“You have twelve hours.”
“You’re welcome, asshole,” he growled right before hanging up.
After parking the car, I walked toward the back of the cluster of buildings, the scene not getting much better. Air units were tucked into most of the open windows, and laundry was strung along wires tied between poles. An old man sat on the stoop of building 3, blocking the stairs, and of course, Diaz lived in 3C.
This fucking day.
“Estoy aquí para ver a Héctor. Soy un viejo amigo.” I’m here to see Hector. I’m an old friend.
The old man scraped his chair a few inches to the left and laughed. “Good luck,” he answered in our native language. “No one has seen that asshole in three days.”
His words stopped me on the first step. “Three days?”
He nodded. “Can’t say I’m sorry. I live right under him in apartment A. People are always comin’ and goin’ at all hours of the night. It’s been nice to get some sleep for a change. I don’t care if he ever comes back.”
Shit.
I started up the steps then turned around and slipped a hundred-dollar bill in his hand. He may have been old, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew how things worked, and if Hector had lived here for any substantial amount of time, he’d seen things. Money went a long way toward making even the sharpest of memories hazy when it came to recalling faces during police questioning.
Hector’s door was locked—no surprise there. I had a feeling I could get away with shooting the lock off the door and no one would bat an eye in a neighborhood like this, but I didn’t chance it. Besides, a lock didn’t exist I couldn’t pick. My knife popped it in seconds.
Trading my knife for my gun, I used the door as a shield and entered. Once inside, if I had any question as to Hector’s whereabouts, I quickly found the answer when the stench hit my nose. I didn’t care how many times I’d smelled it—I never got used to the first pungent hit of death.
The place was ransacked, and Diaz was fucked up. He lay face down on the floor of his kitchen, the back of his head looking like a bowl of red Jell-O. I knelt beside him to check out the damage. Whoever got here first did a number on him. The man’s skull was bashed in so far, I wasn’t sure if he ever had a face. On closer inspection, the side of what used to be his forehead seemed to have the imprint of the number six on it.
Golf club.
It couldn’t have been a quick and painless death. He’d obviously suffered.
I stood up to check out the rest of the apartment. Everything had been torn apart, ripped down, and dumped out. Someone was definitely looking for something, but the question was what and why. Covering my hands with my jacket, I sifted through his shit.
Nothing.
The scene didn’t sit well with me. Someone wanted something bad enough to kill for it. This wasn’t just about shutting Hector up. I glanced down at the pile of mangled flesh again, trying to understand the thoughts of a dead man.
If I wanted to hide something, what would I do?
Hide it in plain sight.
My gaze immediately drew toward the television. It was a piece of shit—one of those old box types with a remote control sitting on top. That was what made it seem so unassuming. So safe. So easily overlooked.
In two steps I had the remote in my hands, ripping the back off the battery holder. Diaz didn’t watch much TV in his last few hours because there wasn’t one battery to be found. Instead, I turned the remote upside down, and a black USB flash drive fell into my hand.
I’d spent enough time inside and couldn’t afford to waste anymore. Pocketing the flash drive, I left Diaz’s place, making sure to fix the lock on my way out.
Once in the car, I drove to a gas station and pulled Luis’s laptop from the backseat. In seconds I had the flash inserted. However, instead of answers popping up, a file full of random letters and numbers filled the screen.
“Goddamn it!” I yelled, slamming my palm against the steering wheel.
Encrypted.
I knew Val would be waiting on a report, so with a frustrated sigh, I pulled out my phone and made the call. It only took half a ring for him to pick up.
“What do you have for me?” His tone left no room for pleasantries.
“Diaz is dead, and his place was ransacked.”
I could hear him pacing. “Find out as much as you can. Call in a clean-up crew to get that asshole out and down a drain somewhere.”
“There’s more,” I said, a sharper edge to my voice. “This wasn’t a cartel hit. It was too sloppy. Fucker’s head was bashed in. That’s not our style. Plus, a sicario wouldn’t have left the body to be found.”
Val’s silence spoke more than if he’d said anything. He knew I was right.
“Whoever did this wanted something Diaz went to a lot of trouble to hide.”
“But you found it,” he said, knowing me well.
“Yeah, a flash drive. It’s encrypted though. I’m going to take it to one of the suits on our payroll this afternoon.”
“Muy bien.” Be discreet.
* * *
Pocketing the flash drive, the suit in question reached for the passenger’s side door handle. “I’ll take care of it as fast as I can.”
Relaxing in my seat, I pressed the door lock button. “You’ll take care of it today,” I corrected. “I need that decrypted by tonight.”
He flinched, sweat beading across his forehead. “Things like this take time.”
“How are the wife and kids, Professor Bright? Does your wife still enjoy driving that Infinity we paid for?”
“I earned that money,” he bit out.
“And you’ll live long enough to earn more, provided you deliver what I need tonight.”
I made no move to restrain him. Although I locked the door, I didn’t engage the child lock. He could easily unlock it from his side. The whole thing was a display of dominance. A warning in case he forgot who he was dealing with.
“I’ll call you later,” he finally mumbled.
