Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
This is paradise. And yet, it felt anything but.
With his back to the beach, Beckett observed the guests crowded around the rectangular-shaped bar beneath a white canopy-style tent that offered some shade. A few lights that looked more like upside-down baskets hung from the center of the tent.
The three “mixologists,” as he’d learned they were called instead of bartenders, were busy crafting colorful cocktails, making the guests smile and laugh with a few Tom Cruise, Cocktail , moves.
Only one of the tables that circled the expansive bar was occupied. Two people were sitting on the area’s beachside, staring lovingly into each other’s eyes while sharing a bright blue drink so big you could take a damn bath in it.
“Guess we gotta deal with the heat,” Oliver commented while joining him. “A table should be private enough.” He motioned to one at the far end of the bar with a view of the jungle that surrounded the hotel. ATV-style golf carts were transporting guests back and forth between the beach and jungle. Probably tour guides.
Beckett sat opposite Oliver to keep his attention on the bar. It always made him feel better to clock every person in a public space. Get a read on his environment. Force of habit? Probably, but it’d kept him alive once or twice back when he’d worked in Los Angeles, and he needed to be on guard to help Jesse and Ivy.
Four bachelor-types were shooting tequila, attention laser-focused on three unaccompanied brunettes at the bar. And by Beckett’s count, there were eight couples there. No red flags, though it looked like one of the husbands was going to get a drink to the face if he didn’t stop checking out the blonde across the bar from him. Or maybe he’d get decked by the girl’s boyfriend, who appeared to work out for a living based on the size of his biceps.
A server approached their table with open arms and a welcoming smile. “ Bienvenidos al Pueblo Mágico .”
Beckett lowered the brim of his ball cap to shield the bright noon sun from his eyes as it washed over them, then he scooted his chair to steal some shade from the palm tree.
“ Pueblo Mágico ,” the man repeated to Beckett and Oliver as if they hadn’t heard him the first time, but Beckett was too preoccupied wondering what was holding up Sydney and Mya to pay much attention to anyone or anything.
“Magic Town,” their server translated. He must’ve assumed by their lack of response that they didn’t speak a lick of Spanish. That wasn’t true. He was fluent, but his thoughts were too jarred, and his body was still on edge after his brief encounter with Sydney.
“You’re here in paradise, and it’s full of mysticism and wonder,” the man went on. “Extraordinary things happen to people here.”
Extraordinary, huh? Was that the word Beckett would use to define whatever had happened to him in Sydney’s room? No, more like possessed. By desire.
The man pointed toward the thick line of trees. “Lush Mayan jungle there.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder toward the water. “A gorgeous beach full of beautiful women.” His grin was downright infectious, but there was only one specific gorgeous woman that came to Beckett’s mind.
“We’re not tourists, so you don’t need to sell us on the city’s greatness, but we appreciate your enthusiasm,” Oliver responded in a respectful tone.
“Ah, but there’s no need for me to sell anything. This place sells itself, yes?” The man pointed to a female server heading their way with a tray of cocktails alongside a basket of chips and a side of tempting guacamole. “I had these drinks whipped up as a welcome when I saw you two take a seat.” He set down two small martini glasses, filled with frothy, pale-yellow cocktails that were garnished with pineapple wedges.
Beckett had no intention to drink today, but he didn’t want to insult the man, so he took a hesitant sip, and Oliver did the same.
“When Prohibition began, many of the best mixologists fled to Mexico and created what we like to call a cocktail renaissance,” the man continued with pride, and Beckett’s stomach dropped at his words.
Prohibition? After his experience at Capone last night, the last thing he wanted to think about was anything 1920s. He’d prefer to stay in the twenty- twenties, damn it.
As if sensing Beckett’s dissatisfaction, the man offered, “How about a Mayan mule then? Little vodka, sour orange juice, ginger syrup, and tonic water. In a nice ice-cold copper mug with a touch of mint.”
“We have two more joining us. I think we’re all mostly hungry,” Oliver told him. “So, maybe you could bring us an assortment of your most popular dishes? Some tapas too?”
“Ah. Por supuesto.” Of course. The man reached for the menus and tucked them under his arm. “So, if you’re not tourists, are you here for business?” He tipped his head toward Beckett’s Ariat leather cowboy boots as if he didn’t believe they were businessmen either.
“Something like that.” Beckett peered around the bar again, counting two more men sitting at the bar alone. Mid-thirties. One appeared antsy, looking around as if wondering whether he’d been stood up.
“Well, life cannot be all business. Must have some pleasure too, right? Just don’t go too deep into the jungle for an adventure without a guide. Ghosts haunt those grounds.”
