Wicked As Sin

by Shayla Black

  “While Kendra was in captivity, she made friends with Valeria Montilla, Emilo’s wife. She begged us to smuggle her out with the medical workers. She was pregnant and feared what would happen to her child if she stayed.”

  One-Mile let out a low whistle. “I know our friendly neighborhood drug lord didn’t take that well.”

  “No.”

  “So we went to Guerrero a couple of months back…why?”

  “Valeria hired us to rescue her sister. Emilo had been keeping her as bait.”

  “But everything went south,” Trees pointed out. “Our mission failed, and we nearly died.”

  Hunter nodded. “Because of the mole.”

  “So we’re going back in to retrieve Valeria’s sister?”

  The boss shook his head. “That’s not a good idea until we figure out who within our organization turned against us. This mission is purely a screen to smoke out our rat. So you two will land in Acapulco and set up surveillance equipment together in a predetermined location. Trees, from there you’ll drive out of the city and head inland to Taxco, where you’ll set up surveillance in another location. Pierce, you’ll head up the coast to Petalán.”

  “We’re splitting up?” Trees raised a brow. “That’s risky as fuck in a place like that.”

  “It’s the fastest way to figure out who’s selling us out.” One-Mile shrugged. “If we don’t, it’s only a matter of time before we’re caught unaware again. At least we’ll be going into this with our eyes wide open.” He turned back to Hunter. “So what are you telling everyone around here?”

  “Each of the other three operatives will get a different cover story. We’ll know who our mole is based on which location Tierra Caliente raids.”

  As ideas went, it wasn’t foolproof. But they didn’t have a lot of options, and he understood the rationale.

  “We’ve only got a few suspects. Maybe we can discern our mole without all the cloak-and-dagger bullshit.”

  “And just so we’re clear, Zy would never sell us out,” Trees vowed.

  How sweet. The tall dude was sticking up for his bestie. Based on what, a pinkie swear?

  Still, Zy’s family was loaded. He seemed less likely to betray his peers…but it wasn’t impossible.

  “Trees, I know you’re convinced Zy is innocent,” Hunter acknowledged, “but we can’t assume anything. We have to rule everyone out before we know for sure what we’re dealing with.”

  One-Mile considered the other two possibilities. Josiah Grant was former CIA, so he was more likely to have the international connections needed to stab his fellow operatives in the back. But was that really the surly loner’s speed?

  That left Cutter. The asshole had a hero complex…but was it possible appearances were deceiving? Just because he couldn’t think of a reason Bryant would sell them out didn’t mean he wouldn’t. On the other hand, no matter how badly he wanted Cutter to be guilty, that didn’t actually make him the culprit.

  “When are we leaving?” he asked Hunter.

  “Tonight.”

  Son of a bitch. Of all the terrible timing…

  One-Mile bit back a groan. “Mission duration?”

  With any luck, he’d be back in a few days, and his absence would only be a momentary setback with Brea. Hell, maybe this was for the best. She’d asked for space, and if he stayed in the same zip code, he’d be tempted to corner her, strip her naked, and remind her how good they were together.

  “Couple of days, tops. You should head out before you and Cutter are tempted to commit murder on company property.”

  “Sounds like more fun than fucking with a cartel,” Trees quipped.

  Amen. But he didn’t get that choice. Besides, if he killed Cutter, Brea would never forgive him. “I’m in.”

  “Listen, you can’t tell anyone you’re leaving or where you’re going. Logan, Joaquin, and I will circulate your various locations after you’ve set up the surveillance equipment.”

  One-Mile rose. “Got it.”

  “Roger that.” Trees stood, too.

  “Both of you report here at twenty-one hundred. I’ll be waiting with further instructions. That gives you about twelve hours to get your shit in order…just in case this doesn’t go as planned.”

  Wednesday, August 20

  Acapulco

  Coastal Mexico in August was more humid than the ass crack of hell.

