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“And I trust he’s read you loud and clear. I could hear you bawling him out all the way down from the other floor, Jones,” Strauss says, his keen gaze cutting to me. “You were damn lucky, Mr. Triton.”
Don’t I know it.
I nod slowly.
“Not just because you left Vegas with all of your organs still intact when you took on twosicariosalone, but because you turned up a valuable lead,” he says. “James Nobel just heard back from our Federal contacts. Those men didn’t have the usual cartel tattoos, but they did have something else that was very important for establishing proof on the other side of the border.”
He reaches into his pocket and holds out his hand.
When he opens it for us, I see a familiar medieval-looking ring with sharp, geometric lines curling into a snake. It’s the ring I turned over, denser than solid steel.
In the center, that damn ouroboros, the nasty-looking serpent devouring itself tail first.
The same design I saw on Eladio Joaquin’s boots right before he made his dramatic escape. And this one catches the light the same bright, almost blinding way as his metal toes did.
“Hell of a calling card,” I say, clearing my throat.
“I’m inclined to agree. The Joaquin group is the only large organized syndicate that hands out this kind of jewelry for rank. More importantly, it’s enough,” Strauss says, stroking the dark beard framing his mouth.
“Enough? Boss, are you saying what I think you are?” Sexton asks, raising his brows.
Strauss nods.
“We’re hashing out the final details with Mexican officials right now. These cross-border agreements always take a heap of effort and too much damn bickering, however—you boys should rest up this week. Odds are you’ll be bound for Cabo sooner than you think.”
“Shit,” Sexton spits, rocking back an inch.
Shit is right.
I should be popping open a fresh beer tonight and toasting the news, maybe with the rest of my crew on a video chat. Batista, Gering, and the rest have been as eager to go after them as me.
Instead, my gut drops out.
For the first time in ages, I feel something unfamiliar creeping through my skin.
Nerves.
What the fuck?
That’s not me before a raid.
Except, it is when I dwell on the soft face appearing in my mind with those eyes like stirred honey.
Delia Burr makes me give a shit whether or not I come home in one piece like never before.
“I’ll be ready, Mr. Strauss. You can count on all of us,” I say quietly.
The bossman stares at me like he’s sensing the restlessness behind my eyes. His insight is legendary, and when you’re face-to-face with him, it’s easy to see why.
Some men give you the feeling that they’ll read you like a book. Mr. Strauss could write doorstoppers on everyone he meets.
And he nods affably before he walks away, leaving me alone with Sexton again.
“I’ll be damned,” he says, turning to me and shaking his head. “Looks like your impulsiveness wasn’t a total jackass move.”
“See?” I flash him a shit-eating grin. “I know what I’m doing, even when I’m frigging clueless.”
“Don’t do it again,” he says coldly.
