“Hey, all,” Gracie said, looking up at her central monitor. Her green eyes widened. Her hand came up, covering her laughter.
Joyous news. This was the way her night was going to go.
Tony popped on a split second later, his hazel eyes focused on the screen. His instant laughter boomed over her. “D,” he said, wiping at the tears running down his face. “You’se found it. The one cover ya can’t pull off.”
He continued to lose it. Dada ground her teeth as the edges of her own mouth began to give way.
She loved these disrespectful people. The League of Warrior Women was, in large part, made up of the adopted members of the Parish family—twenty-six females and two males. When adopted into the family—twenty-eight kids and growing—she’d been assigned a unit. These were the siblings she’d trained with, confided in, fought with, ran operations with as an undercover agent.
“Would you all like time to get yourselves together? I can go get some tea and come back.”
Slowly, they settled down. Then each of the boxes shuffled right as another box opened. Bridget’s hair was a nest of strands stabbed with a comb on the side of her head. Her brown eyes appeared sleepy under her glasses. She blinked, leaned closer. A small smile lit her face. “I like your hat.”
All four of her siblings burst into laughter. It took a few more minutes of patience, patience that surely earned her sainthood, before they calmed down enough to get down to business.
When they did, she gave them an overview of what had happened since coming to Mexico, including her new contact. Except, because she’d promised him, she kept Juan’s true identity to herself. She did, however, tell them what he’d told her with Rosa. This was important. Someone was taking women from the town.
“So this woman in the square,” Tony said, causing the frame around his box to light up, “someone offered her a job, and she said other women had accepted the jobs and disappeared? Isn’t that what the cartels do?”
“Yes,” Dada said, “but, as I explained, Juan claims this isn’t what’s happening here. He says this is settled territory.”
“But this Juan guy,” Justice said, “works for Walid, so maybe he’s lying.”
Justice’s voice said her patience was on a razor’s edge. Pretty much where Justice’s patience started and ended, but especially with this mission. A mission to take down the men who had killed Justice’s biological sister.
“I believe he was telling me the truth,” Dada said. “It makes sense.”
“Well, fuck,” Justice said, “if it has nothing to do with Walid, it’ll have to wait until this op is over. We can’t risk discovery right now, and you poking around asking questions about missing women is a time bomb.”
“Asking questions is why I’m here. I can do both. Find out about Walid’s security, the people around him, and research what is happening to these women.”
“We don’t only need information on Walid. We need his routes,” Justice said. “Specifics on how women are being secreted across North America. We need to stop the flow—”
Dada switched her gaze to Tony. “I’m mentioning it so the team leader can make the call.”
Tony cleared his throat. Justice jumped in and over him. “I wish the League could take on every case, but there are rules. A process. Focus on the case in front of you. The approved one.”
“Even if women are being lured away?” Dada asked, ready to fight for Rosa and women like her.
“Settle down,” Tony interrupted. He rubbed at his face. “Right now, it’s a no-brainer. Finding info on one situation most likely will find info on the other. This Juan guy is key. Get in front of him every chance you can. Expose some part of you, feed him some truth, so he’s more likely to trust you.”
Expose herself? Feed him? Yes. Please. Heat rose from her fluttering belly to her face. Thanks to the sun god’s gift of melatonin, no one could see the heat flushing her face.
“You okay? Looking a little distracted,” Tony said.
Uh. Tony. Stop being so observant.
“Leave Dada alone,” Bridget said. “It’s hard enough being on assignment, having women disappearing around you while researching a trafficker’s business without getting teased.”
God bless Bridget. Still, her siblings wouldn’t be put off with an admonishment. They were evaluating her now. Closely. Which meant they required an answer. And what had Tony just said about giving some truth? She sighed. “Juan is cute, all. Very cute.”
“Uh oh,” Gracie said. “Stay clear of any complications. You know how that turns out for this family.”
She did. Well, she knew how badly it had turned out for Gracie.
“Not to worry,” she told her siblings, comfortable now that she’d distracted them from asking deeper questions. “I’m not interested in any man who would be party to those who would enslave a woman. And you all have to recognize the truth of that.”
There was a beat of silence. A recognition of her pain. And acceptance of her answer. All here had been rescued in one way or another. All here had given their lives to the League in place of any life that could be outside the League of Warrior Women. And that made them one, connected in a way that no one would ever be able to come between.
Chapter 7
The street on which Dada found Sion’s apartment was shadowed and rundown—the exact place one would expect to find a forger who worked for sex-traffickers. Now, to see exactly what Sion Bradford a.k.a Juan was doing.
Covering a yawn, Dada entered the building. Nun hours sucked. Four a.m. prayers? Five- thirty breakfast? And that was just the start of the grueling day. Why had Momma thought this would be a good cover for her?
This area had so much to offer, museums, mole, fabulous restaurants, mezcal, clubs, glorious ruins. But not for her. If she hadn’t found a way to bend the rules, she’d have spent all her time praying.
Inside the cool, dimly lit corridor, she knocked on a pitted door marked, “Gerente.” Manager.
The door swung open and Dada looked down at an elderly Mexican woman with silver hair and brown eyes, sitting in a wheelchair.
