CHAPTER 5
Imogen
Imogen batted an orange feather out of her face while glaring at Mat, who walked beside her. When Mateo had shown up at her door with the samba dancer costume, she’d been relieved she wouldn’t need to put something together for the Carnival party, but now—wearing it—she was sure he’d chosen it to torture her. In the same way, his announcement about their need to carry out a fake relationship tortured her. She’d only agreed to the ruse because she surmised it would provide her better access to the lieutenant. Hopefully, at this party.
The headdress she wore gave her an extra foot of height in elaborate orange and gold feathers, which kept drooping with her movements and tickling her. The bands of the headpiece framed her face, covering her ears and her forehead with shiny topaz and clear-colored crystals. To be safe, she’d added shimmery gold face paint on her eyes and cheeks, further obscuring her true features. Her lips were orange, and she prayed that the paint would stay on her mouth, not her teeth. The rest of the costume consisted of a sheer gold dress with an orange bikini underneath to cover her lady parts. Crystals crusted it, too, making her worry she’d draw too much attention as soon as the ballroom lights shined on her outfit.
Mat didn’t have that issue. He’d dressed in a charro suit. His cream-colored pants and jacket sported gold trim and an orange necktie to match her costume. The same embroidery gilded the sombrero he wore, but not a crystal in sight.
Another feather tickled her neck, and she fought the urge to rip the headpiece off. He’d definitely chosen the costume to torture her.
Like his presence isn’t torture enough.
She could smell him—his spicy citrus scent—all the way to her ovaries. No matter that, in her head, she knew better than to fall under his spell again; her body was eager to test the waters.
All day, she’d been distracted by what he’d told her the night before. Despite the danger it posed, she couldn’t stop thinking it meant something if he remembered those things about her. If you didn’t care about someone, it was easy to forget them, but that’s not what Mat had done.
Maybe she’d been wrong, and he had felt something for her all those years ago.
But it doesn’t mean he still does.
If she was going to stay focused on finding Emil, she had to remind herself of that. She wasn’t here for Mat. She was here for her brother.
With a huff that fanned the feathers on her head, Imogen caught sight of the ballroom doors and stumbled. The dress was meant for someone of average height and her lack in that regard made walking in it challenging. She had to hold up one side of the sheer material to keep it from catching under her high heels, but she’d dropped it when she realized how close they were.
Fear turned her legs to jelly. She must’ve made a sound because before she managed to face plant, Mat caught her, pulling her into his chest. Her heart pounded as rapidly as a hummingbird’s wings.
This was crazy. They were about to walk into a room filled with every kind of criminal, from the cartel’s deadliest to its smartest, and she thought she could interrogate them? She’d gone loca . Surely, only a crazy woman would attempt this.
Mat tilted her chin, and she blinked him into focus. His hazel eyes were so soft as he stroked her skin with his thumb. His voice flowed over her as soothing as a sedative when he spoke. “You can still go home, Gen. You don’t have to go through with this. Leave and be safe. I’ll do everything I can to find Emil.”
Then his words penetrated, pouring acid into an old wound and overriding the fear she’d felt. Going into this, she’d known it wouldn’t be easy. But there was no way she’d pass up the opportunity for information about her brother. No matter how dangerous it might be.
“No.” Gripping her dress in one hand, she used the other to push herself out of Mat’s embrace.
His face lost its warmth as he straightened and cleared his throat, but she didn’t have time to worry about that.
“I’m doing this.”
He offered his arm, but he sighed when she didn’t immediately take it. “In case you trip again.”
“Fine.” With the curt agreement, she slipped her arm into his and let him lead her into the lion’s den—or jaguar’s, in this case.
Ushers dressed in black suits with calavera masks opened the double doors for them. A small gasp escaped her throat at the sight that awaited. In response, Mat squeezed her hand where she cupped his arm but didn’t stop their forward progress.
Just inside the ballroom, an arch with gauzy black fabric draped on either side framed the entrance to the festivities. Flowering vines the color of blood wrapped each side, drawing back the curtains for partygoers to pass through. Imogen shivered as they walked under the arch. It felt like entering the gates of Hell.
The drumming beat of some type of instrumental music played low from speakers set up at the stage near the back of the room, but she barely heard it over the din of voices. The ballroom was packed with costumed cartel members. Everything from the elaborate to the understated was on display.
