Chapter One

 

 

Manny Nieto removed his sunglasses as he stepped out of the armored Range Rover parked out front of the humble house on the outskirts of town, and tucked them into the pocket of his designer shirt. His head of security was waiting for him on the front porch, having already ensured the area was safe and without prying eyes.

“Well?” Manny asked in Spanish as he walked up the front steps. The July heat in this area of Mexico was dry, but still oppressive. He wanted to finish this business and get back into his air-conditioned vehicle as soon as possible. “Anything?”

“No.” David stepped back and opened the door for him.

Impatient for answers, Manny walked inside. The sounds of muffled sobbing came from somewhere in the back. He made a face. “How long has he been in there?”

“About an hour.”

“Let’s make this quick. I’ve got another meeting to get to.”

David led him down the short hallway and turned left down another. The sobbing got louder as they approached a closed door at the end on the right. Broken, pitiful sobbing of a man who knew he wasn’t going to live much longer.

At Manny’s nod, David knocked once on the door and opened it. Another security member stood inside, guarding the door. Yet another was positioned at the back of the room, near the far wall, a three-foot-long, thin metal rod in his hands.

The male prisoner dangled from chains attached to a hook in the ceiling. He hung by his wrists, his toes dangling a few inches off the floor. With his arms stretched out overhead like that and his full weight hanging from them, the strain on his shoulder joints would be unbearable.

The twenty-something, dark-haired man was naked, head bowed as he hung there, chin resting on his heaving, glistening chest. Slowly his head came up. He looked at Manny through eyes nearly swollen shut, his limp body jerking with the residual force of his muffled sobs. Blood ran from his nose, trickling over his mouth and chin, dripping onto his chest. His sweat-slicked torso was covered in welts, bluish-purple bruises already forming across his ribs and stomach.

Standing just inside the doorway, Manny folded his arms and regarded the prisoner for a long moment. “You know who I am?”

Glazed with pain, those beaten eyes gazed back at him with fear and pleading. But more importantly, recognition.

Manny intended to make this quick. He needed answers, and he needed them fast. “You were one of Ruiz’s sicarios, no?” The former Veneno lieutenant Manny had replaced recently. Right after Ruiz was captured by U.S. federal agents in a highly secretive sting back in May.

The man tried to shake his head. “I…no,” he slurred through battered lips. “I was…new. Only worked…for him…a month.”

Manny glanced at the man who had been beating him. “This true?”

“He seems to believe it,” the guy said with a shrug, tapping the rod against his thigh. “Hasn’t changed his story.”

Manny turned his attention back to the prisoner. The man was in a lot of pain, kept moving restlessly in a futile effort to relieve the pressure on his shoulder joints. Likely he had a few cracked ribs as well. There was no reason he would keep lying under that kind of torture.

“Ruiz is gone for good. He’s either going to die in prison, or by lethal injection one day. Either way, he’s already dead as far as we’re concerned.” We meaning Manny, the other Veneno lieutenants, and El Escorpion himself—the shadowy and reclusive head of the cartel. “Anyone who worked for him belongs to me now. And I expect my people to transfer their loyalty to me also.” He hardened his tone. “Not to run to the Americans and try to cut a deal.”

“They came to me,” the prisoner rasped out. “I didn’t…tell them anything.” He wheezed the last word, shuddered.

Whether he had talked or not was irrelevant now. Manny had taken steps to change procedures within his part of the organization, and brought his own people on board since becoming the new lieutenant. They were almost done cleaning out the dregs of Ruiz’s old operation. A necessary purge, since most of them had proven to be mindless animals.

But that wasn’t why this man was being questioned. Manny had come here for another purpose. One he wanted answers to immediately. Beneath the cold, detached exterior and terrifying reputation he guarded so well, he was a desperate, frantic man.

The moment he showed any sign of weakness, he was as good as dead.

A cold, hard fury burned deep in his chest as he faced the prisoner. None of the others had given him anything of use. Someone had to know.

