Faded Gray Lines Page 24

  “Hector Diaz is dead. I think he might be connected to the man who was in Luis’s apartment that night. I think the Carreras are involved.”

  My heart sank. Despite all my efforts to protect everyone, I ruined the one protecting me.

  I lowered my head, nauseated to see my Caliente uniform staring back at me. “You’ve been using me this whole time.”

  “I prefer to think of it as using each other.”

  I’d deal with Alex’s deception later. Right now, one thought dominated my mind. “Why won’t my grandparents answer my calls?”

  “What part of protective custody don’t you understand?” His smirk faded, and if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve sworn he looked offended. “I may be an asshole, Leighton. I may want things you couldn’t possibly understand, but I wouldn’t put an innocent child’s life at risk.”

  “Only mine, right?” I snapped, my voice full of loathing.

  “You’re not innocent.”

  Jumping to my feet, I slapped my palms onto the table. “Emilio threatened Stella! I want her out. Get my daughter out of protective custody and bring her to me.”

  “You’re not in charge here!” he yelled, kicking his chair back and slamming his own hands onto the table. “Now sit down and shut up. Unless you’ve got what Cortes stole, I don’t want to hear shit out of you.”

  “Stole?” This was the first I’d heard about anything being stolen, and the shock buckled my knees, lowering me back into my chair. “Mateo didn’t steal anything.”

  Alex snapped his fingers in my face. “Wake the fuck up, Leighton. In case you haven’t figured it out, everyone has an agenda and you plug right into the middle. Draw a line, connect the dots—hell, sit down and think about shit for a minute instead of spreading your legs and maybe you won’t feel so fucking stupid when the lightbulb goes off.” Pushing off the table, he gathered the papers in his hands and stalked toward the door.

  He could spew all the insults he wanted, but it wouldn’t faze me. However, if he wanted lines drawn, I was more than happy to oblige.

  “You want me to connect the dots?” I seethed, gripping the edge of the table with both hands. “Fine, let’s talk about my father. Did you do this to him too?”

  Coming to a dead stop, he turned his head and glared at me.

  “You banked on my ignorance, didn’t you?” I taunted, not sure how far I could push him before he exploded. “I know you were on the same task force, so I have a question of my own.” Turning my chair around, I sat up straight and faced him head on. “Where were you when my father died? Did he connect the dots, too, Detective Atwood?”

  My only warning came as a low rumble in his throat before he lunged, and I found myself flying backward as he shoved my chair across the room. My back hit the wall, knocking the wind out of me, and I let out a grunt as he leaned down.

  “Your father’s death was unfortunate, but I’d be careful where I pointed fingers. You may not like what you find.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “We all make our own beds.” As if a wave of reality washed over him, he stood and reached into his jacket pocket. Pulling out a single piece of paper, he dropped it in my lap. “Either you agree to testify against Mateo Cortes, or I’m charging you as an accessory to murder.”

  “You said you wouldn’t hurt Stella!” I screamed as he jerked the door open.

  His face remained stone cold. “She has her grandparents. She’ll be fine.”

  Thirty-Three

  Mateo

  Sitting handcuffed in an interrogation room was nothing new to me. I doubted my pulse rose more than a point or two after being knocked around and left to wait for hours. Since living cartel life, the Houston Police Department became a revolving door for me.

  “Atwood!” I yelled, jerking on the handcuffs again. “I’m not getting any younger in here!”

  I let out a string of curses I knew no one cared about, but I couldn’t get the image of her out of my head. I promised Leighton no man would ever put his hands on her again, but they did while I watched.

  I didn’t even care her confession would probably put me away. Jail didn’t scare me. The only thing that scared me was the thought of Leighton taking the fall with me and our daughter growing up alone.

  My fists curled tighter in the cuffs. “Atwood! Either charge me or let me go, asshole.”