As Mat led her to the bar across from the wall of French doors that opened onto an empty courtyard, she noted women dressed as she was in samba costumes or traditional garb, men dressed as cowboys or mariachis, and even over-the-top outfits with giant caricature masks that left her with no clue to the wearer’s identity.
“Paloma?”
Imogen pulled her eyes from the party at Mat’s question. “Hmm?”
“Do you want a drink?” He held out a red highball glass with what looked like her favorite cocktail.
The combination of tequila, lime, and grapefruit seltzer had always been her order, but she was still surprised he remembered. Accepting the glass, she murmured her thanks and turned away from the smile in his gaze.
People mingled at cocktail tables dispersed about the room. Black tablecloths covered them, each holding a tall centerpiece that kept catching her eye. A crystal vase with white roses topped by large crimson feathers. Like blood, ready to be spilled.
Imogen suppressed a shudder and glanced at Mat. He leaned against the bar, sipping his drink as if he didn’t have a care in the world. For some reason, his coolness irked her. She didn’t know if he really felt that calm or was just a better actor than her.
Taking a sip of her cocktail, she tried not to drool at the way the cut of his costume highlighted the muscles underneath, or how that shade of cream made his dark hair shine, nor the way the gold stitching brought out the hidden depths of color in his eyes.
Focus, Imogen.
With a sigh, she looked away. Walking into the ballroom on Mat’s arm, she hadn’t been able to keep from wondering if this party might end the same as the last one they attended together. Would he disappear on her again? While she desperately wanted things to go differently, she was determined to use the time she had pretending to be his arm candy to the fullest.
Because someone in this room knew where her brother was.
◆◆◆
Mateo
One of Imogen’s feathers brushed his hand as she turned away. The light touch left Mat yearning for more. The samba outfit had been on the top of the pile he’d had to choose from. Being with the Lazcanos meant he had access to people who made things happen, no matter how trivial. So when he’d asked for a selection of Carnival costumes to be delivered to his room before sundown, he hadn’t been disappointed. The bright colors on the one he’d picked suited her perfectly. She looked like some ancient Aztec goddess, and he wanted to worship her. With his tongue, his hands, then his cock.
If only.
The ballroom might’ve been packed with people, but they faded away as he watched Imogen. She’d lost the perfume like he’d advised. Still, the hint of it remained—a subtle note of coffee and vanilla. It was as if the fragrance had soaked into the very essence of her. Or maybe it was him the scent wouldn’t leave. Scored in his memory as deep as the grooves it had carved into his heart.
He gazed at the waves of her dark hair and wished he could wrap it around his hands as he kissed her. She looked like a sunset with the orange and gold feathers burnishing her long brown locks. The kind they used to watch together from his back deck.
Mat’s heart thudded at the memory.
Kissing Imogen had been a mistake. The desire to do it again consumed his thoughts when he had a job to do. How was he supposed to convince her to leave if the only thing he could think about was how much he wanted her to stay?
He held hope the party would be enough to scare her into leaving.
Especially with what the lieutenant has planned.
His body tensed at the display he knew was coming. As much as Mat wanted Imogen safely out of the cartel’s clutches, he couldn’t help wondering what might happen between them if she stayed.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and he nearly jolted. Mat cursed himself for being caught unaware as he took in his accoster.
El Jaguar’s costume consisted of a tuxedo with an animal print jacket—jaguar to be exact. He wore no mask, and his unctuous smile made Mat’s gut quiver, especially when the lieutenant’s eyes lingered on Imogen. “Who is this vision, Mateo?”
The way the lieutenant’s gaze raked over her from head to toe made Mat sick to his stomach. Before he could swallow the bile rising up his throat, Imogen stepped in front of him and extended her hand.
“ El Jaguar , what an honor.”
The lieutenant lifted her outstretched palm to his lips. The effort it took Mat to keep his face a calm mask when he was ready to punch the man’s teeth in made him silent.
“Truly, the pleasure is all mine, senorita .”
Her answering smile had an edge to it, and Mat knew she was about to get herself in trouble. She might be in disguise, but he didn’t need El Jaguar to find out who she really was. Shaking off his distaste, he congratulated the lieutenant on the party, pulling the man’s attention away from Imogen.
El Jaguar’s eyes lit with a sinister gleam as he rubbed his hands together. “You must have a front-row seat for the finale.” Lowering his voice, he added, “They’re all here. Watch carefully when it’s time.”
