18. Dax
DAX
Holy fucking shit, Dr. Lowe’s little brother was Brian. Why hadn’t I ever considered the fact he might have a family he gave up when he decided to jump ship. Do I tell her? Should I ask Brian first? Fuck, I hated being put in situations like this. There was no winning.
“Is this your brother?” I asked, pointing at the photograph. I had to be sure if I was going to decide what I was going to do.
“Are you asking because you recognize him from one of the many dead bodies you’ve buried?” Dr. Lowe snarled.
Maybe she didn’t deserve to know he was alive.
If she did, then I had no doubt she’d do everything in her power to bring him back.
That would put Brian in more danger, and I owed him more than that.
Maybe I’d tell him I met his sister and she was doing well, or maybe I wouldn’t.
If he chose to walk away from that life, would me telling him about her be helpful or harmful?
Fuck if I know, a problem to deal with another day.
“No, I just couldn’t mistake the family resemblance and had to ask,” I commented then looked back at her. “He doesn’t look familiar to me at all, so if he disappeared, I’m definitely not the one who killed him.” Which wasn’t a lie. I absolutely did not kill him.
Without giving her a chance to say anything more, I left her office and found a team of FBI agents walking in. Leading the team was none other than my bestest bud, Deputy Assistant Director Simon Maxwell. So much for going back to D.C.
“Maxwell,” I greeted with a wide smile. “What brings you here?”
“Apparently you,” he muttered. “Also, it’s Agent Maxwell, Mrs. Blackmore.”
“Here I was thinking we’d become friends,” I said with a pout that fell away the moment I saw Agent Park. “Oh, goodie.”
Picasso came to stand behind me, resting his hands on my hips, lending me his support as the agent gave me a look of disgust. “Just ignore him, spitfire. You spanked him soundly last night, and I’m betting it still smarts. Children never like to accept their punishments, and he’s no different.”
Leaning back against his chest, I wrapped his arms around my waist. “Just make sure I don’t kill him and really get myself tossed in jail. Somehow I’ve managed to get clean-enough kills that they have nothing to use.”
He chuckled and kissed my cheek. “I’ll do my best, but when you make up your mind about something, it’s hard to dissuade you.”
I harrumphed, but he made a good point—I wasn’t the easiest to control. Cam chatted with the men and explained what happened on our end while Eagle and Wes talked to them about what they experienced up-front.
“Come on,” I whispered, taking Picasso’s hand. “I want to check on Mariana and Alvaro.”
Picasso signaled something to Cognac, who nodded his head and nudged Sprocket, who looked over at us.
With a thumbs up, they shifted so their bodies blocked us from Agent Maxwell and Park.
When we reached the door, Picasso pulled out a keycard, and I saw it was Dr. Lowe’s.
Clearly, that’s what she’d been looking for.
“How did you manage to swipe that?” I asked once we made it through the door.
Picasso just grinned. “You’re not the only one who has some tricks of their own. Artists have incredibly skilled fingers, don’t you know?”
“Remind me to ask for a demonstration later when we can take our time,” I teased, wagging my brows.
The next thing I knew, I was pinned up against a wall with his mouth on mine. It was assertive and made me breathless when he pulled back. “I’m sure I can find time to give you a sample of my work to tide you over.”
Groaning, I wanted to take him up on his offer, but I knew this wasn’t the time or place to get handsy in the hallway. “Fuck, I want that so badly, but we need to finish this first. Why don’t we sit in the back on the drive home? We can see how nimble you really are.”
The heat that flared in his eyes was everything, and as much as I didn’t want him to, he stepped back, releasing me.
Grabbing his hand, we intertwined our fingers and headed down the hall.
When we got to Mariana’s room, the door was cracked, and I swore under my breath.
It had been stupid of me to leave him alone with her when he had a keycard to get them both out of this place.
Bursting into the room, I found it empty.
“Fuck.” I yelled, punching the drywall and leaving a dent. “How could I have been so fucking stupid? I knew he wanted to get her out of this place. I never should have trusted that he’d do the right thing by leaving her here.”
“We know they wouldn’t head out the front so let’s find out if there’s a back way out of here,” Picasso suggested.
I knew this hall ended in a dead end, so we had to try some of the others. Jogging so we could cover ground more quickly, I nearly passed a set of metal doors labeled Employees Only.
