He rolled off the bed and reached for the mini fridge. As he twisted the cap off a water bottle, his phone buzzed.
Leaning against the window, he grabbed it from the table and swept his finger across the display to see the text message from Gina.
He read it aloud. “‘I need to see you. I have something to confess.’”
Tapping the phone against his chin, he grimaced. If Gina De Santos thought she could play a New York street kid like him—she had another think coming.
Chapter Six
Gina pulled down the slat of the cheap blind at the window and squinted into the street. Her gun weighed down the purse strapped across her body, and she rested her hand lightly on the outside pocket that concealed it.
Two abduction attempts in one night called for extreme measures, although she couldn’t help thinking if Josh hadn’t come to the rescue that second time in the street, she might have this whole issue solved.
She’d lied to Josh about the driver of the sedan. She’d recognized his voice even though she’d been facedown in the back seat and couldn’t see him. Pablo Guerrero had been one of her father’s top lieutenants in the cartel. A bad cold had kept Guerrero home from the meeting the day her father and Ricky had been hit.
She’d given up his identity readily to the DEA, but that hadn’t impressed the agents. They knew all about Guerrero, and she’d suspected they might have even been working with him.
Guerrero obviously had plans to resurrect the Los Santos cartel with himself as kingpin, and he figured he could start with her and those missing drugs and weapons.
He’d always seemed like a reasonable guy, as far as drug dealers went. Maybe if she could just tell Guerrero she knew nothing, he’d leave her alone.
Of course, that would be a lie, and if she had to confess anything she’d rather do it to the hot navy SEAL who was the good guy in all this than a drug dealer looking to make fat stacks off other people’s misery.
It had been a long time since she’d met a good guy.
Her heart stuttered when the silver compact wheeled in front of the house she’d told Faith she was showing to a prospective buyer. In fact, she was becoming quite the accomplished liar—must come from years of lying to herself.
Josh emerged from the driver’s side, took a quick look up and down the street and strode up the driveway with a purpose that had her rethinking her decision.
He already didn’t trust her. Why would he? The daughter and wife of drug dealers, who’d stayed even after she learned the truth about both. She would never be able to explain it to him. A man like that had control of every aspect of his life.
When he knocked on the front door, she huffed out a breath, misting a spot on the window before reaching for the door handle.
She threw open the door and stepped to the side. “Thanks for coming.”
“How could I refuse to respond to a text like that? A confession?”
“Well, maybe I was being a little dramatic.” She ducked her head.
“Everything about you has been dramatic from the moment I...met you.” He locked the door behind them. “Are you sure it’s okay to meet here?”
“Why not?” She shrugged. “I was planning on showing this dump today anyway, but the people looking canceled out on me. My coworker was none the wiser.”
He peeked through the blinds just as she had done a few minutes earlier. “You weren’t followed, were you?”
“I paid attention. Believe me, after having the CIA, the FBI and the DEA breathing down my neck for the past year, I recognize a tail when I see one.” She patted her purse. “And I’m packing heat.”
He held up his hands. “You sure you know how to use that thing?”
“Didn’t I prove it to you the last time we were alone in a house together?” Tipping her head to one side, she dropped her lids, studying him out of half-closed eyes. “Besides, don’t you think I’m some kind of drug moll?”
Josh tilted his head back and laughed at the seventies’ popcorn ceiling. “What the hell is a drug moll?”
A smile tugged at her lips. That dry laugh seemed more natural than the grins and the winks, and transformed Josh’s too-serious, tense face, lighting it up and making him look almost boyish.
“You know, like the women who hang around gangsters, but in this case, drug dealers.”
His laugh evaporated as suddenly as it had burst forth and reminded her that he really didn’t trust her at all.
She hoped to remedy that. She wanted Josh Elliott to trust her, to like her.
“Anyway, what I meant to imply is that there’s a good chance someone like me with a father like I had is going to know her way around a weapon—and I do.”
“I believe you.” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “What is it you want to confess?”
She waved her hand toward the two stools at the kitchen peninsula, the only pieces of furniture left in the house. “Can we sit?”
Josh straddled the stool from behind and crossed his arms over his leather jacket. “Okay.”
Perching on the stool across from him, she swept her tongue across her bottom lip. “I haven’t been completely honest with you...or my father’s associates.”
Josh’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and his nostrils flared. “Go on.”
“I don’t know anything about drugs or weapons, but I do know something about offshore accounts.” She held her breath.
Josh blinked. “Offshore accounts?”
“Are you familiar with Isla Perdida?” She waved a hand in the air. “Of course you are.”
“The Caribbean island that doubles as a playground for the rich and famous and a hiding place for their money.” He uncrossed his arms and wedged his hands on his knees. “Does your father have an account there?”
“He does.”
“You were able to keep that from the DEA?”
