Did you hear?
She glanced back over her shoulder, saw the slow dip of Gus’s head. But something told her that he didn’t buy anything out of Nalini’s mouth; he didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust anybody but he’d never trust something coming from Nalini now. She was being tortured and Reyes thought she knew something about Alex. To Gus, that made her suspect.
NALINI was almost numb as Ignacio waved Jorge away. “Now, now . . . I’d promised we wouldn’t hurt her if she answered the question. Although, Nala, I do not care for your foul mouth.”
“Yeah?” She sneered at him. “Too fucking bad.”
“This really is your last chance. The injury to your face can be . . . well, it may or may not heal well. If I start cutting off fingers, Nala, you’ll never be able to use that beauty of yours to blind a man again.”
She smiled, the cut on her lower lip splitting wide. He planned on killing her—did he really think she was that naïve? “Did I blind you, Iggy?”
Damn it, Nalini. Shut up. The voice . . . Nalini frowned as it came to her mind again and she almost believed it wasn’t wishful thinking. Maybe . . .
Something danced just out of the corner of her eye. A flit of movement, a dark shadow lost to darker ones outside the window.
“Iggy . . .” She sucked in a breath. “Maybe I can help. A little.”
A pleased smile curved his face.
I’ve got a line in now, Nalini. Get ready.
She closed her eyes and wondered just how in hell she was supposed to get ready? “Yeah. Whatever . . .”
In the next second, Ignacio jerked upright like a marionette yanked on his strings.
His eyes rolled back in his head and he clamped his hands over his ears. A rapid-fire spate of Spanish exploded from him, and her pain-flooded mind took a few seconds to translate.
What is that terrible noise? Shut it up, Jorge!
She thought that was what he said.
Jorge answered back, shaking his head. “No, no oigo nada.”
“You . . .” Ignacio whispered, his eyes wide and glazed while he continued to cover his ears. “You are . . .”
He went white.
Jorge fisted his hand in her dreads. “Whatever you are doing, puta, stop it, now.” He pressed the edge of his knife against her neck.
And then, a muffled pop sounded.
It was followed by a thud.
Nalini was only vaguely aware of the fact that Jorge’s hand had fallen from her neck. All she could see was the man—long, lean, and lethal—coming through the window with death in his eyes.
Death . . . in his eyes, in his hands. On his soul.
You . . . she thought, dazed.
THE woman was drenched with her own blood. Restrained for now, cable ties holding her in place. He didn’t spare her more than a glance because she didn’t matter.
All that mattered was Ignacio Reyes, and the man was all but clawing at his ears. An attempt to silence Vaughnne’s voice, Gus supposed.
“Vaughnne.”
“I’m done,” she said, edging around him.
He stared at Reyes, waiting until the man lowered his hands, until he looked around. His gaze sought out Jorge. When he saw the corpse on the floor behind the other agent, there was only a flicker of his lashes to betray his emotions. No sign of fear showed on his face, in his eyes.
Nothing.
“So.” Reyes kept his body averted.
The man was a fool, thinking that would hide what he was doing.
“You finally return, Gustavo,” Reyes said as he drew the gun out.
“For you.” Gus smiled. “I always did want to come back for you.”
“And where is my son?”
“Where you’ll never get him.”
Reyes laughed, the malicious chuckle echoing through the room for a long, lingering moment. He spun around, already lifting the Derringer he’d been using his body to conceal. It didn’t bring Gus as much pleasure as he’d like to aim, squeeze.
The man went down with a scream, the weapon falling from his hand, his arm rendered useless.
“A useful piece of advice, cabrón,” Gus said, striding over to him and kicking the Derringer away. “Hide the weapon better. Don’t let me see it until you’re ready to pull the trigger.”
He pressed the muzzle of his Sig Sauer to Reyes’s temple. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought of this moment.”
“Go ahead, hijo de la chingada. Kill me. Just like you killed my wife.”
THOSE words froze the very heart of her. Vaughnne lifted her head and looked at Gus’s profile.
She never should have looked.
He must have felt her stare because he turned his head, glanced at her for just a second. Less.
And the bastard bleeding on the floor moved, shoving back and swiping out with his uninjured arm.
When he moved again, he had a knife in his hand.
Time slowed down to a crawl and she saw Gus jerk back, saw him lifting his weapon even as Ignacio Reyes shoved the blade into Gus’s side.
“Die, you stupid cabrón.”
Two shots rang out.
Vaughnne had no idea which one killed him.
The one she put through his head, or the one Gus put through his heart.
But Ignacio Reyes was down, his eyes sightless and fixed on the ceiling. Blood oozed from the wound to his right forearm. All of it spilled on the floor, turning it a deep, deep red.
Looking up, she stared at Gus.
But he’d already turned his back.
“He killed the boy’s mother,” Nalini said, her voice tight and low. “I saw it, Vaughnne.”
Picking up the pocket knife she’d been using to cut Nalini free, she focused on just that task. Just that.
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” she said quietly.
She’d heard her. She even believed it was true. Not so much because Nalini insisted.
But because of the very plain and simple fact that Gus wouldn’t look at her.
TWENTY-TWO
“YOU must promise me, Gustavo.”
“Consuelo, stop this foolishness. Come now. Put your arms around my neck.” Urgency was a constant alarm in his head. The boy was safe—he’d called in so many favors to get here, and Jimmy Doucet was at the door, clutching a terrified Alejandro in his arms. There weren’t many he’d trust with his family, but the old Cajun was one, and he had come without asking a single question.
Gustavo went to pick up his sister, fury twisting in him as he felt the odd, almost pulpy feel along her right side. So many ribs, broken. “No,” she said, flinching away and then gasping as even the pain from that tore through her. “I cannot go with you, ’mano. Listen to me, you have to get him away. I will slow you down and he’ll get Alejandro. He can never do that. Never. You must promise me he’ll never touch him again. Never find him.”
“He won’t,” he said, trying to calm her. “Now let’s go before they realize we are here.”
“I can’t walk,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t run.”
She started to cough and there was blood trickling from her mouth when the fit finally passed.
“Gus, if we’re going, son, we gotta go now,” Doucet said, his voice low and urgent.
“Have him and Alejandro wait outside,” she said, her voice softer, weaker.