CHAPTER NINETEEN
“What do you mean, you didn’t pick her up?” Rodrigo sounded angry, something he never let happen. And Tamarin knew an angry Munoz was a dangerous Munoz. “What in the hell have you been doing since I last spoke with you?”
“Jaime is in bad shape and can’t help us.” Tamarin glanced toward the mobile home where the kid was inside sweating and shivering at the same time. “I had to change the plan.”
He took a long draw from his cigarette and blew it out. It trailed behind him as he continued pacing back and forth across the dusty yard strewn with tacky lawn decorations.
A row of spinning fake sunflowers squeaked with each rotation from where they were stuck in the dirt lining the front of the house.
Out here, in the middle of the desert, it was their best hope for a flower bed.
There was a sad-looking flock of four faded pink flamingos next to a bone-dry bird bath.
They wobbled and bobbed side to side in the strong wind.
About twenty creepy garden gnomes of varying sizes were tucked away all over the damn place.
Every fucking time he turned around, he found another one staring at him.
As much as he hated Calabretta, he wasn’t excited about Rodrigo’s new plan—grabbing the guy’s mom. She reminded Tamarin of his own sainted mother. Not to mention, if he didn’t pull it off, Calabretta would kill him on the spot.
Who the fuck was he kidding? Calabretta was going to kill him no matter what happened.
He totally understood why Rodrigo had a hard-on for the asshole, but going after his sister and the kid at school had been a huge mistake. Of course, Tamarin wouldn’t dare tell his boss that.
The guy might look like a stuffed shirt, like a man who wouldn’t dare risk messing up his hair in a fight. But what his physical stature lacked in intimidation, he made up for with brains and utter cruelty.
Tamarin would never forget the first time he actually saw Rodrigo commit violence. He was thirteen or fourteen and found out that one of their gardeners had dug up his father’s favorite rose bush. Apparently, his father’s beloved first wife had planted them right after their baby girl was born.
Knowing how much that stupid plant meant to his old man—and always trying to seek his approval—Rodrigo beat the holy living hell out of the gardener. The old guy had to be pushing eighty when it happened, and he died a week later.
Rodrigo had been certain punishing him would win him favor with his father. He’d been wrong—it had the opposite effect.
His old man forced him to apologize to the man’s family and to pay them restitution for their loss.
He lectured him for hours about the importance of controlling his emotions and impulses.
But the lowest blow was when his father told him his actions with the gardener were just like something his brother would do.
Being compared to AJ in any way was the ultimate insult to Rodrigo. And from that day on, he never let his emotions show.
The ironic thing about that whole mess was that their father’s response turned Rodrigo into a cold, calculating, and ruthless killer. Just like the brother he despised.
What made it all the more senseless was that they found out later it was his spiteful mother who’d ordered the gardener to remove it. Even after seeing the destruction her pettiness caused, she never showed a moment of remorse.
With a murderous psychopath for a father and a selfish, petty narcissist for a mother, AJ and Rodrigo never stood a chance.
“And what genius plan have you come up with?” Rodrigo asked.
Tamarin took a last drag from his cigarette, dropped it in the dirt, and ground it out with the toe of his boot. He tipped his head back, blew the smoke up into the air, and jogged up the front steps. He walked inside, and the air-conditioning was a sweet reprieve from the cursed heat.
“I thought we could just … grab another girl.” As if summoned by his words, one of the girls in the back room pounded on the bedroom door.
“Imogen is really sick!” Geneva’s voice was scratchy but no less forceful. “She’s throwing up!” She kept pounding on the door.
She was the oldest of the girls and had become their de facto spokesperson.
“Hang on a second, Rodrigo.” Tamarin stomped down the hall and slammed the butt of his hand against the door so hard it rattled against the frame. “Shut the fuck up!”
He remained there, waiting—almost hoping—she would do it again. He was itchin’ for an excuse to pop that smart-ass in the mouth. But the only sound coming from the other side of the door was whimpering, and he was certain he heard Geneva call him an asshole under her breath.
“Sorry about that.” He decided to offer up an alternative to the mother or some random kid. “What if we grab the woman?”
“Which woman?” Rodrigo asked.
