Wicked Ever After (Wicked & Devoted 2)

“You can’t say or do anything to him.”

“The hell I can’t.”

“He doesn’t know yet. He left on a mission last night, and I don’t know when he’ll be back. He’s gone after the guy who held him captive in Mexico, so I don’t even know if he’ll return in one piece. I’m worried.” She clutched the phone. “You have to promise me—”

“That when he shows his ugly face I won’t kill him? I can’t promise that.”

“Cutter, you aren’t helping.”

“All right.” His voice took a gentle turn. “I promise we’ll figure this out. I’ll take care of you. I always have. I always will. And I hate to do this to you now, but I have to go.”

“Are you in a situation?”

“Client meeting.”

She winced. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m glad you called me. As soon as I’m free, we’ll talk, okay?”

“Thanks.”

The sudden silence in her ear told her that Cutter had ended the call. The sound was lonely and terrifying. And when she darkened her own device and tossed it on the bed, she lowered her head in her hands and started to cry again.

Chapter Two

Wednesday, October 29

Orlando, Florida

“You realize this is the work of our internal mole,” Hunter Edgington said over the phone.

“I’d come to the same conclusion.” One-Mile paced the small bedroom in the thoroughly average house located in Orlando, itching to get out. “Who else knew you’d stashed Valeria Montilla on the outskirts of St. Louis?”

“While she and her son lived there alone? Only Logan, Joaquin, and me. After we pulled Laila out of Montilla’s Mexican compound when we rescued you? We had to make all those last-minute arrangements to get her to Valeria’s, so the whole damn team knew.”

“Which means we’re back to square one trying to figure out who the fucking traitor is.”

“For now,” Hunter admitted. “But it appears you’ve relocated Valeria and her family to Florida without Montilla being any wiser.”

At least something good had come out of this shit show. “Who on our team knows Valeria’s new location?”

“Besides Logan and Joaquin? Just you.”

“I suggest we keep it that way.”

“That’s the consensus here. The fewer people who know, the better.”

“Yep.” But it was bugging the shit out of One-Mile not to know who had tipped off Montilla about Valeria’s St. Louis safe house. Which asshole on his team couldn’t be trusted?

It was also bugging the shit out of him to be away from Brea.

When Hunter had called and said it was imperative he get to St. Louis and relocate Montilla’s estranged wife from her no-longer-safe house before sunrise, One-Mile had just asked Brea to move in with him. The timing of the mission had sucked. He’d hated leaving her so abruptly, especially right after dumping his daddy bullshit on her with no explanation. But she loved him, and he loved her. Lives had been on the line.

So he’d left and caught a charter flight to St. Louis. By three thirty a.m., he’d been pounding on Valeria’s door. Telling her that the feds had spotted her estranged husband in the area hadn’t gone over well. Insisting the terrified woman pack up her infant son and her sister, along with whatever they could fit in his rented van so they could be gone before sunrise had been met with rants and tears. But she’d done it.

For the next two days, he’d driven two tense women and a fussy baby halfway across the country to this rental in Orlando—and safety. But One-Mile was still on edge.

He hadn’t talked much to Brea in almost a week. He hadn’t been worried at first. He’d been busy as hell until Sunday, and he’d known she spent that day with her dad and the church. But he’d only heard snippets from her on Monday and Tuesday. Yes, she’d locked his house up behind her. No, she wasn’t angry that he’d had to leave. Of course she wanted to talk when he got home.

But there was something she wasn’t saying. Something bothering her. He was itching to get home and address it.

“You haven’t seen any sign of Montilla since you arrived, right?” Hunter asked.

“No.” He’d been in Orlando over seventy-two hours. And he knew damn well they hadn’t been followed. “I think the coast is clear. Do we have any idea where Montilla is now or if he’s figured out his wife has relocated?”

“A few hours after you pulled out of St. Louis, he was spotted less than two miles from her safe house.”

Closer than in previous sightings. But the asshole obviously hadn’t known his estranged wife’s location or he would have already torn the place apart. “But nothing since then?”

“No.”

That gave One-Mile an idea. “Did he come with his entourage?”

“Since this is a personal thing, we think he’s alone. He has been every time he’s been spotted, according to the feds.”

Perfect. “I want to go back to St. Louis and find him.”