Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Not that Jaz minded standing at the kitchen bar to eat—he’d done it often enough when he was alone—but it had been a long day. “Do you mind if we move to the living room?”
“Sure.” Kenzie grabbed their water glasses, and Jaz carried the charcuterie board, which he placed on the coffee table.
Kenzie settled into a seat in the corner of the couch, so he chose a chair catty-corner to her, giving her space.
Though she’d seemed terrified to walk inside his house, she seemed comfortable enough now.
He didn’t want to risk spooking her again.
She’d apologized for her fear, but she didn’t need to.
They’d only known each other for…not even thirty-six hours, and in that time, he’d put her in a position where she felt she had to share a bed with him, he’d kissed her without her permission, and he’d backed her up against the wall, nearly out of his mind with fear and rage.
If Mom were alive, she’d give him a good talking-to about how to treat women.
Kenzie was an enigma. She was tough and competent and smart.
She was also vulnerable and cautious to the point of anxiety.
He’d seen her fight pirates then nearly panic at the thought of stepping into a room with him.
She’d managed to keep her cool during a too-close meeting with Magras, then freeze up at the thought of physical contact.
There was a story there. The more he got to know her, the more he wanted to know that story.
Darkness pressed against the windows, turning them into mirrors reflecting the warm glow of the lamps. It’d finally cooled off in here, thanks to the AC powered by the generator and the solar panels on the roof.
It was only eight o’clock, too early to go to bed even though exhaustion pulled at him—and her, too, if her yawn was any indication. He wanted to sleep, but he needed to dig into her files.
Right this second, he just needed this moment of peace and normalcy.
“Tell me about this house.” Kenzie reached for a cracker. “Do you own it? How long have you lived here?”
“I bought it about five years ago, not long before my life fell apart.” He wasn’t used to talking about this house—or his real life. “It was one of the few smart decisions I made back then.”
“I guess Noah and Charlotte have been here.”
“Noah doesn’t know. Nobody does.” Bringing Kenzie here had been a risk, but he’d needed somewhere safe—close enough to reach fast, quiet enough to think. On such short notice, this was the only place that fit.
Only now did the full weight of that decision press on him. In bringing Kenzie here, he wasn’t just risking others finding out about this place. He was exposing himself, the real him, to this woman he hadn’t even known two days ago.
Somehow, he didn’t mind.
“It’s my escape hatch,” he said. “If the worst happens and I have to disappear, this is where I’ll come.”
“But now you’ve brought me here.” Her eyes were wide, genuine concern shining in them. “What happens if they find us?”
“You’re safe here.” He thought. He hoped.
“I’m not… I don’t mean… If they find us, they find us.
You’ve done everything in your power to keep me safe.
I get that. I’m just worried…” She paused, seeming to consider her words.
“I assume you usually come here under different conditions, not when you’re being chased.
Not when you’re in trouble or have a…a target with you.
But this time… What if they tracked us? If this place is exposed, what’s your Plan B? ”
Huh.
She wasn’t worried for herself. She was worried about him.
He swallowed the emotion that rose, knowing she cared enough to even ask. “I’ve got a passport”—three, actually, very good forgeries—“a packed bag, some cash.”
“You think that’ll be enough?”
“For a head start. It’ll buy me some time.” He hoped.
The expression on Kenzie’s face told him she didn’t like his answer. Maybe he should’ve lied.
“I’m not going to worry about it, Kenzie. You shouldn’t either. Aside from the real estate agent, you’re the only person in the world who knows I own this place besides me, and I trust you to keep it to yourself.”
“I know how to keep a secret.” She looked toward the window. What was she thinking? Was there a story there?
“So if Charlotte’s never been here…” She turned back to him. “Where does she fit into all this?”
He didn’t talk about Charlotte, ever.
His first instinct was to shut Kenzie down.
So why didn’t he? Maybe exhaustion was getting to him.
Or maybe he just needed someone to know the truth.
She already had so many of the puzzle pieces.
He might as well be honest. He held his water glass in both hands, propping his elbows on his knees and studying the coffee table. “She doesn’t fit. That’s the problem.”
Kenzie’s hand stilled, a dried apricot halfway to her mouth. She lowered it. “Sorry. It’s none of my business.”
Maybe, but for some reason, he wanted to tell her.
“I was home for a friend’s bachelor party, a weekend that blurs together with so many similar weekends in hindsight.
