by Kaylea Cross
He was right. No matter what the judge decided with the sentence, it was cause for celebration. In a way, it marked her freedom for the first time in a year. And there was no one she would rather share that moment with than Brock. “Okay.”
“Then it’s a date. Tori,” he added with a sexy little smile that made her heart flip-flop. She liked the way the name sounded coming from him.
An answering smile tugged at her lips, a shiver of anticipation working up her spine as warmth spread through her. She couldn’t wait to be alone with him again, see where the time would take them.
A knock at the door signaled the marshal had arrived and Victoria hid her disappointment.
Brock checked the peephole, unlocked the door and looked at her before opening it. “See you soon.”
Not soon enough. “I’m looking forward to it.” To being alone with him again, but even more, knowing the animal who took her family and dignity away would finally face justice.
Maybe then she could start sleeping at night.
Chapter Four
“Ruiz.”
Carlos sat up stiffly on his bunk and eyed the tray the guard shoved through the slot of his cell in disgust. But it was either eat the shit they called food, or starve.
And…there might be something even more important to be gained from the sorry excuse of a meal than simple nourishment.
Bracing a hand on the edge of the bunk he pushed to his feet, covering a wince as pain forked through his right leg. After lying down for the past few hours it was more stiff than usual. The bastards wouldn’t let him use his cane, so he clamped his jaw tight and took the few steps over to the cell door, refusing to show how much it hurt.
They kept him in solitary confinement. He’d always liked time to himself, but the feeling of being trapped got to him more and more each day. They wouldn’t allow him contact with the regular guards or other inmates, too afraid that he would be able to continue running his business from inside the walls of the prison.
They didn’t realize he’d already found a way.
When Carlos retrieved the Styrofoam tray the guard slammed the small slot shut, whistling some cheery tune as he walked away. The tray contained a lump of some sort of meat covered in what had to be packaged gravy, an ice-cream scoop full of instant mashed potatoes, and those disgusting mixed peas and square carrot bits that came out of a bag in the freezer section of the grocery store.
He painfully shuffled back to his bunk, thinking of the meals he used to eat. Before he’d been locked in this dump, he’d had it all. A huge private estate, a private chef, and his own menagerie of animals in his own private zoo. Now here he was, locked away twenty-three hours every day, eating slop he wouldn’t feed to his pet pot-bellied pigs.
The hard mattress barely gave when he sat on it and began forcing the food down his throat. The hot ball of anger burned hotter with each bite. Tomorrow was going to be bad. There was no avoiding it.
His lawyer had begged him months ago to take the plea deal offered to him by the U.S. Attorney’s office. He’d refused initially because it was the last fuck you available to him. They had enough evidence to keep him in here the rest of his life anyway. Why not waste their time and force them to prepare for trial?
He’d waited until the last possible moment before the trial began to accept the deal. And only because he faced the death penalty if they went to trial and the jury found him guilty.
The burn in his stomach intensified, turned into a hot coal scorching beneath his ribs. He’d sat in that courtroom day after day as the evidence was brought forth. FBI and DEA agents had testified. Forensics and financial experts. The victim impact statements were what would sway the judge to hand down a severe sentence. Widows and teenage children of the DEA agents killed by his men in that shootout two years ago.
He set down his tray, stretched his right leg out and rubbed at the stiff muscles, the long-healed bullet wounds still causing him pain every day of his life. All because of a female investigative reporter out on a crusade to expose him and the rest of the Veneno cartel.
He suffered daily, but he’d made sure she suffered more. He’d taken away her family. Given her to his men for a few weeks before she was rescued. And while she’d been up there on the witness stand delivering her victim impact statement, looking down at him with that righteous, arrogant expression, she’d talked about what she’d endured, and the things she’d learned during her captivity.
Carlos had been shocked at the things his men had said in front of her. Sensitive, important things about players within the cartel, ongoing and upcoming operations they never should have talked about in front of an outsider, even if they thought she was drugged or unconscious. Of course, all of them had expected her to be shipped off to Asia with the rest of the women they’d captured, where she wouldn’t be a threat anymore because she wouldn’t survive long.
He’d met Victoria Gomez in person only once, while she was his prisoner. She’d surprised him with her resolve to fight, spitting in his face even while chained to the floor in a shed out back of his property on the Gulf Coast.
Now he realized he’d made a serious mistake in walking away that night, rather than caving her skull in with his cane as he’d wanted to. He should have killed her when he’d had the chance, but he’d been so focused on making her suffer as much as possible.
He pushed his fork through his dinner, didn’t detect what he was hoping for. Scooping up a bite of the dubious-looking meat, he thought about the day he’d seen her in the courtroom a month ago. He’d met her hate-filled gaze from across that courtroom and smiled in satisfaction. He may never be a free man again. But what he’d done to her in retaliation for exposing and nearly getting him killed would haunt her the rest of her days.
And as to the man who’d turned him over to the Americans…
Carlos had taken steps to hand over the reins of his old organization. His possible successor had scores of his own to settle. He would carry on the war to end El Escorpion—someone Carlos had been loyal to and considered a friend—and take control of the Veneno cartel. It was the only revenge Carlos could get now.
