Chapter Seventeen

A stream of rapid Spanish burst through the room along with feminine crying when Oceane and her mother were finally reunited at the secure condo location that afternoon. Mal stood at the far end of the kitchen to give them a semblance of privacy and met Lockhart’s long-suffering gaze as his teammate walked in and locked the front door behind him.

Kill me now, Lockhart’s expression said, and Mal bit back a smirk of sympathy. They’d both rather be doing a lot of things right now than guarding a cartel lieutenant’s daughter and mistress. Most of all, Mal would give anything to trade places with one of the agents placed on Rowan’s new detail.

Their phone call earlier had helped a lot. This morning had been amazing, yet part of him had still been worried that he’d made another huge mistake in letting her back in. He’d opened himself up to her once before and gotten his heart smashed to pieces for his trouble.

She seemed different now, and not just because she’d let her guard down and they’d finally slept together. Although being with her that way had been ten times better than he’d ever imagined it would be. It helped that she was taking ownership of her former actions, and that she’d said she was willing to work on things.

He just hoped she would live by those words, because honest to God if she bailed on him again it would fucking crush him.

Lockhart joined him and together they moved to the living room off the kitchen. After the phone incident, they’d been ordered to maintain an eyes-on policy except for bathroom breaks and when the women slept, although Mal and Lockhart would check on them at intervals through the night.

Mal sank down onto the end of the couch nearest the kitchen. Close enough to keep watch over the women and see what they were doing, but not so near that they felt imprisoned.

“Man, Taggart owes us for this,” Lockhart muttered in a low voice, removing his customary ball cap to scrub a hand over his dirty blond hair.

“He knows it.” Their commander was a good guy, and fair. He’d probably do something to make it up to them later. “So, the inquisition’s over?”

“For now. She cleared her poly with flying colors.”

So had Anya.

Lockhart shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and leaned against the wall. “You sweep the place?”

“FBI techs checked for bugs, and I went through the place myself just before they brought Anya back.” There was no way in hell Mal would have been able to stomach guard duty for her now unless she’d been cleared of any involvement with the bombing, or of leaking Rowan’s name. To the point that he would have taken a temporary leave of absence to avoid it, and taken whatever consequences came from Taggart and the DEA.

Lockhart grunted. “Helps that you and she don’t speak the same language.”

Mal couldn’t help but grin. “Silver lining.”

“Lucky bastard. Wanna swap?”

“Nope.”

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Lockhart’s mouth. “So. How’s Rowan?” he asked casually.

She’s holding my heart in her hands without realizing it, and I hope the hell she won’t break it again. “Doing well, all things considered. New security detail took over this morning.”

His teammate nodded. “Any leads yet?”

“Not a solid one. Apparently the two parking lot security guys at the U.S. Attorney’s office disappeared at the same time the video feeds went dark, and haven’t turned up since.”

“Perp paid them off, then. My bet is they’re either already out of the state and thinking of how to leave the country, or floating facedown in the Potomac.”

“My money’s on the second.” That’s how the Venenos operated. Total warfare, didn’t matter who got in their crosshairs. They used whoever they could to get what they wanted. And if they saw a threat, they eliminated it immediately, be it man, woman, or child.

Speaking of threats… He shifted his gaze back to the two women, who were walking toward the kitchen table now, Oceane’s steadying arm wrapped around her mother’s shoulders. “They’re damn hard to figure out, aren’t they?” he said quietly so only Lockhart could hear him. It wasn’t their job to analyze the women, but he couldn’t help but wonder about them.

“Christ, yeah. And after that stunt they pulled with the phone, they’re both lucky they’re not locked up or being deported right now.”

“Must have given the agency some good intel, to warrant them this kind of protection.”

Lockhart gave another grunt. “Honestly? I think they gave only exactly as much as they had to, and the government’s keeping them safe in the hopes of getting something even better later on.” He watched the women as they sat next to each other at the table, speaking in low tones, Anya’s spiral-curled head resting on her daughter’s shoulder. “The daughter’s smart. I think way smarter than a lot of people are giving her credit for. She’s using that.”

