by organized crime. Bribes were common, and justice only came to those who could afford it. More likely than not, whoever had sicced the cops on her had deep pockets and a sinister motive.
It was times like these when Wade really hated being saddled with a conscience.
On a muttered curse, he drew a key from his pocket, set it on the bar, and slid it toward the blonde. In a lowered voice, he said, “On the count of three, hit me as hard as you can and haul ass for the rear exit. Once you’re out, hang a right. Fourth door down is mine. Lock yourself in and stay away from the window. If I’m not there in five, my partner will be back soon. Tell him I said starburst. One…”
“Wait, what’s your—”
“Two…”
Her lips flattened as she placed a hand over the key. Her fingers curled, and when she drew her hand back, the key was no longer on the bar.
He was taking a chance, a mighty big one. For all he knew, those cops weren’t dirty, and she’d just slaughtered a church full of nuns. It was a leap of faith, a rarity for him, but his gut demanded he take it.
“Three” had barely pushed past his lips when she clocked him square on the jaw.
Wade hadn’t expected a woman her size to pack that much of a punch. Sick as it sounded, he was impressed. His head snapped back, and for an instant stars filled his vision. He staggered backward, pretended to trip over something on the floor, and then slightly altered his trajectory to ensure he plowed right into the cops.
It took some doing, but he managed to drag both men down and land right on top of them.
“Aw, shit. Lo siento, man,” he slurred, but made no move to get up. Picking a fight with the police would buy him a night or two in jail. Probably get his ass beat too. But playing the role of dumb, drunk, but otherwise harmless American would earn him some scorn from the cops, maybe get him roughed up, but not much else. He shifted to the left, pinning them down with his bulk as he watched the woman scurry out the back.
The policemen cursed him in Spanish as they struggled to get out from under him, but two hundred thirty pounds of solid dead weight was a bitch and a half to move.
Satisfied she had enough of a head start, he rolled off the cops and onto the tile floor, his right hand landing in a puddle of something sticky.
“Fuck, where did she go?” Wade wiped his hand against his faded black jeans.
“Do you know that woman?” one of the policemen demanded in Spanish.
“Huh? No.” Wade switched into the country’s native language but continued to slur his words. “I was trying to get to know her, if you know what I mean, but she wasn’t being cooperative.” He rubbed his jaw. Christ, it still hurt.
The stocky officer cuffed the side of Wade’s head while muttering a few creative Spanish insults. Then the pair took off, rounding the bar and disappearing through the rear exit.
Wade waited until the police were long gone before he pushed up to his feet. A few men at the nearby table were gawking, but then Wade shot them a glare, and they shifted their attention back to the game on television.
Rubbing his jaw, he returned to the bar and ordered a beer. While he waited, questions swirled in his mind. Who was the woman? How did she end up here? And, most important, why were the police after her?
He paid the bartender and sipped his beer, but the crisp taste of the lager barely registered on his taste buds. He’d give Hector until he finished the drink. If he hadn’t shown up by then, Wade was going back to his room, and if the woman was there, he wanted answers.
Chapter 2
HOPE CHANDLER LOCKED the door behind her, her heart pounding like a drum, the beat thundering in her ears.
Safe, at least for now. Though the fact the police were searching for her didn’t bode well. It was her understanding that Beto had the local police in his pocket. If the cops took her into custody, they’d probably bring her straight back to his compound in the mountains. A shudder went through her at the thought of what fate awaited her there.
She flipped a switch on the wall by the door, and a single bare