As soon as Mason leaves, Nigel says, “You know how lucky you are to have him, right?”
I nod. “He’s a far better father than mine ever was.” I pull up a stool and rest my elbows on the island. “What’s going on? I don’t want to leave Lily for too long.”
Nigel puts down his sandwich then wipes his hand on a napkin. “I’ll get right to it. At the scene was one dead, one wounded. Isla and Peter took the wounded, a Marco Chavez, to Isla’s doctor friend. He’s sewn up and stable, and they’re transporting him to my warehouse for interrogation.”
Finally we can get some bloody answers. Or at least I can beat the ever-loving shit out of him. “I’m coming with you. Let me just go get dressed.”
Roger snorts. “This should be entertaining.”
“Sorry, mate. No can do. You can’t be anywhere near this.” Nigel pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights up. He points at Roger. “You stay out of this.”
“The hell I can’t! I’m coming with you, and that’s bloody final.” I pull the fag from his lips and drop it in his tea. “Don’t smoke in my fucking house.”
He crosses his arms. “You have no business there, and that’s fucking final. You’d best remember who’s running this operation.”
“And you’d best remember who’s funding this operation,” I sneer.
Giving me a look of haughty indifference, he shrugs. “Then fucking fire me. Either way, you’re not going.”
I glare at him. “What, do you think I can’t handle it? How many missions did I go on with you? I won’t faint at the sight of blood. For Christ’s sake, I’ve held your heart in my bloody hands! Just because I put on a suit every day doesn’t mean I’ve lost my edge.”
Roger looks up from his computer. “He’s got you there, Nig. Without him, you’d be cheetah food. I think that gives him the upper hand here.”
He smacks Roger on the back of the head. “I said stay out of this.” He turns toward me. “No one’s claiming you can’t handle it. I’m fully aware of what you can do. Fuck, you’re a better shot than I am. The issue isn’t your ability; it’s your fucking head. If I let you come, you’ll kill him, and then where will we be? We need information if we’re going to take this to the next level. Can’t squeeze intel from a dead man.” Nigel jumps on the island and slides across so he’s sitting in front of me, his legs draped over the side. “Lily needs you here, not off playing Action Man. Let me do that for you so you can take care of her.”
Threading my fingers behind my head, I step away. “You’re right. I’m not happy about it, but you’re right.”
“Remember that when you get my invoice,” he says with a chuckle. “Now that that issue is settled, we have some decisions to make.” He gestures to the stool. “Sit?”
“Nah, I can’t sit still. Just go,” I reply.
“Richard was able to get Marco to start talking,” Nigel says.
I raise an eyebrow. Richard is known for his interrogation techniques. “Oh yeah?”
Nigel smirks. “It’s possible Richard may have poked around in the knife wound a little. But that’s not the point. What we learned is Lily was sold to a sultan in Oman, and his wire transfer already went through. So Roger got to work, followed the money, and now you’re five million pounds richer, and there’s one very pissed off sultan.”
“When buying a sex slave, it should always be COD. I thought everyone knew that,” Roger jokes.
Ignoring his uncouth comment, I walk to the refrigerator and grab a bottle of water then offer one to Nigel and Roger. When they refuse, I open mine and take a sip.
“This guy has power,” Roger says. “It’s possible he’ll go after Morelia on his own, and they may be wiped out before we can make a move. But that’s off topic. The good news is I was able to follow the money to a few other Morelia accounts, and I’ve completely cleared them out. They didn’t have much to begin with. Isla wasn’t lying—they’re cash poor. Now their coffers, the ones we’ve found anyway, are empty.”
I look over his shoulder at his computer screen. “Keep looking. There’s probably more hidden.”
“Cutting off their money is step one. They probably won’t realize it’s gone for a day or two, then they’ll start scrambling,” Nigel replies. “Now that we know Lily is safe, we can go after them aggressively until they’re completely dismantled.”
“You know I’m ready,” I reply.
