Blood of the Assassin - By Russell Blake Page 0,19

eyeing him with hesitation.

“Everything’s negotiable.”

“Not this.”

Chapter 8

Cruz pushed his way through the entry of the latest condo the Federales had leased for him and sniffed at the air. A seductive smell drifted from the small kitchen, and as the door swung shut behind him he heard the sound of pans clanking against the stovetop – Dinah’s presence announcing itself in the muted clamoring of the dinnerware.

“Sweetheart? I’m home,” he announced over the culinary din, setting his briefcase down.

“Mmmm. Good. I need another pair of hands in here to help,” Dinah called, sounding her usual cheerful self. How she managed to remain upbeat after working all day in the school was beyond him – but he was always glad she did.

“My hands have been itching to help you all day, my love,” he assured her. “Let me slip into something more comfortable and I’ll be right there.”

Dinah glanced over her shoulder as he passed the kitchen and threw him a harried smile. Cruz made a mental note not to dally in the bedroom changing out of his uniform. He knew that look, and it meant he could earn some points by being a good domestic partner.

Three minutes later he was back, wearing jeans and a rugby shirt, and approached her as she stood at the stove.

“Mmm. You smell good. How did I get so lucky?” he cooed in her ear.

“Somebody upstairs must like you. Now, can you help me with the onions? I need them chopped while I whip this into shape,” she responded, twisting to kiss him on the mouth.

“Absolutely. Chopping, whipping...I’m all over it,” he assured her, and reached to the butcher block for one of the knives. “How was your day?”

“The usual chaos. Misbehaving kids, too many reports to complete in too little time, backstabbing colleagues...nothing ever seems to change,” Dinah said.

“Sounds like my job.”

“Yours is probably less dangerous. And they let you wear that handsome uniform, and give you a nametag. I get none of that,” Dinah pouted as she stirred spices into the pan with the chicken she was sautéing.

Cruz’s cell phone rang just as he was about to begin slicing. He cursed and put down the knife, then fished the phone out of his pants pocket.

“Yes?” he answered.

“Capitan Cruz. Sorry to call you after hours. This is Eduardo Godoy,” a smooth voice crooned.

“What can I do for you?” Cruz asked warily. Godoy was his superior – an entirely useless political appointee who was nonetheless as dangerous as a snake.

“I need you to come to my office tomorrow morning, first thing. Let’s say...nine o’clock?” Godoy said.

Cruz paused. “Fine. What will be the topic of discussion, if you don’t mind?” he asked, wary of being blindsided. Whenever Godoy wanted to see him, it was usually bad, and involved Cruz getting the pork put to him in one way or another.

“We have a delicate situation I need you to handle. I’m not comfortable speaking about it over the phone. Just be here at nine, please,” Godoy snapped.

“Yes. Of course. It’s just that if I knew what this was about, I could come prepared...”

“All I need is you – nothing else. I’ll see you in the morning,” Godoy said, and then the line went dead.

He stared at the phone. Now what? As far as he knew he hadn’t crossed any lines, and he had been spectacularly successful with a number of delicate anti-cartel operations over the last few months. Godoy had no reason to reprimand him that he could think of. Which didn’t mean anything. In the real world, many of the top brass were nothing more than mouthpieces for special interests – and the cartels were some of the richest and most powerful special interests in Mexico. Being a multi-billion dollar criminal syndicate apparently bought a lot of political clout, even as public rhetoric condemned them.

“Honey? Who was that?” Dinah asked.

“Oh. Nothing. Just somebody from work.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Fine. They were just setting up a meeting. Nothing more.” He tried a smile, but Cruz’s tone betrayed his uneasiness.

“They’re calling you at home, at dinner time?” Dinah wasn’t buying it.

“It’s my boss. Godoy. He’s not really good with things like common courtesy.”

“I got that. Are you going to chop those onions, or do I have to?” she asked, dropping the subject.

Cruz nodded and returned to his duties, his eyes beginning to water within seconds of the first few slices. Dinah glanced at him, and in spite of herself, giggled at the sight of her husband, tears welling in his