Chapter Nine

 

 

Taylor barely remembered the drive home from Logan’s place, too preoccupied by that unexpected show of tenderness from such a big, tough man.

His touch and the way he’d cupped her face, then the back of her head had been protective, yet loaded with the possibility of so much more. Her scalp still tingled where his fingers had caressed her, the ghostly reminder of his hold stirring something deep inside her that had been asleep for a long time.

If you ever need someone to talk to, you can talk to me.

It had been the last thing she’d ever expected him to say. They didn’t know each other well, and she hadn’t thought he was the kind of guy who would care about her problems.

More shocking even than his concern, she’d actually wanted to tell him what was going on. He just had this way about him that made her want to confide in him. Which was totally unlike her. But hell, the man’s ex-wife still called to talk to him about stuff. That told her a lot about his character. Whatever faults he might have, at his core he was a good guy.

She hit the button on her sun visor to close the garage door and slid out of the car, looking forward to a hot bath and binge watching a few recorded episodes of her favorite mystery drama.

When she opened the door to the mudroom, two things registered at once. The smell of something rich and garlicky hung in the air, and the light on the alarm system keypad was glowing green instead of red.

She jerked around to face the kitchen, her gaze sliding past it to the adjoining living room. A jolt of panic shot through her and she barely stifled a yelp when she saw Dillon sitting there on her couch.

He draped an arm casually over the back of the couch as he stared back at her. “Hey, where you been?”

Jesus.

Willing her heart back down her esophagus, she uncurled her fingers from around the doorknob, staying the urge to rush back to her car and escape. What was he doing here? Why the hell had he broken into her house? And…cooked, apparently? What the hell was going on?

“Dillon, God. How did you get in here?” She’d set the alarm. She never left the house without setting the alarm. How had he disabled it? What other skills did he have in his bag of criminal tricks now?

He shrugged like it was no big deal, his dark gaze fixed on her. “You didn’t return my calls, so I decided to come over and wait for you. I just wanted to make sure we’re okay.”

They weren’t okay. They were the furthest thing from okay. And she hadn’t taken his calls because the number had come up as unknown. One of the techs at the agency had tried to trace the number, to no avail. Cartel members were notoriously vigilant about ensuring no one could trace them.

Her pulse drummed in her ears as she stood there in indecision. He must know that she’d reported his visit to the agency. So why would he risk coming here now, and breaking into her place? It made no sense. Was he that confident of her loyalty to him? Did he think she wouldn’t report him now?  Because he would lose that bet. She was pissed.

He was sitting there on her couch so calmly, fucking with her head, and she hated it, hated how off-balance he made her feel. Like she was being paranoid and making too much of this. He seemed so relaxed and non-threatening, having made himself at home while she’d been at work, as though he didn’t have a care in the world and wasn’t worried in the slightest about being a wanted cartel member. God, she was so confused.

He stood and strode into the kitchen like he owned the place, gestured to the island. “Figured you hadn’t gotten around to eating yet, so I brought some dinner over. Nothing fancy.”

Pizza. He’d brought her pizza.

She stared at the box, her mind flashing back to that night so long ago when her selfish actions had cost him a beating. Was the reminder deliberate? Something to play up her guilt and the sense that she owed him?

She didn’t know what the hell to think right now.

“And I got us a bottle of wine, too.” He held it up with a little smile then waved her into the kitchen. “Come on, come put your feet up and relax for a while.”

She didn’t move, trying to figure out what his game was. “You broke into my house.”

“I did.” Another trademark, charming grin as he took two wineglasses down from her cabinet.

“How did you disable my alarm?” She’d made sure he couldn’t see the keypad when she’d input the code last night.

“I have my ways.”

The sinister edge to his words set her nerves jangling. “You need to leave.”

At that he paused, those brown eyes locking with hers. And something about the look in them sent a shiver of warning down her spine. “Not yet.”

“Yes. Now.”

He lowered the hand holding the stems of the wineglasses and tilted his head a fraction, watching her with an almost disappointed expression. “Taylor. Seriously?”

