by Logan Fox
Neo spat in Lars’s face, and received a boot heel in his groin from Milo. Lars straightened, wiping spittle from his face with a sleeve. He happened to glance up at Kane, and they held eye contact for a few seconds before Lars looked away.
The man obviously hadn’t remembered anything of their encounter. Not the weed, not the rohypnol he’d slipped him, not their kiss.
Kane finished his smoke, flicked it away, and went down the porch steps. Bailey stood a few feet behind Lars, and he looked up at Kane’s approach. Then he held out an arm, as if to stop Kane from interfering.
“You know Zachary’s going to find out about this, right?” Kane said, raising his voice over the crunch of Milo’s fist connecting with Neo’s jaw. “How you ratted him out to a DEA agent?”
Muzzy, bloodshot eyes peered up at him. Blood trickled from Neo’s mouth and nose, but he was thankfully still conscious.
“Wha’?” Neo said, the word muffled as if Milo had knocked a few teeth loose.
Fuck, he probably had.
Kane rummaged in his suit and drew out his DEA badge. Milo had given it back to him in the car—an act of generosity he’d found strange but hadn’t questioned.
Perhaps the man had already known they wouldn’t find Eleodora here. Perhaps he realized it would only be a few hours until he and his entire crew were down at the police station, answering some very tough questions about their level of involvement with the ECV cartel. It might have been his way of racking up a few brownie points before the hammer fell on what would no doubt be a lengthy sentence.
Neo mouth gaped as he tried to focus on the badge, and then he drew back like it was a crucifix and, he, a demon.
“I didn’t say anything,” Neo spat. “Nothing!”
“You really think that’s how Zachary’s going to see this?” Kane stepped closer, and Bailey dropped his arm to allow him to pass. Even Lars stepped aside, grimacing as he wiped at his face.
Kane crouched in front of Neo, badge dangling absently from the hand draped over one knee.
“Because I think the fact that you’ve been given immunity in an ongoing investigation against the Plata o Plomo cartel is going to speak volumes about just how much of a snitch you are.”
Neo’s already pale face became bloodless. “I didn’t—you can’t—” But his words spluttered out when he realized Kane could.
And Kane would.
Cartel fucking scum.
He’d burn down a hospital if he knew a capo and his lieutenants were inside because when it came to filth like them, the ends always justified the means.
“So, one last time…” Kane leaned closer, the fingertips of his other hand pressing into the dirt so he could keep his balance. “What did Zachary plan to do with Eleodora?”
Neo’s eyes flashed wild, skipping over Kane’s face. His mouth worked hard for a few seconds. “I…I don’t know. But—” and then he flinched, as if already expecting another blow from Milo.
But even the restless giant at Kane’s side had gone quiet, entranced.
“But?” Kane prompted, turning his head a little so he could study Neo from the corner of his eye.
“But…” Neo licked his lips, leaving a bright slash of red blood over his top lip. “He said he couldn’t wait to finally have her to himself.”
A strange turn of phrase…
“What does that mean?”
Neo shrugged, glancing around. “I don’t know. I mean, from what Sylvia told me, he’s got like a hundred people just living on his property.”
“This one?” Kane asked, gesturing.
Another shrug. “I’m sure he’s got lots of places.”
“No one works here,” Milo said in his rough voice. “This place is a dump.”
“You sure?” Neo’s look became frantic.
“We still have to search the place,” came Bailey’s voice. From the sound of it, he’d stepped closer. All four of them now surrounded Neo, and it looked like he was sweating fucking bullets.
At least he wasn’t idiotic enough not to know when he was in deep, deep shit.
Kane rose, and the other three men stepped back.
They might have fooled themselves by saying it was to give him enough space to stand, but he knew better.
Kane Price was in charge of this operation now.
And their first order of business was tracking down and killing Zachary West.
37
It’s not kopi Luwak
Coffee and baking bread teased Cora awake. She opened her eyes, blinking to force them into focus. White walls and a fluttering curtain slowly appeared. She stretched, groaning softly as her muscles warmed, and propped herself up on an elbow.
Just visible beyond the curtain were the fronds of a palm tree. A faint susurration filled the air— familiar and yet completely foreign at the same time.
Pressing her palms into her eyes, Cora sat up. The sheets under her felt like satin against her skin. She looked down at herself, staring in confusion at the silk nightie draping her. The cream-colored garment was slightly too big for her—the two v’s at the top of the short dress barely covered her nipples.
She tugged up the fabric, squinting around the room. She could have been looking at the page of a home decor magazine with this place’s wicker furniture, and white-and-blue striped upholstery.
There was even a bottle with a ship inside it on the mantle.
Nails clicked against the shiny wooden floor.
Cora’s eyes widened as a white pitbull emerged from the hallway, standing on the threshold and staring inside.
Its jowls hung open. A string of foamy saliva slowly drooled from its drooping lip before splattering on the floor by its dirty paws.
It left a few grains of sea sand in its wake as it slowly made its way into the room.
Lady.
But it sure didn’t look like a lady. She’d seen stray dogs with more meat on their bones.
