“What kind of criminal activity?” Sabrina asked.
It had to be guns, at least in part.
“Some of their members have been arrested for gun trafficking. Mostly straw purchases. Drugs, too. But it’s their ties to Mexico that drew Tristan in. The Avenidas are closely connected to the Tres Equis Cartel.”
Triple X Cartel. Sometimes referred to as the 3X Cartel, or just 3X. Lincoln had heard of them. Tristan had wormed his way into a very large, very successful and very dangerous organization. No wonder he felt so untouchable, killing those store managers and planning to kill Sajal and his daughter, and probably his estranged lover.
Even more disturbing, had Sabrina uncovered that detail on her own, she’d have had no chance against a Mexican drug cartel. She’d have no chance with only Lincoln, either. Just the two of them couldn’t stop Tristan with that kind of backing. But the police were swaying to their side. Tristan’s true nature was coming to light. And now that a street gang and a Mexican drug cartel were involved, the feds would be brought in. Tristan would have to take refuge in Mexico to escape that kind of manhunt.
Archer moved away from the window and came to stand before them. “I’ve been trying to find out when Tristan is planning to sell them a big shipment.”
“Alone?” Lincoln questioned.
“What choice do I have?”
“You have one now.”
“Wade must have learned of the cartel,” Sabrina said, mirroring what he’d already thought. “That’s why he was killed.”
“Wade wanted to partner with Tristan,” Archer explained. “Tristan isn’t interested in partners, but he can’t kill every Avenida to take over the operation. He needs them.”
“Why a gang?” Lincoln put the question out there.
“Cesar worked for OneDefense. Tristan discovered the cartel through him. He wanted to be in charge of the sale, and Cesar wasn’t going to let him. Cesar wanted to control the sale.”
But Tristan wanted to be in control. And an idea had formed, one he’d nurtured into fruition to what it was today, a money maker. Money was the main motivator for Tristan. He had no family, not one he revered in any fashion. He’d blackmailed his half brother and was estranged from his stepmother. His wife was a trophy, and Lincoln doubted he cared about his infant child. He didn’t know how to love anything other than material things. And himself. How any man could love himself for being the kind of human being Tristan was today was beyond Lincoln’s grasp. Without love, what did a man have when his last day came?
If Sabrina were listening to his thoughts, she’d say he didn’t have love. How could he when he couldn’t commit?
He could commit. He’d marry a woman who fit him that way.
Wouldn’t he?
What if he loved Sabrina? Would he marry her?
He didn’t know her enough to say. Or was that an excuse?
Frustration made him sigh hard. He was letting her get to him too much. He’d take a day at a time as he always did. He didn’t love Sabrina, not yet. But he could. He was falling for her.
“Can I get you anything? I was making some coffee when I received the call. Should be finished by now.” He walked into the kitchen.
Lincoln picked up on his nervousness. He had a lot to lose. His life, if Tristan found out before the police caught him, and his job.
“We could both use a cup. Make it a latte for Sabrina.”
When she glanced back at him in surprise, he winked at her. He’d been paying attention to what she liked.
* * *
Sabrina didn’t touch the dining table, dusty and full of dried drops of liquid and crumbs of food, but went to the back door. Archer had a view of a single tree in his small backyard and the neighbor’s two-story house that was similar to his, only yellow.
Lincoln’s wink had her a little flustered. With just that playful gesture after asking for her favorite flavor of coffee, he’d set her on fire.
But now wasn’t the time to entertain that temptation. Were it not for Archer tampering with evidence and painting her a murder suspect, she’d have never gone to Denver and gotten into this mess. Tristan would have been arrested.
But then she’d have never met Lincoln, and Kirby would still be dead.
She wasn’t sure how to feel about any of it, but the anger and resentment she’d first felt when she’d arrived was gone. Archer was just as much of a victim of Tristan’s evil ways as she and Lincoln were.
Someone offered her a steaming cup. It wasn’t Lincoln. Taking it, she looked into Archer’s eyes that sought forgiveness.
“Why talk now?” she asked.
“There are witnesses now. Tristan is on the run. He isn’t in control anymore.” Archer looked pleased, cynically so, and sipped his coffee.
“Are you going to tell the truth to police?”
His gaze broke from hers as he lowered his cup to the filthy table. She felt like getting some cleaner and paper towels and wiping it for him. His entire house, for that matter.
“I suppose I don’t have a choice in that, either.”
“Do you expect us to lie to Cash?”
He looked back at Lincoln, who’d taken a perch against the kitchen counter, his head turned toward them. “No.” Then Archer said to Sabrina, “You found the right man to help you with your situation.”
Lincoln.
“He’s my neighbor,” she said. “Like you, he doesn’t have a choice other than to help me. Tristan’s gang members are after him, too.”
Archer nodded grimly. “It will be a day of celebration when he’s brought down. I should have known better than to trust him, especially after those two boys were killed.”
Sabrina straightened, and Lincoln put his cup down and approached, coming to stand at Archer’s right.
