by Cora Kenborn
“I’m not,” she said, batting her green eyes. “I’m merely using my late husband’s tragic death as a reminder of their widespread evil. Working on a cartel task force ended up taking his life. I fight against them for my children and the people of Houston because they’re all I have left.”
“Don’t forget about your husband.” I smirked.
“Well, yes, obviously him too.”
When the table behind them started clapping, I’d had enough.
I ran back into the kitchen, my lungs burning and my heart slamming so hard against my chest, I was sure it would burst. I tried to steady myself against the freezer door, but my hand slipped, and my knees buckled.
“Whoa!” Amanda grabbed hold of my arm. “Are you okay?”
All I could do was shake my head. There were no words to tell her how an already hopeless situation had just morphed into a walking nightmare.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mateo
Thankfully, the good professor called me around eight o’clock to tell me he’d found something. Driving toward Rice University, the upheaval I’d felt all day melted into relief—and not just because I would finally get some answers.
I’d spent the afternoon checking up on stash houses for no reason other than I needed to stay busy. Otherwise, I would’ve driven straight to Caliente and shoved Leighton’s phone and the invitation in her face. Rage simmered so close to the surface that one wrong word would’ve set me off. Neither one of us needed another public scene like last night, so anything I could do to keep my mind off her was welcomed.
Even sitting in a darkened alley beside Professor Bright and his bad attitude.
“Tell me something good, Bright,” I ordered, my mood tanking as he unfolded the flap on his man bag and pulled out his computer.
“Well, I’m not sure how good it is, but I managed to decrypt one file on the drive.” He opened his laptop and inserted the flash drive while typing a series of letters and numbers. “And might I add, this wasn’t easy. Most cryptographic algorithms would be impossible to break in twenty years, much less twelve hours. Triple DES, RSA, Blowfish, Twofish, AES—they’re just too good these days.”
“Is that fucking English?”
“I’m saying that the guy who did this must have learned it off a YouTube tutorial because he encrypted the file with the original DES algorithm.” He was so satisfied with whatever the hell he just said that an arrogant smirk planted on his face, making me want to punch it off. I suppose he caught my scowl because he cleared his throat. “This program was created in the seventies. No one uses it anymore because it has fifty-six-bit keys easily accessible by brute-force attack.”
“Listen to me, Bright. I. Don’t. Care.” I punched out every word with a growl. “Just show me what’s on the drive.”
“Fine.” Returning his attention to the screen, he tapped a few keys and shrugged, obviously irritated I didn’t give two shits about his techno jargon. “I’m just saying you might want to have this guy take a few courses. Anyone with half a brain can decrypt this stuff with enough spare time. In fact, I offer a course that teaches the fundamentals of coding. I can give you some literature if—”
“He can’t use his brain,” I interrupted.
“Well, we don’t discriminate at Rice. I’m sure with the right environment, he can overcome any test anxiety—”
“No, I mean he can’t use his brain because it’s spread all over his kitchen floor. Now what’s on the fucking flash drive?”
Bright paled, typing faster than I’d ever seen. “Like I said, I’ve decrypted this one, but there’s another one that’ll take a little more time. It shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”
“Just show me.” I sighed. I’d had about enough of this guy for one day.
“So, I’m just going to turn it...you can see for...it’s just that...here.” Blowing out a nervous breath, he turned the laptop toward me, and I immediately saw for myself what had turned a college professor into a complete moron.
He maximized the window, which was reason enough to shoot him right there. However, it was the sound effects that made me want to empty my gun in the side of his head.
“Is this video real?”
“Yes. I’ve checked it for any kind of tampering. I’m no cinematographer, but I’d bet my career that this is the real deal.”
“Would you bet your life on it?” I opened my jacket just enough. He knew what was behind it.
“Mateo, come on. Don’t joke about things like that.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” I seethed, turning the laptop around and shoving it in his face. “I need to know if you’re sure this is one hundred percent real. No guesses, and no, ‘I’m pretty sure.’ I need your word.”
Bright’s already pale face turned chalk white. “Y-yes, I’m sure.”
“Fuck!” I dropped my head back and closed my eyes.
A goddamn sex tape. The last thing I expected to find on that flash drive was a home movie starring one of our own. Diaz had an insurance policy, all right. I didn’t give a shit about exposing the bitch riding one of our men but having evidence like this floating around was damning for the cartel. If it fell into the wrong hands, we’d have a shitload of eyes on us.
Bright pressed his face against the screen, recognition filling his eyes as he adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. “Oh, shit! Is this the—”
“We’re done here.” Slamming the laptop closed, I jerked the flash drive out and shoved it in my pocket.
“Hey, you didn’t properly eject that.”
I pulled my jacket all the way back, exposing my gun. “Looks ejected as fuck to me. Get out.”
Tucking his laptop under his arm, Bright quickly jumped out of the SUV, turning around before slamming the door. “What if I can’t decrypt the other file?”
“Then I suppose there’ll be an opening for an IT professor at Rice University.”
