But Rebecca had to have been onto something big, even though she hadn’t realized at the time. Because why would she have been followed to Colombia on her trip where she met Rory in the first place?
“Where did Rebecca get the name of the smuggler you were both there for three years ago in Cartagena? And you, for that matter? How’d you find him? I had no open cases from that city.”
“While at the hospital, I told her I’d found a connection between Benicio Josef and a smuggler I happened upon by accident in Peru. Animals and animal parts were being shipped from Peru to Cartagena and then on to Asia. When I planted the tracking device in Josef’s compound, I found evidence tying him to wildlife trafficking between Colombia and Africa as well. I sent all of my evidence to the necessary agencies. I just figured she removed him from her list after that, so I didn’t push for more information.”
“Well, he wasn’t on my list,” Carter reiterated. “But you managed to confirm the link between Josef and The Italian?”
“Rebecca and I realized his connection while studying the list, but I had already sent the evidence to Interpol and the DEA. Josef was also smuggling drugs stitched up inside animals.” She cringed. “He had his hands in everything, though.” Scum of the earth.
“My wife must have found Josef as a target another way, and her research landed her on The Italian’s radar. I guess I don’t understand why The Italian waited so long to go after her. Or you, if he knew about you, too.”
“Based on the photos you now have, Santiago could have killed us both in Cartagena instead of taking our photos. Removed our disguises and learned our identities on the spot. I have no idea. And since those photos were of us outside a café, he had to have been following us for days.” And that’s creepy and stalker-like. “I assume Santiago didn’t give up any identifying details about The Italian to you, but did you kill him?”
“He’s still alive. Not in this house, but I won’t let him die so quickly. He needs to suffer. And I might have more questions. But after my little chat with him, Santiago grew to fear me more than The Italian, a man he’s never met in person. Trust me when I say if he knew The Italian’s name or location, I would now know it, too.” The night was warm, but a chill ran up her spine at Carter’s words, and she had a feeling he could more than give The Italian a run for his money. Vengeance was a powerful motivator.
Images of waterboarding, tooth extraction, and digging-your-own-grave kind of torture tactics popped to mind. Knowing Carter and his anger, he’d probably done much worse to Santiago.
“Santiago confessed to me after I took him from the CIA that he was hired to follow my wife, and then six months later, he was paid by The Italian to kill her. And, of course, he used The Italian’s trade routes from time to time,” Carter continued a few seconds later, the moody music in the background accompanying their conversation like an Oscar-winning score to a movie. “Santiago did mention Danny faked his death and changed his identity after Rebecca was killed.”
The words Rebecca was killed seemed to echo in the still air. Carter took a deep breath, placed his hands on his hips, and silently turned toward the ocean.
It was still so hard to believe how she and Carter were connected, and yet, back in August, neither had realized it at the time.
“Why only him?” Danny was always high-strung and a little anxious. Maybe he’d been worried he’d get caught for murder?
“Santiago said Danny had lunch with someone in D.C. shortly after Rebecca died, and he was pissed about it. Clearly, that someone was you. The Italian told Danny to either change his face and fake his death, or he’d see to it his death would be real.”
“And I’m guessing Santiago didn’t mention my name or confirm The Italian actually knows my real identity?” He was paid to follow Rebecca, not me, she reminded herself. But here she was, so the threat to her safety was real.
“I asked Santiago to identify you from the photos taken in Colombia, and he couldn’t. He didn’t know your name, and he wasn’t assigned to look into anyone other than Rebecca after Cartagena.”
“Then how can you be so certain The Italian knows I’m the one who was helping Rebecca pursue the smugglers who used his trade routes?”
“I think the fact you almost drowned in the ocean on Saturday is convincing enough, don’t you?” he asked, unexpected sarcasm in his tone. Maybe she deserved that.
