Faded Gray Lines Page 11

  Finn Donovan.

  A shudder crawled up my spine. My stepfather was the main reason I left Houston and never returned. My mother saved face by telling people my hasty departure was just part of my wild and adventurous spirit, and I was all too happy to let her bask in her lie.

  “Wednesday’s not good for me.”

  “Please, darling, I need you here.”

  “Sure, you do. Just like always.” Then it hit me. “Wait, did some journalist find out I was home? Are they wondering why your daughter hasn’t been around for four years? Is your image a little dusty, Mother?”

  “Leighton, fresh start, remember?” Her patience cracked. “I’m extending an olive branch. Don’t break it.”

  I won’t. I’ll just shove it straight up your ass.

  “I’ll think about it.” I hung up without saying goodbye—another one of Lilith Harcourt

  Donovan’s cardinal sins. It felt so good I almost called her back so I could do it again.

  As I dropped my phone next to me, a cloud of steam billowed into the room before he did. Maybe it was supposed to be a warning because where there was smoke there tended to be fire, and an inferno followed next wearing nothing but a white towel.

  “Everything okay?” Mateo gave me a one-sided grin from underneath a hand towel draped over the right side of his face. I watched, mesmerized, as he rubbed the towel over the top of his head, squeezing the excess water from his hair before flinging it onto a chair by the window.

  He nodded to the phone still crushed in my hand. “When I turned off the water, I heard shouting. Is there a problem?”

  He didn’t leave me.

  I bared my teeth in a humorless smile. “Oh, that? No, that was just my mother.”

  “Ah, yes, the mayoress of this fine city. I forgot how intertwined with law and politics you Harcourts are. Well, she does certainly play well for the cameras, doesn’t she?”

  “Always has, always will.” Looking down, I examined the chipped nail polish on my thumb. Part of me hoped he’d drop the whole conversation.

  “So, what did she want?”

  Damn.

  “Nothing important—just demanding my presence at some campaign function she’s having on Wednesday.” As I obsessed over my non-existent manicure, I snuck a quick glance through my lashes and saw him move closer, the tiny towel shifting open with each step.

  Oh, hell.

  If I examined my nail any closer, I’d poke my damn eye out.

  “What time do you have to be there?” His shadow fell over me, and a drop of water from his still damp hair fell onto my bare thigh. Leaning over, he brushed it away without hesitation.

  “Are you kidding me? I’m not going.”

  “Why?”

  “In case you don’t remember, I had a hard day yesterday. I don’t think I’ll be in the partying mood, Matty.”

  Mateo. Mateo. Mateo. Shit.

  If he noticed my slipup, he didn’t correct me. “First of all, the party is four days away. Secondly, your reasoning is invalid.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “You’re sitting in a room, unarmed, with one of those bad guys.” Never moving his hand from my thigh, he leaned forward, his hair hanging over me like a curtain. “Does that scare you?”

  “No.”

  Yes. So much yes.

  “It should,” he warned. “Remember what I told you at the cantina—the only person you should ever trust is yourself.”

  “Why? Do you plan to hurt me?” Despite the bravado in my voice, I didn’t really know the answer.

  “I could,” he said, his breath fanning over my face. “In so many ways, little lamb. You’re still so lost, so unaware of everything around you. I’m a different version of the man you knew. I don’t wait for things anymore. I take what I want.”

  His words felt like a lead weight on my chest. “What do you want?”

  Mateo’s lips parted, and as he leaned in, I closed my eyes, the bruising pressure of his hand on my thigh creating a tornado of pleasure and pain. It was wrong, but I wanted it. My body was a selfish seductress who chained my convictions somewhere in the recesses of my mind and took control.

  But the kiss never came. Instead, a harsh crunch rang in my ear followed by a sticky drip on my bare shoulder. Opening my eyes, I watched Mateo pull away from my raised hand, chewing a chunk of my apple, a satisfied grin on his face.

  “Breakfast,” he said, his tongue darting out to lick juice from his bottom lip. “I want breakfast.”

