So have your fun.
Play with your little girls.
But we both know that it is me you'll come back to.
Me that you need.
Ice filled him as he read it. He had no idea which of the women who'd been in his bed had sent it--analysis of the paper, font, envelope gave no clue. All he knew was that the letters had started over a year ago, but considering the number of women he'd entertained, that didn't help much.
Each new letter made his gut twist. Because although he knew it wasn't true, each word could have been written by Jane.
Fuck.
He crammed the letter back into the duffel and braced himself as the plane landed, the force pushing him against the back of his seat. He closed his eyes and for just a moment he succumbed to physics instead of manipulating, twisting, and trying to rearrange the world.
Then the plane slowed and the interlude was over. He opened his eyes and waited for Susie to open the door and lower the stairs. The instant he stepped out of the jet and into the sunshine, he knew that something was wrong.
Liam stood on the tarmac, his straight posture revealing his army training, and his expressionless face a reflection of his years in military intelligence--Liam never gave anything away. Not to the world, anyway.
But Dallas could see the shadow on the other man's face, and he knew it meant trouble. Along with Jane, Liam was Dallas's oldest friend. He'd watched the skinny, smart-ass son of a housekeeper grow up into a solid rock of muscle who could make another man cower with only a glance and a scowl.
Liam might look like an absolute badass, but Dallas knew the only time he'd failed to call his mom on a Sunday was when he'd been unconscious after taking a bullet in the shoulder during one of his tours.
Liam knew Dallas better than anyone, and Dallas trusted him more than anyone. And yet Dallas had never told his friend about Jane. About what had happened in the dark. But more than that, about how they'd felt. How he still felt.
None of that mattered now, though. The only thing Dallas cared about at the moment was learning what was wrong.
"Don't sugarcoat it," Dallas said. "Just tell me."
Liam didn't hesitate. "Ortega's dead."
Dallas allowed himself one moment to feel shock. Anger. Fury that the hope he'd been riding on had been so cruelly and quickly ripped out from under him.
One instant to feel lost. Slapped down. Fucked all over again, just like he'd been when he was fifteen. As helpless as he'd been in the dark.
Then he pushed it away. He shifted focus. And he moved on.
He needed to strategize. To plan. And for that, he needed information. "How?" he demanded as they fell in step together, heading for the Range Rover.
"Homemade shiv. His death is considered classified while they investigate, but my source tells me that the bastard sliced his own throat."
Dallas pulled open the door to the backseat and tossed his duffel inside. "They're calling it a suicide?"
"That's the official word," Liam acknowledged as he slid in behind the wheel.
Dallas joined him in the SUV that had been tricked out just like all the vehicles Deliverance used. "You believe it?"
"Do you?" Liam gave him a sideways look as he shifted into gear and cranked the stereo up, so that a riot of hip-hop filled the car.
"Hell, no," Dallas said. Ortega had been sitting on the holy grail--a near surefire bid for immunity. Why the hell would he off himself before at least seeing how his ploy played out?
"Right there with you, bro."
Dallas grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler between them, downed a long swallow. He let the music pound into him as he stared out the window at the verdant foothills of the Andes rising up in the distance, majestic against the bright blue sky.
He needed to think, but right then, he felt numb. Jane. Ortega. The goddamn Darcy leak. It was all just piling on.
He turned to Liam. "This is one hell of a setback--"