“Sure looks that way.” Scout knew as much about the Memphis Sphinx as he did. He’d made sure of it. She knew where it had come from, and she’d know what kind of guy the Defense Intelligence Agency would send to get it back.

Former Special Forces was perfect for the job, less easily held accountable than an active-duty soldier. The deal would be a private contract, and Con doubted if the other two gringos at the Posada were on his team. They didn’t fit the profile.

“Killian’s got good intel,” he added. “The kind of information the DIA would have. He certainly showed up at Beranger’s right on cue. If he becomes a problem, let’s do our best not to kill him.” Garrett had been SF, and there were other ways to get people out of the picture, at least for a while. “He gets a pass on this job.”

“Roger that,” Scout said.

DIA, CIA, Con didn’t give a damn who wanted what. He’d killed every assassin the spymaster had thrown at him, no matter what agency he’d culled for his hit men, and he wasn’t planning on changing his standard operating procedure anytime soon. But Killian appeared to be a different story. He was a soldier, and for his own sake, he needed to fail in his mission.

Whereas Ms. Suzanna Toussi, he’d concluded, needed to succeed, brilliantly. She needed to find the Sphinx, get her hands on it, and report back to Erich Warner, telling him exactly where it was being kept, and extend an open invitation for him to come and get it.

Con, for one, was only too glad to help her, though he doubted if she would much like his methods.

“Did Jo-Jo get a line on the woman yet?” he asked.

“No.” Scout shook her head. “But she hasn’t been listed on any flights out of here, so she’s lying low somewhere.”

“Unless she headed out on the roads.”

“Maybe,” Scout said. “But that’s the long shot, Con. Traffic on the bridge is backed up halfway to Asunción, and heading into the interior isn’t her best bet for escaping the Paraguayans. And most of all, if she’s working for Warner, she’s still got twenty hours to pull this thing off, and if she’s working for Warner, she knows better than to fail.”

Con agreed. He’d be doing the woman a favor by bringing her to Costa del Rey and putting her under house arrest, whether she appreciated the fact or not-but he needed to get her first.

He stuck the cigar between his teeth and stretched his arm all the way out, then stretched his fingers. There was no pain. Good.

He pushed off the stone wall and handed the statue to Scout.

“I’m going to go get Ms. Toussi.” If she hadn’t flown the coop, then his money said she was going to end up at the Posada Plaza sometime tonight. If not, Daniel Killian was a good place to start looking for her. She sure as hell wasn’t going to go back to the Gran Chaco.

Scout nodded, holding the gold and granite sphinx close to her chest. She was worried, he could tell, but there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to save him-tonight or any other night.

“I should go with you,” she said.

“No. I might need to cover a lot of ground. Relay any information Jo-Jo comes up with. I’m heading back to the Posada Plaza.”

“What you need is somebody to watch your back.” She stood her ground. “You’re not alone out there, and you know it.”

Yeah, they both knew it. Two guys had been on his ass for months, staying out of sight, just on the edge of his radar, moving through the shadows, moving like he moved, following him, but keeping their distance. He didn’t know who in the hell they were, but he knew they were here, in Ciudad del Este. He could almost smell them.

They hadn’t been at Beranger’s, though. They didn’t give a damn about the Memphis Sphinx. They were in Paraguay for one reason-to kill him, like the others before-and like the others, they didn’t have a clue what they were up against.

And like the others, he’d bury them in this damn country.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Ciudad del Este

Oh, God. Suzi hurt everywhere.

She followed Dax up the stairs to his room in the Posada, dragging her feet, every muscle in her body aching. Three hours of moving junk around in the gallery had taken its toll. She was tired, hungry, wet, and far from done for the night.

Hell, five frickin’ flights, and then she had to ditch him. It wasn’t going to be easy. The boy was in full-out rescue-the-woman mode. Under any other circumstances, she’d be charmed senseless, but she had only one card left in her deck of tricks, and she would need to be on her game and alone to play it-the Levi Asher card. Levi was the only piece of live bait left in this town, if he even was still in this town.

It wouldn’t take her long to find out, no more than a couple of phone calls.

Oh, yes, she had her Plan B all mapped out, the sexual pervert plan. The thought alone was enough to exhaust her.

At the fifth landing, they stumbled onto the Posada Plaza’s welcoming committee, the Latino transvestite tag team of Marcella and Marceline, which was about the only thing to go her way all day. The two elevator specialists played right into her one-card hand, and there they were, coming down the hall, front and center, dressed to kill in buckles, snaps, and bustiers, fake white lace and tight black polyester, flowered scarves and stiletto heels.

Beautiful.

“Hola, chico,” one of the “girls” called out to Dax.

“Marceline,” he said with a short nod.

“Chica, cariño… “ the other “girl,” Marcella, crooned, her warm amber-colored eyes rimmed in thick black eyeliner and sweeping over Suzi from her head to her toes.

“Hola,” she said, a little uncertain, then turned to Dax. “What did she say? I didn’t get that last word.”

“Hey, darling,” he translated.

“Cómo estás, chiquita?” Marceline added.

Suzi gave Dax a little poke in the side.

“How you doing, baby?” he said, reaching back and taking her hand, keeping them moving forward.

“Can you tell her I’m fine?”

“Liar,” he said, tightening his hold on her as they passed the Latinos in the hall.

“Bueno,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. Good. She was doing good.

Marcella shook her head, tsk-tsking, then rattled off a few comments.

“He’s calling you a liar, too,” Dax said, “and he wants you to know that you can tell him everything. He’s your new best friend.”

“I could use a friend,” Suzi said, barely keeping up with him, stride for stride.

“Not that one, babe. Marcella would just as soon sell you as hold your hand.”

Actually, Marcella was exactly the friend she needed, once she ditched Dax, and yes, she had a plan. She was a girl, she needed things, and he was a guy, he’d go get them. She wasn’t going to be an idiot about it, but it was simple, and simple plans usually worked.

The two “girls” had turned to follow them and were catching back up. In a couple of steps, Marceline slid in next to Suzi and started making conversation, smiling and obviously asking questions, her heavily made-up eyes alight, her head cocked slightly to one side, her tone deeply inquiring-and, well, just deep all around.

“What should I say to her, help me out here,” she said, giving Dax’s hand a squeeze.

“He,” he used the gender pointedly, “wants to know what… uh, happened to you. Why you look so…disheveled, when you left here looking like a princess on a, uh, cake, or something to that effect.”

“Princess?” Suzi said.

“On a cake,” he repeated. “And he thinks I’m a real jerk for letting you get in this condition. Cálmate, Marceline.”

He tightened his grip on her hand when they stopped at his door, and with his other hand, he dug in his pocket for the key.

“Gringo?” Marcella said.

“Sí?” He jimmied the key into the lock and got the door open without bothering to look up.

Before Suzi stepped inside, the “girl” rattled something off in Spanish and blew her a kiss-and oh, my God, just like that she racked up another new low, getting hit on by a guy in a miniskirt wearing eyeliner.