“They won’t be stopping there.”

  “How do you know?”

  Trees scowled at Matt. “They’re taking that Ferrari someplace where Victor can either sell it or hide it. Since I don’t think he took the car for the money, I’m betting on the latter. And Tallahassee isn’t a great place to stash something that flashy. Besides, if Victor is smart, he’ll want to get far away from the scene of the crime.”

  The big blond cowboy nodded in seeming agreement. “True. They don’t know when the cops might be onto them.”

  “Or Geraldo Montilla.” But neither was Victor Ramos’s biggest issue. Trees was on a mission to separate the asshole from Laila. Whatever he’d done to hurt and coerce her was coming to a violent and very final end.

  “If he catches them, I’m sure Ramos would beg for the cops. Where do you think he’s taking Laila?”

  That question had been bugging Trees. “I don’t know. If they aren’t going to unload the car for cash, then…my best guess is they’re using it as leverage, to hold something over Montilla’s head.”

  “Like?”

  “Maybe her family’s safety.” After all, that was probably what Victor had threatened, too. But what was in it for Ramos?

  “Laila is in a rough spot, trapped with someone ruthless who’s hurt her before. But from what I understand, she’s a tough woman. Smart. She’ll—”

  “Be fine?” He raised a brow at the cowboy. The son of a bitch better not let those words come out of his mouth.

  “Survive. At least until we find her. Sometimes that’s all we can hope for.” Matt sounded like he spoke from experience, and Trees wondered what that was about. But the cowboy ended the conversation and looked out the window with a somber stare.

  Trees glanced across the plush cabin. Trevor and Ghost both hunkered down in their enormous leather seats. Trevor looked like a bureaucrat—nondescript haircut, tailored suit, and nice manners. But there was something brutally shrewd and aware about the guy, even when he seemingly closed his eyes and relaxed. Ghost didn’t bother with the pretense of a nap. He focused his unblinking stare straight ahead, exercising the kind of still and patience that told Trees the guy would be a deadly fucking professional in action.

  Trees tried to kick back and drift off, but images of Laila pelted his brain. He needed to figure out what she was up against and what she might be planning. He wanted to be fully prepared to help her when he found her.

  The rest of the plane ride was silent. After a smooth landing, each of them grabbed their bags and promised to check in with news. Then they hit the ground running, splitting up as soon as their feet touched terra firma.

  The ride to the racetrack south of Orlando was both a frustrating snarl of traffic and a total waste of time. The big guard in the wifebeater showed up with nothing but bad attitude and a seeming case of amnesia, because he claimed he couldn’t remember anything. A few hundred bucks loosened his tongue but didn’t help him impart any new light. According to him, the minute Laila had followed him and his no-show counterpart to the guard shack, she’d trapped them inside and fled.

  The interview lasted less than ten minutes.

  Matt drove away from the racetrack, navigating his way into a turn lane with a scowl. “What did you think?”

  If he was going to have to deal with the albatross of Walker’s bestie, he might as well use the guy as a sounding board. “Not much more than I thought before. Laila is helping Ramos for a reason. At first I thought it was because he threatened her.”

  “That’s still possible.”

  “Likely, even. But I keep replaying things she said to me… She’s fucking done with her family being hunted. She wants her sister to be happy and her nephew to have a normal childhood.”

  “What does she want for herself?”

  Trees shook his head. “Laila doesn’t think about that. I doubt it’s even crossed her mind. But there’s a chance she’s cooperating with Ramos because she thinks something will change.”

  “Like?”

  Elbow resting on the car door, he tapped his thumb against the hard plastic beneath. “Like helping Ramos will somehow get Montilla—and maybe even Ramos, too—out of the picture.”

  Matt snorted. “Eliminating them both would be ballsy, but maybe she’s onto something. It’s not far-fetched to think that Montilla will hunt Ramos down and squash him like a bug for stealing his classic Ferrari. After all, if we got our hands on the footage of the theft in a couple of hours, what are the odds the owner of the stolen vehicle hasn’t seen it?”

