Dangerous Choice KO PL

by Barbara Freethy

  But there was no turning back. The truth would be whatever it was, and Diego would have to face it and deal with it.

  He wasn't a man who backed down from a challenge, but she suspected this might be the biggest personal challenge he'd ever faced.

  "Cake for breakfast?" Diego asked, coming into the kitchen, wearing a matching robe. He walked over and gave her a kiss.

  "You taste like toothpaste," she said with a smile.

  "And you taste like chocolate. Maybe that's the way I should eat my piece, off your lips."

  A shiver ran down her spine at that sexy thought. "You didn't get enough of me last night?"

  "Not even close."

  "Well, still, this piece is mine. You need to get your own."

  "Ah, territorial when it comes to cake. Good to know." He straightened. "I think I'll start with coffee. Thanks for getting it going. Do you want some?"

  "Yes, please."

  He filled a mug and brought it over to her. "I'll check for some creamer."

  "This is fine. I like it black. I'm using up my calories on the cake."

  He opened the fridge. "How about some eggs to go with that? Maybe an omelet? Bree stocked up on vegetables: mushrooms, onions, tomatoes."

  "That all sounds delicious. Do you want me to make it?"

  "I can do it."

  "You can cook?"

  "Of course. I've been on my own a long time."

  "So have I, but I'm still not much of a cook. Did your mom teach you?"

  "She did. Cooking was one of her passions. I remember her soups the most," he said, as he placed ingredients for the omelets on the kitchen island. He paused, a fond look in his eyes. "She made a great chicken tortilla soup and her chili was amazing. It would simmer in a pot all day. The house would smell of garlic and onions. I'd come home from baseball or basketball practice and inhale a couple of bowls."

  It was nice to hear Diego share a happy memory. "My mom did not care much for cooking," she said. "But my dad loved to barbecue, so he would go out on the patio and throw whatever meat or fish he had on the grill and my mom would open a bagged salad or throw some potatoes in the oven. I eventually learned how to make some sides to go with my dad's proteins, and we all ate a lot better. But when I'm not with them, I don't cook much. I do a lot of takeout." She paused. "Where exactly is your home, Diego?"

  "I have an apartment in DC, but I haven't been in it much the last few years."

  "And that's where you'll go when you're done with all this?"

  "That was the plan, but it might change. I took this particular job assignment because it allowed me to travel in South America, and I could look for my mother and brother at the same time. Now that my mom is dead, and Michael is here, well, I don't know that I need to be down there anymore, or if I even want to be down there anymore." He cracked a couple of eggs into a bowl, tossing the shells into the trash.

  She got up and went over to him, putting her arm around his waist. "I know that whatever is coming next might be really hard for you. If there's anything I can do…"

  He smiled down at her. "I'm good. And you've done a lot for me, Tara, more than you probably would believe."

  "I haven't been the one saving your life, Diego."

  "No, but you've been the one helping me sort through everything, letting me talk things out, and most importantly, just listening."

  "I'm always happy to listen. We do make a pretty good team."

  "I think so, too. So why don't you make yourself useful and cut up some tomatoes?"

  "You've got it." As she went to work on the tomatoes, she once again felt a wave of contentedness. This kind of relationship was what she had always wanted. But she was very aware of the ticking clock in the background. They didn't have time to enjoy this moment for long. They had to find Michael and Bethany, and then who knew where they would end up?

  Fifteen

  Two hours later, they headed down the Pacific Coast Highway to the golf tournament, which was being held at the Bella Vista Golf Course in Palos Verdes. Along the way, Tara rolled down the window and let the sea air blow through the car. The familiar sights made her feel a lot less terrified than she'd been the past few days. She still didn't know if danger had followed them or would catch up to them as soon as they started asking questions, but at least she was on her home turf. They also had backup, maybe not with them in the car, but Wyatt and Bree had made it clear that they were available for whatever was needed. Diego had made some really excellent friends at Quantico.