Nigel slides a report from his team in Mexico across the island to me. “Last week was surveillance. This week it’s time to put our knowledge into play. My team has established a contact in Oaxaca, a cartel from a little farther south. We’ve been stirring the pot a bit, tipping them off about Morelia, and they’re already hitting them hard. It’s turning into an all-out turf war, which means Morelia’s about to blow through their resources. If they keep that up, there won’t be anything left of Morelia in a few weeks, even without our intervention.”
I flip through the pages of the report. “What else? I’m not relying on another cartel to get this job done.”
He reaches into his bag, pulls out a rolled up satellite map, and spreads it out on the island. “My group has been studying Morelia’s layout. They own farms all in this area. We’ve pinpointed the ten most productive farms and devised a strategy to destroy them. We know that this one here”—he points at the map—“along with these three others, will all be vulnerable this weekend. Now’s the time to light them up and watch their product go up in flames.” He looks to me for approval.
“Do it.”
He points at the map again. “There are processing plants here, here, and here where they mix the heroin and coke to make it street ready. Sunday nights have the lowest security, and thus are the best days to take these out.”
“Do it,” I reply.
“You understand you’re starting a war,” Nigel says, looking me in the eye. “I know we’re weakening them, but they may come after you with all they have, and they fight dirty.”
I put the report down and scan the map again, then I look at Nigel so he knows I’m serious. “I’m not starting a war. I’m finishing one. Very soon, we’ll have stolen their money, killed their poppy plants, and taken out their factories. What will they come at me with? However big they think they are, I’m bigger. However much power they think they have, I have more. I will end this. I will have justice.”
Nigel rolls up the map. “That’s what I thought you’d say. We’ll get started, and I’ll give you an update after we finish speaking to Marco.” He puts the map in his bag. “Has she talked to you about what happened?”
I shake my head. “No. I think she’s still in shock. I’ve pieced together enough to give me nightmares.”
Nigel taps Roger’s shoulder. “Case file?”
“MI5 sent everything over a little while ago.” Roger taps on his computer. “Mostly photos. It’s too soon for any reports, I think.” He rises from his stool. “If you’d like to take a look, you can.”
“In my opinion, it’s always better to know than not know.” Nigel slings his bag over his shoulder. “I’m off. I’ll ring you when I have something to report.”
Roger pats my back. “I’m going to have a smoke. Give you a few minutes to go through them.”
I raise an eyebrow. “When did you start smoking? I thought you were the only one who hadn’t picked up that nasty habit when we were in the service?”
He slides his arm into his jacket. “I haven’t slept in two days, and I’m all out of Redline.”
“Redline will kill you faster than the cigarettes!” I call as he leaves the room.
Turning to his computer, I see the file is already open to a picture of the storage unit building. I flip through the pictures quickly, trying to get to anything of relevance. The crime scene tech must have wanted to be very thorough—there has to be fifty pictures of the parking lot alone!
I’m skimming through pictures of a blood trail when the door slams shut. “That was fast,” I call.
“Sorry. I thought you were Roger,” I reply whilst closing the lid to the laptop. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since she tried to kiss me. Judging by her casual demeanor, I doubt she’s uncomfortable. Hopefully we can just put that whole incident behind us. “What you are doing here? I thought Nigel was coming to you?”
She walks to my refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water. “You mind? I’ve been living on caffeine for the last day. I need to flush it out.”
I motion for her to go ahead. “Help yourself to anything. Mason’s been cooking for an army, so there’s plenty to eat if you’re hungry.”
She pokes around in the fridge, peeking into containers to see if anything strikes her fancy. “Probably a good idea. Richard kicked me out. Apparently he thought I was in a foul mood. That bastard had the nerve to say my interrogation techniques were too brutal! Can you imagine? Him of all people?” She pulls out a Tupperware container and places it in the microwave. “He claimed I’d kill Marco before Nigel arrived.”
