Chapter Six
Axe packed two complete military-grade seventy-two-hour survival systems, a pair of night-vision goggles, a Glock, rounds of ammo, including incendiaries, a combat knife, a Mossberg semiautomatic with a grip small enough for a woman, two sets of fake passports and IDs, cash, portable phone chargers, a pair of sunglasses, and a black bottle of Drakkar Noir cologne—the signature scent of a prowler: cunning, strong, and ferocious.
He had no time for nonsense, and Jazzy was playing a dangerous game, stringing Leanna along and gouging her on the price. Eff that.
He’d returned after shooting with her brother and had listened in on the conversation. It had taken every ounce of control to not snatch the phone from Jazzy and tell Leanna exactly why she couldn’t go to Mexico.
But he’d bit his tongue and noted down the facts. One thing he could thank Jazzy for, that woman had a way of digging details out of seemingly casual conversation.
Leanna wasn’t sure if the missing child was her daughter, and she hadn’t heard from her aunt or cousin since wiring the money. Which meant one thing only. The entire operation was fraught with danger and better handled by professionals.
No way should he allow her to put herself in danger.
He’d check it out first, but knowing Leanna, someone had to keep an eye on her. She was her own worst enemy. A big flirt, and she probably thought bouncing her boobs at Mexican officials would get her through the checkpoints.
Nope. It was a different world down there, and sadly, not a place for a hot, young woman to wander around alone.
He put two more handguns into his holsters and headed for the Bumblebee Bakery.
* * *
Running a bakery meant getting up in the wee hours of the morning to get a head start on operations. Leanna dragged her luggage into the back of the delivery van and covered it with a tarp. She wound her way up and down the hilly streets, then pulled into the back alley behind her bakery.
Her mother’s Toyota was already there.
Leanna let herself into the kitchen. “Mama. Good morning.”
“Mija.” Mama enfolded her into her arms.
They kissed, one peck on each cheek, in memory of the day she’d given up her baby daughter. At the time, her mother and father thought it was for the best: a baby raised by a schoolteacher and engineer in a stable middle-class neighborhood of Monterrey, a city in Northeastern Mexico, to a couple who could not have children. It was either that, or hiding a baby who was supposed to be aborted from a man who could destroy them.
After news of Carmelita’s death and the receipt of a box of ashes, Leanna and her mother had mourned by their kisses and hugs. Regret could barely scratch the surface of the deep despair the family felt.
There was no going back to that sad day—not until now.
“Do you have details of your itinerary?” Mama asked, eyes large with worry. “Papa’s asking why you’re traveling with a man he never met.”
Who spilled the beans that she was traveling with a man? Especially since she hadn’t actually gotten an escort. Jazzy was still looking.
Of course, Leanna had to appear as if she weren’t planning on going alone. Maybe she’d hire a private investigator once she landed in Mexico.
“It’s business,” Leanna said. “Doing a promotional video for the bakery. The travel guide hasn’t given me the exact schedule.”
“How can that be? You need to let Papa check the guide out.” Mama wrung her hands. “I don’t like this. Are you sure there’s not something else going on? Why can’t you do the video here in San Francisco?”
“I’m helping a friend get her business started.” Leanna washed her hands and took out the baking pans. “Looks like we have five sheet cakes to bake.”
“Ay, so much to do. How long will you be gone?” Mother rushed to wash her hands and put on her apron.
“Two weeks. I’m also teaching a class to help her train bakers and cake decorators.”
“You’ve a good heart,Mija.” Mama dusted the kneading surface with dough. “All those years of baking with me paid off. Where is this new bakery going to be?”
Leanna withheld a sigh. She shouldn’t have embellished her lies with the baking class, and now, she was snagged. Not that she could have escaped her mother’s watchful eye for long. She’d already changed her story from a relaxing vacation to the video promotion, but each time, her mother asked questions and poked holes, she was forced to tell another fib.
“Who are you helping?” Mama poured flour into a giant mixing bowl. “Maybe I can come along. After all, I taught you everything I know.”
“I need you here,” Leanna said. “I haven’t had a break for so long. There are things I have to do.”
