Chapter 21
Rocco hadn’t slept, tossing and turning as he worked through a myriad of strategies to use his new responsibilities to take down the Sombro Cartel. He had no sense of timing because the details he’d be privy to were unknown. Still, a plan could be strategized for multiple scenarios once he had a chance to fill Tank in. He needed the man’s keen strategic mind to cover all bases.
Glancing around the bustling Dajabon Farmers Market, he meandered through the stalls toward the one usually set up in the back near the loading area. It was the stall Tank Coyle rented every third week of the month, bringing in barrels of fresh coconut, bananas, mangoes, pineapples, and papayas.
Over the past three years, Rocco has frequented the market and become a regular customer. They knew him and expected him. Some went so far as to prepare his regular purchases in advance and set them aside so they wouldn’t run out.
The meetup had been Tank’s idea. Hiding in plain sight was a brilliant move. Rocco didn’t always visit when Tank rented a stall. He showed up to make his purchases on days when Tank was absent. He wasn’t friendlier or more aloof with Tank than any of the other stall owners. Because of this meticulous planning, El Sombro or his men hadn”t suspected or caught them.
Turning a corner, he brushed past local shoppers and made his way to the end of the row. The last stall was crammed with fruit and baked goods in an arrangement different from how Tank usually set up his produce. Rocco slowed as he approached. A woman barely four feet tall and about as wide stared up at him and gave him a toothless smile.
“Please, se?or, don’t leave. My fruit is good. Good like the other guy. I give you good deal.” She waddled from behind the counter and grabbed a browning plantain and bruised mango to thrust in his face. “Smell. It’s good.”
Panic sliced through Rocco.
Where the fuck was Tank? The man had never missed a meeting. Now, he was unexpectedly nowhere around.
“I’m sure it’s good,” Rocco said, forcing his voice to remain calm. “The guy who usually rents here, did they move him to a different location?”
“No.” She shook her head, sending dark strands slapping across her face. “He didn’t pay for this week. So, I rented the stall here. Got it for cheap since it was last minute. You like grapes? I have grapes.”
Something was very wrong. But trying to find out why Tank wasn’t around for their meeting could expose the undercover op. There had to be a reasonable explanation. He needed to be patient.
“Let me try a coconut,” Rocco said, biding his time. Maybe Tank had discovered their meeting location had been compromised. But why wouldn’t he have gotten word to Rocco about the change? Tank planned every excruciating detail and had backup plans for his backup plan. It was unlike him not to find a way to alert Rocco of a change. Especially if he’d missed the earlier cutoff time to purchase the stall, meaning he knew in advance, he wouldn’t be here. “How much?”
The woman handed him a slice of coconut, then rattled off a series of prices, each one lower than the one before, until Rocco heard a number matching the fruit”s poor quality. He grabbed a coconut and tossed it in the air a few times.
“The coconut at a stall toward the front looks much better.”
A woman’s voice floated from behind him.
The same voice that had been in his dreams almost every fucking night.
He reached out to catch the coconut hurtling back down but missed. It landed with a thud on his foot, but he felt no pain. A ripple of electricity coursed over his skin.
Turning slowly, he stared at her. This time, she wasn’t a figment of his imagination. She was definitely in Dajabon …
What was Jemma Winters doing here? What the fuck did it mean for Tank? For the operation to take down El Sombro? The questions hurtled fast and furious in his mind, but he kept his demeanor casual. He couldn’t do anything to bring unwanted attention to them.
Rocco furrowed his brow, the weight of suspicion heavy in his voice. ”You think so?”
Jemma tilted her head, the sunlight catching the gloss on her lips. ”Definitely.”
She was deliciously exquisite.
Hadn’t aged a day in three years.
More beautiful than he remembered.
He unraveled as he stared into her dark brown eyes.
Wearing a lavender strapless dress that stopped mid-thigh, her fingers played with the honey-highlighted ends of her hair as she stared back at him. A flirty glint in her eye that belied the seriousness of this exchange. He wanted her, maybe more now than he ever did back then. The passage of time had proven she was a more rare find than he’d realized, the kind of woman he couldn’t forget.
“I can take you up there if you”d like. It’s hard to find from here,” Jemma offered, her voice hinting at something Rocco couldn”t place.
Rocco nodded, trying to maintain his composure. ”Appreciate that. The guy normally at this stall has excellent fruit. Some of the best on the island. I buy from him a bit. Damn shame he’s not here.”
“I overheard some folks in the other stalls talking about the fruit guy.” She made air quotes with manicured lavender nails, then lowered her voice conspiratorially. “They said he was in some kind of altercation and got shot.”
”Shot? Seriously?” Rocco’s voice edged with concern, his mind racing with the implications.
”Nothing life-threatening, but he won’t be back anytime soon.” Jemma”s voice was light, but her eyes were grave as they held his.
“So, I’ll need to find someone new to buy fruit from.” Rocco scanned the market, trying to read between the lines of their conversation. Operating without a handler would pause the entire mission at the worst possible time. Right when he had a chance to get evidence that could lead to arrests of key members of the Sombro Cartel.
“Yes.”
”Well, the lady in his spot won’t make my shortlist.” Rocco glanced back in disdain at the rotund woman hawking bruised fruit.
Jemma”s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint.
Rocco”s curiosity piqued. “Are you taking me to this new farmer’s stall?
Jemma turned, her dress swaying gently. She graced him with a breathtaking smile, lips shimmering invitingly.
The idea of kissing her clouded his already muddled thoughts.
“I am the new farmer,” she said.
Jemma continued to walk through the packed stalls, but Rocco stopped moving. His heart pounded in his chest as he deciphered their cryptic discussion. Tank had been shot and could no longer provide handler duties, so Jemma was stepping in for him. He’d be working with Jemma going forward to take down El Sombro?
How the hell was he going to resist the dark beauty if she was stepping in to be his new handler?
He was fucked.