The perimeter of Javier Martin’s compound came into view half an hour later. First to break the horizon were a pair of towers, tall and slim. It reminded Finn of a prison, especially when the sun caught those windows just right and silhouetted armed men behind the glass. He flashed his lights at Lars, who slowed to a stop. He got out, and ambled over to Finn.

“Think they’ve seen us?” Lars asked with a quick glance at the towers.

“Sure they’re counting our fucking pores.” Finn grabbed a shoulder in hand and began working at the muscle. He’d been tensing the longer they’d driven down that fucked up excuse of a road. And he could feel that tension spreading through his body, setting every nerve ending it passed on fire. Cora’s silence hadn’t helped either. She’d seemed entirely happy with not speaking to him ever again. “I guess it could only be Martin’s place, up ahead.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Lars turned so he could see the towers and Finn at the same time. “I’m worried they don’t think we’re friendly.”

“Miguel!” Finn called out. After a few seconds, the halcon stuck his head from the rental’s back passenger window.

“¿Señor?”

“They gonna shoot us?” Finn asked, pointing at the distant towers.

“No, señor. I make call.”

“You made it already?”

“Yeah, he had a long conversation with his beaner friend,” Lars said, a twist to his mouth. “Refused to speak English. For all I know, he planned a fucking coup.”

“Si. We go.” Miguel gestured ahead, as if there was some mystical point in the road they still had to get to.

The man’s head disappeared again.

“—Milo?”

Finn dragged his head to face Lars. He’d been staring at his SUV, wondering why Cora kept refusing to make eye contact with him. “What?”

Lars made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “Never mind. Let’s just get this over with.”

They drove on for a few minutes until a small hut reared out from the side of the road. A man stepped casually in front of Finn’s SUV. Finn brought his foot down hard on the brake, and the car’s back tires skidded forward a few inches.

The man he’d almost driven into seemed non-plussed. Perhaps it was the AK-47 dangling at his side that lent an air of invulnerability to him.

“Salgan fuera,” the man said calmly, if loudly.

“He wants us to get out,” Cora translated, a nervous edge to her voice.

Behind them, Lars stuck his head out the window. “Hola, amigo. What up?”

The man ignored him. “Out!” he said, waving at them with his assault rifle.

Finn’s skin grew tight. Lars was getting out his SUV, so he got out too. He itched to lay a hand on the pistol snug in it holster, but that might provoke the wrong reaction from the guard.

The Mexican’s grim face turned to study them as he approached. “Volver en el coche.”

“We don’t speak beaner,” Lars said. “What’s going on? Why’d you stop us?”

Miguel scrambled out of the rental SUV. “Por favor, señor.” He lifted his hands to Finn and then Lars, hurrying forward. “He want take car.”

“Take it where?” Finn said, glancing at the offending SUV he’d been driving.

“It is hire car, si?” Miguel asked, hands still raised. “It have tracking. They not let it through.”

“Just let them take it, Milo,” Lars said.

“Cora,” Finn called. She looked up at the sound of her name, and climbed out as the guard made his way around the car and got into the driver’s seat. He made a wide turn through the grass beside the road. A dented sedan appeared from the behind the squat building a few yards away, trailing dust in its wake as it made for the road.

Their rental truck sped away, the sedan following at a more sedate pace behind it.

Finn held the back door open for Cora and climbed in behind her, all too aware how his leg pressed against hers as the SUV began moving down the road.

It smelled of sweat and dried blood inside the cab. But when he wound down the window, dust piled into the car and began settling over everything. He closed it again, leaving just a crack open.

A few minutes later, the dirt road turned to gravel. Stone walls ten feet high reared up, closed with a solid metal gate that didn’t allow a sliver of light through. Now way to see what was behind those walls, or those gates. Not until they opened. Obviously, they’d been given the all clear—as Lars’s SUV approached, the gate split down the middle and folded back.

More desiccated grass; the landscape unaltered. But here, the road was paved and turned in a slow bend to the right.

Finn could feel eyes on them as Lars guided the SUV through the gates, but no one impeded them. In fact, it was eerily quiet, as if even the wildlife in this area knew better than to cross the perimeter of this compound. Which was still out of sight, perhaps a mile or more away.

The paved road went on for an eternity. How much had Martin paid for this road to be built? And for that massive wall back there. Did it extend all the way around his property? They climbed a gradual incline, and when they crested it, the extent of Javier Martin’s land became apparent.

It was easily several hundred hectares. Ahead, pine trees had been planted in a straight line down either sides of the road, which curved again. Perhaps in an attempt to shield the villa that lay beyond, but it would have taken more than a few trees to properly accomplish that task.

