Chapter Fourteen
With Berta and two of her guards taking up the chairs in the living room, Aiden and Ryan sitting on the smaller couch, and Mason, Fallon, and Cat taking the larger sofa, Pete was perched on the armrest next to Fallon and I was on the one closest to Cat.
And Berta was speaking.
“They’re all safe and gone.”
Meaning the women and children had already been separated into families and moved out of Belize.
“Maria wanted me to thank you again for the teddy bears. The girls enjoyed them.”
Catarina tipped her head back and looked at me.
Surely she saw the girls holding the stuffed animals.
Maybe she hadn’t realized they’d come from us.
The eldest, at ten, was a little old for a teddy bear, but we didn’t want her to be left out.
It was a small gesture, but even small, the girls had relaxed a little when we gave them the bears.
We’d essentially kidnapped them, even if their mother had set it up to get herself and them away from an abusive home and give them a future they wouldn’t have in a country that was deadly to their well-being.
Anything to help ease the commotion and uncertainty while their mother explained what was happening.
“We’re always happy to help,” Pete told her. “Before we let you get on with your day, we need to ask you about Derek Nicolson and Tom Washington.”
Berta’s expression didn’t change, nor did she prevaricate.
“Derek Nicolson is responsible for the torture and murder of an associate. Manuel was a good man, faithful to the cause. This Derek man came to La Esperanza to meet with Manuel. That night after they met, Manuel was killed in his home. Witnesses place Derek at Manuel’s home.”
The way Berta rapped out the information was testament to all she’d seen. There was no inflection, no sadness. Her tone was matter of fact—this was her life. Manuel wasn’t the first of her friends to be murdered, nor would he be her last.
“How do you know I asked Mr. Washington for this information?”
I waited for Pete to field this question, but Catarina got there first.
“Tom sent me here to find you and give you Derek’s location.”
That garnered a response from Berta. She sat a little straighter, and her gaze turned sharp. “Where is he?”
“Dead,” Pete supplied.
Berta’s attention went to Pete. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. He’s very dead and has been for some time.”
The woman almost looked crestfallen that the man she was after would not feel her vengeance.
“There is a moral dilemma I carry with me,” Berta softly began.
“Spiritually with my Lencan ancestors, with the beliefs of my people.
We are taught the value of our neighbors, the importance of these relationships.
We hold reverence for the land, for the well-being and blessings we receive.
To keep that balance we must live a life of morality, love purely.
Without the ethical reciprocity, the land will die and the crops will fail.
Our rivers will dry up. I fear in my quest to save my people, I am condemning them.
“My journey has always been the way of our warrior chief, Lempira. Only I don’t wish to fend off the Spaniards, I wish to kill every man who dares to break the spirit of our women.
Who thinks it is his right to touch, violate, and murder them.
I can only hope Ilanguipuca will take mercy on our people, and she will not punish the land for my transgressions. ”
Berta paused a moment, jutted her chin in defiance, and finished. “I, however, will gladly accept my eternity in hell. Please send my sincerest gratitude to whomever sent Derek to his final resting place. One day, I will see him there. Until then, I have more work to do.”
With that, she stood and motioned her men to do the same.
“As for Mr. Washington, he is helpful when it benefits him, but I do not trust him.”
“Smart,” Pete muttered.
The rest of us stood to say goodbye to a woman who had given her life to serve her people.
To guard her women.
To fight an unending war of cruelty and brutality.
“The villa is yours for as long as you wish to stay.”
“Appreciate that, but we’ll be heading out tonight,” Pete informed her.
Berta made her way to Pete, reached up, and patted his cheek. “Until next time, Saint Young. Be well.”
Before Pete could respond, the perimeter alarm sounded. I unholstered my sidearm, saw Catarina and the rest of the men do the same, with the exception of Ryan. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Ryan drawled. “Tom Washington is at the gate.”
“Alone?”
Ryan tapped his screen a few times to cycle through the different camera angles.
“Looks like it.”
Pete transferred his Sig to his left hand and pulled his cell from his back pocket.
“Unknown number,” he announced to the room before he answered. “Mr. Green, what a surprise.”
He was making a point using a color as a name, something the spooks were known for.
There was a brief pause. “Sure, with the warning you tell your men to stay the fuck back, and, if you pull any shit, I’ll shoot you if Catarina doesn’t do it first.” Another pause. “If you think I believe that, then you’re dumber than I already think you are.”
With that, Pete disconnected. “Ryan, open the gate. Tom would like a word.” Pete’s gaze went to Berta. “He knows you’re here. If you’d like Ryan and Aiden to escort you off property so you can go about your day, we can do that.”
