to Vargas’s side, got him up off the floor and ushered him toward the stairs.
Dutch followed them closely to the office off the landing on the third floor. Two guards brought up the rear, weapons drawn.
“Are you all right?” Max asked. “Were you injured?”
“I’m fine.” Vargas waved him away. “Dutch saved my life. If it weren’t for him, I’d be dead.”
The realization chilled Dutch to the bone as all eyes in the room shifted to him. He’d saved the life of a cartel boss, a man the world would be better off without. A man whose death might’ve put the US Marshals in a better position if they already had the stolen hard drive.
Damn it.
“It was nothing,” Dutch said. “Instinct kicked in. That’s all.”
“You have excellent instincts. And it wasn’t nothing.” Vargas straightened his shirt and smoothed down his jacket. “It had happened so fast. One minute, everything had been under control. The next... How could anyone have gotten that close to me? What was the problem with the delivery?”
“Miscommunication,” Rodrigo said. “Some heated words were exchanged, but I handled it before it turned into something major.”
“A distraction.” Vargas wagged a finger. “To lure you away. To give someone an opportunity to get to me.”
Rodrigo turned to the guards. “I want one of you posted at the door. The other, go make sure the mess downstairs gets cleaned up. Clean this up pronto.”
The two men nodded and left, closing the door. Max turned his hard gaze to Dutch like he was an interloper instead of the guy who’d just saved his boss’s life.
Vargas poured two glasses of Scotch from his personal en suite bar and handed one to Dutch. “Here.”
Dutch took a sip of the amber liquid. It was just as full-bodied as the Macallan, but deeper, richer. Or maybe the adrenaline surge sharpened everything, including his taste buds. “Smooth.”
“Isle of Jura. A thirty-year-old.” Vargas poured more in Dutch’s glass. “What did you do in the army?”
“I was Special Ops. Delta Force.”
“Ah,” Vargas said in a tone that implied he’d grossly underestimated Dutch. “That explains those finely honed instincts of yours.” He sat behind the desk and gestured for Dutch to take the seat opposite him. “Why did you get out of the service?”
“I was kicked out.”
Vargas raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “What did you do?”
“I killed a man.” Dutch took another sip, not rushing to explain his cover story. Not giving any hint of shame. Not an iota of regret. “It was self-defense, but he outranked me and had a lot of powerful buddies. Fortunately, I had a stellar record and a few friends of my own. The army gave me the boot, but with a general instead of dishonorable discharge. To hell with them.”
“Isa tells me that you stopped a man from mugging her. The thought of such an assault on my niece turns my stomach, makes me want to tear someone to pieces.”
Dutch understood the sentiment far too well. “To be honest, sir, she saved herself. Kicked the guy’s butt. All I did was pick up her purse, shoes and get a piece of glass out of her foot.”
Vargas chuckled. “Sounds like her. The women in my family are headstrong, independent. Fiery. As my brother’s only child, I have a responsibility to her. I love Isa as a daughter. When I say that the Vargas legacy is the same as the Five Families in New York or the Chicago syndicate, do you understand what I mean?”
It meant he was the top dog, the mobster who controlled this region.
Dutch straightened. “Yes.”
“I’m going through a bit of a turf war at the moment,” Vargas continued. He pulled something out of his suit-jacket pocket and tossed it onto the desk.
It was a playing card. Ace of spades.
“First they sent me the king of spades. Then that one. The death card. It’s from the Guzman cartel and means they’re coming for me. But I have something in the works to fix this problem.” He leaned forward, putting his forearms on his desk. “Isabel doesn’t know any of this. Her father wanted her sheltered from our affairs. She was sent to the very best all-girl boarding schools until she went to college. Scripps.”
Once again, an all-girls school, just outside of LA.
“I wish to honor her father’s desire to keep her in the dark,” Vargas said. “But I worry about her up here by herself. She refuses to move back to San Diego and won’t let me give her any bodyguards. I believe