Breathing in deeply, she forced herself to lift her head slowly, her eyes meeting Samara’s.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her emotions still so torn she had no idea how to deal with them. “No matter what parents may or may not have done, no child deserves
to be hurt. Especially with such cruelty.”
Samara’s lips trembled for a moment before she managed to control it.
“I had wished to thank you,” the other woman whispered then, holding tight to her husband’s hands. “And to apologize. There was such rage that night inside me. When you crashed through our gates I did not imagine it could be more than another attack of some sort. We believed the property we were using there to be a secret none were aware of but our private security. I did not expect deception from Louisa’s tutor. She had been with us since my daughter was first born and I believed her to be just as devoted to her.” Hoarse. Ragged with tears, her voice broke and it took several moments before she could continue. “I wanted to thank you but had not been able to learn your identity to do so.”
Chelsea shook her head. “I failed. Why would you want to thank me?”
Samara’s eyes widened. “And how did you fail? Because Louisa passed?” she asked.
Chelsea could only nod painfully.
“You brought my baby home to pass, in loving arms, held by her momma and poppa.” Tears slipped from Samara’s eyes unashamedly. “She woke for us and we could tell her of our love. She was warm, and tucked safely in her own bed. She did not die . . .” Her shoulders trembled, the naked misery in her eyes breaking Chelsea’s heart. “She did not die alone in a nightmare.”
Juan winced at his wife’s words, pain creasing the dark features as he pulled her closer to him, a tear escaping the corner of his eye as his brother, Esteban, looked away, blinking back the moisture in his own eyes.
“Here, baby.” Cullen pressed tissues into her hand, and only then was Chelsea aware of the tears falling down her face.
Finally, Samara gained control of her weeping. Taking the tissues her husband pressed into her hands as well, she dried her face, sniffing delicately before whispering her thanks to a man who appeared to be more a gentle giant at her side than a criminal cartel leader.
“Louisa said it was your voice in the dark, speaking of her momma, that led her through the darkness,” Esteban told her then. “That you whispered her momma was awaiting her, to just come to you.” His fingers formed into a fist until his knuckles turned white as it lay against the arm of the couch. “You took much personal risk to yourself to rescue her and then to race through the night to return her to us. Whatever we have”—one hand flattened against his chest firmly—“it is yours. You have only to ask.”
“Carte blanche,” Graeme murmured. “How very interesting.”
“Graeme,” his wife warned softly. She said nothing more, but evidently he was willing to listen to her for the time being.
Juan breathed out heavily, glancing to Graeme and his wife before turning back to stare at Chelsea.
“There was a time when I believed only the promise of violence would protect us and those we cared for,” he said roughly. “Esteban and I knew very little of gentleness as boys. We knew only the lessons that the strong survive. Only those willing to break the rules were feared.” His black eyes were bottomless with hollow rage and grief. “Until Louisa was born, Esteban, Samara and I knew so very little of the true depths of love. She taught this to us . . .”
“She was our miracle,” Samara whispered, seeming almost dazed now with the pain she was feeling. “Then, the night she was taken, when we were certain we would never see her sweet face again, an angel brought her home to us so we could whisper our good-byes. So we could surround her with our love. And for that, there is no thanks great enough.”
As Samara spoke, Chelsea couldn’t help the tears that fell, couldn’t stop the ragged hitching of her own breath as she fought back the sobs that wanted to be free.
“I did it for Louisa,” she told them, barely able to talk. “Not for any sort of payment or favors. There’s nothing I want.”
“But if there were . . .” Graeme spoke up, his voice hard. “Sending your men to abduct her and sell her to the bastards who killed your daughter seems in rather poor taste to me.”
“Graeme,” Cullen growled warningly.
“No, he is correct.” Esteban lifted his hand at Cullen’s warning. “Were we to have ordered such a thing, then we would be no more than the monsters who hurt the niece I so treasured. Unfortunately, we were in seclusion when this attack was made. We were made aware of it when one of the Breeds in our employ managed to track us down and inform us of what had occurred.”
“We returned as quickly as we could.” Samara leaned forward imperatively for a moment before sitting back and once again clasping her husband’s hands desperately. “The Cerves family does not accept contracts to assassinate, nor do we kidnap for ransoms. We definitely do not strike against young women who are not part of the shadows we exist within.”
“Who offered the contract?” Cullen asked, his voice harsh. “I want that name.”
Esteban wiped his hand over his face wearily. “Who offered it, we do not know. Fidel Sanchez, he was in charge in our absence.” Esteban’s voice hardened. “He did not know the identity of the person who offered the contract, but the man spoke to Morales and he was certain he had recognized the voice. He told Fidel he would make sure, then reveal the identity. The contract was for Ms. Martinez’s death, and he indicated the hit was personal. Fidel said there was hatred in the man’s voice. But when Fidel began putting the plan together he learned that her association with a rumored Breed was possibly that which is reported as a mating, and there was much more to be made for giving a mate to the Genetics Council.”
“Bastards!” Samara cried out then, rage burning in her face as a shudder tore through her. “Fidel knew who took my baby and what they did to her.” The grief-laden sound was heartbreaking, as was the sight of the mother leaning forward, fighting to get control of her emotions as silent sobs shook her. “To even consider such a thing—”
Juan brought her back to his arms, pulling her head to his chest as he stared at the floor, the pain in his face reflecting that of his wife’s soft sobs.
“Fidel Sanchez has already arrived at your Bureau of Breed Affairs,” Juan stated when he could look at them once again. “I spoke to Director Breaker myself when my men arrived. He will be tried by Breed Law. And they will punish him for this attempt. He is being questioned by their interrogators. Perhaps he will tell them more than he told us.”
Esteban handed his brother more tissues, his expression weary and filled with pain at the sight of his sister-in-law so torn with grief.