Chapter 36
Flames
Caleb
THE BLUEPRINTS WERE spot on.
Too bad the guard outside Cruz’s door was not. Knocking him out is a huge wrench in my plan.
I have to hurry before Smith discovers his lookout post has been abandoned or worse yet that the guard he posted there is passed out in a hallway closet.
I check my watch and let out a breath of irritation as my gaze tracks the progress bar on the flash drive plugged into Cruz’s computer.
In and out.
Retrieve what I need and get the fuck out.
The data—dates and places for the hits he ordered, checks written to fund his human trafficking operation, any kind of evidence incriminating him in the drug ring he runs too cleanly, and most importantly, a trail of transactions that proves he runs the underground ring on the dark web—that he is Leonardo and the Mona Lisa is his.
That’s the plan—or it was.
Tick tock.
My fingers itch as I wait because my damn conscious is making an unwanted appearance.
Directly in front of me, enclosed in a glass case, is the necklace Cruz stole from Gemma. I want to take the necklace back for her but I can’t risk it. The pang of guilt that rips through me like a razor-sharp blade takes me by surprise. Even if she does somehow make it in here, she’s never going to be able to get the necklace out without being caught because there’s an alarm trigger at the base.
I know how to disarm it, but I don’t have time.
“How’d you get in here?” The voice is soft, trembling, and I know in an instant who it belongs to.
Taking in a hard, fast breath, I swear under my breath. The blueprints failed to display a second entrance into Cruz’s private office. “Gemma.”
“You said you’d help me.” Her voice sounds ruined.
I spin to the left in the swivel chair and jump to my feet. “I want to, Gemma, I do, but look. It’s on an alarm.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’ll get caught.”
She starts to walk toward the case, mesmerized. “Smith is going to try to kill me anyway.”
Chaos swirls in the air. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“He and Penelope are the ones making threats to Enrique. She’s purposely trying to make him paranoid so she can get rid of me. They’re the ones who arranged the ambush in Mexico.”
My hands curl into fists. “Fuck! You have to get out of here, Gemma. I can’t protect you and get what I came here for.”
“I already told you, I’m not leaving.”
“You’re going to get us both killed,” I growl.
“Not if you leave.”
My laughter is harsh. “I’m not leaving you here alone.”
She’s right in front of the necklace now, staring at it like it’s going to bring back what she lost, and maybe for her it will. “Well—”
“Shhh,” I whisper, my gut tying in a knot that can’t be undone.
There’s a lot of noise coming from the main hallway. It’s hard to hear what’s being said over the pounding rain, yet, I listen anyway. The seconds tick by with ruthless slowness but soon I can clearly hear Enrique shouting for Smith.
Angry.
Thick.
Rushed.
My heart careens out of control. I spin Gemma around so she’s facing me. As soon as I do, I’m licked by a million flames. She’s staring at me like she’s never seen me before. Like I’m the devil. The evil one. And I feel like I am. All I want to do is wash my soul in the bottomless brown of her eyes. Give her the world. Give her what she wants.
I lean in until my forehead rests against hers and our lips almost touch. Almost. It’s the story of us. Close and yet so very far away. “Please, Gemma, you have to get out of here.”
She shakes her head no. “Not without the necklace.”
My fingers brush the side of her cheek. I tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear and then I whisper three words I’ve never said out loud to another. “I love you, and I can’t lose you.”
A single tear falls down her cheek where I just touched her skin. “Don’t say that, please, don’t say that.”
“I love you,” I repeat.
She closes her eyes as if in pain. “Please, don’t say that again,” she whispers, her voice broken and filled with despair.
I get it. This isn’t about love. It never was. It’s about vengeance, and the two don’t mix. They can’t.
Footsteps pound down the hallway. “Smith,” Cruz calls again. “Where the hell are you?”
There’s no time. I know what I have to do. It rings out like a plea. A beckoning. A new deal with the devil that can’t be undone.
My heart is beating too fast. What I’m about to do is against everything I’ve worked for.
It’s not just dangerous.
It’s deadly.
Stepping in front of Gemma, I pull out my gun and aim it at the alarm. With a quick squeeze, I fire. At the same time the glass shatters, the alarm goes off. In a rush, I grab the pink stones and twist around, handing them to Gemma. “Here you go, sweetheart.”
With a look of complete awe, she starts to tremble as she takes the pink stones that make up her mother’s necklace. Staring at it as if in shock, a ripping sob tears from her throat.
There’s no time for triumph or remorse or gratitude. She needs to get out of here. I reach into my pocket and slip a set of keys into her other hand. “Take these. They’re to my Jeep. It’s parked just outside the back gate to the right.”
She shakes her head no.
I ignore her. “All you have to do is slip out the back and go around the guesthouse. Use the garden’s entrance. I unlocked it.”
Tears are streaming down her face. “What about you?”
Leaving her is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But before I know it, I’m walking to the secret entrance, opening it, and then turning around. “I’ll stay back and stop anyone from following you.”
Her eyes are frantic. “No! Just come with me.”
I push her inside. “We won’t both make it.”
She tries to step back into the office. “We have to try.”
The door clicks from the main hallway, the key easily unlocking it.
We’re out of time.
I push her harder, hating that she falls to the ground. “Go! Now!” I order. “I’ll come find you at the bunker.”
“Promise,” she cries, staring up at me.
“If I’m not there by morning, go get your father and disappear,” I tell her, unable to promise anything, and then I close the panel.
Lunging over toward the desk, I glance at the screen. Eighty-five percent.
Shit.
The knob starts to turn. I can hear his voice. He’s stopped to yell orders to his men. I glance at the screen. Eighty-six percent. Eighty-seven percent. Eighty-eight percent.
I don’t have a choice.
I have to stay.
I’ve waited too long not to.