Cora swallowed, and drew her legs up tight against her, withdrawing to the center of the queen-sized bed. The dog stopped a foot away from the side of the bed, watching her as it slowly panted.
The sound of bare footsteps drew her eye. Zachary stepped into the room, a tray in his hands. On it, cutlery rattled faintly against crockery.
Of course: this was a dream.
Cora dipped her head, closing her eyes as she allowed herself a rueful smile. The beach house, the sickly dog, a cheerful Zachary West.
A strange, twisted dream, but a dream nonetheless.
“Morning, my love,” Zachary said, giving her a broad smile.
She’d never seen him smile like that before. He was so handsome when he did, dark eyes sparkling and adding boyish charm to his usually severe expression.
He wore a short-sleeved shirt, the buttons undone, and a pair of beige slacks that came just above his knees. Paired with bare feet and that mop of unruly brown hair, he looked like a man who’d still slip out some morning for a surf, hoping he wouldn’t run into the younger bucks as he tried to catch a few waves before breakfast.
Zachary came around the bed, gently moving Lady aside with his foot and placing the tray on the nightstand closest to Cora.
The light in the room seemed too bright, and would flicker and falter every few seconds.
She hated dreams like this; they always felt like they went on forever.
“Is that for me?” she asked, completely unintentionally.
Zachary beamed at her, and perched on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling, my love?”
She smiled at the term of endearment. “Good. A bit stiff, but good.” She stretched, and Zachary ran a hand over the sheet draping her shin.
She should have flinched at the touch, but she didn’t.
Dreams were weird like that.
“This’ll see you right,” he said, gesturing toward the tray. Then he leaned closer, and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Your things are in the closet,” he said as he drew back. His eyes drew a lingering line over her bod
y. “Not that I would mind if you stayed in that for the rest of the day. What’s left of it, anyway, sleepy head.”
He left while she was still giggling to herself like a school girl. She glanced at the tray. Her stomach felt hollow, but she didn’t want the food—the coffee would do for now.
It burnt her tongue.
Cora jerked, hurriedly setting the mug down and staring at it if it was a pile of snakes.
A tongue rasped over the back of her hand. She stared wide-eyed at the dog as it turned gorgeous, imploring eyes on her, and then looked at the tray.
Cora’s hand shook when she set the plate on the floor. She yanked her legs up as the dog wolfed down the bacon, eggs, and toast in case one of her toes got in the way.
She slowly backed away, her feet tangling in the sheet as she tried to get off the bed without catching Lady’s attention.
So intent was she on the dog, that when she slipped off the bed and backed up into a warm, tight body, she screamed in shock.
A hand clapped over her mouth.
“No, no, no!” Zachary yelled in her ear, giving her a rough shake. “No more noise!”
So Cora squeezed her eyes shut and tried desperately to stifle her next scream.
She couldn’t.
38
Shadow heart
As soon as dawn broke, Lars, Finn, Bailey, Kane and Ana split up to begin searching Zachary’s property. Lars had tied Neo to the rocking chair on the porch, despite the man’s protests.
Grass crunched under Lars’s boots as he headed away from the farm house. Kane had come up with a way for them to cover as much of the farmhouse’s grounds as possible between the five of them; each heading straight out to the furthest points, and then circling back in at an angle. Like the spokes of a wheel, and then a mandala slowly winding inward to its center. Well, that’s how he’d explained it.
For some reason, it sounded almost logical. Lars put it down to the fact that, in the last twenty-four hours, he’d been drugged, lied to, and deprived of food…and that he’d done all of that without a single nap.
A rohypnol induced semi-coma didn’t count, because it just fucking didn’t. And despite his body begging him for sleep, he hadn’t been able to get any shut eye, not even when he’d gone to lay down in the back of the SUV.
It might have had something to do with the dead body Milo had taken to show him. That was the last time he called bullshit on anything Milo said.
Zachary’s property was surprisingly serene. Birds sang from the branches of the many trees dotting the land, and larger mammals moved just out of sight— either gearing up for the day ahead or moving back to their burrows to wait for night.
The air smelled crisp and clean. But, about twenty minutes into his walk, he reached a crooked chain link fence that he assumed was the property’s boundary. And, five minutes after that as he headed back toward the farmhouse at an angle, a light breeze wafted the smell of char to him.
Whatever had burned, it had been big. His boots stirred smog where it lay like thin cotton wool over the ground.
The smell intensified to a sweet miasma of burned wood, damp ash, and…?
Lars slowed, but didn’t stop walking. His hand went to his pocket. Ahead, the trees cleared out and a large, squat building appeared.
Well, its shell.
Smoke curled up from what remained of the stone walls—those that hadn’t toppled.
Lars dialled Milo.
“I was just about to call you,” Milo said. “We found a tunnel.”
Lars crunched over grass that had turned to spiky charcoal. It seemed the fire hadn’t been adequately contained by the building.
Fires were hungry things, after all.
“My burned down building beats your tunnel,” Lars said, but he could hear how strained his voice was.
“Your…what?”
“I think you should get over here.”
“You should get over here,” Milo said sternly. “This tunnel goes all the way to fucking Mexico.”