“Danny knew me.” He’s why you think The Italian must also know about me. “And Danny’s also connected to Andrew, who’s my ex-boyfriend and ex-boss, so . . .” Andrew’s in the middle of this all. He has to be. “How’d you even know to go after Santiago in the first place since you didn’t know his involvement until he confessed?” She held a palm in the air, deciding to find her backbone and stand up to him for a moment. “You know what? Scratch that. I want my friends down here now. They should hear all of this.” She added as much edge to her tone as possible. She’d fallen into the trap of empathy because of Rebecca, but she was still Carter’s captive, and she needed to remember Carter was dangerous. “They can help. Harper was CIA, and she knows you.”
He sat once again and set his palms on the table, fingertips curling in. “I know. I saw her go to the event with you Friday night.”
“You were there?” . . . And there went her backbone. Her spine curved, and he probably noticed, which she hated. What the actual fuck?
“Across the street in my limo,” he said far too casually, and her anger startled her shoulders back. “Why do you think your friends were taken, too?”
From the sounds of it, he didn’t know the answer to that question. And she only had theories.
“My friends, I want them here,” she gritted out the reminder, carrying her eyes to his to find that confidence inside her again. To go against a man like The Italian, like Carter, you had to hold your ground, or they’d walk all over you. She’d learned those lessons over the years, dealing with mostly men every day in her line of work.
“You’re persistent,” he said before his eyes darted off to her right, and she turned at the familiar sound of paws hitting the ground coming up behind her.
An Alaskan Malamute charged him, but then Carter issued a command, and the dog immediately heeled. Carter sat at the head of the table, and the dog sat upright next to him.
“You brought your dog with you?” That was . . . surprising.
“Dallas comes everywhere with me.”
“Dallas as in Texas?” she asked while reaching out, offering her hand to see if Dallas would come to her.
Dallas looked to Carter, and he nodded his okay. Dallas hurried in frenzied excitement for Rory, and she turned in her chair to pet him.
“How old is he?” she asked when he never answered her other question. She leaned over the chair arm to scratch his belly when he flipped to his back.
For a second, Dallas’s presence had her relaxing. Her anger nearly drifted free.
“Two,” he responded in a low voice.
Ohh. “Rebecca said she loved dogs but was allergic to them,” Rory said at the memory, and maybe she knew a few personal details about her.
He called Dallas back to his side, then stuck a hand in the air and made a come-hither motion. She had no idea who saw that since they were surrounded by six-foot walls made of shrubs, bushes, and flowers. “My people are retrieving your friends.”
“Thank you.” She bit down on her back teeth, trying to resist talking until Chris was with her, but . . . “Why didn’t you warn me? Give me a heads-up that The Italian may have known my real identity? Or hell, stopped the men from taking me Friday night if you were right outside the hotel?”
Bait.
Hook. Line. Sinker.
She’d fallen for his trap in France, too.
“My men followed your abductors to Puerto Rico, where they chartered a yacht,” he answered. Well, sort of answered her. “But my team lost track of you when the storm hit. I didn’t expect it would sink. For a bit there, I thought you died at sea.”
“So, I was bait,” she confirmed, doing her best to hold on to her anger and not focus on the fact that Jolie—Rebecca—had been his wife, and he was grieving. Or that he’d also been in the fight against smugglers before leaving the Agency to pursue his vengeance, thereby becoming the kind of man Rebecca would most likely hate.
“I heard it play out on my scanner. There was a bounty for your retrieval, the Trott brothers—those lowlife smugglers—were near the island, and they announced Sunday evening they found you.”
Another quick explanation without an apology.
“We could have died, you know.” But that was like telling him the earth revolved around the sun. An obvious fact.
His jaw tightened, but he surprised her with an, “I’m sorry.”
She studied him, deciding if his words were genuine. “A little late for that.”
“You put yourself in this situation by going after The Italian. He was never your problem, and yet, you barged in and made it happen.”