  Trees downed the last of his beer as the sun set over the little seaside restaurant attached to their shithole motel in Acapulco. The few tourists vacationing here looked happy to disappear into their tequila. One-Mile shoveled in the last of his fish and scanned the area. Nothing out of the ordinary…but the back of his neck tingled and felt tight.

  Like someone was watching.

  He played it casual and glanced at his watch. “We should go. It will be easier to find our location before the sun sets.”

  Trees tossed a few bills on the table, then hoisted the duffel at his side as he stood. “Yep. Might as well get this shit over with.”

  One of the three remaining EM Security operatives—One-Mile didn’t know which—had been told he and Trees were meeting a member of a rival faction tomorrow here in Acapulco who could help them bust inside Montilla’s compound and free Valeria’s sister. The second of the three operatives had been advised of a rendezvous in Taxco on Friday, while the last had been spoon-fed the bullshit about a clandestine meet-up in Petalán on Saturday night.

  One-Mile was braced for trouble, but he had no idea when or where it would appear. The setup was making him twitchy.

  He heaved a sigh as he paid his own bill and got to his feet. “Got the map?”

  “Yep.” Trees headed off the restaurant’s terrace, toward the parking lot where they’d left their rental. “You been thinking about who’s guilty?”

  “Hard not to.” But every one of the suspects had pros and cons.

  “Any conclusions?”

  “No.” At least none he felt like sharing.

  Trees eyed him. “You’d like Cutter to be guilty.”

  On some level, sure. But it would crush Brea. “I’d prefer not to have a traitor in our ranks at all.”

  “Same. I’m telling you, man. It’s not Zy.”

  “We’ll find out, I guess.”

  “The truth is, I can’t picture any of these guys betraying us.”

  Maybe Trees just didn’t want to. But One-Mile knew good men could be capable of bad things, given the right circumstances.

  “And Joaquin felt the same,” Trees added. “So did the colonel.”

  “Hmm.” It was nice to know the elder Edgington believed in the motley crew he’d assembled shortly before his retirement…but that didn’t change the fact they were in Mexico to hunt the snake slithering in their midst.

  “Hey, when we’re done with the first setup, do you want to head to the strip? Catch some pretty girls jiggling to some terrible music?”

  That wasn’t his speed. Besides, with every step he took, his dread kept sharpening. If he was feeling uneasy in broad daylight in the middle of a tourist area, visiting the city’s seedy underbelly well after dark would only make him paranoid.

  But another scan of the parking lot proved it devoid of people.

  “Nah. Let’s get the fuck out of here. I’m going to head north early in the morning, so I’d like to go to bed early.”

  “Fair enough.” Trees nodded as they reached the car. “Hey, mind putting this in the trunk while I tie my shoe?”

  One-Mile took the heavy duffel from the tall guy. “No sweat.”

  Trees popped the trunk with the fob and bent to his laces when One-Mile caught sight of a quintet of heavily armed men emerging from vehicles and behind trees at the perimeter of the parking lot and spreading out to surround them. They had the hardened look of cartel soldiers.

  His blood ran cold. Fuck.

  “Get in the car!” he shouted at Trees as he tossed the equipment into the gaping trunk and slammed it closed.

  Tree
s whirled and caught sight of the foot soldiers charging at them, then dived into the front seat. One-Mile sprinted for the passenger door, weapon drawn, as Trees hit the button on the fob to unlock it, then shoved the key in the ignition. He turned the car over as One-Mile popped off a shot, hitting one thug square between the eyes just before he grabbed at the door handle—

  Then someone tackled him from behind and forced him down to the gravel, trapping him under a heavy weight that smelled like sweat, testosterone, and gunpowder.

  Blood roaring, One-Mile struggled for leverage so he could get off his belly and fight back. He’d learned to defend himself on the streets, goddamn it. He could get himself out of a scrape. But the bruiser on top of him had obviously learned to fight dirty, too, and countered every one of his moves.

