“If we want to hit the ground running, we should game plan before we land,” Matt suggested in the seat beside him, cowboy hat perched on his knee.
Trees didn’t disagree, but it was fucking hard to plan when they had no idea what they’d find once they hit the ground. “I’m going straight to the racetrack to talk to the two”—horny assholes—“security guards who last saw Laila.”
Matt nodded. “We don’t know what she might have said to them once they walked off camera. I’ll go with you. The other two can grab a car and start trailing the truck Victor Ramos rented in his late brother’s name.”
If the cowboy stayed out of his way… “Works for me.”
Trevor seemed like a stand-up guy. Coincidentally enough, he and One-Mile Walker had gone to high school together. Neither had been a big fan of the other. Trevor had nicknamed Walker Serial Killer, which proved that Forsythe had decent instincts. Jack Cole’s friend Ghost, on the other hand? Trees was more than cool keeping distance between them. If someone had put a gun to his head and forced him to describe the guy in one line, tatted-up, antisocial badass motherfucker would be about right. Apparently, his name was Grayson. Trees didn’t know if that was first or last, and he didn’t feel like asking since he was pretty sure Ghost would look through him with those dead, silvery eyes—before he tried gouging out his heart with a screwdriver.
Montgomery’s phone dinged. “I just got an update from Stone in the war room. Looks like the U-Haul is still traveling north, on approach to Tallahassee.”
“They won’t be stopping there.”
“How do you know?”
Trees scowled at Matt. “They’re taking that Ferrari someplace where Victor can either sell it or hide it. Since I don’t think he took the car for the money, I’m betting on the latter. And Tallahassee isn’t a great place to stash something that flashy. Besides, if Victor is smart, he’ll want to get far away from the scene of the crime.”
The big blond cowboy nodded in seeming agreement. “True. They don’t know when the cops might be onto them.”
“Or Geraldo Montilla.” But neither was Victor Ramos’s biggest issue. Trees was on a mission to separate the asshole from Laila. Whatever he’d done to hurt and coerce her was coming to a violent and very final end.
“If he catches them, I’m sure Ramos would beg for the cops. Where do you think he’s taking Laila?”
That question had been bugging Trees. “I don’t know. If they aren’t going to unload the car for cash, then…my best guess is they’re using it as leverage, to hold something over Montilla’s head.”
“Like?”
“Maybe her family’s safety.” After all, that was probably what Victor had threatened, too. But what was in it for Ramos?
“Laila is in a rough spot, trapped with someone ruthless who’s hurt her before. But from what I understand, she’s a tough woman. Smart. She’ll—”
“Be fine?” He raised a brow at the cowboy. The son of a bitch better not let those words come out of his mouth.
“Survive. At least until we find her. Sometimes that’s all we can hope for.” Matt sounded like he spoke from experience, and Trees wondered what that was about. But the cowboy ended the conversation and looked out the window with a somber stare.
Trees glanced across the plush cabin. Trevor and Ghost both hunkered down in their enormous leather seats. Trevor looked like a bureaucrat—nondescript haircut, tailored suit, and nice manners. But there was something brutally shrewd and aware about the guy, even when he seemingly closed his eyes and relaxed. Ghost didn’t bother with the pretense of a nap. He focused his unblinking stare straight ahead, exercising the kind of still and patience that told Trees the guy would be a deadly fucking professional in action.
Trees tried to kick back and drift off, but images of Laila pelted his brain. He needed to figure out what she was up against and what she might be planning. He wanted to be fully prepared to help her when he found her.
The rest of the plane ride was silent. After a smooth landing, each of them grabbed their bags and promised to check in with news. Then they hit the ground running, splitting up as soon as their feet touched terra firma.
The ride to the racetrack south of Orlando was both a frustrating snarl of traffic and a total waste of time. The big guard in the wifebeater showed up with nothing but bad attitude and a seeming case of amnesia, because he claimed he couldn’t remember anything. A few hundred bucks loosened his tongue but didn’t help him impart any new light. According to him, the minute Laila had followed him and his no-show counterpart to the guard shack, she’d trapped them inside and fled.
The interview lasted less than ten minutes.
Matt drove away from the racetrack, navigating his way into a turn lane with a scowl. “What did you think?”
If he was going to have to deal with the albatross of Walker’s bestie, he might as well use the guy as a sounding board. “Not much more than I thought before. Laila is helping Ramos for a reason. At first I thought it was because he threatened her.”
“That’s still possible.”
“Likely, even. But I keep replaying things she said to me… She’s fucking done with her family being hunted. She wants her sister to be happy and her nephew to have a normal childhood.”
“What does she want for herself?”
Trees shook his head. “Laila doesn’t think about that. I doubt it’s even crossed her mind. But there’s a chance she’s cooperating with Ramos because she thinks something will change.”
“Like?”
Elbow resting on the car door, he tapped his thumb against the hard plastic beneath. “Like helping Ramos will somehow get Montilla—and maybe even Ramos, too—out of the picture.”
Matt snorted. “Eliminating them both would be ballsy, but maybe she’s onto something. It’s not far-fetched to think that Montilla will hunt Ramos down and squash him like a bug for stealing his classic Ferrari. After all, if we got our hands on the footage of the theft in a couple of hours, what are the odds the owner of the stolen vehicle hasn’t seen it?”
Trees had thought of that. “He has, way before us. It also stands to reason that if we could figure out who Ramos was from the clip, so could Montilla—if he didn’t already guess.”
“You don’t get where Montilla is without knowing shit.”
“You don’t. You also don’t get where Montilla is by turning the other cheek or ruling with anything less than an iron fist. He’ll come after Ramos—hard.”
“If he can find the weasel. Do you know where he might hole up?”
“Since EM Security raided Emilo Montilla’s Mexican compound and One-Mile killed the bastard?” Trees shook his head. “But I’ve done a round with him before. If I can find him, I can take him.”
“If you were Ramos, would you stay in the States?”