Tijuana Nights (The Nights Series Book 1)

  LEIGH K. HUNT

  Kindle Edition

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  London Dusk copyright © 2014 by Leigh K. Hunt

  Edited by J.C. Hart

  Cover design copyright © by Dwell Design & Press

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

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  The is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incident are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

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  Tijuana Nights, Book I of the Nights Series by Leigh K. Hunt

  Published by Dwell Press, New Zealand

  www.leighkhunt.com

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  Find out more about Leigh K. Hunt at

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  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my husband, Michael.

  You are my rock, and more often than not (or that I would like to admit) – my voice of reason.

  Thank you for always listening and being there, even if I do cause you a few eye rolls. X

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  1

  I kicked my high heels off under the courtyard table at the Little Havana bar in Tijuana, and sparked up a Marlboro Light, savouring the inhalation of the smoke. I kept telling myself I was going to give up, but it’s really not the time. Especially not today. Adrenaline still coursed through me, and my hands shook as I lifted the margarita to my lips and took a sip. I swore as I spilled a few drops. I had to contain myself and calm the fuck down.

  But who could calm down when they have just seen their plane blown to dust? I should, in reality, have been on my way to Los Angeles, before catching a connecting flight home to London. But I missed my flight, and then when I got to the airport, I stood by and watched the plane explode into a million pieces just after take-off.

  And somehow, deep down... I knew that explosion was meant for me.

  Tijuana was hot, and dusty, and I'd thoroughly had enough. I wanted to go home to England, sort out a few things, and settle back into my life as a historian, writing historical reports, and losing myself in the labyrinth of archives around Europe. The last place I wanted to be was stuck in Tijuana, in designer clothes, knowing that I'm up to my neck in shit. I stubbed my cigarette out, and had another sip of margarita, savouring every moment of the taste, in an effort to centre myself. I knew that I had to call River and ask for his help.

  I rummaged through my handbag, pulling things out and dumping them on the table as I tried to find the business card with River's numbers on it. In the process I grasped my iPhone, my finger traced the bullet hole through the middle as I drew it from my bag and slowly exhaled.

  My iPhone was the last luxurious thing I had got myself. I had bought it the day that I found Luke screwing my best friend in our bed and I threw him out. I never would have spent that sort of money if I’d known he was going to demand half of everything I owned. I bit my lip as I turned it over in my hand. Many people consider phones to be their 'life-savers'... but usually that's just a figure of speech. No one actually believes their phone will literally save their life. But I do - I'm living proof. The bullet that killed my phone made me move; if I hadn't, the next bullet would have been in my head.

  I found River's card and stood, leaving my shoes under the table as I walked barefoot into the dim bar.

  Dredging up my limited Spanish skills I approached the bar, “Dónde está el teléfono?” I painfully asked.

  After a frustrated look of confusion, the barman finally pointed the phone out to me. Looking down at the card in my hand I read the words – Mergers and Acquisitions. I grimaced. More like Murders and Executions. I picked up the phone, and dialled River's mobile number. After two rings he picked up.

  "It's me," I said quietly, watching the barman across the room as he polished glasses. There were no other patrons apart from me. Not surprising really considering it was still morning.

  "You're alive." River’s voice echoed with relief down the phone. "Where the hell are you?"

  I smiled. "Little Havana Bar."

  "I'll be there shortly."

  He hung up on me, and I looked at the phone in disbelief. It's not the first time he'd done it, but I thought he would at least be a bit more polite. Particularly considering he’s British. Rolling my eyes, I hung the receiver up, and on my way back to my table, stopped by the bar and ordered another drink. I knew I wouldn’t be able to drive legally after this, but who gave a shit about legalities in Mexico?

  Twenty minutes later, I spotted River making his way through the dark bar, and out into the courtyard. As always, my heart raced when I saw him. From what I had gathered, River used to work for the British MI6 or some other covert organisation. He was trained as an assassin by a professional government outfit of some kind. If truth be known, I didn’t really want to know the exact details.

  I couldn’t tell what nationality he was, as he looked like he was of mixed descent. He was from England – that I could tell from his middle-upper class accent – and almost African looking, but then he could have been Mediterranean, or maybe even Middle Eastern. River’s colouring allowed him to fit in perfectly in places like Tijuana. He always maintained a professional composure, always dressed immaculately. Today, he was in a white shirt, casually open at the collar, and wore designer jeans despite the heat. I couldn't read his caramel-coloured eyes as they were hidden behind the aviator sunglasses that he always wore. Automatically I reached for the last of my margarita.

  River sat down at my table, and smiled across at me. "I've spent the last hour wondering where the hell you were. Gabe hacked the passenger manifesto, and we discovered that you never boarded Flight 474 to LA." He picked up my iPhone, and put his little finger through the hole. "Looks like you caught a lucky break, Mack. Very lucky." He put the phone down, removed his glasses, and lifted his gaze to mine. “What happened?”

