“I don’t know what you mean, minha amigo.”
“Look at you. You’re about to launch two blockbuster products, and yet your face looks like you’re about to go to a funeral.”
“What”—he gritted—“do you expect me to do?”
“Money is not everything,” Luis said with annoying wisdom. “Do not let the best thing that’s happened to you get away.”
“I can go after her later.”
“Is that really what your heart tells you?” Luis challenged. “She will always think you put her second.”
Antonio swallowed. “She put me second.”
“No. She put saving the world first. There’s a difference in that sacrifice,” Luis countered and then he leveled Antonio with the most solemn gaze. “Ball is in your court.”
“Thank God for Luis,” Antonio’s voice cracked. Thank fucking God for Luis.
Nico put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. No other words were needed.
They just landed in LA in a private hangar when his phone rang.
“Andrade.”
“You just touched down?”
Garrison.
“Disembarking. Where the fuck is everyone and why isn’t Charly answering her phone?”
“Fill you in when I see you,” the CIA man replied. “Texting you an address.”
“Wait a fucking—”
The line went dead. Antonio wanted to smash his phone on the pavement. The thought that Charly might call him back was the only thing stopping him from wrecking the device. Her phone was still pinging its location at the CDC—it hadn’t moved since he left Rio De Janeiro. Dread grew in his gut like a malignant tumor.
“Nico,” he addressed the young man who was slinging his backpack on his shoulders. “Find out anything you can about the Ebola virus in LA.” He then turned to Oscar. “How soon before we clear customs and immigration?” Unlike the last time when they entered the United States, they went through different channels this time.
“Less than fifteen minutes. We’re already pre-cleared before we landed. I’ll take care of it, senhor.”
Antonio nodded briefly and cracked his neck, the tendons along the crook of his shoulders tight. The tension wouldn’t let go. He stared at his phone again as if willing it to flash with the name he’d been praying to see.
“Shit,” Nico whispered.
Antonio whipped around and strode back to the young man whose eyes had been glued to his tablet before reluctantly lifting to his, the alarm in them skyrocketed his anxiety.
“What?” he barked.
“The CDC …” Nico closed his eyes. “It was attacked.”
“What?” Antonio repeated as he glanced down at the screen.
Breaking News: LA CDC Lab—Five dead in a Suspected Terrorist Attack.
“No chatter on police channels about finding the perpetrators. All I get is activity on the CDC premises,” Nico said. The address Garrison had given him was on the outskirts of LA. The last municipality of Victorsville before the twenty-five mile stretch of desert along Route 15. “They’re trying to keep this on the down low.”
“Down low?” Antonio repeated. “You mean off the radar.”
“Yes,” Nico replied, eyes still stuck to his tablet. “This is bad. There’s a hazmat team in front of the CDC.”
In a way, Antonio was glad this was Los Angeles. As one of the most recognizable cities in the world, it was second only to New York as a coveted terrorist target. What a coup for Jacaré to cause such terror, but Antonio wasn’t arrogant enough to believe that the message was only for him. No, his former crime boss had made a deal with the Ukrainian mafia. He was certain of it.
“Let’s hope they have a fucking plan,” Antonio said, but didn’t voice any more of his rampaging thoughts because he didn’t want to jinx it. He trusted Garrison to a certain extent, and Woodward and Kelso were competent detectives. They managed to stop Raul Ortega. That, in itself, boosted his confidence in them.
Still, Garrison had a lot of explaining to do and he doubted the detectives were aware of the big fucking picture.
Antonio forced himself to be patient, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Oscar, how much longer?”
To which Oscar responded levelly and respectfully, “Ten minutes, senhor.”
Nico also quit his wisecracking. Everyone was aware Antonio was a hair-trigger away from losing his shit.
Charly.
He tried to remember the last thing he said to her and was glad he reminded her he loved her. He was glad that his last message on her phone wasn’t his rant about how she shouldn’t ignore his fucking voice messages.
“Ahhhh … fuck,” Antonio berated himself, clenching his jaw so hard it felt like his teeth would shatter. Those were the thoughts of a man who had given up hope in finding Charly alive. What he should be doing was thinking about the ways he was going to chain his woman by his side so he wouldn’t be put in this panic-inducing situation again.
Not knowing whether she was alive or dead.
Why would Garrison not tell him?
Fuck!
“We’re here,” Oscar said. “I see a convoy of dark SUVs and sedans.”
“Signal is unusually spotty,” Nico said. “I think they’ve jammed communication.”
Antonio could already see Detective Woodward hunkering over the hood of a vehicle listening to Bristow. Garrison was standing off to the side, on the phone as usual.
A man in dark tactical gear flagged their SUV down.
Antonio lowered his side of the window and pointed to Gabby and her team. “I’m with them.”
“Antonio Andrade?”
“That’s right.” He flipped open his passport.
“They’re expecting you.” The officer returned his passport and waved them through the police line.
He stepped out of the Escalade. “Nico, come with me. They can suck it if they object.” All eyes in Detective Woodward’s huddle turned to the newcomers.
They greeted him with varying expressions. Most of them grim, but there was also sympathy. Antonio kept his eyes on Garrison, who slipped his phone into a pocket.
Bristow whispered something to Gabby, probably identifying Nico for her.
Antonio wanted to know one thing, one question he’d been burning to ask ever since he landed in Los Angeles.
He stopped in front of the task force. “Where’s Charly?”
For the longest charged second, nobody answered, so Antonio added, “All I want to know is if she’s alive.”
“As far as we know,” Gabby said. “Bristow
