Chapter Twelve
The clock was pushing midnight when Gatlin walked into the office where Rio was working, carrying a filing box. Several of his men trailed behind him, depositing the load on a heavy table across the hall.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Gatlin said with a frown.
Rio looked from him to the boxes and back.
“Hang on.” Gatlin checked the labels, choosing a box of items confiscated at the ranch.
Rio pulled off the top, intending to empty the contents on the table so he could document them. They’d already cataloged the weapons, some still streaked with blood, a password-protected laptop, and a half dozen cell phones. But he stopped short when he recognized Celeste’s oversized purse.
Gatlin shut the door, keeping a hand firmly on the knob. “She claims she’s not a part of her father’s cartel dealings, though she does receive money from several custom broker’s offices inherited from her grandfather. Kris’s checking into the office and whoever runs it, but so far everything’s legit.”
Rio leaned back. If Ayala had one legal business, he had others. They’d have to dig into Celeste’s background to see what else they could find. “She gave me her phone’s pass code.” Rio reached into the purse, plucking out the phone only to find the battery dead. Sitting in a dead zone, with wifi closely guarded, not many bothered with a cell. Which meant he’d need to track down a charger. Gatlin reloaded the box, putting it across the hall with the others, then locked the room. Cataloging the rest of the belongings could wait until morning. He paused as he went by, smacked his palm on the frame. “By the way, Kris brought the thing for Parker.” Then he was gone.
Rio stared at the now empty spot in the doorway. Brought the thing. The test that would tell him what his future would hold, or not hold. He pulled a Post-It Note, wrote Celeste’s name, and stuck it on the board. The yellow square stood out among the pictures of rough men and jaded women. More so against the brutal scenes of death and destruction Ayala’s organization had left across the Mexican countryside. A dozen states had seen his and Guerrero’s bloody brand of warfare over the past few years.
Kris joined him, silently walking up beside him. “She says those aren’t his.” He pointed at Mazatlán, Tampico, and Monclova. All places where innocent blood had covered the streets.
“Of course not,” Rio replied flippantly. “I’m sure he was at a church retreat those times.”
Kris’s expression remained disturbingly neutral. “She knows what he does. Her body language says she isn’t comfortable with admitting what or who he is.”
“She does realize he pays men to do that shit for him, doesn’t she?”
Kris’s gaze moved from pin to pin. “Why choose only three incidents?” And wasn’t that the million-dollar question? It made no sense, but he couldn’t afford to ignore it or the unsettling possibilities it would raise if true. Both men stared at the map as the silence stretched between them. Kris was right, obviously, but he didn’t have to like it.
Rio studied the pins indicating the locations on the map. At least one didn’t include Guerrero’s people among the bodies. He’d have to research the others. “She just volunteered information?”
“Seemed more like she had to get it off her chest.” Kris pinned Celeste’s DMV picture next to Ayala’s. He added her name and “daughter”, double underlined.
Questions danced around Rio’s head. Apparently Kris was done sharing, so he’d have to ask. Because if he had to wait for the guy to say something else, he’d likely die of old age. “How is she?”
“Pregnant.” The word was delivered in his usual no-holds-barred manner. “Other than that, fine but exhausted, according to the medic.”
She was carrying his child. The knowledge settled within him.
“You’ll be about two months behind us.”
Rio did a double take. “Tessa?” Kris gave a satisfied grin. He was a perfect example of how things could work out even when life and the cartel were against you. Kris had found Tessa in a cartel safe house, claimed her, and never looked back—regardless of the consequences. “Congratulations, man.”
“Thanks.” Kris turned back. “How are you doing with her and the pregnancy?”
Rio drew in a breath. “Well, I haven’t heard from her in weeks. Turned up in her father’s ranch house. She’s pregnant with my baby. And now she hates me for being law.” Kris’s expression turned grim. “Oh, let’s not forget I not only arrested her father, I shot him for good measure.”
“Ah, shit.” Kris shook his head. “Under any other circumstances I’d be congratulating you.”
