Chapter Nine #3
She took a step toward him and stopped. “When Rio Estrada offered me a position, it came with a condition,” she said, and he braced for her to try and divert his thoughts.
“If I worked for the cartel, I had to end things with Alvaro. Our relationship, the potential of an alliance, presented a potential threat. I was so relieved. I thought, what luck. I could achieve my goal, get the intel and be free of the devil in one fell swoop. But I was worried about angering him. Even though Rio promised I would be protected. Safe. That Alvaro wouldn’t lay a finger on me.
Still, I had to come up with some excuse since I still had to see him and deal with him.
So I used Alice’s eighth commandment. Half-truths are the best lies. ”
Kehoe’s words. What had Kirk done to her? Who did he force her to become in order to survive?
“I told Alvaro I chose the cartel and my career over him because he was never going to marry or have children. He wasn’t interested in having those liabilities. Do you want to know what he did?”
Jackson stiffened, his spine contracting one vertebra at a time. No. He didn’t want to know what pain that animal had caused her. But Jackson didn’t want her to hold anything back either. “Tell me.”
“Alvaro embraced me and whispered one word in my ear. Cuidado.” Careful. “Let me go and nodded like he was almost proud of me. Told me he’d assign a bodyguard to protect me. Smiled. And left my place.”
Relief crept through Jackson that she hadn’t been hurt. “He didn’t yell or make a scene? He didn’t hit you?”
She shook her head. “Nope. He’s very controlled. Calculated. Doesn’t let emotion get the best of him. But after he left, he got on a plane and flew straight to Wyoming. To Laramie, and killed my father. Recorded him dying, slowly, and when he got back, he made me watch the video.”
Oh my God. “That’s monstrous. I…had no idea.”
“How could you know?” She folded her arms. “Instead of me putting myself in your position, put yourself in mine. I’ve risked my life and I’m still risking it, for your mission.”
“Christina.”
“Get out.”
“What?”
“Get out of this tent.” Her voice turned soft as cotton. An unearthly composure fell over her. “I don’t care where you sleep tonight as long as it’s not in here.”
“I need to watch you. You’re wanted and still in my custody.”
“Bet we’re both wanted by now.”
Was that her goal? “I can’t have you running off in the middle of the night.”
“Not my problem. I would promise to stay put, but you wouldn’t believe me if I did.”
Jackson refused to be a fool and let her play him. He unzipped the side pocket on his pants, took out the handcuffs and slapped them on her wrists in the front instead of behind her back. “Consider this vigilance. If you try to run, I’m not going to make it easy.” He turned to leave but hesitated.
This was a dangerous game they were both caught in. There was no telling what she’d had to do to survive or what she might still do. Honestly, after the things Kehoe had done, roping her into this and playing matchmaker to a heartless murderer, Jackson didn’t blame her.
But he couldn’t let his friends be collateral damage.
“Is this a setup?” Glancing over his shoulder, he looked at her.
“The depots. If I bring in people I care about, people who are like family to me, to raid the depots, will they be walking into a trap?” Jackson wasn’t even worried about himself or whether he was being framed to take the fall for the mole on the task force.
He just wanted to stop the cartel without endangering anyone else he cared about. “Is it a setup?”
A thousand emotions flashed across her face, condensing to one that ripped a hole in his gut.
“There was a time when I loved you more than anything.” Tears gleamed in her eyes.
“I would never hurt you. Or set you up. But it doesn’t matter what I say.
Or what I do.” She shook her head. “You have to decide for yourself whether or not to believe me. To have faith in me. Now, get out. I’m tired and I’m done talking to you tonight. ”
He grabbed one of the lanterns, shoved through the flap of the tent and zipped it closed.
Cutthroat Creek
Friday, April 13, 8:45 p.m.
HOT TEARS ROLLED down Christina’s cheeks. She was such a fool.
It was the same old Jackson, who was eventually going to let her down.
She had checked into the City Drift Motel, two blocks from the US marshals’ building, to see him, instead of leaving the country like a guilty person.
She’d warned him that the transport team would be in danger.
She’d protected him on the boat, getting shot twice, but all he saw was that she wasn’t severely injured or dead.
Told him about the depots and he thought she was setting him up.
No matter what she did, he would never trust her.
Staring at the handcuffs on her wrists, she wanted to scream. But it would solve nothing. She should’ve called Ripton.
Not that he needed to be dragged into this. She’d done the right thing by not involving him. Better to protect him.
She grabbed the second sleeping bag, unzipped the tent and tossed it outside. Jackson was not going to stay in there beside her. Not caring where he went, she yanked the zipper down, blocking out the cold wind.
Christina switched off the lantern, slid into her sleeping bag and wiped her tears. She was so tired of fighting, of being afraid. Of balancing on a knife’s edge between exposure and survival.
Exhaling a shaky breath, she just wanted to stop. Let the tears fall. Finally get some rest.
So, she did.