  I drew in a deep lungful of air as the explosion of the plane replayed in my mind. I didn’t know where to start. I ran my hands through my hair nervously. A part of me didn’t want to breathe a word of what had happened in this godforsaken city. Another part knew that he needed to know.

  “Mack?”

  “Yeah. Okay. Well, I woke up late this morning, God knows why; maybe because my phone was shot to shit and my alarm doesn’t work anymore. Anyway, I hadn’t finished packing properly, so I kind of just threw a few things together, and arranged for the hotel to send the rest of my gear back home.” I looked up at River, and saw that he was shaking his head in disapproval. “What?”

  He smiled. “Rule number one. Never trust anybody – especially if they can be paid off for information.”

  I wanted to tell him he could go fuck his rules, but thought better of it. It was not the time to pick a fight with an assassin. Instead, I frowned at him and shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. Anyway,” I continued.
“Then my useless piece-of-shit car took ages to start, and when the engine finally ticked over and I hit the road, there was an accident, and I got stuck in traffic. Seriously, I tried to make that flight, I really did. I even took back roads through this shithole to try and get to the airport faster.” I lit another cigarette, and slowly blew the smoke out into the sun-drenched courtyard. “The check-in lady informed me that I, “Rachel White”, had missed the flight, but that I was more than welcome to watch it take off.”

  So I had. And I watched it explode mid-air. A huge white burst of light engulfed it, and I saw it before I heard or felt it. There were a hundred and fifty odd people on that plane, and I was meant to be one of them.

  River reached across the table and grabbed my free hand. His fingers felt warm and steady against my clammy, shaky ones. “You need to settle down. I know you should have been on that plane. Now, Gabe has been checking the manifesto, and you’re right. No one else on that flight, that we can tell, had any affiliation with the cartel, or even anything else remotely shady.” He slowly smiled. “You are in good company, Mack. We’ll protect you. We got you into this mess… we can help you get out of it.”

  The barman walked out of the bar, laden with two more drinks. I was really not going to be able to drive. I looked down at the Tag Hauer watch that River and Chase had given me, and noted that it wasn’t even mid-morning. If my mother was still alive she would be kicking my backside to Timbuktu and back again for drinking before five o’clock.

  “So, let me guess. You know who blew up my plane?”

  River leaned back in his seat and laughed. “I like you, Mack. You’re direct and to the point. It’s damn refreshing. To answer your question, yes. We have our suspicions that the destroy order on the plane may have come from Carmen Amaro.”

  My guts sank. That was the same bitch that had shot my phone. The same bitch that was married to my mark. The same mark that bought me out to this fucking country. I wanted to scream. River could see my anger in my eyes. He smiled, infuriating me even more.

  “What?” I snapped.

  He shook his head, amusement evident on his features. “You’ve changed a lot since the first night I met you. You don’t even seem that phased by the fact that it’s Carmen who is after you. Before, well, who knows? You would have probably been a little unstable about the whole situation.”

  I wasn’t listening. I was too busy thinking about the best way to get revenge on her. Not only had she shot up my favourite phone, but now in the process of trying to kill me again, she had ended up killing a hundred and fifty innocent people instead. What the hell was her problem? I could see River still talking to me, but all noise was swallowed by the sound of my inner voice. I wanted her to die a very slow and morbid death.

  No. I had to stop thinking like that. I was just as bad as her if I retaliated like that. Okay. Not quite as bad. I wouldn’t go off and kill a plane load of people because I’m a jealous, psychotic bitch. I’d like to think I have more class and style than her.

  I looked up at River. “For God’s sake,” I muttered. He was a contract killer – there was no reason why he couldn’t take her out for me. I wouldn’t even have to watch. If I couldn’t run, and I couldn’t hide, and I couldn’t get home to England at the moment, then surely I should inadvertently rid the world of a terrible person.

  “River?”

  He looked at me blankly, and then shook his head. “No, Mack. No.”

  “What? You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

  “You don’t have to say it. It’s written all over your face.” He sighed, and looked me directly in the eyes. “I’m not going to kill Carmen for you. Bottom line.”

  Damn. I was never good at playing poker, and it seemed that River could read me like an open book. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not about to screw up an entire information gathering operation all because you’re letting your emotions get in the way.”

  Oh, I could feel it. I was about to explode under the pressure that was building up inside me. “Emotions?” I said, dangerously quiet. “Are you for fucking real? This is the second time she’s tried to kill me.”

  He laid his hand on mine, and his eyes softened. “Mack. Compose yourself. I understand, you know. I do. I get it. I’ve been the target of a few people myself. But you’re not going to make this better by getting all emotional about it. You need a clear head. If you don’t have a clear head, you get killed. Rule number two.”

  More. Fucking. Rules. But I knew he was right. I took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to go away, but I knew he would help me. His phone started ringing, and he released my hand to answer it, keeping his impenetrable gaze on me the whole time.