I smiled, unlocking the door for him. “You do that.”
He jumped out and sprinted toward Rice University, his shoulders hunched and his head down. He was pissed, but he’d do exactly as I asked.
Nothing motivated a man more than a well-timed threat against his family.
I pressed my foot on the brake and reached for the gear shift to back out of the alley when my phone rang. I picked it up, hoping my informant had the identity of the other number for me, but my screen was dark.
What the hell?
The ringing continued, and I followed the sound to the passenger’s side where that fucking trench coat Leighton had on last night lay on the floorboard. Just the memory of her wearing that asshole’s coat put me in a worse mood than I was already in, so when the next thought crossed my mind, I saw red.
If she gave that motherfucker her number, I’m going to put a bullet in his head.
Grabbing it off the floor, I tore through the pockets, answering the call with rage. “What the hell do you want?”
“For starters, I’d like to know why you’re answering my sister’s phone?”
Shit. Brody.
“Hey, man.”
“Don’t you fucking, ‘hey, man’ me,” he warned. “This makes twice she hasn’t come home, Cortes. I want to know what’s going on.”
I didn’t have time for this. True, out of respect, Brody deserved an explanation. However, it was a conversation that’d have to wait. There was no way I’d make it back by three o’clock.
“I need you go to the townhouse and pick up Leighton. She has to be at the cantina at three, and I’m not going to make it back to take her.”
“Why? She has a car.”
Here’s where Brody loses his shit.
“It’s still at Caliente. I picked her up last night.”
Literally.
“Why the hell would you pick my sister up from work when she has a drivable car that could’ve gotten her home just—”
&nb
sp; “Brody...”
“Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no. Tell me you didn’t...that she didn’t...that you two didn’t—”
“Thanks, man. I owe you one.” Before he could say another word, I hung up. I half expected him to call back, but to his credit, the phone stayed silent. I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing, or if it just gave him more time to plan my murder.
As I tossed the phone onto the passenger’s seat, my gaze fell on the damn trench coat again. I couldn’t stand looking at it anymore, so I rolled down the window and just as I drew my arm back to chuck it out of the car, a piece of paper fell out of one of the pockets. Picking it up, I read the words printed on the front.
You Are Cordially Invited to a Fundraiser for Mayor Lilith Donovan
Questions flew through my mind, none of which had any answers. Why the hell did the guy who hit on Leighton have an invitation to her mother’s campaign party? I hated questioning her, especially after last night, but I’d learned never to underestimate anyone for any reason. Especially when the heart was involved.
Picking up Leighton’s phone again, I scrolled through her call history. Besides Brody’s, there were two other number she’d called lately—one of them looked familiar, so I called it.
Before the first ring even completed, a man answered, his voice impatient. “What do you have for me?”
I hung up when it hit me why the number looked so familiar.
It was the same one I’d seen on Luis’s phone.
Chapter Twenty
Leighton
The truth shall set you free.
However, after the few glances I stole at Brody’s profile, I realized the truth could also cause my brother to have a stroke. From the moment he stormed through the door of the townhouse and dragged me into his gray BMW, I knew a confrontation would be unavoidable. He had me trapped, and the longer he drove in silence, I was positive the muscles in his neck would snap at any second.
I couldn’t hold onto my innocent persona any longer.
Brody squeezed the steering wheel as I rubbed my damp palms over my bare thighs, the thick tension in the car breaking as we spoke at the same time.
“What the fuck is going on with you and Cortes?”
“I’ve been lying to you.”
“What?” Brody shouted, his eyes widening in shock.
“Brody...” I started, unsure how to navigate the conversation from here.
“Leighton...” My name was a slow breath of barely contained anger. “You called me for help, and I’ve been trying to give it to you, but every time I turn around, you’re with him—a stranger. I’m not stupid, so either you tell me the truth, or I’m done.”
My heart squeezed. My big brother had always been the one person I could count on to be in my corner. I had to come clean no matter what my confession cost me.
“Mateo isn’t a stranger.” Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to say the words out loud. “I knew him when I was in high school.”
“How the hell did you manage to meet a...he’s a...Leighton, how?”
“I know what he is, Brody.” I sighed. “I mean, I didn’t back then. I took off from one of Mother’s campaign parties one night and ended up in a place no girl should’ve been alone. Mateo was there and saved me. We spent the next seven months together in secret.”
“So you knew who he was at Caliente?”
“Yes and no. When we were together, he told me his name was Matty. I had no idea his real name was Mateo until you said it.”
“I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Because of something that happened four years ago?”
“No, because he came here to help me and didn’t have the balls to tell me that—”
“I lied to him about my name too. He had no idea the whole time you worked together I was your sister.” I gently pulled his hand away from his face, so he could see the truth in mine. “Let’s just get all this out now.”
His face paled as my confession registered. “Does this mean you know about me?”
“Yes, I know.”
“For how long?”
“Since I got back.”
His apologetic stare hardened. “And you didn’t say anything?”
