Chapter Thirteen

Oceane struggled to stay calm and not allow her anxiety to show. From an early age she’d been taught many things that she had assumed all kids learned, like the need to mask her emotions, never display any kind of fear, because predators sensed it and preyed upon it.

But it turned out not all kids learned those things. And she’d learned them long before she’d discovered that her entire life was a lie and her father was the most dangerous predator of them all.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked the man behind the wheel who was acting as her new bodyguard. DEA Special Agent Lockhart. From her position in the back seat where the doors wouldn’t open from the inside, all she could see was the back of his head, and his military-short dirty blond hair.

Rowan had said he was qualified to guard her, but Oceane didn’t know him. While she hadn’t expected the American authorities to treat her with much kindness, she certainly had expected to be treated with respect and that was definitely lacking. Being treated like a criminal, a pariah, was a shock to her system that made her feel small and helpless. She would have given anything to talk to Arturo, ask for advice. He’d been there for her through hard times before, always kept her safe, even when her father’s enemies had stormed her home.

Did no one here understand that she hadn’t asked for any of this to happen? That she hadn’t even known the reality of who her father was until she’d been forced to run for her life when the bullets had started flying outside her bedroom window? She’d bet none of the people assigned to her case had had their life ripped apart, only to find that everything they thought they knew was a total lie.

That hard truth bubbled like a pool of battery acid in her stomach.

Lockhart had been totally remote, curt and unfriendly since the moment he’d been assigned to her. She’d had bodyguards all her life in addition to Arturo, and they’d all warmed up to her within the first few days. But no matter how hard she tried to get Lockhart to thaw a little or try to engage him in a polite conversation, he wouldn’t budge. Although to be fair, her former bodyguards had all been on her father’s payroll. Lockhart wasn’t.

“In for questioning,” was all he said, not bothering to glance over at her as he answered, and there was a definite edge to his voice.

She didn’t appreciate the attitude, or being kept in the dark. Not only that, the DEA bodyguards had split her and her mother up again.

All because they’d found the damn phone in her room where her mother had haphazardly hidden it. Why the hell had she even taken it out of its hiding place?

Oceane had been so careful to use it sparingly since entering the States—and only to stay in contact with Arturo—then disassemble and hide it in its secret spot. Another thing she’d been taught long ago, along with keeping a packed “go bag” hidden and ready to go at a moment’s notice. For security reasons, because they had a lot of money from the legitimate companies her father ran and Oceane handled the finances for the ones belonging to her and her mother. Security reasons such as when those gunmen had tried to storm the gated home where she and her mother had lived.

So many things her mother had taught her over the years, things she hadn’t thought much of at the time, were so clear to her now. Her whole life, her mother had secretly been preparing her for this in case it became necessary.

But why take out the phone and risk the DEA agents finding it? Her mother must have wanted to contact Arturo, maybe to let him know where they were being kept. It was the only thing Oceane could think of, and a disastrous mistake. Until now the U.S. government had kept its word about protecting them in exchange for information on her father and the cartel.

Now that they thought she and her mother might have been talking to people within the cartel and telling them God only knew what, the deal might be off the table. They could be locked up and charged if they found evidence. Or they might be shipped back to Mexico, to certain death at the hands of her father’s rivals. Ruiz’s men would love to capture them.

Oceane stared out the tinted back window of the SUV she had no doubt was armor plated, the traffic and landmarks of America’s capital a blur even though she tried to memorize them for later. She knew too well the risks of what she was doing when she had fled to the U.S., but she’d been willing to accept them in order to protect her and her mother. Life as they’d known it had ended that night of the attack, and she couldn’t seem to adjust to this new reality.

Except fleeing to the U.S. had been their only option.

Already she missed her mother. Her home, her work. Dammit, her life, which she had been blissfully living until a short while ago. She wanted things to go back to the way they had been, before she’d had the blindfold so painfully and suddenly ripped from her eyes.

She would gladly have lived in the bliss of ignorance for the rest of her life instead of knowing the things she did now. What was going to happen to her? Her mother?

The ring of a cell phone filled the brittle silence and Lockhart answered. “Yeah, I’m bringing her in right now. We’ll meet you there,” he told whoever he was talking to, then hung up.

“Meet who?” she asked, not really expecting an answer.

“One of your lawyers wants a word with you.”

Surprised that he’d responded at all, much less answered her question, she asked another. “Which one?”

“Rowan Stewart.”

Her anxiety eased slightly. Good. She wanted to talk to Rowan and plead her case against these accusations, explain her side of the story to one of the only people here who seemed to give a damn about her.

Lockhart drove her into the underground of a fortress-like building. As soon as he stopped, stern-faced agents were there to rip the door open and haul her toward the elevator.

“Where’s my mother?” she demanded, digging in her heels. Little good it did her, because the men merely carried her along as though she weighed no more than a doll.

“You’ll see her when we’re done,” the older of the two dragging her said, not slowing his pace.

Her brave front faltered as they neared the elevator doors. From the location and biometric scanners outside it, this wasn’t an ordinary elevator. They were taking her to somewhere ultra secure, maybe a holding cell, and once they put her in it she might never get out again.

The ability to mask her fear crumbled. “No,” she shouted, twisting in their grip. She started babbling, didn’t even realize she’d slipped into frantic Spanish until Lockhart stepped in front of her and halted the other agents.

Piercing, pale blue eyes locked on hers. “Calm down.”

Normally anyone saying that to her would make her bristle, but his tone was so calm it snapped her out of her momentary panic. And, if she was honest, he wasn’t hard to look at with those angular features and sculpted muscles stretching his T-shirt.

