Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
“How are you holding up?”
Beckett peered at Griffin Andrews as they stood inside Martín and Valentina’s home, unsure how to answer the question. Because at the moment, he was barely standing upright. Hell, he had to lean against one of the pillars in the living room to support the weight of his damn problems.
“I’m . . .” Beckett shut his eyes and thought back to his call with Emily ten minutes ago, feeling the need to replay their conversation before he could answer what should have been a simple question.
“You’re really taking her to Chile just because she says she needs to go?” Beckett had asked Emily, in shock because he couldn’t imagine giving in to such a demand from McKenna, visions or not.
“What choice do I have? You know Elaina.” Emily’s voice had broken while talking. “ The fact we’re going back to Santiago where she was raised . . . what if this is personal for her somehow?”
“I’m so sorry. I never should have come to D.C. and asked for your help. This is all my fault.”
“I have a feeling Elaina would’ve been pulled into this one way or another. That’s what my gut is telling me, so please, don’t feel bad. But her headaches are getting worse. And they won’t go away until whatever is wrong is stopped,” she’d shared the heartbreaking news.
“What do you mean? ”
“Lately, she gets more distinct visions. Much more information than in the past. But she has to get closer to the problem. And if she doesn’t, the pain in her head gets worse. That’s what she finally admitted. Before Liam spun up, there was that hostage situation at a bank . . .” she’d reminded him. How could he forget? Liam had been with his teammate, Knox Bennett, the President of the United States’ son that day. The robbery attempt had been all over the news. “Elaina sent Liam to that bank.”
“I don’t know what to say.” And he still didn’t know what to say, not even to Griffin patiently waiting for him to talk right now.
“I left Liam a message, and he’s going to be so pissed when he finds out we didn’t wait for him.” Choked up, she’d continued, “ But Elaina’s in so much pain, and I . . .” Beckett had nearly fallen to his knees at her words.
“ And she didn’t share more? Or tell you why she never said anything to us sooner?”
“She told me that if she’d said something to you sooner, then you wouldn’t be where you are now, and someone would have died. A woman. Dark hair. Brown eyes. That mean anything to you? Or maybe it’s yet to happen.”
Beckett had been stunned into silence before sharing, “Elaina was right. Someone here may have died if Oliver and I hadn’t arrived when we did.”
“Which means she’s going to be right about Chile, and so, I need to go. I can’t wait for Liam,” Emily had said while sniffling. “Have you talked to A.J. yet? Does he know you’re there?”
“No. But he’ll find out from Liam, I’m sure.”
Beckett opened his eyes and let go of a shaky breath as Griffin swiveled his ball cap backward, eyes on Beckett, waiting for him to talk. The man had yet to press Beckett to share, which he appreciated.
“I’m okay,” Beckett finally managed, doing his best to avoid eye contact with Gray, who was talking to Jack and Oliver.
“You’re a shitty liar. You know I won’t push you, but if you need to talk about something, even if it doesn’t involve the case, I can try and channel my wife and be a good listener.” Griffin’s slight smile at the mention of Savanna had Beckett nearly cracking one as well.
Savanna had always been a good listener. She was also the one who’d given Sydney those romance novels. And that thought brought to mind the situation between Gray and Sydney.
Beckett had only heard a handful of words exchanged between them outside the bungalow, none of which boded well for the relationship Beckett had with Gray. Not that they knew each other that well, but Beckett liked to think of Gray as part of A.J.’s family, so by extension, part of Beckett’s.
And now?
“I’ll take your continued silence as a hard pass on my offer to have a feelings conversation.” Griffin said “feelings” as if he’d chewed on the word and spat it out. He was a former Delta Force guy and, married to a sweet Southern woman or not, he was still a gruff operator.
Beckett pushed away from the pillar, testing his ability to stand beneath the world’s weight on his shoulders without support. “I can’t get the call with Emily out of my head,” he took a chance and shared one burden. “Being in Chile is going to be hard on their family.”
“Elaina’s birth mother is from Chile, right?” Griffin asked, closing his eyes briefly as if trying to catch hold of a memory.
“Elaina was born in Texas, but she grew up in Chile. Her mom worked at a university in Santiago, and she was the level of smart that made international headlines. Same with Elaina’s birth father,” Beckett explained. “Elaina’s mom died in a car accident four or so years ago in Santiago, and then Elaina was abducted not long after that. The rest of the story is a bit need to know, even for me, so I don’t have all the details.”
“I can see why it might be hard for Elaina to return to Chile, then.” Griffin scrubbed a hand along his jawline. “Have Elaina’s visions always been correct?”
“From what I know, yes. And Elaina just told her mom that a woman with dark hair and eyes would’ve died had I . . .” Mya. He was still a bit stunned at that revelation.
