Matt’s expression shifted to one that was damn near offended. “I may be a lot of things, but crooked isn’t one of them. My father was a cop, and so was his father, and his father. It’s a family legacy to not go along with corruption.”
“Then this should be an easy decision for you,” I said. “You’ve already made it clear to me what side of this you want to be on. What’s the problem?”
After a moment, Matt shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. But I’ll tell you now… I’m not doing anything that might land me in jail. And if this goes left, I don’t know either one of you.”
“Deal,” Alicia said. “Now… if you have anything that might help us, come on with it. Let us know.”
Matt lifted his shoulders again. “Like what? I’m lost here – I have no idea what’s going on.”
“I bet you know more than you think,” Alicia encouraged, stepping up beside me. “You knew enough to trail the captain – to get pictures of him, with Maxim and Sebastian. What are they up to now? Do you know?”
His eyes opened a little wider. “Actually, I do. The guy that I have on them… he hit me up before I came to the door. They’re traveling together, to France. Maxim, Sebastian, and a woman. Private jet, to Saint Tropez.”
Immediately, Alicia turned to me. “This is it. This is their move.”
“Yeah, I think so. I can contact my brother, Naim. He works with Interpol, in Lyon. Maybe he can help us figure out what to do.”
Alicia frowned. “What? There’s nothing to figure out, we’re going to France.”
“Wow,” Matt muttered, shocked, and I damn near mirrored his reaction.
“Alicia, we can’t up and buy plane tickets to France – especially not with the police looking for you. We can’t just walk into the airport.”
She shook her head. “Who said anything about the airport?”
“How else do you propose we get there?” I asked, confused.
Alicia smirked. “Well… I happen to know a man who owns a private jet, and owes me a favor.”
THIRTEEN
“You’re quiet.”
I pulled my attention from the file I was staring at to find Cree standing over me, with a drink in both hands. He extended one toward me, and I accepted it, not caring which brown liquor it was in the glass.
It didn’t matter.
I swigged it back in one gulp.
“Lot on your mind?” he asked, taking a seat beside me on the couch that took up a large part of the wall on the Whitfield jet’s right side. There were plenty of other places to sit, but he chose to be right in my personal space, not letting me zone out the way I wanted to.
There was a lot on my mind.
It started with the tough conversation I’d had with Kingston and Daniel, neither of whom wanted me to go. Even though I’d framed the use of their private jet as a favor they owed me when I brought it up to Cree, once I was actually in front of them, I tucked my indignation away. I was hurt that they’d lied to me, but they were – besides Dacia – the only family I had.
There were others much more deserving of my anger.
So when they’d protested my trip, refusing to honor my request for the jet at first, I took a different tack. Instead of demanding, or forcing my way into what I wanted, I simply asked if it didn’t matter to them that my sister was in danger – if they felt like it shouldn’t matter to me. Because the bottom line was, I was going to get Dacia, one way or another. Even if she had no knowledge of who I was, she was family, and that meant something to me. It didn’t matter who, or what, was in my way.
“So… please,” I’d asked, without pretense or pride, and prepared to beg, if necessary. “Help me.”
They did.
Maybe because I’d let them believe I was bringing some of the women from my security team with me, even though that wasn’t the case. I was leaving every single one of them behind, because in my absence, there had to be someone to look over the Whitfields, and Loren, and Penelope.
This trip, this… mission… it was all me.
Cree was only along for the ride because he refused to not be.
I hadn’t yet admitted out loud that I was glad he was here.
It wasn’t that I was afraid to do this alone – I wasn’t. I’d been responsible for political assassinations, rebel takeovers, had poisoned presidents and seduced kings. Very, very little frightened me, but… this did.
The Belrose Syndicate may not have been a household name in other countries, but in France, they were… untouchable. As much as I may have wanted to go in and burn it all down, as much as I dreamed about sneaking in with a crew and making everybody pay… this wasn’t that. They would put a bullet through my head before I got past the gate.
I just wanted my sister.
Which… that was another whole heap of uncertainty there. I had no idea what state Dacia was in, mentally or physically, and no way of knowing how she would respond to me. The woman Penelope had described was warm, and fun, and lucid enough to understand that something wasn’t right about the things happening around her. But the woman I saw, hanging from Maxim’s arm, all the light gone from her eyes… that was someone else.
Which Dacia would I get?
I didn’t have to wonder why they’d brought her to Vegas in the first place – one of the main hubs of Maxim’s business was here, and they were probably trying to keep her out of France, away from Paloma before they were ready to make whatever trade. I hated to think of what Dacia had possibly been through while she was in their hands – she’d been trained as a Petal, after all. Even if she’d been moved to an instructor position as an adult, it said nothing for her experience as a child.
At the time of the home invasion, she was only nine.
Where had she been since then?
And really… how the hell had either of us ended up with the Belroses in the first place? It seemed such a strange course, to leave us alive but take us anyway, only for us to end up where we did. By sheer luck, I’d managed to taste freedom, and a life outside of being a Rose. But Dacia had gone from one horrid situation into another, and I couldn’t seem to wrap my head around how that came to be.