  "It's a nice day," Diego murmured, tipping his head toward the ocean view.

  "Beautiful. I wish we could take better advantage of it, like a walk along the beach."

  "Maybe later."

  "That's optimistic."

  "Apparently, that's me," he said lightly.

  "Yes," she agreed, exchanging a warm smile with him. "And clearly you are not looking too far ahead." She would have thought he'd be more nervous about possibly seeing his brother this morning.

  "No, I'm not. I'll deal with whatever happens when it happens."

  "I'm a little surprised you didn't want one of your friends to come with us this morning," she said, considering why he'd made that decision. "It's because you don't want them to be involved directly, isn't it? It's fine if they do the background stuff, but you want to keep them away from the Salazars."

  He shot her a quick look. "I'm not afraid they can't handle themselves but bringing FBI agents into this situation makes it less personal, more professional, and I'm not prepared to go there yet."

  "Because then your friends might be obligated to bring Michael in for whatever illegal actions he's involved in."

  "Yes. And I don't want the first time I talk to my brother to be about what he does for a living."

  "I can understand that, but as Wyatt pointed out earlier, Michael might already know you're an FBI agent. If you show up and surprise him, he could react negatively."

  "He could, but we'll be at a celebrity golf tournament. I think he'll handle himself accordingly."

  "Or pick up an iron and take a swing at you."

  "I have quick reactions."

  "I hope so."

  "I don't think my brother is a danger to me or to you, Tara, but I'm not sure if that's my heart talking instead of my brain. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I know."

  She shivered at that thought. "I'm going to side with your heart for now. It makes me feel better."

  * * *

  Despite his best attempt to stay in the moment, Diego felt his muscles tighten with each mile. By the time they pulled into the parking lot at the golf course, his heart was beating a little too fast, which was unusual for him. He'd always been able to keep his calm in intense situations. It was that ability that made him a good agent. But this was different. This was personal.

  He had no idea what he was going to say to his brother or what Mateo would say to him. Would they even recognize each other? It had been eighteen years. They were men now—very different men.

  As they got out of the car and walked toward the main entrance, Tara slipped her hand into his and said, "Whatever you find out—at least you'll know. That will be better than the wondering."

  "I keep telling myself that."

  The country club was beautiful, and Tara murmured appreciation as they walked up stone steps into a castle-like building. They passed through the lobby with its dark-paneled walls, by a gourmet restaurant and a pro shop. On the back deck was a bar and grill with open-air seating as well as the check-in area for the tournament. A digital board showed the current score leaders and what hole they were playing.

  It was almost noon, so some of the first groups were starting to come off the course. He searched for Michael Winters but didn't see him on the list of players. His gaze then swept the crowd. When he saw a man with dark hair and eyes similar to his own, his heart stopped. He grabbed Tara by the arm. "He's there," he said, tipping his head toward the edge of the deck where Michael was talking to two
older, white-haired men, who had to be in their seventies.

  Michael wore charcoal-gray slacks and a button-down shirt, a Rolex on his wrist. He looked every inch the young, wealthy entrepreneur that he claimed to be.

  He struggled to take in a breath. Was this really his brother? And was his brother really a criminal? It was hard to correlate this confident, laughing young man with the Salazar cartel.

  "He's handsome," Tara said. "He looks a little like you."

  "We both took after our mother." Michael was tall, but he thought he still had an inch or two on him. "Let's do this."

  As they approached the group, his brother turned his head and locked eyes with him. Then his gaze widened, shock in his eyes.

  Mateo recognized him.

  "Hello," Tara said brightly, smiling at the two older men. "I hope you don't mind if we steal a few moments with Michael."

  "Not at all," one of the men said. "We were heading into lunch anyway."

  As they moved aside, he let go of Tara's hand and stepped forward. She hung back a little, giving him this moment. He swallowed a sudden knot in his throat, not sure he could even speak. He'd thought about this meeting a million times, but now it was here. Finally, he got out one word. "Mateo."