“The two that died in a car accident?” Lincoln asked.
Sabrina was still recovering from shock. Of course Archer would know about that. He’d grown up with Tristan.
Looking from one intent face to the other, Archer said, “Yes. Tristan was bullied all through school. He was awkward and homely back then. He had to grow into his looks. Doesn’t look so bad now that he’s filled out, but when he was a scrawny fifteen-year-old, he wasn’t a pretty sight. Couple that with being bookish and a loner, and you have the perfect recipe for bullying.”
“Did you see how it affected him?” Sabrina asked.
“After a bad day, he’d come home mad. He’d throw his backpack and books and bang around in his room. One day he threw a glass of milk at our mother when she asked what was wrong.”
“Did he act on his temper often?” she asked.
“He threw things. He never mistreated animals or hurt anyone.”
“He threw a glass of milk at his stepmother.” Was he desensitized over that sort of thing? Sabrina watched him.
With the lowering of his eyes and hesitation, Archer must have realized how she had come to that interpretation. “Yes, and he was wrong for that. You have to remember the environment we grew up in. I was angry with my mother and Tristan hated her. That doesn’t excuse the way we treated her, Tristan worse than me. I mainly avoided her.”
Sabrina had grown up without a father, but she hadn’t had dysfunction. She’d had love from her mother. Still, she could understand his lost sense when he spoke of his adolescence.
“Don’t you think I don’t have regrets over how I behaved back then? I wish I’d have known then what I know now.”
“What is that?”
“That my mother did the best she could and never meant to be with men who didn’t treat her children right. She had her share of getting the short end of the stick. She struggled to provide a good life for us. She failed. That’s all. I don’t blame her, or resent her in any way.”
“It’s good
that you made amends with her.”
“There were no amends made. My mother refuses to see or speak to me. She refuses to see or speak to Tristan, too.”
“Still? When was the last time you tried?”
“I try every year at Christmas. She never answers or returns my calls. She’s changed her number a few times.”
But as a cop, he could find it. He wanted to have a relationship with his mother, one he’d never had before.
“I’ve written letters. I’ve gone to see her. Going to see her upsets her terribly. She screams for me to leave. I don’t go to her in person anymore. I hope someday she changes her mind and gives me another chance. My aunt keeps me apprised of her health. She’s doing well for now, but she’s getting older.”
Thinking of her own mother, Sabrina reached out and touched his forearm. She couldn’t imagine her mother dying without any contact with her. Before coming here, she’d thought poorly of Archer. She’d placed him in the same category as Tristan. Bottom dweller. Not worth any decent person’s time or consideration. Trash to be taken out. Period. Talking to him today had changed her mind. Underneath his forced actions to incriminate her resided a good man.
He put his hand over hers. “I’ll tell my chief everything I know this afternoon.”
Sabrina could only nod, grateful and worried for him at the same time and not fully understanding why. He was Tristan’s half brother. Nothing like him, but still related. And yet, there was something about him that instilled trust. Tristan was good at fooling those around him. Was Archer the same?
She looked over at Lincoln. They’d go talk to Archer’s mother and see what she had to say. Maybe she should have thought to do that a long time ago.
“We should go.” Lincoln extended his hand to Sabrina.
They said goodbye to Archer and left.
Outside, Sabrina asked Lincoln, “Do you think he’ll suffer much because of Tristan?”
“He’ll have to deal with the consequences of tampering with evidence, and even though he was blackmailed, he never went to the police when he discovered where the money came from that Tristan gave him. But maybe the chief will be lenient, given he was coerced.” And then he said, “It’s hard to say.”
Sabrina walked with him toward the rental. “What if Tristan is never caught?”
“Then you and Maddie will have to move in with me,” he answered.
Hearing the joking in his tone, she studied him to see if that was a mask for what he truly felt. “Have you ever lived with a woman?”
“In my twenties. We grew apart.”
“How does a man get to be forty-two without ever marrying?”
They reached the rental, and he stopped with her in front of the passenger door.
“I suppose I’ve been looking for what my parents have.” He grinned. “Minus the paparazzi.”
He’d been searching for love, real love. “That’s nice.” And it was. Except Miranda’s death had destroyed his belief that he could find it. Not only had he had a solid example of what love should be, he’d found a good match with Miranda, who’d been killed. His love had been ripped apart, taken away. Would he ever feel like searching for love again? Was his belief that it existed still intact? Was it buried in him somewhere? Would any woman be able to exhume it?
As her thoughts ran free, she became aware of him watching her. His blue eyes captivated her as always, and a familiar heat expanded. With him it was so natural, her reaction to him, a man her body and mind found so stimulating. Why him? Why did it have to be him who did that to her?
She hadn’t felt that way with Chet. It hadn’t been natural. Methodical was a better word to describe what they’d had. Logically they should have fit, but their hearts hadn’t connected. Not like this. Not the way her heart connected with Lincoln.
