Page 59 of Rebel Protector

The plane from Panama City to Bogotá touched down just after 7:00 p.m. Markov and Ramirez hadn’t said much during the hour-and-a-half flight, so Ghost had reclined his seat and dozed off. He hadn’t got much sleep the night before, and small talk wasn’t his thing.

The sprawling, high-altitude city was thriving when they arrived, despite the late hour. According to the chatty taxi driver, there was a ten-day flower festival starting tomorrow and everyone was in a party mode.

The drive to the hotel took an hour, thanks to the heavy traffic, and by the time they arrived, all Ghost wanted was a hot shower and a bed. Unfortunately, he knew sleep wasn’t in the cards for a while.

He hadn’t seen Becca all afternoon, which was probably for the best. She had gone into town like she’d planned, and by now, she was hopefully on her way to the U.S. There was no way to reach her, not since she’d destroyed her SIM card.

A pang of longing hit him out of nowhere.

Damned if he couldn’t still see her in his mind, head thrown back in ecstasy, eyes closed, lips parted, her soft body wrapped around his afterward.

He shook off the memory, irritated at the ache in his chest. He needed to get a grip. She’d only been gone a few hours. The feelings would fade eventually, but right now, it was like a raw wound.

And what the fuck was up with Markov and Ramirez? They hadn’t said more than a few words to him the entire flight. Had something gone down between them? Markov barely acknowledged him as they reached the hotel.

“See you tomorrow,” Markov snapped, heading for the elevator.

What? No dinner invite?

Fine by him. He wasn’t interested in spending more time with scum like Markov anyway. Their relationship was strictly business—he was the fixer, the guy who moved the product. No friends, no pleasantries, and that’s how he liked it.

One thing Ghost knew for sure was he did not trust Alek Markov or his slimy partner. Not one bit.

Tomorrow, they’d be taking a private plane to Cartagena for the handoff. The deal was happening at Miguel’s farmhouse, or rather, the old sugarcane warehouse nearby that now served as storage for the goods. It was going to be a long day.

After a quick shower, Ghost changed into dark jeans and a black hoodie, something low-key. His hotel room was big, with a view of the sprawling city. Bogotá wasn’t exactly beautiful, but it had character. Rich in culture, history, museums, and lately, a foodie scene. He ordered room service and shot a quick text to Pat. The night was far from over, and there was still plenty to get done.

At midnight, Ghost slipped down the service stairs and exited through a back door into the deserted alley behind the hotel. He could hear distant music and laughter from partygoers celebrating the festival. Sticking to the shadows, he made hisway to their meeting point—a dive bar in one of the sketchier parts of town.

When he walked in, a band was butchering a classic rock song, and the few patrons left were either nursing their drinks or hoping to score with one of the bartenders, who didn’t seem too picky if the price was right.

He spotted Pat sitting at a table in the back with two other men. Ghost recognized Blade from their first meeting, but the third guy was new.

“This is Cole,” Pat said, nodding toward the tall guy with sandy blond hair.

“Good to meet you.” Cole held out his hand.

Ghost shook it and nodded to Grant before sitting down. “Thanks for coming.”

Pat wasted no time. “Give us the time of the handoff, and we’ll be there early. I haven’t looped in the Colombian authorities yet, for obvious reasons, but the FBI has got two agents waiting in Cartagena for my call.”

Ghost nodded. “The deal’s going down tomorrow at 7 p.m. We’re flying out in the morning.”

Pat nodded back. “We’ve got a light aircraft ready at a private airstrip outside the city. We’ll be there before dawn.” Ghost had already given them the location of Miguel’s farm, but not the timing—until now.

Ghost leaned in, lowering his voice. “Listen, I don’t trust this bastard. I want to set up some extra precautions.”

Pat grinned, his eyes glinting. “I was hoping you’d say that. What do you have in mind?”

“What the hell—?”

Ghost sat up in bed as the door burst open and Alek Markov stormed in, followed by Ramirez and three thugs from the hacienda.

What were they doing here?

By the looks on their faces, it wasn’t good.

Then he knew.