by Jane Henry
He met her angry brown eyes with his own. “Tess sees you that way,” he growled. “Elena does, Alice does. And I do, too.”
But she was shaking her head even before he finished speaking. “I know, but that’s different! Diana’s older. She’s like… she’s like…”
“Like the mom you wished you had?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Maybe, yeah.” And then, a second later, more loudly, “Yeah, exactly like that! My own mom did nothing but tell me what a failure I was, and how I’d never amount to anything. Diana wants to give me opportunities, to help me share my ideas on a broader platform so I can help more people! What’s so wrong with that? Why can’t you be happy for me?”
Diego shook his head. Despite the hero-worship in Nora’s voice when she talked about Diana, Diego hadn’t realized just how far the woman’s power over Nora extended. Nora’s heart was going to be shattered when she learned the truth. It made his anger towards Diana kick up a notch, even as his sympathy for his girl swelled.
“Ah, mamita. There’s nothing wrong with wanting someone to be your mentor or your champion, but you’re letting it blind you! You don’t know anything about this woman’s background. You can’t be sure of her true motives. You have no idea what she’s done…”
“Like you?” Nora’s eyes were blazing with accusation. “I don’t know anything about what you’ve done either, Diego, but I’m supposed to trust you, right? How many people who’ve trusted you have wished they had been more cautious?”
Pain lanced through his chest. In a flash, he swung his legs off the bed and faced her. “I have never lied to you, Nora. There are things I don’t tell you because I don’t want to upset you, and I don’t want you to worry. And, yeah, there are things I don’t tell you because I’m fucking ashamed of them. I have never claimed to have lived a blameless life. Christ. But when I tell you something? When I tell you that I believe in you, that you are incredibly intelligent, that I am in awe of the way you connect with people and the selfless way you care for them? You’d better believe that I mean every fucking word.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she looked smaller and more fragile than Diego had ever seen her. He held out his arms to her.
She looked at him, at his arms, longingly, but shook her head. “Right here and right now, Daddy,” she whispered. “You tell me I can trust you, that you’ve never lied to me, so right here and now tell me… What do you have against Diana?”
Fuck. He had not wanted it to come to this tonight. She’d never believe him, that much was clear from her tirade. And how could he protect her if she didn’t? He studied her for a moment—her raised chin, her determined eyes. His woman, his babygirl. His Nora.
Diego pushed his hair back from his face with both hands and began. “We’ve been trying to apprehend the leader of a sex trafficking ring, a man… or rather, a person… known only as El Jefe.”
“The Boss?” Nora translated.
“Exactly.” Nora took a seat on the edge of the bed, while Diego began to pace. “This person is careful to never show their face on camera. All interaction is done via text and calls from burner cell phones, and El Jefe always uses a voice changer. Nobody knows what El Jefe looks like or what they sound like. Physically, we’ve got nothing.”
He glanced at Nora who was watching him attentively. “We’ve worked extensively with law enforcement—both local and national—to come up with a profile of this person. They’re ruthless, narcissistic, and accustomed to being in charge,” he ticked the items off on his fingers. “And this person has business interests—likely legitimate interests—in Boston and Miami, since those are El Jefe’s two power bases.”
He saw comprehension begin to dawn in Nora’s eyes. “And you think…”
“I have spoken to El Jefe several times,” he interrupted. “I don’t know the exact tone of their voice, thanks to the voice changer, but there are some things that can’t be hidden—cadence, speech patterns, vocabulary. We know that El Jefe is a fluent Spanish speaker who uses specific phrases often. I have personally heard Diana Consuelos use the same cadence, the same phrases. She’s a Spanish speaker. And both El Jefe and Diana have an assistant named Miguel.”
He watched her carefully, saw her shaking her head in disbelief, and plowed on. “I asked Slay to investigate Diana, and he’s having Heidi and Paul audit her financials. It’s not enough for a warrant. It’s all circumstantial evidence. But my gut instincts tell me that there’s something there. And my instincts have saved my life too many times for me to ignore them now.”