Mayan ghosts? Beckett expected the man to toss in a joking wink, but it never came. Before he could follow up with a question about the so-called ghosts, merely out of curiosity, his gaze jumped straight to Sydney and Mya heading down a boardwalk leading to the bar.
Sydney had on black shorts, black sandals, and a white tank top. Her blonde hair lay in soft waves over her shoulders, but a mild breeze blew a few strands in front of her face, and she quickly swept her hair to her back. No purse on her, unlike Mya.
Mya’s clothes were flip-flopped from Sydney’s. White shorts. Black tank. White sandals. He hadn’t paid much attention to what Mya had been wearing earlier in Sydney’s hotel room, too hung up on what Sydney hadn’t been wearing beneath her robe. And hell, his dick stirred in his jeans at the memory.
“Ah, I see you have the pleasure part covered.” The man must have followed Beckett’s line of sight to spot Sydney and Mya.
Beckett wasn’t sure if the strange swell in his chest was relief they’d finally joined them or nerves. His daughter would blurt, You’re acting weird, Dad, if she were there with him.
“I’ll come back with that food soon. And four Mayan mules.” The man tipped his head and left.
“You ready for them?” Oliver asked. Beckett could hear the smile in his tone, but he didn’t peer his way to confirm it. He was too preoccupied with the scene before him.
One of the “bachelors” he’d pegged earlier had stood from the bar and blocked Mya and Sydney’s path. Sydney was waving Mya off as if telling her, I got this . Mya gave Sydney a hesitant look and then started for where Oliver and Beckett were seated.
When the man turned to the side and snatched Sydney’s wrist, Beckett quickly pushed against the table to stand, unintentionally sliding it into Oliver in the process. “Sorry,” he mumbled, eyes back on his target. No way in hell would Beckett let any man like that near his . . .
He let go of that thought as Mya said, “Oh, she’s got this. Let her do her thing.” But Beckett was already on the move, spinning his ball cap backward en route.
Sydney freed herself from the man’s grasp, planted a palm on the guy’s chest, and shoved.
“You’re drunk. That’s the only reason I’m not breaking your arm,” Beckett heard Sydney warn, but the idiot didn’t get the message.
Worried the idea of a challenge would only turn this guy on even more, Beckett moved in next to Sydney and hissed, “Back off.”
“Who are you? Her sugar daddy?”
Okay, I’m not that old. And Sydney’s the rich one. Well, according to his sister, she was the daughter of a billionaire. “Go back to your buddies,” Beckett offered the same chance Sydney had given him. He was far outside his jurisdiction, so maybe he could slug the guy without losing his badge?
The twenty-something man-child looked back and forth between him and Sydney before lifting his hands in the air in surrender. He headed back to the bar, and a loud cry of boos cut through the air from the other idiots in his entourage.
“What is it with these young guys wanting an older woman?” Sydney asked with a shake of the head. He had no clue what she was talking about, but he knew she wasn’t that old. Younger than Beckett, yes, but . . . “I know you didn’t need saving. I wasn’t trying to undermine?—”
“I didn’t need saving,” she cut him off. “ But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate you having my back.” Her light eyes captivated him for one long second before his gaze traveled to her lips, which transformed into the most beautiful smile he’d seen on someone other than his daughter. “Also, chivalry doesn’t have to be dead.”
She turned toward their table and walked that way, and Beckett cupped a hand to his mouth as he watched her delectable backside. Sydney wasn’t that tall. Maybe five-six or so. But the woman was all legs. And damn, could he envision those shapely legs wrapped around his hips as he plunged inside her.
As Beckett tossed a look back toward the bar to ensure the tequila-shooters were behaving, the group of single brunettes waved at him, motioning him over. Yeah, no, thank you. He ignored them and joined Sydney and the others, opting to stand and catch some shade from the palm tree. He needed to cool off. He still wanted to go punch that guy.
“Not going to sit?” Did Sydney know how much power those green eyes held as she pointed them his way?
“I think I’ll stand for a minute.” Not only had he nearly gotten into a bar fight, something he wouldn’t normally do, well, not since he was younger . . . the fact he’d pretty much SNIFFED Sydney in her room meant his head was practically up his ass.
His attraction to Sydney was like nothing he’d ever experienced. Not even with McKenna’s mother, Cora. He’d never met a woman he’d had such an intense, almost primitive-like, reaction to before.
Earlier in her room, his thoughts had gone wild in the space of a heartbeat as he’d held her wrist, drawing his nose to the sensitive part of her skin.
Images of him peeling her robe from her body had planted roots in his mind. Palming and worshipping those creamy-white breasts he’d seen earlier on the beach. Flicking his tongue across her light pink nipples, their color a match to her luscious lips.