Her fingers twitched at her side, her stomach in knots. She hated hurting him if he was truly here for the right reasons, but what the hell did he expect her to do? He’d broken into her freaking house and she had no doubt he was embedded with the wrong people.

He was a criminal. She had to call her boss and tell him about this, then assist in trying to arrest Dillon. It was either that, or lose her job and the stellar reputation she’d worked so hard to build at the agency.

When she still didn’t move, Dillon sighed, turned his back on her and headed back toward the couch, leaving her there staring after him in confusion. “Come on, sit down. I need to talk to you about something. It’s important.”

Something about that sigh—the resigned quality to it—and his leaden tone made the back of her nape prickle. Whatever he had to tell her, it wasn’t good. And he wouldn’t have shown up here again tonight, let alone have broken into her damn house and risk her reporting him unless it was for a really good reason.

Dread slithered in the pit of her stomach as she considered what could possibly be that important. The urge to run for her vehicle was strong, but he’d likely catch her before she could get her car out of the garage. Darting out the back door and hopping her fence might be her best chance of escape.

When Dillon looked back from the living room and saw her still standing in the mudroom instead of following his bidding, his nonthreatening mask slipped, signaling his patience had come to an abrupt end.

His deep brown eyes chilled as he stared back at her from across the length of the room. “Get in here and sit down, Taylor,” he snapped, his voice cold enough to send a wave of goose bumps over her arms. “Now.”

 

Dillon didn’t take his eyes off her as she moved hesitantly toward him, her gait and posture rigid, expression full of mistrust. That hurt him more than it should have, considering he deserved it.

At least she was doing as he’d said. For a moment there he’d thought he might have to actually grab her and force her to sit down here with him.

“You normally work such long hours?” he asked as she sat on the couch opposite him, trying to put things back on a friendlier footing.

Her body was motionless, but he could tell she was coiled and ready to bolt if he made a wrong move. It wouldn’t matter if she did, because he’d catch her. “Yes, when I’m working on a case.” Her tone was so icy he was surprised her breath didn’t fog as she spoke.

He poured her a glass of wine. “Working on a big one now?”

She crossed her arms over her chest rather than take it. “Yes.”

With a mental shrug at her rebuff, he took a sip for himself and settled back against the couch. There were things he had to know before he made his next decision. “Hear anything about me?”

“Several things, actually.”

This wasn’t going at all according to plan. He’d intended to charm her, redirect her out of this stiff and wary attitude, but he could already tell that wasn’t going to work. Hell, he should have known better. Taylor had always been too smart for her own good.

He’d been looking for proof about her involvement with the Baker case, and her reaction to him tonight was it. Although breaking into her house had been heavy-handed and he’d known it would set off alarm bells for her.

She definitely knew what he’d done, must have reported him, and might even be investigating him. That put him in a hell of a predicament, one that even their shared past couldn’t erase.

As of today, they were enemies in this war, and his path was already clear. Everything else was out of his hands at this point. Still, his boss had wanted him to ask her, so he would. Even though he was already certain what her answer would be.

“So I’m guessing this means you did a little digging about me today,” he said, and sipped more wine, barely even tasting it as he awaited her answer.

She didn’t deny it, just kept staring at him with that set, accusing look on her face.

He summoned up a wry smile and watched her for a moment. “Guess it wouldn’t do me any good to try to bribe you, huh?”

Taylor didn’t smile back, her expression as guarded as her body language. “You’re joking.”

Not at all. “Of course I’m joking.” Although it would have made things a hell of a lot easier if she’d been open to the idea. At least hear him out and consider taking money or some other kind of favor in exchange for information about what the DEA had on him and the other cartel members.

An informant in her position would have been invaluable to him and the cartel itself—maybe even more so because she was an analyst instead of a field agent. She had access to the inner financial workings of the investigation. Information he and the cartel needed, to figure out how to protect themselves and their investments going forward.

If she’d agreed to his proposition then he could have granted her protection. Now… His hands were tied where she was concerned.

“Is that what you came here to ask me?”

“I came to say goodbye, actually.” That much was true. He’d taken a calculated but necessary risk in coming here tonight when he’d been almost certain she’d reported him to the DEA either last night or today. “And…to warn you.”