Nora swallowed hugged herself more tightly. “Is that it?”
Diego moved to sit next to her on the bed. “Yeah, baby. That’s it. I have no proof that she’s involved. But I don’t want you to have anything to do with her until I can prove to my satisfaction that she’s not.”
Slowly, carefully, Nora nodded again, and when her eyes lifted to his, they were filled with tears. “Daddy… I have no idea what to believe here. If you knew Diana, you’d know how impossible that all is.”
He sucked in a breath. She hadn’t denied it outright. She’d called him daddy. Diego reached down and cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. “It comes down to this, Nora… Do you trust me to keep you safe?”
She bit her lip, hesitating. “Yes,” she whispered. “I trust you, Daddy.”
“All right, then,” he told her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her firmly against him. “That’s where we start.”
He tucked them both back into bed, cuddling Nora against his chest. She clung to him more tightly than before. It was a knife to his gut knowing that she was hurting because of the information he’d been forced to share, and that he couldn’t take that pain away.
He smoothed his hand up and down her back, and as he felt her slowly relax into sleep, he whispered, “You think Diana will give you a chance to change the world. But I’m telling you, honey, you’re already doing it. You changed Camila’s life. You’ve changed mine.”
Diego had just watched the blackness outside the bedroom window fade to the murky, gray beginnings of dawn when his phone finally rang. He’d put it on silent hours before, just after Nora had fallen asleep, and had instead kept vigil, waiting for the device in his hand to light up with a call or a text from Slay, an update on the trap they’d constructed to apprehend Tomás.
Now the call had come, but from a number he didn’t recognize. His heartbeat kicked up. He eased Nora onto her back and slid out of the bed, grabbing his t-shirt and jeans from the chair where he’d thrown them the night before and slipping out into the hallway before answering the call.
“Talk to me,” he demanded, striding down to the living room. However, the voice that greeted him wasn’t Slay’s deep timbre, but a high, robotic one.
“Have you been waiting for my call, Padre?”
El Jefe was calling him? Jesus. Diego sank onto the sofa, swallowing hard. “Was I supposed to be, Jefe?”
El Jefe laughed. “You’re the boss of my Boston operation, are you not? The man I tasked with making sure that a certain, er, misplaced shipment was handled appropriately?”
Diego’s hand clenched into a fist against his knee and his grip on the phone tightened. “Of course.”
“Then I can only assume you authorized the operation last night where Tomás Gutierrez shot a high-powered sniper rifle through the window of a supposed safe house in Wilmington? The operation where Tomás missed his intended target, if she was ever there to begin with, and was apprehended by the authorities?”
Oh God. El Jefe’s people had learned the outcome of the plan to nab Tomás before Diego himself did! His heart nearly beat out of his chest. Jefe was always going to learn about this eventually, he reminded himself. Later today, when Tomás was indicted. This is just faster than you expected. Play it cool.
“No. I didn’t authorize any operation last night,” Diego said roughly. “My contact at Centered provided me with the address, assured me it was acc
urate. I told Tomás that I planned to hit the target there tonight. Myself.”
“Ah, so your man went rogue.” The voice was smug.
“Tomás is single-minded and hot-tempered,” Diego hedged. “He probably thought he was doing the crew a favor. If and when he’s released on bail, I’ll make sure he’s properly punished.” He’ll be punished by a court of law, he reminded himself with some satisfaction. Not by my hand. The plan had been for Slay’s guys to catch Tomás in the act, so they would have enough evidence to make sure the man was denied bail, and Slay had promised to pass a message to his friend in the police department to make sure Tomás was put into protective custody immediately.
Which reminded him… where the hell was Slay? Why hadn’t Slay called with this update himself?
“No need to worry about that,” El Jefe said dismissively. “I’ve resolved that situation. But the matter of the girl remains. You have one more day, Padre.”
