The Witness (Miami Private Security #4)

15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Sabrina

T he Hotel Internacional reminded me of a hothouse rose a day or two past its prime. Once she was the belle of the ball, but now the gilt had tarnished, and the velvet frayed. The building inside and out was reminiscent of the iconic Palm Beach hotel The Breakers, including the twin spires topped with orange Spanish tile that towered over the Mediterranean-style building.

The interior of the hotel was impressive even if the tapestries on the walls were threadbare and the tall windows needed a good cleaning. I’d attended a wedding at The Breakers a few years ago, and the opulence of the old-world hotel had been more sumptuous than the bride’s massive tulle ball gown—the Internacional had most of the same grandeur, only dulled by time and wear.

We skirted the busy lobby and check-in desk, Gunter leading us toward the hotel’s bar. I was grateful for Michael’s hand resting protectively on the small of my back as we traversed the expansive colonnade. My head was still fuzzy from the revelations in the car, and I was operating on autopilot.

The dimly lit walnut-paneled bar was a stark contrast to the sun-drenched ride in the convertible. My eyes and throbbing head welcomed the shadows. I slid Gigi’s sunglasses up on top of my head.

A bleach blonde with brassy undertones waved to Gunter with her cocktail. We joined her at a four top littered with empty glasses, condensation rings, and damp paper napkins.

The soon-to-be-restauranteur in me longed to wave a server over to clean up the mess. But that was almost as ridiculous as teaching someone how to properly poach an egg while waiting for witness protection. Then again, that had saved my life.

“This is Camellia,” Gunter said, waving a hand at the woman as we all found seats. “She is the party planner hired by the wine and spirits conference to put on tomorrow night’s welcome party.”

“Gunter, so good of you to be late,” Camellia answered in Spanish-accented English while floating a kiss over first one of his cheeks, then the other. “I’ve been enjoying your hospitality.” She gestured at the empty glasses and retook her seat.

I sank gratefully into the leather upholstery of the dark brown club chair Michael held for me. Gunter didn’t provide Camellia with our names. Instead, he pulled a thick envelope from a pants pocket and placed it in a dry space in the middle of the table. It was all the introduction Camellia needed to give me and Michael each a big smile of welcome.

“For me? Lovely.” Camellia tapped a long red nail on the envelope. It didn’t take X-ray vision to know it was full of cash. Vaguely, I wondered about the money’s origins: the CIA, Interpol, Gunter, John Smith. My head swam with possibilities.

Gunter and Camellia hashed out details of a plan to get Gunter and me into the party tomorrow night. Michael leaned forward, avidly nodding in agreement. I felt detached like an eavesdropper listening to a conversation at the other end of a long hallway. Straining to hear but not directly involved. Because in my world there weren’t envelopes full of money or assumed identities. I resisted the urge to pinch myself… again.

The event planner drained her drink, stood, and lifted two garment bags from the back of the chair at the next table. “These are the uniforms. They should fit you and her. The big guy will be on the guest list as Michael Dumas.”

She draped the bags over her chair and scooped up the envelope of cash. “Gunter, your ass will look great in my uniform pants. Until tomorrow, don’t be late.” She winked and none too steadily wandered from the bar.

I gathered my scattered thoughts, trying to force myself out of the weird limbo I was in. “This is it? We serve a few drinks at the party. When I see Sandoval, I point, and we’re done?” My voice sounded wrong, like I’d been drinking with Camellia all afternoon.

“Pretty much. I’ll need to contact Smith for a pickup but, yeah.” Michael looked at me with so much sympathy that I wanted to crawl into his arms for a hug. Normally I was the strong one, the ass-kicking chef in charge of a kitchen or the single mom with a thousand demands on my time, but this situation made me long for someone bigger and stronger to lean on.

“Not exactly.” Gunter rapped his knuckles on the glossy walnut tabletop. “There is one minor issue. The Cubans need Sandoval to commit a crime in Cuba. We need Sabrina to—”

“Absolutely not.” Michael cut Gunter off, his fist smashing down hard on the table, rattling the empty glasses and knocking more of the cobwebs from my brain. He looked ready to leap across the table and strangle Gunter.

“What’s going on?” I looked from Gunter’s serene smile to Michael’s clenched jaw and white knuckles.

“He’s going to use you as bait.” Michael sat back in his chair and draped a protective arm over my shoulders. “Aren’t you?” he snarled at Gunter.

“Michael and I will be here to make sure it all goes to plan.” Gunter gave me another Cheshire Cat smile and crossed one leg over the other in an indolent move that illustrated how little he feared Michael ripping him apart.

My heart picked up speed, the beats rushing one after the other as I tried to understand how I’d gone from pointing out a man to, to… bait. I sucked in a few slow breaths, trying to calm my racing pulse.

“What is the plan?” My words came out breathless. I envisioned myself as a wedge of cheese balanced on a mousetrap waiting to be consumed by a huge, ugly rat.

“We want Sandoval to attempt to kill you,” Gunter said like it was nothing. Just a normal Tuesday—easy for him to say; I was the fucking bait. My lungs seemed to stop working, and I gasped, trying to get enough air. It wasn’t helping.

Michael’s hand clasped my shoulder fiercely, and I leaned toward him, drawn to the safety of his familiar presence.

“No. You fucking spies and your need-to-know bullshit. We’d have stayed in Miami if I’d known about this.”

“And that is why you weren’t told. It’s not your decision to make, Michael. It’s Sabrina’s. Her life is the one in tatters.” Sympathy softened Gunter’s face, and for a moment he looked human. Compassionate.