“Where is my daughter, Jesus?” he demanded in a deceptively calm voice. “Oceane. Where is she?” She and her mother had been attacked by gunmen at their house outside of Veracruz a few days ago. They had apparently survived and had gone into hiding, but Manny didn’t know where. Perhaps even to the United States. He needed to find them. Wanted them both back on Mexican soil and back under his control and protection immediately, before it was too late.

The man’s bleary eyes focused on him, his expression freezing with fear. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you.” He said it quietly, each word filled with menace.

“No. I swear it.” Another sob ripped out of him.

Manny kept staring at him but spoke to the man holding the rod. “What else did he say?”

“Not much. He says he never heard about her. Not even rumors. He said the first he heard of her and her mother disappearing was when we brought him here.”

Manny shoved back the sudden rise in fury that erupted in his gut. “You don’t know anything about this, hm?”

Jesus shook his head. “No, I swear.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “I find it so hard to believe that Ruiz ordered the attack from inside a supposedly secure U.S. prison, yet every single one of his men we’ve questioned knows nothing about it.” He paused a beat, tilted his head. “Don’t you find that hard to believe, Jesus?”

A pained groan came from the prisoner. “I don’t…I don’t know anything. Please,” he begged. “I haven’t done…anything to you…or your family.” He dragged in a shallow breath, his face contorting with pain. “I will be loyal.”

No, he wouldn’t. Not after this. And Manny was too pragmatic a businessman to be swayed by a man’s pleas. Under torture, men would say anything. So the fact that this one hadn’t made up some story to try and save himself proved he was either stupid, or innocent.

Manny didn’t tolerate stupid. Innocence was of no use to him either, except when it came to his daughter. He still loved her mother, Anya, in his own way. Not in the intensely passionate way he had when they’d begun their relationship twenty-five years ago. Yet enough that he still harbored a certain fondness and loyalty toward her. He’d kept tabs on her this whole time in between his visits, made sure she was financially comfortable and had adequate protection.

But Oceane. She was his future. He would do whatever it took to find her and bring her back to begin the work of learning how to run the empire he’d built at such risk to himself. An empire he and her mother had gone to great lengths to keep her mostly ignorant of throughout her life. That illusion was no doubt shattered now, and it put everything in jeopardy.

Manny shifted his stance, his anger transforming into disappointment. He’d hoped this prisoner might be the one to give them a solid lead to follow. “Do you have anything at all of use to tell me about my daughter’s whereabouts, or who carried out the attack?” he asked.

Jesus blinked, his swollen, bruised eyelids flickering. “No. I told you, I know nothing.”

Then you’re of no further use to me. Sighing, Manny looked at the man holding the rod, gave a nod of consent, and turned to go.

“No, wait,” Jesus begged, his voice catching with tears. “Wait!”

Manny ignored him, unwilling to give him a second more of his time. On his way to the door, his gaze snagged on the tray of instruments laid out on a small table next to another wall. Some delicate medical and dental ones for intricate means of extracting information. Larger, cruder ones, to carry out more heavy-handed punishment…and death.

Manny walked out the door as Jesus’s frantic pleas followed him into the hall. He never stayed to watch his men work on a prisoner. Some men got off on that kind of violence. The brutal show of force and power against a helpless victim. Ruiz had been one of them. Manny didn’t enjoy it, and didn’t partake in the physical side of the business. Never had, never would.

Torture and death were necessary means in his world, he wasn’t naïve enough to believe otherwise, and it had helped him secure his position within the cartel. But at his core, he was a businessman. He preferred working in boardrooms and making deals over a meal at an expensive restaurant.

It was why El Escorpion had given his blessing and allowed Manny to take Ruiz’s place so quickly. The elusive head of the organization had been weary of Ruiz and his ways, to the point that rumors had been circulating that El Escorpion himself had aided in Ruiz’s capture, giving the Americans critical intel on Ruiz’s secret location.

