Chapter 22 #2
“He’s still alive. Not in this house, but I won’t let him die so quickly.
He needs to suffer. And I might have more questions.
But after my little chat with him, Santiago grew to fear me more than The Italian, a man he’s never met in person.
Trust me when I say if he knew The Italian’s name or location, I would now know it, too.
” The night was warm, but a chill ran up her spine at Carter’s words, and she had a feeling he could more than give The Italian a run for his money. Vengeance was a powerful motivator.
Images of waterboarding, tooth extraction, and digging-your-own-grave kind of torture tactics popped to mind. Knowing Carter and his anger, he’d probably done much worse to Santiago.
“Santiago confessed to me after I took him from the CIA that he was hired to follow my wife, and then six months later, he was paid by The Italian to kill her. And, of course, he used The Italian’s trade routes from time to time,” Carter continued a few seconds later, the moody music in the background accompanying their conversation like an Oscar-winning score to a movie.
“Santiago did mention Danny faked his death and changed his identity after Rebecca was killed.”
The words Rebecca was killed seemed to echo in the still air. Carter took a deep breath, placed his hands on his hips, and silently turned toward the ocean.
It was still so hard to believe how she and Carter were connected, and yet, back in August, neither had realized it at the time.
“Why only him?” Danny was always high-strung and a little anxious. Maybe he’d been worried he’d get caught for murder?
“Santiago said Danny had lunch with someone in D.C. shortly after Rebecca died, and he was pissed about it. Clearly, that someone was you. The Italian told Danny to either change his face and fake his death, or he’d see to it his death would be real.”
“And I’m guessing Santiago didn’t mention my name or confirm The Italian actually knows my real identity?” He was paid to follow Rebecca, not me, she reminded herself. But here she was, so the threat to her safety was real.
“I asked Santiago to identify you from the photos taken in Colombia, and he couldn’t. He didn’t know your name, and he wasn’t assigned to look into anyone other than Rebecca after Cartagena.”
“Then how can you be so certain The Italian knows I’m the one who was helping Rebecca pursue the smugglers who used his trade routes?”
“I think the fact you almost drowned in the ocean on Saturday is convincing enough, don’t you?” he asked, unexpected sarcasm in his tone. Maybe she deserved that.
“Danny knew me.” He’s why you think The Italian must also know about me.
“And Danny’s also connected to Andrew, who’s my ex-boyfriend and ex-boss, so .
. .” Andrew’s in the middle of this all.
He has to be. “How’d you even know to go after Santiago in the first place since you didn’t know his involvement until he confessed?
” She held a palm in the air, deciding to find her backbone and stand up to him for a moment.
“You know what? Scratch that. I want my friends down here now. They should hear all of this.” She added as much edge to her tone as possible.
She’d fallen into the trap of empathy because of Rebecca, but she was still Carter’s captive, and she needed to remember Carter was dangerous.
“They can help. Harper was CIA, and she knows you.”
He sat once again and set his palms on the table, fingertips curling in. “I know. I saw her go to the event with you Friday night.”
“You were there?” . . . And there went her backbone. Her spine curved, and he probably noticed, which she hated. What the actual fuck?
“Across the street in my limo,” he said far too casually, and her anger startled her shoulders back. “Why do you think your friends were taken, too?”
From the sounds of it, he didn’t know the answer to that question. And she only had theories.
“My friends, I want them here,” she gritted out the reminder, carrying her eyes to his to find that confidence inside her again.
To go against a man like The Italian, like Carter, you had to hold your ground, or they’d walk all over you.
She’d learned those lessons over the years, dealing with mostly men every day in her line of work.
“You’re persistent,” he said before his eyes darted off to her right, and she turned at the familiar sound of paws hitting the ground coming up behind her.
An Alaskan Malamute charged him, but then Carter issued a command, and the dog immediately heeled. Carter sat at the head of the table, and the dog sat upright next to him.
“You brought your dog with you?” That was . . . surprising.
“Dallas comes everywhere with me.”
“Dallas as in Texas?” she asked while reaching out, offering her hand to see if Dallas would come to her.
Dallas looked to Carter, and he nodded his okay. Dallas hurried in frenzied excitement for Rory, and she turned in her chair to pet him.