He slammed the door without another word and took off in a full-on sprint toward the campus.
Pussy.
I’d driven ten minutes down Main Street when I punched my fist against the dashboard in frustration, my phone glaring at me from the console. As much as I didn’t want to make the call, friendship was a line that only took you so far in our world.
Finally picking it up, I dialed and braced myself. Once he answered, I decided to go with the “rip the Band-Aid off” approach. No use prolonging the inevitable.
“Did you know Emilio was fucking the mayor?”
Val was silent for a moment. “Is this some kind of joke? Because it isn’t funny.”
No shit.
“Bright decrypted one of the files. It’s a sex tape of Emilio and Lilith Donovan.”
“Brody’s mother? Dios mío. Couldn’t Diaz download porn like the rest of us?”
“Val! This is serious.”
“You think I don’t know that?” He yelled so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “I’m sitting here in Mexico while my fucking Houston cartel is being corrupted by pussy.”
“I’ll handle it.” I cringed a little in repeating my own words back to him.
“You’ve been ‘handling it’ for days now, and shit keeps hitting the fan.” Letting out a string of curses, I heard glass clink and the unmistakable sound of liquid pouring. “Luis was in with this Hector guy, right?”
“Yes,” I answered calmly. “That’s what led me to Hector’s apartment. None of this makes sense, Val. What kind of shit was Delgado up to, and why are Emilio and his dick mixed up in it?”
Val grunted as he sipped his drink. “You said Leighton saw a faceless man in Luis’s apartment, which tells me he wasn’t working alone. But what does this have to do with Leighton, and why would a useless fuck like Hector hide this information?”
“Maybe Luis and Hector were working together?”
“Do you think that was a coincidence, Mateo? Do you think they just happened to pick the sister of one of our highest-ranking lieutenants?”
“Brody sent him to San Marcos,” I reminded him, the thought agitating me even more.
“Yes, but Brody didn’t ask him to bed her.”
A car honked its horn, the owner flipping me off as I weaved into his lane. I didn’t want to think about Leighton and Luis together. Just hearing him say it out loud made me want to find Brody and punch him in the face.
“Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong,” he mused, oblivious to my jealousy. “What if Luis and Hector weren’t working together to hurt Leighton? What if they were working together to save her?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Has pussy rotted your brain? Look at the facts, Mateo. Hector is dead. By your own theory, the only person who would have anything to gain by his silence is already decomposing in a fifty-five-gallon drum. Someone didn’t want him to talk, and as you pointed out by his method of execution, they’re not familia.”
He was right. “You think someone else was after Leighton, and Luis enlisted Hector’s help in protecting her?”
“It’s a theory. One that could mean your girlfriend panicked and killed the messenger.”
My brain went into overdrive, trying to make connections between everything that had happened in the past few days and coming up with a shitload of questions with no answers. However, there was one path I itched to take. “Do you want me to confront Emilio?”
“Not yet.” When I growled my dissatisfaction, Val sharpened his tone. “How many times have I told you not to show your hand too early? Play strategically, Mateo. For now, I suggest you find whoever tried to make a hole in one with Diaz’s brain. That’s where you’ll find your connection.”
“Fine.”
“You have three days left,” he added before hanging up.
I drove around Houston, considering my options for the time I had left.
Leighton was already involved with the DEA. I could ask her to take everything to them and hope they made sense of it, but that would betray my own cartel, and I took an oath to Val. No matter what, I wouldn’t betray him. The only other option was to involve Brody by bringing him up to speed with everything I’d found, but that posed two major problems. I promised Leighton I wouldn’t involve her brother any more than he already was, and there wasn’t any easy way to tell a friend his mother was having an affair with his boss.
The clock on the dashboard radio read eleven-thirty. Leighton’s shift ended at eleven, and I briefly wondered if she was at the townhouse waiting for me. She knew the code to get in, so it wouldn’t be difficult. However, something told me after a conversation with her brother, I’d be sleeping alone tonight.
It was just as well. I needed to keep things calm between us. I’d all but forced Leighton to attend her mother’s campaign party on Wednesday. Now, with the asshole from the bar having an invitation and the existence of the tape acting as a smoking gun, there was no way in hell I’d let her go alone. As it stood, I didn’t trust any of them. Even Brody was on my radar.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Leighton
Monday morning, I woke up miserable and with eyes like worn sandpaper. Splashing water on my face did nothing to change the situation, so I opted for a shower instead. The hot water pelted my back, loosening some of the knots caused by my mother and Finn’s visit.
Mateo never showed up, and by the end of my shift, I was coming apart at the seams. I desperately needed a piece of my life back, and there was only one thing that could always make everything right when it went wrong. Unfortunately, once again I got a pleasant voice mail telling me to leave a message at the tone.
My skin was on fire by the time I turned off the water. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a simple red top, I tiptoed into the living room. “Brody?”
Ignoring the silence, my nose led me toward the kitchen table where a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon sat next to a glass of juice and a handwritten note. I grabbed the juice and the note and walked into the living room.