“Damn.” Griffin blinked a few times before he tipped his head, and Beckett turned to see Carter gesturing for everyone to gather.
“I want to make sure we have our facts straight about this El Vigilado guy before we head out,” Carter said, standing between Martín and Sydney.
Beckett spied Gray hanging off to the side of the group, just outside of the circle, and he wasn’t sure how they were all going to work together now. But they had to find a way.
“Who is this ‘The Guarded One’?” Griffin asked, using air quotes around the nickname. “His real name, I mean.”
“Jorge Rojas,” Martín revealed before Carter could. “He’s a businessman. He inherited his fortune from his father, an oil tycoon from Venezuela who passed away almost six years ago. It was all over the news because Jorge’s older brother died from a mysterious poisoning the day after their father did, making Jorge the richest man in South America.”
“So,” Beckett began, “we’re dealing with a guy who killed his own brother to be the sole inheritor of the fortune.” Not a total surprise.
Martín nodded. “Jorge lives in Chile, where his mother was originally from, and he recently had a mansion built there. One resembling something from the 1900s.”
“If he’s already rich, why resort to criminal enterprises? I’m assuming he’s a bad guy, aside from knocking off his brother, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Beckett commented. “Does it have to do with his nickname?”
Martín turned his attention to Beckett. “Some people collect blackmail on others to coerce them to do what they want. But in this case, secrets are willingly given to Jorge.”
“Yeah, you’re going to have to spell it out for me because I’m not following,” Jack chimed in.
“Secrets are like a commodity,” Martín answered. “And what do you offer a man who already has everything if you want something in return, such as a favor? You can’t sell him your soul, but you can offer something more valuable. Your dirty secrets.”
“He’s considered The Guarded One because he’s a protector of secrets from all walks of life,” Valentina clarified for Jack. “From politicians who wish to be re-elected to businessmen needing to hide an office scandal or whatnot. He’ll help anyone if the secret is worth it to him.”
“What does he get out of it?” That was the part Beckett didn’t understand.
“He’s a man who has everything. An eccentric. A bored billionaire,” Carter joined the conversation this time, as if he knew a thing or two about being rich and using the money in more interesting ways.
“These secrets are offered in exchange for something. I don’t know exactly how it works. I’m not entirely sure what happens if they don’t hold up their end of the deal. Maybe he destroys their lives. I don’t know,” Martín explained. “But I get the sense it’s mostly a game to Jorge. From what I’ve heard, he’s obsessed with games and theatrics, in general.”
“I’m not too familiar with the man,” Carter noted, “but Jorge is turning forty-five on Friday, and he’s hosting a lavish party. Not sure about the details, but Miguel is most likely a guest. And now Jesse too.”
“So, do you think Miguel sold a secret to Jorge, and that’s how they know each other?” Mya asked. Beckett turned from the room, searching his mind for a memory . . .
“No,” Beckett answered before Carter could. “You said he had his home built like it belonged in the 1900s? What specific time period?” He faced the room. “The 1920s? Gatsby-like? This ring a bell?”
Martín nodded. “Yes, he’s obsessed with that time from what I have heard. Of course, he goes through phases. It could be the Gold Rush Era next year, who knows with that man.” He opened a hand. “Bored and rich, so.”
Beckett ran his palm along his jawline, eyes on the floor. “Jennifer said she heard that a billionaire was trying to buy Miguel’s club, Capone.”
“Who’s Jennifer?” Sydney asked.
“Some college kid from El Paso I met at the club. She was researching the place for her thesis,” he quickly explained, and his stomach dropped when it all came together. “I think I know how this all connects to Cora.” He switched his focus to Carter. “Cora only ever contacted me when she needed money, and I hadn’t heard from her in nearly six years when she called me three weeks ago. I’d hoped she’d finally found someone rich enough that she didn’t have to bother me anymore.”
“Someone she’d learned in the news had become the richest man in South America, perhaps,” Oliver said, following his line of thought. “The timing fits.”
Beckett set his hands on his hips, considering the possibility. “You say Jorge is obsessed with the nineteen-twenties and Al Capone. Maybe he’s the billionaire Jennifer heard wanted to buy the club. If Cora is his mistress, wife, girlfriend, whatever . . . she was probably with him when he visited Capone.” It was a stretch, but it was the only thing that made sense. “And knowing Cora and her bad luck, someone from her past recognized her there. That’s why Ivy got a job at the club—she was trying to find a way to get to Cora and help her.”
But was Cora still alive? She hadn’t made contact since that call three weeks ago.
“Why wouldn’t Ivy just come to you for help? If she knew her sister was in trouble, that seems like it’d be the easier option instead of infiltrating a cartel-owned club,” Carter asked.
It was a fair question and one that had a simple answer. “Because two years ago, I arrested her.”