Licensed to Kill

Chapter 30

We were the last passengers off the plane, having gotten stuck way back in the twenty-fourth row. The few people that had been seated behind us went ahead while Matt, Dallas, and I stayed put, briefly discussing where we should go first from the airport.

After deplaning, we found a semi-private spot near the baggage claim area where we could go over our plan of action. First, we would go down the street to the nearest hotel, gather our wits, and get something to eat – all we'd had all day were those crappy little biscuit-slash-cookie things that flight attendants give out, and my stomach felt like it was doing backflips with hunger. I was glad I hadn't ordered any alcohol on the flight. I'd be downright miserable with acid reflux if I had.

Glancing over one of Bellisario's lists of locations that Santiago frequented, I was tasked with jotting down a shortlist of each place we should hunt for the drug king, while Dallas and Matt scurried off to the men's room to have a "private conversation." I silently prayed that Dallas wasn't about to quietly murder my team leader over how long Matt and I had stayed cooped up in the plane restroom. So much for their "truce" at the motel.

There seemed to be three locations that Santiago spent a great deal of time at. The first was a lavish mansion near the sea that, according to Bellisario's notes, was in Esteban Portillo's name. I assumed that was one of the many fake names Santiago used to throw off the authorities. This was likely his main residence.

The second location was an air conditioned storage facility near Madrid. I was pretty sure that was his main drug housing spot since it was climate controlled. Years of working drug raids had taught me that heat and humidity were hell on drugs, interfering with their chemical makeup. No self-respecting drug lord wouldn't use an air conditioned facility to hold their inventory.

The third spot I circled on the map was a strip club on the north side of Barcelona. If Bellisario was correct, La Vida Loca was the main hangout for Santiago, Bellucci, and several of their cohorts.

I used what was left of my free time to call Alana once I'd finished coming up with the list. The boys were taking their sweet time in the bathroom and I was getting sick of sitting by myself on a rather uncomfortable metal bench. I'd also taken note of an airport security guard who seemed to be a little too interested in what I was doing, glancing my direction every four or five seconds.

"Hey, Tali!" Alana's cheerful voice sounded in my ear. "Did you guys make it to Barcelona alright?"

I started stuffing everything back inside my bag, preparing to leave. I didn't like the way the guard kept eyeing me. Something just didn't feel right.

"You ought to know," I said with a fake laugh, keeping my peripheral attention on the guard. "You're probably tracking our phones everywhere we go."

"Girl, you know me too well!" she laughed wholeheartedly. "I'm your friendly stalker."

"Yeah, and you're not the only one either," I giggled, pretending to be engaged in a fun session of girl talk, acting oblivious to the man who couldn't stop staring at me. "If you know what I mean, girl."

"You're being followed?" Her tone shifted to serious. "What's going on? Can you tell me anything without giving it away to them?"

"Try again."

"Watched?"

I kept my fake smile on and slung my bag over my shoulder. "Yep!"

"Your phones are pinging at the airport. Is it airport security watching you?" Alana asked, and I could hear her fingers tapping away at the computer keyboard.