drive for him.” A wicked chuckle. “We can wade through it later. But, uh…” He paused to clear his throat as a red flush crept up his neck. “This is what you’ll be most interested in.” He pushed a button and the overhead hummed into action, showing an email from Marcus’ Gmail account. The subject read: Phoenix?
Ant flicked to the next slide so they could all read the message in closer view.
Chesterfield is looking for a thief near Dallas. BH found a trail in Deep Ellum and a surprise. Look familiar?
The next slide was a photo taken with a cell phone from inside a bar in east Dallas. It was dark and the quality not too sharp, but Sterling’s features were unmistakable. The guy he was talking to had his back to the camera, but the bio-hazard tattoo on his bald head was pretty recognizable.
A riffle went through the room, but no one spoke a word.
The response to the query came up next.
Elite Recon? I thought those fuckers were dead. Any more deets?
I’ll get my girl on it ASAP. Keep you posted.
Ant cleared his throat again. “Um…it appears Beth’s ex contacted Morrow after I took her, looking for information on me. I’m guessing this was taken from when Merc and Sterling where looking for me too. Sorry, guys.”
“Motherfucker, Ant,” Steele bit out.
“I’m sorry, all right?” He frowned at Steele. “And don’t you tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing for Elena, so shove it up your ass.”
“Relax,” Sterling said. “All in the past, bro. What else is there?”
“It gets better,” Ant said in a dark tone. “I tracked the IP on the sender. Columbia. The recipient’s handle? Snowman.”
Wow. A shiver rippled up Roni’s spine at the sudden shift of energy in the room. Jaws clenched. Muscles bristled. Testosterone surged. Damn, these guys were mad. That their gazes—each and every one—snapped to her, made her want to cringe, but she suppressed it. It cost her, but she did it. Instead she quirked a brow.
“Did you know your boss was working with Escobar?” Steele asked, his hard gaze drilling through her.
Something lurched in her gut. She set her hand on her belly to calm it but it didn’t help. Escobar was a common name, she reminded herself. In Columbia at least. “Um. Who the hell is Escobar?”
“You’ve heard of the Santirios Cartel?”
Her heart thudded. Her breath hitched. Bile crawled up the back of her throat, just like it did every time she heard that name. Shit. She hated those motherfuckers. Hated them with a burning passion. Her mind flooded with a memory. Screams and shattering glass, the feeling of being weightless, helpless, tossed around like a rag doll. Covered in sticky blood. Slicing pain.
Sterling cleared his throat, bringing her back into the room, though the haze of hate still veiled her vision. She nodded; it was a jerky offering.
“Escobar, the kingpin of the cartel. He goes by the moniker Snowman,” he said.
“Would he—would he be the one giving orders?” How she got the words out, she didn’t know.
“Most likely.” Steele nodded.
“And why would he care if you are dead or alive?”
“We might have pissed him off a while back,” Ant said with a wicked grin.
“If he even suspects we’re here…” Steele let the sentence lie there.
Again, all their eyes turned on her. She swallowed heavily. Having so many predators study her at the same time was disturbing, but not as disturbing as the knowledge that—according to what she’d been able to uncover—the Santirios Cartel had arranged the accident that killed her mother. And not half as disturbing as the chilling confirmation that Marcus was in cahoots with the cartel.
If he was in league with the people who had killed her mother…it only stood to reason that he’d had something to do with it. She’d always suspected he was responsible, but she’d never been able to prove it. Until now.
And Annabelle? Living with Marcus? Vulnerable to his whims? The thought made her blood run cold. Her resolve firmed.
By God, she would make him pay. She’d make them all pay. And she would get her sister back.
“But what if he didn’t?” she said.
Steele frowned. “What if he didn’t what?”
“What if he didn’t suspect you were here? Alive? What if Marcus reported back that it was all a case of mistaken identity? That there was no story here to follow?”
Sterling pinned her with an intent gaze, but this one didn’t make her nauseous. In it she saw a glimmer of hope. “What are