“You do plan on telling us everything, right?” Mya asked, her voice breaking through his thoughts.
Beckett’s attention briefly snagged on Sydney’s white tank top that fit like a glove as he moved his focus to Mya and answered, “Of course.”
“Okay, good. Well, should we order something first,” Mya suggested, reaching for a chip and dipping it into the guac. “I might think better with food in my stomach instead of just the alcohol already there.”
“I ordered more food for the table. Asked them to bring their specials. Hope you don’t mind,” Oliver announced. “Those drinks weren’t our idea.”
“Oh, some woman at the bar sent them your way?” Mya teasingly asked, twisting in her seat to look toward the bar that was getting increasingly crowded, to the point Beckett had lost track of everyone there.
“Nah, just our uber-friendly waiter,” Oliver shared with a smile. “So.” Oliver flicked the brim of his ball cap. “Why don’t you tell them what you know?”
Beckett nodded, his back going straight as he eyed Sydney. Her attention was on Mya, her lips tight as if she were concerned about something other than the situation at hand. Not that he knew her well enough to get a read on her.
When Sydney shifted her focus to Beckett, his arms tensed. Her gaze lingered on his mouth, which was distracting as hell.
How much should he tell them? These people were practically strangers. Did he want to get into the gritty details of his past right away? What was “need to know” information?
“Three weeks ago,” Beckett began, deciding he’d start there, “Cora, McKenna’s mother, left me a voicemail. Well, her message was cut off, but she was in trouble.” He thought back to her message, to the fear in Cora’s tone, unlike any other time before. “At first, I thought it was a trap. A way to, um, get money from me.” He lowered his eyes to the table. “But she didn’t call back. If it were another one of her schemes, she’d have made sure I could find her. Given me more clues, I mean.”
“I take it this isn’t the first time she’s done this to you?” Sydney asked, her tone a touch sympathetic to the hell McKenna’s mother had put him through in the past.
His entire relationship with that woman had been a lie from the start. Conned from day one. The only pure, innocent part that had come from his time with her was McKenna being brought into the world.
“Yeah, which is why I was hesitant to believe her. And why I didn’t do anything at first, because like the times before, I expected another call to come.” Beckett held Sydney’s eyes, doing his best to reveal the uncomfortable truths he never talked about. “I hadn’t heard from Cora in nearly six years.”
“So, when the call didn’t come, you decided to find her sister? See if she could help?” Mya asked, and Beckett gave her his attention.
“I couldn’t ignore her message.” Beckett cleared his throat and coughed into his fist. “I was worried, so I reached out to a contact to see if they’d have better luck tracking down Cora,” he explained, then set his eyes on Oliver.
“You didn’t ask A.J.?” Oliver asked in surprise, because yeah, that’d make the most sense to go to his Navy SEAL brother, who had access to an abundance of contacts, including the FBI, the CIA, and every other alphabet soup agency.
“A.J. wants nothing to do with helping me find Cora. He made that clear after the last time Cora reached out,” Beckett admitted, his eyes going to the sky this time. “I went behind his back, something I’m not proud of, and asked someone he works with for help. Liam Evans. Well, actually, I asked his wife, Emily, for help.”
“Ah, right. Emily works for the Attorney General,” Oliver said, making the connection. “She has access to criminal records and the like.”
Beckett lowered his gaze once again and nodded. “Cora and Ivy both have records, and I was hoping Emily could reach out to her government agency contacts for me. Use their facial recognition software programs to scan for Cora’s last whereabouts.”
“No matches for Cora, I take it? Just a match for Ivy.” Sydney most likely now understood how Beckett had wound up in Mexico.
“Right. One of Emily’s contacts got a hit on Ivy’s face in Juárez, and after a bit more of a refined search in that area, they were able to place her at the club, Capone, on a few different occasions. The alias she used to originally enter Mexico, well, I doubt it’s the one she’s going by now.” He paused to let the information sink in. “I figured Ivy worked at the club and was searching for a new mark, someone to con,” Beckett shared. The guilt at sidestepping his brother and asking someone else to lie for him, like he’d asked of Jesse, nagged at him.
He knew asking Emily for help and keeping that from A.J. was beyond a big ask, that it was straight-up wrong. But Emily was understanding of the situation in a way A.J. wasn’t. She’d do the same for her daughter if Elaina’s biological father ever found himself in a jam. Emily and Liam would do anything for Elaina. Take any risks.
Beckett owed a lot of apologies when this was over.
“Do you think it’s possible that if Cora’s really in danger, she called her sister too?” Sydney asked. “That Ivy was working at the club as a way to find Cora? Maybe there’s a connection.”