What if she just let go and let happen whatever would happen? What was the worst outcome if she did? She could fall in love with him, and he could turn away and leave her brokenhearted. On the other hand, he could fall in love with her, too. He couldn’t possibly be unaffected by her. The heat generating between them right now could not be from just her. She could see it in his eyes.
Was he worth the risk?
Chapter 14
Archer’s mother wasn’t home, so Lincoln took Sabrina across the street to a small hamburger place, aptly called Buns. Archer’s mother lived above a pastry shop. She lived alone, according to the young girl working the counter at the shop.
Standing in line, he tried to take an interest in all that surrounded him except Sabrina, but that proved impossible. Something kept nagging him, something that she’d said.
He handed Sabrina her hot dog and they went to stand by some tall tables where there were no stools. All the seating was outside, except for four small tables that ran along the window inside the cramped space of Buns.
Everything was finally coming together with Tristan. As soon as Archer confessed and revealed Tristan’s blackmail, the law wouldn’t be after them anymore. They could both go home and resume their lives. Well, he could resume his in Denver. Her life had been here until she’d been forced to flee. What would she do after this was over?
Living without her next door didn’t appeal to him much. Somewhere along the way he’d grown attached to her. Her curly red hair, her green eyes, her sexy body. Her brave independence and the need for companionship hindered by a self-imposed barrier. Her dog. Her inability to sit still.
She took a bite, ketchup smearing her mouth and onions falling to the napkin she’d put on the table. He reached up and used his thumb to wipe the ketchup, sucking it off when he finished. She laughed softly and reached up and did the same for him. The way she leaned, her breasts touched his forearm, one more than the other.... She licked her lips, still smiling.
All of it fueled his earlier realization that he was well and truly falling for her.
“You should do that more often,” he said.
“What?” she cajoled.
“Let your guard down.” He was perfectly serious.
Her smile faded into understanding. She was careful who she picked to date and who she picked to have a relationship with. Too careful, in his opinion. “You’re beautiful when you’re like that.”
She blinked a few times, his compliment soaking in. He enjoyed that he was the one who did that to her. Maybe too much. All of it was too much. Everything about her.
Bending, he put his lips on hers to taste where her tongue had been. He heard her stalled breath, felt an instant of stiffening and then the melting of her. He kissed her fully, not caring who saw. Both of them held what remained of their hot dogs. With his free hand, he molded his palm to her lower back. With hers, she touched the side of his face, and then slid it into the ends of his hair at the back of his neck.
He could stand here and kiss her for an eternity...or until he had to find a place to take it to the next level. Lifting his head, he savored the way her eyes reflected light and radiated heat, the energy of her desire, the essence of her. This was something few men ever saw—Sabrina with her guard down. That he could do that to her made him reel with answering passion.
But then the barrier was back up.
Moving back, she eyed him peculiarly. “Why did you do that?”
She didn’t know? Blind passion. Adoration. Love...
He put his hot dog down, no longer hungry.
Love?
Where had that come from? He couldn’t possibly love her. She’d only just moved in next to his house a couple months ago. It had to be the constant presence. They’d been together nonstop since this whole situation began. He hadn’t had sex in a while, either. That was it. It was superficial.
The lump in his throat loosened. He was in no danger of falling for her.
Why was he worried he would?
&n
bsp; Miranda’s bloody body flashed in his mind, followed by the echo of her laughter and loving eyes, the life of her. He didn’t remember feeling like this with her, the way he felt with Sabrina, kissing her, just being with her.
A big woman wearing a flowing dark pink dress came out of the pastry shop across the street and picked up a chalkboard that had all the early-morning specials written on it. Carrying that inside, the door swung shut.
Dark-skinned, Archer’s mother was around five foot ten and on the heavy side. Lincoln could see her jewelry from here. Big, like her.
“Let’s go.” He didn’t wait for her, all too glad for the interruption.
She walked with him over to the shop. He held the door for her. Inside, he saw Archer’s mother with the girl they’d spoken with earlier.
“That’s them,” the girl said. “They’re the ones who were asking for you.”
Archer’s mother eyed them curiously, if not suspiciously. “Can I help you?”
Her hair was bleach blond and thick and curly. She had tanning-bed skin—wrinkled and unnaturally brown. Big, silver hoop earrings sagged her earlobes, and the huge, bright yellow chain necklace might’ve complemented the dark pink of her dress if it wasn’t so bulky. She looked like a secondary character in one of his father’s worse street-gang films.
Lincoln introduced himself and Sabrina. “We’re here to talk to you about Tristan.”
Coldness ran all over her, eyes chilled, body jolted ever so slightly. And then she snapped, “I have nothing to say about him. Not to anyone.” Then to the girl, “Sarah, you can go on and go now.”
“Thanks, Tia.” The young girl all but skipped through a back door, anxious to be free for the rest of the day.
“Tia Coulter?” Lincoln asked.
“I ain’t got nothin’ to say about that boy.” Her high-pitched voice sounded gangster in a Rhea Perlman kind of way. “You two may as well turn around and get out of here.”
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