“The mother of that kid we tried to grab at the school. Turns out she’s not just a friend of his family. She and Calabretta have a history.”
“History? What kind of history?” Rodrigo’s tone turned curious.
“I overheard these women in line waiting to check out at the grocery store. They were yacking about how awful it was that someone tried to grab that poor little girl. That sort of segued into one of them mentioning how the woman and Calabretta grew up together. I guess they were pretty hot and heavy, and everyone was sure they’d get married and have a bunch of kids.
” They’d finished checking out and left before he could hear any more details.
The more he thought about it, the more Tamarin liked the idea of grabbing her. It would sure be a hell of a lot more fun.
An unsolicited smile lifted the corner of Tamarin’s mouth.
Yeah, that would work.
Just like that, he made up his mind.
He didn’t give a shit if Rodrigo agreed with him about grabbing her or not. Tamarin deserved a reward, and the pretty teacher fit the bill perfectly.
“You couldn’t even grab the kid? What the hell makes you think you’ll be able to grab her mother?” Disdain and disbelief dripped from Rodrigo’s words.
“Leave that to me.” Tamarin began to formulate a plan, but he would need Martín’s help to make it work. And the only way the asshole would agree to that was if the order came down from Rodrigo.
“Martín has decided he will only take orders from you.” His partner had gone into town for some more beer, groceries, and toilet paper, so this was the perfect time to bring it up.
“Rodrigo, I have been loyal to your family since I was a kid.” He straightened his back and lifted his chin, as if his boss could actually see him.
“Either you trust me to be in charge of this operation, or I am out.”
Tamarin held his breath, worried his boss might not appreciate his forceful stance. The Munoz family decided who was in or out. And the only way out typically ended with someone six feet under.
“You are still in charge, for now, and I will instruct Martín accordingly.” Rodrigo’s tone was eerily calm.
“But if you ever dare to speak to me in that way again, I will see to it personally that you die a slow, very painful death. And then your body will be tossed into the Caribbean like fish food.” He waited a beat for effect. “Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Tamarin moved into the main bedroom, his knees gave out, and he dropped onto the edge of the bed.
“I have checked into the hotel and have decided to take a little drive around the area.” Rodrigo sounded suddenly pleasant, as if he hadn’t just threatened to dismember him. “Do not make a move to grab the woman until I instruct you to do so. I want to see where she lives and drive by the school.”
“That might be dangerous for you.”
“Nonsense.” He dismissed Tamarin’s concern. “No one even knows I am in the States.”
Eddie was smart and had incredible connections within the government. If he didn’t already know Rodrigo was in the country, he undoubtedly would soon.
Anyone who’d ever been around his boss for five minutes would tell you what a crazy-ass control freak he was. Eddie Calabretta had been close to the power center of the Munoz family for over three years.
Wanting to be in control was a trait Rodrigo shared with his brother.
Difference was, AJ didn’t try to hide his crazy behind fancy suits, expensive watches, and an uppity attitude.
Nah, AJ was right out front with his craziness.
With him, you knew what to expect—and it was always bad and way over the top.
With Rodrigo, by the time you figured out what he was up to, it was too late.
Tamarin was certain his lifespan within the Munoz cartel was coming to an end. He just had to decide who was going to be the one to end it—him or Rodrigo.
“You have the number to my burner phone.” Rodrigo stepped into the bathroom of the run-of-the-mill hotel room and checked his appearance in the wide mirror. “I want you all to stay put. I will contact you when I’m ready to make a move.”
“But we—”
Rodrigo hung up on him because Tamarin had no more worthwhile information to offer him right now.
The hotel he’d chosen was older, but it had recently undergone an extensive refurbishment.
It was made up of two three-story buildings facing each other, and all of the doors opened to the parking lot.
Most importantly, the rooms were clean, and it looked like any other hotel located at a highway exit.
Upon check-in, he’d told the woman working at the desk that he was a light sleeper and requested a room on the ground floor, as far from the front office and main street as possible.
Less exposure, and he would see anyone coming.
He’d also backed into the parking spot directly in front of his room, in case he needed to make a quick exit.
As he’d entered the front office, the clerk had scanned him from his handmade wing-tip dress shoes to his tailored slacks, up to his jacket and to his crisp white shirt.