Chapter Twenty-Seven

Manny Nieto stood out on the back patio beside the custom-built pool he’d had installed when he and Elena had moved into the place two years ago. Normally the rhythmic splash of the waterfall at one side of the deep end soothed him, and he often came out here to mull over business ideas. At the moment nothing could soothe him, however.

He dialed Montoya’s encrypted phone again for the fifth time. Once again, the fucking little weasel didn’t answer. That had better mean he was dead, because if Montoya was just too chicken shit to face Manny after everything that had happened, then he would be dead soon enough anyway.

Manny had no time for cowardly shit like that, and now Anya had not only been brutally murdered and raped—something he was still enraged about—Oceane was in the wind once more and Montoya had botched yet another opportunity to find her by targeting the female Assistant U.S. Attorney instead. He knew the whole story. How Montoya had wanted to take a page out of Ruiz’s playbook and make money on the side in the flesh trade.

Manny had to immediately distance himself and deal with Montoya personally, before El Escorpion came after him.

He spun around to find his head of security standing a few yards away beneath the shade of some palm trees. “You sure he’s not dead?”

David snorted and gave a nod. “I’m sure.”

Manny set his jaw. “Madre de Dios,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Find him and bring him to me. He has to answer for all of this.”

Manny had to reassert his power now. There were too many signs of weakness going on, and in this business that could prove deadly. Montoya had to face the consequences for his actions—and repeated failures. Retrieving Oceane now was next to impossible. The Americans would bolster security even more. Dammit, he needed to see his daughter. Explain everything. Maybe she could find it in her heart to forgive him one day. But he doubted it now.

Brimming with impotent rage, he stalked back into the house. He had work waiting for him in his office. Tax issues and forms from his accountants to be signed. New bank accounts to be authorized, assets to be sold. To stay ahead of the authorities both here in Mexico and in the States, Manny had to be fluid, ready to change directions at a moment’s notice. Threatening or paying off people down here would only go so far.

Pausing at the wet bar outside the butler’s pantry, he caught sight of his reflection in the antique mirror above it and froze in the act of reaching for the crystal decanter of scotch he kept there. He looked like shit, all haggard with dark shadows beneath his eyes. He hadn’t slept much this past week and it was catching up with him. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten a full meal.

This thing with Oceane was corroding him from the inside out. Until he had her back safe and sound, until he could explain everything and make her understand it all, he couldn’t rest.

At first he’d assumed Ruiz was behind the attack that had caused them to flee, but none of his contacts had been able to turn up any evidence to support the theory. But who else? Who the hell else would have the balls to do something like this?

The door leading to the attached garage opened on the other side of the hall. Elena breezed in, more shopping bags in her hands. She stopped when she saw him, gave him a disapproving frown. “A little early for your nightcap, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he answered, a testy edge to his voice. This was his damn house. He was under a lot of stress, not that she seemed to notice or care, and would drink anytime he damn well pleased.

She shrugged and headed into the kitchen. “I’m starving. Is dinner ready yet?”

Manny lowered the decanter, something about her lighthearted tone grating on him. He walked to the kitchen entrance, stood watching her as she took her new clothes from the bags, humming as she laid everything out on the marble-topped island in the center of the room and began cutting off the tags. Not a care in the world, secure in her life of luxury. Not a single consideration for his distress, and there was no way she hadn’t noticed it.

His drinking alone at three in the afternoon wasn’t the only sign that something was wrong. She’d been his wife for more than twenty-five years. She knew damn well he hadn’t been sleeping, had barely been eating lately. Yet she didn’t seem to care, beyond admonishing him that he ate less than she did.

It wasn’t like her. The total lack of wifely concern was strange. As was her sudden improved mood over the past week or so.

He rounded the island, placed his hands on it as she worked. He hadn’t told her what was bothering him, because he couldn’t. But normally she wanted to know everything, be involved in his life in whatever way he would allow it. Something was…off.

Elena stopped to look up at him. “Something wrong?”

“Yes.”

Surprise flashed in her eyes and she set the scissors down to give him her full attention. “What is it?”

He chose his words carefully, a niggling suspicion taking root that he could no longer ignore. “There have been complications with several operations this week.”

“Concerning what?”

“Juan Montoya.”

Her face stiffened ever so slightly, the change subtle enough that he would have missed it completely had he not been watching so carefully. “Is that so?” She reached for the scissors again. “What has he done this time? Or not done, I should say.”

“He was supposed to take care of two very important things for me.”

“What things?”

“Taking care of a certain problem. And then finding something important for me.”

She looked down at the clothing. Avoiding his gaze. “And he failed, I take it?”