Diego blinked. Resolved? His gut clenched as he forced himself to ask. “Resolved, Jefe? How so?”
A sigh, shrill and reedy. “In the usual way, Padre. The permanent way. I called in a favor and made sure he never made it out of his holding cell. Once a man goes rogue, it’s only a matter of time before he turns on his crew, you know. And the last thing we need is two people running around knowing your crimes and your description. Isn’t that right?”
No. He wanted to scream it aloud, to throw the phone against the fireplace and watch it shatter, obliterating El Jefe’s words and making them untrue. Tomás dead? Murdered? He couldn’t fit the words together, couldn’t make sense of them. He’d wanted to save Tomás, but instead Diego’s plan had condemned him.
Nora’s words rang in his head. How many people who trusted you wished they’d been more cautious?
“Padre, I’m very busy.” The tinny voice sounded bored… fucking bored, like the subject of Tomás’s death was just one tiny blip on El Jefe’s daily agenda. And though Tomás hadn’t been a good man by anyone’s definition, Diego mentally added him to the roster of people for whom he would seek retribution against El Jefe. I will find you. I will make you bleed, he vowed.
“Sorry, Jefe,” Diego spat. “I was… surprised.”
“Hmm. The way I see it, I rid you of a challenge to your authority. That means you owe me a favor.”
The oily hatred that had been roiling in his stomach spread out each of his limbs like cold fire and he nearly choked as he replied, “That’s one way to look at it.”
El Jefe laughed, high and clear, and he remembered Diana’s laugh from the other day. You sick bitch.
“You do amuse me, Padre! I suppose that’s why I’ve kept you around as long as I have. But my amusement has reached its limit.”
Diego sucked in a breath, pushing back the bile that threatened to rise to his throat, and proceeded with the plan he and Slay had laid out. “I’ll need more time. If the police identified Tomás, they’ll know his associates. When the girl is killed, the first people they’ll look for are…”
“One. Day. This is not flexible, not negotiable.”
“But, Jefe…”
“Take care of this, Padre. Clean up your mess by tomorrow night. Or I promise you,” the voice threatened. “I will clean it up for you.”
Chapter 8
Nora studied herself in Diego’s bathroom mirror, frowning. She clicked open her cosmetics bag and removed her concealer, twisted it open, then dabbed little dots under her eyes to mask the dark circles. She smoothed the make-up over with the pad of her middle finger, then applied a light layer of foundation and a touch of powder before running a mascara brush through her lashes. She forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, so she could see if her handiwork helped. She looked pretty enough, she guessed, as she’d dolled herself up for the fundraiser. Since it was outside, she’d donned simple jeans and a white top, but done up her makeup and jewelry. But no, even the bottled beauty could not hide her fatigue and sadness.
More than a day after Diego's midnight revelations, things still weren't right between them. Nora had almost returned home the night before, but Diego's warnings about Diana had been worrying enough to keep Nora in his bed. In her head she told herself that it was a patently false accusation, that Diego was trained to see the evil in people, trained to suspect their motives, and he’d see evil lurking in the most innocent of places. For crying out loud, he practically did a background check on the guy who served her coffee at Dunkin Donuts before he let her take a sip. But he’d seen a lot, more than anyone should ever see, and his fears about Diana troubled Nora. His instincts had kept him alive.
Had the somewhat aloof glance Diana gave her the day before only been in Nora’s mind, or was it related to something else? The way Diana had blinked dispassionately at the news that no one could locate their former clients, the women Diana herself had relocated to Miami, made Nora’s belly churn.
No, she told herself. It couldn’t be. How could the very woman who’d poured blood, sweat, and tears into the shelter, who brought light and love to so many actually be the one responsible for orchestrating an insidious crime ring? It was a false accusation. It had to be.
