The device on her truck was the only one Tomas found. He’d scoured her belongings but… “I didn’t check her body for chips.”
“I have a reliable detector.” Cole nodded at his bag on the table. “She’s clean.”
“And you verified her occupation.”
“Yes, but it could be a front. Especially if a three-letter agency is involved.” The disk in Cole’s hand stopped moving. He looked up and tossed it to Tomas.
He caught it and turned the plastic coin-shaped object this way and that, baffled. “What is this?”
“A high-tech GSM bug. I pulled it from her house and disabled it. There are dozens more there.”
“Shit.” He inspected it more closely. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Brand new technology. Insanely long battery life. High-speed transmissions. You can’t even buy that on the black market. It’s impossible to obtain unless you’re tied in with NSA or black ops.”
A chill trickled down his spine. “You think she could be involved with a government agency?”
“An agency or an agency rogue.” A dark look clouded Cole’s expression, and he ran a hand down his face. “She could be working for someone. Running from someone. Or she has a lusty-minded stalker with access to cutting-edge espionage tech.”
“Fuck.” Tomas dropped the bug on the coffee table and slumped back on the couch. “So in summary, she knows everything about us. We know very little about her, and at this point, anything is plausible.”
“Pretty much.”
CHAPTER 10
Tomas scraped a hand over his head, impatient to be back in Colombia with his friends and eager to leave the desert memories behind. Ghosts lived in these walls, in the dust, in the arid sand.
He didn’t want to be here.
Cole pushed off the couch and ambled to the kitchen. A moment later, he returned with two Bud Lights.
“Thanks.” Tomas accepted the cold beer and reluctantly said, “Thanks for coming.”
“Yep.”
Cole would scour Rylee’s life from end to end until he flushed out the truth. In the meantime, Tomas needed to bury a body and babysit the meddling woman.
She wasn’t going to be cooperative. By the time she woke, she should have enough strength to bathe herself. And fight him tooth and nail. After the hell he put her through, escape would be her priority.
Her health, however, wouldn’t be one-hundred-percent. She hadn’t eaten in three days. He could starve her for up to three weeks. That had been his plan—keep her weak and hungry, wear her down, and offer her food in exchange for information.
He’d put the rule of threes in play to fuck with her head and prove his ruthlessness. No air for three minutes. No water for three days. She knew what came next.
He drained the beer. “I’m going to starve her.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” Resting his elbows on his knees, he met Cole’s eyes.
He didn’t need to explain himself to anyone, but there was no reason to be a dick. So he told Cole why he’d put her in the desert and what he planned to do with her next.
“Jesus.” Cole blew out a breath. “What if she knows nothing, and her only crime is reading your emails?”
“If you tell me you never tortured an innocent suspect during your unofficial government career, I’ll eat my shoe.”
“I can’t tell you that. But I will say this. It fucks with you, Tomas. Doesn’t matter what cause you’re fighting for. When you hurt someone who doesn’t deserve to be hurt, that shit leaves scars. Nightmare-inducing scars that keep you awake at night. The guilt festers and changes the makeup of your character.”
“Which government agency did that to you?”
“Can’t say.”
“Are you still working for them?”
“I work for myself.”
“What happened?” He directed his eyes at the tattooed silhouette on Cole’s arm.
From wrist to elbow, black ink filled in the figure of a woman on a dance pole. Last year, she was the only tattoo on that arm. Now a tapestry of drawings crowded in around her as if he were slowly working his way toward fading her out.
There was so much chaos in the illustrations it was hard to guess if each piece had been a spontaneous addition or somehow part of a premeditated vision. Spider webs, fire, chains, plants, various depictions of the sun, and random unknown symbols—all of it overlapped and blended together, sleeving both arms and one entire pec.
He returned his attention to the inked dancer. “Is she the one you hurt?”
“One of many.” Cole stared at his beer. “The only one who mattered.”
“How long ago?”
“Years. A lifetime ago.”
He’d never seen Cole with a woman. Couldn’t even imagine it. At the headquarters in Colombia where they lived, there was no shortage of willing pussy. The cartel loved their girls. But not Cole. Whenever one of the ladies approached him, she was met with a sneer of disgust.
“When was the last time you got laid?”
“None of your goddamn business.” Cole stood and strode back to the kitchen, grabbing two more beers.