Sickening, bloodcurdling screams echoed off the walls as he reached the front door with David. Manny was far better at compartmentalizing things now than he had been at first, didn’t even flinch now, although he wished his men would just put a bullet in Jesus’s brain and end it already.

Except he’d learned an important lesson about power over the years, something he’d studied in his business dealings. The people he employed were tools, and he couldn’t run this without them. His lawyers were like surgeons, wielding their legal scalpels in delicate matters. Whereas his sicarios were instruments of extreme violence, who craved the power of acting on their sadistic needs to dole out suffering and death.

From a human resources point of view, keeping his people happy in their jobs meant they were more likely to be loyal. Sometimes it was best to let them have what they wanted.

As for the people responsible for the attack on his daughter and mistress, and those involved with keeping them hidden…

Once he found them, his sicarios would get plenty more opportunity to hone their gruesome skills.

 

****

 

Rowan Stewart mentally reviewed everything she needed to accomplish today as she exited the freeway and turned toward her office in the heart of D.C. She and her boss were still compiling evidence in a big case they were working on—the biggest one of her career thus far. Every night this week she’d been up until one going over her notes to make sure she was prepared for the upcoming witness interviews today, and she would likely be working late tonight as well.

Sleep deprivation and long hours came with the territory.

She yawned and reached out to turn up the music a bit louder. At this point she was well accustomed to burning the proverbial candle at both ends. Not her favorite thing, but it was one of the price tags that came with the title of Assistant U.S. Attorney, a position she’d worked her ass off for. And if she wanted to become U.S. Attorney one day, then she had to keep working just as hard to make it happen. If she ever earned that, she wanted it to be on her own merit, not because of who she knew or who her father was.

Pushing out a deep breath as she reached the end of the lineup of cars waiting at the next light, she forced aside everything she had to do today and let her mind wander, dying for the cup of coffee waiting for her once she made it to the office. Traffic was insane as usual at this time of the morning, but since it was early July, at least it was bright and sunny out.

When she finally made it into the left-hand turn lane at the light, a call came in on her car’s hands-free device. Finding her father’s name on the dash console, she suppressed a groan and answered anyway as she edged into the intersection, waiting for a gap in traffic to turn. It wasn’t like she was going anywhere in this traffic, so she had time to talk. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetie. You on your way to the office?”

He sounded bright and chipper, had probably been up since she had, even though he didn’t need to anymore. Once a workaholic, always a workaholic. Rowan shook her head. When she retired, she wasn’t getting up until at least eight every day. “I’m about ten minutes out.” If she ever made this damn turn.

“Good. So many criminals to put away, so little time.”

He used that line so often that all she could do was manage a grunt of acknowledgment. “What’s up?” Please don’t add anything more to my plate today.

“Got some paperwork here for signing authority on my accounts, power of attorney and whatnot. I’m just in the process of reorganizing my estate and will, and it’s pretty complicated. I’ll walk you through everything when you get here. I need to have it in by eight tomorrow morning. Can you swing by tonight?”

She huffed out an irritated breath, hoped he didn’t hear it over the car’s speakers. She couldn’t say no, she was the eldest, and paperwork like that was important. Things like this had always been her responsibility. It was her role in the family. “Not sure. I’m in meetings all day, so I don’t know when I’ll be done.”

“Okay, so you can stop on your way home then. It’ll just take a few minutes to sign everything. I’ll leave it all on my desk.”

“Fine.” Her parents lived ten minutes from her, and it was on her way home. “I’ll text you once I’m done at work. Could be late, though.”

“All right. Working on a big case, huh?” The interest in his voice was impossible to miss. He was still a legend in legal circles around here, even though he’d “retired” a few years ago. He missed it every day, as though he’d lost part of his identity when he’d stopped working.

“Pretty big, yeah.” Her office had three key witnesses ready to testify against Carlos Ruiz, but the former Veneno lieutenant had agreed to a deal and given them damning evidence against other key cartel members. His arrest and incarceration had created an epic power struggle within the remaining players. Everyone involved with the case was still trying to figure out what the hell was really going on within the organization.

