“Because?”
“I cannot say.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Valeria shrugged. “What do you want with my sister?”
Trees got the distinct impression Valeria would smell bullshit. “She owes me answers.”
“Do you deny that you want her in your bed again?”
So Laila had told her sister they’d had sex? “No.”
The little boy in the playpen grunted and rolled over. The single mother glanced her son’s way, watching until he settled again. It was the only hint Trees had that Valeria had feelings at all.
Finally, she faced him. “I overheard Zyron and Kane talking. Your friend seems to think my sister broke your heart.”
Fuck.
But her obvious bullshit meter, along with her arched brow, warned him not to be dishonest. “She did.”
“Do you still have feelings for her?”
Jesus, she wanted him to open his chest so she could inspect all the cuts her sister left? “Would I be here if I didn’t give a shit?”
Valeria shrugged. “Revenge is a powerful motive.”
It was, and he wanted it. But he couldn’t deny that some part of him wanted to make sure Laila was whole and safe—wanted to see it with his own two eyes—and protect her from the violent drug lords she continued to foolishly bait and taunt. “If you’re asking whether I’m in love with your sister, I am. But if you tell her that, I’ll deny it with my last breath.”
Valeria was quiet another long moment. “All right. I will keep your secret and I will tell you where to find her, if you promise me that you will stop her from playing dangerous games with the cutthroats of Tierra Caliente.”
There was nothing he wanted more. “Done. You call my bosses and demand that I retrieve her, and I’ll have Laila back in twenty-four hours.”
* * *
Mexico
Dawn painted the beach ethereal shades of pink, orange, and yellow. The water lapped at her toes. The coming Mexican spring had warmed the surf a bit since she’d arrived, but it still felt too cold.
Like her heart.
Day eleven without Trees. She still couldn’t decide what to do. Everything inside her wanted to rush back to him and throw herself into his arms, confess the video had been a lie, admit her feelings, and pray he forgave her. But that was impossible. She’d burned that bridge. Now she could only move forward.
After she’d fled Victor’s seedy motel room, told Valeria where to find Kimber, and sent that awful email to protect Trees, Laila had used some of Victor’s cash to purchase a vehicle from a farmer outside the nearest village and left his truck behind. From there, she’d retrieved her things, including Trees’s guns, from the abandoned villa near La Pesca and driven nearly a hundred miles south to Tampico.
As soon as she’d arrived, she braided her hair, shoved it under a cap she’d purchased at a seaside tourist shop, then rented a condo on the water from a woman and her sister with friendly smiles. Not that she trusted them. She didn’t trust anyone who hadn’t proven themselves. Thankfully, the sisters had allowed her to pay cash and hadn’t asked questions.
From the moment she’d arrived, she had done her best to disappear into the city. So far, it had worked. She felt more invisible than safe. But maybe that was the best she could hope for.
Being here, surrounded by people yet removed from them, had given her time to think—mostly about Trees. But she hadn’t managed to make any decisions.
Nor had Victor reared his head again. She still had his phone. She’d powered it down to preserve the battery, but in case she needed it or his contacts, she’d hung on to the device. But his uncharacteristic silence had her hoping that Montilla’s men had picked him up and ended his miserable existence.
The few times she’d powered up Victor’s mobile, she had poked around his messages and social media for information about his whereabouts or his plans. She’d only found rumors that Geraldo Montilla had been gravely injured when some Americans had broken into his hacienda and rescued the woman they’d been keeping captive.
So Kimber was free. Laila could feel good about that, at least. Everything else? Wretched. She’d abandoned her sister, though Valeria was seemingly safe with Kane Preston. She’d left Victor to die, though he deserved it. But she felt beyond guilty about Trees. He had done nothing but try to protect her and love her, and she had hurt him in the cruelest way possible. Yes, for his safety, but her reason wouldn’t matter to him. He’d surely written her off as a mercenary whore. He would never absolve her of her sins. Laila doubted she would ever absolve herself, either.
Gulls cried overhead. The smell of salt filled her nose. It was peaceful in the early hours. Soon, locals would flock here with their significant others or jog with their pets. Then families would show up with sunscreen and beach towels to bask in the golden rays. But right now, she felt like the only person in this corner of the world. She could be alone with her thoughts, her regrets. That should have brought her some level of peace.
It didn’t.
What was Trees doing now? Oddly, when she had called her sister a few minutes ago, Valeria had been oddly reserved, almost oblique. Laila didn’t know what to make of that. When she’d asked about Trees, Valeria claimed she knew nothing but warned that she likely hadn’t seen the last of him. When Laila asked why her sister believed that, Valeria had dodged the question, claiming Jorge needed her before she hung up. Laila had been walking the beach since.
What would she say if she ever saw Trees again? What would she do? The truth was, until she knew Victor was dead, any communication would put him at risk. And given all the years that cabrón had tyrannized her life, Laila couldn’t just blink or wave her magic wand to make her nemesis disappear. And if Montilla was actually at death’s door, did that mean Victor had slipped through the kingpin’s fingers? Or had Montilla exercised his version of justice on Victor before being felled by a bullet?