The kindness slayed me. I took a full breath and pushed away the panic. I needed to know the details before I made my choice. Michael urged me to rise and leave the bar. But I shook my head and stayed in my chair.

“Tell me?” I focused like a laser on Gunter.

“The Cubans need a crime. Attempted murder will work nicely. It’s a capital crime here, and while I’m not an advocate of the death penalty,” Gunter shrugged, “I can’t think of a better man to be executed than Rafa Sandoval.”

“What are the odds Sandoval would do the dirty work himself? He’ll tell a henchman to do it. She can’t risk her life on a long shot.” Michael hovered behind my chair, his hands resting on my shoulders.

“That’s where you come in, Steel. You’re going to bring Sabrina to Sandoval and demand he take care of his witness problem then and there.”

“Why would Michael do that?” My head spun. I didn’t understand. It sounded illogical.

“Not Michael Steel, Michael Dumas. A man trying to curry favor with the most powerful criminal in South and Central America. No better way to attract Sandoval’s attention than to bring him a gift: Sabrina Dalton. But a man smart enough to bring such a prize to the table would make sure no loose ends tied him to a kidnapping of an American citizen.” Gunter explained it to me like it was the most obvious solution to a simple riddle and not a wager that had me risking everything.

“I’m not delivering Sabrina to him.” Michael clutched my shoulders like at any moment he was going to lift me out of the chair and carry me out of the bar.

“She will not be in real danger. You, me, and the Cuban police will all be protecting her.”

“No.” Michael spat out the word.

“The longer Sandoval breathes free air, the more danger you are in.” Gunter ignored Michael.

“How do—” I started to ask when Michael cut me off.

“No. Don’t. Wait here. Don’t talk to him until we talk to Smith. We need to regroup. I’ll get the room keys and we can go upstairs and think.” Michael squeezed my shoulders, and I tipped my head back to look up at him.

“It’s too risky. There has to be another way.” His voice hitched, and his thumb rubbed a small circle on the nape of my neck.

I shrugged my shoulder up and caught his hand under my cheek. I leaned into the contact for a precious second. Then he was gone.

Hotel rooms. I’d not even thought of something so mundane as checking in. I looked at Gunter, who’d cocked his head considering me and the now departed Michael.

“He is very protective of you.”

I nodded and rubbed my throbbing temples. The sounds of the bar filled in the silence that lingered between Gunter and me for a few long minutes.

“If Sandoval can do this to your restaurant in the middle of a very posh part of Miami, what else can he do?” Gunter passed me a cell phone.

The images on the screen horrified me. I scrolled back and forth between the four photos of my restaurant. The time, money, sweat, and tears, all wasted. My front glass windows shattered. The beautiful custom-made bar pockmarked with bullet holes. The first section of wallpaper, hung a few days ago, in tatters.

My hands shook so hard I nearly dropped Gunter’s phone. Instead of hurling the phone at the wall, I crushed it in my palm. The carnage made me ill. It wasn’t only the tens of thousands of dollars lost, but all the time and effort I’d put in to earn the money and build my reputation. I had insurance, but shit. I curled forward like I’d been kicked in the stomach.

My plan to open before the winter season ended in Miami was a key to Viande’s success. A new restaurant needed the winter tourists’ income. If I didn’t hit my February 15 opening date, I was screwed. I’d spent thousands on ads and marketing all around that date. No insurance would cover those expenses.

I felt a black pit open at my feet. The rabbit hole beckoned.

It was end this now and get my life back or, or what? Give up? Give in? Run away? Hope Smith had another plan? I wasn’t that person. I’d promised Hailey.

“It’s not only about you. What about the next innocent that gets in his way?” Gunter leaned across the table, his gaze boring into me. It was like he was searching my soul for the answer to his question.

I’d failed Gabriela Cantoral. The cook at the diner. And poor Lewis, too. I couldn’t have another person’s death or injury on my conscience. Not when I could prevent it.

I nodded at him, sitting tall and squaring my shoulders.

“What if Sandoval isn’t at the party tomorrow?” Fury and determination laced my words and stiffened my spine. I placed Gunter’s phone face down on the table.

It was time to get my life back and ease my guilt. If being bait in this terrifying game of cat and mouse was the only way, so be it. I needed this surreal experience to be over so my mother and I could go back to our lives.

“My intel is rarely wrong. I’ll be at your room at 4pm tomorrow to pick you up for our shift.” He passed me the uniform. “Between now and then, get Steel to agree. I’ll fill you both in on all the details then. Otherwise, I’ll have to recruit some Policía Nacional Revolucionaria officer you don’t know or trust to take his place.”

“Couldn’t you play Michael Dumas?” We stood facing each other, holding our catering uniforms.

“No. I’m too well known in Havana. It wouldn’t work.”

“I’ll try to convince Steel.” The thought of doing any of what Gunter planned without Michael was almost enough to send me into hiding despite all the reasons I couldn’t—or rather, shouldn’t.

“You hold more power over that man than you know.” Gunter gave me another of those Cheshire Cat grins.

“He’s just doing his job.” I looked toward the lobby where Michael had gone.

“I’ve been a bartender even longer than I’ve been a spy. I’ve watched a lot of people from behind the bar. Trust me, you are more than a job to him.” Gunter patted my back.

I wanted to ignore the twinge of pleasure Gunter’s assurance gave me, but it took hold, growing big and important in my fearful and lonely heart. Michael, my superhero, could be so much more.