I get her a plate and silverware from the cupboards. “Perhaps all the caffeine has you a little on edge?”
“I’m not on edge,” she snaps, grabbing the plate.
With my hands up, I slowly back away. “Clearly.”
The microwave beeps. She removes the dish then spoons curry onto the plate. “So”—she drops the Tupperware into the sink—“have you thought about what you’re going to do next?”
I reach into the drawer and pull out a napkin for her. “In what respect?”
She slides her plate in front of her stool then sits. “Now that she’s returned. Do you plan on continuing your mission?”
Confused, I furrow my brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You have to know that these relationships rarely work out. Things like this, they change you, and often not in the same way. You’ve both experienced too much, been under too much stress. It’s hard to grow together when you’ve had something like this knock you onto different paths.” She takes a bite of chicken. “Umm, this is fantastic.” She wipes her mouth. “So when you go your separate ways, will you still move forward?”
“Lily and I are not ‘going separate ways,’ and of course I’m moving forward.”
She rolls her eyes and laughs before taking another bite. “They all say that. And yet they fall apart. In every single case.”
I know Isla’s bold and doesn’t hold back, but this feels out of line, even for her. I cross my arms and glare at her. “By no means do I think this will be easy on her, but I will be by her side through all of it. We will be fine.”
She scoffs. “You really believe that, don’t you? Your naivety is charming.”
“You don’t know Lily.”
Her smile fades, and she puts her fork down then faces me. “Neither do you. Not anymore. The Lily you knew is dead and never coming back. A new person is walking around in her body, but she’s not the woman you used to know. She’s marred, broken, damaged beyond repair. You staying with her is just setting her up for failure. Your relationship will be an apparition of what it once was, and it will crush you both. You’ll expect her to be someone she can never be again. She’ll disappoint you over and over, and you’ll be a daily reminder to her of everything she’s lost. Do her a favor and cut her loose.”
At my wits end, I glare at her. “Whilst I respect you have exemplary experience in this field, you know nothing about me or Lily or our relationship.”
She shrugs then goes back to her meal. “Stay with her, don’t stay with her. I couldn’t care less. This is just friendly advice from someone who’s seen these relationships play out a million times, and it’s never worked out. All I care about is that you’re committed to completing the mission I signed up for. If you’re going to pussy out the second things get difficult with her, I’d rather not waste my time.”
“You may be a part of this team, but don’t presume you know me or Lily. I’m not going to pussy out of anything, but if that isn’t enough assurance for you, no one is forcing you to be here.” I push back from the island.
She turns her fork over and uses the edge to break apart a piece of chicken. “That’s where you’re wrong. I signed up for the Task Force, remember? I’m up to my ears in accountability and responsibility. I’m a part of this whether I like it or not, so I want to make sure we’re all after the same thing.”
Where is this coming from? I’ve done nothing to lead her to believe my commitment is anything less than rock solid. I don’t understand this interrogation, and quite frankly, it’s not worth my time to try to figure her out. “At the moment, Isla, I’m not exactly sure what you’re after. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to look after Lily.”
“Take one look in her eyes, and you’ll know I’m right.” She returns to her meal. “I’ll try to refrain from telling you I told you so.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Lily
Hot, dank breath huffs on my neck. The sour smell offends my nose with each exhale. A calloused thumb brushes my stomach.
A scream erupts out of me, so loud it burns my throat and pierces my ears as I thrash against the body next to me. My legs kick as I punch, scratch, and claw at the flesh I can get my hands on. I’m fighting with everything I have, but strong hands push on my shoulders.
“Whoa, Slugger, it’s me! It’s just me!”
Max?
It felt so real. I could have sworn I was in some twisted time warp, reliving that moment when he thrust his disgusting hands inside me. But that’s not possible, or so I repeat to myself over and over. I’m not in my cell, choking on the smell of mildew and piss. The metal rungs of the chair aren’t digging into my thighs. Jimmy Dean isn’t attacking me—because I killed him. He’s dead. I’m alive. It’s over. You’re safe, Lily. Get a grip.
