“Mis abuelos también eran de México, pero se mudaron a los Estados Unidos antes de tener a mi mamá,” she answered, telling him her grandparents were Mexican, too, but moved to the United States before having her mother.
The stress in her muscles eased as they used their grandparents’ native tongue. Hannah hardly ever spoke Spanish after her mother passed away. It’d become second nature once she sought refuge in Mexico and she’d picked up the different dialects as she traveled. The feeling of safety she’d associated with Mérida soaked through every word.
A handsome smile lit his bronze face. “¿Ah en serio? La península de Yucatán es hermoso. Mi abuela me llevó cuando era niño.”
Ah, really? The Yucatán Peninsula is gorgeous. My grandmother took me when I was a boy.
“Sí, lo es…”Yes, it is, Hannah replied carefully, finding peace in the interaction, but still wondering where he was going with this.
His grin lessened to a more serious expression, but the genuine, friendly connection of shared experience stayed strong between them.
“Es verdad, lo sabes. Puedes confiar en ellos. Prometo. Soy fiscal y no trabajaría con ellos si no fueran los buenos.”
It’s true, you know. You can trust them. I promise. I’m a prosecutor and I wouldn’t work with them if they weren’t the good guys.
His words shouldn’t have comforted her since she didn’t know him from Adam. But something about speaking the same language her mother had taught her gave her security, and Hannah was beginning to suspect Marco knew that.
She nodded slowly before thanking him, “Gracias.”
When her eyes met Tommy’s, he didn’t seem as easily convinced. She attempted an encouraging smile, but apparently failed miserably. He scowled, setting his glare back on the group before stepping protectively in front of her and crossing his arms.
“Fuckin’A, he looks just like Eagle,” Phoenix muttered.
A man with a scar showing through his short, pecan-brown hair—Jason—reprimanded his teammate, “Phoenix, man, you can’t curse in front of a kid. They’re like sponges.”
“Hey, dude. I’m just saying.” Phoenix raised his hands in surrender.
Despite his laughing tone, Hannah frowned at him. He was still in his signature backward ball cap, but the perpetual happiness that used to brighten his eyes had dimmed. There was a darkness there to him now that she didn’t recognize. Even though they’d never really been close, it hurt her heart to see.
Tommy had tensed underneath her hand, so she cleared her throat to show him they could indeed trust Hawk’s team. Hopefully, she wasn’t wrong.
“It’s good to see you again, Phoenix. Still no Braves hat, though, I see.”
Phoenix cracked a smile. “I always said you gotta get me one. You know it’s football all the way where I’m from.”
“Mom, you know him?”
“Sí, mijo.”
“See, look at that serious little face. Are we sure he’s not a damn clone of Eagle?” Phoenix continued. “The General’s reach is practically limitless these days. Who knows what he’s got in his back pocket.”
Hawk had told her their team had cut all ties with General Smithers and they were now trying to take him down. But Hannah’s back still straightened in panic at just the mention of her father. She was trying to ignore her anxiety when Tommy asked the question she knew had been on his mind since Phoenix opened his mouth.
“You knew my dad?”
Phoenix opened his mouth to answer but Hawk intervened. “We all did, little man. Or almost all of us. Your dad fought alongside us when we were saving the world.”
“Saving the world?” one of the men snorted. Hannah snapped her gaze to the redheaded giant appropriately nicknamed Devil.
“Yes,” Hawk answered with authority that made Hannah’s lower belly flip. “Tommy’sfatherhelpedsave the world.”
Devil’s cheeks reddened and she felt her own blood freeze with the cryptic implication. Something had happened during their time at MF7 that they weren’t telling her. She’d known her father was a shady creep, but she’d believed Hawk long ago when he’d told her his team had the lofty goal of eradicating human trafficking. But from the heavy, tense undertones in the room, there was more to the story.
“Do you know how he died?” Tommy asked.
The words hung in the air like a guillotine waiting to drop. It was on the tip of her tongue to reprimand him for his blunt question, but she’d been dying to know the answer since the day her father taunted her with the news.
“You don’t know?” the tatted, blue-haired Clark Kent–lookalike, Wes—or Snake, as he’d been called in MF7—gently questioned while pushing up his black glasses.
