Page 82 of Bad Rio

Moments later, a bald, tall, overweight man approached. His skin was pocked, with the sallow hue of a person who was not particularly healthy. With a singular purpose, he walked toward Rio. His eyes were dark, bloodshot, and cold.

Harrison.

For a brief moment, a wispy memory slid through Rio’s mind. Had he seen this man before? He couldn’t place him, couldn’t remember where.

“Lang.” Harrison sat heavily on the next barstool. “Only one drink.” He signaled to the bartender for gin. “Where’s the girl?”

“Chill out, man.” Rio studied the other. “She’s in the ladies room.” The familiar voice was the one he’d heard over the telephone many times when he’d been awarded Black Eagle contracts. Now, he could put a face to the man.

On the stage, the singer worked her way to the middle of her number, her voice growing in volume. She sang of lost love, of heartbreak, and the dangerous emotion of a lover spurned.

When Harrison’s drink arrived, he downed it in three gulps. Getting off his stool, he gestured sharply at Rio. “Let’s go. Get Rebecca.”

“In a minute.” Rio swigged his own drink. Casually, he looked around. Ben Paxton’s men should be in position by now but he didn’t see anyone. Catching the bartender’s eye, he raised two fingers and pointed at his and Harrison’s glasses. The man nodded.

“Listen, I’m flying out tonight.” Harrison remained standing. Impatience underlined his words. “I have an important contract for you. A lotta money. You said you need it. Right, Lang? The details are in my room. Names. Dates. Locations that you’ll need. We’re going. Now.”

On stage, the singer belted out her number, her voice rising. Her vibrato echoed off the stone walls in soaring notes. The torches seemed to flame brighter.

“Sure thing. Lemme finish this.” Holding his drink, he pointed at the singer. “She’s good, huh?” He glanced around again. Where were Paxton’s men? They should make their move.Now.

The woman on stage allowed her voice to rise and it drowned out all other sounds.

Suddenly, in a subtle, efficient move Rio hadn’t anticipated, Harrison pulled a Beretta pistol from his coat. Beneath the bar top, and out of sight of anyone observing, he shoved it hard into Rio’s side.

The barrel crammed right into Rio’s injury. Pain burst through his system. He doubled over in agony. Harrison couldn’t have known about his gunshot, could he? Was it pure luck that he’d hit the weak spot? He felt part of the newly-healed skin tear open.

Beneath waves of pain, the truth flooded his mind. So, he’d been right: he’d become a liability to Harrison, and by extension, to Black Eagle. Now, Harrison planned to punch his ticket.

Where the hell was Paxton?

“Think you’re going to mess up my plans?” the other hissed in his ear. “Those young girls and drugs funneling through De Monte’s warehouse are funding the senate campaign nicely. We need that money to win.”

Rio drew in enough air to wheeze, “That’syouroperation?” He wasn’t surprised. He’d figured on some sort of connection, butdamn. Rio wasn’t really the one who’d gone rogue. The one who’d turned to the dark side was Harrison, with money at the root of his drive. Big shock.

Still bent over, he grimaced and hunted around the lounge for the help that should be there. Sweating, he struggled to breathe. The pain was debilitating. He could barely keep his seat on the stool.

Gripping Rio’s arm, Harrison muttered, “Hold your hands in front of you where I can see ’em. If they leave my sight even for a second, you’re dead. Got that? I’ll come back later to get the girl. You’re coming with me. Get up.”

****

Making sure her hairwas completely tucked up inside the beige bucket hat she’d pulled onto her head, Becca slipped inside the elegant hotel and tried to act like a normal guest. She wore black jeans and a long white sweater over a white camisole. The sweater opened at the front and hung nearly to her knees.

Rio’s behavior had been so strange she hadn’t even tried to resist the urge to follow him. What in the world was he doing at the Magnolia Inn? She sensed it had something to do with her miserable situation. If so, she should be part of it. If he thought she’d stay home fussing like a ninny over a chicken dinner, he was mistaken. She stiffened her spine. Besides, maybe she could help.

Setting her open-top hobo bag onto the end of the registration desk, she smiled and shook her head at an approaching receptionist and pretended to be searching for something. The receptionist returned the smile and moved away. In Becca’s purse, her fingers absently brushed over her wallet, tissues, and makeup containers. As she did, she cast surreptitious glances around the lobby.

In her second pass, she spotted him in the adjacent lounge. A singer on stage in a sequin gown wailed away. Rio perched on a barstool, leaning awkwardly to one side. A man she didn’t know stood close beside him and held his arm.

Instantly she sensed something had gone wrong.

Who was that strange man? And why was Rio’s body canted to his side like he was favoring his healing wound? Had he somehow re-injured himself? He was in trouble, she just knew it.

Hotel employees scurried by, carrying trays and going about their business. Guests milled. Nothing else seemed amiss.

The man kept his grip on Rio’s arm and appeared to be urging him to stand up. Rio’s features were screwed up tight. She knew immediately he was fighting tremendous pain.

To others observing, little might indicate impending danger. But she knew about Rio’s injury, and now he seemed to be favoring it. She could tell the other man’s grip was not friendly. He had a coat draped over his arm and she couldn’t see his hand. This didn’t look good.

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