The clock on the dashboard radio read eleven-thirty. Leighton’s shift ended at eleven, and I briefly wondered if she was at the townhouse waiting for me. She knew the code to get in, so it wouldn’t be difficult. However, something told me after a conversation with her brother, I’d be sleeping alone tonight.
It was just as well. I needed to keep things calm between us. I’d all but forced Leighton to attend her mother’s campaign party on Wednesday. Now, with the asshole from the bar having an invitation and the existence of the tape acting as a smoking gun, there was no way in hell I’d let her go alone. As it stood, I didn’t trust any of them. Even Brody was on my radar.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Leighton
Monday morning, I woke up miserable and with eyes like worn sandpaper. Splashing water on my face did nothing to change the situation, so I opted for a shower instead. The hot water pelted my back, loosening some of the knots caused by my mother and Finn’s visit.
Mateo never showed up, and by the end of my shift, I was coming apart at the seams. I desperately needed a piece of my life back, and there was only one thing that could always make everything right when it went wrong. Unfortunately, once again I got a pleasant voice mail telling me to leave a message at the tone.
My skin was on fire by the time I turned off the water. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a simple red top, I tiptoed into the living room. “Brody?”
Ignoring the silence, my nose led me toward the kitchen table where a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon sat next to a glass of juice and a handwritten note. I grabbed the juice and the note and walked into the living room.
Lil’ Bit,
Put the juice down and eat the damn food I made you. I’m sorry I acted like an asshole yesterday, but you’re my baby sister. It’s my job to be an asshole.
~B
P.S. Talk to Mateo. Straighten this shit out before I do.
I groaned at his threat. Little did he know, I almost did.
I sighed, feeling strangely awkward. For the first time since arriving in Houston, I had the entire day off, and I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.
I’m going back to bed.
Placing Brody’s note on the coffee table, I hugged the juice to my chest and turned to head down the hall when someone knocked on the door.
“Brody’s not here,” I yelled.
“Good, then we won’t be interrupted.” His voice was smooth and laced with the accent that melted my insides.
I braced a hand against the wall. “Go away.”
“Open the door, Leighton.”
“No.”
Mateo slammed his fist against the door. “Fine. Have it your way.”
I watched in shock as the doorknob rattled a few times before the whole damn thing flew open. Sunlight glinted off the tip of a long blade just before he snapped it shut and shoved it in his back pocket.
“What do you want, Mateo? I was just going back to bed.”
He held my gaze, a lascivious smirk softening his scowl. “That works for me.”
As usual, his clothes were dark. His tight jeans and simple long sleeve shirt made my stomach clench while doing lethal things to my willpower.
“What is it with you?” I blurted out. “You think you can ignore me all day then just show up, and I’ll drop my panties for you?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck you.” Glaring at him, I slammed the juice onto the coffee table and stormed past him.
He caught my upper arm. “We need to talk.”
I was happy to oblige, but I highly doubted he’d like the subject matter.
“Fine, you want to talk? Let’s talk.” Jerking out of his hold, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Where were you yesterday?”
“You know I can’t talk about that.
I threw my head back and laughed. “Oh, it’s a guessing game. I love those. Was it Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick?”
“No, Hector Diaz, in the kitchen with a crushed skull.”
All the fight drained out of me. “Hector is dead?”
Mateo cocked his head. “You sound shocked.”
My hands curled by my sides. “Why wouldn’t I be? I didn’t know anything about the man, much less that he was dead.”
He watched me for a few moments before taking a step toward me. “Someone’s cleaning up behind you, Leighton.” Another step, and his voice hardened. “Well except for Hector, I had to take care of that particular mess. I can’t help you if you aren’t straight with me.”
I bumped into the wall as I inched toward the hallway. “What do you think I’m hiding? I told you Luis said Hector’s name. If he’s dead, obviously, he must be connected to the man I saw threatening Luis.”
For every step I took, he took two until his hands caged me against the wall. “I don’t think Hector wanted to hurt you.”
“You don’t know that,” I argued, ignoring the sweat trickling down my back. “You weren’t there.”
“Is there anything you’re not telling me?” He posed it as a question, but his tone was edged in accusation. “I know you think you can’t trust anyone, but holding things back could get people killed.”
I couldn’t trust anyone—not with this, but the fear he invoked dug a dull knife in my heart. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t cared enough to demand a single detail, and maybe I’d kept quiet to punish him as much as I had for their safety. But he was right—the game had changed. This wasn’t about me anymore.
“There is one thing,” I said, managing to keep my voice steady. “I didn’t say anything before because I’ll do anything to protect my family.”
“As will I,” he clipped, his arms tensing. “That’s why I’m here.”
Of course, the Carrera Cartel. It’ll always be about the cartel.
“Right...” I took a deep breath, my stomach choosing that particular moment to growl. Ignoring its protests, I continued. “I didn’t agree to cooperate with the DEA just for Brody and myself. They promised to—”
A shrill ring cut off the rest of my confession, and we both glanced down as Mateo pulled his phone from his pocket. I caught a quick flash of the text—a series of nonsensical letters and numbers.
“Damn it,” he swore, shoving the phone back in his pocket. “I have to go.” He stepped closer, and I held my breath, pinching my lips together as his hand cradled my cheek. “Meet me at the townhouse later.”
“Why?”
“Food, little lamb. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s that thing that keeps us alive.” He trailed his fingers down my neck, running the pad of his thumb across my collarbone before turning toward the door.
“Not a fan of pasta carbonara?” Mateo twirled his fork while eying my untouched food from across the dining room table.
I placed my fork in the middle of my plate. “It’s fine. Delicious, actually. I just...well, how did you learn how to cook Italian like this?” I hated the concerned lift in my voice.
Concerned, my ass. Petty was more like it.
Mateo’s lips quirked in his own private amusement. “That’s a little politically incorrect, don’t you think?”