“Picasso,” I yelled.
He stopped, looked back, and saw what I was pointing at.
In a flash, he was by my side and swiped the keycard, followed by a buzz of the doors unlocking.
Shoving them open, we found ourselves in a laundry room with industrial washers and dryers running, filling the room with a humming noise.
Another set of doors was on the opposite side of the room, and we jogged over, having to pause for the door to unlock and reveal a loading dock area.
The area was covered in corrugated paneling as were the sides protecting the shipments from any weather but also blocked our view.
Leaping off the dock, I hit the ground running, and when I made it out, I paused to look at my surroundings.
The sound of a van door closing caught my attention, turning to see a man jumping into a white work van with a company name plastered on the side of it.
Pulling my gun out, I aimed for the front wheel, squeezing off two rounds that hit but didn’t seem to slow them down.
Shifting, I went for the back tires, but Picasso beat me to it, taking out the other side.
The van wobbled with the uneven tread and veered off to the side like the driver couldn’t control the vehicle.
“Come on,” I shouted and bolted off toward the van that was now hurtling right into a brick sign for the facility.
The sound of the crash was loud with the screeching of metal and shattering glass.
Reaching the van, I slowed with my gun raised as I hurried around to the driver’s side door.
When I saw a stranger face down in the steering wheel, I yanked open the door, and the guy tumbled out.
His forehead was bleeding, and he was wearing an orderly outfit like Nate.
A groan from the back had me moving to the side door.
Picasso was there, hand on the handle, looking to me for the go signal.
With a sharp nod, I had my gun at the ready.
Pulling the door back, I found Mariana tied up, but Alvaro was slumped by the driver’s seat as if he’d been the reason the van crashed.
Mariana spotted me, and she started to thrash frantically, her eyes wide with fear.
“It’s okay, Mariana, I’m not going to hurt you. Let me get this gag off, and you can tell me what the hell happened,” I soothed, stepping into the back.
Crouching in front of her, I tugged the gag out of her mouth, and she started to sob while speaking Spanish at a speed I wasn’t sure anyone could understand.
I’d never formally learned the language, but it was useful, so I let my crew and the streets teach me what I needed to know.
I couldn’t tell if she was speaking a different style of Spanish than I’d learned or if I really knew fuck all, and it was showing.
“Mariana, I need you to slow down,” I urged. “I want to help you, but I can’t do that when I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
A groan altered me to Alvaro waking up, so I took a step over to him wanting to make sure he wasn’t badly injured or anything. Looks like he had a split lip and a nasty bruise to the forehead, but otherwise, he’d live.
“Alvaro, you with me, buddy?” I asked as I helped him up.
He winced when he lifted a hand to his head, touching gingerly at where a large bump was growing. “Ah fuck, that really hurts.”
“Yeah, concussions are a shit deal, but the pain means you’re alive,” I offered, having had my fair share of them. “What the hell happened?”
“Marco, he knew Franco would fuck it up and used him as a distraction,” Alvaro muttered then looked around like he just realized he should look for his mother.
“Easy there, bro,” I warned. “Your mom is right here, and as far as I can tell, she’s fine but super fucking panicked. I’m not sure if she’s even speaking Spanish.”
Alvaro took a deep breath and looked around the van. “Wait, where’s the other guy?”
“What other guy? I only saw the driver,” I said, then the sound of gunshots went off, and I grabbed Alvaro putting him on the floor of the van. “Alright, there was another guy. Picasso, you good?” I yelled.
“Motherfucker came out of nowhere and tried to fucking stab me,” Picasso growled as he walked into view. “Are we keeping the other one alive?”
“Can’t hurt. The more we can get to help us find Marco, the faster we can be done with this shit. Seriously, do you think we could go one goddamn day without getting shot or blown up?”
The sound of many feet pounding across the asphalt told me the cavalry was here. What I didn’t know was if it was my guys or the FBI.
“We fucking let you guys out of our sight for ten minutes, and you’re getting shot at? That’s it, no more splitting up. I can’t take this shit anymore,” Eagle groused as he walked up to Picasso and slugged him in the shoulder. “That’s for not keeping her safe and almost getting yourself killed.”
“Um… how exactly am I not safe?” I asked, sliding out of the van and turning to help Mariana out.