Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
I t was pitch black in the natural forest behind Ghost’s cabin. The sky had settled into an inky indigo, stars swallowed by thick clouds, the sounds of the jungle humming around him. He stood still, eyes scanning the tangled mess of trees and plants, thick vines knitting together so tightly no light could pierce through. This was where the jungle hit the beach, the wilderness eventually giving way to the soft sand of the coast.
The light in his cabin was still on. A small decoy to keep the guards convinced he was safely holed up for the night. He was supposed to be tucked away, keeping a low profile, but he had other plans. He’d only taken what he needed—a flashlight, his lock-picking set, and his army knife, the one Carlos had missed during their last pat-down.
He melted into the bushes, blending into the shadows. The undergrowth was thick and knotted, but Ghost knew better than to let it slow him down. The jungle was his terrain. He could move through it like a wraith, slipping under branches and over twisted roots without a sound. He’d learned the rhythm of the forest long ago. Now, even the cicadas buzzing in the night made more noise than him.
Twenty minutes in, he spotted a flicker of light. He was close. Becca’s apartment wasn’t far—tucked into the eastern wing of the villa, away from the guards who congregated near the pool, smoking and swapping stories during their rounds. He stayed low, darting from tree cover to the shadow of a bougainvillea bush. His black clothes and balaclava kept him invisible under the cloak of night.
Becca’s patio door was just ahead, locked, of course, but not enough of a deterrent to stop him. Ghost crouched in the shadows, assessing the two cameras positioned on the terrace. Both were pointed away from where he stood, leaving a blind spot along the eastern wall. It was a flaw he’d noticed early on. Markov’s men didn’t seem to care about the details, and that suited him just fine.
Sticking to the cover of the bougainvillea, he moved to the patio door and took out the lock-picking set. Within seconds, the door clicked open. He slipped inside, closing it behind him without a sound. He listened, senses on high alert, waiting for footsteps, a sign that he’d tripped something—but there was nothing. Just the soft hum of the villa settling for the night.
He exhaled quietly, taking in the little outdoor space. The patio was cozy, with a circular table and two chairs in the center, a flickering lantern casting a warm, golden glow over everything. Bougainvillea petals spilled over the walls, the pinks and purples glowing faintly in the light.
He could see into Becca’s apartment from here. She was curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her, reading a magazine. A glass of wine sat on the table in front of her.
She looked so peaceful. So... far from the chaos around them. It almost pained him to interrupt.
Moving forward, he let his presence be known, stepping into the doorway. Her eyes snapped up, widening with fear. She opened her mouth, ready to scream, but he yanked off the balaclava and held a finger to his lips.
Her shoulders sagged in relief.
“Holy crap!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “You startled me.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, stepping inside. “This was the safest way in. I had to dodge the cameras.”
She glanced toward the patio door. Up close, he could see it—she wasn’t as calm as she appeared. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her face was pale. She’d been crying.
He frowned, lowering himself into the chair across from her. “What’s going on?”
She bit her lip, her hands twisting in her lap. “Ramirez’s wife,” she said, voice low and shaky. “She was killed in a car crash this morning.”
Ghost nodded, keeping his expression neutral. “I heard the men talking. I’m sorry. Did you know her well?”
Becca’s hands clenched tighter. “We weren’t that close, but...” She trailed off, struggling with her words. “I don’t know if I should say this, but I can’t help thinking it wasn’t an accident.”
Ghost stiffened. His instincts flared immediately, a chill creeping down his spine. “You think someone caused the crash?”
She nodded, her lips trembling as she spoke. “Chrissy called me last night. She was upset—drinking, I think. She told me Ramirez was having an affair with the au pair and that she wanted to leave him. But he’d threatened her.”
Ghost’s jaw tightened. “Threatened her how?”
“He said if she left, she’d never see her daughters again.”
“He was going to fight her for custody?”
Becca nodded. “Except, I called the airport. She’d booked three seats on a flight to Los Angeles tonight. She was on her way to get the girls when a truck barreled into her, killing her instantly.”
Ghost was silent, letting her words sink in.
