“Pritchard,” I say. “You’re on speaker.”
“Major General Pritchard, is Dr. Salim with you?” Chavez asks.
Mik clears her throat. “I’m here.”
“Give us some good news, detective.” Setting the phone on the counter, I let Mik lean against me and bury my nose in her hair. She smells like lilacs, lavender, and sex, and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of her.
Chavez sighs over the line. “I wish I could. Señor Larkin is no longer at the hospital in Tuxtla Gutiérrez. At seventeen hundred hours, I was told he was being brought out of his coma. When I called the hospital twenty minutes ago, they had no record of him. But there is more, and I must apologize to both of you. I have been assigned to another case.”
I know the tone in his voice. Resignation. The sound of your superiors giving you orders you don’t agree with, and having no choice but to obey. “Chavez, is this line secure?”
“As secure as one can be on short notice.”
“What about the two assholes who hurt Dr. Salim?”
“I issued arrest warrants for Arturo Lopez and Martín Salvador last night, but as of this morning, I can find no evidence they were ever put into the system.” Chavez clears his throat. “Mexico is a wonderful country. We have untouched natural beauty, and some of the most genuine, kind, and honorable people I have ever met. But we also have corruption. The cartels own so many.”
I wish I didn’t know just how terrible life under a corrupt government can be. Gil. Trevor. My own time in Venezuela. No. Not now. Those memories have no place here. Not anymore.
Shoving them down as far and as fast as I can, I let training take over. Assess. Plan. Act. Pretty sure that’s McCabe’s mantra, but it’s a good one.
Muting the call for a brief moment, I turn to Mik. “I’m going to take him off speaker, but you can listen in. Trust me?”
She nods, and I switch the call and unmute. “Detective Chavez, I would advise you to cease all investigation of Arturo Lopez and Martín Salvador immediately. Do not look for Corey Larkin, and forget meeting Dr. Salim. For your own safety.”
“I am not afraid, señor. This is why I joined thePolicia. To fight corruption. To protect my people.”
“Keep doing so. But leave this case alone. ‘Live to fight another day’ if you will. You are a good man, Chavez. You kept us safe when we needed it most. If you ever needoutsideassistance, this number will reach me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I think I do. You have a friend in Mexico, Major General Pritchard.”
“And you have one in the United States.”
The call ends, and I sink down onto the stool and meet Mik’s gaze. She understands, and the fear in her eyes mirrors what I feel deep inside. “Sweetheart, things just got a lot more complicated.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mikayla
Austin’s tense, moving stiffly to retrieve his tablet from the coffee table and set it on the counter in front of me.
“What’s the plan?” I ask. I’m torn between needing to know and wanting to crawl back in bed and hide away from the world with him for a day…a week…however long it takes for the cartel to forget about me.
Thumbing out a text message, Austin pulls out a stool for me. “Now we do this my way.”
“Your way?” His entire demeanor’s changed. Gone is the caring, thoughtful man I’ve started to think of as my…what? Boyfriend? In his place, a hard, all-business intelligence officer with a plan he’s not sharing. At least not yet.
“Be right back.” Despite his new attitude, he pauses to press a swift kiss to my lips before taking my stairs two at a time. He’s back in under two minutes with a small, black bag from which he pulls two boxes and a cable, then hooks everything up to the tablet.
“Who’s Red?” I ask when he taps a contact from his list.
“Wren. You’ll see.”
The woman who answers has a mop of red curls that brush her shoulders, and though she smiles, it’s tight-lipped. “We secure on your end?”
“Yep.”
“Stars and bars knows better than that,” a rough, deep voice says from behind her. The man who leans over the back of a sofa has to be the biggest guy I’ve ever seen. Bald, half his face scarred, and tattoos covering both arms. “You back in the land of the living, Pritchard?”
