Elena sat in a corner booth at a small café on the outskirts of Miami, steam rising from her black coffee. The place was quiet. The morning crowd thin, waiters wiping tables, soft jazz playing low. She had chosen it for the privacy, away from prying eyes. Pedro Ruiz slid into the seat across from her, plainclothes blending him with the locals, but his eyes sharp as always.
“Elena,” Pedro said, voice low. “You look like you haven’t slept.”
She didn’t smile. “I haven’t. Scott. Tell me about him. What’s he doing?”
Pedro signaled for coffee. The waiter brought it quick. Pedro stirred in sugar slow. “Scott’s been asking questions. About you. The port deal. He met Tito. Got the details on your meet.”
Elena’s fingers tightened on her cup. “And the girl? Miranda. How did she end up with me? Yo
