Page 97 of Zorro

Glancing up briefly, he noted the hotel guests filtering through the lobby, a few suitcases rolling, quiet chatter drifting past him. All normal.

His phone vibrated again in his palm.

Wow, subtle. Are those my only choices?

His smile widened into a slow smirk as he texted back immediately. I’m open to negotiation, Dr. Quinn. Convince me. He could almost picture her blush, her annoyed eyeroll, and the little smile she'd try and fail to hide. Yeah, he liked this place they were in. Easy, playful. Finally on the same page. See you soon. Bring your best negotiation tactics.

Then a flicker of movement back near the side exit, a man slipped inside, mid-thirties maybe, tall, built like someone who knew how to throw a punch and make it count. Civilian clothes, tan slacks, dark blazer, and a conference lanyard. But it wasn’t the badge that stopped Zorro’s breath. It was the man’s face. Zorro’s jaw locked. No fucking way.

He recognized him instantly as the guy who had been casing BOPE’s compound yesterday. The one who had disappeared right before the perimeter sweep tightened.

He pocketed his phone smoothly, pulse steady, focused. The man turned, walking toward the far door again, slow and deliberate, just passing through—like hell.

Stepping away from the wall, he moved calmly, quietly, toward the man, who didn’t recognize Zorro.

Even better.

He was already pulling his phone from his back pocket. He pressed a contact.

“Go,” Joker answered immediately.

Zorro kept his voice low. Neutral. “Our friend from the BOPE compound just walked into the hotel. Dark blazer, tan slacks, buzzed on the sides. It’s him, LT. Same build. Same profile. I’m following.”

A beat of silence.

Then Joker’s voice dropped a degree. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. He was inside, making a quick sweep of the area. Didn’t stop. Casing the place too.”

“Copy. Keep on him, Martinez. Do not engage unless it escalates. I’ll loop in Captain Leite. He’s got a contingent of BOPE outside the hotel.”

Zorro’s jaw tightened. “Already on it.”

The call ended.

He followed the man down the corridor, casual, loose-limbed, just another medic stretching his legs between panels.

But inside?

Zorro was locked in.

Eyes sweeping everything, hallways, bystanders, exit points. Ears tuned to the sound of footsteps, voice fluctuations, the subtle cues of a man with a purpose.

He didn’t know what this bastard was doing here. But whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

Bailee’s eyes flicked between monitors. The suspicious men were moving slow and steady, not showing one smidgeon of anxiety. Her gut coiled tighter with every second.

“Security confirmed visuals,” Ricardo said beside her, adjusting the Bluetooth in his ear. “Your American DS guys are trailing the targets.”

She nodded once. “I want them detained now.”

Then the door opened.

Carlos Braga stepped inside. Brazilian intelligence. Attached to their BOPE coordination unit. Wore a diplomatic ID and a tailored jacket like armor. They’d worked side by side for three days. Quiet. Efficient. Sharp.

Bailee turned toward him. “We’ve got movement on a flagged pair of?—”

He didn’t blink. He pulled his weapon and shot both of his countrymen in the head.

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