“Don’t you get it?” Trees whirled and growled. “Ramos was Laila’s rapist for six years. So no. If she ‘helped’ the asshole, it’s because he forced her. I need to figure out how and save her.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Fuck off.”

  Matt’s face hardened. “That’s not going to fly with the Edgingtons.”

  Trees pushed down his volcanic rage. First his bosses thought he was the mole, and now they thought he needed a babysitter? Yep, and since they were sending Matt, who had been brought on expressly to find Kimber, then saving Laila was further down their priority list. “This is bullshit.”

  He didn’t wait to see if Matt replied, just stomped into the war room. Most everyone had grabbed a plate and was now sitting in front of their computers, eating while downing fresh coffee. Luc stood in the corner, quietly on the phone. They all looked up when he walked in.

  “Well?” the colonel prompted.

  “I won’t know anything until I get to Laila.”

  The older man nodded. “Matt will fill you in on the newest developments.”

  “Take him with you, and remember that your first priority is to figure out where my sister is,” Logan reminded. “If you get any chance to bring her back safely—”

  “He knows,” Hunter interrupted.

  “Yep,” Trees assured because Kimber was the glue that held the Edgingtons’ lives together. But he needed Laila back to stop his heart from shattering. “Laila is your client. Shouldn’t retrieving her be pretty fucking important, too?”

  The Edgington brothers glanced at one another, then Hunter sighed. “Yes, and Valeria is beside herself with worry. If you can bring Laila back, do it. But if Montilla is pursuing her, and she can lead us to him…”

  He should use Laila as bait. That’s what Hunter was suggesting. No one else in the room was refuting him.

  Son of a bitch.

  Trees gave them a terse nod because if he said anything, he’d speak his mind and be out of a job. The way shit had gone lately, that might not be so bad…except this was his best opportunity to find Laila. This crew knew more about her whereabouts, so he couldn’t afford to balk.

  “Got it.” When he stomped toward the door, Hunter blocked his path. “One more thing before you go. Zy pointed out recently that, as bosses, Logan, Joaquin, and I have been complete assholes.”

  Trees wasn’t about to pull his punches. “You have.”

  Hunter’s tight smile was a silent mea culpa. “We’ve apologized to Zy for keeping him and Tessa apart. We’re trying to do better. We owe you an apology, too, for assuming you were our mole.”

  “Your assumption was logical, but it sucked. Maybe next time, investigate more and assume less before you start throwing accusations around?”

  “Yeah. The fact you stayed with us and did a damn great job when we suspected the worst of you…” Hunter stuck out his hand. “Thanks. It won’t happen again.”

  “It fucking better not.”

  Hunter paused like he was choosing his next words carefully. “Zy says you have feelings for Laila.”

  “I’m in love with her, and before you give me the speech about not falling for a client—”

  “You can’t help who you fall for. To be honest, it’s fucking inconvenient. Valeria is pissed, and it’s not good for our reputation if word gets out that you seduced a client—”

  “Fuck you. It’s not like I wanted to have feelings for her—”

  “But”—Hunter held up his hands to stop his tirade—“it happens. We understand you’re worried about Laila. You’re motivated to find her and get her to safety.”

  “Yep. And I want it on record that I think you using her as bait is both wrong and reckless. But I know you’re worried about your sister.”

  “It’s been ten days. We’re desperate.” Hunter sounded choked up.

  “I’ll do my best to find her.”

  “Thanks.” Logan approached and stuck out his hand. “We’re sorry for everything.”

  Trees shook it and nodded.

  Joaquin repeated the gesture, then bobbed his head toward the door. “Go ahead. I know you’re anxious to get on Laila’s trail. I’ll text you the location of the Santiagos’ private jet. How soon can you get a bag and get out of here?”

  “I have one in my Hummer.”

  “Of course the prepper is prepped.” He smiled wryly. “You and Matt will fly to Florida with one of Oracle’s operators, Trevor Forsythe. He’s former FBI and a great investigator. You’ll also be joined by a friend of Jack Cole’s. He goes by the handle Ghost. I don’t know much about him.”

  “You don’t need to,” Jack piped up from across the room. “Except you shouldn’t fuck with him. That’s my advice.”

  Trees didn’t want to dick around with any of these guys. “Roger that.”

  “Report in often, stay safe, and do your best.”

  Trees didn’t want more babysitters. He liked to work alone, particularly since he was usually hacking his way into other people’s tech, but he wanted to waste time arguing about his company-sponsored daddies even less. “Any parameters?”

  The trio of bosses looked at one another, then shook their head. “Just do what needs to be done.”

  “If we want to hit the ground running, we should game plan before we land,” Matt suggested in the seat beside him, cowboy hat perched on his knee.

  Trees didn’t disagree, but it was fucking hard to plan when they had no idea what they’d find once they hit the ground. “I’m going straight to the racetrack to talk to the two”—horny assholes—“security guards who last saw Laila.”

  Matt nodded. “We don’t know what she might have said to them once they walked off camera. I’ll go with you. The other two can grab a car and start trailing the truck Victor Ramos rented in his late brother’s name.”

  If the cowboy stayed out of his way… “Works for me.”

  Trevor seemed like a stand-up guy. Coincidentally enough, he and One-Mile Walker had gone to high school together. Neither had been a big fan of the other. Trevor had nicknamed Walker Serial Killer, which proved that Forsythe had decent instincts. Jack Cole’s friend Ghost, on the other hand? Trees was more than cool keeping distance between them. If someone had put a gun to his head and forced him to describe the guy in one line, tatted-up, antisocial badass motherfucker would be about right. Apparently, his name was Grayson. Trees didn’t know if that was first or last, and he didn’t feel like asking since he was pretty sure Ghost would look through him with those dead, silvery eyes—before he tried gouging out his heart with a screwdriver.

  Montgomery’s phone dinged. “I just got an update from Stone in the war room. Looks like the U-Haul is still traveling north, on approach to Tallahassee.”

  “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.”