Operation Tropical Affair: A Poppy McVie Adventure (Poppy McVie Series Book 1) (18 page)

“Make sure you say exactly that.”

“Okay,” she said with a shrug and went back to work.
 

I leaned on the bar and waited, trying to blend in with the tourists. Finally, a man slipped behind the counter and went straight for the cash register. Isabella was so busy she didn’t notice him. I got her attention and motioned in his direction with my eyes. She spun around and caught him by the sleeve as he was headed back out. She whispered to him and he looked right at me.
This better be him. Otherwise, this whole plan disintegrates fast.
He listened to her, his eyes on me, then with the slightest nod, he left. Isabella brought me an IPA and said with a shrug, “I toll heem.”

“Thanks.”
 

I moved through the crowd and around to the outside corner to the restrooms. I waited until the area was clear and slipped into the men’s room.
 

Men’s rooms, I’ve found, are a microcosm of life. When left to their own devices, men are simply pigs. God knows when the last time this place was cleaned. Paper towels were strewn on the floor, soap dispenser missing altogether. I slipped into a stall, prepared to stand on the toilet seat if necessary, but hoped it didn’t come to that.
 

I didn’t have to wait long. The door eased open and I heard it close and the click of the lock.
 

I slipped from the stall. “I’m a friend of Joe’s.” I watched his reaction. “Joe Nash.”

“I don’t know nobody name’a Joe.” He wasn’t going to blow his cover no matter what. He walked to the stall, looked inside, walked back and grabbed me by the arm and slammed me against the wall. He ran his hands up my right leg, then my left. He spun me around and checked under my arms.

“Who the hell are you?” he said.

“Martin showed me the postcard.”

“What do you want?” He frowned. “And this better be good. Make it quick.”

“Carlos running coke?”

“I think so. But on the side. Definitely not sanctioned by his boss.”
 

I crossed my arms. “You think so or you know so?”

He shook his head. “Whenever we get a poisonous snake, Carlos takes the afternoon delivery on his own. I just figured. Only thing that makes sense.”
 

“Right,” I said. Drug dealers were known to use aggressive or venomous animals to guard their inventory. He probably hid the drugs in a secret compartment in the bottom of a crate. Snake on top. Border agents aren’t likely to mess with it and the fine is minor for the snake. “Any particular day?”

“No. But we got one this morning, if that helps.”

That didn’t give me much time.

He crossed his arms. “Directive from Virginia is to stay the course.”

“Right,” I said. “We’re just working another angle. What else can you tell me?”

“Not much really. These guys are amateurs.” He glanced toward the door. “Amateurs with guns. I’m gone too long, I’m toast.”

“I’ve got it covered. At the far table, three guys. Smuggler and his bodyguards. The competition. Make it be known you’ve just been solicited and turned him down. Solidify your loyalty, help our cause.”

He pondered this a moment, then nodded slowly. “I gotta go.” He moved toward the door.

“One more thing,” I said. “How’d you know it was Maria?”

“Who?”

“On the postcard, you said you had your sights set on a butterfly.”

“I always hear him on the phone. I figured it was a woman in charge because he calls her Mariposa. That’s all I know. I was hoping Nash could connect the dots.”
 

“It’s his sister, Maria. She’s the kingpin.”

He nodded as if this made sense. “Good. We’re getting closer. I’m getting tired of this asshole.” He slid out the door, looked both ways, and nodded to me that it was clear.

I went straight to the table. “Carlos will be looking out here at you any minute now. Make sure he sees you, then get the hell out of here fast,” I said and melted into the crowd where I could keep an eye on them.

Chris hailed the waitress. When she dropped the check on the table, he slapped her on the ass. I did an eye roll. He was getting cocky already. He looked up and hesitated. He whispered to Doug. He seemed to have caught sight of something. I spun around. Carlos and two thugs were headed toward him.
Oh no.
I moved closer.

“¿Qué te lleva a mi bar?” Carlos asked.

Crap!
Chris doesn’t speak Spanish.
 

Chris sat back in his chair, interlaced his fingers, and casually looked up at Carlos. “Nice place,” he said. “The beer was cold—” he flicked his finger at the baskets on the table “—but the grouper was a bit soggy.”

“What do you want?”

Chris grinned, his eyes traveled to a waitress who was bending over, wiping the table nearby. “Just enjoying the view.”

