"Do they work together often?"
"More often than we'd like," Jason said. "Trade routes are typically held by one cartel or another. The trade routes through Mexico and into Central America and, in reverse, through Mexico into the United States, are secured by Francisco and Mexican cartels. The routes into Canada as well as through Europe and into Asia are, in turn, held by Asian and Middle Eastern groups."
He must have noticed her look of confusion because he broke off. "Imagine it like lines on a map," he suggested and drew another imaginary box on the table before pointing a finger at an area inside. "Here's South America, Central America, Mexico, and the United States," he said as he traced his finger upward through the box before tapping another spot. "This route runs all the way up the West Coast to Seattle. Francisco's people control the area. To move drugs through his territory, you have to have his permission."
"Okay."
"Unless he agrees to let you use the route, you'll never have the information necessary to safely move your product," Jason continued while Tristan stayed quiet, rubbing circles along her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. "And you risk pissing him off. The same goes for the Asians." He traced another line, this time on the other side of his imaginary box and then across to a spot above what he'd deemed the United States, presumably Canada. "They control the only secure routes into Canada. They also control the most secure territory in Europe and Asia, meaning the only routes that we haven't been able to effectively disrupt."
"So they have to work together since they require the routes the other group protects?"
"Exactly." Jason smiled his approval. Tristan squeezed her fingers. "Francisco knows that the Asians would win any fight over the European and Asian routes because that's where they're most heavily situated, and the Asians know that Francisco would win any fight over Mexico-American routes because that's where he has the biggest reach and the most bodies. It's simply more mutually advantageous for them to maintain the relationship they have than to challenge the status quo."
"Neither side wants to deal with the losses they'd sustain by fighting over the routes," Tristan explained when Jason reached for his beer. "When we shut a route down, they lose time, money, and people. The system they have in place works well—they have secured routes that we've been unable to touch and they all gain from it…drug profits for one group, route taxation profits for the other—so it'd take something drastic to make them risk the balance."
"Oh." In a strange way, cartels and their rules reminded her of the ballet world. Ballet companies relied upon the theaters to provide the necessary space and the theaters relied upon the ballet companies to put on the shows. Both turned a profit—the theater through charging the company, the company through charging the audience or vice versa—and it worked well. In some situations, you'd have a theater and a company that worked with one another exclusively, simply because they both gained more from that relationship than they would if, say, the theater rented out to any company that desired it. The relationships Tristan and Jason were describing, while a whole lot more gruesome and complex, were the same way. In order to prosper, both sides maintained a careful balance.
"Ordinarily, people like Yin aren't important enough in the grand scheme of things for either side to willingly engage in a drug war that could cost them millions," Tristan continued. "If they lose their trade routes because they're in conflict, they're screwed and they know it. As nice as that would be for us, it's not worth the risks for them. We're talking millions of dollars in profit and thousands of lives; more than have died in Mexico already."
Lillian swallowed hard, remembering how much damage had already been done in Mexico, how many people had already been killed in the wars between cartels there. She couldn't imagine that carnage spilling out into the rest of the world. It would be horrific.
"Francisco has been hit hard by the drug wars in Mexico. He's barely holding some of his routes, and other cartels are encroaching on his territory. He needs the Vetrov drug more than he needs the Asian routes. With him controlling the supply, he stands to make billions on the international market. It'll also make his competition behold to him. If Yin jeopardizes that by talking, the responsibility will fall on the Asians, and Francisco will start a war like we've never seen. So as messed up as it sounds, it's better for all of us if Yin keeps his mouth shut."
"So that’s why you decided to raid now?" she asked. Tristan had told her time and again how complicated this case had become, but until that moment, she'd never understood exactly what he meant by that. They weren't just trying to stop a drug. They were trying to prevent a global drug war from igniting.
"More or less. It's risky, but we don't have another option," Jason answered. "Anton knows Tristan is DEA now. We can't send him back inside. And we can't risk them shipping the supply."
Lillian felt sick to her stomach at the thought of Tristan going back inside Teplo now. He leaned into her as a cold chill wracked her body, freezing her from the inside out.
Brushing a strand of hair away from her face, he pressed his lips to her temple. "We'll stop them one way or another, beautiful."
She didn't doubt that, but how bad were things going to get before they did?
Jason blew out a frustrated breath. "We have one small problem."
"What?"
"The blond lurking around Teplo. We have to identify him before we raid."
"Why?" Lillian asked.
"Because there's no hard evidence that places him as a Vetrov employee. If we don't find enough to sweep him up in the raid, he'll go free. And if that happens before we find the lab, there will be no stopping Francisco from getting his hands on that drug. We have to take them all down at the same time to buy us a little more time. Hopefully the lab is in the basement like we thought and we won't need the extra time, but we can't guarantee that."
"Oh."
"Have you found anything on him at all?" Tristan asked.
"Aside from the photo? No, nothing." Jason rubbed a hand along his jaw. "But I'm inclined to believe he works for Francisco, which is incentive enough to figure out who the hell he is. He may be our only chance to link Francisco to Vetrov."
"Well, I can't stroll up to him and ask his fucking name now."
"I can," Lillian blurted out.
