Chapter 7 #2
“But you didn’t know that when we were talking to Leo, right?”
“What?”
“It wasn’t until after you started questioning Leo that something tripped for you, right?” Locke didn’t wait for her answer. “Which means it wasn’t the location you recognized, was it?”
She swallowed. “No, it wasn’t the location.”
Quiet stretched between them. She kept her attention on the blur of lights as Locke continued down the highway. She tried not to feel or think, but the tension inside her coiled tighter and tighter with each passing moment.
Finally, he broke the silence. “You said this gang is known for dealing.”
There was nothing in his voice to give away what he was thinking, so she responded in kind. “That’s what I’ve heard.”
“So it’s likely Leo picked up the pills from someone there,” he said, almost to himself.
“It’s possible,” she agreed reluctantly.
He gave her a quick look. “You said you didn’t see who gave him the pills.”
“I didn’t,” she shot back. “But drugs are kind of part and parcel of these things, so it would make logical sense if this was where he got them from.”
He made a noncommittal hum then let a beat of silence pass before switching gears. “Who are you and Des worried about?”
His question landed in her gut like a soft punch, leaving her off balance. She took a moment to shove her churning anxiety into a box and lock it. “His name is Angel Herrera.” Proud of how steady her voice sounded, despite her pounding pulse, she finished coolly, “And he’s the head of Idyl Devils.”
“And who is he to you?”
My nightmare and the man who tore my family from me. Neither of those were answers she was willing to share, so she gave the one she could. “My stepbrother.”
Instead of being shocked, Locke was surprisingly unfazed. “I take it you two aren’t close.”
Her laugh was bitter. “Not even a little bit.”
Strangely, he didn’t go through the opening she’d given him and instead asked, “Which parent goes to whom?”
Her brain stumbled over the question then found its footing. “My father met his mother, Pilar, when I was fourteen and he was nineteen. They married when I was sixteen.”
“And your mom?”
The twinge was an old ache easily ignored. “Out of the picture—had been for years.” Realizing her fingers were numb, she flexed her hands in her lap, feeling the blood rush back into them. “Pilar was good for Papá.”
“And you?”
“For a little while,” she said softly.
Just admitting that let the memories seep in.
Papá dancing with Pilar in the small kitchen of the older, ranch-style home, their laughter filling the air.
Pilar holding out a hand to Isa in an invitation to join them, her dark-brown eyes sparking with a warmth that Isa’s teenage heart desperately soaked up.
Sun-drenched afternoons when Pilar patiently taught her how to make albóndigas, a Mexican meatball soup with hearty vegetables and savory broth that was all about love.
Pilar behind her, braiding her hair into a beautiful pattern she could never accomplish on her own.
Then later, after Angel played his games, those same dark eyes had gone cold and cutting while Papá’s disappointment sliced her heart to ribbons.
She waited for his inevitable question about what had happened, but it didn’t come. Instead, he asked, “What do I need to know about Angel?”
She grabbed his offering with both metaphorical hands and held on tight. “He’s a Harvester, so you need to lock your emotions down tight. Otherwise, he’ll use them against you.” Harvesters were masters at siphoning emotions, good or bad, to supercharge their personal power.
“How strong are we talking?”
“Strong.” She thought of all the times Angel had bent the truth until even she wondered if she was the selfish, deceitful person he said she was.
The twisted game had taken her years to escape.
“He likes mind games. The more you let him under your skin, the deeper he gets, and once he has a hold on you, he doesn’t like to let go. ”
“Sounds like a typical asshole,” he said in a hard voice.
Oh, Angel is far from typical. At best, he’s narcissistic. At worst? He’s pathologically evil.
“If we’re lucky, he won’t be there,” she said.
“And the chance of that…?”
With her luck, probably slim to none, but a girl could hope. “Depends on what’s really happening there tonight. If it’s just a party, I doubt he’d waste his time, but if it’s cover for something else…” She shrugged.
“You got a picture you can share? That way, I know who I’m looking for.”
She dug her phone out and pulled up a web browser. In seconds, she had his image on her screen. “Here.” Ignoring the shudder quivering under her skin, she handed her phone to Locke.
