KICK ASS: A Boxed Set (16 page)

Frankie chuckled, grabbed a roll, and dunked a torn hunk into his soup. “You don’t think she’s sincere?”

With clenched teeth beneath tight lips, Marisela glanced over her shoulder. Ian had his arm draped over Elise’s shoulder and their quiet conversation now included soft laughter.

“Not anymore than you think Ian can be trusted,” she replied.

Frankie paused, then shrugged and dug into his soup with gusto. “Then we’re both in a hell of a lot of trouble, aren’t we?”

Suddenly, Marisela had lost her appetite.

Eleven

Frankie watched across
the table, noting how Marisela played with the gleaming gold locket Elise had given her. She’d ignored the trinket throughout the tense dinner, even tried to return it before Elise retired to her stateroom, but the woman insisted Marisela keep the charm. Now, she couldn’t seem to stop touching it.

Frankie wouldn’t care about what this Elise Something-or-Another did or didn’t do to solidify Marisela’s loyalty, except for one thing—Marisela’s loyalty had to be to him. Or more accurately, to the team. He’d known her for a long time. If someone pushed Marisela’s buttons, her temper could overcome her good sense. They’d all be a lot safer if Marisela’s emotions stayed out of the mix. And nothing could stir Marisela up like an injustice to a child.

During their workout, she’d told him about how she’d lost her gig in the bond enforcement biz. Beat up a perp and used excessive force, all because the guy had been an asshole to his wife and kids. She’d had no stake in the jerk’s crime or punishment, but she’d let the unfairness push her over the edge. If she pulled such a stupid stunt on this mission, they could both end up dead.

Frankie’s gaze darted to Blake, who accepted a brandy from Max and thankfully had toned down his annoying charm. Blake was quiet and concentrated as he typed a series of codes into a cordless keyboard, which activated the flat screen on the wall across from them. A photograph of a man and woman boarding a charter plane flashed into view. Frankie pushed his concerns about Marisela aside. For now he’d concentrate on making this mission work and keeping them alive.

“This is Dolores and Rogelio Tosca, exiled Cuban nationals who immigrated to Canada from Havana in 1987. They settled just outside of Toronto, though they spend most of their time traveling the world as high-paid assassins. Exactly three months ago, Javier Perez instructed one of his top lieutenants to contact the Toscas in order to eliminate a rival who’s persisted in invading Perez’s North American territory.”

“Why didn’t Perez do the dirty work himself?” Frankie asked. He’d crossed the paths of quite a few arms dealers during his stint in prison. They weren’t the types to delegate deadly force outside their own organization.

Blake grinned wryly. “We’re guessing he doesn’t want to turn his problem into a turf war. He’s not interested in sending a message to his rivals, he just wants to eradicate the immediate problem.”

Made sense. If Perez did the hit himself, the rival’s men would feel compelled to reciprocate with more violence. If the competitor was taken out by independent contractors, the source of the hit wouldn’t be immediately clear. In the arms dealing business, deadly enemies were a dime a dozen.

“Where are the Toscas now?”

Frankie guessed the couple would provide the cover Blake had chosen for him and Marisela in order to infiltrate Perez’s inner circle. Though Dolores and Rogelio appeared a bit older than he and Marisela were, assassins weren’t generally high-profile people. Likely, the only thing known about them was that they were rich, Hispanic, and traveled in a pair.

But diverting paid assassins once money had exchanged hands would prove near to impossible unless they eliminated the real couple. Permanently.

“Already dead,” Ian replied coolly. “Or at least, presumed so, thanks to a very reliable source.”

Marisela’s face blanched. “You had them killed?”

Ian quirked an eyebrow. “Nothing so dastardly, I assure you. Their specialty was execution by explosion. They particularly enjoyed blowing up boats. Last month, they were working for a drug kingpin in Brazil, eliminating a dealer who was skimming too much off the top. Apparently, something went wrong. They went down with the ship, so to speak. Had they lived, we simply would have detained them until our operation was complete.”

Frankie glanced at Marisela. The locket, while still in her hand, seemed to no longer be a concern, though her thumb rubbed lightly over the smooth gold finish.

“Are you certain Perez doesn’t know they died?” Frankie asked.