His back teeth hit something hard and he immediately stopped chewing, excitement flashing through him.
Yes.
He pulled the small white capsule from between his lips, his heart beating faster. He didn’t get news as often these days as he had in the past. Had wondered if maybe the prison officials had become suspicious of his source within the kitchen.
Opening the gel capsule with his teeth, he pulled out the tiny piece of paper and unrolled it. Eagerly scanned the handwritten words.
I accept.
Carlos closed his eyes a moment in thankfulness, then rolled the paper back up, slipped it back into the capsule, and swallowed it with a mouthful of bland, cold mashed potatoes. As he ate the rest of his meal he glanced around his barren cell, the heaviness of his burden now eased. He would likely spend the rest of his days in here or somewhere similar, die an old man between prison walls without ever tasting freedom again.
But the Venenos would fall. He had just received confirmation of that.
His only regret was that he wouldn’t be there to see it happen in person.
****
Seated in the rear of the armored SUV, Victoria waited in the underground parking garage with her U.S. Marshal security detail, taking slow, deep breaths to manage the anxiety that churned in the pit of her stomach.
She’d done everything she could to help investigators and her legal team to nail Carlos Ruiz to the wall. He’d taken a plea deal to receive a reduced sentence and avoid trial, triggering the sentencing process instead. It had taken her weeks to compose her victim impact statement to read to the judge. To get it just right, and practice it so that she could get through it aloud without her voice cracking.
She was a former investigative journalist and a published author. Words were her best weapon. And she’d used them with the lethal force of the bullets that had
struck her family.
Victoria had memorized every word. But on the stand with the monster responsible for turning her life into a waking nightmare seated mere feet away, her brain had gone from fight to flight mode in an instant. So she had ended up reading it instead. Her recounting of the massacre. The things Ruiz’s men had done to her. The scars they’d left on her body. In as much detail with as much emotion as she could.
Every word had ripped her apart all over again. Every word had brought back that pain and crawling humiliation because she’d said them to a courtroom of total strangers. And every word had hopefully put another nail in Ruiz’s coffin.
After she had finished giving her statement, she’d looked up. Intending to let him see she was undefeated and unafraid after all he’d put her through.
The bastard had been smiling. Fucking smiling. Proud of what he’d done. Smugly enjoying her pain and ongoing torment.
For some reason that smile was the thing that haunted her most now.
She blew out an unsteady breath and tapped her fingers, waiting impatiently for the marshals to take her upstairs to the courtroom. After delivering her statement and seeing Ruiz’s reaction, she had decided not to come today. Then she’d thought of her family, the justice they deserved, and she decided she would be nothing but a coward if she didn’t attend the sentencing.
A marshal came from the elevators and knocked once on her window, then opened the door. “We’re clear,” he said, and she followed his partner to the elevator. Both men were dressed in khakis and polo shirts with casual jackets that hid their holsters.
As expected, the courtroom was crowded. She went straight to the back row, purposely kept her gaze lowered as she slid into the last bench set against the wall.
Only when she had her hands clasped tight in her lap and her control wrapped firmly around her did she raise her eyes to the front of the courtroom. Ruiz was seated at the left-hand table in his orange prison jumpsuit with his lawyer and didn’t turn around. It was so much easier to stare at the back of his head than have to look into those dark, evil eyes that gleamed with triumph when he looked at her.
She struggled to force the image away, keep her heart rate steady.
“Is this seat taken?”
She snapped her head around, all her anxiety vanishing like a puff of smoke under the surprise of seeing Brock standing there. He wore jeans that hugged his solid thighs and a black button down that hugged his chest and shoulders, a knowing smile on his lips.
Her own lips curved in response. “No. Please, sit.” She scooted over to make room for him, welcoming the distraction of his steady, magnetic presence as he lowered his tall frame to sit next to her. Breathing in his clean, woodsy scent, she felt calmer all of a sudden. More in control.
Brock folded his arms, his shoulder brushing hers. That slight contact grounded her even more. “Wasn’t sure if you were going to come,” he murmured without looking at her.
“Neither was I.” She glanced at his profile. Strong, classic lines, a slight bump on the bridge of his nose. Even here, his posture and bearing radiated authority. “What are you doing here?” He was FAST Bravo’s team leader. Their schedule kept them busy all the time, and they rarely got days off. He must have requested special permission to take the time off today.
He turned his head to meet her gaze, and her heart hitched at the look in those steel gray eyes. “I wanted to be here.”
For her. He didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. His actions spoke a thousand times louder than words ever could have.
He’d met her when she was at her worst, and stayed to stand guard next to her hospital bed that first night. Just so she would feel safe. Now he was here, still lending his support, and she knew him well enough to know that it wasn’t because of their arrangement. It meant the world to her.
She broke eye contact and looked down at her clasped hands, blinking at the sting of tears. Damn, she’d been so certain she could keep control of her emotions, but him being here to support her hit the tender spots under the thick armor she’d built around her heart.
“All rise,” the bailiff announced from up front.
