Free Just the Messenger by Ninette Swann

have.”
    She blushed at the compliment and gave him her attention, taking in every detail and filing it away in case it was important later. He had a full head of black hair, olive-toned skin and small brown eyes that glittered and creased when he smiled. His teeth were crooked, sticking out at odd angles through his thin lips. He looked to be about forty-five and was dressed in a sleek, summer suit of tan linen.
    The man to his right was larger, both in height and frame. His hair was a light brown color, just a shade above mahogany, and his eyes were a swirling hazel. Grace assumed him to be the one in charge, due to his silence and slightly more easygoing manner. He exuded confidence, where the smaller man seemed to be trying to prove something.
    “ Hermano !” the small man called, then waited for the bartender to turn around. “A drink for the little lady.” He turned to Grace. “What’s your name, morena ?”
    “Um, Grace, Graciela,” she said, then cursed silently. She vowed to use a fake surname, should it come up. She glanced around the restaurant, her gaze landing on Marco, who was amiably chatting with a few of the girls who had wandered over to the lonely table. The other women in the group remained where they were and shot daggers at Grace with their eyes. She turned quickly away and sought out Warren. He’d trapped the waitress in the back corner. He was leaning against one wall, his arm pressed above him on the other, holding her in the kitty-corner position with absolute casualness. The little waitress didn’t seem to mind one bit and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she giggled in response to whatever he was saying.
    “And what are you drinking, Grace? Or are you, this early in the day?” The larger, handsome man finally spoke.
    “Oh, I’ve been up all night on a plane, it feels like midnight to me. I’ll have a gin and tonic.” She was proud of how steady her voice was. In her head, she ran over the list of information she was supposed to be getting.
    The larger man had set his sunglasses on the bar top and now leaned over on his elbows to speak to the tender. “We’ll have a gin and tonic and two more scotches.”
    Grace pulled out her wallet, but the man stilled her, reaching his arm around his companion and touching her wrist.
    “It’s on us,” he said. “So, angel, what are you doing in a place like this? You’re men giving you trouble?”
    Her stomach fluttered when he pulled away. “Oh, they’re okay. Just arguing about something stupid. I didn’t feel like listening anymore. I’m on vacation, actually, and we’re taking in the local sights. Colombia is a beautiful country.” Her mind was racing, trying to figure out how to get details out of them.
    The man nodded. “That it is.”
    “Do you know a lot about the area, Mister…” Grace said, nervousness rising in her.
    The bartender placed their drinks down, and the man paid. “You can call me Gomez,” he said, then nodded toward the smaller man. “And this is my associate, Luis.”
    “It’s so nice to meet you.” Grace leaned forward in an American show of shaking hands that left her cleavage exposed above the low line of her tank top. She felt self-satisfied when she saw their eyes wander there. “Do you come here often?”
    Luis laughed. “Do you use that line often?”
    Grace colored. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean—”
    “Yes,” Gomez interrupted, lightly smacking Luis on the forearm. “We do a bit of business here. Actually, I’d suggest you not come back.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Sometimes the locals get out of control, if you know what I mean.”
    “Really? It seems so quaint. And you? Are you not local?” She looked at him from under her lashes, praying she had the sex appeal Marco and Warren seemed to bestow upon her.
    “Oh, we’re local. But that’s why we’re okay. We know what to expect. As do they.” Gomez jacked his finger toward the women’s table. “However,” he