There’s the barest hint of venom in her tone, similar to the cold rage I remember hearing when Flores first approached me during my recovery after nearly dying at Gustavo’s hands. This is personal to her, and I wish I knew how.
Flores has shared enough about his past with Amador to give a vague idea of the scope of their vendetta, and Mad, Celeste, and Leo have filled in the rest. His hunger for Vicente Amador’s head started with his wife’s death. Whether or not Amador killed Lola Flores, I couldn’t say. My gut says it’s far more complicated than that, but when it’s your loved one, it’s hard to see through the murk of other people’s agendas to the bare-bones truth.
There’s something similar at the heart of the senator’s apparent hunger to follow through. Did she lose someone too? If so, will it be enough incentive for her to make this happen?
“Maybe he isn’t the only source, but he’s the best, and you know it. And I honestly don’t fucking care how dangerous or how big a pain in the ass any of those assholes are. Can you do it?”
She inhales deeply and turns back to the screen, clicking to open yet another set of files. Her expression retains its hardened scowl, her jaw clenched. Then she blinks rapidly and her gaze darts to me.
I swallow down the sudden flood of emotion, because I know she’s reached the pieces with my name on them. There are photos of me with Rafael and Emilia, scans of the fertility tests all three of us took, and the results of a paternity test proving who Zoe’s DNA really comes from.
The cherry on top is a photo of me cradling a newborn baby girl in my arms. It probably suggests a deeper relationship than I really had with them, but still paints a pretty fucking clear picture.
It’s all I can do not to start outright begging now that she knows the hostage Zavala has is my daughter. But then her expression softens and she takes a deep breath.
“I will do what I can. You have my word, Mason. I fly back to D.C the day after tomorrow, so you’ll have an answer sometime next week.”
Next week?
The open-endedness of her response propels me out of my chair. Hot anger boils up through my veins, spilling out in a torrent. “Next fucking week? Is that the best you can offer? Jesus Christ! Didn’t you see the files? The photos? I need to be on a goddamned plane back to Mexico now. I need to get her out of there. She’s my . . . she’s my own . . .”
Daughter.
I still can’t fucking say it out loud. I just sputter out and emit an incoherent roar instead, angry at myself as much as I am at her. I bend over the desk to point in her face. “You had better fucking come through for me, or so help me I’ll fucking destroy you.”
The senator rises from her chair, her eyes flashing. I realize then that she’s one tall woman, tall enough to look me in the eyes as she levels me with a stare, unflinching.
“You are not the only one in this who has lost someone. Your personal sacrifice would have been enough, but that little girl means everything when it comes to sealing this deal. All the other casualties of this fight against Amador have only become symbols. That’s all the dead can be for us after the fact—an excuse to carry out bloody vendettas that only wind up leading to more bloodshed. Claiming it’s for the dead is a hard sell, even when we’re up against the wall. But when there’s an actual innocent life on the line the way hers is? She is icing on the cake. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the current administration just eats up the idea of saving lives like hers to make up for past mistakes. If she didn’t exist, it would take me a month. But thanks to her, I can get you your answer in a week. If that still isn’t good enough, I hope you have a nice trip back to Mexico.”
Booth’s hand on my arm urges me back and I finally hear his voice over the buzz of rage in my head. He’s repeating what he told me outside the door, reminding me that I should have expected this response to begin with. I emit a frustrated breath and stand up straight again, raking my fingers through my hair, only to remember it’s practically buzzed again and feels strange, yet familiar under my fingers. It reminds me of what a cool head I always had, once upon a time.
The reminder sobers me, because for a split-second, I was on the verge of committing violence. I don’t want to be that man. I need to be better.
Exhausted, I slump back in my chair. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough few days.” I scuff my left palm across my still healing right knuckles, then raise fingers to my face, brushing them across the yellowing bruise around my eye.
The senator sits again too, heaving a sigh. She looks haunted as she regards me, hands resting on the arms of her chair. “Believe me, I understand your anger. There was a time when trading political favors seemed distasteful to me, when it felt like the antithesis of what being a public servant was all about. I learned my lesson the hard way that it’s the only way to get things done.
“Power is currency in my world, and between myself and Arturo Flores, we have more than enough to do what you’re asking. We also both have a very healthy understanding of what it means to be a parent in the midst of this. Even though using her as a pawn
