Page 14 of Rebel Protector
She stopped, frowning as she looked back at him.
“I’ve got some things to take care of, but when I get back, I can help you with the shopping.”
Her eyes widened, like she hadn’t expected the offer. “Really? Oh, um, okay. Thanks.”
Had no one ever offered to help her before? Shopping for Markov’s household must be a full-time job on its own, not to mention all the supplies for the staff.
“How about I meet you outside the supermarket in an hour?” Ghost suggested, trying to keep his voice steady.
She hesitated, then gave him a small, tentative smile that lit up her eyes. “That sounds good.”
His heart did a little flip, and he found himself grinning like a fool. “Great. See you then.”
Before he could embarrass himself further, he turned on his heel and strode away, feeling like a damn schoolboy who just got a date to the prom.
Ghost walkedthe few blocks to the seedier side of the city, where he was set to meet his contact. Jesús ran a small import-export business, but it was his brother, Pedro, who was the real prize. Pedro worked for the National Border Service, andbetween the two of them, they smuggled contraband over the border like pros.
They’d been a vital part of Suarez’s drug network, and now that the cash flow had dried up, the brothers were hungry to get in on Markov’s operation. With Ghost running point, they knew they’d be paid on time and paid well.
“Weapons are lower risk than drugs,” Jesús had said before the trial run. “Sniffer dogs can’t pick them up.”
Ghost met him in a dingy café by the canal, the kind of place filled with grimy dockworkers, all sweat and cigarette smoke. Ghost, with his unshaven face and worn-out T-shirt, blended right in.
They hashed out the details—shipment logistics, handover points, and the routes through the jungle. It was a more substantial load this time, and they’d be using multiple middlemen, which would make it tougher for the authorities to trace.
A logger would haul the cargo on his truck deep into the rainforest. From there, a tribal fisherman would pick it up, navigate the treacherous waters of the Darien Gap, and smuggle it across the Panama-Colombia border.
Jesús was pleased. Back when they’d been moving drugs, he’d been the last guy in the chain—the one with all the risk. Now, with the weapons, he was the first rung on the ladder, and he liked it better this way.
“By the way,” Jesús said casually as Ghost stood to leave, “stay away from the marketplace today. I hear there’s gonna be trouble.”
Ghost’s spine stiffened. “What kind of trouble?”
Jesús shrugged. “Anti-U.S. protest, or something like that. Could get ugly.”
Fuck. Becca!
Ghost muttered a quick goodbye and bolted out of the café, sprinting the whole way back toward the marketplace. Now that he knew what was coming, he could see it—small groups gathering in side streets, suspicious eyes scanning the square.
This was not going to end well.
Every combat-trained instinct in his body screamed at him. Trouble was brewing, and it was going to hit hard.
Frantically, he scanned the crowd outside the supermarket. Becca was standing at the edge of the square, a pile of carrier bags around her.
Thank God.
He switched directions and made a beeline for her, moving fast. As he passed a fruit stall, he saw a man lean in, whisper something to a woman who immediately dropped her shopping bag and bolted. That could only mean one thing.
“Becca, get down!” he roared.
Her head snapped up, eyes wide as she recognized his voice. “Mr. Dominguez, what’s?—”
Her words were cut off by the deafening blast that tore through the marketplace.
CHAPTER 6
Becca hit the ground hard, but it wasn’t just the explosion—it was the solid weight of Dominguez’s body slamming into her, knocking the breath from her lungs.