Manipulate (Deliver 6)

Two years after her arrest, she stepped out of prison as a free woman.

A buzz of electricity exploded inside her. The good kind. The bursting-with-warmth kind that carried more possibilities than she could hold in her chest. Endless paths awaited her feet, but there was only one path she wanted.

The Arizona sun burned into her retinas as she scanned the parking lot of glinting metal.

Were they here?

What if they weren’t?

She would have to figure out where to go and how to get there.

She would have to start a life without them. She’d braced herself for that prospect, but the thought still lanced unbearable pain through her insides.

The scent of asphalt and desert heat filled her lungs. There was no wind, but she felt the wide-open air, vast and alive and all around her.

She swayed beneath the petrifying surrealism of standing outside without walls, bars, or shackles. Hell, she’d been reeling since she left Jaulaso.

She hadn’t seen a man, an illegal drug, or a weapon of any kind in three months. Everything was different in federal prison—the rules, the meals, the curfew, the women… Good God, when she’d arrived here, she hadn’t been around another woman in two years. She still didn’t know how to interact with them.

The differences between this prison and Jaulaso were so extreme she’d spent the last three months in a dazed state of shell shock.

But the biggest shock came last week.

Out of nowhere, someone had deposited funds into her prison bank account. The amount had been more than enough to purchase snacks and nicer prison shoes from the prison commissary.

The anonymous donor hadn’t left a message, but she hoped.

She hoped with all the hope that remained in her shattered heart that Martin and Ricky had found her.

If they had, she didn’t know how. They would’ve had to search the U.S. prison databases. How would they even know to look for her in the States?

With her eyes on the parking lot, she wandered down the sidewalk, dressed in the same jeans and t-shirt she wore the day she killed Hector La Rocha.

Her clothes had been in storage, never washed. That meant the black cotton of her shirt retained the bloody specks of Hector’s death.

The authorities didn’t know she had done it. No one had even questioned her. The news stories called it a deadly dispute within the cartel.

She still couldn’t believe she’d killed him.

Her father.

The notorious crime boss of La Rocha Cartel.

The same day it happened, she sat through her transfer hearing, accepted her guilt, and learned her transferred sentence of three years in Mexico converted into only three months in the United States. Transferees didn’t always get a reduced sentence, but it happened sometimes. She was one of the lucky ones.

She would never be acquitted of the drug smuggling charges, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered more than finding the two men she loved with every breath in her body.

The long sidewalk led her to the parking lot. Cars occupied almost every spot in a sea of steel and glass. Beyond that lay endless desert. She shielded her eyes from the sun and raked her gaze back and forth, searching, aching, panicking.

Nothing moved.

No one was coming.

Just as she was about to let go of the dwindling ray of hope that flickered inside her, the rumble of an engine sounded.

On the far side of the lot, a large SUV pulled out of its spot and slowly motored toward her. More vehicles followed suit—a truck, several sports cars, and a luxury sedan—all scattered through the lot and leaving their parked positions at the same time.

Her pulse careened into a gallop.

Garra had warned her that Hector’s sons would avenge their father’s death. Had they found her? Would they try to abduct her or kill her on federal property?

She spun back toward the entrance, knowing she would never make it up that long path in time. Terror consumed her as she bolted into a sprint.

Car doors opened behind her, and footsteps closed in.

“Tula!” The familiar masculine voice pierced shards of light through her tunnel vision.

She faltered, gulping for air as she whirled back.

Two pairs of arms came around her, enveloping her in the strange scents of cologne, aftershave, and woodsy shampoo. None of the fragrances belonged to Martin and Ricky, but her body recognized every chiseled inch of them.

Her hands identified the carved definition in their chests. Her fingers distinguished the differences in the textures of their hair as she pulled their heads toward her. Her gaze found green eyes, brown eyes, and all the gorgeous features that had occupied her thoughts since the day they walked into Area Three.

She melted instantly into the press of their bodies, caressing and grabbing solid muscle while trying to maintain eye contact.

“You came.” She choked on a sob and pushed back just enough to reach for their faces. “You’re here.”