You have got to be kidding. “And your wife? Do you blame her? She’s the one who took the twenty-five names from your files. She put me on this path to begin with. It all circles back to her.” Not that Rory blamed Rebecca, but who was Carter to decide what Rory could or couldn’t do? “And you can’t pulverize steel with your teeth, so stop trying,” she tossed out flippantly at the sight of his jaw moving as if he were grinding down on his molars. “Why bother to save us from the Trott brothers?” If she was going to keep pushing, why not go for gold? “You could have waited for them to sell us to whoever offered the bounty. Keep using me as bait to lead you to The Italian.”
He reached for his wineglass. And the jerk had the nerve to slowly swirl the wine and take a sip. But she was beginning to see through his façade. The longer he was around her, the thinner it became. And she could tell it pissed him off. He was used to playing the role of a vicious man who didn’t give a shit, but he cared. He cared so much he was prepared to burn down the world in the name of revenge. “That storm was a variable I hadn’t considered. I was lucky to have heard the bounty over the scanner, and I wasn’t about to risk something else going sideways. But I should never have let you be taken from D.C. to begin with, I’m sorry.”
She released a shaky exhale, but his apology wasn’t enough. Not yet. He’d risked their lives to try and bait The Italian. “You only need me to survive to use me as a bargaining tool. That’s why you came for us.”
“God, you remind me so much of my wife. Stubborn. Headstrong. Won’t take no for an answer.”
“So, you’re complimenting me now?”
A slight smile had his lips lifting at the edges. He set his wine down and leaned back in his seat. His smile slowly transformed into quiet resignation. “My men are working on tracking down the team that first offered the bounty to the Trott brothers. We should have them detained by tomorrow.”
And deflection. Maybe she knew a thing about that, too. “You believe Andrew Cutter also works for The Italian given Andrew’s connection to Danny, and Danny’s connection to Santiago, right?”
Those dark eyes peering at her held secrets, ones he probably wanted to remain buried. She’d been that way until she met Chris and unexpectedly found herself wanting to share her life with him. Only, she’d been terrified her life would endanger him. And now, here we are.
“It wouldn’t be the first time treasure hunters have worked with smugglers. They’re out on salvage vessels in the ocean. It’s a convenient place to move everything from guns to animals in crates and containers labeled as artifacts or salvage equipment. Most smugglers don’t give them a choice. Help and take a cut or die.”
“I knew some men were hired by organizations to plunder and steal artifacts for ISIS and such, so I guess it makes sense they also use salvage vessels as a means to smuggle.” She’d spent years making bold life-and-death choices, always trusting her gut—how’d she get everything so wrong now? “I never saw Andrew meet with anyone suspicious, though. Not that I remember, at least. And his ship was huge. I didn’t have access to every square inch of it.”
“I did some digging. Twelve years ago, Cutter was broke. No investors. No one to back his pursuits. And then, a year later, Cutter was suddenly in charge of a multimillion-dollar ship with all the equipment he’d ever need.” He opened his palms to the sky.
“You think he made a deal with a smuggler?” Rory’s stomach dropped.
“The Italian didn’t exist back then, but there were plenty of other criminals who may have offered Cutter a ship loaded with equipment for treasure hunting in exchange for smuggling goods for them. They probably also required a hefty cut of any treasure he did find.”
“That’s speculation. A legitimate investor may have—”
“And legitimate businessmen record their investments.” He stroked Dallas’s head now, eyes remaining on Rory. “When I learned you were near D.C., and with Cutter being there, too, and the connection he had to Danny, I tasked my men to watch you and your family.”
Ohh. “There was a man on that yacht who I recognized. Well, not at the time because I was drugged, but it came to me later. He had a scar that resembled the number seven next to his eye, and a tattoo of a green mamba coiled around his neck. He’d worked with Andrew in the past.”
Carter sat taller at the news, lifting his hand from Dallas. “You mean Jensen Fitzpatrick, Danny’s cousin?” His hand became a fist on the table. “He was with Danny and Santiago the night they killed my wife.”
