by Kaylea Cross
“Yesterday afternoon. I followed it. And do you know where it originated from?”
Dread congealed in the pit of his stomach. “Where?”
“The U.S. Attorney’s office in D.C.”
Manny shot out of his chair and began pacing the length of the room, his mind racing. “They might have been forced into talking.”
Montoya made a disparaging sound. “I know you don’t want to believe it. But it’s true. The chatter is that someone close to you is aiding the feds. And it’s not a coincidence that the FBI shut down your accounts connected to Anya.”
Hijo de puta. He stopped at the window, ran a hand over his face, sick inside. “Did you follow them?”
“I waited as long as I could, but they didn’t come out of the building. I found out who they’ve been talking to, though, and left a little parting gift for the lawyers involved.”
“No one saw you?”
“No. I had my guys do it. Feds are all over the building now.”
Annoyance speared through him. Montoya had his crack team with him in the States—mostly comprised of Mexican Special Forces veterans. Planting a car bomb was nothing to them.
But killing federal lawyers working on the case would bring unwanted heat and scrutiny, although Montoya wouldn’t care. He was all about vengeance and maintaining his reputation as a sadistic, ruthless bastard who decimated anyone who got in his way. So far Manny had been able to control him, for the most part. How much longer he would be able to was…probably not that long.
“How are you going to track them now?” he snapped. There was no way Oceane would ever allow her and her mother to be separated. She knew better than that. What had Anya told her? How much did she know? What did she think of him now? It sliced him up inside to think that he might have lost her love. That she might think he was a monster now.
“I’ll find them,” Montoya said, arrogant as always. “Someone else triggered the bomb in the female lawyer’s car. Both she and her boss are still alive.”
A spark of hope lit inside him. “Get one of them, or both.” If Manny couldn’t find his daughter, he’d use the American lawyers to find her for him. A lawyer was a far easier target at this point anyway. “Find out where my daughter is.”
Once he got her back, he would explain everything. He was a gifted businessman. His daughter was gifted with handling finances. He could pull this off, make her see the wisdom in why he’d protected her the way he had. Then she would understand. And then he could finally begin to show her the empire she had been born into.
He forgave her for being afraid. It was his fault for keeping her ignorant for too long.
****
Rowan rode up the elevator to the ICU with Malcolm in complete silence, every cell in her body tingling at his nearness. After tossing and turning for another hour following that knee-melting kiss in his darkened kitchen, she’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep, only to wake to Malcolm’s brisk knock on the door an hour ago.
They’d barely spoken a word to each other on the drive over. Malcolm because he was unwilling to risk crossing that invisible line again, and she because she didn’t want to make things any worse between them. But there was no way she could pretend she didn’t want him, didn’t want to be with him and give them a real shot. She just wasn’t sure how to tell him, or whether he’d turn her down flat.
He’s worth the risk. You know he is.
The ICU was quiet, the nursing staff moving about efficiently, an hour before shift change. One of them recognized her, gave her a little smile before returning to her paperwork.
Rowan headed straight for Kevin’s room. After showing her ID to the police standing guard at the door, she tapped on it softly and cracked it open. No surprise, Nick was there, sound asleep in his chair beside Kevin’s bed, his neck torqued at a weird angle as he rested his head near Kev’s pillow. Rowan’s heart squeezed when her gaze landed on their joined hands.
She set a gentle hand on Nick’s shoulder. He jerked up, his eyes springing open, focusing blearily on her. “Hey,” he mumbled, wincing as he reached back to grab his nape. “What time is it?”
“Little before six,” she whispered before focusing her attention on her brother. “How is he?”
“Good. He woke a couple times through the night and his mind seemed clear. They gave him some more pain meds through his IV about an hour ago, so he’s out.” He dropped his hand and covered a yawn. “Didn’t expect you here today. I thought you were under twenty-four-seven protection for the next while.”
She nodded at Malcolm. “I am.”
Nick twisted around, gave a startled smile. “Oh, hey.”
“Hey,” Malcolm answered with a warm smile, and Rowan felt a twinge in her chest. She knew firsthand that not everyone was accepting of gay people. Malcolm was as alpha as they came, but from the get-go he’d accepted Kev and Nick’s relationship without any hesitation or reservations. She loved that about him. She loved a lot of things about him, and hoped she still had a chance with him. “How you holding up?”
“Honestly?” Nick thought about it for a second. “Better than I thought. I even slept for a few hours.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Rowan rounded the hospital bed and sank into the chair opposite Nick. She met Malcolm’s dark gaze where he was standing sentry at the door, his muscular arms folded across his ripped chest. And in that moment, it hit her. Hard.
He was right. She was a freaking cowardly idiot for ever walking away from him. The hot, pricking shame that washed through her was an unwelcome and foreign sensation. She had to fix things between them somehow. Or at least try. If Malcolm rejected her… She prayed he wouldn’t.
Ripping her attention off him, she turned her gaze on her brother. “He looks pretty bad.” Both his eyes were still swollen shut, the lids shiny because the skin was stretched so thin, and a deep, purplish-magenta. More bruises and cuts scattered across his face, and she could just imagine what his surgical incisions looked like. Thank God he was asleep and not in pain at the moment.