Ian grinned. “Oddly enough, yes. We had the good fortune to intercept the Toscas’ moneyman shortly after the accident. They’d only received half their payment from the Brazilian and since they had completed their task, their accountant pretended they were alive in order to collect the rest. In the interest of earning some easy money, the accountant kept the fact that his bosses blew themselves up to himself.”

Frankie chuckled at the guy’s ingenuity and greed. Couldn’t blame him for going for the big bucks since his meal tickets had just blasted themselves into a million fleshy pieces. “He took the money and ran.”

“And then some,” Ian verified. “But we discovered his secret. Since he’s a great lover of cash, he’s now on our payroll. During our initial surveillance of Perez, we’d intercepted the messages between the Toscas and Perez’s men. We knew about his interest in hiring the assassins even before the Toscas died. We’ve promised the accountant one hundred percent of his boss’s normal fee on the job for Javier Perez if he helped us orchestrate the hit in their stead.”

Marisela leaned forward, her eyes wide, not so much out of surprise, but disgust. “So we’re going to kill some dude just to get into Perez’s good graces?”

“This ‘dude’ is a first-class killer, if it makes any difference to you.” Ian tapped a few more keys, bringing another photograph onto the screen. “Ricky Ochoa. Razor Ricky, as he’s called, for his practice of cutting the throats of anyone who displeases him, from hotel housekeepers to unruly dogs. He used to be the main enforcer for a drug dealer out of southern Venezuela. His brother, the head of the crime family, met with a rather gruesome death two years ago. Slashed across the neck, not surprisingly, by his younger sibling who then took over the operation himself. He’s a ruthless, cold-blooded murderer with a long résumé of deaths at his hands.”

Marisela shook her head, her eyes wide. “I didn’t sign on with you to play avenging angel for a bunch of assholes who can’t take care of their own nasty business.”

Frankie leaned back into his chair, wondering how bad he’d screwed up by bringing Marisela to Titan. He finally recognized what had changed the most about her in the past decade. She was angry. Angrier than he’d ever seen her, even compared to when she’d signed on with the
las Reinas
years ago. But why? Marisela had family, friends. In his experience, only people who were alone held tight to their anger because rage was all they had.

Ian leaned slightly toward Marisela, and as Frankie expected, spoke in a keen whisper. Frankie rolled his eyes. He didn’t really think she’d fall for such transparent seduction, did he?

“I don’t ask my operatives to kill, Marisela.”

“But they often have to, or we wouldn’t be so well trained,” she countered.

She put up a valiant fight, Frankie thought, observing how smoothly Marisela kept Blake on topic, ignoring his tempered voice and smooth gestures. But Frankie didn’t fool himself. No woman could fight a guy like Blake forever once Blake determined that he wanted her. He’d seen this before with Tasha, code name Eris. Frankie had been new to the operation then and just like every male agent in Titan, he’d wanted a shot at the sleek, sexy operative. But after a cursory game of hard to get, she’d ended up with Ian. If Marisela wanted her boss in her bed as well, who the hell was Frankie to get in the way? He didn’t own her. He didn’t have the right to ask her to remain faithful to him, not when he had no promises to make in return.

But he didn’t have to make Ian’s inevitable seduction of Marisela easy.

“She’s got a point,” Frankie agreed. “You’ve made sure our workouts include all the skills the Toscas had, right down to the bang.”

Ian’s sneer only showed in his eyes, but it was there, causing Frankie to grin.

“I do not intend to sully Titan’s reputation by taking on a murder for hire, not even to advance an important and lucrative case. You and Frankie will pose as the Toscas and we’ll stage the assassination of Ochoa and then spirit the man away for a few weeks of rest and relaxation until the case is complete. The Toscas moneyman has indicated to Perez that the Toscas are interested in taking on more work for him if he’s satisfied with the outcome in Miami. That will facilitate a meeting after the hit is complete. Since Perez will be leaving soon for Puerto Rico, the meeting will likely occur at his private compound. If we’re lucky, you’ll then be in place to recover the girl.”

He switched the screen again, this time displaying a map of the island of Puerto Rico, with a smaller remote island off the northwest coast highlighted with arrows and coordinates. “Once you are on
Isla de Piratas
, you’ll find the girl and pick an exit strategy.

Blake’s subtle flirting with Marisela was over. Back to business. Good.