Shivers rolled over her spine at the thought of Danny and Jensen brutally murdering Rebecca. All because she had wanted to make a difference.
Her world went from spinning to collapsing in on itself. “Well, he’s dead. At the bottom of the ocean on that yacht.”
His eyes flashed with anger. Anger that his revenge had been taken from him.
Rory still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact The Italian may have known about her but didn’t make a move before now.
“Aside from falling for my trap in France, did you only stick to that list my wife gave you? The list of twenty-five?” he asked a moment later, his anger seemingly under control.
“My main focus was that list because I wanted to finish it to honor the work Rebecca and I had started, but I’ve kept an eye on the illicit trade of elephant ivory and pangolin—as you clearly knew.” She still hated that Carter had duped her. “There was a huge sale of ivory made this summer. The transaction was between a seller in Africa and a buyer in El Salvador. I couldn’t just ignore it. And when I learned Alvin Santiago was illegally importing the ivory by using a trade network known to be controlled by The Italian, I deviated from the list and went after him. How could I not? I mean, it fit my mission perfectly. I’d planned to get back to hunting those on the list of twenty-five after I sent the CIA the intel on Santiago, but then you distracted me with pangolins.”
“My path never crossed with Santiago’s before last week. Not that I know of, at least. But somehow, Rebecca’s did.” His brows snapped together, anger crossing his hard features. “Santiago’s abduction must be the trigger that set the events of this weekend into motion.” He stood and braced the back of his head with one hand, working through his thoughts.
“Rory!” The sound of Chris’s voice calling out her name threw her thoughts about Santiago out to sea.
She jumped to her feet, nearly knocking the chair over as Chris rushed toward her.
Chris circled his arms around her back, and she threw her arms over his shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Were there tears pricking her eyes?
“She won’t eat without your presence.” Carter’s words had Chris easing away from Rory to look at him.
A moment later, Harper and Roman appeared side by side at the entrance of the eating area, a guard behind them.
“Brooks,” Carter acknowledged Harper in a firm voice.
Rory wasn’t the only one who’d had access to a shower and a change of clothes. The t
hree of them all had jeans on and a variation of colors for tees.
“Dominick,” Harper said through barely parted lips, then looked at Rory as if confirming Carter hadn’t hurt her.
Before Harper could respond, Chris left Rory’s side, walked straight up to Carter, and clocked him clean across the jaw.
And she was fairly certain Carter let him do it because she’d caught Carter motioning for Dallas to remain seated out of the corner of her eye. To not attack Chris.
“That was for allowing your men to taser her in France.” Chris rounded his fist, prepared to strike again, but Rory hurried to his side and placed a firm hand to his shoulder, urging him to back down.
He twisted to look at her, and his intense expression relaxed immediately. He slowly lowered his fist and stepped back from Carter.
Carter swiped a hand over his jaw before his gaze journeyed between the three of them. “I guess it’s time we lay all the cards on the table.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chris remained rooted in place. Rigid and tense. Every muscle in his body was gridlocked like five o’clock traffic on I-95 in Boston as Carter spoke. As he explained the series of events that led to their captivity under his custody.
And yup, captivity being one of the key takeaways for Chris as Carter unraveled information. The last thing Chris wanted was to be locked up again. From the assholes on the yacht to the go-fuck-themselves Trott brothers, he was ready for freedom.
Granted, his room was like a suite in a luxury hotel that included a fully stocked closet of random menswear. It was a massive upgrade from the other locations they’d found themselves in over the last two days, but he wasn’t in control, and he hated losing control.
Punching Carter hadn’t come close to appeasing his anger.
Rory’s scars.
The scum of the earth whose vile and atrocious dealings had given Rory cause to go after them in the first place.
The danger she was in now.
All of it.
Chasing Fortune (Stealth Ops Book 8) Page 26