Not that she intended for him ever to know that she found him attractive. The man had been as cold as ice to her so far. She stared back at him now, still wary but willing to listen to him, because he had been tasked with her safety, and he didn’t strike her as a man who would take his job lightly.

“We’re taking you upstairs for questioning. Your mother is being questioned as well. When you’re both finished, you’ll see her. So the sooner you settle down and cooperate, the sooner you’ll see her.”

He could be lying. But she considered herself to be a good judge of people’s character—except when it came to her father, who she now realized she’d never actually known—and Lockhart seemed sincere. Her gut said she could trust him, at least in this.

Relaxing slightly, she nodded once. “All right.”

Rowan was coming. She would be able to fix this whole mess.

The agents took her into an isolated room at the end of a guarded hallway. The windows were frosted so she couldn’t see out.

Her heart thudded erratically and her palms were clammy as she sat in the chair indicated. They left her alone except for Lockhart, who stood guard next to the door to her left, his arms folded across his chest, feet braced apart. Even though he didn’t say anything, she took comfort in his presence. If he stayed with her, they wouldn’t hurt her. Instinctively she knew he would protect her from harm, no matter what his personal feelings toward her were.

A few minutes later two people came in, a man and a woman, both wearing business suits. They sat opposite her, opened a folder and began the questions. Or rather, the interrogation. That’s what it felt like. Back and forth they went, firing question after question at her, trying to trip her up, get her to falter on her story. Where she’d gotten the phone. Who she’d been in contact with. What she’d told her former bodyguard. Where Arturo might be now.

Oceane stayed firm on her version of events, because it was the truth. Their tech people were analyzing the phone right now. Even with its encryption, it was only a matter of time before they cracked it. They would be able to trace every call from the device, and where each originated from. Now that they knew about the phone and her contact with Arturo, she had nothing more to hide.

The truth shall set you free. That was the saying in English.

In this case, a version that was close to the truth would do the same. That way she could protect her mother and still come across as truthful. Yet another useful lesson she’d been taught at a young age.

Finally the agents paused, both of them watching her, expecting her to sweat. She was far calmer inside now than she had been when they’d brought her here. They weren’t going to torture or starve her. But she was afraid of what they might threaten her mother with if Oceane didn’t cooperate fully. So she gave as much information as she dared, as close to the truth as she could.

A knock on the door interrupted the staring contest. Oceane glanced over as it opened and Rowan strode in. Her posture was rigid, her expression the furthest thing from friendly as she turned her gaze on Oceane.

“You’re up to speed?” the male agent asked her.

“I heard everything,” Rowan said, the chill in her voice sending a thread of warning winding through Oceane. Rowan stepped behind the two agents and faced her, that deep blue gaze penetrating. “You know what happened last night?”

Oceane glanced between her and the agents in confusion, then shook her head. “No, what?”

Rowan’s eyes turned cold. “Someone planted a bomb in my car while I was working.”

Cold fingers wrapped around Oceane’s stomach and squeezed. “Oh…”

“My brother was nearly killed in the explosion. He underwent emergency surgery last night and is in the intensive care unit right now.”

Oceane blanched, even as her heart beat faster. “I’m so sorry.”

Rowan’s jaw clenched and she drew a deep breath, never breaking eye contact. “You told your bodyguard about me.”

Because she trusted Arturo more than anyone here. “Well, yes—”

“He found out where my office was.”

“I—”

“And then funny enough, my car gets bombed.”

Oceane shook her head slowly, a fresh wave of anxiety building inside her. They thought she was behind it. That she had helped set this up. “I knew nothing about this. And it wasn’t Arturo.”

“And why are you so sure of that?” the male agent demanded.

Oceane met his gaze. “Because he would never harm an innocent, and he wants to protect me. He would never do anything that might jeopardize my safety.” He wasn’t stupid. And he was as loyal to her as she was him.

“But you said he used to work for your father,” the man pointed out.

“Yes, but that was years ago. He’s been with me since I was fifteen. He wouldn’t risk my safety here by doing something like that.”

“Not even with the amount of money your father was privately paying him?”

“No. Never.”

The agents and Rowan looked unconvinced. She risked a glance over at Lockhart, still posted beside the door. He was watching her too, but his expression was thoughtful instead of cold.

“The FBI and DEA are going to find out who planted that bomb,” Rowan said, drawing Oceane’s attention back to her. “And if they find out you were involved, any deals made with you and your mother are null and void.”

“Do you understand what that means?” the female agent asked.

Oceane flushed. She may have an accent, but her English was excellent, and she was far smarter than anyone here appeared to think. “Yes.”

“Not only that,” Rowan continued, “you’ll be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. If convicted, you’ll do hard time in a Federal prison. The same goes for your mother.”

Oceane’s chest constricted. They wouldn’t find any evidence linking her or Arturo to the bombing. But her mother? She didn’t know. Since that awful night of the attack she’d seen a whole new person emerge in place of her mother’s laid-back, affectionate self. Could she have done this? Leaked information to someone within the cartel or even contacted Oceane’s father? Because from what she’d learned in the past few days, he was certainly capable of ordering the assassination of a federal attorney.

“It could have been Ruiz,” she protested.

“He’s been locked up tight in a federal penitentiary for months now,” the male agent said.

“If he’s still alive, then he can still get orders out.”

None of the others argued the point. Because everyone knew a man like Ruiz was still dangerous, even behind bars.

“Our agents are exploring all avenues,” the male agent told her.

“Is there anything you’d like to add to your statements?” the woman asked.

“No. When can I see my mother?”

“When we decide neither one of you were involved in the bombing.”

A heavy weight pressed down on her chest, slowly compressing her ribs. She’d run here to save herself and her mother, in the hope of starting a new life. Instead she’d run into a trap that was closing in on her with every passing hour.