  “Gabe.” He smiled at me, and I felt myself begin to relax again. I reached for another cigarette and the last of my third margarita as he gave short responses on the phone. Gabe is the tech-guy in their operation. Apparently he was some kid-genius hacker they pulled out of Langley when he was seventeen. Gabe is the biggest geek I have ever met, and that’s saying something considering my academic background. But he’s not your typical geek. He looks like a pot-smoking surfer, but then again, maybe that’s his cover whenever they’re on an operation. Gabe can hack into any system in the world and cover his tracks. I’ve watched him build fake databases, create new identities, leave false trails, and shift money without leaving a single trace that it was ever there. And I haven’t even been hanging out with these guys for very long.

  The sound of River dropping his phone on the table snapped me out of my daydream. “We’re wanted,” he stated, eyeing up my lit cigarette. “Finish up. Gabe has organised your gear from the hotel to be delivered out to my place. We’re having a team meeting.”

  * * *

  Handling alcohol has never been one of my strong points, and as we walked to the car park outside the Little Havana Bar, I felt slightly woozy. Fresh air, heat from the midday sun, and tequila really doesn’t mix too well, and I questioned what the hell was wrong with these Mexican people, considering that from what I had witnessed, a big part of their culture is founded on drinking.

  “You can’t keep using that car,” River said, disturbing my thoughts.

  I slowed to a stop and turned. “What?”

  “You can’t keep using that car. Carmen will track it.”

  “What? You’re trying to get rid of my car but yet you won’t kill Carmen for me?”

  “I’m not going to kill Carmen, you can do that.” River smirked. “Besides, you might be one of the team, but you’ll never survive here without us. Cars come and go.”

  I threw my arms into the air. “Well if I can’t use this one, where am I going to get a new one from? Jack it?”

  River snorted with amusement. “I would like to see you try. No, you can use mine until we get you another one.” He held his hand out to me. “Come on, pass me your phone.”

  Baffled I rummaged around in my bag, and pulled out the iPhone.

  He glanced at it. “You don’t need this anymore.” And then I watched my beautiful bullet-holed phone go sailing through the air towards an open dumpster.

  “Are you shitting me?”

  River shrugged. “What? You’ve got enough junk in that handbag without adding a dead phone to it. We’ll get you a new one.”

  “You just threw my phone out!”

  “Take your wig off as well,” he ordered deadpan. “That needs to go. You’re too recognisable in this town now that you’ve been out and about with Javier.”

  I swallowed, and started unpinning the wig from my head. Tears pricked at my eyes as the events of the morning came crashing back to the surface. I silently handed him my wig and car-keys without looking at him, and leaned against his car, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

  River unlocked the rental car boot. He pulled my small suitcase out, and much to my horror, dropped the keys inside the boot as he slammed it shut. “I’m assuming you didn’t need anything else out of the car? No spare
iPhones floating about?” Eyebrows raised, he waited for a response with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

  Since Luke had left me I had become a very independent woman. But here was this guy trying to look after me and take control. I swallowed my frustration. I knew he was just trying to help.

  I sniffed, and swiped at my eyes, giving him a watery smile. “My lucky dagger?”

  River burst into laughter. “I have a spare one you can use.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Is there anything you don’t have?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” He smiled. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket, and unlocked his truck. “The sooner this is over and done with, the sooner we can get you back to England.”

  I climbed into the big black Range Rover, and onto the cool leather seats. My hair was damp with perspiration from the Tijuana heat, and undoubtedly from the stress of almost dying again, and I wondered how the hell I signed up for this life. I’m a qualified historian, not some covert operative interfering with Mexican cartel business. I knew that River would protect me. I was just being silly. “I never understood why you needed such a big truck. Doesn’t it draw attention to you?”

  “No,” he answered drily. “There are plenty of ‘big trucks’ around this region, if you hadn’t noticed. It’s one of the ways the cartels move their product. Luckily for me, I never seem to get stopped.” He dropped his phone into its cradle, and pressed a button. “Chase,” he said, his tone firm.

  “Dialling,” the phone responded.

  Chase. Panic welled within me. I just knew that there was so much hiding behind those intelligent eyes of his. I couldn’t tell if he was a good guy or a bad guy. “Why are you ringing Chase?”

  River smiled. “Because he’s the one that pays the bills.” He took the phone off speaker, and lifted the mobile to his ear.

  Chase is a different story to both River and Gabe. Chase is scary as hell. I don’t know where he comes from, but he can put on any accent he wanted. I have the distinct feeling that he has always been an assassin, although I don’t know for sure. His natural accent is definitely English. It sounds refined, but I don’t think he grew up anywhere with the same level of class as River. Chase looks a million dollars at all times; everything designer. He’s clean-cut, well spoken, with high chiselled cheekbones and vibrant blue eyes that he often hides behind glasses or different coloured contacts so that he’s not so memorable. If I were going to pick any word in the world to describe him it would be ‘tailor made.’