Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Great, now we were looking for a needle in a haystack.
“Any ideas where he’d take her?”
“The Sinaloa—”
“Not to be rude, Tom, but we’ve already scratched the places he wouldn’t take her off the list. We need intel on where he would.”
The laughter in the other room had quieted. I could now hear faint murmurs, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“Carlos has ties in Baja Sur. A cousin in Tortuga Bay.”
“Anywhere else? Out of Mexico?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Did Calista kill Victor Stone and the two lawyers?”
Silence.
“If she had killed him, why would she kill him?”
More silence.
“You’re asking a lot of this team, of Berta. If she murdered them in cold—”
“Victor Stone was a pissant who had issues with the word no. He also had a reputation for certain . . . proclivities. One of those kinks was inviting his friends to the festivities. Consenting adults do what consenting adults do, and that’s no one’s business.
However, without the consent, that’s something else entirely.
And let’s just say there was no consent. ”
I hadn’t realized I was grinding my molars until my jaw started to ache.
“Did he—”
“No. Not her. If she did kill Stone, it was because she walked in on him forcefully taking something that was not offered.”
I had yet to meet this woman and I already liked her.
“What do you want with the Honduran president’s wife and children?”
“Nothing,” he bit out.
That was a lie.
“You know, in the Army, I was called a human lie detector, and I didn’t need to be in the same room as the subject to pick up on an untruth.
You of all people should remember this about me, seeing as you’ve used my skills in the past. Which I’ve thought about, and it annoys me to no end that you played me and I didn’t catch your lie.
But I’ve come to the realization it’s because you didn’t fully lie.
You did want me to find Berta and give her your intel.
You simply omitted the truth behind why you wanted that, and your intel was bogus.
You played me once, Tom. It won’t ever happen again. What do you want with the wife?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit—”
“You’re highly intelligent. I wanted you with me at the Agency. I knew I’d never get that. I want your skills available to me in the future, so I say this with respect, but leave it the fuck alone.”
That last part was said with authority but was tinged with melancholy.
There was a connection.
“Do you love her?”
“Leave it alone, Catarina.”
He loved her.
“Sure,” I lied. “One last thing. You said Calista’s father saved your life. He owned—”
“His father cleaned money for the Irish mob. When the time came for him to take over the family business, he found he couldn’t stomach it, and he approached the CIA.”
“You turned him into an agent?”
“Yes. He was assigned to me because I’d been tracking a bomb maker with ties to an Irish crime syndicate.
I was in Liverpool. My intel said Danny was visiting a church.
I was on my way there when Calista’s father called to warn me I was walking into an ambush.
Fifteen minutes later the church blew up.
If he hadn’t called, I would’ve been inside. ”
“Does Calista know about her father?”
“No. Neither does his widow, and I’m trusting you not to tarnish the man’s memory. He didn’t volunteer to clean the mob’s money. And as you know, when you’re in, you’re in for life. Generations. His father made that deal. In the end, he did the right thing.”
And as his reward, his daughter had been kidnapped and trafficked.
“You have my word I will not tell her, and I’ll inform the team—”
“Keep that to yourself.”
I felt a prickle hit the base of my spine. He was asking me to keep something from a group of men whom I was bonding with. We were learning to trust each other. One of those men was Jack, who I trusted implicitly and would not keep secrets from.
“I can’t do that, Tom. I won’t keep something from my team. I trust them, and they will not betray my request and speak to Calista about this.”
“Catarina—”
“There is nothing you can say that will make me change my mind. I will not keep this from them.”
I waited a few moments for him to say something.
When he remained silent, I went on, “Call me if you get anything about the location of the auction.”
“I will.”
I disconnected the call, turned to get back to the team, and found Mason leaning against the wall, listening to my conversation.
Warfighter Mason was in the house. His stare was blank, mask fully in place, a thousand-yard stare that gave away nothing. This state, absolutely devoid of any emotion, was different from the other times he’d slipped into this persona.
Dead man walking.
That’s what he looked like—dead in the eyes.
I lifted a brow, inviting him to speak first.
“What did he want you to lie to us about?” Mason asked.
Tom hadn’t asked me to lie. He’d asked me to keep a secret, but I figured that to Mason, they’d be one and the same. So I answered.
“Calista’s grandfather made a deal with the Irish to clean their money. When her dad took over the laundering, he called the CIA. They turned him, and he became Tom’s informant. Her dad warned Tom he was walking into an ambush and saved his life.”
Mason was silent.
“Did I pass?”
“What?”
God, now the man was going to play dumb.
“Don’t,” I hissed. “Be honest about it. You heard what I said to Tom. You knew he wanted me to keep something from you. You heard me tell him I wouldn’t. You asked what that was. I told you. So, did I pass?”
“You’re asking me if you passed, not if I trust you.”
“We’ve already established this. I know you don’t trust me, and that’s okay. I get it. You trust me not to let you get shot. I trust you won’t tell someone to knife me to death. So we’re good.”
Mason’s mask bled away.
God, who hurt this man?
I understood being private. I understood holding your cards close to your vest. I knew what it meant to turn battle time on and, when it was over, turn it back off. But I had never seen someone break so hard, so fast, that the mask slipped on and off like his did.
“I promise I’ll step in front of a knife for you.”
I shook my head. “Great.”
“I . . .” Mason trailed off. “It takes me a while. Especially with women.” He paused again.
“I’ve known Mia most of my adult life and trust her, but .
. . I don’t. I love her more than anyone, including Pete.
She’s not my blood, but she’s my sister, and I still can’t allow myself to get too close. So . . .”
So there was no chance he’d ever trust me.
That was sad. I didn’t like it. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t be friends.
“You don’t need to spill your deepest, darkest secrets for me to be your friend.”
Relief and pain and panic melted together.
It was time to change the subject.
“We need to call Shep. I think Tom’s in love with the president’s wife. Or maybe not in love, but there is an emotional connection.”
The look of shock on Mase’s face was hilarious, but I didn’t have time to marvel. “Mason!” I snapped.
“Right. We need to call Shep.”
I started his way. He pushed off the wall, and I got no farther. He grabbed my arm to stop me.
“Don’t let me do to you what I do with the others.”
Was he giving me permission to pry? And why me?
“I’ll dust off my crowbar when we get home and start chipping away.”
“You might need an excavator,” he mumbled under his breath.
He was. He was giving me permission.
And I wouldn’t waste the opportunity by asking questions that did not matter. If Mason Hughes had picked me to break through his walls, and that might help him open himself up to the others—I’d learn to drive an excavator, and I’d dig.