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punk dared to try to kill his woman? Two
quick shots and the Cartel thugs crumbled to the ground. He rushed
toward them, kicked their weapons out of reach, and checked for
pulses…finding none. Each man had hidden a pistol behind their
backs, and had fresh blood on soles of their shoes.
    “Son of a bitch.”
    He helped Eva to her feet, grabbed their
stuff, and hurried her out of the apartment. She stumbled behind
him, her breath catching as they passed the bodies.
    “Why’d you kill them?” she squeaked.
    “They’re not federales . I’m guessing
the actual policia are dead somewhere in the building.” They
entered the staircase, and he halted. “Right here. You better not
look.”
    The men had been shot in the head. Joseph
cringed at the carnage and continued on, releasing Eva’s hand to
grab his phone from his pocket. He hit the speed dial button and
waited for an answer.
    “Oh, my God. Those poor men.”
    He glanced at her to see if she was okay. Her
gaze darted between him and the dead men. She turned white followed
by an odd shade of green. Lurching to the trashcan, she threw up.
He couldn’t blame her. Two men with their brains sprayed over the
place never looked pretty.
    Hugo answered, and Joseph pulled his
attention from Eva retching into the garbage. “Your officers have
been murdered. There must be a mole on the inside. For Eva’s
safety, I’m taking her somewhere even you don’t know. I’ll contact
you as soon as it’s safe. Expect my call.”
    He hung up the cell without waiting for an
answer and stepped to Eva’s side to rub her back.
    Wet and clammy looking, she raised her head
and stumbled back. This time, she averted her eyes from the
corpses. “I’m sorry.”
    “It’s okay. No one likes to see stuff like
this.” He motioned to the side with his head and then chucked his
phone into the trash.
    “Your phone!”
    “GPS. Give me your phone.”
    She pulled it out of her purse, and he threw
it with his.
    “Hey, I need that. It’s got everything in it.
Calendar, numbers, schedules.”
    “Which will do you little good if you’re
dead. Let’s go.” Grabbing her hand, he led her down the stairs. He
held his clothes in the crook of his arm and rested his hand on his
gun. No chance in hell would he allow himself to be taken off guard
again. Thirteen shots remained in his pistol plus the extra
magazine he kept on him at all times. “I’ll buy you a new phone
when this is done.”
    “No, you’re right. I’m being silly.” She
followed him without speaking.
    He left her in the shadows to do a quick
surveillance of the streets. A drunken man stumbled down the
sidewalk, singing at the top of his lungs. Joseph tightened his
grip on his pistol, bracing for shots to be fired, but the man
belched and then continued on his way. Joseph led her to the
parking lot. Salsa music drifted out a nearby window, and three
children ran by, giggling and holding hands.
    Joseph’s gaze darted nonstop, looking for any
threats lurking in the darkness. When they arrived at his
nondescript Ford Focus, he unlocked the door. “Get in.”
    “When did you bring your car here?” Eva asked
as she slid inside.
    He shut her door, stalked to the driver’s
side, and climbed in. “I left it here earlier then came looking for
you.”
    “Awfully cocky of you to take a chance at
guessing I’d let you come home with me.”
    “No chance or guessing about it.”
    She scoffed. “Where are we going?”
    “Fiesta Inn.” Joseph pulled away from the
curb but didn’t remove his fingers from the butt of his pistol. As
he wove and bobbed through traffic, he kept checking the mirror for
a tail. “Grab the hat in the backseat and put it on. I don’t want
anyone being able to describe you.”
    She reached back, retrieving the baseball
cap. Scrunching her nose, she shoved it on her head. After the
thirty-minute drive—which should have taken fifteen—they entered
the hotel.
    Three women sat behind the wood and cream
granite