  I didn’t know whether to pass out or smack him.

  Prying my fingers off the fruit, Mateo tossed it in the air and caught with ease. With a condescending wink, he took another bite and pointed to my phone. “Call your mother back and tell her you’ve changed your mind and you’re going.”

  “Why the hell would I do that? My mother and I don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

  “Still, she’s high profile, which makes you high profile. I assume since she’s in a race for the governor’s mansion, word has spread that her estranged daughter has returned home, yes?”

  I nodded, my head feeling way too heavy all of a sudden.

  He cocked his chin to the side. “Do you not see how this affects you? Leighton, I don’t give a shit about your mother, but don’t give anyone a reason to question you. If you don’t show up at the party, people are going to wonder why, which is going to lead to more investigating—”

  “Which is going to lead to finding out about my relationship with Luis and that he’s missing.”

  Mateo’s expression didn’t change. “You have to keep up appearances, whether you like it or not. What affects you affects me, and what affects me affects your brother. Keep that in mind, and don’t let personal vendettas cloud your judgment, or you’ll look guilty.”

  “To who?” I snapped, folding my arms across my chest. “Your cartel? From what I’ve seen, they don’t care about guilt—only power and money.”

  I expected him to fight me, but he calmly walked toward the window and pulled back the blinds. “Friends of yours?”

  I jumped off the bed and scrambled to the window. A dark sedan was parked across the street, eerily reminiscent of the same one that sat across from the cantina and the same one used to follow me all the way back to Houston. The windows were tinted just enough that I couldn’t see inside, but it didn’t matter. I knew who it was.

  “Oh, God.” I covered my mouth.

  “Open your eyes, Leighton,” he growled. “If you don’t think they’ve watched you, me, and your brother since you left Houston, you’re more naïve than I thought.”

  I should’ve been scared, but I’d quickly learned fear was a form of madness and both were valuable if used properly.

  “I’m not naïve,” I seethed between clenched teeth. “I left that girl behind a long time ago.”

  “Prove it,” he challenged. “It’ll be raining politicians there. Someone has to have a contact we can use.” His smoldering eyes scanned my body one last time before he turned toward the bathroom. Pausing at the doorway, he glanced over his shoulder. “Just bat those innocent doe eyes. They worked on me.”

  Sixteen

  Leighton

  It was ten thirty-six in the morning.

  Five minutes had passed since I’d finally been summoned.

  Two since I confessed to breaking into Emilio’s office, hacking into his computer, and reporting what I’d found.

  Zero since getting a response.

  Meeting Alex hadn’t seemed so risky before, but the longer I sat inside the shitty sedan watching patrons file in and out of Caliente, a rock settled deep in the pit of my stomach. It was almost time for the lunch rush, and Amanda would blow up my phone soon. I couldn’t risk Emilio noticing I’d disappeared. As a precaution, I’d snuck out the backdoor and walked an entire block out of the way to avoid being seen.

  They had to park across the fucking street.

  “So he has a file on your father,” Alex finally said, a ciga
rette dangling from his lips. “What the hell am I supposed to do with that?” Shaking his head, he pressed a button on his door and cracked his window barely an inch.

  I wrinkled my nose at the smell. “What do you mean? My father is dead. He was murdered by the cartel you expect me to betray. How are you not seeing the connection?”

  After taking a long drag off the end of his cigarette, he pulled it out of his mouth and pointed it at me. “You said you emailed it to yourself because there were other files on there.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, what were they? What damning evidence do you have, Agent Harcourt? What secret code did you crack to bring down the beast?”

  I folded my hands in my lap and stared at them. This was the part I dreaded telling him. “It never sent.”

  His hand paused midway to his mouth. “Beg your pardon?”

  I took a breath to calm my racing heart. “I said, it didn’t send. When I logged into my account this morning the email wasn’t there.”

  Alex shoved the cigarette in between his lips and grinned. “Imagine that.”

  It took everything I had not to rip the damn thing out of his mouth and ram it in his eye.