Fear wasn’t the only thing that had kept her at Diego’s house. Going home to her own place alone no longer appealed. Sleeping in her own cold bed paled in comparison to sleeping with the warmth and protection of Diego at her back, and she wanted that connection with him especially now, when things between them felt unresolved. Despite staying at his place, though, she’d hardly seen him since their argument, and spent her time as she worried and waited cleaning every inch of his house to keep her mind and hands occupied. He’d stayed out so late the night before, he’d climbed under the sheets beside her after she’d been asleep for hours, and when she’d woken this morning, he’d already started getting ready to go out again to who-knows-where. Though he’d kept tabs on her, checking in throughout the day with texts and phone calls, they hadn’t so much as kissed.
Nora slammed her make-up bag on the counter and stared at her reflection, then drew a brush through her long, blonde hair. Diego liked it down, just so he could tug it when he wanted to. With a scowl, Nora fastened it into a bun at the nape of her neck, looped gold hoops through her ears, sighed, and left the bathroom.
Diego sat at the small kitchen table that overlooked the backyard. “Morning, beautiful,” he said, sipping his coffee. “You about ready to go?”
“Yeah,” she said, turning away from him. “I thought you’d have already left for work by now.” She tried to keep the sting out of her tone, but wasn’t successful.
He took another sip of coffee, then looked over at her from across the room before putting the mug down. His voice was sharp when he spoke. “Nice to see you, too, Nora.” A pause, then, “Come here.”
Despite her hidden anger, the deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She swallowed and stayed put.
“Do you really want to start the day like this, little girl?” he queried with a quirked brow, and she knew he expected—no, demanded—her obedience.
Did she want to begin the day like this? Too much warred within her. She wanted to hate him, to smack her hands against his unyielding chest, to rail against him for making her question someone who'd become such a fixture in her life and promised her opportunities she might never otherwise have. She wanted to scream that she'd worked too hard for her independence to have some know-it-all asshole suddenly be so essential to her happiness.
She wanted to climb up on his lap, lay her head on his shoulder, and cry.
Would he spank her if she didn’t come?
He uncrossed his arms, and he placed his mug on the table, the ceramic scratching along the finished wooden surface, before he rose. She would not stand and wait for him but went to him, meeting him halfway before they collided, but she did not stop. She pushed against him so that he almost lost his balance, his hip hitting the edge of the table. He grabbed her hair and tugged, clumsily undoing the neat bu
n she’d fastened.
“Fucking hair up,” he growled. “You know I don’t like that.” He pulled her mouth toward him and she whimpered, need and anger battling within her. His lips crushed hers but briefly, a promise and a kiss, before he released her mouth, grasped her elbow, and swung her around, sidestepping so that her belly hit the edge of the table and her hands flailed out in front of her. His palm cracked against her denim-covered ass so hard the sound echoed in the room, then another hard smack left her breathless. He leaned in, his hard, warm body pressed up against her, his breath at her ear, his erection pushed up against her ass.
“Maybe Daddy needs to remind you who you belong to before we go today?” he asked, and something in her clicked. The anger in her chest dissolved, and her eyes watered with tears.
He was going to the fundraiser with her. He still wanted her to belong to him.
She was still his.
She closed her eyes and inhaled so deeply her chest rose, willing herself to calm the nerves that threatened to choke her. No. She would not admit she needed his spanking and his quiet affirmations to ground herself. And what’s more, she would prove to him that he was wrong, that his accusations against Diana were unfounded.
“No,” she grit out, palms squeaking against the glossy tabletop as she pushed herself up, pushed back against him. “I’m good. Really.”
He froze behind her but only briefly, before he grasped her waist and spun her around to face him. He tapped a finger under her chin, his gaze meeting hers, stern but conflicted. “You’d better be.”
And with that, he released her. As he stalked away, she swallowed her need to cry, squaring her shoulders, her ass still smarting from the sting of his palm. God, she wanted things to be good between them again, but not enough to forgive him so quickly for accusing her mentor of such horrible things when he had no proof. She’d worked her ass off to get where she was, and she couldn’t just let it all go while he barked at shadows.