“Makes me miss the good old days,” he said. “How’s traffic?”

She was a bit surprised that he seemed to want to prolong the call. Usually he was brusque, got business taken care of and ended the conversation as soon as possible. “A mess.”

A car coming the opposite way entered the intersection after the light turned amber and got stuck behind the lineup of cars, preventing her from making the damn turn.

“Hang on a sec.” Rowan shot the driver a dirty look and zipped out to maneuver around its rear bumper, needing to get the hell out of the intersection before the other cars began moving with the green light.

“You can give me some hints about the case when I see you tonight.”

Safely on the other side of the intersection, she slowed down for the stopped traffic ahead of her at the next light and tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel impatiently. Come on, people, move. “Won’t be able to give you much to go on—”

She broke off on a gasp as a car suddenly came out of nowhere and veered in front of her, almost T-boning her. She barely managed to wrench the steering wheel sharply to the right in time to avoid the crash. Two cars beside her in the left lane weren’t so lucky. They collided, narrowly missing her.

“Rowan?”

She couldn’t answer him, too busy stomping on the brakes to avoid hitting the truck in front of her. A split second later, a car slammed into her from behind.

She grunted as the impact jerked her forward against the shoulder strap of her seatbelt, her head snapping back into the headrest. With her foot jammed on the brake she somehow managed to miss the truck, then a second vehicle hit the right side of hers with a crunch of metal, snapping her head to the side and knocking her left shoulder against the door.

“Shit,” she gasped out, heart hammering as her vehicle jerked to a halt.

“Rowan? Are you all right?” her father asked sharply.

Dammit. She put the car into park and shut off the engine. “I gotta go,” she blurted, and ended the call. Her heart was still beating fast, a mix of anger and shock coursing through her, quickly followed by annoyance. She had to be at the first meeting in just over twenty minutes. She didn’t freaking have time for this mess.

Her hand shook a little as she unlocked her door and reached for the handle. Before she could summon the strength to push on it, someone ripped it open for her.

Startled, she blinked up into the handsome, familiar face staring back at her. Malcolm? DEA Special Agent Malcolm Freeman, the man she’d walked away from but couldn’t forget.

He leaned down to peer at her, hands on either side of the doorframe, his expression full of concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she answered automatically. She didn’t think she was hurt, just shaken up. What on earth was he doing here?

He ran that melted chocolate gaze over her for a moment, assessing her for injury, then reached in to wrap his powerful arms around her and pull her to his chest in a quick hug. “You sure? That second guy hit you pretty hard.”

Automatically she flattened her palms on his back, drank in his warmth and strength. Seemed like a lifetime ago since she’d had his arms around her, and right now they felt like heaven. Safe. Secure. That innate protectiveness of his was one of the things she’d loved most about him. “I’m not hurt,” she managed. At least not seriously. She was breathing fast though, kind of choppy.

All too soon he released her and leaned back to study her eyes. “Cops are on the way.”

She half-swiveled in her seat to look out the passenger window, put a hand to the side of her neck as a twinge of pain shot through it. If traffic had been bad before, now it was a tangled mess. “What about the other drivers?”

“They’re okay. The second guy took off. I let him go because I wanted to make sure you were all right, but I got the plate number.”

She gingerly turned back around to face him. God, he looked more incredible than ever. Black hair cropped close to his head, wearing dress pants and a sapphire blue button down shirt that set off his deep brown skin and stretched across his muscled chest and shoulders. “Where the heck did you come from, anyway?” It was surreal that he’d just appeared out of nowhere at a time like this.

“I was five cars behind you at the light.”

“Going into work?”

“No. Meeting with your boss.”

Oh. She hadn’t realized they would be interviewing him today with the others. “Shit, I’m going to be so late,” she groaned, anxiety forming a tight ball in the pit of her stomach.

“Don’t worry about that.” He took her arm, his grip gentle but sure. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah.” Her legs were a little weak as she got out of the car, her high heels wobbling slightly on the pavement. Malcolm steadied her, and she had to keep from reaching for him when he withdrew his hand, leaving her feeling strangely bereft.