Had she been “damaged” – permanently scarred, like Penelope – and no longer considered perfect enough to serve as a Petal? Or had there been another course for her to get free?
In any case, she didn’t have her freedom now, so whatever had happened, it wasn’t good enough for me. I had to find her, and save her… assuming she wanted to be saved.
And it wasn’t like walking into Belrose territory would be some easy feat for me.
I’d been beaten, tortured, mutilated, brainwashed, had my entire being mentally, physically, emotionally altered, permanently, all under the guise of “training”. My memories prior to arriving at the Belrose compound may have been spotty, but my time there was perfectly clear.
I would die before I went through any of it again.
Seriously.
So… yes.
There was a lot on my mind.
I looked down at my hand as Cree threaded his fingers through mine, but said nothing. He lifted my hand, kissing my knuckles, and something about that… ruined me. Being cared for wasn’t a foreign concept to me. It wasn’t as if I lived some dry existence, void of emotion, the way some may have expected from me, or wanted to see.
I knew what it was like for someone to care about you, to want you to be okay, to be on your side, to protect and love you. The Whitfields gave that to me, and so did my security team.
And apparently… so did Cree.
He had none of his usually teasing for me as he pulled me into his lap, tossing aside the folder I’d been looking at. He quieted my sudden, noisy tears by urging me against his chest, and I obliged, burying my face in his neck.
But I wasn’t embarrassed, not at all. I felt… free.
For that moment, at least, I didn’t have to be tough, didn’t have to put up a front, didn’t have to be a badass, I could just be.
> And it was amazing.
“Hey,” he said, after several minutes had passed, and I was just enjoying being in his arms. When I looked up to meet his gaze, he took my face in his hands. “You understand that you’re not in this by yourself, right? I may not be a trained assassin, but I’m worth something, right?”
“You’re worth more than I know how to articulate,” I told him – a truth I wasn’t entirely comfortable expressing this soon, but I knew all too well that once we got off this plane, we were walking into an unpredictable situation. Anything I didn’t say now… I might not have a chance later.
Which brought me to the other thing that was heavy on my brain: I needed to be able to send Cree back to Vegas in one piece, for Loren and the baby.
Obviously, Cree hadn’t exactly argued against wanting to make it back home safely. Why wouldn’t he want to live? He had a family – not just the mother of his child, but Camille, and Naim, and Rowan, and the other foster siblings I hadn’t even had a chance to hear about yet, let alone meet. I had no interest in being responsible for those people’s grief, but when I’d brought it up to him, he’d put it terms I couldn’t argue with.
“I’d be ashamed to look any of those people in the face and admit that I was the kind of man who’d let you board this plane by yourself. At least this way, if I get taken out, it was while I was trying to do something – not sitting at home waiting for an update. Like a bitch. Cause you know Loren is gonna tell our kid I’m a bitch if I don’t go with you, right?”
I did know Loren would do that.
She absolutely would.
“And, you do understand that I have every intention of protecting you, to the best of my ability, right?”
I bit down on my lip as I nodded. “As long as you understand I have every intention of doing the same.”
“Then it sounds to me like we’re going to be just fine,” he assured, pressing his forehead to mine. “When we get there, we’ll go see Naim first, okay? I know you’re concerned about the timing, but he’ll have information, advice, resources. He has connections… valuable ones. We can’t leave that on the table, if we plan to make it out of there alive.”
I sighed. “Yes, I know.”
But knowing didn’t mean I had to like it.
Vegas to Lyon was a fourteen-hour flight, and Sebastian and Maxim had a six-hour head start. It was part of why Cree was urging patience, wanted to take the time to formulate a plan, but again… I just wanted my sister.
I didn’t want to hear about the price.
That was – one of – the good parts of having him here though. Cree was the level-headed balance I needed to not turn my rescue mission into a suicide.
I rested my head on his shoulder, still completely unconcerned with maintaining my “bad ass” persona. There would be time to be scary later. Right now, we had three more hours before a quick stop in Dublin to refuel, and then three more hours to Lyon-Saint Exupery, and I knew exactly how I wanted to spend it.
I moved my hand from his chest to much lower, slipping into the waistband of his pants and boxers for – one of – the other good parts of having him here.
Release.
&
“Goddamn. This must be the mean one.”
From the murderous look on Cree’s face, I could immediately surmise that Naim Owosu, Cree’s “brother from another father and mother”, as he introduced himself, was not supposed to say that to me.
Good thing for both of them, I thought it was funny.
“One, huh?” I asked, raising my eyebrows as I turned to Cree in Naim’s office, propping my hands on my hips.
He gave me one of those boyish, disarming grins, and shook his head. “Only.”
“I thought you told me you were having a baby, little brother,” Naim said, barely hiding a mischievous grin over Cree’s obvious discomfort. “How is she only if another woman is having your child? Or had you not told her yet? You deserve better than this, gorgeous,” he told me, giving me his full attention as he took my hand. “My brother, he’s too young to know better. I’ve been around longer – know how to treat a woman such as yourself.”
“Oh, I bet you do,” I said.