  Trees had thought of that. “He has, way before us. It also stands to reason that if we could figure out who Ramos was from the clip, so could Montilla—if he didn’t already guess.”

  “You don’t get where Montilla is without knowing shit.”

  “You don’t. You also don’t get where Montilla is by turning the other cheek or ruling with anything less than an iron fist. He’ll come after Ramos—hard.”

  “If he can find the weasel. Do you know where he might hole up?”

  “Since EM Security raided Emilo Montilla’s Mexican compound and One-Mile killed the bastard?” Trees shook his head. “But I’ve done a round with him before. If I can find him, I can take him.”

  “If you were Ramos, would you stay in the States?”

  “Knowing Geraldo Montilla had a long enough reach to get me in either country? I’d go where I have home-turf advantage. Someplace I know better than my adversary ever will and can rely on the locals not to out me for a buck.”

  “Same.” Matt pulled onto the freeway. “Any idea where this fucker is from?”

  Trees wished he had a place to hunker down with his computer and dig into this son of a bitch’s life, but he could make do with his phone. After a few searches, some cross-checking, and tapping into a couple of hush-hush resources, he found what he needed. “On the Gulf coast in Mexico, in the state of Tamaulipas. It’s a little fishing village. La Pesca. I think we go there.”

  Matt hesitated. “Check in with Trevor and Ghost. See if Ramos is still headed with the U-Haul in the same direction.”

  Trees texted Trevor and got an instant reply. “Given the truck’s most recent sighting by a traffic cam, yep. But they’re a good three hours behind Victor and Laila. They’re trying to catch up, but…”

  “It’ll be a while before Trevor and Ghost lay eyes on them. Still, I think you’re right. We fly to Ramos’s turf, keep a low fucking profile, and wait a day or two. See if he shows up.”

  “And if he does”—Trees flashed a smile full of teeth and malevolence—“I’ll be waiting.”

  Mexico

  Victor’s loud demands over the gentle ocean breeze jerked Laila awake from her nap the following afternoon. She jackknifed up and stared around the unfamiliar bedroom blankly, trying to remember how she got here.

  After driving all night and half of yesterday, Victor had finally pulled his truck beside a bright green villa, sandwiched between the turquoise water of the Gulf and a similar unit in sunny yellow. Other than food and bathroom breaks, their only other stop had been in Brownsville, just before they’d left the US. There, they had transferred the Ferrari from the U-Haul and into a truck some of his henchmen had brought. They’d abandoned the rental in a retail parking lot and pressed into Mexico after a drive-thru breakfast Laila had declined. She refused to owe Victor for anything.

  Around noon, they’d driven through a town so small it could barely be called a village. Ten minutes after that, they’d stopped here. Laila hadn’t asked questions when he’d shown her into what looked like a vacation rental. She had simply locked the door, propped a chair under the knob, made sure her guns were loaded and within reach, then showered and collapsed into the fluffy white bed. Sleep had come slowly. She’d tried not to miss Trees while she’d tossed and turned. Despite her exhaustion, she ached for his strong arms, his woodsy scent, his understanding, his kiss. What must he be thinking? Feeling?

  The next thing she knew, Victor’s raised voice outside her door awakened her. She sat up with a gasp and glanced out the window. The late afternoon sun dipped toward the horizon. Sighing, Laila rolled out of bed, tossed on the robe the resort had provided, then yanked the door open with a scowl. “Why are you yelling?”

  He ended the call with a curse and dropped his phone on the kitchen table. “I’m tired of dealing with incompetent fools. I told Miguel to call me the minute he heard Montilla started looking for me.”

  “And?” Laila eyed his device, wishing she could grab it and assure her sister that she was safe…at least for now. And she would love to hear Trees’s voice. But he must know she’d walked out of his house with Victor of her own free will. Why would he ever want her again after she had betrayed his trust?

  “The cabrón waited nearly twenty-four hours to tell me anything.”