“How will we contact you?” Marisela asked.

“Our agents have another yacht, which will cruise just out of range of Perez’s security zone, which we’re told includes radar. We’ll move in at pre-set times to intercept communications from you. We’ve also devised a satellite phone jamming system that will keep Perez from picking up our exchanges so long as we keep them short. Max will provide you with a schedule. When the time for extraction comes, one of your assignments will include knocking out radar capabilities entirely so we can sweep in undetected on a smaller vessel, one built for stealth and speed. But we’re a long way out from that. First, we’ve got to get you in.”

For the next twenty minutes, Ian reviewed the plan for their arrival in Miami, with Max stepping in to provide all the specs regarding the fake assassination, which would hinge on the very real demolition of Ricky Ochoa’s prized yacht, the prophetically named
Sharp’s Destruction
. From there, Frankie figured they had fifty-fifty odds of infiltrating Perez’s compound, and after that, a generous twenty-eight percent chance of getting out alive. The minute they moved to grab the girl, they’d be marked for execution, likely at Perez’s own hand.

At least he knew that though Marisela drew the line at killing in cold blood for money or strategy, she’d kick, claw, shoot, or strangle anyone who tried to kill her first.

“You’re awfully quiet, Frank.”

He turned toward Blake, who eyed him with his usual cold assessment. Not that Frankie gave a flying fuck, but he’d like to remove Blake’s expression of superiority—permanently.

“What’s there to say?” Frankie replied. “Max has the whole plan worked out. All we have to do is follow through. Piece of cake.”

Marisela snorted. “You work with explosives before?”

“Max has. He’ll make sure we know what we need to.”

Marisela quirked an eyebrow, surprised at the second showing of respect Frankie had paid to Ian’s right-hand man. She wondered if the two of them had shared a past—perhaps a mission? Didn’t matter. Right now, all she wanted was a few minutes alone with Blake. She had concerns she intended to voice without any witnesses, particularly a witness like Frankie who would undoubtedly interfere.

Ian finished the last of his brandy, then gestured to Max to join them again at the table.

“Your training tomorrow will focus on how we’ll remove Ricky Ochoa from his yacht prior to blowing it up,” Max assessed. “He’s not a cooperative sort. He won’t go quietly, even if his life is on the line.”

Frankie nodded and Marisela noticed a dullness in his normally sharp eyes that testified to his exhaustion. This could also work to her advantage. She really didn’t want to deal with the aftermath of their afternoon in the gym—if he insisted on an aftermath at all—tonight. And maybe by tomorrow, he’d forget that they’d surrendered once again to the lust they’d harbored since they’d become aware of the temptations of the opposite sex.

Yeah, right.

“In your rooms, you’ll find dossiers on both Dolores and Rogelio Tosca,” Ian added. “Study them. The Toscas didn’t have a high profile, but I know Perez has checked them out. Before he makes the final payment or invites you to his private island per our plan, he’ll demand a face-to-face. I want you both completely in character. Do you have any acting talent, Marisela?”

She bristled. “I act like I trust you, don’t I?”

Ian disengaged the computer and projection screen. “Not in the least. I hope you’ll do better with Javier Perez.”

With that, they were dismissed and Marisela followed Frankie out of the room. Halfway down the hall, she touched Frankie’s arm.

“I have something I want to run past Blake. See you in the morning?”

Frankie grunted. “Marisela, don’t mess with things you don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand? This doesn’t have anything to do with you. Go to bed. You’re whipped.”

His slanted grin responded to her accidental innuendo. “Not likely,
vidita
. I learned my lesson the first time.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

He nodded, then grabbed her by the hand and reeled her flush against his body. Her breath caught, not so much because his move surprised her, but because the anticipation of what would happen next reignited the sexual awareness between them that never seemed to really cool, but had only settled into a steady simmer, ready to flare at the first intimate touch.

But he didn’t kiss her, though her lips ached to press hard and hot against his. Instead, he seduced her with his half-closed bedroom eyes, so dark, they reflected the pure raw need swimming in the black depths.

‘Marisela pulled away, knowing her resistance wouldn’t hold for long, not in light of the fact that following Frankie to his stateroom would be a hell of a lot more fun than confronting Ian Blake. But she’d had enough fun for one day. Tonight, she had to concentrate on work. On survival.