“I know you were in Rosarito the night Lola Flores died. I also know you were spotted on CCTV at a gas station two miles from the house she owned there. If I ask Arturo where you were supposed to be that night, I’m betting he won’t say Baja. It was easier to cross the border before 9/11. You could’ve fooled him easily.”
“So what? I wasn’t required to check in every goddamn second. I had freedom.”
“Freedom to be a few miles from his wife’s vacation home within an hour of her death?”
“Fuck Flores. I don’t give a shit what he knows.” He lowers the gun, eyes narrowing. He’s on guard now, but is starting to look more like a caged animal than the jailer he was a few minutes ago.
“Maybe not,” Mason says. “But I’m sure Amador would love to know who really killed the woman he loved. I’m assuming you knew about the three of them. That Flores and Amador shared Lola. They both loved her. Her death is the reason they’re enemies now, which I’m pretty sure was what you hoped to accomplish by killing her. What would it look like for you if they made up? I’m sure ending your life would be the first thing on their agenda after making amends.”
“What do you want?” Gustavo’s voice is a low rasp, still challenging yet with an edge of surrender.
“I want my dang life back. I want to be able to move back to LA without looking over my shoulder. You leave me the heck alone, I’ll make sure neither Amador nor Flores ever set eyes on the intel I have.”
His eyes narrow. “Intel . . . This was what your deal with Zavala was about, wasn’t it? His men weren’t the only ones tailing you in Denver. You had DEA agents shadowing you at every turn, and a suit at your side too. You’re a fucking narc, aren’t you? Hijo de puta. They weren’t even trying to arrest you, were they?”
Mason chuckled. “You are so oblivious it isn’t funny, Delgado. Why do you think I faked my own death? You give yourself too much credit if you think it was just to hide from you, though that was a nice bonus.”
Gustavo bares his teeth and raises the gun again. “What’s to stop me from killing all three of you right now and taking it?”
“I’m not an idiot; I didn’t bring it with me. It’s in a safe place with copies being made as we speak, for insurance. You harm anyone in my family, ever again, all your dirty secrets get spilled to your boss.”
Gustavo’s face turns in on itself, constricting in rage. “Get out!” he roars, then he turns and drops his gun, grabs the chair I was tied to, and smashes it against the wall with another yell.
Zoe jumps and starts to cry. “Let’s go,” Mason says. He slips his hand into mine and pulls me toward the stairs, leaving the rampaging beast that is Gustavo Delgado behind to tear the basement to pieces.
40 Mason
We take a couple more days in Mexico City, handling all the legal shit surrounding Rafael and Emilia’s estate. Zavala already took care of the cops, so on paper they were killed in a car accident. A construction crew and some plaster and paint are enough to make the patio of the house look like new, removing any trace of the barrage of bullets that slaughtered the original owners.
Then we pack up all their things and entrust them to a shipping company my brother calls, who will haul everything to Los Angeles. I put the house on the market since there’s no way in hell I want to come back to this city. Not until Zoe is old enough to ask where her parents came from. Part of me still thinks of Rafael as her dad. He was for the first eighteen months of her existence—the nine months inside Emilia’s womb, followed by the nine months out of it. She was his, and I don’t intend to keep his role in her life a secret, even though she’s mine now.
Stepping off the private plane in Los Angeles on the third day, I feel like a weight’s been lifted. I just stop and stand on the tarmac, taking enormous gulps of air for several seconds. Zoe’s still strapped to me—I wouldn’t let her go no matter how many times Callie or Maddox offered to carry her—and Callie stops at my side, her hand on my arm.
“Are you okay?”
I can’t speak, and I think I may be hyperventilating at first. Then the tears come, and instead of struggling for breath, I break out in body-wracking sobs. Zoe makes a little whining sound and I try to comfort her, but it’s too much. I’m on my knees before I can control myself.
Callie drops down beside me. “Mason, what is it?” She waves at my brother, who drops his bag and rushes over. “Maddox, can you help me? Take Zoe.”
Mad lifts the baby out of the carrier and Callie helps extract me from the straps and buckles, then wraps her arms around me. I bury my face in her hair and cling to her, surrendering completely to three years of pent-up emotion. Hell, it’s probably more like two decades’ worth, because this moment is the first time I’ve felt free in years.
Callie doesn’t say anything, though. She just holds me while I ride out the freak storm of overwhelming feelings. When it finally subsides, I hold her a little longer, just enjoying her solid, yet delicate heat and her tart apple scent. Then I kiss her, long and hard, trying to squeeze every ounce of my love and thanks into the kiss, pulling back only when I feel her start to melt into me with a soft hum of pleasure. The arousal grounds me enough to let her go, and I stand, reaching down to help her up beside me.
“You’re a f—a dang angel,” I