Lil’ Bit,
Put the juice down and eat the damn food I made you. I’m sorry I acted like an asshole yesterday, but you’re my baby sister. It’s my job to be an asshole.
~B
P.S. Talk to Mateo. Straighten this shit out before I do.
I groaned at his threat. Little did he know, I almost did.
I sighed, feeling strangely awkward. For the first time since arriving in Houston, I had the entire day off, and I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.
I’m going back to bed.
Placing Brody’s note on the coffee table, I hugged the juice to my chest and turned to head down the hall when someone knocked on the door.
“Brody’s not here,” I yelled.
“Good, then we won’t be interrupted.” His voice was smooth and laced with the accent that melted my insides.
I braced a hand against the wall. “Go away.”
“Open the door, Leighton.”
“No.”
Mateo slammed his fist against the door. “Fine. Have it your way.”
I watched in shock as the doorknob rattled a few times before the whole damn thing flew open. Sunlight glinted off the tip of a long blade just before he snapped it shut and shoved it in his back pocket.
“What do you want, Mateo? I was just going back to bed.”
He held my gaze, a lascivious smirk softening his scowl. “That works for me.”
As usual, his clothes were dark. His tight jeans and simple long sleeve shirt made my stomach clench while doing lethal things to my willpower.
“What is it with you?” I blurted out. “You think you can ignore me all day then just show up, and I’ll drop my panties for you?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck you.” Glaring at him, I slammed the juice onto the coffee table and stormed past him.
He caught my upper arm. “We need to talk.”
I was happy to oblige, but I highly doubted he’d like the subject matter.
“Fine, you want to talk? Let’s talk.” Jerking out of his hold, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Where were you yesterday?”
“You know I can’t talk about that.
I threw my head back and laughed. “Oh, it’s a guessing game. I love those. Was it Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick?”
“No, Hector Diaz, in the kitchen with a crushed skull.”
All the fight drained out of me. “Hector is dead?”
Mateo cocked his head. “You sound shocked.”
My hands curled by my sides. “Why wouldn’t I be? I didn’t know anything about the man, much less that he was dead.”
He watched me for a few moments before taking a step toward me. “Someone’s cleaning up behind you, Leighton.” Another step, and his voice hardened. “Well except for Hector, I had to take care of that particular mess. I can’t help you if you aren’t straight with me.”
I bumped into the wall as I inched toward the hallway. “What do you think I’m hiding? I told you Luis said Hector’s name. If he’s dead, obviously, he must be connected to the man I saw threatening Luis.”
For every step I took, he took two until his hands caged me against the wall. “I don’t think Hector wanted to hurt you.”
“You don’t know that,” I argued, ignoring the sweat trickling down my back. “You weren’t there.”
“Is there anything you’re not telling me?” He posed it as a question, but his tone was edged in accusation. “I know you think you can’t trust anyone, but holding things back could get people killed.”
I couldn’t trust anyone—not with this, but the fear he invoked dug a dull knife in my heart. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t cared enough to demand a single detail, and maybe I’d kept quiet to punish him as much as I had for their safety. But he was right—the game had changed. This wasn’t about me anymore.
“There is one thing,” I said, managing to keep my voice steady. “I didn’t say anything before because I’ll do anything to protect my family.”
“As will I,” he clipped, his arms tensing. “That’s why I’m here.”
Of course, the Carrera Cartel. It’ll always be about the cartel.
“Right...” I took a deep breath, my stomach choosing that particular moment to growl. Ignoring its protests, I continued. “I didn’t agree to cooperate with the DEA just for Brody and myself. They promised to—”
A shrill ring cut off the rest of my confession, and we both glanced down as Mateo pulled his phone from his pocket. I caught a quick flash of the text—a series of nonsensical letters and numbers.
“Damn it,” he swore, shoving the phone back in his pocket. “I have to go.” He stepped closer, and I held my breath, pinching my lips together as his hand cradled my cheek. “Meet me at the townhouse later.”
“Why?”
“Food, little lamb. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s that thing that keeps us alive.” He trailed his fingers down my neck, running the pad of his thumb across my collarbone before turning toward the door.
“Not a fan of pasta carbonara?” Mateo twirled his fork while eying my untouched food from across the dining room table.
I placed my fork in the middle of my plate. “It’s fine. Delicious, actually. I just...well, how did you learn how to cook Italian like this?” I hated the concerned lift in my voice.
Concerned, my ass. Petty was more like it.
Mateo’s lips quirked in his own private amusement. “That’s a little politically incorrect, don’t you think?”
“Well, I—”
“What, because I’m Latino, I can’t cook Italian food? You expected tacos maybe?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He leaned forward, studying my face with a satisfied smile. “You’re blushing. You’re really upset, aren’t you?”
His mocking tone horrified me. “No! I just meant that...forget it.”
Content with his discovery, he sat back in his chair and twirled another forkful of pasta. “To answer your question, one of my Houston neighbors was Italian. She used to bring me casseroles all the time, and eventually, I asked her to show me how to make them.”