My hand moves over my heart as though that will somehow help it slow down. Trying to bring myself into the present, I take inventory of my surroundings. Silky sheets tangled around my legs. The cloud-like bed beneath me. The heavenly scent of Gavin on my soft T-shirt. I pry my eyes open and look around. As the fight-or-flight instinct releases its control of me and my brain functions again, memories of my escape and subsequent emotional breakdown come into focus.
“It’s just me. You’re safe.” Max looks into my eyes as though he’s searching for a sign that I recognize him. “You cool, now? Can I let go?”
I nod, and he slowly releases the pressure on my shoulders. Once he’s off of me, I pull the sheets up around me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, out of breath. “Where’s Gavin?”
He sits back on his heels then rubs his eyes. He’s clearly exhausted. “The security company needed to meet with him, so I volunteered to stand guard. You looked so peaceful sleeping there, I thought I’d snuggle. You know, like old times?”
When Max was my roommate, we shared a bed more times than I should have considering I was with Gavin. We’d binge watch reality TV about gold miners or fishermen and drink way too much. That was after my life had been thrown into complete chaos. Ash was dead, people were after me, and my relationship with Gavin was uncertain at best. I never saw sharing a bed with Max as any more meaningful than sharing a bed with Em because I’ve never looked at Max as anything other than a close friend. It may not have been kosher, but it got me through a scary time. I’m lucky he’s still here with me.
“You scared the crap out of me,” I say.
“I’ve got the blown ear drums to prove it,” he says, rubbing his ear. “Seriously, you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you. I really hoped if you woke up, you’d feel safe.”
“I think it’ll take a while before I feel safe again,” I reply, pulling the sheets tighter against me.
He shifts and sits cross-legged, then rests his elbows on his knees. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“I get that.” He scoots to my side of the b
ed and grabs a bottle of water off my nightstand. “Drink up, or you’ll get me in trouble. I’ve seen some scary sides of your boyfriend over the last few days, and I think I’ll stay on his good side.”
His comment begs for a reaction. It’s the skilled interrogator in him, casting a line to see if I’ll take a bite and start talking. Of course I want to know what Gavin’s been going through, but I’m not ready. I’m not ready to share, and I’m not sure I have it in me to process what everyone else went through yet. Ignoring his bait, I take a few small sips.
“So leaving your brain out of it, how are you feeling?” he asks.
I take another sip then wipe the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. “Better than last night, that’s for sure.” I hold up the hand with the IV in it. “I’m guessing this thing’s helping. I had no food or water the whole time I was gone. I think the dehydration and sleep deprivation really amplified everything. I’m feeling… less now.”
“Less?”
I’m not sure how to explain it. Yesterday, I was in hell. Not just in hell. I felt as though I was a piece of gum on the bottom of Satan’s shoe, searing me to a crisp with each step he took. After a little sleep and a tube pumping glucose into me, I feel closer to human. I’m still light years away from okay, but things don’t feel as intense. Each emotion doesn’t hit me like lightning, scorching me from the inside out. I’m more tempered, more in control. But that control is newly formed and shaky at best, and I’m not ready to test it by opening up to him. I need to feel stronger within myself first.
“Yeah, less,” is all I give him. I screw the cap back on the bottle. “How long was I gone, anyway? My sense of time is shot.”
Sadness washes over his face. “Four days.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat.
Four days? Really? Only ninety-six hours? It seemed longer than that. I’ve read about cases where women were kept in a hole for decades. Women were raped and tortured for years, only to have children who were then raped and tortured. I fell apart at the seams last night, an emotional disaster, and I was only gone for four days. What I went through was horrible, but maybe I need some perspective. I’m alive and relatively untouched. Somewhere amidst my feelings of guilt and shame, I should allow myself to feel relief. I’ll add that to my to-do list.
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