“They never told you what it was we are supposed to steal?” Garcia asks.
We came too late in the game to find out how the offers went out. By the time the government had blackmailed me into cooperating, the buy was being set up. We had only a couple of weeks to mobilize, locate Ava, and then get our asses down to Peru.
“No. You were there when I got the message that they wanted me in Virginia ASAP. I get there and learn that Davidson is being held in some remote prison and that he doesn’t get out until we bring the goods.”
He sighs. “Yeah, I know. I was hoping we’d missed something.”
“Do you think it’s a red herring? Got there by accident?” I point to the table full of folders. “We’ve got a GPS-chipped purse with five folders. The folders contain printouts of phone calls and emails that have somewhat scandalous information, but nothing that is worth this kind of elaborate buying scheme. The folders themselves are plain cardstock.”
He rubs his head because obviously he’s thought about this a lot while I was getting my pipes cleaned. “I’ve got nothing. If they didn’t have Davidson and there weren’t fifty mercenaries running around Pucallpa ready to fire at anything that looks at them crosswise, I’d think we were being trolled for some elaborate hoax. But Duval’s got something that makes people believe it’s worth a lot of money and effort.”
“What about Ava? What’s the angle there?”
“She’s just a Kleenex.”
“A what?”
We both turn to find Ava standing in the doorway. She has a sheet wrapped around her body, which does almost nothing to hide her curves. Garcia’s eyes linger too long on the upper part of her chest until I growl in annoyance.
He swipes a hand down his cheek and across his mouth before turning back to the contents of the table. “Disposable, like a Kleenex. You use it and you don’t care if you trash it because there are plenty more where that came from.”
“Ouch,” she says and hitches up the sheet. There’s a lot of hurt in that one word, and like the besotted fool I am, I need to soothe that pain away immediately. I kick Garcia under the table in a not-so-subtle gesture for him to clarify and take the hurt away.
“Garcia’s not saying he thinks you’re Kleenex, and I sure as shit don’t.”
“Before you got roped into being a mule, they were using another girl. College student who’d been fucking one of Duval’s underlings. She got her throat slit in an alleyway by the Chinese contingent. I don’t know the reason why. Could be because she got mouthy. Could be they didn’t like the perfume she was wearing. But they needed another disposable mule, and you were it. They could keep you in line because of your friend Rose, and if you died, oh well.” He shrugs and spreads his hands palms up.
Ava blanches at Garcia’s recitation. Even a few days in the jungle and being a mule hasn’t really prepared her for this chat.
“Are you saying Rose isn’t safe?”
Garcia and I exchange a look. Rose wasn’t safe the day she allowed Duval to stick his dick in her, but that’s not what Ava wants to hear.
“She’s in Pucallpa and she looks healthy,” Garcia says.
“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, and then wobbles over to the table to collapse in my lap. “You’re going to get her out, right?”
Her mismatched eyes are full of hope, and when her ass wiggles against my hardening dick, I can’t help but wonder if she fucked me because she thought that is the only way I’m going to help her. I make the mistake of looking at Garcia, whose narrowed eyes are accusing her of the exact same thing. But then do I really care about her motivations? If saving Rose is the price of having Ava by my side, it’s a small price to pay and one I’d offer a thousand times over.
I press her face into my neck. “You got that right, baby.”
Over her head, I glare at Garcia, who rolls his eyes.
“You’re *-whipped,” he mouths.
Don’t care if I am, I decide. It’s time to get moving. The longer we stay here, the more likely it is that Rose gets her throat cut and Ava decides to leave me. “Why don’t you get dressed?” I tell Ava, reluctantly pushing her upright and off my lap. “We need to get on the road.”
She sucks the edge of her lower lip between her teeth and throws a sidelong glance toward Garcia, who is busy packing everything but the GPS locator. “I don’t have a shirt,” she whispers.
I can’t stop a stupid, delirious grin from stretching across my face, because her shirt is the one I tore off. “I got you covered.”