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She was equally certain that he could cause all kinds of problems. He stood solid, straight as a soldier, shoulders back, and even though he wasn’t obvious with it, she had a feeling he’d already looked and judged everybody in the room. Looked, marked the weaknesses, the strengths.

She didn’t much care for that.

“I’d like everybody to meet Antonio Moran. He’s in from Mexico . . . he has a few questions about a fire that took place at a private home, an hour west of Monterrey.”

A fire—

West of Monterrey.

Just like that, and her heart almost stopped. She kept her face blank, though, even as her pulse started to race, as her skin went cold and clammy and all the air squeezed out of her lungs.

A fire

The world stopped spinning. She’d almost swear to it.

She’d taken Nalini to a hospital in Monterrey. They’d driven east. The home hadn’t been burning when she left. Jones wouldn’t have the guy in here if it was just some random house.

Gus—

Her heart went tight and cold, and there was a scream lodged in her throat.

“I’m attempting to locate a person of interest. I think he might have answers about the fire.” Moran studied her face. “You might have met him while you were in Mexico.”

“I was just there to help a fellow agent, Señor Moran,” she said, moving forward to take a seat. Despite her best attempts, her voice came out a little rougher than she liked. “She needed backup, so I was down there for that, and only that.”

That was the story they’d decided to go with. Nalini had been on an assignment; things had gone to hell. It wasn’t too terribly far from the truth. Except for the fact that Vaughnne hadn’t been sent to help Nalini, and she hadn’t been in Mexico on any sort of job . . . but . . . well. If Jones decided to come clean and let her fend for herself, she’d deal with it then. She’d made her choice.

“The house belonged to a man who has been under intense scrutiny by both my government and yours . . . Ignacio Reyes.”

“Reyes.” A knot swelled in her throat, so large and hard, she could barely talk. Her hands were sweaty and she swiped them down her jeans before reaching for the bottle of water waiting on the table. “Ignacio Reyes. Yeah, I’m familiar with the name. Were there any fatalities?”

“We are still investigating at this point.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she shot Jones a glance, struggling to keep her face blank even though all she wanted to do was jump over the table and demand that he tell her what in the hell was going on. Anything. Everything.

The calm look on his face shattered every last nerve she had and she knew he knew something. Hell, he might know everything. This was Taylor Jones, damn it.

Instead of attacking him, she looked back at Moran. “Exactly what can I do for you, then, señor?”

“I just had a few questions.”

Vaughnne leaned back in her chair and laced her hands over her belly. Maybe that would keep them from shaking so much. “Well, I’m not sure how much help I can be, señor. Reyes was a bastard, but we focus more on missing persons and crimes against children in this unit.” She paused then added, “It wouldn’t hurt my feelings, though, if I heard he’d died in the fire.”

A faint smile came and went on Moran’s face. “I imagine a great many feel the same way, Agent . . .”

“MacMeans. Vaughnne MacMeans.” All the bureaucratic games she had to play. What the hell was going on? “So were there fatalities? Reyes or anybody else?”

Moran studied her face for a long, long moment, and she had a feeling the question hadn’t been quite as subtle as she’d hoped. Hard to be subtle, though, when her heart felt like it was bleeding inside her chest. Gus . . . damn it, Gus. What did you do?

“We’re still in the process of investigating, Agent MacMeans,” he said, inclining his head. “I’m actually not here for information on Reyes, though. I’m looking for information on somebody else. A man, about your age, perhaps a few years older.”

“This would be your . . . person of interest?” She made herself smile.

Gus.

As he placed his briefcase on the conference table, Vaughnne tried to breathe around the ache in her chest. Tried, but it was so damn hard. Her heart felt like it was broken and she wanted to demand answers but she had already messed things up so bad and she knew it.

Then Moran pulled out a slim file from the briefcase and opened it. A second later, she saw a picture. Her heart jumped into her throat and she was so very glad she’d had years to learn how to hide her reaction. When she saw Gus’s averted profile, everything inside her felt frozen. Ready to shatter at just one blow.

Unblinking, she stared at the grainy image. Oh, it was him. There was no denying it, even though it was a lousy picture. All she could see was his profile, the carved line of his jaw, the ball cap turned backward.

“Does he look at all familiar to you?”

She made herself sigh and lean forward, studying the picture under a pretense of trying to see it better. Gus . . . “Hell, that could be anybody, Señor Moran. Well. Not anybody.” She jerked her chin toward Jones. “It’s probably not him. It’s not Crawford.” She flicked a glance at the quiet, brooding agent by the wall. “Not too many people have a mug like his. I don’t think it’s you or me. But it could be a million men.”

No. Just one. One who’d proven to be rather good at blending in.

She wanted to reach out and snag the picture from Moran, clutch it close, and ask if he had more. Ask if he had news about Gus.

But she didn’t.

Something big was going on, and although fear curdled inside her heart, she wasn’t going to say a damn thing until she knew more. Not a damn thing. Too many things could make a bad situation even worse. For her . . . and worse, for Gus.

Moran held her gaze for a long moment. “Does that mean you do not know him?”

“It means I don’t know if I know him.” She hoped the ache in her heart wouldn’t show on her face. Why . . . those had been her last words to him.

Had he set the fire?

That was a stupid question, she realized. Of course he had. The real question was, had he gotten out?

Her heart lurched, just thinking about it. Gus had always acted like he wouldn’t be surprised if the trip to Mexico turned out to be a one-way thing. But Alex, what about Alex?

What about me . . .

If Gus was dead . . . no! She shoved the thought aside before it could even settle. No.

She’d get answers. Somehow. Once she had them, then she’d deal . . . somehow.

She peered at the image, head cocked. Tears burned inside her throat, in her chest. Gus . . .

“It could be almost anybody, sir,” she said softly.

“Yes.” He stared at her, his gaze unreadable. “I suppose it could.”

* * *

JONES returned nearly thirty minutes after he’d escorted Moran out.

He spoke to Nalini, and although Vaughnne was right there, she couldn’t recall much of anything he said. It was like he was speaking another language.

But then Nalini left, Grady following along behind her. Joss lingered a few more minutes and then he left as well.

The door shut and the tension in the room almost shattered her, and she was hovering on the brink as it was, about to come out of her skin. She’d spent every second of the past half hour on her iPhone, trying to unearth details about the fire, but she hadn’t learned anything. The boys down in Mexico were keeping that little mess locked down tight. There wasn’t even any information about Reyes’s death, and that should be front-page news.