Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Okay, good.
“Should I know anything about you?” he asked.
I drove onto the main road and followed my phone’s GPS. I knew of a store near the border that sold souvenirs and cheap clothes and had no indoor video surveillance.
“My cover’s fairly close to my true identity,” I replied. “My grandfather on Pop’s side is from Juarez instead of San Bernadino, and I just retired from the SDPD to pursue a career in private security.”
Joel opened my wallet and snorted softly at the sight of my driver’s license. “Nice mustache, Magnum.”
I grabbed the wallet from him and tossed it onto the dash.
Asshole.
After we’d crossed into Mexico, we had to take a breather. Everything had gone smoothly so far; I’d changed into a pair of jeans and a black tee, and Joel had replaced his USCG tee with a plain gray one.
We waited till we reached the outskirts of Mexicali, and then I stopped at the nearest restaurant. It was a roadside place next to a gas station and a few body shops, before a cluster of factories took over.
It was hot as hell today.
Joel and I headed inside, just in time for the lunch rush to begin.
I made sure not to put too much weight on my right leg and eyed the colorful menus over the counter. As much as I hated it, I had to make more frequent stops today to stretch out my leg. The pain was fucking brutal at times.
“I’ll grab us a booth,” Joel said.
“What do you want?”
“I don’t care. I’m not really hungry.” He walked over to the seating area and the dozen or so tables. Handful of booths, each one painted in different colors.
I was up next in line, so I scanned the menu again. Motherfucker—petty problem, but I would’ve preferred if he ordered his own food. I didn’t want him to notice that I remembered the shit he liked.
The older lady working alongside two younger men greeted me quickly and asked what I wanted. “Hola, buenos días. ¿Cuál va a ser su orden?”
I scratched the side of my head. “Buenos días. Quiero cuatro tacos de carne asada, dos con salsa verde extra, por favor.”
“Claro que sí. ¿Algo más?” she asked.
“No, eso es todo. Gracias.” I retrieved my wallet.
A couple minutes later, I received our food on a tray, and I joined Joel. He’d found a booth conveniently underneath one of the ceiling fans.
I winced and lifted my leg so I could rest my foot on the edge of his seat.
He glanced down, then grabbed his drink. “Maybe I should drive.”
“It’s fine.”
He sighed and leveled me with an impatient look. “Nothing about this is fine—and I know none of us wanna be here right now, but we gotta work together, Elliott. I won’t let you stand in my way.”
I chuckled incredulously, unable to help it. “Me getting in your way? Fuck off—I’d be better off if you stayed at home with Piper. What do you know about covert ops and working with cartels, huh?”
He fumed in silence, jaw set, but said nothing.
There was nothing he could add anyway.
I picked up one of the tacos and bit into it, and my mouth salivated at the taste. How I fucking loved Mexican food—and green salsa. The strong flavors kick-started my system, suddenly ready to let me know I was hungry, but my brain was elsewhere. I still heard Blake’s cries in my head. I still envisioned the terror in her eyes.
Joel eyed the tacos left on the plate. Maybe more in particular, the cilantro, which he hated.
He didn’t say anything about that either. He just picked one up and took a bite.
2000
What was I doing here? Why had I agreed to this? Joel was Piper’s friend, not mine.
Joel and I met up outside Mamacita, and he led the way as if I hadn’t been here before. As if I hadn’t known that they didn’t check for ID here long before he’d figured it out.
The place was as lively as ever. It was essentially a large outdoor dining area with two food trucks slinging some of the best tacos San Diego had to offer. The music was loud, the bistro lights above us shone in different colors, the bar tables were crowded, and people were in a good mood.
The lines were fast-moving, and I kept my smirk to myself when Joel ordered a beer with his tacos. No cilantro, he said twice.
Joel turned to me next. “What do you want?”
I furrowed my brow. Was he implyi—
“I’m paying,” he clarified.
My eyebrows went up.
Either he was buttering me up to ask if I could buy him booze for a party or something, or…or he really was interested in me. He’d actually meant that before on the beach? Maybe not the wanting to get shot down part, but…
I shook my head to clear it. “Uh, one steak taco with extra green salsa and two shrimp quesadillas.”