“I was.”
He whistled through his teeth and settled back, giving her some breathing room. “You’re good.”
“It’s not for me.” She bolted up straight, hooking her feet around the legs of the stool so she wouldn’t fall into his lap...again. “I don’t use any of that money.”
“Who does?”
He narrowed his eyes, and she willed the heat creeping up from her chest to stay out of her face. Nothing like looking guilty when she wasn’t—not really.
“That’s how my father has been giving money to my mother for years. She has an accountant down there who facilitates everything.”
Josh’s eyelids drooped even more and she could almost believe he was asleep except for the way the muscles in his face twitched and shifted, as if his thoughts were running riot across his countenance.
“So, the ritzy condo in the ritzy building in the ritzy area...”
“Drug money.”
“You’re living there, living off that money.”
“Not completely.” She sucked in her lower lip and met Josh’s hard stare. Who said confession was good for the soul? “When the US government seized all my assets—because Ricky’s assets were mine and mine were his—I had no money, no property, nothing. I needed a place to stay and Mom offered. That’s why I snatched at the first halfway decent job with career potential that popped up. I don’t like selling real estate, but one of Mom’s connections got me in and I need to make money so I can divorce myself from my mother and her blood money.”
Josh cocked his head to one side, as if examining a rare bird.
“And why do you think this account in Isla Perdida is important? It sounds like it’s money your father already made. Do you think it’s enough to buy the weapons he planned to trade to the terrorists for their drugs?”
“Oh, no. I’m pretty sure that deal had already gone down before the CIA too
k him out. That’s why the CIA took him out.”
Josh shifted on his stool and raked a hand through his short hair. “That’s what we figured, also.”
“Then why did the CIA kill my father before they knew where he’d stashed the drugs from the terrorists and the weapons he intended to pass off to them in exchange?”
“We... They thought they did know. The CIA managed to get to your father’s driver, Chico Fernandez and wire him up. Chico recorded a conversation between your father and...your husband in the car. He mentioned a location then, and the CIA thought that’s where he’d stashed everything.”
Tapping one fingernail on the counter, Gina said, “Chico disappeared a few weeks before my father was killed.”
“We don’t know anything about that. He disappeared off our radar, too.”
“D-do you think Chico’s dead?”
“Maybe. Maybe your father discovered the wire, or Chico decided to hightail it out of your father’s employ before he did discover it.”
She rubbed the goose bumps from her arms. Her father’s savagery never failed to stun her—even though she knew its real depths more than anyone.
Josh’s eyes flickered at the gesture. “If you already know the money for the deal is not in the offshore account, why do you think it’s so important to bring it up now after keeping it a secret all this time?”
“Because my father has more than just an account there. He also keeps a safe-deposit box at the Banco de Perdida on the island.”
“Big enough for a stash of weapons?” His mouth twitched.
“Of course not.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face impatiently. “But Isla Perdida was my father’s safe place, just as it is for a lot of criminals. If there was something he wanted to protect, some information he wanted to keep hidden, he’d store it there.”
“Do you think he was planning to double-cross the terrorists he was dealing with?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he could feel the trap closing around him and took steps to avoid it. What I do know—” she leaned forward, almost touching her nose to his “—is that he went to Isla Perdida one week before the raid on his compound.”
Josh shook his head. “No, he didn’t. The CIA was watching his every move. He was in Bogotá that week.”
Gina snorted. “That was Uncle Felipe.”
“What?”
She pressed her lips into a neat smile. She got a certain satisfaction from his reaction—Mr. Know-It-All.
“Uncle Felipe, my father’s brother, was his body double. My father used Felipe to throw off his enemies.” She held up two fingers, side by side. “They were like this, only seventeen months apart, looked like twins.”
“Felipe De Santos is in a Colombian jail right now, but he never said one word about the role he played in your father’s organization.”
“Why would he? My father had trained him long ago, even when they were children, to keep his mouth shut. He was a good soldier all those years.”
“Except he wasn’t at the house when the deal went down. Why?”
“My father never trusted him with important business.” She tapped her head with one finger. “Always thought he was slow. He wasn’t as clever as my father, but he wasn’t slow. I guess his perceived dim-wittedness saved his life in the end.”
“If I’m to believe you, your father sent Felipe to Bogotá to impersonate him while he staged a getaway to Isla Perdida one week before the raid.”
“Yep, and I highly advise you to believe me. I have proof that he went.”
“What proof?”
“A communication between him and his pilot. You don’t think he hopped on a commercial jet, do you?”
“How did he manage to take a private jet out of the country?”
“How did Hector De Santos manage to do anything? Greased palms and payoffs.” She clenched her jaw. “And threats.”
“And you believe he went to Isla Perdida to protect information?”
“Yes. If the FBI, CIA and DEA can’t find the drugs and weapons and if my father’s own associates can’t find them, he must’ve hidden them very, very well.”