“Yeah. It’s still Kev in there, though, thank God,” Nick said. “Doc’s coming to see him around eight or so. We’ll get a better idea of what he’s looking at in terms of rehab then.”
He was going to have a long road ahead of him. “You want to go grab something to eat while we’re here?”
“I could eat.” He pushed to his feet, stretched with a grimace. “You want anything?”
“No, we’re good.”
Nick reached across the bed to pat her shoulder. “I’m leaving him in good hands.”
The words made Rowan’s throat tighten. When Nick closed the door softly behind him, she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I want whoever did this to suffer.”
“They’ll find the perps,” Malcolm said, still not moving from just inside the door. “They’ve got a short list to work with. Might be quick.”
“Hope so.” She twined her fingers through her brother’s, watching to make sure she didn’t wake him. He didn’t so much as twitch. “It’s still surreal that it happened. And that I was the target. It’s scary as hell.”
“Yeah, it is.”
She looked over at him. A mountain of strength for her to lean on, if he’d let her. “Do you think the threat’s over?”
“Probably. If it’s the cartel, they’ve made their point. But we’re not taking any chances, just in case.” He squared his shoulders as he said the last part, his posture and bearing making it plain that he was more than willing to place himself between her and any further threat. That melted her even more.
Yesterday’s violence terrified her. “If it is the cartel, they were either trying to disrupt the case against Ruiz by getting rid of me, or maybe it had to do with Oceane and her mom.”
“They were trying to make a statement,” Malcolm corrected quietly. “The why of it doesn’t really matter.”
She lowered her gaze to where she gripped her brother’s hand. A day ago sh
e’d been questioning whether or not she wanted to remain a U.S. Attorney long term. Yesterday had solidified it. “I’m scared, but I’ll be damned if I cave and give them what they want. I’m staying on this case until I nail Ruiz to the wall for the rest of his goddamn miserable life, and whoever was responsible for this with him.”
“I understand.”
She turned her head to look at him. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
Of course he did, he was a former SEAL and now a FAST member.
She shoved down the sudden spike in vulnerability and went for it. “But I don’t want to go through this alone.” It was as close as she could come to saying out loud that she needed him.
Malcolm’s gaze sharpened. He held her stare for a long moment, not saying anything as the silence stretched out between them. It was impossible to figure out what was going on in his head.
Rowan glanced away, her stomach knotting as blood rushed to her face. He hadn’t shot her down, but his reaction hadn’t seemed that positive, either.
She was saved from further mortification by the nurse from earlier coming in. The petite woman gave her and Malcolm another gentle smile before checking Kevin’s vitals and adding more medication into his line. Nick returned a few minutes later with a plate of food and a cup of coffee. “It’s like funky-tasting dishwater, but it’s hot and it has caffeine, so I’m going for it.”
Rowan chuckled. “I’d offer to get you the real deal from down the street, but I’m already kind of bending the protection rules here, so…”
“It’s okay.” He plopped down into his seat and talked with her about logistics of what would happen once Kevin was discharged. A few minutes in, Malcolm pulled his phone from his pocket, glanced at the screen and slipped out the door.
The door opened a few minutes later and Malcolm only poked his head in. “We need to go,” he said to her.
Alarmed, she shot to her feet. “Is everything okay?” What had the phone call been about?
He softened his demeanor at once. “Yes, everything’s fine. But we should go now.”
After saying goodbye to Nick and making him promise to call and update her on Kevin, she stepped out into the hall with Malcolm and followed him toward the elevator. “What happened?” she said in a low voice, tension pulling tighter and tighter in her stomach.
“Got a call from my team leader. Apparently they found a cell phone hidden in Oceane’s room this morning. Her mother smuggled in the disassembled parts in the lining of her suitcase, and it was sophisticated enough that the X-ray machine missed it.”
What?
“Turns out she’s been in contact with one of her former bodyguards after she met with you the first time.”
Rowan stopped dead. Arturo? Had to be. Oceane had made it clear how much she trusted him, that the bond was stronger than merely respect for and reliance on the man who kept her safe. It was almost like she saw him as an older brother or something. “So he knew her location this whole time?”
“Not the whole time, and for sure not the WITSEC facility, but he definitely knew she and her mom were at your office.”
Disbelief hit her, followed by a red-hot wave of fury. “Fuck,” she snapped and turned to face Malcolm fully, her heart thudding. It was public knowledge that she and her boss were the main attorneys working on the case. Nieto’s network would have known it as well. “So her bodyguard could have planted the bomb that almost killed my brother.”
“Him or anyone skilled enough to pull it off. They’re questioning her and her mom now.”
“Where?”
“Headquarters.”
Rowan hitched the strap of her purse up higher on her shoulder. She wanted answers. She wanted justice. And she would see that she got it. “I’m going there.”
“We’re both going there,” he answered, and hit the elevator call button on the wall.