“Hello. My name is Sister Dee. Juan said you might be in need. I came to check on you.”
And to find out what she knew about Juan.
Hearing Juan’s name brought a smile to the woman’s lips. She introduced herself as Yolanda. Yolanda then pushed her chair backward and beckoned Dada inside to the kitchen. She took a seat at the glass topped table.
As she made tea, Yolanda talked about Juan. He was such a good boy. So kind.
Dada didn’t point out that he wasn’t a boy. He was all man. Or that he worked for human traffickers. “How nice to have him here. You must get lonely.”
Yolanda shook her head. “I’m not alone. My son is here.”
“Your son?”
“That’s me,” a man said, stepping out from a door in the kitchen, through which she saw a bedroom. He wore blue coveralls. The name on his pocket read Geraldo.
“Que es esto?” Geraldo said.
“What is this?” A little rude, Geraldo. And a bit young to be this woman’s son. He couldn’t be older than twenty-four. He had direct blue eyes and a skin tone halfway between Yolanda’s dark one and some unknown lighter-skinned parent.
Yolanda gently told her son, “Sister is here checking on me.”
Geraldo blinked and did a double take. His eyes widened. “Sorry, Sister. I didn’t see...”
He trailed off. They stared at each other. He hadn’t noticed she was a nun? She was wearing the full getup, habit and all. “It’s quite all right, my child,” she said.
He dragged his hand up and down the front of his chest and spoke slowly, as if he had to search a moment for each word, “I’m to fix the pipes in 4C.”
He walked out without another word. Hmmm. Could be Geraldo’s brain worked differently?
Yolanda watched her son go, her eyes filled with love. She pointed to him. “Another good boy.”
A flash of pa
in for this woman and her son lanced her heart. Sion seemed like a good man, but he was involved with some very bad people. She hoped trouble didn’t follow Sion here.
After a few more moments asking questions about Juan, including which apartment was his, Dada excused herself with a promise to return.
#
The unfortunate consequence of breaking into someone’s apartment to discover things you wished to know was that you could discover things that truly surprised you.
Sion’s one-room apartment had bags of stolen passports from all over the world. They were stacked on a wooden drafting table, spread across his unmade bed, deposited on the breakfast bar by the kitchenette. Along with the passports was the technical equipment to alter them—multiple tools for cutting and pasting, printing machines, blue lights, and lighted magnifying lenses. And all of that was more or less expected. What was unexpected was the paint supplies and paintings that lay near and on an easel. They were heartbreakingly beautiful. She hadn’t known he painted.
And even more surprising...
She lifted the Canadian passport and stared at the woman. Maria Salazar Montalvo the passport read. The picture on the passport was Rosa, the young woman from the square.
She scanned the open and drying passports, hanging from a wire like a mini-clothesline strung over the desk, and spotted another familiar face. Rosa’s son. Sion had made a passport for him, too. And there were others. Men and women she’d seen at the soup kitchen.
Sion was making false passports to get Central American refugees out of Mexico into safer countries. At one of the printers, she picked up a stack of plane tickets for destinations all over the world, not just the U.S. and Canada.
“Sister?”
Dada jumped a mile. Swinging around, she dropped the passports. Sion squatted on the fire escape, staring at her through the window, his mouth set in a firm, disappointed line.
She brought a hand to her chest. “You scared the life out of me.”
He climbed into the window. “Sorry about that.”
Hard to miss his sarcasm.
“Don’t usually have guests break into my flat. Not sure of the protocols.”
Dada shook her head. “I didn’t break in. The apartment was...”
She trailed off. The apartment couldn’t have been unlocked if he’d left from the fire escape. And, apparently, he had. She turned back to the door, scanned until she spotted the small, nearly invisible device that had registered her entrance. No wonder she’d missed it.
That was very high tech. Hmmm. He used his money for the oddest things. Judging by this room, not really to enrich himself. A gorgeous forger with a big heart. There was definitely more here than met the eye.
She turned back around, smiling. “I need your help.”
Shaking his head, Sion swallowed the distance between them with his sexy swaggering gate. “You broke into my flat because you need my help?”
Silent, he stopped feet from her. She had to crane her neck, which was rare—and uncomfortable—for her. She often thought an unconscious reason women wore heels was to have the advantage of looking a man in the eyes. It made sense. At least to her. Height gave her a better sense of control and situational awareness.
Not having that advantage made her supremely uncomfortable. Not only that, but the heat he directed at her rolled forward like lava, enveloping her senses. Parts of her body tingled, moistened. Her mouth for one. And lower.
He stared down at her with those give-me-a-sign brown eyes. “Want to try again, luv?”
Seemed wrong to lie to eyes that beautiful. Maybe lying wasn’t the way to go. No way to deny what he did to her, how his physical presence made her feel. Gooey. “Help might be the wrong word.” She licked her lips. “I felt a strong need to be near you. With you.”
Feminists everywhere would be cringing at her using her sexuality to get out of this situation. And, internally, so was she. Well, a little.
He was so very hot.
“Really,” he smirked, leaned closer. “Is that how you intend to play this?”