  The latch on the door released, and the familiar man from the campaign party walked in with a folder tucked under his arm. Sitting across from me, he raked his eyes down my face before throwing the file down and flipping it open.

  He smirked. “If you’d asked nicely, I would’ve come in a lot sooner.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “A pleasure as well, Mateo. No counsel?” he asked, gesturing around the empty room.

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “Fair enough.” He sifted through the papers in the folder and spread them out. “I’m sure you recognize Hector Diaz’s apartment. I mean, you were there first.”

  “So you keep telling me.”

  Atwood huffed out a laugh and reclined in his chair. “We investigated his apartment, thanks to the helpful tip from your girlfriend.”

  He was trying to rattle me into turning against Leighton. If that was the best he had, our visit would be short.

  “Good for you,” I said, my eyes never leaving his face.

  “You’re smart. I’ll give you that,” he conceded, holding up a photo of Hector’s living room. “You covered your tracks pretty well.” Dropping the photo, he picked up another one and flicked the black object in the middle with his finger. “You forgot to wipe your prints off the remote control though. Rookie mistake, Cortes.”

  Fuck.

  “Then charge me,” I demanded. “Why are you sitting here holding your dick?”

  He chuckled. “All in due time. I thought we’d have a chat first.” Flipping to the back of his file, he quirked an overgrown eyebrow. “Quite a rap sheet you’ve got here. Time served for felony possession with intent to sell? Aggravated assault?” He clucked his tongue. “Not very complimentary.”

  I had to give it to him. I’d been grilled by the best, and sooner or later, they all lost their temper. Atwood was a different breed. Maybe it was the trained DEA agent in him, but he seemed content to toss insults back and forth with no signs of breaking.

  It pissed me off.

  “Why are you so obsessed with me, Atwood?”

  He leveled a stare at me. “Maybe I’m picking heads on a platter—evil over innocence.”

  In that moment, I understood why he seemed so unflappable. Agent Atwood knew he held all the cards. He held the lives of the woman I loved and the child I’d yet to know in the palm of his hand and dangled them in front of me like a prize.

  He didn’t have to say it out loud. I understood the choice he wanted me to make.

  The family I honored with others men’s blood or the family I created with my own.

  Alex leaned both elbows on the table, a sheen of sweat beading on his upper lip. “What Leighton said proves she knew about what you did to Diaz, and it makes her an accessory after the fact. Either she cooperates with us or she goes down with you.”

  His threat was my undoing. Imagining her behind bars, scared and alone, unleashed a darkness that devoured me. Jerking on my restraints again, I roared, the sound inhuman. “What about my daughter, you son of a bitch? Why are you doing this?”

  Slamming the folder closed, he leaned over it, his face reddening with fury. “You cartel guys think you’re untouchable, but all it takes is one loose thread for everything to unravel. How ironic that the ADA’s sister will be the one to do it.”

  The monster in me begged to go for his jugular. Instead, I imagined Stella’s innocent face and regained control. “Why did you have Finn Donovan kill Hector instead of doing it yourself?”

  It was the last card I had to play, and it was an educated guess at best. But too many coincidences usually pointed toward a
conspiracy. Seeing them at the party together set off a warning bell, and the photo of Alex at Leighton’s father’s funeral rang it even louder. His obsession with Hector Diaz was the final link that clicked everything into place.

  “Finn Donovan?” Alex enunciated every syllable. “You mean the missing man, Finn Donovan? Are you admitting to another murder, Cortes? If so, speak loudly so the microphone can pick it up.” He pointed a finger toward the ceiling where a camera sat tucked in the corner.

  “Let her go.”

  Pursing his lips, he returned to his reclined position. “Let’s talk about your friends Emilio Reyes and Valentin Carrera.”

  “Eat shit.”

  “No thanks,” he said, rubbing his stomach. “I had a pretty big breakfast.” Picking up the folder, he tapped it against his palm. “Tell you what, hand over what you stole from Diaz, and maybe I won’t leave her in a holding cell.”