“I’d like to stay.”
Berta glanced at her two guards, reached behind her, and pulled a weapon I hadn’t seen in years—a gold-plated .
50 cal Desert Eagle AE. To make it even better, it was the Patriot version with United States of America engraved across the six-inch barrel and We the People scrolled behind the front sight.
I knew there would be an image of George Washington’s face etched into the top rail.
The weapon was a pop-culture icon. How she sat with that beast in her waistband, I couldn’t imagine.
“A gift from an American who thought Honduran women were for the taking,” she explained.
A gift, my ass. More like a trophy from a dead man.
“I think I need one of those,” Cat murmured.
Jesus.
“You may have this one. After our friend leaves,” Berta offered.
“No, no, I couldn’t.”
“Every woman needs some bling, Catarina. As a thank-you. I have three more just like this one, though not gold. Men with small penises tend to like big guns.”
She wasn’t wrong.
“How are we playing this?” Fallon inquired.
“Tom talks. We listen. He leaves.”
“And if we don’t like what he says?” Mason asked.
“Lady’s choice,” Pete returned. “He played her, not us. We back Catarina’s play.”
I didn’t think that was a good idea. Pete might think he knew Cat, but he did not. Shit could get out of hand quickly if she was left in charge.
“Messy,” Mase rightly noted. “I like it.”
“How about you don’t knock the shit out of him until we completely hear him out,” I suggested.
“Since when are you a stick-in-the-mud? I think I get at least one to the face for having to cut out a tracking device and one to the solar plexus for the burn of the glue.”
I wasn’t a stick-in-the-mud, I was a man attempting to control my temper. And if Tom was stupid enough to hit Cat back, I’d slice his throat.
“Suit yourself, baby. But warning—he swings back, he doesn’t leave here breathing.”
“Aw, that’s the most romantic thing a man’s ever said to me.”
Smart-ass.
“You know me. All hearts and flowers.”
I watched her cheeks tinge pink.
“I feel like we’re missing something,” Mason put in.
Thankfully Pete cleared his throat, reminding the team we had company.
“Aiden, you’ve got the back. Ryan, let Tom in and take the front. Fire only if fired upon,” Pete ordered.
Both men immediately broke away to their positions.
Fallon moved to lean against the wall next to the back door that would give him clear line of sight to Aiden. Mason moved to the opposite side of the room, giving him a view of the front door. If someone slipped by Ryan, Mase would see them enter.
Berta and her men retook their chairs. However, Berta kept the Desert Eagle on her lap.
I heard footsteps on the tile floor right before an older man who looked near retirement, if the white of his hair didn’t betray his age, entered the room. He was still fit but lacked the power of a younger man. Straight posture, chin high, strides confident like he thought himself important.
“Catarina,” Tom greeted with a smile. “Glad to see you’re well.”
“I’ve been told I can’t shoot you until I hear you out.
But now that you’re standing here, I’m remembering how supremely pissed I am at you.
I trusted you, and you screwed me over. My suggestion—start talking before I forget I’m supposed to listen to what you have to say.
But just so you know, before you leave, I’m punching you in the face. ”
Tom smiled like he was proud. “May I sit?”
“Will it make you hurry to the part where you tell me why you lied to me?” Cat returned.
“Always so impatient.” Tom shook his head and moved around the furniture, sitting on the smaller couch. “I’m sorry, Catarina, but this is important, and I needed all of you in the same room.”
“Why not just ask for a meeting like a normal person?”
Tom glanced over at Pete.
“It needed to be a private conversation,” he amended. “You know, plausible deniability and all that.”
“Right. Plausible deniability,” Pete spat. “In other words, this isn’t a private conversation, it’s you wanting a fucked-up favor, and when shit goes sideways, you get to keep your hands clean.”
“Yes, Saint. I have a favor, one I believe will benefit you as much as it will me. This conversation goes no further than this room. Actually, this conversation never happened.”
I saw the tic in Pete’s jaw. Plenty of people back in San Diego called him Saint.
I found it interesting that all his employees at the Dirty Plank called him Saint and not Pete, even though all the guys called him Pete while at the bar.
He hadn’t minded when Berta called him by his given name.
However, for some reason, he didn’t like Tom using it.
“Get on with it,” Pete sighed.
“Rafael Quintero.”
The name meant nothing to me.
But as soon as the two words left Tom’s mouth, the room went wired.
Fallon pushed off the wall. Mason was on high alert. Pete was fighting to keep his face neutral. And Berta was now very interested in what Tom had to say.
Shit. I had a feeling we weren’t heading home tonight.