Naim was easily seven feet tall, with a dense, muscular frame that was obvious even through his nicely-tailored suit. Deep brown skin, nicely trimmed goatee, perfect teeth… he was definitely a good-looking man.
And most likely, a philanderer.
I’d dealt with enough to know.
But, being a whore didn’t preclude him from being a good guy or an asset – something he quickly proved when the joking stopped. We left his office at Interpol, riding with him to the converted warehouse he called home, where he showed us to a camera feed setup that made my eyes go wide.
“When Cree called, and explained what was at stake, I got one of my assets in Paris on the line. Your target lives in a luxury apartment, 7th Arrondissement. You’re looking at her living room right now.”
My eyes were still wide as I sank into the chair set up in front of the monitors, to stare into a face I hadn’t seen in almost twenty years.
Paloma.
“Paloma Pelletier – born Paloma Santiago. Oldest living child of Rafael Santiago, whose business was already on its last legs when Paloma got her claws into Adam Pelletier. Law was closing in, younger, better men were getting into the game, and he’d been forced out of his seat with The Collective because one of his lieutenants killed the wrong guy on the wrong block. Paloma secured her lifestyle by marrying Adam, and when he died… she inherited more than just his hefty assets and insurance policy.”
“She got his Collective seat,” I muttered, more to myself than anything as I watched Paloma’s assistant, or whoever she was, open a bottle of wine and pour her a fresh glass.
Naim heard me though, and confirmed. “Yes. Adam Pelletier had, aside from the family business that he’d inherited, a very exclusive clientele with very specific tastes. Exotic furs and accessories, made from animals who were off limits for hunting.”
“So he was a poacher,” I mused, clearing my throat.
“Yes,” Naim agreed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Tell me what else. Paloma Santiago is now the head of her father’s cartel, no?”
“She is. And she had to rebuild that business before she got the seat she inherited from Adam. Had to prove herself first, and it wasn’t immediate. Took years. But she goes by Pelletier here – still plays the part of grieving widow, whenever she gets the chance. She founded charities, in Adam and Dacia’s names.”
I swallowed hard. “Of course she did. So the men who stormed our house… were they there for my father, or for her?”
Naim shook his head. “Without a closer look at the crime report, I couldn’t say. But my gut – which rarely leads me wrong – says it’s more likely they were after Paloma. Poachers don’t usually have those kinds of enemies.”
I wanted to say more, but activity on the screen caught my attention. Paloma was already seated, when Sebastian and Maxim were shown into the living room where she was. Naim did something that turned the sound on, and when Paloma stood, she had the same question that I did.
“Gentleman… where is my daughter?”
“Somewhere safe,” Sebastian said, speaking up immediately. “We thought it prudent to have one last meeting first, to ensure the terms of our agreement.”
Paloma sipped her wine. “They are already ensured. Assured. They have been that way for over a week now. You return my daughter, I support your challenge of the Belrose family’s seat, on the basis that they killed my husband and kidnapped my daughter, forced her to engage in illicit activity. And I will testify to it, in a court of law as well.”
Maxim shifted. “And you have no qualms about perjuring yourself?”
“I have few qualms about anything. I want my daughter back. That is all.”
“Understood,” Sebastian nodded. “We’re happy to have found her, to be able to facilitate a reunion. But, in
the interest of transparency, to ensure our alliance going forward… I’d be remiss to not inform you that there has been… a complication.”
Paloma turned to Sebastian, taking another long sip before she held out the empty glass, bringing the maid scurrying from across the room to refill it. “And what, pray tell, would this… complication… be?”
“Your other daughter.”
“I only have one daughter.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “Adam’s daughter. Alicia. She is alive as well.”
The people in the room may not have caught it, but I did – the way Paloma’s eyes flashed with an ugly emotion I couldn’t place before she quickly feigned happiness over Sebastian’s words. “Oh, what a lovely surprise!” she said, forcing a smile to her face. “You’ve brought her with you as well?”
“Uh… no,” Sebastian admitted. “We believe she was with the Belrose family as well, before securing employ with the Whitfields – a prominent family in Las Vegas.”
“I know who the Whitfields are,” she snapped, then let out a huff. “What kind of uncultured swine do you think I am?”
The very worst, I thought, but kept my mouth shut so that I missed nothing.
“My apologies, Paloma. I meant nothing by it. But, the pertinent thing is that, Alicia Pelletier, under the alias Alicia Miller, worked with the Whitfields as a personal security guard, with a reputation of… ruthlessness.”
Paloma had been pacing before, but with that, she stilled. “So you’re saying…?”
“Yes,” Sebastian nodded. “She was trained as a Rose. And… she knows about Dacia.”
In a flash, Paloma had tossed the contents of her wine glass in Sebastian’s face, and then tossed the glass itself, hitting him in the chest.
“And you are just now telling me this? Where the hell is she?!”
“We have people on it,” Maxim cut in, finally speaking. “Your cousin, in the police force. We will find her.”
“You better,” Paloma spat, waving the maid away when she tried to come with towels to clean Sebastian up. “Now get out of my sight.”
Deuces Wild Page 21
