Peyton sighed. “Yeah. But whoever I get my hands on, I will take great pleasure in choking the life out of them for taking me away from my family.”
That’s when something else in the data caught Ken’s eye. “Shit.”
“What?” Peyton asked.
Ken skimmed the data. “She’s researching personnel affiliated with the Russian embassy in Mexico City.”
Peyton scowled. “Russians? What the hell? Jesusfuck, that’s just what we need.”
Jake peeked over Ken’s shoulder. “Bet she’s trying to get intros to the Russian mob to offload the cartel. Obviously, I’m not in the loop, but I do know that even in the backwater shitholes, the mobs have reach. That country runs on vodka, bribes, and spite.”
Peyton grumbled. “Ken?—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ken said, fingers flying over the keyboard. “I know. See what I can find.”
An hour later, he had grim news. “She’s researched not only Russians, but North Korea.”
Peyton scowled. “Da fuq?”
“I think Jake is correct,” Trevor said. “She’s looking for people to contact to possibly sell the cartel to.”
“Because the Russians and North Koreans can’t shit-stir all on their own,” Peyton groused. “As much as I’d love to fuck up her plans on general principles, we don’t have the resources to do that right now. We’ll have to stick a pin in it and monitor her movements. I’m primarily worried about her interest in Manuel’s obsession.”
“Agreed,” Trevor said.
“Good,” Ken said. “Because I’m already juggling too many plates and don’t need to add taking a crash course in fucking up a drug cartel without it coming back to haunt us.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Hamish
Hamish barely slept that night despite the amazingly comfortable bed. Any time sleep drew near, his mind returned to that one fateful night with Corrine. He remembered how delicious she smelled, how she tasted, the sweet sounds she made under his hands and mouth and?—
Bloody hell.
He stared up at the ceiling for a while, wishing he at least felt like masturbating, but even that brief mental respite wasn’t in the cards. Not when he was now forced to accept that the relationship failures in his life were because he never got over Corrine.
And in his fear, he likely let the woman who should’ve been his mate walk out of his life.
When he checked the time, he saw it was past 5:00 and opted to get up, take another shower, and search for more alcohol.
Considering what lay ahead of him that day, he suspected he’d need plenty of it.
He was surprised to see Ken already downstairs, working on his computer at the dining room table. “You’re up early, son.”
“No, I’m up late.” Ken let out a yawn. “My body clock’s all messed up,” he said. “I gave up trying to reset it. I have a feeling I won’t be sleeping much until I’m home. Right now, what I’m doing is working until I collapse, then I nap. Lather, rinse, repeat. I figure if someone needs me while I’m asleep, they can wake me up.” He stood, holding an empty coffee cup. “Follow me to the caffeination station,” he joked.
Hamish followed, and soon they both had full mugs and returned to the table. Hamish also snagged a bottle of bourbon from Trevor’s bar and added a healthy slug of that to his mug.
Ken closed his laptop. “I’m not keeping you from work, am I?” Hamish asked.
“Not any more than the rest of this bullshit is,” Ken said. “Between this and that stupid cartel?—”
“Cartel?”
Ken froze. “Uh, oh. Um…” He dropped his head. “Fuck. Me.” He looked up again. “Can’t tell anyone,” Ken said. “And if you need Peyton to Prime you, tell me.”
“It’s okay, Ken,” Peyton said from the top of the stairs. “I was going to tell him about it.”