Mal cocked his head, intrigued by the observation. Lockhart had been a Ranger sniper. And snipers were the world’s best observers, seeing things most others didn’t. “What makes you say that?”

“I’ve been watching her. Those gears in her head never stop turning. I can’t figure her out. At times she seems so young and naïve, and at other times she’s guarded. She’s careful in what she says and does, and she knows how to mask her emotions better than most people.”

Huh. “You make it sound almost like she’s had training.”

“Oh, I’m betting on it. But I’m not sure she even realizes what she’s been taught.”

“You don’t think the agents figured that out while they were questioning her?”

“Yeah, but I think they’re still underestimating her.”

Interesting. Mal looked back at the two women. Oceane’s eyes flicked up, moved from him to Lockhart and held for a moment on his teammate, almost as if she was assessing him before lowering her eyes again. Even more interesting.

“What’s their reasoning for not joining WITSEC now?” Mal asked. Because surely to God, by this point someone as intelligent as Oceane must see the wisdom in it.

“Part of her is still worried it might be a trap, something our government would use to separate her and her mom permanently. Not only that, they both still want to be able to return home when the dust settles one day.”

Mal scoffed. “That doesn’t sound so intelligent.” They likely wouldn’t last a day back in Mexico. The Venenos had eyes and ears everywhere. The moment they set foot back on Mexican soil, someone within the cartel infrastructure would know. Then they’d be walking targets for anyone looking to push Nieto out of power.

Lockhart shrugged, his pale gaze trained on the women. “It’s because she’s still not sure what the hell’s really going on. From what I’ve heard, she knows next to sweet fuck all about her dad, except that he’s rich and powerful. He and her mom basically kept her in the dark about his operations this whole time. I think she’s still hoping he’ll be able to pull enough strings and throw out enough money to make it safe enough for them to return home.”

Hard to believe any child of Nieto’s could remain ignorant as to who and what he really was for twenty-four years, but that wasn’t Malcolm’s problem. His job was to keep the women safe, Anya specifically, and ensure there were no more breaches in security. Which meant that as long as he was on this assignment, the women were on lockdown.

When it was clear neither Oceane nor Anya intended to leave the table for a good long while yet, Mal and Lockhart lounged back on the couches, keeping an eye on them while picking up only snatches of what was said. Lots of feminine whispering, then long minutes of silence as they sat huddled together before the conversation started up again.

“You getting any of this?” Mal murmured to Lockhart finally. His teammate had way more Spanish than Mal did.

“Bits and pieces. They’re talking about their options from here. Weighing the pros and cons. And Oceane just told her mom that she doesn’t see any way they’ll be able to go home again.”

That would explain the weeping. Anya had her face buried in her daughter’s shoulder now, her body jerking with the force of her tears, while Oceane was more composed, pressing her lips together and taking unsteady breaths.

How trustworthy they were, Mal didn’t know. How much of an asset they were to the U.S. government, Mal didn’t know.

Their heartbreak, however, was real. They could never go home again. Their lives as they’d known them were over. Dead and buried along with any hopes and dreams they’d had in Mexico. Their only option now, after they were released from government protection, was to start new lives either here in the States, or abroad. He hoped they realized that soon enough.

When fatigue began to creep up on him, threatening to weigh down his eyelids, Mal got up and moved around the room. Lockhart remained planted on the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded across his chest as he listened to the quiet conversation going on at the table. Mal was just starting to think about getting something to eat when a kitchen chair scraped over the floor.

Oceane stood to face them, her creamy-brown skin pale, her blue-gray eyes full of sadness. Her mother sat at the table mopping her eyes with a tissue, her shoulders shaking with residual shuddering breaths.

