Code Name: Disavowed (Jameson Force Security 8)

This scared the cousin sufficiently that he promised to pass on the message to Orellana, which included an address to a restaurant where we wanted the meeting to take place that evening at seven p.m.

We chose a dining establishment that would never be frequented by Vecindario 18 gang members. It’s upscale and swanky and caters to the wealthy. The last part of the message the cousin was to deliver was that Orellana needed to dress appropriately so as not to draw attention to himself.

Ladd and I are at a square table that accommodates four, sitting across from each other. We each have a glass of wine and an appetizer to share, waiting to see if Orellana takes the bait and shows up. We both feel like he will because not only is fifty grand a lot of money, but this restaurant is in a section of town far removed from gang habitation and violence. The likelihood of him being recognized by any of his brethren is low and should make him feel safe enough to sit down with us.

Ladd and I both packed outfits that would allow us to dress up sufficiently for this restaurant, which serves the wealthier citizens and tourists. We’re posing as a married couple enjoying the flavor of the city, blending in with hundreds of others. The hotel we’re staying at is five-star and should keep us off Mejia’s radar. It’s definitely the best cover to keep us out of gang territory where we might be recognized.

And yes, we have to assume that Mejia is planning for us to come after him. After his failed attempt to take me out, he knows I won’t sit back and wait for it to happen again. The man is smart, and he knows I’ll be on the offensive. People will be looking for us the same way we’re looking for Mejia.

We wait for Orellana in silence, which has been our go-to form of communication—or rather lack thereof—since last night in Miami. The sex was raw and uninhibited, and it reminded me that nothing and no one could ever make me feel so lost to a person. The years melted away, and I remembered every nuance to our foreplay and lovemaking. His body was the same, his hair perhaps a little grayer, but his intuition and knowledge of exactly what I needed hadn’t diminished at all. I felt so in tune with him that it actually scared me.

And when it was all said and done, Ladd wanted to know why I sought him out ten years ago, and I admitted I’d been wrong and had a change of heart. I was mortified to make that admission and refused to elaborate, much to his consternation. But it would’ve been a waste of our energies to go there and would’ve served absolutely no purpose. Just as my trip to see him had served no purpose all those years ago because there was nothing left for me with Ladd.

“Orellana… coming up behind you,” Ladd says in a low voice, drawing me back to the present.

His eyes are fixated over my left shoulder. I don’t bother to turn and look at the man coming our way, because even though he and I have never met (to my knowledge)—and he most certainly was not one of the gang members involved in my abduction and near rape—he may have seen pictures of me. Those most recent photos of me were with my long, blond hair. I’m now a brunette with hair just above my shoulders, and I’m wearing heavy evening makeup tonight. I keep my back to him as Ladd watches his approach.

Orellana must be close because Ladd jerks his chin toward the chair to his right—which would be my left—and from my peripheral vision, the Vecindario 18 gang member pulls out the chair. I look up at him and we lock eyes.

There is absolutely no recognition in his face, which tells me a few things.

It could be that he has an amazing poker face and knows exactly who I am, but I’d never know it because he schools his features so masterfully.

I’m good at reading people, so it’s more likely we’ve never crossed paths and he’s never been shown my picture. If that’s the case, it tells me he’s fairly low on the totem pole and probably doesn’t have direct contact with Mejia. His information will be coming by word of mouth or gang gossip.

“Frankie,” Ladd greets him politely. The man sinks down into the chair, and I’m impressed that he looks nothing like a gang member. He’s wearing dress slacks and a button-down shirt. His hair is styled and he’s clean-shaven. I suspect there must be an identifying tattoo near his lower neck or collarbone as the only thing that looks out of place is the shirt fastened all the way to the top, lending him a slightly nerdish quality. I hadn’t noticed his hands before he sat down, but he keeps them on his lap, and I’m guessing they bear tattoos that would not exactly fit in at this restaurant.