An angry growl rumbled in Tristan's throat as he turned to glare at her. "Hell no."
"Who else do you have?" she asked. A few days ago, she'd made the same suggestion, and he had lost his shit. She hated bringing it up when the mere thought had given him nightmares the last time she offered, but they didn't have another choice. They had to know who they were dealing with or all that Tristan had worked for would be for nothing.
"We'll find someone else," he snapped at her.
"No, you won't. You have to know who he is before you guys raid on Sunday or none of you will be safe." She held her ground, refusing to back down…and silently chanting for him to forgive her for this. She knew how he felt about it, but there really wasn't any other option.
"She has a point," Jason broke in when Tristan told her no again.
He turned his glare on Jason, his expression black.
"If he works for Francisco, we need to know now and you know it," Jason continued when Tristan merely stared at him, breathing hard and looking like he wanted to kill something.
"It doesn't have to be her," he finally muttered.
"Who else is it going to be?" she asked. "There's no time to get someone else in there. You can't do it. Jason can't do it. I'm the only one who can do it."
"And how exactly are you going to do it, hmm?" he demanded, swinging his head back around to face her. "Walk up to him and tell him who you are? Ask him to dance? Tell him you live across the fucking street with me?"
Lillian recoiled at his scathing tone.
"You're a ballerina, Lillian. A fucking ballerina," he continued ruthlessly.
"No, I'm not a ballerina. In case you've forgotten, I haven't been a ballerina in a year,
" she snapped, suddenly angry that it always came back to that for him. She knew she'd never be a tenth of what he was, but she wasn't a dainty little girl either. When would he realize that? "You're the one who had Warner walk me out in handcuffs to make sure I looked innocent in what you were doing inside Teplo. You're the one who has everyone pretending I'm sitting in a jail cell right now. Because of that, I'm the best chance you have of finding out his name, and you know it. So get on board and deal with it!"
This time, Tristan recoiled, his face blanching at the bitter venom in her words.
She took a deep breath and tried one more time, not wanting to fight with him. "Look, I get that you want to protect me, and I appreciate that. But this is probably the only thing I can do to help you, and I want to help. That's why I'm here. And as far as he knows, you helped put me in jail. People run to Teplo for comfort every night. Would it really be so difficult to assume I'd do the same after you betrayed me?"
He stared at her, frustration seething in his gaze, before his expression crumbled. Fear swept in to replace anger. So much fear she wanted to cry for him. "I don't want to see you hurt," he confessed, stroking her cheek.
"I know that," she said, offering him a sad smile, "but this is my choice. Getting involved with this case has always been my choice."
He shook his head, pleading with those blue eyes for her not to do this.
"She's right, Tristan," Jason said.
Tristan broke her gaze and turned to his friend. "Sending her in alone was never part of the plan. Don't ask me to agree to that."
"I wouldn't ask if there was another option, but there isn't. She has the best chance of getting the information we require because she's right: people run to Teplo for comfort every night when life doesn't work out exactly like they planned. Believing she's pissed and wants revenge by getting into bed with them wouldn't be that big of a leap when they see the same behavior every day. You know that's true."
Tristan glared at Jason for a long, tense minute. "Fuck," he swore harshly and shoved his chair away from the table before turning on his heel without another word and striding from the room.
Lillian struggled to move her chair back to follow him, her heart physically aching at the look on his face as much as at the desperate plea Jason had just turned down.
"Let him go," Jason advised her. She looked up at him to find him watching Tristan's retreating form, his expression stoic. "He's going to need a minute."
Lillian stopped fighting the chair and slumped, feeling as defeated as Tristan appeared. Tears filled her eyes, stinging, but she didn't try to fight them off either. She'd known what she was asking him for, and she'd asked anyway.
"It'll be okay," Jason said as she swiped at the tears sliding down her cheeks.
"Will it?" she asked him, meeting his gaze.
"It will," he promised her. "He needs a little time to wrap his mind around this."
She nodded, dashing away more tears. Every part of her wanted to go to Tristan and try to convince him to see things her way, but she couldn't. He had to decide for himself whether or not he could accept her decision. She prayed he'd be able to look past what had happened to his parents and trust her to keep herself safe.
Maybe she didn't know what it felt like to believe you should have been able to save a life, but she knew how it felt to fear that you were going to lose one. She'd felt it for him for days. And she would never put him in that same position if she didn't feel like she could get in and get out safely. Not ever.
"Tristan?" Zoë called, stepping out onto the porch in search of her cousin. She'd overheard part of the conversation between him, Jase, and Lillian, and figured he could use a pep-talk. She found him with his head hanging as if too heavy to lift, one hand resting on a support column. The muscles in his arms and back were rigid, full of the tension radiating from him. The sight made her heart hurt for him.
"You okay?" she asked when he didn't respond.
"I'm going crazy, Zo," he said as she pushed her way beneath his arm to lay her head against his side. His rigid stance didn't ease, but he didn't push her away either. "I'm losing my goddamned mind."
"She'll be okay, Tristan," she promised, wrapping an arm around his waist.
He laughed abruptly, and then groaned. His hand curled into a fist on the column. "You don't know what they're capable of," he said.