His tone dulled my remorse. “Exactly how is one supposed to confront one’s own brother about such a thing? ‘Hey big brother, thanks for giving me a place to crash after I murdered a guy. By the way, I know you’re a wanted man and work for a cartel.’ Sorry, it just didn’t come up.”
Brody sighed, the lines around his eyes deepening. “Does anyone else know?”
“No.” Which was a lie. Alex and his trench coat-wearing guard dogs knew. However, there were only so many truth-bombs my brother could handle in one day, and I was pretty sure he’d reached his quota.
Trench coat.
Oh, God.
Remembering that Swenson’s coat was in Mateo’s possession broke me out into a cold sweat. The last thing I wanted was for him to find out I’d been talking to an agent instead of an overly-friendly barfly.
However, when Brody let out a string of curses, Swenson became the least of my worries.
“Oh my God!” he exclaimed, running his hand over the top of his messy blond hair. “Does this mean Mateo—”
I cut him off. “It doesn’t matter.”
He snapped his head around and glared at me. “The hell it doesn’t! You’ve got to tell him.”
“He knows.” The words tasted bitter.
“What do you mean, ‘he knows’?”
I faced him with a sardonic smile. “Seventeen.”
He turned into Caliente’s parking lot and furrowed his brow. “What?”
“I left seventeen messages. Are you telling me he didn’t get any of them when he got out of prison?” I let out a humorless laugh as he pulled around to the back of the cantina. “Don’t sit there and preach to me about what I have to do. I don’t have to do shit but protect the people I love.”
Parking the car, Brody turned, shaking his head in denial. “You can’t think he’d be a danger. You’re familia.”
“Fuck your familia,” I hissed, reaching for the door handle. “For once, things are on my terms. I’ll handle this myself.”
I was halfway out of the car when he grabbed my arm. “You’ve always got me.”
In theory, I did, but because of who he’d aligned himself with, our relationship had changed.
“I can’t stay here, Brody,” I said, releasing his hold before I broke down. “You know it, and I know it.”
Slamming the door, I left one confrontation and walked straight into another.
* * *
Amanda wagged her thumb over her shoulder. “Table number twelve requested you.”
“You take it,” I groaned while passing a drink order to Sarah. “I’m not in the mood to deal with my brother again.”
“It’s not your brother.”
I spun around, paranoid that Mateo had shown up. However, the strained smile that met me made me wish he had. Cursing under my breath, I pulled my order pad from my apron and slowly made my way to the back of the cantina. Last booth, of course, so no one could see her slumming it.
She watched me approach, tucking her chin-length blonde hair behind her ear. She’d bleached it for years—I assumed to give the illusion of a youth that had passed her by a decade ago. Not that the Botox wasn’t taking care of that on its own.
“Dining alone, Mother? It’s Sunday night. Shouldn’t you be at church kissing babies and praying with the other sinners?” Glancing up through my lashes, I watched her lip twitch in the middle of her smile. It took a lot to get to Mayor Donovan, and it felt good to cause a chink in her Vera Wang armor.
“For your information, I attended the eleven o’clock service. Besides, darling, you know I never dine alone.”
Confused, I looked around when I caught the unforgettable scent of nutmeg and cedar—the earthy scent that still haunted me.
“Hello, Leighton.”
; His voice crawled along the base of my spine and slithered its way up my neck. Pins and needles shot through my hands as I gripped the order pad as if it were my only link to reality. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe.
Until he touched me.
Placing his hand on my shoulder, Finn gave it a firm squeeze, raking his palm across my back as he slid into the seat facing my mother. “Sorry I’m late, dear.”
The contact lit something within me. Turning around, I ran while mumbling a hoarse apology. Once safely inside the kitchen, I grabbed Amanda by the shoulders.
“You have to take this table for me. I’ll open for you every day next week.”
She waved a hand. “Look, even if I wasn’t slammed, I’m not about to go against the mayor. She specifically asked for you, and she isn’t the type of lady you say no to.”
“Please, I’m begging you.”
“No can do, girl. I already have six of my own.” With a friendly pat on my back, she left me standing there.
I eyed the back door, weighing the repercussions of just walking out, and then rejecting the idea just as fast. Emilio would fire me, and Alex still expected me to find a way into his safe.
I can do this. Just breathe.
The walk back to their table felt like a death march, their eyes following me the whole way.
“What would you like?” I asked, tossing a basket of chips on the table.
My mother eyed the basket like it was fresh roadkill. “An apology would be nice.”
“An apology?” I laughed. “For what?”
“Walking away was rude, Leighton. You know how I feel about rude behavior. I expect my daughter to treat me with a modicum of respect.”
Running a hand across my throat, I rolled the gold ‘L’ pendant I always wore through my fingers and glared at Finn. “Then maybe you should’ve left him at home.”
The asshole smiled at me. “Sweetheart...”
“I’m not your sweetheart,” I snapped.
My mother cleared her throat. “All right, can we please not make a scene? There are voters here, and I’d prefer not to make the news.” Pasting on her plastic smile again, she picked up an oily chip from the basket, sniffed it, then quickly replaced it. “Darling, I’m here because I wanted to clear the air about something.”
Carrera Cartel: The Collection Page 42