  “There’s something in those files,” I insisted. “Why the hell would Emilio Reyes have personal information on my father? Don’t you find that a bit odd?”

  “Frankly, Miss Harcourt, I find everything about your family a bit odd.” Annoyed, he turned to face me. “Did you ever stop to think maybe Reyes has a file on each one of you? I assume he’d be a shitty lieutenant if he didn’t know everything about Brody’s family.”

  “You don’t think he knows about—”

  Alex was quick to dismiss me. “No. I told you, they’re in a secure location. Hell, you don’t even know where they are.”

  I nodded, thankful, even though it felt like a rabid animal had devoured my heart. “Why haven’t you ever brought me to an office?” I asked, dread blooming in my stomach. “Even after what happened in San Marcos, you never took any official reports. I thought a DEA agent had to do stuff like that by law.” I realized it was the first time I’d ever asked such a simple question.

  Alex rolled his eyes as if he was insulted. “I like being in the open air. Corporate shit isn’t my style. Why? Do you want me to write up an official report? I will, if you insist, Leighton. Of course, I don’t think you’d like how you’d look on paper.”

  “You were the one sitting outside Eden Lachey’s old townhouse. Weren’t you?”

  “Me? No, stakeouts aren’t my thing anymore. I leave that to Swenson. But, yeah, I know you’re shacking up with Mateo Cortes.”

  “I’m not—”

  He held up his hand. “It wasn’t in the original agreement, but obviously, this isn’t a ‘by the book’ kind of case. I’ll look the other way so you can do whatever it is you have to do.”

  “What I have to do?” I repeated.

  He sliced his hand through the air. “Look, I don’t want to know what goes on between the sheets. Just get me something I can use.”

  I didn’t know whether to be shocked or offended he’d just given me the green light to whore myself out. Even I knew that wasn’t standard operating procedure, and it didn’t sit well with me. Regardless, I should’ve just taken the gift for what it was and be thankful he didn’t know about my past with Mateo.

  “So, do you have any pillow talk for me?” he asked, flicking the cigarette through the crack in his window.

  I swear to fuck, when this is all over, I’m going to have his badge.

  “First of all, you’re out of line,” I hissed. “Someone ran me off the road. I stayed with Mateo because it wasn’t safe at my brother’s place. Don’t read anything into it. Secondly, no, all I found out was that Valentin Carrera sent him to look out for me.”

  He tapped his index finger against the dimple in his chin, his eyes glittering with curiosity. “Why do you think he’s looking out for you? You’re a threat to them. After all, you killed one of their men.”

  Panicked, I said the first thing that came to mind. “You’re the DEA. Why are you asking me?”

  He seemed strangely amused. “Fine, but next time, I want something on Cortes. Also, get back in Reyes’s office. You said there’s a safe? I want in it. Blow the motherfucker up if you have to.”

  He glanced at his watch, and I knew my eviction wasn’t far behind. Jumping across the seat, I grabbed ahold of his jacket with both hands. “I did what you wanted. Alex, you can’t keep hanging this over my head. It’s cruel. I haven’t even talked to them, and it’s killing me.”

  “They’re safe.”

  “Let me talk to them. Just once.”

  Glancing down, he pried my grip off his lapels, refusing to speak until I’d slumped back into my own seat. “And then what? Allow Carrera’s men to trace the call and find them? Do you want that on your conscience?”

  My heart lodged in my throat. I knew Mateo would never do that. Whether he gave a shit about them or not, he wouldn’t hurt them. Emilio was another story.

  “But how are they supposed to understand this?” Hot tears blurred my eyes.

  The corners of his mouth turned down in a pensive frown, and hope sprung in my chest. However, he just shook his head and sighed.

  I screamed silently, the crushing blow of reality hitting hard. “You won’t stop until another Harcourt is in the ground.”

