drive held mostly the same types of clips, he moved onto the second. Which was an entirely different video nightmare.
The scene was so dark that Persia had to lean over Walker’s shoulder to see better. She blinked, not believing what she was looking at among the shadows. Women and children. Boys and girls. All behind bars in what looked like a dungeon. All frightened and crying. A dark-haired monster, his craggy features backlit by the blow torch in his hand. Another thinner man with an industrial-sized pair of bolt cutters…
God, no.
The evil spirit of the scene reached out and grabbed her by the throat.
“Is thisssss…?” She couldn’t speak it. Didn’t want to relive it! “Is th-th-that… him?” she asked, pointing at the monsters in the middle of the flickering nightmare. “That’s him, isn’t it? That’ssss…!”
Who else could it be? “Who took this picture? Is that Domingo? Is that his lair?” She was shrieking by the time she’d finished. But it looked like the inside of one of Zapata’s demented cell blocks. So real, she could almost smell the fear again. The sickeningly sweet scent of burned flesh. The blood! Her heart climbed up her throat, as her stomach pitched its first attempt to vomit up that very same escape route.
Alex slapped the laptop shut, his other hand locked on her upper arm. “Not Zapata,” he told her firmly. “That’s old footage, Persia. Deep breaths. You can do this. Not Zapata, do you hear me?”
She nodded, embarrassed she’d freaked out so easily and so fast. But that place looked the same!
By then, Walker had spun his chair around. He pulled her easily onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve got you, sugar. Take a deep breath. You’re here on Persia Smiles, remember? I named my yacht after you. Zapata’s dead. Julio killed him. You were there; you saw him die. Breathe, sugar. Just breathe.”
Swallowing hard to keep from projectile vomiting on her boss, she closed her eyes and breathed in the scents she loved best. Salt and sea and the slightest hint of aftershave. Shaking like a fool, she looked up into her boss’s tender blue eyes. “I hate black and red,” she told him as the first tears began to fall. “Don’t ever wear those colors again!”
He had the nerve to smile, even as he cupped her jaw and wiped a finger over her sloppy wet cheek. “Yes, ma’am,” he said with genuine kindness. “Mark already talked with me. No more power ties. Already threw them away. Didn’t need them anyway. You’re safe now. Both Zapata brothers are dead. So’s the asshole in that horror flick. It’s old news, kiddo. Is it still okay if I wear pink?”
She choked. Alex in pink? “Sure, but who…? Who…?” Man, this panic attack was so, so bad, she couldn’t talk. She was making such a fool of herself. “Who was that?”
“Roland Montego, a sadist from Cuba. That was one of his holding cells,” Izza said from somewhere behind Persia. “He can’t hurt any more kids or women, because Seth McCray took him out a year ago. The fucker’s dead.”
“His sister Catalina’s dead, too,” Alex said quietly. “You can thank Renner Graves for ending that twisted sociopath.”
“Both your agents?” Walker asked.
Alex must’ve nodded, because Persia didn’t hear his reply. By then, she’d buried her face in her hands, so damned thankful Walker had a good grip on her. She was falling apart and doing it in front of her boss. In front of everyone! “I’m… I’m…” Losing it. “I’m sorry.”
“Folks, we’re all tired. We need to eat,” Izza declared. “I’ve got chicken and cheese enchiladas in the oven. Quesadillas are up next. Anyone hungry?”
Persia nodded, embarrassed, but more aware than ever before how much she valued the men and the sister at her side.
The iron shackles of Walker’s big arms clamped around her, holding her fast. “Roland Montego was another trafficker?” he asked Alex. “He worked out of Cuba? Are you sure?”
Alex glanced at Persia. “You okay if we don’t go eat just yet?”
She nodded, her heart still pounding hard and heavy, but her paranoia back in its box where it belonged. Shoved down deep where it could wait for another day. Another stiff drink. Another entire bottle. “Yes, Boss. I’m good,” she breathed, still clutching Walker’s arms.
With a curt nod, Alex spilled the heinous story Persia already knew. How Roland Montego had trafficked human cargo to the most perverse buyers on America’s Eastern Seaboard. How Alex had sent Agents Eric