  Laila wasn’t surprised. Miguel had always been more interested in looking tough than being useful. He’d happily sampled both the cartel’s product and whores daily. “Montilla knows you took the car, yes?”

  “Of course. They have sicced their sicarios on me.”

  Hitmen. Laila wasn’t surprised. Surely, Victor wasn’t, either. “That is good. You have el jefe’s attention. It is the perfect time to strike. Do you know who they sent to kill you?”

  Off the top of her head, Laila could think of more than one killer Montilla employed. Most weren’t well paid—except in drugs. No one expected them to live long, so cartels viewed them as expendable. But knowing who Montilla had tasked with ending Victor would tell her a lot about the drug lord’s reaction.

  Victor looked grim. “He sent them all. The first one to bring me to him—preferably alive—will be rewarded.”

  Laila’s blood ran cold. Montilla was even more furious than she’d imagined. He would demand retribution of the worst kind. She needed to put distance between her and Victor, lie low somewhere else. And she had to come up with a good reason for leaving here. If she didn’t…when Montilla’s hitmen came, she would be a casualty, too. Or worse, a prisoner tortured repeatedly to within an inch of her life until she gladly begged for death.

  “We must act quickly and—”

  “And what? This fucking plan of yours is likely to get me killed.” His eyes narrowed with rage as he stalked closer. “Was that your plan all along?”

  Laila’s heart rate surged. Since she’d been startled out of sleep, she’d forgotten her guns on her nightstand. Casually, she eased back into her bedroom and eyed the weapons—but she was still too far to reach them. “No. I simply want to protect my family. And do you truly want to work for that pendejo? The way he treats people as if they are beneath him, especially Emilo, who was your friend…”

  Not that Victor would win any humanitarian awards. But he was egomaniac enough not to see the very flaws he hated in others reflected in himself.

  “I cannot be under Geraldo’s thumb. And I would run the business better. Under my leadership, Tierra Caliente would be more powerful than ever.”

  Laila tried not to scoff at his big dreams. “Exactly. So this is the path you must follow. Does Miguel know where to find Montilla?”

  “No, but he has a contact, someone inside. He won’t say who, but this person claims to be unhappy with the way Montilla runs the organization. If we pay him well, he will tell us what he knows.”

  Likely so, but in Laila’s experience, information that had to be bought was often full of half-truths at best.

  “Once we learn where Montilla is holed up, tell Miguel to have his contact pass along our terms for the car’s return. This is where the bargaining chip I told you about comes in. If I explain now, it will not make sense. But information is power and once you know the hole where the fox is hiding—”

  “No.” He charged her way again. “I’m tired of your games. Explain this bargaining chip now.”

  Laila scrambled back, plucking the guns from the nightstand and aiming at him. She had known she wouldn’t be able to put Victor off for long. Her time was running out. “Think, Victor. Would I really mislead you?”

  He stopped coming at her. “I’m beginning to wonder.”

  “What would you do if I have?”

  “I would hunt down your sister, and I would show her no mercy.”

  “Precisely.” So she would have to kill him if he stopped believing her. “You know I would never want that. So I am positive my plan will put you on Montilla’s throne.”

  Victor grumbled. “You promised me information.”

  “And you will get it as soon as you learn where Montilla is. In the meantime, I will walk to the village, blend in, and see if any of his men have come looking for you.”

  Victor tried to dissect her intentions with his stare. “And what then?”

  “If it is not safe here, we leave and take the car with us. But I do not think it wise to keep it in the truck, sitting in plain sight. It looks out of place among vacationers and attracts attention you do not need.”

  A grudging grunt told her that he hadn’t thought of that, but he didn’t disagree. “When you reach town, go see Gustavo Pastrana. He is a mechanic. Tell him I need a favor and to make me space in his warehouse.”

  As much as Laila didn’t want to associate with others on Victor’s behalf, she had to appear like his ally, and it gave her an excuse to put miles between her and Victor. “All right.”