  I wasn’t looking for a response. It didn’t matter because I was getting one regardless.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t get to that point. By the way, Cortes dismantled the bug you planted in your brother’s apartment,” he said, smirking. “We’re not stupid, Miss Harcourt.” Nodding toward the bright green clock on the dash, he pointed his finger across the street. “You’d better get back to work. Break’s over.”

  Seventeen

  Leighton

  I balanced my elbows on the edge of the bar, digging my fingers in my hair and pulling hard on the strands. I waited all day, but Emilio never left his office. I even hung around after my shift ended, hoping he’d get called away, but it never happened.

  Finally, at seven-thirty in the evening, he walked out without a word. Of course, it did me no good now. The place was getting too crowded. The risk outweighed the reward.

  So why was I still here?

  Good question. Hanging around Caliente didn’t seem like the most logical solution, but then again, neither did going home and facing Brody. I’d managed to avoid his inquisition about Mateo, but it wouldn’t last. Eventually, I’d have to come clean about our tangled past.

  Shifting on the hard barstool, I pulled the crinkled picture from my back pocket. The edges had frayed, but the familiar grin still shone through the creases. As hopeless as I felt, just looking at it tugged the corner of my mouth into a half smile. Everything that was anything stared back at me in that picture.

  Time was ticking.

  “What’ll it be?” Glancing up, I noticed Sarah holding a shot glass high in the air like it was Simba from The Lion King.

  “Huh?”

  “That look on your face, sweets. You look like you lost your best friend,” she said, adjusting her newly-dyed ponytail.

  I focused on the glass, trying not to stare at the fucktastrophe on her head. Sarah’s formerly blonde hair was now a garish bright red, an unfortunate side effect from playing bathroom beautician with a box of Clairol. I suspected Emilio had something to do with the drastic change, considering his obvious obsession with all things Eden Lachey.

  “I only know one cure for a mood like yours and it goes in here,” she continued, pointing to the small glass in her hand. “Luckily for you, shots don’t require a recipe—just pour and slam. That’s my kind of mixology.”

  Because you suck at your job.

  I gaped at her. “Are you crazy? I can’t drink at work.”

  She raised a blonde eyebrow, the color horrific against her orange hairline. “Didn’t your shift end a couple of hours ago? You’re of
f the clock.”

  Her simplistic logic made perfect sense, and I slumped back into the barstool. “You know what? You’re right. Vodka, and keep ‘em coming.”

  Her only response was a wide grin as she poured the shot and set it in front of me. I slammed it before I could change my mind. The straight alcohol burned, but in a sick way, it made me feel better. At least the pain in my throat made me forget about the one in my heart.

  “Hit me again.”

  I placed the empty glasses in a horizontal line and counted them.

  Nine.

  Nine was a good number. Ten would be better.

  “Barkeep, another one!” I hiccupped and waved the empty glass in the air as Amanda appeared on my left. “Wanna know my secret,” I said, placing my finger against my lips. “I murdered Mufasa.”

  Or Luis. Tomayto, tomahto.

  “Thank God you’re here,” Sarah grumbled, snatching the glass out of my hand. “She’s been quoting The Lion King for the past hour and insists on calling me Simba. At one point she broke out into some drunk-ass version of ‘The Circle of Life’.” Glaring, she pointed an acrylic nail at me. “Control her.”

  Amanda just sighed. “Leighton...”

  “Oh my God!” Holding my phone in one hand, I flung the other one out wide, barely missing her face. “I just Googled the meaning of that song. It’s not an actual circle,” I informed her, sloppily forming the shape with my finger. “It means if something dies, it’s reborn into something else. That’s some deep shit!”

  I waited for her accolades. Instead, she just shook her head as an amused chuckle filled my ears. Turning to my right, I noticed a guy hunched over the bar in a tan trench coat, his back shaking with laughter.

  “Right?” I asked, happy for the validation.

  He said nothing, simply raising his drink in solidarity.

  “There you go.” I smirked, sticking my tongue out at Amanda. “He agrees.” Standing on my chair, I grabbed a bottle from behind the bar and raised it toward my new friend. “Cheers.”