“I suppose if you give us the information about the account, the ops group I’m working with can go in and have a look.”
“Uh-uh.”
His brows shot up. “What?”
“I’m not giving them any information about that account, and I’ll deny everything you tell them.”
“Wait. I thought that’s why you told me about the account.”
“I told you about the account because I believe you might be able to find the information you’re looking for, but that money belongs to my mother. I’m not allowing you or anyone else to take that away from her.”
He spread his hands. “Then what are you proposing?”
“I’m proposing we do it my way.”
“Which is?”
“We’ll go down to Isla Perdida together.”
Chapter Seven
The following day, Josh emptied the contents of his small bag into his big suitcase and dropped the empty bag on the bed. He’d reported to Ariel that he and Gina were taking a trip, but didn’t mention the location.
When the truth came out that their jaunt had taken them to Isla Perdida, would it be enough to get him yanked off this assignment? His commanding officer in the navy had assured him nothing that happened on this assignment would impact his career as a navy SEAL—unless he died. That would impact it plenty.
Gina had been working all day while he finalized details of their trip tomorrow, and she’d be joining him for dinner in less than thirty minutes. Maybe they could have a real date tonight, free of suspicions and half-truths.
The half-truths would have to start back up tomorrow. They’d be traveling to Isla Perdida under assumed names, but Gina would have her ID on the island. She’d made another confession to him that she’d actually accompanied her father to Isla Perdida once, and he’d given her everything she needed to access his safe-deposit box.
Josh rolled up a T-shirt and tossed it into the bag. Why would her father have done that if she hadn’t given him some indication she was willing to learn Los Santos’s operations and had every intention of continuing her father’s evil legacy? Maybe she’d been playing both sides. Maybe she was playing both sides now.
He packed a few more items and as he hauled the bag from the bed, a knock sounded at the door of his hotel room. He strode to the door and put his eye to the peephole. He opened the door for Gina and swallowed as he took in her red dress that hit just above her knee and hugged her in all the right places.
Maybe she wanted to have a real date, too.
“Are you early, or did I lose track of time?”
“I’m five minutes early.” She took a turn around the room and kicked his bag with the toe of her high-heeled shoe, red to match her dress. “Are you all packed?”
“Pretty much. Are you?”
“Threw some things in a carry-on when I got home from work.”
“How’d work go?” Josh glanced down at his jeans, rethinking his clothing choices for the evening.
“Not great.” She tossed a wave of dark hair over her shoulder. “Faith wasn’t thrilled that I was taking off for a few days. I think I’m going to lose this job.”
He knew the feeling.
He slid back the closet door and yanked a pair of black slacks from a hanger. “Doesn’t sound as if you much like it anyway.”
“I don’t, but what am I going to do, be a spy for the CIA?” She snorted.
“I’m going to change.” He held up the slacks, pretending he was going to wear them all along. He slipped into the bathroom and pulled off the jeans. Good thing he hadn’t worn the slacks yet and they were still pressed.
When
he walked back into the room, his personal cell phone was ringing.
Gina handed it to him. “Just started.”
As he took it from her, he glanced at the display and his pulse jumped. He tapped the phone to answer it. “Elliott.”
“Mr. Elliott, it’s Detective Potts. In your email you indicated that you were in Miami. Well, I had to come out here for a case, and I thought I could kill two birds with one stone. I’m still here if you’re free tonight.”
Josh glanced at Gina, her eyes wide and questioning. “It’s not the best time right now, Detective.”
“You’ve waited over twelve years for this information and now’s not the right time?”
“You said you found some uninvestigated information.”
“I must’ve sounded too casual, Mr. Elliott, because it’s more than that.”
“More?” Josh’s mouth felt dry and he couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe.
“Mr. Elliott, I have a good idea who murdered your mother.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Do you want me to lay it out for you tonight? Or I’ll be here most of tomorrow. I think I can swing a breakfast meeting.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow and going out to dinner tonight. I can meet you...after dinner.”
“Give me the name of the restaurant, and I’ll join you for coffee. One thing you can say for Miami, the restaurants stay open as late as the ones in New York.”
Josh’s gaze darted toward Gina, who was still watching him, her head tilted to one side. He hadn’t told Gina anything about his family, but then why would he? He knew all about her family because it was part of his job. He’d never told anyone the full story behind his mother’s death—not even his navy SEAL team members.
He inhaled a deep breath and gave Detective Potts the name of the Cuban restaurant where he and Gina would be dining and told him to be there around ten o’clock.
As soon as he ended the call, Gina asked, “What was that about? Not our current situation?”
“Something personal. I’m sorry. I know the timing couldn’t be worse. I don’t want to ruin our dinner, but this meeting has to happen tonight.”
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