"Yes, I do." She took a step back, looking up at him. If anyone knew what drug cartels and addicts were capable of, she did. Maybe she hadn't lost her parents like Tristan had, but she had lost her aunt and uncle. Her husband had lost his best friend. She was the one who consoled him when he came home, stressed out and defeated when he lost. And she was the one who had spent her entire adult life worrying about her cousin, praying he survived the crushing weight of guilt.
He took a deep breath, and reached out to tug a lock of her hair—his version of an apology. "I can't lose her, Zo," he said.
"You won't," she promised him. "She loves you, Tristan, and she wants to do what she can to help keep all of you safe." Zoë understood exactly how Lillian felt. She carried the same burden. She had since the day Jason had visited Jordan at the apartment they shared off campus. She'd fallen in love with him then and hadn't looked back. By loving Tristan, Lillian now carried that burden, too. But she hadn't been relegated to the sidelines, forced to watch the love of her life put himself in danger every day, unable to do anything to help ensure he made it out safely.
Unlike Zoë, Lillian had a chance to help make Tristan's job a little easier. All Zoë had ever been able to do was to love her cousin and husband and hope that love helped bring them home every night. Given a chance, she would do the exact same thing as Lillian. She'd do it over and over and over.
"How am I supposed to let her walk up to this guy and pray things works out for the best?" Tristan asked, a fragility in his voice that she'd never heard before. Not even after his parents had died. He'd been swamped with guilt and grief. But he'd never seemed as vulnerable as he did right this minute.
"You just do," she answered gently. "You have faith that she's going to keep herself safe and come back to you and then you let her go, Tristan. It's all you can do."
He was silent for a full minute, considering, before he turned inquisitive eyes on her. "Is that what you do?"
"Yeah, it is," she said, not willing to lie to him.
"Do you ever regret marrying him?"
She didn't even have to think about her answer. "Never. Jase isn't the kind of person who can sit back and do nothing. He's a fighter, exactly like you are. It's not easy to let him leave every day when I know that he might not make it home, but I don't regret loving someone who cares enough to try. I wouldn't change him, and I wouldn't change us." She paused. "I doubt Lillian would change anything, either."
Tristan hooked an arm around her, squeezing her as if in silent thanks.
They stood in silence, watching as a rabbit darted across the lawn.
"Soon enough, she's going to have to watch you leave, and she's going to have to deal with the fear that you might not come home," Zoë said. "It's so hard to sit there and wait for the phone to ring. But she'll do it because she loves you, and she trusts that you'll come home safely. If she can help make that even a little easier for you by finding out this man's name, of course she's going to want to do it. She's so much like you in that way."
"What do you mean?" he asked, genuine curiosity sparking in his gaze.
"She's brave as hell, and stubborn. She's lost so much, but she's still fighting. Do you know how much courage it must have took for her to walk into that club to meet you? Or to say yes when you and Jase asked for her help?" Zoë shook her head, a little in awe of the ballerina who had stolen her cousin's heart. "Now she has the chance to make sure she doesn't lose you, too. She didn't have a choice before, or a chance to fight back. Her partner took her entire life away from her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. This time, she has a choice. This time, she can fight."
Tristan stared at her as if he hadn't quite seen it that way before. Chances were that he hadn't. As smart as he was, he could be impossibly dense at times, too. Obliviousness was a failing of the entire male race, in her humble opinion, particularly the alpha males like her cousin and Jason. They couldn't see past their own instincts. Protecting others was ingrained in them, and letting someone important to them put themselves in danger went against their very nature. But Tristan did this because he'd lost his parents. Was it really so hard to imagine that Lillian might need to do this because she'd lost something, too?
"Rachel upset her tonight," she said when Tristan still hadn't said anything long minutes later. He scowled, but she waved him off before he had a chance to get angry about it. "She was talking about you, and Lillian didn't like it."
"What did she say?" A small smile twitched at his lips.
"She told Rachel that there was no way in hell she was going to let her tear you down when she should be thanking her lucky stars that we have someone as amazing as you looking out for all of us."
His grin widened until he looked like a little boy in a candy store, all bliss and sweetness. "She loves me." The awe in his voice was unmistakable.
"She loves you," Zoë agreed, bumping him with her shoulder. "Now you have to let her love you."
His smile slipped a little, concern flitting through his expression. "It's been hard for you, hasn't it?"
"What?" she asked, though she knew full well what he meant.
He arched a brow, telling her with that one move not to bullshit him.
"Yeah," she whispered, giving in. "It has been hard. But I don't regret it, Tristan. I love Jason, and I love you. When you love someone, you support them, even when it isn't easy."
"I want out," he murmured after a moment.
"Maybe, but you aren't out yet," Zoë said, not so sure it would be as easy for him as that. Like she'd told him, his desire to protect others was a part of who he was. Even had his parents survived, he would have ended up here eventually, or somewhere very similar to here. He couldn't walk away from that side of himself. Maybe he could walk away from the secret squirrel stuff—and she really hoped he could because he'd been doing it for far too long—but he'd never be able to walk away completely. So she wasn't counting him out yet.
Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) Page 9