  I stared at him with new eyes, understanding him now more than ever. That was the thing with men like Atwood—get them talking long enough and eventually they tipped their hand.

  No one but Val and Bright knew I’d taken the flash drive from Hector’s apartment.

  And only two other people knew what was on it.

  “What could Diaz have had that you wanted so badly, Atwood?” I felt relaxed for the first time in five hours, and I suspected, for the first time in five hours, Alex Atwood didn’t.

  “Something that could free both of us,” he conceded.

  Houston’s official “on-call” Carrera counsel sat across from me, flipping through papers and making unpleasant grunting noises every time he read something he didn’t like. By the fifth groan and dramatic sigh, I wanted to grab the end of his sblue and white striped tie and choke him with it.

  “Why is he here?” I grumbled.

  Glancing up from his own stack of papers, Brody glared at me over the wire rims of his glasses. “I called him because you’re a moron and talked to the DEA without a lawyer present.”

  I shrugged. “Not my first rodeo.”

  “That’s because you’re a gigantic bull’s ass,” he muttered, readjusting his glasses and returning to his files.

  I didn’t know whether to punch him or laugh. The Brody Harcourt Val had blackmailed a little over a year ago was a far cry from the Carrera lieutenant sitting in front of me in a private counsel room at the Houston PD.

  “You do realize I’m still your boss, right?”

  “Speaking of bosses,” he said, taking off his glasses, “I called Val.”

  “You...what?”

  He held up his hand. “I wanted him to hear this from me before it made its way to Mexico. I also told him all they have is circumstantial evidence.”

  “You told Val? Fuck, Brody! If he finds out it was Leighton who caused this, he’ll kill her.”

  “Val doesn’t hurt women,” he repeated, his face paling.

  Idiota!

  “No, but he eliminates traitors. How do you think he’ll see Leighton after what she said to Atwood?”

  I didn’t want to be right. It made me physically sick to watch the reality of our world register on Brody’s face because I knew the same truth was plastered across mine. Depending on what happened in the next few hours, he may have just gotten his sister killed.

  “Shit. What do we do?” he asked, both hands fisting his blond hair. “They’re holding you until Leighton gives her statement. Once you’re charged and booked, Leighton will be subpoenaed.”

  I had no idea what bullshit Atwood was feeding Leighton. I just hoped she believed in us enough to not fall for it. “You’re the ADA,” I countered. “You tell me what we should do.”

  The asshole lawyer cleared his throat. “May I interject here—”

  “No!” Brody and I shouted at the same time.

  Frustrated, Brody pushed out of his chair and paced the room. “I’m not on the inside, Mateo. Because of my affiliation with Leighton, they won’t let me try the case.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway,” I said, dropping my head back. “The cartel will blow wide open, and you’ll go down too.”

  “Too bad it’s not the movies,” he quipped, not breaking a stride in his incessant pacing.

  “Why is that?”

  “This is the part where the hero marries the girl, so she doesn’t have to testify against him in court.” Collapsing against the wall, he crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. “If there’s no testimony, there’s no case.”

  “Is that a real thing?” I asked, sitting up, my eyes bouncing between the two of them.

  Once Brody’s brain registered my question, it took all of two seconds for him to lose his shit. “No. No fucking way.” Pushing off the wall, he came at me with an accusing finger. “I was kidding.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re not marrying my sister. Hell no.”

  It wasn’t the way I planned on it happening, and I sure as hell didn’t want it to involve a pending court case, but, regardless, the end result would be the same as I always wanted.

  “Why not?”

  Brody exploded, his breathing erratic. “Because she’s my family, not a solution, that’s why. I’ll take care of my sister, but you’re not doing this out of some code of honor.”

  Jumping to my feet, I kicked my chair so hard, it crashed into the wall. “I’m not! I’m doing this because I love her!”

