She lingered for a moment, willing him to look at her, to reveal something of himself. A twitch. A word. An emotion. Anything that might clue her in on what he was thinking. If he was angry, she wanted him to lash out, hit her if he had to. Then she would know.
Knowing was better than walking out of his room, wondering if a gun was trained on her back. Because he had no moral code. When he killed, his victims rarely saw him coming.
As she stepped toward the door, the space between her shoulders blades tingled and chilled. She didn’t breathe until she entered the hall, grabbed her guns and clothes, and heard him turn the lock behind her.
CHAPTER 5
Tate leaned against the window of the second-floor apartment Cole had leased, growing more impatient by the second.
Come on, Lucia. Where are you?
The rustling of Cole’s papers sounded behind him, followed by the clink of Van’s tequila against the coffee table.
“Do you miss your wife yet?” Tate stared down at the grungy alley through a pair of high-powered binoculars.
“I missed her the instant I left the driveway,” Van said from the couch.
They’d only been in Caracas for three hours, and in that time, Tate had watched a man drag a woman out of the apartment next door to Lucia’s, punch her in the face, and stroll away. She called the police, and the five uniformed officers who showed up two hours later decided to rob her instead of helping her. They left with their arms loaded with shit, including a TV, a laptop, and her tiny dog. She’d crumpled on the sidewalk as they drove away and was still sitting there, head down, smoking a cigarette.
In the distance, the report of gunfire sounded. One shot. Then three more in rapid succession.
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that unnerving noise since he’d been here. He was already getting used to it.
“You should’ve stayed home.” He glanced back at Van, who stared blankly at his empty glass.
“I have an idea.” Van lifted his eyes, his smile clenched with straight white teeth. “Shut the fuck up.”
“I didn’t ask you to come.” Tate sure as shit didn’t want him here.
Forgiveness was one thing. Trusting Van to watch his back was a level of camaraderie they hadn’t reached.
Beside Van, Cole bent over a spread of maps and circled all the danger zones. There were a lot of fucking circles.
They’d left their IDs and personal phones in a locker at the airport. Didn’t bring photos of family members. No wedding ring on Van’s finger. No calling home to check in on loved ones. No connection whatsoever to their lives in Texas. These were Cole’s rules. In the event one of them was kidnapped.
Cole would only stay with them for a week. If something happened to Tate or Van after that, they were to give the kidnappers Cole’s number. He promised to handle any potential ransoms as painlessly as possible.
“Technically, every alley in Caracas is a kidnap alley. But this is the Kidnap Alley.” Cole circled another area on the map and looked up at Tate. “Give the window a rest and come here.”
“But—”
“She eats dinner with Badell every night and isn’t due back for another twenty minutes.”
With reluctance, Tate left his vigilance and crouched beside him.
“See how winding this road is?” Cole traced a snaking street on the map. “It’s a prime target for kidnappers. Lots of places for them to hide and trap motorists. And its proximity to the main motorway makes an easy escape.” He cast Tate a flinty glare. “Stay the fuck away from this road.”
“Got it.”
“I’m going to make this clearer, just in case you don’t.” He pulled a document out of his backpack and set it on the coffee table.
The letter header was stamped with a United States seal, and beneath it was a long list of first and last names. At least a hundred names. Maybe more.
“There’s a fuckton of competition in the Venezuelan kidnapping business. A lot of cops do it, too.” Cole tapped the paper. “These are just the kidnappers the U.S. government watches.”
A quick glance confirmed Tiago Badell was at the top of the list.
“Am I on any of those government watch lists?” Van arched a brow.
“I wouldn’t know.” Cole returned the document to his backpack.
“Bullshit.” Digging in his pocket, Van removed a toothpick and popped it between his teeth. “I looked you up. Know what I found? Nothing. Nada. You might be able to cover your electronic tracks, but no one is that good. Unless you work for an entity like the United States. So what is it? FBI? CIA? Some kind of secret government agency?”
Tate wanted to know those answers, too, but it was none of their business. “Van, don’t be a dick.”
“I work for myself.” Cole straightened, meeting the challenge in Van’s eyes.
“Guys in your line of work can’t be married or committed. Gives your enemies a target. Makes you weak.” Van lowered his gaze to the tattoo on Cole’s arm. “Is that why you lost the girl?”
“You don’t have to answer that.” Tate shot Van a warning look.
Cole slowly rose from the couch and paced to the window. With his back to the room, he gripped the window ledge and said quietly, “I gave up that job for the girl.”
And he lost her anyway. Tate felt bad for the guy and struggled for something to say to break up the thick silence. “I’m sorry, man.”
“I’m not.” Cole turned and rested his fingers in his front pockets. “She’s happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen her. There isn’t a single part of me that regrets that.” He shrugged. “It’s all I ever wanted for her.”
Taking the high road. Good for him. But what about his happiness?
Tate wasn’t in a position to preach. He’d walked into the innards of kidnapping hell to talk to a woman he’d never met. Why? Because he wanted to repay Camila for rescuing him? Wanted her to look at him the way she looked at Matias? Wanted to do something for her that Matias was unable to do? Yep. All those things. Fucked-up or not, his ego demanded it.
“I thought I loved Liv.”
The monotone declaration swung Tate’s head in Van’s direction, his eyebrows lifting in stunned silence. Van’s obsession with Liv hadn’t exactly been a secret, but it was in the past. No one discussed it. Especially not Van.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Van stretched his arms along the back of the couch, smiling at Tate. “You were there.”
“Yeah, I had a front row seat to that madness. Thanks for the reminder.”
Sitting on the floor, Tate reclined against the wall and lit a cigarette. During his captivity, the dynamic between Van and Liv had been the mindfuck of all mindfucks. Van’s temper was unpredictable, and more often than not, he’d unleashed it on Liv—hitting her without warning, fucking her despite her protests—while Tate watched from his chains.
He shuddered.
“I only brought it up to make a point.” The toothpick jogged in Van’s mouth, and his gaze turned inward. “The thing with Liv is I never put her before myself. Fuck her happiness. I wanted her, and that was that. Then I met Amber.” He shook his head and laughed to himself. “Setting her free was the bravest thing I ever did.”
Amber’s agoraphobia had been unmanageable back then, and Van realized he wasn’t helping. It shocked the hell out of everyone when he returned her to her isolated life.
Tate dropped the cigarette in an empty beer bottle. “But you got her back.”
“At the time, I was certain I wouldn’t. And here’s my point. When I lost Amber, I had a goddamn eye-opening epiphany, like a lightning bolt to the chest. I fucking love that woman so much it redefines the meaning of happiness. It’s not a matter of putting her happiness before mine. When she smiles, I feel a peace unlike anything I’ve felt in my life. And if letting her go is the only way for her to keep that smile, I would do it again in a heartbeat.”
“Poetic.” Cole stared at the floor, his mouth twisting in a sad grin. “I mean it. Be
cause I feel the exact same way.”
“I know why you’re telling me this,” Tate said, “and let me remind you Camila is with Matias. I let her go.”
“No, you didn’t.” Van leaned forward with elbows braced on his spread knees. “She was never yours. When she moved to Colombia, you didn’t have a choice in the matter.”
Not exactly true. Tate could’ve told her how he felt, fought for her, made her choose. He certainly didn’t have to go along with Matias’ plan to reunite them.
Matias would crap a cartel brick if he knew Tate was on a meet-and-greet mission with the man who abducted Camila eleven years ago. If Matias had it his way, Van would be dead, because he didn’t just grow up with Camila. He grew up with Lucia, too. Loved her like a sister. He wouldn’t want Van anywhere near her.