Page 108 of The Isle of Sin and Shadows

So wrong.

“I should’ve gone with my instincts about you,” I whisper, my voice shaky with tears.

“I should’ve gone with my instincts, as well.” Jaw tight, he glances down and back, then swipes up my backpack from the floor and strides toward the door.

Everything I own. Everything from home is inside of it.

“No!” I lurch after him, reaching the door just as it slams in my face. “No!” Wriggling the handle confirms it’s locked. “Let me out!” Slamming my palm against the hard wood, I wriggle the knob again. “Let me out!

I race for the window over the bed, the biggest, and push it out to find it only opens wide enough to fit my arm. “Help! Help me!” I scream, in hopes the crazy old lady might hear me. Maybe she’ll call for help. “Jo! Help me! Help!”

Panic rises into my throat, and a dizzy haze fogs my brain. Clamping my eyes shut, I take long, deep breaths. Please don’t pass out. Not now. Falling to the bed, I try to get a grip on the attack that’s rendered me unsteady on my feet.

Thierry

How the fuck did she know about my sister?

I lift the burner phone from my bag and pull up the last number dialed. After swiping up my keys, I unlock the bottom drawer of my desk and retrieve the laptop stored inside. I type in the number, which brings up a woman’s name. Gabriela Lozano. From Arizona.

Never heard of her.

For kicks, I type her name in the search bar, which returns a number of articles about a cop gone missing. I click on the first, and the familiar face that pops up on screen hits me like a punch to the gut.

Castellano.

The man I transported back here from Texas months ago.

According to the article, he was a detective out of Phoenix, working on cases of young women and girls who’d gone missing. He’d gone undercover about seven years ago, which sounds about on par with the rap sheet I was given on the guy, which noted his involvement with the cartel at about that time, as well. I stare back at the picture of him, clean cut and decked in uniform, a far cry from the expensive suit and facial hair he’d let grow out a bit.

Guy never once informed me he was a cop. Not even when he was the last man standing, and I had a gun pointed at his brain.

He wanted me to take him to Julio.

Rubbing a hand across my face, I try to imagine why Julio would drag an undercover cop from Phoenix all the way to Louisiana. One associated with a rival cartel.

And what the hell does Céleste have to do with him?

Laptop flipped shut, I grab her backpack off the desk, one I apparently didn’t check thoroughly enough when she first arrived here, too preoccupied with that chip. Piling clothes, a small bit of makeup, deodorant, and a few other toiletries onto the desk, I empty the thing all the way to the bottom of it. Nothing significant in the main compartment.

I unzip the front pocket and pull out a folded picture from inside, of a young blond kid sitting beside his mother.

Familiar faces.

This punch hits a little harder.

Céleste

It isn’t much, but I’ve manage to find a sleek, stainless-steel straight razor tucked in with all his shaving supplies. Ones he must’ve overlooked in his efforts to lock everything away from me. Running my thumb over the tip proves the thing is as sharp as it looks and could do just enough damage to buy me some time.

At the tinkering of the lock, I tuck the blade under the pillow and pull my knees into my chest.

Thierry slams through the door, holding up the picture of Russ’s son and wife.

“Do you know who this is?” The tamped rage in his voice tells me he hasn’t settled a bit since earlier. “Who gave this to you?”