She lifted her chin, her stony gaze pinned on him. “About what?”

“You need to be careful.”

“Of what? You?” She meant the words to be angry, but he heard the hurt behind them and a painful twinge needled his conscience.

This time his smile was sad. And as genuine as his next words. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“And why would I get hurt? I haven’t done anything wrong, and I’m careful about protecting myself.” She aimed another hard look at him. “Except with you, apparently.”

In a way, she was right. She hadn’t done anything wrong. It was a shit situation, plain and simple. But she hadn’t been nearly careful enough.

He gave her a slow nod and put on a grin, though his heart felt like it was being crushed in a vise. He’d have given anything for this to end differently. “Well. Sorry to disturb your evening.”

Tipping the glass up, he drained the rest of the wine with one swallow, wishing it was a quadruple shot of vodka or whiskey instead. He wanted to get drunk out of his fucking mind just to escape this mess for a little while.

He stood and carried his empty glass to the kitchen, where he rinsed it out in the sink and put it in the dishwasher so she wouldn’t have to, uncaring that he’d left both fingerprints and traces of DNA on the glass. His prints had been entered into the federal database a long time ago now.

If a forensics team came in to gather physical evidence of him being here, it still wouldn’t help them find him. He had too many contacts, too many people who owed him favors, and there were so many places he could go to ground.

Taylor’s quiet footfalls on the wood floor behind him stopped at the edge of the kitchen. “So what now?” she asked.

He turned to face her and shrugged. “You tell me.”

She didn’t answer.

“You gonna call it in as soon as I leave?” Even if she did, he had plenty of time to get away. He’d go to one of his underground connections and lie low for a day or two until some decisions had been made.

“I have to tell them. You coming here tonight forced my hand. It’s my job and my reputation on the line otherwise, and I already lied once to protect you.”

Fondness and pride filled him at the news. She’d still been loyal to him, tried to protect him even after all this time. “I’m touched.”

“Well don’t be. It almost got me put on probation, and I won’t do it again.”

“Not even if it saved my life?”

A tiny frown appeared in the center of her forehead, and he could see the worry she was trying to hide. Concern for him, even after everything he’d done. He didn’t deserve to have her in his life. Never had.

“Dillon, what…” She stopped and drew in a deep breath, regret clear on her face. “I can’t help you now. I just can’t.”

Out of nowhere, loneliness arrowed him straight in the chest. “I know.”

Her gaze was steady on his, full of regret. “You can’t come back here.”

“I know. But I couldn’t leave without at least saying goodbye properly.” He gave a humorless chuckle.

Last time he’d left her, he hadn’t had time to say goodbye. That had bothered him for a long time, almost as much as the feeling that he’d deserted her in that house with that bastard before Janet had stepped in and pulled her out of there.

“Even in the old days when things were shitty and we had nothing, we still had each other, didn’t we?”

Her smile was as sad as her eyes. “Yes.”

“And we always stood up for each other. No matter what, we were loyal to each other right until the end.”

She lowered her gaze. “Yeah.” Now her voice was barely above a murmur.

Despite what she may think of him and his choices, he still cared about her. Hell, he still loved her in his own way. She’d been the sister he’d never had, and the only person in the world he’d trusted. None of that mattered any more, though.

A painful stab of grief ripped through him, so intense it stole his breath for a moment. He should be used to loss by now. But Taylor was the only glimmer of light in his dark past. Losing her meant losing the only remaining link to his humanity.

He cleared his throat. “Well. I’d better get a head start before you call the cops.”

They stood there facing each other across the space of the silent kitchen, and even from where he stood he saw the sheen of tears behind the lenses of her glasses. “Can I get a hug goodbye?” he asked softly, letting his gaze rove over every part of her face, so he could memorize every last detail of it.

She pressed her lips together and pulled in a deep breath, then nodded. He met her halfway and pulled her into a tight hug. To his surprise, she clung to him, face pressed into his chest just as she’d done when things had been really bad in their foster home. The second one for her, and one of many for him.

“Will you promise me something?”

She stiffened. “What?” she asked, a note of suspicion creeping into her voice.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Did she sense how final this was? “Promise me you’ll remember me the way I was back then. Before I left.” It had killed him to leave her in that house alone, but he’d had to go. The people after him would have hurt her to punish him.