Beckett closed his eyes, memories of the past attacking him. Assaulting his senses. Taking over.
Cora connected to the cartel? No. Not a chance in hell.
Beckett adamantly shook his head and freed himself of the past so he could open his eyes and focus. “Cora would never go near the cartel. Not any cartel, for that matter.”
“Why?” Oliver folded his arms and leaned back.
Before Beckett could offer a response, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
It was Emily. He wasn’t prepared to have the conversation about what Elaina had shared with McKenna there in front of everyone, so he’d have to call her back.
He quickly pocketed his phone as their friendly server returned with a tray of bottled waters as well as the Mayan mules in the copper mugs.
“ Gracias ,” Beckett thanked him, knowing they wouldn’t drink them.
Sydney lazily circled her index finger around the rim of the mug as if her thoughts were whirling. Maybe brainstorming possibilities as to why Ivy had really been at that club.
“So, you were saying?” Oliver prompted, but Beckett wanted to get back to explaining how Jesse ended up separated from him last night.
“Jesse and I went to the club. You, uh, have to dress like you’re in the Roaring Twenties to get in,” he hurried out, “and some rival gang members tried to abduct Ivy before we had a chance to talk to her. Apparently, she’s dating the club owner.” Another oddity. Why would Ivy date anyone in the cartel, even for money, knowing her sister’s past? It didn’t make sense. Maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly, given his deep involvement in the whole situation, not to mention his lack of sleep . . . so was Sydney right? If Ivy was at that club, was she trying to find a way to Cora through the cartel? Had Cora really found herself in trouble with the Sinaloas?
“Let me guess, Jesse saved Ivy, and the owner of the club was grateful for Jesse’s help,” Sydney deduced. “Jesse went willingly with these cartel guys because he believed it was the only way he could get to Ivy without trying to abduct her too. And you stayed behind to get word out to Carter?”
Damn, she’s good. “That about sums it up.”
“The club owner is Miguel Diego. Ever heard of him?” Oliver tossed out, his focus landing on Mya as if she might have come across his name before in her line of work.
But Mya’s attention was now fixed on her phone. Her brows drew together in a tight line, and she looked back over her shoulder toward the bar.
“He sounds vaguely familiar,” Sydney responded when Mya didn’t speak up. “I assume we’re waiting for our next steps, right? Hoping Jesse can find a way to leave the compound with Ivy so we can get to them easier?”
Beckett nodded, then looked at Oliver. “Is Falcon planning to help me find Cora too?”
Oliver and Sydney exchanged a quick look, but it was Mya’s flushed face as she turned back to the table that had Beckett worried.
“I should probably mention the fact I’m in Tulum because of the Sinaloa cartel as well,” Mya dropped the unexpected news, and Beckett nearly lost his footing at her quick admission.
“I’m sorry, what?” Oliver rasped, clearly rattled.
“I have a source within the cartel.” She looked back over her shoulder again, and fuck, was her source the twitchy guy in the ball cap at the bar? The one now staring at Mya?
“We’ve worked together before. I trust him.” Mya winced as if that were hard to say. “I know that sounds weird because he’s still with the cartel, but he’s trying to take them down from the inside. He’s against human trafficking, and lately, the cartel has been utilizing their drug trade routes for trafficking people.” She kept her voice low even though they were out of earshot of the other guests.
“Are you kidding me right now?” Oliver asked, his tone laden with disbelief and shock. “Do you have backup here? Mason and the others, are they on the hotel grounds?” When Mya remained quiet, he removed his sunglasses and glared at her.
“Your contact is at the bar by the asshole who bothered Sydney,” Beckett commented. “And he knows what you look like, right?” He pointed to Mya’s phone resting on top of her purse on the table. “And he just texted you?” He peered at Sydney to see her mouth opening a touch as if this was news to her. Or, at least, some part of this was new information.
“I didn’t come to Tulum with backup. And I only told Sydney ten minutes ago that I planned to meet my source here tomorrow for some new intel.” Mya didn’t look back at the bar to confirm Beckett’s theory, but Beckett swore Oliver’s jaw was about to snap from worry. “Yes, that’s him at the bar. He just arrived, and he didn’t expect to see me here today. But now, he thinks we should just go ahead and get it over with.”
“And what was the plan for tomorrow? Or well, what’s the plan now?” Beckett asked, doing his best not to make it obvious when he checked Mya’s source again.
“I was supposed to meet him here tomorrow at four, set my phone on the bar, and he’d stand next to me. Our phones would sync, mine would download the information, and then he’d leave. That’s it. That’s how it’s always worked in the past.”
