When Lies Unfold

Chapter 17

“With all due respect”—Gordostarts, and I know exactly what he’s about to say before he says it—“what the fuck are you doin’ with her?”

If it were anybody else questionin’ me, they’d already have some loose teeth and be gaspin’ from a throat punch—at the very least. Gordo and I go way back, which is the only reason I’m givin’ him so much leniency.

He mans the wheel with just the two of us in the SUV as we head down the highway. If I hadn’t already planned this—to double-check on operations just over the border—I would’ve stuck around at the house. I would’ve shown Miss Arias where she’d be sleepin’ from now on and gone over all the rules.

As it is, I know Luis’ll get the job done. He’s not one to be swayed by any woman, no matter how ballsy or beautiful. He’s been with me for quite a while, so I’m privy to his weaknesses. Hell, for that matter, I’m aware of all my men’s weaknesses.

If I have somebody workin’ for me, I need to know their risk profile. My men, the ones who’ve been with me the longest, have the lowest risk profile. With good reason.

Gordo continues, unmistakable impatience threaded in his voice. “Look, I don’t make it a habit of questionin’ your judgment?—”

“Then don’t,” comes my sharp reply. But, of course, he keeps goin’.

“—but we both know she saw Andro shoot Rafa. She’s got Nando sniffin’ around her. And she disappears to go walkin’ through the fuckin’ jungle at night?” He tosses me a glance, his expression filled with disbelief. “We know plenty of grown men who wouldn’t set foot in the jungle once the sun sets.”

He’s not wrong—on any of it. Especially the latter. Growin’ up in these parts, there’s a certain sense of respect for nature. We know there’re great risks if we go stompin’ through the nighttime jungle.

Weariness takes hold, and I grind my hands against my eyes. “Jesus Christ, Gordo. See why I don’t want a goddamn wife?” An exasperated breath falls outta me, and I drop my hands from my eyes. “I get enough shit from you alone.”

All he does is grunt, and I know he’s waitin’ for me to address what he just said.

I shift in my seat, my voice muted. “I can’t put my finger on it, but somethin’s tellin’ me I need her alive.” A pause hangs between us. “And after today, I sure as shit could use her.”

Gordo’s voice is low, cautious. “She really got Alma to talk?”

A simultaneous lance of pain and amazement courses through me. “Yeah. Can’t wrap my mind around it either.”

My girl chose to speak today—and she chose to talk to this particular fuckin’ woman. I watched the footage of their interaction in Alma’s room, and it was a good thing I was sittin’ down for it.

My girl hasn’t said one goddamn word in years, but one look at Lola-fuckin’-Arias, and words just start pourin’ out of her.

What is it about this woman? What is it about her that’s not only intrigued the fuck out of me but managed to draw my daughter from her self-imposed silence?

I don’t know what the hell it is, but I’m prepared to keep her underfoot until I figure out all the damn mysteries wrapped around that woman.

Every last one of them.