Rowan pulled in a calming breath, her mind spinning. If Oceane or Anya had anything to do with the bombing, there was gonna be hell to pay.
Chapter Thirteen
Oceane struggled to stay calm and not allow her anxiety to show. From an early age she’d been taught many things that she had assumed all kids learned, like the need to mask her emotions, never display any kind of fear, because predators sensed it and preyed upon it.
But it turned out not all kids learned those things. And she’d learned them long before she’d discovered that her entire life was a lie and her father was the most dangerous predator of them all.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked the man behind the wheel who was acting as her new bodyguard. DEA Special Agent Lockhart. From her position in the back seat where the doors wouldn’t open from the inside, all she could see was the back of his head, and his military-short dirty blond hair.
Rowan had said he was qualified to guard her, but Oceane didn’t know him. While she hadn’t expected the American authorities to treat her with much kindness, she certainly had expected to be treated with respect and that was definitely lacking. Being treated like a criminal, a pariah, was a shock to her system that made her feel small and helpless. She would have given anything to talk to Arturo, ask for advice. He’d been there for her through hard times before, always kept her safe, even when her father’s enemies had stormed her home.
Did no one here understand that she hadn’t asked for any of this to happen? That she hadn’t even known the reality of who her father was until she’d been forced to run for her life when the bullets had started flying outside her bedroom window? She’d bet none of the people assigned to her case had had their life ripped apart, only to find that everything they thought they knew was a total lie.
That hard truth bubbled like a pool of battery acid in her stomach.
Lockhart had been totally remote, curt and unfriendly since the moment he’d been assigned to her. She’d had bodyguards all her life in addition to Arturo, and they’d all warmed up to her within the first few days. But no matter how hard she tried to get Lockhart to thaw a little or try to engage him in a polite conversation, he wouldn’t budge. Although to be fair, her former bodyguards had all been on her father’s payroll. Lockhart wasn’t.
“In for questioning,” was all he said, not bothering to glance over at her as he answered, and there was a definite edge to his voice.
She didn’t appreciate the attitude, or being kept in the dark. Not only that, the DEA bodyguards had split her and her mother up again.
All because they’d found the damn phone in her room where her mother had haphazardly hidden it. Why the hell had she even taken it out of its hiding place?
Oceane had been so careful to use it sparingly since entering the States—and only to stay in contact with Arturo—then disassemble and hide it in its secret spot. Another thing she’d been taught long ago, along with keeping a packed “go bag” hidden and ready to go at a moment’s notice. For security reasons, because they had a lot of money from the legitimate companies her father ran and Oceane handled the finances for the ones belonging to her and her mother. Security reasons such as when those gunmen had tried to storm the gated home where she and her mother had lived.
So many things her mother had taught her over the years, things she hadn’t thought much of at the time, were so clear to her now. Her whole life, her mother had secretly been preparing her for this in case it became necessary.
But why take out the phone and risk the DEA agents finding it? Her mother must have wanted to contact Arturo, maybe to let him know where they were being kept. It was the only thing Oceane could think of, and a disastrous mistake. Until now the U.S. government had kept its word about protecting them in exchange for information on her father and the cartel.
Now that they thought she and her mother might have been talking to people within the cartel and telling them God only knew what, the deal might be off the table. They could be locked up and charged if they found evidence. Or they might be shipped back to Mexico, to certain death at the hands of her father’s rivals
. Ruiz’s men would love to capture them.
Oceane stared out the tinted back window of the SUV she had no doubt was armor plated, the traffic and landmarks of America’s capital a blur even though she tried to memorize them for later. She knew too well the risks of what she was doing when she had fled to the U.S., but she’d been willing to accept them in order to protect her and her mother. Life as they’d known it had ended that night of the attack, and she couldn’t seem to adjust to this new reality.
Except fleeing to the U.S. had been their only option.
Already she missed her mother. Her home, her work. Dammit, her life, which she had been blissfully living until a short while ago. She wanted things to go back to the way they had been, before she’d had the blindfold so painfully and suddenly ripped from her eyes.
She would gladly have lived in the bliss of ignorance for the rest of her life instead of knowing the things she did now. What was going to happen to her? Her mother?
The ring of a cell phone filled the brittle silence and Lockhart answered. “Yeah, I’m bringing her in right now. We’ll meet you there,” he told whoever he was talking to, then hung up.
“Meet who?” she asked, not really expecting an answer.
“One of your lawyers wants a word with you.”
Surprised that he’d responded at all, much less answered her question, she asked another. “Which one?”
“Rowan Stewart.”
Her anxiety eased slightly. Good. She wanted to talk to Rowan and plead her case against these accusations, explain her side of the story to one of the only people here who seemed to give a damn about her.
Lockhart drove her into the underground of a fortress-like building. As soon as he stopped, stern-faced agents were there to rip the door open and haul her toward the elevator.
“Where’s my mother?” she demanded, digging in her heels. Little good it did her, because the men merely carried her along as though she weighed no more than a doll.
“You’ll see her when we’re done,” the older of the two dragging her said, not slowing his pace.