Carlos shifted on his feet. “Well I suggest you find another one. Move on down the beach.”

Chris slowly surveyed the scene, peering out at the water, the beach, the cruise ship at the dock, the cargo ships docked along the pier. “I don’t know.” He turned back to Carlos and grinned. “I kinda like it here. You know what they say: location, location, location.”

God, Chris, don’t push it.

Carlos crossed his arms, his neck muscles pulled taut. His thugs moved in.

Chris pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. Doug and Jack rose on either side of him. Chris adjusted his shirt collar, then brushed down the front of his silk shirt, smoothing it out real nice. He made a show of looking around the bar, up at the rafters, from corner to corner as he pulled his sleeves at the cuffs. Then he winked at Carlos. “Yeah, I like it here a lot.” He turned to Doug. “Shall we?” And he strolled out like he owned the place.

“That was awesome!” said Doug. He was at the wheel and we were speeding down the main road.
 

“Holy crap, Chris,” I said. “That was risky. That could’ve gone south, fast.”

He grinned at me. “Yeah, but it didn’t.”

Jack gave him a shove on the shoulder. “Dude, you’re crazy. All I could think was how I was going to learn kung ku, like if I could get an instant download like in The Matrix. Dude, that was messed up.”

“Where to next, boss?” Doug asked.

Chris pointed at me. “You’ll have to ask her.”

I gave him a head slap. “He meant me.” To Doug I said, “Casa del Mar, a little hotel on the beach, north of the Playa de Delfines resort.”

“I know it,” he said. “What’s the plan there? We going to rough up some poachers?”

“No!” I glared at him even though he couldn’t see me with his eyes on the road. “Chris and I are going in to talk to someone. You and Jack hang out at the door, looking around like Secret Service. Make yourselves obvious. But not too obvious. Know what I mean?”

“Sure, boss,” Doug said.
 

“You don’t have to call me boss.”

“Hey, I’m a method actor. I’m getting into my role. Just go with it.”

I rubbed my temples with my thumb and middle finger. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, I thought. It made me think of Roy. And the Lawson brothers. I bet he enjoyed nailing their partner.

I texted Amanda and Colette to let them know to be ready, today was the day.

Then my phone rang. It was Claudia. “Dead!” she burst. “They killed a man. Killed him!”

“Take a breath
.
Tell me exactly what happened.”

The connection was staticky. “They came on horses like you said, Maria and a man. They went into the shed. Then we heard gunshots. She left with the horses and—” Claudia whimpered “—the guards dragged the man’s body out into the jungle.”

“Noah and Matt are okay?”

“Yes,” she said.

“All right. What did the man look like? Anything you remember about him?”

“He wore glasses. These ugly, old glasses, like from the seventies.”

Felix. The German buyer. What had he done?
“Okay, listen to me. This will be over soon. Everything’s going to happen today. Tell Noah to mark the van somehow before it leaves. We need to know for sure we have the right van. Do you understand? We only have one shot at this.”

“Okay, but I had to hike out to get cell service. I’ve got to hike back up there.”

“As fast as you can. And be careful,” I said then disconnected.

So Maria killed Felix. I felt a hole open in the pit of my stomach. I knew she was dangerous, but… Should I tell Dalton and Nash? No. Then I’d have to explain how I knew. I wondered what he had done. Didn’t matter. I had to go on with the plan.

We pulled into the lot and I pushed it from my mind.
 

The Casa del Mar was a quaint little seaside motel with purple walls strangled by tropical foliage. I went into the office and asked for Kevin—
crap, I don’t know his last name
. The staffer behind the desk was a sweet young gal with a cherub face, her long straight hair pulled back and pinned with wood barrettes. I leaned toward her and said in a whisper, “Australian guy. Very yummy.” I tried to blush. The hardest thing to fake. “He, uh, left something in my room last night and I, uh, think he probably needs it back right away.”
 

She nodded, enjoying the gossip fodder. “Room seven,” she said. “But I think I just saw him out by the pool.”

I winked and slipped out, Chris behind me.

We headed for the beach side and the pool area—me, Chris and his bodyguards. I rounded the corner and caught sight of Kevin, sprawled out on a lounge chair in his swimming trunks, a fruity drink in his hand. I told Chris to tell Doug and Jack to hang back and I walked up to Kevin and halted at his feet. He recognized me right away, I could tell, but he scanned behind me, quickly to my left, then my right. His eyes came to a screeching halt when he spotted Doug and Jack. “Miss Brittany,” he said, sitting up on the edge of his chair. “To what do I owe the pleasha?”