“Yeah.”
“This place is yours to run,” Kris said, setting one leg on the corner of the table. “But why did you bring her here? This is supposed to be a black site. You’re not set up for interrogation or detention.”
Rio stared into space, remembering the drive. “I asked myself the same damn question the whole trip back.” He exhaled, bending his head and running his fingers along his temples. “Nothing makes sense when I’m around her. I do the stupidest—”
“Ohhh, man. You have no clue how deep you are or the shit-storm that’s about to hit.” Rio frowned, looking up to find Kris chuckling. Amused. “Get used to the idea you’re gonna be apologizing to the woman on a regular basis. You won’t even know why yet. But if you don’t want to lose her, start thinking about how you can make things right.”
“What?” Rio cocked his head. Had Kris lost his mind? “She’s one of them.”
“Is she? ” Kris waited, letting him absorb the question. “For now, get some rest. You’ve got a lot to do. Talk to her. See what you can find out.” He crossed his arms. “I was going to turn Ayala over to the locals tomorrow, but I’ll figure out some way to stall. Damian is going another round with him, then he’ll upload the video for you. Give me a call once you see it.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Something doesn’t sit right, but I’m not sure why. Hell, he could just be a good liar.” Kris pushed off from the desk. “You know more about the guy. Maybe you’ll see what I didn’t.”
…
With sunrise still hours away, Rio crossed the yard, his boots crunching on the caliche. The nearest sentry acknowledged him as he continued to the main building. The night had dragged by while he stared at the ceiling, trying to smother the memories fighting to come alive in his mind. Restless, worse than anything in the past few weeks, he’d accepted he wouldn’t be getting any sleep. Not when Celeste lay in the next building, a few yards away. Correction. Celeste and their baby. He approached the infirmary, managing not to stare at the dark windows. Was she okay? He had no idea what pregnant women needed, never having been around one. His muscles tightened past the point of feeling strain.
He regretted his choice to skip the workout gear, even though he could use a run. Lately, only a hard workout burned off the restlessness. But with the op just hours before, the men had earned time off. Especially considering the brutal pace he’d set since he got back.
He walked into the office, going straight to his laptop. Anticipation surged through him, heating his blood and sharpening his focus. He typed in his password and saw what he was waiting for. Sitting forward, he clicked on the first of the three videos Damian uploaded. Ayala filled the screen, looking calm in his suit, despite the fresh wound in his leg.
Sunrise came and went with Ayala choosing what questions to answer. At times he talked as if he were conversing with a business associate, going on about points of interest in areas Damian brought up to him. With a businessman for a father and a teacher for a mother, he’d grown up with a decent education before graduating to street thug.
Then Damian hit gold with a single word. Victoria. Ayala’s polite mask slipped, and his response set off alarms in Rio’s head. Needing confirmation, Rio paused, pulling back the cursor then hitting play. “She’s an American. You have no right to drag her down here to bait me.” Drag her down here? Rio listened again. He stopped the video, focusing on Ayala’s face. No, focusing on her father’s face. He pressed play. “Every day she’s in the country she’s deeper in danger.” Yet Celeste had said her father called her to come meet him.
His gaze went to the board, studying faces, profiles, and pictures of the deceased. Some of the questions he skipped revolved around violence Celeste claimed hadn’t been his. Doubt pierced his certainty, breaking the timeline down to a series of assumptions. He needed to review the reports, talk to witnesses and interviewers. Every event made the board because they were Ayala’s doing. Some by Ayala’s own admission. But looking back at the video, he wondered at the truth of those admissions. The man on the screen had presence. He wasn’t ranting or cocky, talking up his exploits or copping an attitude with Damian. He could easily be in a boardroom, allowing his second in command to run the meeting while he looked on. So what did that mean? Did one of his men go rogue?
Drag her down here… Rio studied Ayala’s face, the look in his eyes. The expression wasn’t anger or concern. He was scared. So why would a man, scared for his daughter’s life, call her to Mexico?