  His brother paled. "It is you, isn't it?"

  He nodded. "And it's you, too. I wasn't sure we'd recognize each other. But I knew you right away, and you knew me."

  "My name is Michael now," his brother said, a harsh note in his voice.

  "Michael Winters. I heard Mom changed your name."

  "Who did you hear that from?"

  "I've been looking for you and Mom for a long time. I know now why I couldn't find either of you. Your names were changed."

  "What are you doing here, Diego?"

  "I wanted to see you again. Can we talk?"

  "I'm busy."

  "And I'm not leaving until we have a conversation, Mateo."

  "It's Michael, and I don't want to discuss the past."

  He pushed past his brother's reluctance. "It wasn't my choice to go with Dad. He forced me."

  "Stop talking," Mateo ordered.

  "Not a chance. We can do this here, or we can do it in a more private setting. Your choice, but this discussion is happening."

  His brother sent him a hard, stony look. "Fine. Let's take a walk. I can give you five minutes. That's it. And you can leave your shadow behind."

  "Sorry. Tara comes with me. It's only a conversation. What are you afraid of?"

  "Nothing. I'm afraid of nothing." Michael blew out a breath, then strode briskly toward a nearby flight of stairs.

  They followed him down the steps, past a row of golf carts and along a tree-lined path that led away from the clubhouse. When there was no one in sight, his brother stopped, folding his arms across his chest, his gaze almost defiant.

  It reminded him of the time he'd forced his brother to tell him who was bullying him in the third grade. Mateo had been reluctant to talk, to ask for help. He'd never wanted Diego to think he was weak.

  "I saw Mom's grave in Cascada," he began. "I didn't even know she was dead until a few days ago."

  Mateo gave what appeared to be an uncaring shrug. "She died a long time ago. I barely remember her."

  "There were fresh flowers on her grave. Who put them there?"

  "Probably someone in the family."

  "Or maybe you pay someone to do that when you can't do it yourself. She loved flowers at Easter. I remember that. I think you do, too."

  "What do you want, Diego? Do you want me to say I'm glad you found me after all these years?"

  "That would be nice," he shot back. "We are brothers."

  "We were brothers. We haven't been since the day your father kicked me and my mother to the curb."

  "She was my mother, too. I loved her. I loved you. But I couldn't get back to you. Dad wouldn't tell me where either of you had gone. It drove me crazy. I thought Mom would try to come back, but she didn't."

  "She couldn't. Your father made sure of that," Mateo spat out.

  "What did he do?"

  "I don't know exactly, but she said we had to disappear forever. She insisted we start a new life. She got married again. And then she died."

  "And you were alone."

  "I wasn't alone. I had family—the family she married into. They're my family now."

  "The Salazars."

  Michael's gaze narrowed. "What do you know about them?"

  "I know the Salazars raised you after Mom's second husband Tomas died. I know they run a very lucrative drug cartel with operations all over the world, including here in Los Angeles. I know you went to USC, and now you run two wine bars and live a very expensive life."

  "I'm a smart guy."

  "And well connected."

  "Most rich people are; that's how they become wealthy. What do you do?"

  He hesitated, not wanting to end this conversation just yet, and it certainly would end if he revealed his job. "Dad sent me to military school because I was causing him too many problems. I ended up in the Army."

  "You're a soldier?"

  "I'm out now, but, yeah I was a soldier."

  "Probably an officer. You always liked to order people around."

  "I can't deny that," he said, for a brief moment, seeing his brother's guard come down. "I missed you, Mateo."

  "I told you to call me Michael."

  "Sorry—Michael." He paused. "Your last name—Winters. Is that the name of your biological father?"

  "That's what Mom told me when she changed my name. I asked her where he was, but she couldn't tell me. I said if he didn't want me, either, I didn't need his name—but I was eight, I had no choice. She insisted that if she changed my name, it would make it impossible for your father to ever find me and hurt me."