  Thirty-Four

  Leighton

  Standing in the living room I’d been dragged out of twelve hours earlier felt anticlimactic. Not that I expected a welcome home party from the Houston PD, but the silence that greeted me only served as a reminder that they still had Mateo.

  Seeing my brother was the last thing I wanted, so I asked one of the officers to drive me home. As much as I loved Brody, I wasn’t prepared to answer the barrage of questions he’d have.

  I surveyed the damage left by the morning’s events. Pieces of broken lamp lay scattered everywhere and chairs had been kicked over as the officers forged their destructive path.

  And now I’d forged my own by signing the fucking paper.

  I caved and agreed to testify against the man I loved.

  Even though I had no plans to follow through with it, just admitting the words to myself made my skin crawl. The satisfaction on Alex’s face still made me stick to my stomach, but he could have his moment. He needed to remember how good it felt because as soon as I figured a way out of this, we were leaving Houston for good.

  Kicking my way through the mess, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My face was pale and sullen, my eyes swollen from crying. But it was my clothes that disgusted me the most. The Caliente uniform I wore represented everything I hated, and I wanted to rip it off and burn it in the courtyard.

  However, I’d settle for a shower and a pair of scissors.

  Stumbling into the bedroom, I turned on the light just as my phone rang. I considered ignoring it, but a sliver of hope bloomed in my heart, causing me to dive toward the nightstand. My hands shook as “unknown” displayed on the caller ID.

  Stella...

  “Hello?”

  “So, we finally meet, Leighton Harcourt.”

  I didn’t have to ask who it was. The hypnotic accent and authoritative command in his voice gave him away. “Why, Valentin Carrera, as I live and breathe.”

  “For now.”

  So, he already knew. Good news traveled fast.

  “Are you going to kill me?” I asked, my voice surprisingly calm.

  “Do you want me to?”

  “It would solve a lot of problems.” The logical side of my brain screamed at me to shut up, horrified at the invitation I just presented. However, the side that had just endured twelve hours of hell had already checked out.

  “True, your family has certainly put my business in some unfortunate situations I have to clean up.” Maybe it was the fatigue, but I could’ve sworn I heard a hint of respect in his voice.

  “So why are we still having th
is conversation?”

  Apparently my indifference amused him because Val laughed. “Leighton, you are so bound by cartel blood, and you have no idea what the stain on your hands even means.”

  I was sure that meant something important, but I’d grown tired of their cartel code bullshit. “In English, please?”

  “Your brother is a lieutenant,” he said, as if it were some shocking revelation. “My second is a man who’s willing to defy me to save you. You’re bound to us. Call it a gift or a curse, but for the rest of your life, eyes will be on you.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “And that’s supposed to be a good thing?”

  “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

  “My wrists were in handcuffs.”

  “Better than your head on a wooden stake, yes?”

  “Ah, and there’s the veiled threat,” I mocked. “Kudos for waiting this long to throw it out there.” I held my breath. I may have checked out, but even my reckless side knew the kingpin of the Carrera Cartel would only be pushed so far.

  “Leighton, this life is not for the soft-hearted. It’s ruthless and criminal, but we take care of our own. That especially includes Mateo.” The ease of our conversation shifted, his tone now deadly and direct. “I’ll say this once. Do not implicate him.”

  “That sounds like a warning. What happened to our bond?”

  “Your brother saved my life, and I’ll honor my vow to save yours.”

  “But?”

  “But trust me, I won’t break the one to my cartel to do it.”

  “Ha,” I shouted. “Trust. Why should I believe a cartel member?” Val Carrera was probably the last person I should’ve been venting to, but he started it, and desperate times called for psychotic measures. “You want the truth? The man I saw arguing with Luis had a tattoo—some disgusting half skull covered in black roses and shit. The same one I saw on Mateo.”

  “Niña tonta,” he muttered under his breath, and it spurred my irritation on even more.

  “For the record,” I snapped, “I speak Spanish, and I’m not foolish or a little girl. I am, however, very cautious.”