“How old is he?” she asked when he never answered her other question. She leaned over the chair arm to scratch his belly when he flipped to his back.
For a second, Dallas’s presence had her relaxing. Her anger nearly drifted free.
“Two,” he responded in a low voice.
Ohh. “Rebecca said she loved dogs but was allergic to them,” Rory said at the memory, and maybe she knew a few personal details about her.
He called Dallas back to his side, then stuck a hand in the air and made a come-hither motion. She had no idea who saw that since they were surrounded by six-foot walls made of shrubs, bushes, and flowers. “My people are retrieving your friends.”
“Thank you.” She bit down on her back teeth, trying to resist talking until Chris was with her, but . . . “Why didn’t you warn me? Give me a heads-up that The Italian may have known my real identity? Or hell, stopped the men from taking me Friday night if you were right outside the hotel?”
Bait.
Hook. Line. Sinker.
She’d fallen for his trap in France, too.
“My men followed your abductors to Puerto Rico, where they chartered a yacht,” he answered. Well, sort of answered her. “But my team lost track of you when the storm hit. I didn’t expect it would sink. For a bit there, I thought you died at sea.”
“So, I was bait,” she confirmed, doing her best to hold on to her anger and not focus on the fact that Jolie—Rebecca—had been his wife, and he was grieving.
Or that he’d also been in the fight against smugglers before leaving the Agency to pursue his vengeance, thereby becoming the kind of man Rebecca would most likely hate.
“I heard it play out on my scanner. There was a bounty for your retrieval, the Trott brothers—those lowlife smugglers—were near the island, and they announced Sunday evening they found you.”
Another quick explanation without an apology.
“We could have died, you know.” But that was like telling him the earth revolved around the sun. An obvious fact.
His jaw tightened, but he surprised her with an, “I’m sorry.”
She studied him, deciding if his words were genuine. “A little late for that.”
“You put yourself in this situation by going after The Italian. He was never your problem, and yet, you barged in and made it happen.”
You have got to be kidding. “And your wife? Do you blame her? She’s the one who took the twenty-five names from your files.
She put me on this path to begin with. It all circles back to her.
” Not that Rory blamed Rebecca, but who was Carter to decide what Rory could or couldn’t do?
“And you can’t pulverize steel with your teeth, so stop trying,” she tossed out flippantly at the sight of his jaw moving as if he were grinding down on his molars.
“Why bother to save us from the Trott brothers?” If she was going to keep pushing, why not go for gold?
“You could have waited for them to sell us to whoever offered the bounty. Keep using me as bait to lead you to The Italian.”
He reached for his wineglass. And the jerk had the nerve to slowly swirl the wine and take a sip.
But she was beginning to see through his facade.
The longer he was around her, the thinner it became.
And she could tell it pissed him off. He was used to playing the role of a vicious man who didn’t give a shit, but he cared.
He cared so much he was prepared to burn down the world in the name of revenge.
“That storm was a variable I hadn’t considered.
I was lucky to have heard the bounty over the scanner, and I wasn’t about to risk something else going sideways.
But I should never have let you be taken from D.C. to begin with, I’m sorry.”
She released a shaky exhale, but his apology wasn’t enough. Not yet. He’d risked their lives to try and bait The Italian. “You only need me to survive to use me as a bargaining tool. That’s why you came for us.”
“God, you remind me so much of my wife. Stubborn. Headstrong. Won’t take no for an answer.”
“So, you’re complimenting me now?”
A slight smile had his lips lifting at the edges. He set his wine down and leaned back in his seat. His smile slowly transformed into quiet resignation. “My men are working on tracking down the team that first offered the bounty to the Trott brothers. We should have them detained by tomorrow.”
And deflection. Maybe she knew a thing about that, too. “You believe Andrew Cutter also works for The Italian given Andrew’s connection to Danny, and Danny’s connection to Santiago, right?”
Those dark eyes peering at her held secrets, ones he probably wanted to remain buried. She’d been that way until she met Chris and unexpectedly found herself wanting to share her life with him. Only, she’d been terrified her life would endanger him. And now, here we are.