She stepped back, staring at Tate then glaring at Matias. “Why is he here?”
“You had three weeks!” Tate threw his arms up.
“I’ve been wooing her.” Matias straightened, clasping his hands behind his back.
It’d been critical that she didn’t know about Tate’s role until she’d given herself to Matias fully and completely. That hadn’t happened until she knelt for him and told him she loved him on the other helicopter only a couple hours earlier.
“Wooing? Is that what you call it?” Camila held his gaze as she stabbed a finger toward Tate. “Explain this.”
The pilot started up the helicopter with a squealing whine of the engines. The tail rotor and blades turned, spinning faster and ruffling her long hair.
“Hash it out in the air,” Nico shouted as he strode by with his nose buried in his phone. “We need to go.”
Matias and Nico quickly changed into the clean clothes the pilot had been instructed to bring, and twenty minutes later, the helicopter reached coasting altitude.
The cabin was comparable in size to the other one and refurbished to enable passengers to talk without headsets. But it was older and made for wear, reminding Matias of the interior of a commercial airliner. That was fine since it was primarily used by his lieutenants and hitmen.
Nico and Tate sat with their backs to the cockpit, facing the bench seat Matias shared with Camila.
“They got Álvarez and most of his top men.” Nico held up a text message on his phone, grinning. “Chispa and Don are going to lay low for a few days before we send for them.”
Los Córdoba is finished. Now Camila could safely wander the estate as his equal.
Matias closed his eyes in relief and reached over to clasp her hand. When her soft fingers closed around his, he knew that everything would be okay. They were headed home, and while she was probably ready to chew him a new asshole over Tate, she was here, holding his hand, her thumb stroking his. Because she loved him. Best fucking feeling in the world.
“Are we worried about being tracked again?” she asked.
“Not till we get closer to home.” He took in the beauty of her profile—long lashes, high cheekbones, supple lips—and drew a deep breath. “I met Tate four years ago.”
She glanced at Tate, who nodded.
Her eyes closed. “I assume that wasn’t coincidental.” She cast a sideways glare at Matias. “How did you find us?”
For the next few minutes, he explained how he’d arrived to collect Van Quiso’s body the day Liv Reed shot him, and how Van, bleeding and barely alive, led him to Liv, who unknowingly took him right to Camila.
She tipped her head as she listened, and when he fell quiet, she didn’t blow up or rush him with questions. She simply waited.
“I watched you for a couple of months. Determined your patterns, your goals, who you were closest to.” He lifted his chin at Tate.
Her former roommate sat directly across from her, his knees brushing against hers.
“Matias approached me at a bar.” Tate bent forward and gathered her hands in his. “He told me your history with him, how you guys grew up together, that he was the one you called to deal with the bodies, and that he loved you. So I knew you trusted him to some degree.” His leg bounced. “He told me he was the boss of the Restrepo cartel and that he was the kind of guy who took what he wanted. But he couldn’t take you because you’d been captured before. He couldn’t just rip you away from your life because he’d never win you that way.” He smirked. “He pitched this crazy fucking plan to me, Camila.”
“What plan?” She pulled her hands gently from his.
Next to Tate, Nico put in ear buds and reclined in the seat, closing his eyes. He’d heard this story so many times, had been there through it all. Matias didn’t blame him for shutting them out.
Tate gave Matias a questioning look, and Matias gestured for him to continue. It would be better for her to hear this part from him.
“There was a slave ring in Austin. Just a couple of local guys. Not affiliated with anyone. Those are the guys you initially started tracking.”
“Oh, God.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I can totally guess where you’re going with this.”
Matias put a hand on her thigh, and she didn’t push it away. She didn’t touch it, either.
Tate gave her a small smile. “Matias told me that night he intended to kill off that slave ring and replace it with his own people. He would continue to operate it, except the slaves would be fake. Actresses. All of it staged to draw you in. And he needed my help.”
Her face turned white.
Matias tried to hold his breath, but he couldn’t. He needed to make something very clear. “I know you would’ve taken down that operation within weeks. You’re so damn tenacious and brave those motherfuckers didn’t stand a chance. But I was selfish. I wanted you fighting at my side, in Colombia, against some of the worst slavery on the planet. I needed you.”
She rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes, her expression giving nothing away. Then she looked at Tate. “So you went along with this?”
“Not immediately. I left the bar with my goddamn head spinning.” Tate pulled her arms down and forced her to look at him. “A month later, he flew me to Colombia and took me on one of his raids. It was a fucking barn…” He swiped a hand over his mouth, his blue eyes darkening with memories.
A shiver raced through Matias as he recalled that night. He’d never been enslaved, but the depravity he’d witnessed over the years had deeply connected him to her cause. All the effort she invested—the spying, planning, and risking her life—meant as much to him as it did to her. She was
