* * * *
“Where the fuck are you,” Rico growled as he paced his hotel room. He’d finally gotten away from a very angry and frustrated Romano, pleading the need to get some sleep if he was going to be any help whatsoever once they recaptured the man Romano thought was Ortega-Escobar’s enforcer.
He tried calling Vance again, as he had every fifteen minutes for the last two hours. Nothing.
Hearing footsteps in the hall he tensed and then shook his head in self-disgust as they passed on by his door. “Unwind,” he said out loud. “No one’s coming after you.”
“You never know.”
He swung around to see Vance closing the room door as silently as he’d opened it.
“Shit! Damn man.” Rico re-holstered his gun and stared at his partner. “You look like someone ran you through a meat grinder. Is all that blood yours?”