  He wasn’t getting free from this.

  “Go!” he managed to scream at Trees as the asshole sitting on top of him pounded his fingers into the crumbling asphalt and wrenched the weapon from his stinging hand.

  His fellow operative hesitated for a split second, and he could feel Trees’ indecision. Then the car peeled out and began to speed away. The other foot soldiers shot at the little white rental, but One-Mile watched it shudder out of the lot and jostle down the road, both glad Trees had gotten away…and terrified of what happened next.

  “Not so tough without your backup now,” the foot soldier spat, snorting and panting in his ear. “Are you, Walker?”

  Oh, fuck. They knew who he was.

  He was as good as dead.

  At least Trees had gotten away. There was a chance—albeit a slim one—that his bosses could mount a rescue. The more likely scenario was that they’d recover his body. Someday…maybe. At least they’d know for sure that someone in their ranks was a backstabbing bastard who deserved to be purged.

  “Fuck you.” What the hell else could he say?

  The pungent weight crushing his ribs laughed. “You will, no doubt, change your tune when you see what we have in store for you… But for now, it is best if you sleep.”

  The fat foot soldier on his back twisted to straddle him, then grabbed him by the hair before slamming his head against the pavement a few times. His skull exploded in pain. Blackness swam at the edges of his vision.

  His last thought was of Brea. He wished like hell he had a few more stolen seconds alone with her. At least then he could tell her that he’d fallen hard for her.

  Chapter Eight

  Monday, September 8

  Lafayette, Louisiana

  * * *

  Wringing her hands, Brea paced the too-familiar halls of University Hospital again. The first time she’d come here, it had been a sweltering summer afternoon. The birds had been singing and the flowers in full bloom. Pierce had been with her, patiently holding her hand and bolstering her while doctors tried to repair her father’s heart.

  Now, the weather had begun to cool. Football season was in full swing. The sky was pitch-black, except for a hazy moon hanging in the sky. The clock on the wall read two thirty-eight a.m., and the city outside the windows was almost eerily still. No one stood beside her, devoting himself to her moral support.

  But her father’s failing heart was the awful correlation.

  She wished Pierce were here now. Since she’d started pacing the emergency room, she had talked herself out of calling him more than once. During her father’s first episode this summer, his steadying force had been her bedrock. Without him now, she felt like she was in free fall. But it would be selfish to reach out to him after weeks of silence. After all, she was the one who had told him she needed space. He’d more than respected her wishes. Why should he come after she’d ignored him for so long?

  “Brea!”

  She whirled around to find Cutter jogging toward her. She dashed into his arms, grateful she was no longer alone.

  But he wasn’t Pierce.

  At the thought, guilt filled her. Her best friend had come running after a mere phone call, despite the ridiculous hour, and she was grateful. She pushed thoughts of Pierce aside.

  “Thank you for being here,” she said against his chest. “I-I know it’s late. I know you have to work—”

  “Shh.” He brushed her hair off her face and cradled her cheeks in his palms, forcing her gaze to his. “None of that matters. Tell me what happened. What have the doctors said?”

  “I’m still waiting for news. I don’t really know much. I was so tired that I went to bed after dinner. An unfamiliar crashing noise woke me up a little after midnight. I ran down the hall and found Daddy on the floor, struggling to breathe. I think he panicked and tried to call 911 but fell out of bed reaching for the phone. I couldn’t lift him. He was in agony. I…” She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to hold in useless tears, but the vision of her father pale and writhing and making inhuman sounds of pain haunted her. “I called an ambulance. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m worried he’s had another heart attack. He’s barely recovered from the last surgery…”

  “I know.” Cutter held her tighter. “But don’t lose hope. He’s young. He’s already dropped some weight and started exercising. You’re putting good food in his system, and the repairs he’s had on his heart will help the blood flow. I know you’re praying.”

  “Of course.” But she heard the squeak of fear in her voice, felt its burn singeing her veins. She wasn’t ready to lose her father.

