hard to establish his cover as small-time drug trafficker Pietro Presti hoping to gain the attention of El Patrón, kingpin of La Mano Oscura. Now was his chance. He was in the perfect position to find out the truth about Baltasar Escalante and his connection to La Mano Oscura. He had to stay focused. He couldn’t afford to let himself wonder about Emily and what his father wanted to tell him about her.
“Mr. Presti, how do you like your quarters?” Baltasar asked as he strolled into the room.
“Very much,” Peter responded. “Thank you for your hospitality and please, my friends call me Pietro.”
“Pietro it is,” Baltasar said, and sat in a teal-and-salmon chair. He rested his long arms against the bamboo trim and watched Peter for a disquieting second. His lips curved into a small, predatory smile. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your phone call?”
Peter forced a casual air. “Not at all, just checking on a few business deals.”
As Baltasar continued to stare at him, Peter hoped the invitation to the compound would turn out to be a friendly one.
“I understand you’ve been having some run-ins with our mutual acquaintance, Domingo,” Baltasar finally said.
Peter held up his hands, palms out, then gave a gentle shake of his head. “I’m just a small-time guy trying to eke out a living in a big-time jungle. Domingo has taken issue with some of my methods.”
Baltasar nodded, his dark eyes narrowing in contemplation. “I understand perfectly. Let’s take a walk,” he said, rising. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Peter followed him out the door, knowing full well when he received Baltasar’s summons it could mean trouble. He’d taken a chance stirring up the pot with Domingo, but he needed to gain Baltasar’s notice. The few days he’d taken to scope out the perimeter of the compound and stash a motorcycle in a strategic location outside the wall could pay off sooner than he’d thought.
In silence, they walked through the gardens on a cobblestone path moving far away from the main house.
“Your estate is incredible,” Peter said truthfully, trying to gauge Baltasar’s mood.
“I enjoy nice things. I work hard to achieve them. You can, too, if you play according to the rules.” Baltasar looked at him out of the corner of his eye.
His gamble with Domingo had been the right one. Now they were getting somewhere. “Rules have never been my strong suit,” Peter said casually, but laced his tone with an edge of steel.
“I’ve noticed. But to succeed in La Mano Oscura, one must never tread too far off the beaten path.”
Peter contemplated his response, but stopped as the snarl of a wild cat pricked the hairs on the nape of his neck. Slowly, he turned toward the tree closest to the path. A midnight-black jaguar with yellow-green eyes watching his every move sat on a low tree branch, its tail twitching, a low growl resonating deep in its chest. Peter’s breath knotted in his throat. He’d seen firsthand what a cat that size could do to a man, and it wasn’t a pretty sight.
Baltasar approached the cat, reached up and rubbed its head. “Hello, Akisha,” he cooed. He took a napkin out of his pocket, then carefully removed a large piece of raw meat and fed it to the cat. He turned back to Peter. “As I was saying, veering too far off the path might not be a healthy choice.”
Stunned, Peter could only nod as he watched the cat devour his treat. He expelled a relieved breath as they turned and headed back down the path toward the main house. He was still groping to get a handle on whether this visit would be agreeable to him when Baltasar said, “I love Venezuela. My enterprises have taken me many places, Pietro, and yet I always come back home where the colors are vibrant and the smell of the jungle heightens your senses.”
“I believe you have the makings of a poet, Mr. Escalante,” Peter said after a moment’s hesitation.
Baltasar let loose a deep, barrel-chested laugh. “My dear late wife used to say the same thing.” He shook his head. “How I miss her. You married?”
“Once,” Peter answered. “Unfortunately, it didn’t work out.”
“It takes a special kind of woman to be married to men like us.” Baltasar patted him on the back and as they approached the main house he led him through a set of French doors into a comfortable yet masculine office.
Peter casually scanned the room, taking in the deep brown leather sofa flanked by two overstuffed chairs. Against the far wall, but still maintaining the focal point of the room, was a large cherrywood desk and credenza. Everything he would need to unearth Baltasar’s nefarious activities would probably be found in that monstrous desk.
“We can talk privately here,” Baltasar said, and took a seat behind the desk.
Peter viewed this as a good sign. If Baltasar had wanted bloodshed, he wouldn’t have brought him into a room sporting a plush Turkish carpet. And they wouldn’t be alone. Baltasar opened a small humidor sitting atop his desk, pulled out a rich brown cigar, and gestured to Peter.
Peter didn’t care for cigars, but he knew it would be bad form to refuse. He nodded and watched as Baltasar used a stainless steel cutter to neatly snip off the cigar’s end before passing it to him. Peter accepted Baltasar’s offer and held it under his nose, breathing deep its strong aroma, and then waited for the business to begin.
“Along with your aversion to rules,” Baltasar said after lighting and inhaling deeply off his cigar. He rolled the smoke around in his mouth before exhaling and finishing his thought. “Your reputation as an innovator and a man of action precedes you. I can use someone like that in my organization. You interested?”
Peter took a deep drag off the cigar and let Baltasar stew a moment, then said, “Perhaps. Depends on what you have in mind.”
Baltasar held his gaze. “Right now I’m in a position to expand my operations and I need someone in the States to head it up for me. You are an American, sí?”
Peter nodded and gestured with the cigar. “But you already knew that. You see, your reputation precedes you, too, Mr. Escalante, and I know you wouldn’t have brought me here if you didn’t already know everything there was to know about me.”
Baltasar smiled, his expression moving from benign indulgence to sharp respect. “Good, then we can drop the pretenses?”
“Please do.” Peter leaned back in the chair.
“I know you’re good at what you do. I know you’re considered a bit of a hothead. I also know you’re American, and a trip back home might not be such a bad idea, since our mutual friend Domingo isn’t too enamored with you at the moment.”
“Domingo is a fool,” Peter countered. “He doesn’t have the foresight, the imagination, or the guts to run an organization that will have the success and the reputation of La Mano Oscura.”
Baltasar nodded, his fingers coming together to steeple beneath his chin. “I appreciate the compliment.”
Bingo. Baltasar was indeed El Patrón, leader of La Mano Oscura.
“But I didn’t bring you here to hear compliments, Pietro. Personally, I could care less if Domingo hacks you up and feeds you to his
