Rising Hope by Edie James
28
By the timethe man reached the shabby roadside bar Panetta had called him from, he was seething. Panetta had lost the delivery. The last—and largest—part of the pay off.
He spent the first ten minutes of the drive into the mountains panicking. Walker and MacKenzie had the drugs, and his jewels. He couldn’t call in the rest of the team. Or any local authorities, obviously.
It was up to him to right the ship. Whatever it took. He had to get to those duffle bags before Walker and MacKenzie disappeared…or got caught.
He slammed his fist into the car door, yelling in frustration when the door handle cut into the heel of his hand. Anger would get him nowhere. What he needed now was a new strategy.
Walker and her pilot didn’t have many options. It wouldn’t take them long to realize that. All he needed to do was reach out. Convince them he was their only safety net.
The thought calmed him. That could work. They’d be terrified, ready to follow the first person of authority to offer a clear way out of this mess.
He’d make certain it was him.
At least Panetta had been clever enough to remember the cuff keys in his pocket and flag down a good Samaritan. If a passing patrol car had found him bound with handcuffs… The thought made him nauseous.
A good thing this was their last payment from the cartel. It was time to end this before his luck ran out. He used to worry about the Russians deciding to kill him instead of paying up. If only. Who would have thought he’d risk losing the biggest part of his payout to sheer incompetence?
He pulled into the gravel lot, making sure to park in the shadows. Then he waited. Light spilled out the door, silhouetting a figure long enough for him to recognize Panetta. He flashed his lights twice.
The agent jogged over.
“Sorry, sir,” Panetta said as he slipped into the car. “Munson fouled things up. He didn’t secure—”
“Munson’s dead, right?” If Panetta messed that up, he didn’t know what he’d do.
Panetta’s head bobbed. “Yeah. Definitely. I used Walker’s Glock. Exactly the way you said.”
At least something went the way it was supposed to. He closed his eyes, drumming his index fingers on the leather steering wheel. The plan was salvageable.
He breathed long and slow, the way his therapist had suggested. Long and slow. He’d dispose of Panetta, then find Walker and MacKenzie, and satchels.
If they touched those jewels…
He ground his teeth, breathing hard. As long as he found them quickly, he could turn this around. Explaining why he didn’t call in their disappearance would take some doing, but catching Walker and MacKenzie—and recovering ten million in drugs—would more than make up for it. None of his superiors would argue very hard.
“Excellent,” he lied, needing to keep Panetta calm. And cooperative. He required the man’s assistance for a little while longer.
He eyed the agent’s soft belly. “Buckle up.”
Panetta clipped himself in. “What’s next?”
“Take me to Munson’s body. I have some more trace evidence to plant and then we can call it in.”
Panetta’s teeth flashed white beneath an unimpressive mustache. “I like it.”
“Figured you would. We need to be a thousand percent certain Walker and MacKenzie go down for Munson’s murder.”
Panetta sat back with a satisfied smile and pointed up the road. “First turn’s about half a mile down.”
He calculated things in his head as he followed the agent’s directions, driving at a sedate pace. This could work. It would work. By the time his plan played out, it would be impossible to determine that Panetta had been shot a few hours after his partner.
The hard part would be devising a story good enough to lure Walker and MacKenzie back out into the open, with his jewels. Then he’d announce that one of them had confessed to murdering Panetta and Munson and told him where to find the bodies. So unfortunate that he had to kill the two of them as they tried to escape…
He’d recover the drugs, the jewels, and still come out a hero.
He contemplated telling his partner about this new wrinkle, but really, what would be the point? He didn’t need any help. The tighter the circle, the less the mess. He might have been the last one recruited for this little scheme, but as it turned out, he was the most valuable player. Like always. His partner was turning out to be nothing more than a middleman. Unneeded, at this point. Expendable.
Something to consider, once he had the op back under control.
Panetta leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes, humming tunelessly, a sharp, grating sound.
The man endured it. It was the least he could do. On the ride back to headquarters, he’d have the car all to himself.