I have no intention of leaving my cozy hotel room with its amazing views.
I move into the room and hear Ladd close the door. I sit at the table near the window, which might appear a subservient position, but I’m portraying steady calm—I’m not going to engage in an argument.
A discussion, yes.
But that is all this will be, and I know the outcome because I’m very stubborn.
“You should have called me the minute the police secured you,” he growls. He’s referring to the attack by the Vecindario 18 gang members two nights ago.
“Why would I have called you?” His patronizing tone instantly riles, and I can’t help but stand up from my chair. With Ladd glowering at me, I’m no longer able to have a calm discussion. “This is none of your business. You have no stake in this.”
Ladd moves fast, comes toe to toe with me, and bends down as he snarls, “I planted my stake in the ground the minute I stepped foot on Salvadorian soil to rescue your ass.”
Ladd tops me by a good seven inches, and he’s trying to intimidate me. I push past him and move to the center of the room to create space. Turning to face him, I say, “That mission is complete. You rescued me and I’m thankful, but it’s over.”
Ladd huffs in frustration. “It’s not over. Not when you have an active hit on you. You and I both know that Hugo Mejia was tipped, most likely by Gayla Newman. And if she tipped him off about you, then she also told him I was the one who came in for your rescue. He has just as much reason to suspect I killed his son as he does you, which we know is what’s driving his vendetta. So you can damn sure believe it’s only a matter of time before they come after me, now that you’re in the wind.”
I’m not quite sure what my expression reflects, but if it matches the horror flushing through me at this realization, Ladd will surely understand that had not crossed my mind. “Your son.”
I don’t need to say anything more, but he nods in agreement. Ladd can take care of himself. He has all the resources he needs to ensure he remains untouchable until this is figured out. But there’s no doubt in my mind that he is worried sick about his son, and that’s why he’s angry right now.
The tightening around Ladd’s eyes that speaks to his anxiety lessens slightly by the acknowledgment that I understand his concern. His tone is calmer when he says, “I have agents posted outside his school. They’re going to pick him up when classes are finished and bring him to my house and then I’m going to make other arrangements for him.”
Other arrangements?
Until this moment, I had not realized Ladd’s son lived with him. I don’t know why I just assumed he would be with his mother.
“Ethan splits his time between me and my ex-wife,” Ladd continues. I blink and focus back on him. “She happens to be very pregnant with her new husband. The game plan had been for Ethan to stay with me until after she gives birth so they wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with him if she went into labor in the middle of the night.”
“Your son’s name is Ethan?” I ask softly. It’s a beautiful name… strong. Ladd hadn’t told me anything about him.
I’ve just learned that his ex-wife is remarried. And they obviously live here in Pittsburgh.
“What will you do with Ethan?” I’m now in battle mode, realizing that my life and Ladd’s life are irrelevant at this point. His son needs protection.
Ladd moves to the bay window overlooking the downtown area. If you look off to the left, you can see PNC Park across the river. “I’m going to have Ethan stay with Britney and her husband Ben. And if she happens to go into labor late at night, I’ve arranged for Anna and Malik to get Ethan. They live close to Britney and Ben so they’ll be at the ready if needed. Kynan is also going to put rotating agents to stand duty outside their door, just as an added precaution.”
“Is that the same Anna who works for Kynan?” I ask. She met me when I came to see him at their headquarters last night and was very nice.
Ladd looks over his shoulder at me. “Yeah. She works at Jameson along with her boyfriend, Malik, who’s an agent.”
I think back to my time with the CIA—all those years facing life-and-death situations with partners—and I don’t know that I was friendly enough with any of them to ask for help with personal matters.
“Your workplace sounds very family friendly,” I say with a forced smile—forced because I never had that type of camaraderie with the CIA, and in fact, it appears one of them is trying to get me killed.