Fracture (Blood & Roses #3-4) - Callie Hart Page 0,46

he places face down on the table between us. “I was wondering if you could explain a little further about your business here in L.A.? You said you were catching up with some friends on your way to visit family, no?”

“That’s right.” I reply instantly, not blinking at his line of questioning or at the piece of paper he’s pulled from the envelope.

“I see. What kind of friends you got here in Los Angeles, Zeth?”

“All kinds.” Another piece of fruit. I gesture toward the ice bucket filled with beers and raise my eyebrows again. Julio nods, giving his consent. I twist the cap off one and take a long swig. Julio follows suit, though taking only a small sip instead. “Visited an old high school buddy yesterday. Grabbed some lunch,” I tell him. I was careful to make sure I wasn’t being followed, but fuck. Sometimes people are sneaky motherfuckers. Julio could have had me tailed when I went to meet Rick. Better to admit to seeing him before confronted with photographic evidence, if that’s what he’s got on that paper.

“Uh-huh.” Julio rests a hand on his grotesque bulge of a belly, balancing the beer alongside it, too. “This friend of yours. He has a name?”

I give him a confused look. “Yeah, his name’s Rick. Why?”

“Because we found a guy taking pictures of the girls yesterday from outside the compound. He refuses to give us his name or why he’s here. We thought perhaps he might be a friend of yours?”

Fuck. A guy taking pictures of the girls from outside the compound? That sure as hell is someone I know, but it ain’t Rick. It’s Michael. I shake my head, smiling ruefully. “Sorry, man. No idea. Probably just some perve trying get his dick wet, surely?”

With a scowl the guard behind Julio makes a disbelieving grunt in the back of his throat. “You seriously listening to this, boss? The guy’s full of shit.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Andreas!” Julio snaps. His drooping jowls wobble at his sudden spike of rage. Face almost purple, Julio casts a look over me that would make lesser men falter. Not me, though. I’ve dealt with much worse and come out the other side smelling of fucking daisies. The other guy usually comes off reeking of sweat and his piss-stained pants. Julio knows this about me.

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Zeth,” he reassures me. “I just want to make sure that this man is no friend of yours before I let Andreas and his friends get a little more inventive with their questions. I’d feel bad if I were to hurt someone in your employ?”

If Michael is somewhere in this compound, then he’s keeping his mouth shut tight—one of the reasons I hired him—and I know they have no reason to suspect he’s one of mine. From Julio’s angry reaction to Andreas’s insistence that I’m somehow to be suspected here, I get the impression that he was the one who whispered the suggestion in Julio’s ear in the first place.

“Sorry, man. Like I said, I can’t help you. Makes no sense anyway. Why would I have someone watching the place when I’m already inside?”

Because he can take photos of you fucks when I’m gone. Because he can see into the girls’ area of the compound from where he was hiding. Because I need to act cool while I’m here, and not get caught snooping around like a goddamn spy. There are more reasons, but those are the most important ones. Julio’s dark eyes laser into me, maybe trying to ascertain the truth of my comment, and then he thoughtfully rocks his head up and down.

“I thought as much, hombre. But you know how things are with Charlie, huh? We are good friends now but it wasn’t always that way. I’m a careful man, Zeth. I always like to be careful.”

“Me, too.”

Julio casually flips over the piece of paper on the table, musing over it for a moment. When he puts it down again, it’s the right way up, and I can see the damage they’ve already done to my second in command. Michael’s ordinarily flawless appearance is gone, replaced by dust-encrusted jeans and a blood-stained, white singlet shirt. The muscles in his arms are strained, bulging awkwardly as he pulls against the bonds tying his hands behind his back. Blood on his forehead, his temple, his shoulder, running from his mouth. He’s already been worked over pretty good.

I let it all wash over me. No