Mat gave a wordless nod. The entire North Texas arm of the Lazcano Cartel had accepted El Jaguar’s invitation. From the regional bosses to the lowliest scouts, every member had shown up.
The lieutenant studied him for a moment longer, eyes dancing as if he knew something Mat did not. Worry tied his gut in knots over what it might mean.
“Enjoy the fiesta.” After another lecherous glance at Imogen, El Jaguar moved on.
Imogen spoke softly where only Mat could hear. “He makes my skin crawl.”
Mat gazed into her chocolate eyes and found them no less determined. “But you still want to go through with this?”
Those dark orbs narrowed at him as if she dared him to question her. “Yes.”
He sighed, torn between needing her to go and wanting her to stay.
Her eyebrow disappeared under the band of her headdress as she quirked it at him. “What’s the finale going to be?”
A wave of nausea swept over Mat. He didn’t want her to watch what El Jaguar had in store and planned to take her back to her room before it started. To distract her, he smiled and held out a hand. “Dance with me?”
The dance floor had filled with costumed revelers after the band began playing. The upbeat tempo of a salsa shook the walls all the way to the beamed rafters. Imogen took in the scene, then glanced at his hand and chewed her lip.
Knowing she’d need some convincing, he stepped into her space. Bending down, he buried his nose in the feathers and hair near her ear and spoke, “I have a cover to maintain. Right now, you’re part of that. It needs to look like we’re enjoyin’ ourselves.”
He was close enough to feel her shiver as his breath caressed her neck. Her words might push him away, but her body told another story. The way she responded lit him up from the inside. It was more potent than if he’d snorted a line of coke—or so he imagined. He’d seen the drug’s effects on El Jaguar often enough to understand its potency.
Instead of speaking, she nodded. Stepping back, Mat took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. The atmosphere in the room was tense despite the revelry. Everyone knew something was up; this type of gathering was rare, and there had to be news to share. But the Lazcanos wouldn’t like what it was when they found out.
The music shifted into a ballad as soon as his feet hit the parquet. Pulling Imogen close, Mat lost himself in the music. With her in his arms, the world stopped turning. The only thing that mattered was how right it felt.
The night flew by between dancing with Imogen and keeping her out of trouble. Whenever she tried to weasel away to talk to someone dangerous, he swept her onto the dance floor. Minutes or hours later, an agitated shout rang out. Then, a collective hush fell over the gathering.
Mat woke up from the trance he’d slipped into. As if Imogen really were a goddess and she’d transfixed him with the music. “Dammit! It’s startin’.”
Confusion crinkled the paint on her face. “What’s starting?”
“The lieutenant’s scare tactics.” Grabbing Imogen’s hand, he pushed through the crowd. “C’mon.” There was no time to take her back to her room. Not when El Jaguar expected him front and center. “I’m sorry, Gen,” Mat whispered as he hugged her into his side, where they’d stopped in front of the open French doors.
The partygoers spread out behind them, ready to watch the spectacle. Like the ringmaster in a circus, the lieutenant stood in the center of the courtyard, waiting. A wooden post arranged among a pile of logs towered next to him. He caught Mat’s eye and gestured for him to take up his position.
Understanding it was time to play his part, Mat moved to the corner so that he could watch the cartel as they took in the show. Dragging Imogen with him, he shoved her behind him to block her from view.
El Jaguar began to address the cartel members in Spanish. What started with an acknowledgment of Carnival morphed into a warning as he spoke about the tradition of burning an effigy dubbed “ mal humor .” But this Carnival, it wasn’t a bad mood they would be dispensing with; it was “ el traidor ”—the traitor.
A gasp rushed through the masses, and Mat tensed. If anyone got a twitchy finger, he’d have to act. The lieutenant frowned, and the crowd settled as if realizing their misstep. Amidst the studied calm, El Jaguar gestured toward the alcove on everyone’s left. Mat knew what was coming. He’d procured a very life-like effigy for the lieutenant to burn as the traitor.
He murmured to Imogen, “Don’t watch.”
But when El Jaguar’s men appeared with the effigy, it wasn’t the one Mat had provided. Not even close.
The courtyard became as silent as a tomb. Not a person, nor even an insect, made a sound. Fear strangled everything. Even the stars in the sky stopped twinkling in their horror.
This traitor wasn’t made of wax. It was flesh and blood.