“He won’t walk out the front door even if they offer that option, not without Ivy. Not knowing who she is. So, Jesse will make sure the plan involves her leaving too,” Beckett rationalized. “You think he can get word out to us even if they take his phone?”
“We have protocols in place if any of us ever get separated or stuck in a dead zone–type area for cell service. Just leave the communication issue to us,” Carter informed him, and Beckett did his best to allow that news to lower his blood pressure.
“Regardless of what happens next, I want you in Tulum,” Gray instructed. “We’ll need to bring Sydney into the mix before she hops on a flight back to D.C. on Monday anyway.”
“I have a friend in El Paso with a plane and access to weapons.” Of course Carter did. Money talks. “He’ll be your ride to Cancun. Get to Tulum, make contact with Oliver, and wait for the next steps.”
“Sydney’s not going to love us crashing her weekend getaway and turning it into an operation.” Jack really wanted to drill that point home, didn’t he? But to Beckett, pissing off Sydney was the least of his worries.
Of course, if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t thrilled about facing the only woman who’d inspired any type of fantasies for as long as he could remember.
“I’ll secure a hotel room for you at Sydney’s resort,” Carter said a moment later, then added, “And I’d hold off on calling your sister until we know more. She’s pregnant, and telling her Jesse is with—”
“She’ll be expecting a goodnight text from her husband, and if she doesn’t get one, I wouldn’t put it past that woman to come looking for Jesse herself,” Beckett grumbled.
“Then text her. Tell her Jesse passed out by the campfire,” Jack quickly responded. “This hunting trip was your idea. I’m assuming you didn’t tell Ella you were hunting for a woman in a club run by the cartel, right?”
“Copy that,” is all Beckett offered for an answer, pissed at himself for this whole mess.
He ended the call once they’d finalized a few more details, then slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel.
Damn that cutoff voicemail three weeks ago.
Damn her plea for help.
Damn McKenna’s mom.
CHAPTER THREE
WASHINGTON, D.C. – THIRTY HOURS EARLIER
“I don’t know what to say or why I’m even calling, but . . .” Sydney paused, contemplating what message to leave today.
She was on her third cup of coffee that afternoon and jittery, not her norm.
“Levi’s been closed off the last few weeks,” she finally went on. “Something’s bothering him, and he doesn’t want to talk about it.” Sitting on her king-sized bed, Sydney smoothed her palm over the gray waffle-weave cotton duvet cover, her latest forced purchase from Pottery Barn.
Her mother had popped down from New York for a quick and unexpected visit, and she’d insisted they spend a few hours shopping together. Not Sydney’s favorite thing to do by a long shot.
“Mom, you in there? I’m home from school.” When her son lightly tapped at the bedroom door, she ended the call, tossed the phone on the bed, and jumped up.
Clearing her throat to brush away the emotions besting her today, she walked over and opened the door. “How was school?” she asked, joining her son out in the hall on the second story of their home.
Levi shrugged. “It was school.” He attended a private school in Arlington, Virginia, where his father lived, less than twenty minutes away from her condo in D.C.
Sydney resisted the urge to reach out and brush the too-long strands of dark hair away from his face to see his eyes.
“I may go to Grady’s tonight instead of Dad’s. Maybe even stay at his place all weekend since you’ll be gone.”
Right. My trip. She was leaving for Tulum in the morning in hopes of recruiting a good friend of hers to join Falcon Falls Security, but she was also looking forward to two uninterrupted days of lounging beneath the sun with a cocktail in hand. “Well, that’s up to your dad since it’s his weekend with you.”
“He’s been busy, so he’ll be fine with it.” Levi turned, most likely on his way to hide in his bedroom to play video games. The norm lately, and she hated the distance growing between them. Working for Falcon required a lot of travel, which wasn’t ideal for a divorced mom of a teenager, so when she was home, she wanted to spend as much time with her son as possible. But he’d been avoiding her lately, and she had no idea why.
“What’s he been busy with? Work stuff?” Her ex worked at the Pentagon but never on the weekends, so she was curious as to what was taking him away from their son.
Levi faced her again, allowing his backpack to fall to the floor, but he kept one strap loose in his grip. Another shrug from him as a response meant he was keeping secrets from her, and damn, they had to do with his dad, didn’t they?
“When are you going to tell me what’s going on?” She leaned her shoulder against the wall, careful not to knock into one of the framed photos of her son.
She did her best to pull off casual and friendly. Less “warrior-like” since Levi liked to joke that she only had two modes: mom or fighter. And sometimes, weren’t they one and the same? Helping rid the world of evil also helped keep her son safe.
But her “fighter-warrior” mode also intimidated a lot of Levi’s friends, especially those of the opposite gender. Her son was handsome, smart, and kind. She couldn’t risk a girl, or anyone for that matter, taking advantage of him. His grandparents’ fortune ensured he was recognized as the richest kid in his school.
“Are you and Lucy okay? Did you break up?” She was one of the few girls who’d made it past all of Sydney’s grilling stages and hadn’t been scared away.
Levi shook his head. “No, Lucy and I are fine. Taking things slow.”
God, she didn’t want to know what “slow” meant for a thirteen-year-old boy, but she hoped he was at the hand-holding stage only and nothing more.
How old was she when she lost her virginity? Eighteen, right. “So, what is it? Please. I promise I won’t, um.”
Her son’s lips curled into a brief smile. A smile was promising, she supposed. A smile meant whatever was bothering him wasn’t earth-shattering. “Won’t what?” And when he spoke with a teasing tone, that helped her heart a little too.
It couldn’t be that bad since he was now brushing his fingers through his hair to expose his light green eyes, a match to her own. His dark hair, the opposite of her light blonde, was a gift from his biological dad. But his cheekbones and jawline, as well as eyes, were all hers.
“I’m . . . well, I’ll be okay.” He let go of the strap to his bag and narrowed the space between them. He was already taller than her. She was just over five-six, and her teenage son had stretched to nearly six feet practically overnight last summer. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Me?” She immediately shoved away from the wall. “Are you concerned about my work? I know leaving the family business last year was a big deal, and I—”