“It’s nice to see you,” I said with a big smile. “This is my friend, Chris.”

Chris acknowledged him with a curt nod.
 

“‘Owdy, mate,” Kevin said. I could tell he was running through scenarios in his mind, possible reasons I was here.

“Actually, I feel silly now that I’m standing here.” I had planned on the bodyguards hanging outside his door, not having to explain them to him.
 

“Naw, it’s awright.” He leapt to his feet and grabbed the lounge chair nearby, spun it around, and offered for me to sit as he eased back into his chair.

“Thanks,” I said. “But we don’t need to stay and bother you.” I quickly scanned the pool area. A waiter on the far side was lingering over a table, looking our way. Shazam. Kevin had his own Yipes. That meant he wasn’t in with Maria and I’d accomplished my goal.

“Oh, you’re no botha,” Kevin said, smiling, his brow knit. I had him baffled. “No botha at-tall.”

“Where are my manners? Here you are, relaxing by the pool, and we barge right in. It can wait until later.” I nudged Chris. “We should go.”

Kevin got to his feet. The gentleman. “No need.”

“Maybe we could schedule a lunch?”

“What’s this all about?”

“Oh, just a silly idea I had. Really, it’s nothing.” All I needed now was for him to nod. A reluctant nod. “So, lunch tomorrow then?”

He smiled. And then the nod.
Thank you, Kevin!

As we headed back to the SUV, Chris whispered to me, “The pecs on that guy. And the accent. Oooooh. My god, girl, no wonder you’re coming apart at the seams.”

We dropped Chris off at the Coco-Cabana. I told him to get packed and head straight to the airport. “But I could still—”

“No argument, Chris. You were a big help. I couldn’t have done this without you. But it’s too dangerous. Tell me you’ll go right now. Get on the next flight out.”

He nodded grudgingly. “You be careful, too,” he said.
 

I checked my watch. It was four thirty-five. “I’ll call you as soon as I get back in the States. I promise.” I gave him a hug. “Thank you.”

“Just get the bastards,” he said with a grin.
 

I hopped in the SUV and slammed the door. “Get back to The Toucan. Now!”

In the short time Doug had been in Costa Rica, he had learned to drive like a tico. He weaved in and out of the lanes, passing on a double yellow line, up a blind hill. No problem. “Good way to blend in with the locals,” I said, gripping the handle.

He turned into the parking lot, throwing sand and gravel as he skidded to a stop. We piled out and took off running toward the pier. “There’s the van,” Jack shouted. “Where’s Amanda and Colette?”

A white panel van slowed to a stop, ready to make the turn onto the pier. I scanned the roadways. No sign of the VW.
Crap, where are they?

The traffic cleared and the van made the turn. This was our chance. I looked both ways, up and down the causeway. No VW.

“How do you know that’s the right van?” Doug said. “Noah was supposed to make sure we knew which one it was, right?”

“If Claudia got the message to him. And he was able to. And if he did, how?”

“Look.” He pointed with the tire iron he carried in his hand.

Another white panel van was coming down the causeway, headed our way. It was the van. No question. Noah was on the roof. I shook my head. I should have known.
 

I looked the other way. The VW was puttering toward the corner.
C’mon guys, we’ve got one chance at this.

The van turned the corner onto the pier, Carlos at the wheel, and Amanda was there with the VW. She gunned it to get right in front of him, then slammed on the brakes. Crash!
Go team! We got him!

The driver-side door popped open and Carlos was hollering before his feet hit the ground. Amanda and Colette eased out of the VW, clad in bikinis for extra attention, and staggered toward him, hollering back.
 

You can always count on the crowd to do what crowds do. Clumps of people started to form around the scene. I hid among the throngs. I couldn’t be seen.

Doug and Jack closed in. They had to get that back door open before Carlos noticed. Amanda and Colette were doing their part, keeping him distracted. Before Jack and Doug reached the van though, Noah sprang down from the roof, flipped the handle, and swung the panel doors wide. Jack and Doug bounded inside, grabbed a wooden crate, and dragged it onto the road. These guys were good. Noah was prying at the lid with the tire iron. Within seconds, Jack had a second crate, and Doug a third, hauled out onto the road. From where I stood, it looked like that was it. Three crates total.