  “While you are in town, pick up food from the market. I am starving.”

  Laila wanted to remind him that she was his partner, not his slave. But that argument would be lost on him. Instead, she lowered her guns and chose a tactic he would understand. “I cannot be your eyes and ears in town if I return here.”

  He mulled that over, then pulled out some bills from his pocket. “True. Besides, others who were once loyal to Emilo will be arriving soon. You go buy some clothes. A hat, too. Disguise yourself. Find a place to stay. Blend with the locals and listen in on them. No one will see you as a threat.”

  As long as Montilla’s hitmen couldn’t tell at a glance that she was the woman who had distracted the security guards so Victor could steal the car, she should be safe. Not only would the sicarios never see her as a threat, they wouldn’t even look at her twice if she seemed like just one of the townsfolk. “That will be best. With this money, I will also buy a phone so I can call you if I hear anything important.”

  Victor glared at her in warning. “Remember… If you betray me, your sister will pay dearly. You know I am well versed in causing pain.”

  He was, along with degradation, humiliation, and terror. “I will do anything to spare Valeria.”

  The smile that stretched across Victor’s face was nothing short of superior. “Go.”

  Laila didn’t give him time to change his mind. Despite the fact the sun would set in less than two hours, she went in search of her clothes and the flip-flops she’d found abandoned at a park on their way to Orlando, then hustled out the door.

  The February afternoon was temperate, much warmer than Louisiana. She’d missed Mexico’s warmth and the tropical vegetation where Trees lived.

  But if you had a choice between the sun and the man, which would you choose?

  Trees, always.

  The sun sank lower as she reached the sleepy little village. Laila found a woman selling clothes from a table leaning against the side of a run-down building. She negotiated the purchase of a flowing, lace-trimmed skirt and a matching blouse, both in white. On the next street over, she picked up more underwear, some toiletries, a floppy hat, sunglasses, and a burner phone. After she donned her new things in the store’s restroom, she spent a little more money on a street taco that tasted like heaven and pocketed the rest of the cash. It bothered her to take anything from Victor, but she was doing a job for him—watching his ass. That should pay well. As far as she was concerned, they were even.

  As she ate, Laila set up the phone, then stared at the plastic device longingly, but she didn’t dare reach out to her sister until she secured a location for the stolen car and found a place to lay her head for the night. And she couldn’t tell Valeria where she’d gone. The less her sister knew, the less danger she would be in.

  What about Trees? Will you call him later, too?

  As much as she ached to, no. What would she say? How could she possibly apologize? Or atone?

  With the final rays of sunlight, she finished eating and sauntered up one of the town’s narrow streets, looking for both Gustavo Pastrana and a place to stay. The mechanic was easy to find. He looked close to her age with tattoos that covered him from his neck to his fingertips. He eyed her with blatant appreciation that made her uncomfortable—until she dropped Victor’s name. Then he was suddenly all business.

  “Is he in town?” Gustavo asked.

  Laila had no idea how much Victor trusted this mechanic. His ink suggested he’d been more than a little involved with a cartel or two in the past. She didn’t remember him from Emilo’s compound, but that meant nothing. Her late brother-in-law had employed men all over his territory. And if Victor intended to let this man hide a rival’s fifty-million-dollar car, didn’t that suggest he trusted Gustavo on some level?

  “Soon,” she hedged just in case, offering a smile to an older man who passed them, eyeing her suspiciously.

  “Papá, finish cleaning inside. I will take care of everything out here,” Gustavo told his father in rapid-fire Spanish.

  The older man merely scowled and nodded before disappearing inside.

  Through a window, Laila watched the old man wipe down a counter and reach for the ringing phone as Gustavo went on. “Don’t mind him. He is getting grumpy with old age. So what does Victor need?”

  “Do you have a space in your warehouse to store a car?”

  Gustavo lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “What can you tell me about the vehicle?”

  Why did he want to know? “Nothing. He simply sent me ahead to ask if you had room.”