Page 79 of Worth the Heat
What seems like an eternity passes before we reach a large, motorized gate with a guard on duty. The guard approaches the van, then rounds the vehicle to open the sliding door. He rears back when he sees the body, and Isabella stiffens. “There’s blood dripping out of the van.”
So there is.
Well, if all else fails, my guys can follow the trail of blood like some fucked up Scooby Doo case.
The guard quickly closes the door, then motions for me to follow the van. He stares me down, and Isabella tilts her head down so he can’t see her face. “Baby, you didn’t even flinch when that guy was bleeding out in the van, but now you’re scared to look a guard in the eyes?”
“Adrenaline. I don’t know how I handled that,” she says quietly.
We continue for another mile before turning a corner to see a beautiful home built into the side of a mountain. Floor to ceiling windows across the length of the home for all three stories look out onto the city of Fort Collins. We can see all the way to Greeley from here, and I bet on a clear night, downtown Denver might be visible.
Turning off my bike, I quickly dismount, then take my time removing Isabella’s helmet. “No matter what you’re asked, act dumb. Put it all on me. I know how to handle a guy like this, and I’ve met him before.”
“Okay,” she whispers, and the sadness of her tone makes me stop.
“You know I don’t actually think you’re dumb, right? Or that you can’t handle yourself? I know you can, sweetheart. I’m honestly hoping my previous history with this guy can work to our advantage. I love you. We’re gonna be okay.”
“I trust you,” she says, a tiny bit of oomph back in her voice.
I hear someone approach about the same time metal hits the back of my neck. “This is an interesting turn of events.”
I slowly place Isabella’s helmet on my bike, then remove my own. Turning slowly, but keeping Isabella behind me, I take a good look at Fernando Montoya. It’s been eight or ten years since I’ve seen him, and the time has aged him tremendously. In his early forties, he’d once been lively and youthful. Now there are deep lines across his forehead, and what looks like a permanent scowl on his face.
But what gets me is that the fucker is wearing red silk pajamas while pointing a diamond studded pistol at me. “What? No comment about my outfit? You always had opinions before now.”
I shake my head, chuckling. Eccentric motherfucker always wore something odd. I used to tease him about shopping at aconsignment store straight out of the eighties. Knit sweaters in odd geometric patterns, bright colored trousers, and almost always with boat shoes. Who the hell wears boat shoes to a bar in Colorado?
“You weren’t supposed to come with Miss Santo, Sebastian Garcia. What am I to do with you now?”
“Listen to an old friend, I hope,” I tell him. “I always wondered what happened to you, Fernando. I never knew you were related to the Salazar family.”
Fernando sighs as he lowers his gun. “I’m not technically family. My mother’s brother’s illegitimate son married a Salazar girl. They wanted to build up the distribution in Colorado, and here I am.”
I feel like there is a lot more to the story, but I doubt he’s going to offer up any information. “I’d really like to explain how Isabella got mixed up in this. For old times’ sake, I hope you’ll give us a chance. I know my word doesn’t mean much to you these days, but there was a time when I thought you trusted me. I’m still that same man.”
“And youramor? Will she be participating in this chat, or have you decided you’re the only one who can talk?” Fernando asks, a glint in his eye as he waits for my reply.
“She can talk just fine,” comes a muted voice behind me. Isabella peeks out nervously. “Sebastian is worried. I was coming here with or without him. I knew I had to speak with you and plead my case.”
Fernando sighs again as his gaze strays to the side. “I own all of this land. Did you know that? Over ten thousand acres.”
I’m impressed, but even I know the Cartel can buy anything. “I had no idea. I always wondered what your profession was.”
He continues as if I haven’t spoken. “A Salazar son is trying to force me out. He whispers into the ears of the kingpin, spreadinglies about my leadership. It’s only a matter of time before I’m sent to the gates of Hell with everyone else.”
I hear Isabella’s sharp intake of breath, and I know her heart is torn. She wants to feel hurt for the lost man in front of us, but also hates his part in wrecking our lives over the past handful of months.
“I can’t remember the last time a guest came to see me,” Fernando murmurs. I’m tempted to remind him that we are not, in fact, guests, but that information is irrelevant. He whips his gaze to mine with a look of determination. “Let’s go inside. The house is beautiful. You’ll meet my wife, Maria.”
Fernando turns, walking quickly up a cement pathway, motioning back at us with his gun. Isabella gasps, hiding behind me. “I don’t like the gun.”
“I’m more concerned with the fact that he’s got a wife hidden up here,” I mumble, trying not to move my lips. “Who the fuck would choose to live as a hermit with a drug lord?”
“I get wanting to be alone. I’m an introvert. But this is overkill. How do they get groceries? Drone delivery?” she asks quietly.
I snicker. “Somehow I think even the drones get shot down.”
“A Fort Collins grocery delivers at the gate,” Fernando calls out, a good one hundred feet in front of us. “My hearing is excellent, and sound reverberates off the mountain. Keep that in mind, please. I do not like nasty backtalk.”