He held it so he could see the screen and the road. “Streetwise Talent?”
“He heads up a commercial talent agency.”
Locke handed back her phone. “When’s the last time you saw him?”
“Three years ago.” She put her phone back in her pocket. “Des and I were meeting up with some friends at this club, and he was there. He tried to approach us, but we left before he could make contact.”
She remembered how she’d frozen when she spotted him. Des had picked up on her fear and stepped in, making himself a target as he blocked Angel from playing his games.
“And he didn’t try to contact you afterward?”
“He tried a couple of times, but when I refused to give him the reaction he wanted, he finally got bored and stopped.” Although the poltergeists Des had sent his way probably helped. Not to mention Cass’s warnings, which had allowed Isa to avoid tripping over Angel’s unexpected appearances.
“That’s why Des doesn’t want me to leave you alone tonight?”
Funny—she thought Des didn’t want her to leave Locke, but whatever. She’d take whatever protection she could get when it came to Angel. “Yeah, that would be why.”
Locke flexed his grip on the steering wheel and, with studied casualness, said, “You know, I can go in by myself.”
“Nope, not happening.” She couldn’t, in good conscience, let him face Angel alone.
She played with the beads on the charm bracelet Des had given her.
No matter what she told Locke, he’d believe he could keep Angel out of his head and away from his emotions, but Harvesters were subtle siphons.
By the time you realized they were feeding on you, it was too late.
If nothing else, her presence would distract Angel enough for him not to focus completely on Locke.
“Like I said, he may not be there.”
Locke’s disbelieving huff said it all. “If he is, you’ll let me deal with him.”
Since it wasn’t a question, she didn’t have to lie—she just kept her mouth shut because if Angel was there, she wouldn’t be given much of a choice. She decided to change the subject. “So, what’s your plan tonight?”
“Pardon?”
“What are you hoping to get out of this visit?”
“Ideally? Isaiah’s location and the name of whoever is supplying those red pills.”
“Getting a positive ID on your missing teen is going to be a long shot,” she said. “Flashing a photo, asking questions—things like that will end with our asses getting kicked to the curb.” Or worse.
“Not sure we can go in looking to score unless there’s something you’re not sharing.”
Her shoulders snapped tight, and she gave him a sharp look, but the teasing curve to his lips had her biting back a stinging, defensive retort. “No, but it is an angle we can use. When something new hits the scene, word gets around.”
It didn’t take him long to put it together, and his humor evaporated. “You comfortable with that approach?”
She wasn’t comfortable with any of this.
Between shielding Locke and walking willingly back into hell, there wasn’t much of a choice— at least, not one she could live with—but she knew enough about the man sitting next to her to be aware that he’d get his answers one way or another.
If she took this on, there might be a slight chance of him walking away with what he needed.
“I think it’s wiser than putting the Cordova name on everyone’s lips,” she said.
“I’m not an idiot, Isa. And I’m damn good at my job.”
Realizing she’d stepped on his male toes, she softened her tone. “No doubt, but in this crowd, you being all that’s you, they’re going to peg you as police or Family, and neither one is going to encourage a friendly exchange of information.”
“Me being all that’s me?” he repeated, focused on the wrong damn thing.
She waved a hand in his direction. “Stop fishing for compliments. You know what I mean.”
“No, actually, I don’t, but I’m dying to hear what it is you think makes me whatever it is you think I am.” There was a dangerous purr to his voice.
She suppressed a shiver and tried to regain control of the conversation. “My point is, we need to play this right, which means you can’t go in as the Cordovas’ Hound. You need to be—”
“Yours.”
His calm declaration robbed her of air, and all she could squeeze out was, “What?”
“I need to go in as yours. We go in as a couple out on a date.”
“I would never bring someone important to me here,” she said before she could rethink what it revealed.
He shot her a look, and his voice softened. “I know, but if someone you trusted wanted to surprise you, you’d roll with it even if it made you uncomfortable.”
She couldn’t deny that.
“If we use that story, plus your concern about a new drug hitting the bar scene, we might be able to stir the pot.”
Oh, there was no doubt they’d stir the pot. She was just worried about what would rise to the surface.