He had a right to doubt her. And she had a right to make his doubts disappear. Quick as a hot second, she fisted his shirt and pulled him to her. Her lips took his, eager and hungry and wild and so very happy to finally, finally be kissing him.
For a breathless moment, his lips were still against hers. But then he moaned. His tongue pushed into her mouth, played against hers. A bare moment of heat and naked desire raked painfully through every cell in her body.
A flash, a millisecond of surrender. So good. She had not felt heat like this... desire like this... well, ever.
Sion jumped back, leaving her breathless and hot and wet. He began to pace the room. “Oh, fuck. Sister. Sorry, I’m... I just can’t...” After a few moments, he turned to her. “You’re not a nun. You don’t kiss like a nun. Tell me the truth. I need to hear it.”
As modern a woman as she was, the idea that he would be so consumed with the desire between them that he would cross that line thrilled her.
But also, seeing his genuine pain and shame, she felt guilt and unease. Such was the life of an undercover agent.
Licking the taste of him, as sweet as any dessert, from her lips, she shook her head. “I can’t absolve you or your sins. If that’s what you’re asking”
He angled his head. “I can’t believe you’re a nun.”
“What do you mean?” She could usually disappear into a role. Was she losing her touch? Or was it that hard for her to play a woman of God? “Why not?”
They stared for a beat. Two. He looked away. “Other than you breaking into people’s flats to ask for…” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s, you know.” He waved at her.
“Clarify, please.”
Desire was back, filling his eyes. And she could see how hard he was against his jeans.
“If you make me say it—”
“Say it.”
“Surely, Dee, you’ve had men stare at you. You must’ve had people tell you. Surely, you realize how…”
People stared at her. Yes. But she had no idea what people saw when they looked at her.
Unless it seemed a danger, she had no time to waste on looks. “Are you suggesting I’m too beautiful to be a nun?”
That was insulting. She was insulted for nuns everywhere.
“Yes. No. I’m… It’s not your beauty alone. It’s…. You give off a vibe, an energy.”
A vibe? She was giving off a non-nun vibe? Come on. That wasn’t her doing. “If my vibe isn’t pious enough, doesn’t that have more to do with the un-pious inner workings of your own mind?”
“I didn’t break into your flat, rifle through your things, and then give you the hottest kiss of your life. It’s not me who has a piety issue. So let’s try again. Why are you here?”
Chapter 8
Standing in a room full of illegal documents passed to him by his mum, challenging a nun after a kiss that had him as hard as he was confused wasn’t how Sion had thought this day would go.
“I told you why I came.”
“Right. Sure.” He strolled back to her. “Looking for a tumble? Okay. I’m your guy.” Let’s see what she did with that.
Her eyes widened and then traveled the length of him. For a moment, he thought he’d have to put his mouth where her honey was and found he liked that idea. A lot. But she looked away, down, then grasped the bracelet on her wrist. Bugger. Just as he’d feared, she’d broken in for another reason.
Her posture shifted so she stood with one hip slightly out. “You’ve made no secret that you create documents for Walid Grimale. I came here looking for leverage. A way to blackmail you into helping Rosa, but I see now…” She motioned around the room. “Why are you helping her and these others? Guilt?”
Guilt didn’t cover it. He felt sick to his stomach every time he was asked to create a false identity for Walid or one of his goons. But he’d spent six months creating a relationship with Armand, getting his mum to use her
contacts to send him passports, in the hopes of finding Sophia. He scrubbed a hand across his face. “Why would a man help people fleeing a desperate situation find safety? Seems obvious to me.”
Her eyebrows drew in. “But this is at odds with what your boss does. He takes advantage of the turmoil in those areas, no? You do know that that is where many of these women trafficked through here come from? Some are coerced, tricked. Others are taken. Can you even imagine the reality?”
A lump erupted in his throat as he tightened his jaw. He didn’t need to imagine. He remembered. “So this is about Rosa? You broke into my apartment, kissed me, admitted to wanting to blackmail me all to help Rosa. I don’t believe you. Try again.”
She exhaled a sound like surrender. “It’s not just Rosa. I was hoping to use you as an asset.”
That sounded ominous. “Who do you work for?”
Although her eyes never strayed from his face, she grasped that leather bracelet again. Odd. And the only bit of jewelry she seemed to wear.
“I’m an undercover agent, part of the U.S. Catholic Working Group on Global Compacts on Refugees and Migration. The sisters here reached out for assistance. They’re worried about the refugees passing through here. As the woman said yesterday, some have gone missing. We are looking to discover how and put a halt to this.”
Sion’s brow furrowed. “You’re a spy? Sent by the Church to investigate the abuse of refugees?” Wasn’t the Church a bit more patriarchal than that? “I find it hard to believe they’d send a woman.”
Her shoulders straightened. “The Church has a long and deep history of helping refugees globally. And if you doubt that nuns have a hand in that, that we do the difficult work, you need to go back and educate yourself about us.”
She was probably right about that. He knew next to nothing about nuns. But his instinct… Can’t rely on your instinct here, mate. Not when you get tingly every time you look at her.
Right. His judgment was clouded.
The Edge of Obsession Page 3