Letting out a deep breath, Rowan took a moment to get her bearings. Two people—presumably the drivers from one of the collisions—were in a heated argument next to their vehicles. Traffic all around them was a snarled nightmare. It would take forever for emergency crews to reach them and clean up the mess.

She walked around to look at her back bumper, then the damage on the passenger side. The front door was caved in and the safety glass in the window was cracked into a thousand pieces. “It’s still drivable, right?” she asked Malcolm.

“Yeah, but you’ve got zero visibility out the passenger window.”

Damn. The cops would have to document everything before she could leave. She’d also have to talk to the other drivers involved and fill out insurance paperwork. At least she didn’t need to have her car towed. Once she got to the office she could have her assistant arrange to have it taken to a body shop and get a rental.

“Your insurance and registration in the glove box?” Malcolm asked her.

“Yes, but I can get—”

He ducked inside the open driver’s side door and leaned across the seat to grab it for her, more muscles flexing along his spine and shoulders beneath the shirt. Although she’d felt the hard planes and contours of his body against hers and under her hands in the few weeks they’d dated, she’d never gotten the chance to see him shirtless. She’d certainly fantasized about it plenty, though, and had a clear mental picture of what he’d look like.

As he climbed back out, he stilled, staring at something. Following his gaze to her key, still in the ignition, she realized he was looking at the keychain. The one he’d bought for her on their third date when she’d finally braved one of the big roller coasters at Busch Gardens. It had the coaster’s name on it. She’d kept it all this time because…

“Here,” he said, straightening and handing the papers over.

“Thanks,” she murmured, feeling slightly awkward as she took the papers from him. The wail of a siren came from down the street. She sighed, feeling calmer, more irritated now than anything else. “I’d better call my boss.”

Malcolm nodded, his alert gaze taking in the chaos around them as she dialed her boss and filled him in on what was going on. When she ended the call, Malcolm focused on her again. “You’ll be okay?”

“Fine,” she answered with a half-smile, reaching up to rub the back of her neck. She hadn’t hit her head or anything. Her neck was going to be stiff and sore for a while though.

His gaze caught on something behind her, and he beckoned to someone. Rowan turned to see three firefighters heading their way, carrying medical kits.

“Oh, no,” she protested, not wanting to delay her arrival at the office any longer than strictly necessary. “I’m fine, really. I don’t need to be checked over.”

“Won’t hurt to make sure,” he said.

The firefighters insisted on assessing her, and then the cops arrived. Malcolm spoke to one officer while Rowan talked to another. Once she was done, Malcolm came up to her, glanced at his watch. “My meeting’s at seven-thirty, so…”

“Right, you should get going,” she told him, then put on a smile. “At least one of us should be on time this morning.”

He met her gaze, hesitated. As if he was reluctant to leave her yet. It made her miss him, and she didn’t want to.

“Really. I’m fine. Val’s a stickler for punctuality. You’d better get going. Plead my case for me with him, will you?”

One side of his mouth lifted, turning him from gorgeous to heart-stoppingly sexy. And an unexpected wave of sadness filled her. “Will do. See you there, maybe.”

“Hope so.” Her heart sank when he turned and walked away, the overwhelming sense of loneliness taking her off guard. He didn’t owe her anything. She’d been the one to slam the brakes on and put an abrupt end to their relationship just over a year ago. Yet he’d come rushing to her aid today anyway, to make sure she was okay. Why did that make her throat ache?

“Malcolm,” she called out before she could stop herself.

He turned back to face her, raised his eyebrows.

“Thank you.”

With a nod, he spun around and headed for his vehicle, parked along the curb across the far side of the intersection.

The empty sensation inside her expanded. Rowan sighed, berating herself. She had no cause to feel abandoned. She’d let him go a year ago. He wasn’t hers.

But watching him walk away right now, she couldn’t deny that a part of her wished he still was.