<b>Chapter </b><b>57 </b>
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<b>93 </b>
Taking a sip of orange juice, I leaned toward Ethan. “You know,” I said casually, “the bald guy two tables behind you has been watching you since we sat down. His right hand keeps drifting toward his jacket–inside holster, I’d guess.”
Ethan’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly. Instead of turning to look, he simply checked his watch.
“Perhaps he admires my tie,” he replied smoothly. “Tom Ford does excellent work.”
I smiled, appreciating hisposure. “Oh, absolutely. Though I think he’s more interested in what’s under your jacket than what’s around your neck.” I dabbed my lips with a napkin. “What’s on your
agenda today?”
Connor, seated nearby pretending to read financial news, kept ncing our way with confusion. His
forehead vein pulsed every time Ethan smiled in my direction.
“Actually,” Ethan said, cutting his steak with precision, “I have a business meeting scheduled. Nothing particrly entertaining, I’m afraid.”
“Business in Venezu? How fascinating.” I lowered my voice. “The man to your left just received a
text. Now three more of them are watching us.”
“Internationalmerce knows no borders<b>, </b>Miss Morgan. Especially in emerging markets.”
“Sounds intriguing. Mind if I tag along? I’ve always been curious about how deals get done in ces
like this.”
Connor’s head snapped up, silently pleading with Ethan to refuse.
“These aren’t the sort of meetings covered in high school business sses,” Ethan warned. “They can get…plicated.”
‘I’m good withplicated,” I replied steadily. “Besides, it might be safer for me to stick with you than to wander around alone. Those guys from Apex seem unusually interested in me.”
“You know their name,” Ethan observed casually. “Apex Tactical Group.”
I shrugged<b>, </b>realizing my slip. “I overheard your assistant mention it earlier.”
7:57 Fri<b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>19 </b>
“It might be dangerous.”
“I trust you’ll keep me safe,” I said with just enough vulnerability to appeal to his protective
instincts.
Back in the suite, Connor didn’t wait for the door to close before objecting.
“Sir, bringing a high school student to meet with Ian ispletely inappropriate,” he hissed. “These aren’t the kind of people who-”
“I’m well aware of who they are, Connor,” Ethan interrupted. “I’ve changed the meeting location. We’ll meet at Ian’spound instead. It’s neutral ground, rtively speaking.”
Connor looked incredulous. “That’s even worse! At least at headquarters there are rules, protocols. At
hispound-”
“It’s decided,” Ethan said firmly, ncing toward the bathroom where I was supposedly refreshing myself. “She’s not what she appears to be, Connor.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not certain yet. But I intend to find out.”
The hotel entrance buzzed with activity when we descended thirty minutester. A convoy of ck SUVS and armored vehicles lined the driveway, with nearly seventy security personnel establishing a
perimeter.
“Expecting trouble?” I asked, eyeing the impressive disy.
“In Venezu? Always,” Ethan replied.
As we approached the lead vehicle, I spotted an Apex operative across the street. He spoke urgently into a radio, eyes locked on me. What caught my attention wasn’t his surveince but his bodynguage. While he clearly viewed me as a target, he seemed genuinely wary of Ethan, maintaining extra distance and positioning himself with clear escape routes.
Interesting. Apex was a top–tier mercenary outfit–they didn’t show fear easily.
<b>7:57 </b><b>Fri</b><b>, </b>Sep <b>19 </b>
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<b>93 </b>
Thendscape changed dramatically as we drove. Modern buildings gave way to dpidated structures, makeshift roadblocks, and increasingly sparse poption centers. After two hours, we were traveling through what looked like a war zone–buildings pockmarked with bullet holes and
small groups of armed men watching our convoy with predatory interest.
“Scenic route?” I asked, breaking the tense silence.
“Venezu has been through difficult times,” Ethan replied. “Failed economic policies<b>, </b>corruption,
international sanctions. The infrastructure copses, and people adapt however they can.”
The convoy eventually turned onto a dirt road leading to an abandoned industrialplex beside a
river. Rusted equipment and crumbling structures created a maze of potential ambush points.
Armed guards surrounded our vehicle as it stopped. They wore no uniforms, but their weapons and
stance identified them as professional soldiers–not local militia or cartel muscle.
“They’ll need to search us,” Connor exined as Ethan helped me out. “Standard procedure.”
One guard approached Connor, performing a thorough pat–down before removing a Desert Eagle handgun from his shoulder holster.
The guard moved toward Ethan next, but a sharpmand from inside halted him. He hesitated, then stepped aside. When he reached me, his eyes quickly scanned my form before he too stepped
away without searching me.
Connor selected fifteen of our security detail to apany us inside, leaving the rest to secure the perimeter. As we walked toward the main building, I mentally mapped escape routes–an old habit from my previous life.
Inside, the decrepit exterior gave way to a surprisingly well–appointed interior. We were led to an open–air terrace overlooking the river.
A man rose from a cushioned chair, arms spread wide. “Mr. Haxton! Wee, wee to my humble
abode!”
I froze, recognition hitting me like a physical blow. I knew that face–the distinctive scar running from his left temple to jaw. Ian Matthews, arms dealer extraordinaire.
“Ian,” Ethan acknowledged with a polite nod. “Thank you for amodating the change of venue.”
<b>7:57 </b><b>Fri</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>19 </b>
?? 93
Ian’s eyes shifted to me with predatory interest. “And who is this lovely creature<b>? </b>You didn’t mention you’d be bringingpany.”
“This is Miss Morgan,” Ethan said, smoothly guiding me to sit next to him. “She’s visiting Venezu and expressed interest in seeing how business is conducted here.”
, </b>eh<b>, </b>Ethan? <b>I </b><b>can </b>arrange introductions to many more like her if you wish. Venezu has beautiful women who would be most amodating to a man of your… resources.”
I kept my expression neutral, though internally I was calcting how many seconds it would take to cross the terrace and push this sleaze over the railing.
“Miss Morgan is a personal friend, Ian. Nothing more.”
Ian raised his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, of course.” He snapped his fingers, and a servant appeared with a crystal decanter. “Some of Venezu’s finest rum? Aged fifteen years.”
“No, thank you,” Ethan declined politely. “I prefer to keep a clear head during negotiations.”
Ian shrugged and poured himself a ss. Then, switching to Spanish, he began discussing his proposal with animated gestures.
“As a gesture of goodwill,” Ian said, snapping his fingers again. Two armed men carried in several wooden crates, cing them on the terrace. One was opened to reveal high–end assault rifles. “I wish to establish myself in Venezu permanently, with your blessing. I understand the Haxton family has… interests here that I would never wish to disturb.”
Ethan studied the weapons without touching them. “Your reputation precedes you,n. I appreciate the gesture, but let’s be direct. Did you intercept my shipmentst month?”
Jan’s smile faltered just enough for me to notice.
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