Lars stepped carefully. The stench of smoke turned the air to a soupy stink that seemed to cling to him as he climbed over a fallen beam.
The warm ambience of dawn painted the fire’s remains a sickly hue.
“You know that thing Neo said, about how Zachary’s supposed to have like a lot of staff?”
“Yes, but what does that—?”
“I just found them,” Lars said. “All of them.”
Then he turned and hurled up everything that was left in his stomach.
. . .
Finn glanced aside at Lars. The man sat shotgun in the SUV, fingers curled against his mouth as he stared out the window. He hadn’t said a word after giving Finn directions to the staff quarters. They’d found him sitting on a rickety chair that had somehow escaped the carnage, watching dawn break over the horizon.
More than anything, Finn would always be grateful for Lars’s warning, his last words before he’d hung up.
“Don’t bring Ana. I don’t care if you have to tie her down…Don’t. Bring. Ana.”
So he hadn’t brought Ana, but he’d gathered up Bailey and Kane. Bailey had been the one to find the tunnel entrance, Kane the one to realize that, from its position so close to the Rio Grande, it had to be a conduit between USA and Mexico.
Both had been adamant they’d wanted to see the other side.
But Lars had needed them.
They’d left Ana to keep an eye on Neo. Kane and Bailey rode in the back, silent as the rest. The SUV’s interior smelled faintly of weed; Kane had offered Lars a hit of a joint after they’d inspected the grotesque remains of Zachary’s staff quarters…and the bodies that had still been inside when he’d set fire to the place.
In fact, Finn was the only one who hadn’t taken a hit from that joint. Everyone — even Kane — had seemed shocked by just how many people had been consumed by those flames.
Some had been children young enough to die in their mother’s arms.
Yet Kane, although shocked, hadn’t seemed surprised. According to the DEA agent, Zachary had a history of starting fires. He himself was covered with burn marks from the first fire he set that killed someone. Apparently, he’d had enough of being sexually abused by the man who’d taken him in after his parents had died.
A one Gregory Yule had been the tragic victim of an oil fire back in ninety-eight. Young Zachary, merely a teenager at the time, had barely survived and definitely not unscathed. Burn marks covered most of the left-hand side of his body.
He’d refused skin grafting.
Instead, it seemed, he’d found solace in more violence.
Finn’s knuckles creaked as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
Cora was in the hands of the devil himself. Maybe that’s why Lars had taken to silence, and why the air inside the vehicle prickled with dread apprehension.
Finn parked the SUV at the mouth of the tunnel.
It was their last hope.
Kane stirred first, catching Finn’s eye as his reflection moved in the rear view mirror. “Times a-wasting,” Kane murmured, glancing over the faces of everyone inside the car. “Let’s go get our girl, shall we?”
Finn’s beast growled deep and low. Claws clicked as the creature came hesitantly forward and sniffed the air. Then it slunk back to its shadows, nothing but a sullen gleam of its eyes to prove it was there.
It was probably better that way; he couldn’t afford to lose control. Not now. Not with so much at stake.
He would never forgive himself if he did something to fuck this up. If he lost Cora forever.
Four sets of footsteps sounded through the dirt, and then off concrete steps. The four of them spread out into a line; Finn in front, followed by Lars, then Bailey, and finally Kane.
When Finn glanced back, Kane was studying the inside of the tunnel with visible admiration.
“You know El Chapo had one of these too?” Kane said, but more as if to himself. “Several, in fact. Soon as we shut one d
own, he’d just build another.”
“First time I’ve heard of it,” Bailey said.
“Well, he didn’t have anything on this scale,” Kane said. The man’s voice sounded sonorous how it echoed back to them. “His tunnels were quite small, ill lit. This is…this is downright fucking cocky.”
“Wasn’t like he’d be disturbed,” Bailey agreed somewhat hesitantly. “It’s his own land.”
“Probably owns the property on the other side too. That would be genius. Never worrying that a landlord is going to snitch on you. Not that Zachary West tolerates snitches.”
This brought a wave of stillness crashing over the men again.
Those bodies.
Finn picked up his pace. He knew Cora wouldn’t be waiting on the other side of this tunnel, but the sooner he could get to the next step, the sooner he would find her.
Minutes later, the tunnel sloped up and opened into a field. Yards behind them, the Rio Grande filled the air with the melody of water chafing its banks.
The first thing Finn spotted was the dead dog.
The second was the glint of the ring that lay on its unmoving flank.
As he crouched beside the animal, the other three spread out. The field was mostly grass with large pockets of bare ground interspersed between.
Kane went to go stand at one of them, hands on his hips as he studied the dust.
Lars came up to Finn. Fingers brushed the tip of his ear, and he glanced up at the man.
“Her ring,” Lars said as he slowly came into a crouch beside Finn.
“A message,” Finn murmured, twisting the ruby until the light caught it just right. He looked up at Lars. The man’s eyes were bright, if blood shot.
He was falling apart.
“Guys!” Kane’s voice rang out, and Finn flinched at the sound.
Fuck, they were both falling apart.
He and Lars clustered beside Kane, Bailey joining them a second later. The man went into a crouch, using a long stem of dry grass to point out a faint track in the dust.