  “Then you’re doing all you can. Come sit down, Bre-bee. You look exhausted.”

  She’d just been tired lately. Not surprising. She had a history of being anemic, and she’d slacked off on taking her iron. “Don’t worry about me. I just…have no idea what I’ll do if Daddy isn’t all right.”

  “You’ll cross the bridge if you’re pushed off of it, okay? In the meantime, have you called Tom? He should know that he’ll probably need to take over for your father again.”

  “I was waiting until I knew something definitive. And until it wasn’t the middle of the night. There’s really nothing he can do now.”

  “Fair enough.” He curled an arm around her. “Do you want some coffee?”

  She shook her head. “I walked past the machine earlier. It needs a good cleaning. The smell of it turned my stomach.”

  Cutter led her over to a padded bench and sat her down. “I doubt you’d find anything appetizing right now.”

  “No,” she confirmed, casting her worried glance to the double doors beyond the waiting area. “I don’t know what’s taking so long. I’ve been here nearly two hours. The paperwork kept me busy for a while, but…”

  “You want information. I understand. But they’ll fill you in once they have answers. For now, no news is good news.”

  She nodded, trying hard to believe that. “Talk to me about something else. Anything else. I need my mind off this or I’ll just keep imagining the worst-case scenarios.”

  “Yeah. Um…” But Cutter shook his head blankly.

  “You never said whether you’re coming to the fall market at the church on Friday evening. We could still use a few volunteers to help us set up and break down.”

  He hesitated a few seconds too long. “I don’t know. Brea, I need to tell you—”

  “Ms. Bell?”

  She turned to find a familiar woman in green scrubs. Her face looked grim. “Dr. Gale. I didn’t realize you’d come in. How’s Daddy?”

  “That’s why the attending physician called me. Your father is going to need more bypass work.”

  Her jaw dropped. Her heart fell. It wasn’t the worst possible news…but it was close. “Why?”

  “Back in July, the insurance company chose only to bypass the left anterior descending artery. They merely cleared us to stent the others with blockages, despite my recommendation otherwise. Since then, a blood clot has formed in his right coronary artery. We’ve just completed all the tests to confirm. Time is of the essence, so we’re prepping now.”

  “You’re doing the surgery this morning?” Her head told her that
waiting any amount of time with a blood clot in Daddy’s heart was incredibly dangerous. But all she could think about was her father going under anesthesia again for a risky procedure he might not survive.

  What if she never got to say goodbye?

  Dr. Gale’s face softened as she took Brea’s hand. “We don’t have a choice.”

  Cutter slipped a supporting arm around her. “We understand. I know you’ll keep us advised. When will you get started and how long do you expect the surgery to last?”

  The surgeon glanced at the clock on the wall. “We’ll be starting in the next thirty minutes. The surgery should last three to four hours, depending on complications. As soon as we know more, someone will speak with you.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Brea managed to mumble, but she felt her legs crumpling beneath her as her head swirled in a dizzy spin.

  “Whoa.” Cutter caught her and helped her back to the bench, sitting her on his lap. “Are you okay, Bre-Bee?”

  “Overwhelmed,” she managed to say. “I can’t believe this is happening again.”

  “You should call Mrs. Collins.”

  “I can’t wake Jennifer up in the middle of the night.”

  Cutter gave her that patient expression he often flashed when he had to explain something she should already know. “You should. She’s your father’s…girlfriend, for lack of a better word.”

  He’d suggested that before, but she’d never seen any evidence of that.

  “I…” She shook her head. “No.”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes. A few weeks back, when you went to that concert in New Orleans with the girls from the salon and stayed the night?”

  “I remember.”

  Cutter was not about to say what she thought he would. Please. Please…

  “You’re going to make me say that she spent the night, are you?”

  “She wouldn’t.” Brea shook her head in disbelief. “And Daddy wouldn’t—”