The tiny thread of suspicion in his gut expanded, even as his brain refused to connect the dots his subconscious laid out for him. It was impossible. She didn’t even know about Oceane. He was so run down and sleep deprived, he was becoming paranoid. “Yes.” Holy hell, his heart was thudding, an awful tension forming in his chest.

“Well, I’m sure it will all work out.” She looked up at him through her lashes, flashed him a smile that seemed a little forced. “It always does.” She set the scissors back down and gathered her clothes before turning and walking away.

Manny stared at her retreating back with hot, unblinking eyes. “Elena.”

She stopped, cast him a weary look over her shoulder. Or was it wary? “What?”

His hands curled around the edge of the countertop. “Tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

She gave a frustrated sigh. “Manny, it’s been a long day and I’m in no mood for cryptic riddles. I’m going upstairs.”

Oh no you’re not. He stepped around the island, stopped to face her without a barrier between them. “Do you know what’s happened?” he demanded, testing his suspicion, unable to control the anger bubbling beneath the surface.

For a long moment she didn’t answer him. Then something shifted. Almost as if she’d been waiting for him to ask it. She lifted her chin and raised a dark, perfectly-groomed eyebrow. “And if I did?”

It felt like someone had kicked him in the diaphragm.

For a second he couldn’t answer, the shock and pain sucking all the air from his lungs. “Did you do it?” he whispered in horror, unable to accept the truth that was staring him right in the face. “Did you?”

The haughty edge to her expression melted away. Her face twisted into a mask of pain and hatred, the look in her eyes sending a cold chill racing down his spine. “Yes,” she hissed, eyes shooting sparks at him.

His eyes bulged. “You ordered the attack?” How? How was that even possible?

“You’re damn right I did,” she shouted, indignant as she threw her new clothes onto the tile floor and spun to face him, thrusting an accusing finger at him. “You think you could humiliate me like that and get away with it? Keep your whore and your precious bastard tucked away for twenty-four years in a luxury estate paid for with our money? You didn’t think I’d find out someday? Well I did, you lying piece of shit. And so I did what any woman in my position would do. I took care of it.”

Manny didn’t think. He reacted. Before he knew what he was doing, he had his wife by the throat, pinning her to the kitchen wall, his entire body vibrating with fury. “You bitch,” he snarled, his breathing choppy. He was out of control, unable to rein the rage in.

Elena choked and stared up at him, her dark eyes wide with fear…and loathing. “You betrayed me,” she shrieked in his face, clawing at his hands. “You betrayed everything we have together, everything! Why? All because she could give you a child and I couldn’t?” Her eyes filled with tears as he squeezed harder.

“Manuel.”

David’s sharp rebuke from behind him jerked him out of his rage-fueled haze.

He shook himself, yanked his hands off Elena’s throat as if she’d burned him and took a stumbling step backward. His wife drew in a gasping breath and clutched her neck, the red marks from his fingers livid against her skin. They stood mere yards apart and stared at one another in the awful, suffocating silence of the room.

Something cold and hard and bitter formed inside him. Encasing his heart in an icy, impenetrable shell. “Get out of my sight,” he rasped out, afraid he might actually kill her if he touched her again.

Throwing him a look of mingled devastation and contempt, Elena spun around and fled from the room, her running footsteps growing muffled as she raced up the carpeted stairs. A moment later a door slammed shut overhead. She was smart enough to know to bolt it shut against him.

Slowly, Manny turned to face his head of security. David was watching him with a deep frown creasing his forehead. “What the hell, boss?”

He sucked in an unsteady breath, fought to get control of himself. “She ordered the attack on Oceane and Anya,” he said, shaken, queasy.

“Are you sure?” He sounded as shocked as Manny felt.

“Yes,” he snapped, reaching behind him to grasp the countertop for support. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

“What do you want me to do?”

“Find my daughter,” he rasped out, unsure whether he was going to puke or break down like a child. Jesus, his own wife had done this to him.

“What about Elena? Should I take her to a hotel, or…?”

“No. I’ll leave.” He couldn’t stay another minute in this house, under the same roof with her, afraid of what he might do.

He strode to the foyer, stared hard at the keys to his new Jag where they lay on the entry table. His mouth twisted as the truth hit home. Guilt. That’s why she’d bought it for him. He should have known. God, how had he missed the signs?

He reached for the keys to his Porsche instead, spoke over his shoulder without looking back. No more looking back now. Only forward. “Find my daughter, David, and bring her back to me. That’s all I want you to do.”

He stalked out the door, his life and heart in ashes. Oceane was the only good part of him left. She was his blood, his sole heir. The only way he could live on after he left this world was to pass the empire he’d built to her one day, free of the cartel.

He had to get his daughter back, whatever it took.