  "It did make you difficult, almost impossible, to find. But I don't think my dad would have hurt you."

  "Are you serious?" Mateo challenged, anger in his gaze. "Your father raised me for eight years. He called me his son. He told me he loved me. He said I was just like him. And then he found out I didn't have his blood, and he tossed me out, as if I were nothing. The family I'm with now is loyal. They don't throw people away."

  His heart sank at his brother's words. Mateo definitely felt loyalty to the Salazars, which meant he was involved in the organization.

  Tara put a hand on his back, and he knew she was reminding him not to forget about Bethany. "There's another reason I came to talk to you, Michael. Do you know Bethany Cooper?"

  A light flickered in Michael's eyes. "Why do you ask?"

  "Because she's missing," Tara interrupted, drawing Michael's gaze to her. "She's my friend, and I'm worried about her. She said she was in love with a guy named Michael. Is that you?"

  "She's not in love with me," he said flatly. "She was supposed to come to LA last week, but she blew me off."

  "You haven't seen her this week at all?" Tara challenged. "Because she landed in LA a week ago Sunday."

  "Well, she hasn't been in touch with me. And I'm done talking."

  "Wait." Tara jumped in front of Michael. "Please. You have to help me. Bethany is like my younger sister. She moved in with me and my family after her mom died. I'm Tara—Tara Powell. Are you sure you didn't hear her talk about me?" She paused, then moved on. "It doesn't matter. Bethany is in trouble, and I'm pretty sure your family is involved, because I went to Colombia to find her, and someone tried to kill me several times."

  Michael's gaze narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've been in LA the past month."

  "But you know things are happening in Colombia," Diego put in, drawing his brother's attention back to him. "You must have heard about the shooting at the church, Father Manuel's murder. If you grew up there, you must have known him."

  "Yes, I knew him, and that was tragic," Michael said somberly. "But that doesn't have anything to do with me, and I don't know where Bethany is."

  "You can find out if someone in your family
knows something," Tara put in.

  "They don't."

  "They do," Diego corrected. "Pablo Salazar picked Bethany up at LAX when she got off the plane from Colombia."

  Michael stiffened. "You're mistaken."

  "We're not." He opened up the video on his phone and played it for Michael. "That's Pablo, isn't it?"

  "Where did you get this? Are you a cop?" he asked suspiciously.

  "No, but we've talked to law enforcement, and they're looking for Bethany, too. I'm sure they'll be speaking to you soon."

  "About what? It looks like Bethany jumped into the car with Pablo. They're probably hooking up," he said, an edge to his voice. "I knew I couldn't trust her. All women cheat and lie."

  He wondered if that was a dig at their mother.

  "They're not hooking up," Tara argued. "I would bet my life on it. In fact, I have bet my life on it."

  Michael looked back at the video. "Why do you think she's in trouble?"

  "Because of what's been happening ever since I started looking for her," Tara explained. "I went to Cascada and asked questions all over town and then someone shot at us."

  "How do you two know each other?" Michael asked suspiciously.

  "We met in Cascada," Diego said. "I had a lead on Mom. I went to talk to Father Manuel. Tara was looking for Bethany. When the shooting occurred, we ran for cover and ended up in the cemetery. I had just discovered Mom's grave when another shooter came after us. Later that day, we discovered that Tara's room at the hotel had been searched. We went to Ventana's and were jumped outside the bar. We barely escaped."

  "And then we went to Medellin," Tara continued. "We went to an airfield, because we had heard Bethany was looking for a private flight to Cartagena. The pilot left for a moment, and more shooters arrived. Does any of this ring a bell?"

  "Not one word," his brother said. "And, like I told you, I don't know where Bethany is."

  "But you probably know where Pablo is," Tara said. "If you care for her at all, you'll help us find her before someone hurts her."