Her hair rubbed against his lips as she nodded. “Okay.”

One more kiss to the top of her head, then he released her and walked out the front door without looking back. She didn’t follow him. But he knew her well enough to trust that she’d give him at least a small head start. If he had to guess, he had maybe five minutes, tops, before she made the call that would launch a manhunt to capture him.

As he walked down the front steps, a painful constriction in his ribcage made it hard to breathe. Some part of him wanted to stop there on the front walkway. Wanted to run back inside and beg for her forgiveness, whisk her out of the country to make sure she was safe and somehow make things right again.

You can’t. It’s too late now. For both of you.

Sick to his stomach, he forced himself to keep walking.

After slipping around the side of the house and melting into the shadows, he hugged the fence line between Taylor’s house and the neighbor on the corner, and jogged the two blocks to the rental car he’d left. He drove around the block once to make sure no one was following him, then doubled back through her neighborhood.

Just as he neared her street, a white pickup turned the corner, heading toward him. Dillon squinted in the glare of the headlights, his jaw clenching as he read the license plate. The same one that had pulled into Taylor’s driveway last night.

He caught a glimpse of the driver, confirming it was the same guy. A coworker, she’d said. Dillon’s instincts said otherwise. What was he to her?

Though part of him wanted to hide out and watch the house to see whether the man went inside or not, he couldn’t afford the risk. Time was ticking and his window for escape was closing fast. He had to get out of the area.

And he had to deliver the report to his boss. With a heavy heart, he pulled out his phone and dialed him.

Carlos answered in his usual brusque way. “Well? Will she do it?”

“No.” And Dillon admired her for that more than she’d ever know. She’d always had such stringent morals, more so than anyone else he’d ever known.

How she’d held on to that internal compass throughout all the shit life had dealt her, he’d never know. Somehow she’d pulled free of the muck and done okay for herself, had stayed on the straight and narrow while he’d fallen into the darkest cracks of society and thrived there. God, he’d pay all the money he had to change things.

“Then deal with her.”

Even though he’d expected it, hearing the command to put out a hit on her made his gut clench. “There’s another way.”

“No, there isn’t. The order comes directly from El Escorpion. We need the heat turned down on us. She has to be dealt with immediately, and it needs to look like the Guerreros did it. She’s the senior forensic accountant working the case. El Escorpion wants her dead to slow down the investigation and make them look at the Guerreros.” There was no give in Carlos’s voice.

Fuck. When an order like that came from the top, there was no disobeying or ignoring it.

“You know what to do.”

Yeah, carry out a hit bearing the signature of the rival Guerrero cartel. Burn her body, cut out her tongue and leave her severed head behind as testament to what happened to those who spoke out about the Guerreros.

He took a deep breath, the queasy sensation in his stomach worsening. “I’ll handle it.”

“No. You’re too personally involved. Have one of the boys do it.”

“I can’t do that.” A moment of surprised silence filled the line. Dillon never defied his lieutenant. But he wasn’t willing to give in on this one. “I’ll do it myself.” There was no way he’d let anyone else handle it.

His men and the other sicarios he worked with were ruthless, vicious killers. Sending them after Taylor made him want to puke up the wine currently gurgling in his stomach.

He didn’t trust any of them to simply put a bullet in her head, kill her quick and clean without fear or pain, and then walk away. He’d seen their handiwork firsthand too many times to have any illusions about what they’d do to her before they finally killed her.

There was no fucking way he would ever allow that to happen to her. Not after how much she’d meant to him.

“All right,” Carlos finally said, sounding pissed off. “You have two days, and if it’s not taken care of yet, I’ll order the hit myself. That’s the best I can do.”

Dillon’s fingers were numb around the phone. “Understood.”

The line went dead.

He dropped the phone into his lap, his chest and stomach full of lead as he took the onramp to the highway and headed south, speeding away in the darkness.

The only kindness he could give Taylor now, the only way to protect her from the suffering one of the cartel hit men would inflict, was a humane, unexpected death. Delivered by his own, merciful hand.