” He forced himself to meet Kenzie’s eyes.
“Violet was the stripper. We had a one-night stand, which I’m ashamed to admit wasn’t unusual for me back then. ”
Her eyebrows hiked. “Back then?”
“I play the part of playboy so well because I lived it for a long time. But yeah, now it’s just a cover.” He watched for judgment in Kenzie’s face but found none.
“After my friend’s wedding,” he said, “I went back to St. Maarten, where I’d had an apartment, and continued my…
lifestyle. Drinking, women, gambling.” He set down his glass, then couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands.
“I was the prodigal son, though my parents were already gone. There was no one left to disappoint.”
Except Noah. Jaz’s big brother had been plenty disappointed.
“I got in deep at one resort casino,” Jaz continued.
“Very deep. The more I tried to gamble my way out of debt, the deeper the hole became.” He could still remember that sinking feeling, watching the chips disappear, knowing he was drowning.
“That’s when Magras approached me. Offered me a trade—do a little work on the side to repay my debt.
Easy jobs, he said. Use your charm, make connections, facilitate some business deals. ”
“A get-out-of-jail-free card.”
“I thought so at the time.” Jaz grabbed another piece of cheese, then set it back on the board. “I didn’t want to ask Noah for money, not after everything he’d already done for me. Not after I’d already proved to be the family screw-up.
“I worked for Magras for months before I realized what the deals I was putting together actually were—connections between cartels and yacht captains. I’d been facilitating logistics as part of a massive smuggling operation.”
“But the captains were aware of what they were doing?”
“Yes.” The word came out a little too loud. “I would never do what they did to you, set up someone to smuggle drugs without their knowledge and against their will.”
Kenzie smiled, a generous gesture. “I believe you. But you said ‘cartels.’ Plural? So Magras works for more than one?”
“He’s an equal opportunity…opportunist, you might say. He doesn’t care who he works for, as long as they pay. He’s just a middleman.”
“And he used you to…”
“To be the face of the operation. One of them, at least. I had no idea what I was doing, but it was a felony nonetheless.”
“Did you go to the DEA, or did they approach you?”
“I went to them.” He appreciated that she understood without him having to explain every step.
“I wasn’t willing to be a criminal, a drug smuggler.
Despite all my failures, all the terrible choices I’d made, that was a line I wouldn’t cross.
” He let out a bitter laugh. “Not that the DEA believed me. They believed—and still believe—that I turned against Magras. That I’d been willingly working for him and then wanted out. ”
“Why would you do that? Why would anyone risk prosecution if they were guilty?”
He shrugged. “I guess people change their minds. Point is, the DEA doesn’t care. They see me as a drug dealer. They don’t like me, don’t respect me—”
“But they’re willing to use you.”
He didn’t bother to voice the obvious answer.
“That’s…awful. Did they offer you a deal?”
He couldn’t help the humorless chuckle. “I’d gone to them with evidence to take down Magras.
I gave it to them willingly, asking nothing in return.
I guess I just assumed they’d be grateful and I’d be off the hook.
But the DEA didn’t want him. They wanted the cartels.
Specifically, El Fantasma—the biggest, most elusive drug lord in the Caribbean. Maybe in the hemisphere.”
“So you became an informant.”
“Not to be cliché, but they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
Work for them, help identify and take down El Fantasma, and they’d grant me immunity.
Refuse, and they’d prosecute me for what I’d already done.
And probably let it slip to Magras that I’d informed.
Hedging their bets. If I didn’t spend my life in prison, then he’d make sure I didn’t have a long life on the outside. ”
“Oh, Jaz. I’m so sorry.” She wrapped her hand around his wrist.
That tiny bit of human connection in the middle of this terrible, ugly story had emotion rising inside of him. That anyone would willingly touch him, a man so stained, so utterly unredeemable… He couldn’t explain what it meant. Could hardly comprehend it.
“Tell me about this guy.” She sat back, letting her hand slip away. “This Fantasma.”
“It’s Spanish for Ghost, which is fitting. The guy’s impossible to nail down.”
“You must know something about him.”
“He’s Venezuelan. He’s been running El Consorcio del Orinoco for decades.”
“I wonder if my dad knows anything about it. He was stationed in Venezuela a long time ago. What is…Orinoco?”
“It’s a river system in Venezuela and Colombia.”