Martin had sure gone to a lot of effort to keep this place concealed. Through the trees, he spotted an orchard, a pasture with cows and grazing sheep. Another field lay beyond, several glossy thoroughbreds roaming around in it.

“Fuck my life,” Lars muttered. “This guy doesn’t mess around, does he?”

It looked like a small village, not someone’s house. Maybe it was. Maybe this compound was in fact a village Martin had built to conduct cartel business.

But it was too neat. Every arch and manicured garden too perfect.

How much water did it take him to keep everything so green? Was he on a river somewhere, with exclusive water rights that he could afford to keep everything wet enough to make it green this deep into the dust bowl that was western Texas?

“Hundred bucks says he’s gold faucets in there,” Lars said.

“Si,” Miguel chimed in happily. “El Guapo very wealthy man.”

It was a drastic understatement.

A white Bentley stood parked in the circular drive. Fuck knew how it got there, seeing as the first few miles of road to this compound were in such a state. Maybe he had a helicopter he used to put the car down on the nearest tar road.

A few yards away from the Bentley, two armed guards began walking toward them.

Cora tensed beside him, and he glanced down at her. Fingers shivered against his leg, and then she was fumbling in his lap for his hand. He let her take it—her long, thin fingers cool against his slab of a palm—and gave her a gentle squeeze.

She looked up at him, faint panic etched in those honey-gold eyes of hers.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured.

Were they wrong in bringing her here? She’d never seemed to have negative connotations of her ‘Uncle’ Javier, but then why was she so nervous?

She didn’t speak though. Did nothing except cling to his hand.

Lars brought the SUV to a halt. For some reason, Finn expected Martin to walk out of that massive entry hall and greet them like Swan had when he’d arrived at the manor all of what, a week ago?

Instead, the two-armed guards came around each side of the car and began inspecting it. When Lars moved to open the car door, Miguel caught his sleeve. “Wait. Wait.”

Lars gave Finn a pissed off look in the mirror, but he sat in silence as the two men made a circuit of the car. Seemingly satisfied, one of them came to Lars’s now open window.

“Beunos dias,” the man said, giving everyone inside the car an amiable smile. “Take out all your weapons. Guns, knives, garrotes. Whatever you have, you toss it out the window.”

There was a moment’s stifled silence which Miguel interrupted with a quiet, “Por favor.”

Lars mumbled something crude under his breath and made a show of ripping his pistol from his holster. He tossed it past the guard’s head, and then sat forward in the seat to extract his second pistol from behind his belt. Finn wound down his window and tossed out his holster, pistol still clipped safely inside, hesitated, and then rummaged in his boot for his concealed knife.

The guard stepped to the side, peering through Finn’s window with dark, narrowed eyes. Those eyes lit up when he saw Cora. She was sitting forward, taking her Taurus out from her belt.

“No, Princesa, no.” The guard lifted a hand, waving down. “Mantener tu arma.”

Cora froze, eyebrows drawing together as she glanced first at Finn and then Lars.

“What’s he say?” Finn asked quietly.

The guard cut in before Cora could answer. “Señorita Rivera is not a threat.”

Cora looked just as surprised at this announcement as Finn felt. Then again, she’d been brought here for safety, so it was reasonable to assume that they’d let her into this top-secret compound because they trusted her.

“Come.” The guard had a wide smile on his face now, and after Finn had stepped out, the man rushed forward to extend Cora his hand.

She stared at it for a moment as if wondering what the hell she was supposed to do with it, and then cautiously took it.

Finn stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get you to your uncle.”

Cora ducked her shoulder away from his hand and glared up at him. “I told you, he’s not my uncle.”

And, with that, she spun on her heel and stormed toward the large entryway. The guard who’d helped her down from the SUV hurried after her until he was a step in front, and then gave her a wide smile as he opened a massive wooden door for her. Finn heard a murmured, “Princesa,” from the man before he disappeared into the shadow behind that entrance.

Finn sped up, and caught the tail end of the pair just before they turned a distant corner.

The door led into a courtyard, open to the sky and filled with flowers and fountains and patches of perfectly trimmed grass. Benches and swings were scattered through the various little parks, and a few birds took flight as Cora and the guard reappeared on the other side, heading through another wide arch that led deeper into the compound.

Compound? Finn snorted quietly to himself as Lars fell in step beside him. Miguel trailed them, but Angel and the second guard were nowhere to be seen.

This wasn’t a fucking compound. This was a palace. A drug lord’s palace.

Princess Cora probably felt right at home.