorn and silence, as if I am to blame for her leaving you behind.”

Paloma’s chin quivered, and tears welled in her big brown eyes.

“Never forget that your mother was mine first.” He pointed at his chest, directly over his heart. “I loved her before you ever knew her, and no one was more shattered by her death than I was. But you never gave a moment’s thought to that, did you?”

“I—”

“You are a hypocrite, Paloma.” A tear streamed down her cheek, but he continued. “You dare to pass judgment over me and our family business, all while enjoying the financial benefits of the very same business you claim to detest.” He stepped closer and leaned down. “You’re a smart girl, Paloma. How do you think I paid for that expensive university you attend? Or how you are able to drive an expensive car and take all of your extravagant trips?”

He straightened, walked over to the window, and stared out over the valley.

“You will never know what I lost when your mother died because you’ve never bothered to think of anyone but yourself. And you will never know what I have done nor the sacrifices I have made to make our family successful and powerful.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “You are a spoiled child, Paloma, and it is time for you to grow up. You are either on the side of this family or you are against it.” Which would make her his enemy. “I suggest you choose wisely.” Rafael turned back to the window. “You are free to go.”

“Papa, I—”

“I said, you are free to go.” Her sniffles as she left his office meant nothing to him.

Perhaps now she had a clearer understanding of his expectations with regard to her loyalty. Without it, she was just another liability.