Shoving back the chair, he circled the desk, going across the hall, unlocking the room Gatlin secured the night before. He stopped in front of the box labeled “Victoria’s BR”. Gatlin’s initials sat next to the date and time. Rio searched the other boxes, but Gatlin had only gone through one room. Her bedroom.
He set his jaw as he pulled off the lid. Her purse lay on a pile of shorts, tops, undergarments, and a pile of bikinis that were more string than material. Yanking the purse handles apart, he grabbed the phone and pressed the home button.
Cursing, he stomped back to the office, pulling open one drawer after another. Finally, he found a frayed charger cable. What seemed like hours after plugging in, he entered the pin Celeste provided, then flipped through the icons to the call log. Nothing, for months. So he moved on to the texts, which stopped several weeks back.
At the top of the screen was the conversation with her father. Searching through, he confirmed her story. But was that really everything? People lied when they were backed into a corner. And this could literally be a lifetime of trouble for her. She’d obviously done some cleaning. His own message to her was gone. Likely deleted after he dropped her off. He tried scrolling further back, but with no internet connection he stopped, cursing again as he entered the password for the wifi. A few keystrokes later, he’d downloaded more messages and sat back to read.
That’s how Gatlin found him, scrutinizing every line on every conversation, like a jealous lover trying to find any sign of infidelity.
“You didn’t eat.” Gatlin went to the coffeemaker, dropping a K-cup in the well.
“She was telling the truth,” Rio said gruffly, ignoring Gatlin’s comment. “They met up during at least two of the time frames she mentioned.”
“He could have given orders from anywhere,” Gatlin pointed out.
“I said the same thing.” Dialing down his frustration, Rio turned to the laptop. “Check this out.” He went back to the videos, opening the first one before sending the feed up to the flat screen. “Watch the body language, not just the words.” He moved on to a point further in the video. “Now this.”
“The guy’s a hard-ass,” Gatlin said, tasting his coffee before discarding the stirrer.
“Now this.” Rio switched screens, queuing up the section. Gatlin stopped, the cup frozen next to his mouth. Rio kicked the chair around to face him. “She said he had her come down to meet with him.”
Gatlin’s brow furrowed. “She did?”
“That’s what she’d told me,” Rio’s stated in a flat tone, not inviting questions or commentary. If he wasn’t in the habit of watching people, he might have missed Gatlin’s grip tightening on the cardboard cup. “So what’s he talking about here? We didn’t drag her anywhere.”
Gatlin brought his hand down to waist level, staring into his coffee. “The, uh, the whole topless thing…” Rio’s temper went to a low simmer. “I didn’t know. Man, you get I was just fucking with the guys,” Gatlin rushed on to explain. Rio held the other man’s gaze, relaying his thoughts about broken jaws without having to utter a word. “She was dressed. Well, in the biki—bathing suit. Like, she never took the top off.” Better. His tortured shoulders appreciated the admission. “I went back to collect her stuff. Didn’t want anyone tripping over anything you didn’t know about.”
That explained the boxes. Rio nodded once then turned back to the computer. “So, anyway, with Ayala out of the loop on this, it’s got me wondering if we’re not flying blind.” He checked the contact information to get the number, then switched screens on the laptop. A minute later he’d added another question to the pile. “That phone is in Juarez right now.”
“He could have several,” Gatlin suggested.
“Would you leave behind the phone you use to text your daughter when you’re going to see her?”
Gatlin hitched a shoulder, shaking his head. “So what are you thinking?”
“This may not be her father she was talking to.”
“So she was meeting someone else?”
“No.” Rio’s imagination had shot straight past that. He tapped the phone. “What if she doesn’t know this isn’t her father.”
“So you think someone hacked it?”
“It could be simpler than that. Someone on the inside could get to it if she put it down. The messages start with her getting home from seeing him and he’s checking on her.”
He checked the camera roll, scrolling through dozens of shots. Men in all sorts of situations, from having coffee to driving. One was even adjusting himself. He closed the album. “Have tech go through all of it.”
“Any idea who’d want to set her up?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”