Mal stopped walking. Lockhart stayed exactly where he was, both of them watching Oceane. She walked into the living room, chin up, with the intrinsically proud and elegant bearing of a woman raised in the lap of untold luxury—and a former security that had been completely, irrevocably shattered.

“We’ve talked it over,” she began in accented English, her voice soft but steady. “And we’ve decided that it’s best if we enter the WITSEC program.”

Oh, thank you, Jesus. Mal shot a relieved look at Lockhart.

His teammate still hadn’t moved, watching her, expression giving nothing away. His almost preternatural stillness was a dead giveaway to his sniper background to someone with military training. “I think that’s a good decision,” Lockhart said.

Oceane took a deep breath. “So will you call them and let them know?”

“Sure.” With that, Lockhart was up and off the couch, phone in hand as he dialed someone. Probably Taggart. “Better go get your stuff together,” he told her. “Once we pull the trigger, things are gonna move fast.”

Unable to not feel a slight twinge of sympathy for her and her mother, Mal gave her an encouraging smile and gestured for her to head to the bedroom so she could start packing while he watched.

She might not see it now, but this was the best decision for everyone. WITSEC would give her and her mother the best protection available. It also meant Mal was free to rejoin his team—and find a way to see Rowan the first chance he got.

****

“It’s done?” Manny said into his phone as he left his lawyer’s office, where he’d just finished a meeting about his estate and Oceane.

At the curb, two of his men were standing guard beside his new Jag, which gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Elena was out at one of his charity’s auctions and wouldn’t be home for hours. Manny was looking forward to having the house to himself for the rest of the day and not worrying about her overhearing anything she shouldn’t.

“Oh yeah,” Montoya replied enthusiastically from the other end. “Killed every last one of the fuckers.”

Manny frowned in annoyance and climbed into his car, quickly slamming the door shut behind him. Body count was of little importance to him. Results were. “What about the operation?”

“Main lab and all the outbuildings are in ashes. Along with the homes and businesses of anyone suspected to support Ruiz.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a deep breath. “Please tell me you kept it to the known suspects.”

Montoya snickered. “Yeah, them too.”

God. Manny sank into the plush leather driver’s seat, suddenly bone weary, and leaned his head back. Too much collateral damage would bring unwanted heat down on him and the cartel. Bribing and blackmailing officials down here was common practice, but every once in a while he ran into someone who wasn’t corruptible. That made his work a lot harder. “I told you to be careful. You were to have your guys take out the operation and those responsible for it only.”

“Which I did, mostly. But it never hurts to send a message, does it? Besides, we had a little help from El Escorpion.”

At that Manny opened his eyes and lowered his hand to his lap. It was rare for the shadowy head of the cartel to get involved on that level. “He sent men to assist?”

“A few. Mostly weapons and logistics stuff.”

So then El Escorpion would be briefed directly about the op, and probably knew all the details already. Including the collateral damage and body count. Shit. “Send me a report through the secure channel asap.”

“You got it, boss man.”

Manny glanced out the driver’s side window. This business district of downtown was quiet, people going about their day and not paying him much notice. He basically owned this entire town, and the smaller surrounding ones as well. He paid his people well and gave enough back to the community that every man, woman and child for miles around here considered him a hero philanthropist. He couldn’t afford for them to find out all the things he’d ordered and allowed in order to make and keep that money.

“What about my daughter?” he asked.

“No sign yet. Obviously no financial or social media activity we can use. I’ve got others out using the scanners around the city. Should be able to detect a faint signal from around a kilometer out. If they get a signal on the tracking device, they’ll let me know.”

Manny shoved out a hard breath and started the engine. “Let someone else handle the upcoming operations on Ruiz’s people. The only thing I want you to do is find them and bring my daughter back to me.”

He paused, his heart heavy, an uncomfortable ball of guilt squirming in his belly. If there had been any other way to handle this, he would have. But he was out of options and out of time, so it had to be this. He would contact Arturo and initiate everything. “You know what to do.”

“Looking forward to it, boss man.”

Yeah. That’s what worried him.