“Tell me that’s a coincidence.” Real fear flickered in her eyes.
“It does sound suspicious,” he admitted. “Were there any witnesses?”
She shook her head. “Only the truck driver, and he swears she ran a red light. It also happened in an industrial area with no cameras. If I were to pick a place to kill someone on that route, it would be there.”
Ghost ran a hand through his hair. “Shit, Becca. Are you saying her husband had her killed?”
Becca ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I hope not, but…” She let the sentence trail off and took a gulp of her wine. “Ramirez and Alek had an argument today. Alek called him a ‘stupid bastard.’ What do you think that means?”
Nothing good. And she was back to using first names.
Fuck. Why did this have to happen now, right before he had to leave? Now he couldn’t be around to protect her.
“Listen, Becca,” he said, his tone urgent. “Ramirez is a dangerous man, so is Markov. I agree, your friend’s death sounds shady as hell, but don’t go asking any more questions about it.”
She blinked back tears. “I just want to know the truth.”
“I know you do. But if what you’re saying is true, Ramirez will go to great lengths to keep it buried.”
She inhaled sharply, and Ghost knew his words had hit home. “You mean I could be in danger?”
“You already know too much. Promise me you won’t dig any deeper.”
“Okay, I promise.”
He could see the fear etched into her face. “And don’t tell anyone you spoke to Chrissy last night.”
She gave a small nod, her hair falling forward, partially obscuring her face. Ghost moved closer, brushing the strands back gently. Her pupils were wide, dark, locked on his.
“I know he killed her, Dom. The bastard murdered his wife so he could shack up with the nanny and keep his kids.”
Ghost shook his head. That kind of thinking could get her killed. “I’m sorry for your loss, Becca, but you have to leave it alone. For now.”
At her questioning look, he added, “I’m leaving. I’ll be gone for a few days. That’s what I came here to tell you.”
Amongst other things.
“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”
Fear flashed in her eyes again, and his chest tightened. “Oh. When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow.” He took her hand, her slender fingers fitting into his large, warm palm. “I wish I didn’t have to go, but duty calls. The Colombians want their merchandise.”
His words seemed to snap her out of her grief. She swiped at her eyes and sat up straighter. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
But he did. More than he should.
The tightness in his chest turned into a dull ache. She was the one person in this godforsaken mess that he cared about. The thought of something happening to her…he couldn’t even go there. But he didn’t say any of that. He couldn’t.
“I know. Just take care of yourself while I’m gone.”
She sniffed. “You mean because I won’t have you on speed dial?”
His gaze narrowed. “I mean it, Becca. These men are dangerous. I don’t like the idea of leaving you here alone.”
“I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time.” He heard the underlying weariness in her voice.
“I know you have, but these guys? They’re different. They’re ruthless killers, Becca. Your boss is wanted for attempted murder in the United States, Carlos started his career as a guerrilla fighter for the FARC rebel group, and God only knows what Ramirez is capable of. And you’re caught right in the middle. You really think Markov’s just going to let you walk away one day? With everything you know?” He shook his head. “You might not think you’re involved, but you are.”
Her face paled, and Ghost immediately regretted his words. He didn’t mean to come on so strong, to scare her—or maybe he did. He just wanted her to understand just how deep she was in. Because he cared, dammit.
She was in way over her head. If only he could get her out of this cesspit, away from all the corruption. But he couldn’t. Not yet. He needed her here. And he hated himself for it.
“You think they’d try to stop me from leaving?”
“One day, yes.”
She gnawed on her lower lip. “I never considered that before.”
He had. He never gave anyone the benefit of the doubt, least of all scum-of-the-earth gun-runners like Markov and Ramirez. Occupational hazard, maybe, but it kept him alive.
“I’ll help you.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll get you out. But right now, you need to promise me you’ll keep your head down until I’m back.”
Her voice was a whisper. “I promise.”
He gazed into her deep brown eyes, and his heart twisted. She was so vulnerable, so scared, even though she was trying to be brave. He wanted nothing more than to protect her, to keep her safe from the vipers circling. He reached out, and she slipped into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Hold me,” she whispered.