“How many times have you . . .” Oliver let his question hang in the air, still shocked by the fact Mya pulled similar moves in the past and, from the sounds of it, alone.
She was brave. And Beckett assumed that was another reason Sydney was looking to recruit Mya to Falcon Falls.
“Text him that I’m meeting him at the bar instead.” Oliver abruptly stood. “A sniper can pop off two headshots before I count to three in Spanish. What if he was followed?”
“Are you mad at me?” She scoffed and folded her arms, staring up at Oliver. “I’m always careful. But women are being sold like cattle. Kidnapped from their families. He’s offering me the trade routes the cartel uses to do this, risking his life, and you expected me not to come?”
“I expected someone from your team, several someones, in fact, to have your six,” Oliver bit out, his voice taking on a bit of a growl. “Mason doesn’t deserve you if he’d let you just . . .” Oliver closed his eyes.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Mya stood, her nostrils flaring a bit.
There was more to the story between Oliver and Mya, but it wasn’t Beckett’s business, nor was it the time to figure it out.
“I’m not going to let you risk taking a bullet because of me.” Mya reached across the table and poked Oliver’s chest.
“Oh, so you think that’s a possibility, yet you planned to show up here tomorrow by yourself.” Oliver’s hands balled at his sides.
Sydney joined everyone on their feet just as Beckett spied three new guests from his peripheral vision, and damn it, they were armed. “Get down. Gunmen. ?Al suelo! ?Tienen pistolas! ” he shouted as loud as possible to be heard over the pulsating music, then motioned for Oliver to move and flipped the table on its side.
Beckett circled his hands around Sydney’s waist and pulled her down for protection as gunshots rang out. Oliver did the same with Mya, and both men drew their weapons. “There are three of them.”
Screams erupted as the music was cut out, and the shooters began yelling orders in Spanish for everyone to be quiet and not move.
Was this some random holdup or were they looking for Mya?
Beckett quickly stole a look around the overturned table and spied Mya’s cartel source slumped over the bar, a bullet hole in his head. Another sweep of the area revealed the man-child who’d hit on Sydney groaning in pain from a stray bullet to the shoulder.
“Your guy is down,” Beckett whispered, and Mya closed her eyes for a moment—either in mourning or shock. Probably both.
“They’re looking for you, Mya,” Sydney announced.
“And I think they found us,” Oliver hissed. “On my count?”
Beckett nodded and held up two fingers to let Oliver know he’d get the two gunmen coming their way from his left side.
“Roger that,” Oliver mouthed, then counted back from three.
In one fast movement, they darted into action, surprising their would-be assailants. Keeping low to the ground, they shifted to the side and popped off kill shots.
Guests screamed as chaos ensued. “Tangos down,” Oliver commented while rising to his full height and burying another bullet in each of the three guys to ensure they were down for good. Something Beckett would have lost his job over back in the States, but this was different.
“There are probably more guys on the way,” Sydney said as the guests’ cries continued to echo around them.
Beckett looked toward the jungle in search of the ATVs he’d seen come and go earlier, checking for security.
A hundred or so yards away, he spotted three of the all-terrain vehicles fast approaching. His gut told him they sure as hell weren’t the security crew or brave tour guides looking to earn their hero badge. “I’m pretty sure more are coming.”
“Let’s get out of here before they kill everyone just to be sure they got me,” Mya whispered. “I won’t let innocents die because of me.”
“The other two were pissed at the shooter for taking out Mya’s source before he met with her,” Beckett quickly translated what he’d heard before they’d taken the men down.
Beckett focused back on the three approaching recreational vehicles. Ten guys by his estimates, heavily armed, coming straight for them. He doubted the police would be en route if they learned this was a cartel-related hit, not until the situation was no longer an active one. “ Salgan de aquí . Vamos !” he yelled toward the frightened guests, and they began fleeing the bar.
“We need to get them to chase us away from the resort,” Mya suggested, taking sharp breaths. “It’s the only way to keep everyone at the hotel safe.”
“The jungle is our best option,” Beckett said, breathing heavily as he calculated the odds. “But we need to use another entry point since they’re coming from there now.”
“We have to draw their fire.” Sydney walked toward the edge of the bar on the jungle side, and Beckett joined her while they waited for the vehicles to get within shooting range.
“Ready?” Sydney asked as Oliver stood alongside Beckett.
“Yeah,” Beckett answered. He and Oliver shot off a quick round, catching the closest driver, and the vehicle veered to the side and hit a palm tree.
“Well, we got their attention,” Oliver said while facing them, and he motioned for Sydney and Mya to move. “And now would be a good time to run.”