Victoria rose along with everyone else in the courtroom, her heart thudding and her palms turning clammy. She was thankful for Brock being beside her as the judge came out of her chambers and took her seat behind the judge’s bench.
“Please be seated,” the fifty-ish judge said.
Victoria sat, and the rest of the proceedings passed in a blur. Ruiz had rolled the dice and taken the plea bargain. Now he was about to learn his fate for the murder of the DEA agents he’d been involved in a shootout with. For the murder of her entire family. For the aggravated sexual assault she’d endured during her captivity.
Ruiz hadn’t raped her, but his men had—on his orders. And he’d planned to rape her, had arranged for her to be transported to a hotel in New Orleans for a day or two before he shipped her off to Asia. Except she’d foiled that plan by escaping.
There were other charges too. Human and drug trafficking. Money laundering. Tax evasion.
The judge spoke again. “Having carefully reviewed all of the evidence in this case, I am ready to deliver a sentence on the defendant.”
Victoria held her breath, registered the warmth of Brock’s hand as he curled his fingers around her cold ones, and squeezed.
“Accordingly, it is the judgment of this court that Carlos Ruiz serve three consecutive life sentences in a federal penitentiary.” She removed her glasses and faced Ruiz, holding up a document for him to see, her expression as steely as her eyes. “Mr. Ruiz, for the crimes you have committed, it is my pleasure and privilege to effectively sign your death sentence today. The only way you will ever leave prison is in a body bag.”
At those powerfully spoken words, the courtroom erupted into cheers and applause. Victoria didn’t join in, a chaotic mix of conflicting emotions roiling inside her.
Instead she rose, caught Brock’s look of surprise before he jumped up with her, and followed him out of the courtroom without looking back. It was over. She didn’t want to look at Ruiz ever again.
A sense of numbness crept over her as she hurried to the elevators with the marshals flanking her. Ruiz would die in jail. She’d thought the news would make her feel relieved, even happy. It hadn’t. Nothing ever could. Even if Ruiz had been sentenced to death by firing squad, it wouldn’t erase the grief and pain and loss.
Brock stood close to her as he accompanied them down to the parking garage. She was grateful for the quick escape, and that she would be spared the cameras and crowds assembled outside the courthouse. She just wished she could have had his arm around her.
She felt…disoriented. Maybe even a little numb.
For so long her sole focus had been making sure Ruiz paid for what he’d done. Now that it was done, that chapter of her life was closed forever. She couldn’t talk about what had happened to her and her family from now on. And soon she had to become someone else and start a new life elsewhere.
When one of the marshals opened the back door of the SUV for her, she stopped and faced Brock. If they had been alone she would have wrapped her arms around him and laid her cheek on his chest. “Thank you for being here today.”
He nodded. “You’re welcome. Now move over.”
Surprised, she blinked at him.
“Come on, scoot over and let’s get the hell out of here. You’re free now. Never have to see this place again.”
Free. But lost, because the thing that had been motivating her for so long was gone now.
She slid across the seat while Brock jumped into the back with her and shut the door. “What are you doing?” she asked him. This was way outside of normal protocol, so he must have cleared it with her security team first.
“We’re going to my place.”
She raised her eyebrows. “We are?”
“You okay with that?” the marshal putting his seatbelt on in the front asked.
She looke
d at Brock. She’d thought she would want to be alone and process everything for a while, but she didn’t want to be by herself right now. She wanted to be with him. Needed to. “Yes.”
Brock reached across the seat and curled his fingers around her right hand. “Good. Got a surprise for you.”
Were they going to be alone? If so…
Got a surprise for you too, Agent Hamilton.
Chapter Five
What was he up to?
Victoria met Brock’s gaze as he paused by the door. Excitement gleamed in his eyes. “You ready?”
“I think so.” A marshal stood behind her as Brock opened the door. But rather than go in ahead of her to check the place, the marshal hung back, against normal protocol. Either they were already relaxing protocol because she was no longer a key witness, or Brock had cooked this whole thing up with them ahead of time.
Taking two steps inside, she stopped, her eyes going wide. Bunches of brightly colored balloons dotted the kitchen, along with a big banner that read Congratulations! hanging from the ceiling. A large bouquet of vividly colored flowers sat on the kitchen table, along with platters of food and what looked like a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket.
“Oh my God, what did you—” She broke off when Oceane came out from behind the wall in the living room with Gabe Lockhart, one of Brock’s teammates.
“Surprise!” Oceane said in her Spanish accent. She wore a bright smile on her pretty face, her long, chocolate-brown curls down around her shoulders.
Victoria grinned and went over to hug her friend. “I can’t believe it. What are you doing here?” Like her, Oceane was an important asset in the Veneno case and rarely left the sanctuary of the WITSEC Safesite and Orientation Center, for her own protection. Their security details must have cooked this up with Brock.
“I wanted to come and celebrate with you.” Oceane’s blue-gray eyes slid to Brock, and she smiled. “He made it all happen.”
Victoria glanced at Brock, her heart squeezing. She couldn’t believe he would go to all this trouble for her. Only her family had ever done something like this before. The bittersweet reminder set off a twinge of grief inside her. “Thank you.”
