“Why are you doing this to Mateo?”
“Why not?” He shrugged casually. “I asked you to get me shit on the Carreras and instead of sharing information with me, you decided to share your bed with them. Can you blame me for taking matters into my own hands?”
“How did you know about Hector Diaz?”
He smiled again. Pulling a stack of papers from his lap, he spread them out in front of me. Giving them passing glance, I recognized them as crime scene photos.
“Oh, Leighton,” he said, amusement and pity in his voice. “You told me.”
“What? I did not—”
Memories of a rain-soaked day sharpened to a crystal-clear dagger to the heart.
“Hector Diaz is dead. I think he might be connected to the man who was in Luis’s apartment that night. I think the Carreras are involved.”
My heart sank. Despite all my efforts to protect everyone, I ruined the one protecting me.
I lowered my head, nauseated to see my Caliente uniform staring back at me. “You’ve been using me this whole time.”
“I prefer to think of it as using each other.”
I’d deal with Alex’s deception later. Right now, one thought dominated my mind. “Why won’t my grandparents answer my calls?”
“What part of protective custody don’t you understand?” His smirk faded, and if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve sworn he looked offended. “I may be an asshole, Leighton. I may want things you couldn’t possibly understand, but I wouldn’t put an innocent child’s life at risk.”
“Only mine, right?” I snapped, my voice full of loathing.
“You’re not innocent.”
Jumping to my feet, I slapped my palms onto the table. “Emilio threatened Stella! I want her out. Get my daughter out of protective custody and bring her to me.”
“You’re not in charge here!” he yelled, kicking his chair back and slamming his own hands onto the table. “Now sit down and shut up. Unless you’ve got what Cortes stole, I don’t want to hear shit out of you.”
“Stole?” This was the first I’d heard about anything being stolen, and the shock buckled my knees, lowering me back into my chair. “Mateo didn’t steal anything.”
Alex snapped his fingers in my face. “Wake the fuck up, Leighton. In case you haven’t figured it out, everyone has an agenda and you plug right into the middle. Draw a line, connect the dots—hell, sit down and think about shit for a minute instead of spreading your legs and maybe you won’t feel so fucking stupid when the lightbulb goes off.” Pushing off the table, he gathered the papers in his hands and stalked toward the door.
He could spew all the insults he wanted, but it wouldn’t faze me. However, if he wanted lines drawn, I was more than happy to oblige.
“You want me to connect the dots?” I seethed, gripping the edge of the table with both hands. “Fine, let’s talk about my father. Did you do this to him too?”
Coming to a dead stop, he turned his head and glared at me.
“You banked on my ignorance, didn’t you?” I taunted, not sure how far I could push him before he exploded. “I know you were on the same task force, so I have a question of my own.” Turning my chair around, I sat up straight and faced him head on. “Where were you when my father died? Did he connect the dots, too, Detective Atwood?”
My only warning came as a low rumble in his throat before he lunged, and I found myself flying backward as he shoved my chair across the room. My back hit the wall, knocking the wind out of me, and I let out a grunt as he leaned down.
“Your father’s death was unfortunate, but I’d be careful where I pointed fingers. You may not like what you find.”
“Is that a threat?”
“We all make our own beds.” As if a wave of reality washed over him, he stood and reached into his jacket pocket. Pulling out a single piece of paper, he dropped it in my lap. “Either you agree to testify against Mateo Cortes, or I’m charging you as an accessory to murder.”
“You said you wouldn’t hurt Stella!” I screamed as he jerked the door open.
His face remained stone cold. “She has her grandparents. She’ll be fine.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mateo
Sitting handcuffed in an interrogation room was nothing new to me. I doubted my pulse rose more than a point or two after being knocked around and left to wait for hours. Since living cartel life, the Houston Police Department became a revolving door for me.
“Atwood!” I yelled, jerking on the handcuffs again. “I’m not getting any younger in here!”
I let out a string of curses I knew no one cared about, but I couldn’t get the image of her out of my head. I promised Leighton no man would ever put his hands on her again, but they did while I watched.
I didn’t even care her confession would probably put me away. Jail didn’t scare me. The only thing that scared me was the thought of Leighton taking the fall with me and our daughter growing up alone.
My fists curled tighter in the cuffs. “Atwood! Either charge me or let me go, asshole.”
The latch on the door released, and the familiar man from the campaign party walked in with a folder tucked under his arm. Sitting across from me, he raked his eyes down my face before throwing the file down and flipping it open.
He smirked. “If you’d asked nicely, I would’ve come in a lot sooner.”
“Fuck you.”
“A pleasure as well, Mateo. No counsel?” he asked, gesturing around the empty room.
“I have nothing to say.”
“Fair enough.” He sifted through the papers in the folder and spread them out. “I’m sure you recognize Hector Diaz’s apartment. I mean, you were there first.”
“So you keep telling me.”
Atwood huffed out a laugh and reclined in his chair. “We investigated his apartment, thanks to the helpful tip from your girlfriend.”
He was trying to rattle me into turning against Leighton. If that was the best he had, our visit would be short.
“Good for you,” I said, my eyes never leaving his face.
“You’re smart. I’ll give you that,” he conceded, holding up a photo of Hector’s living room. “You covered your tracks pretty well.” Dropping the photo, he picked up another one and flicked the black object in the middle with his finger. “You forgot to wipe your prints off the remote control though. Rookie mistake, Cortes.”
Fuck.
“Then charge me,” I demanded. “Why are you sitting here holding your dick?”
He chuckled. “All in due time. I thought we’d have a chat first.” Flipping to the back of his file, he quirked an overgrown eyebrow. “Quite a rap sheet you’ve got here. Time served for felony possession with intent to sell? Aggravated assault?” He clucked his tongue. “Not very complimentary.”
I had to give it to him. I’d been grilled by the best, and sooner or later, they all lost their temper. Atwood was a different breed. Maybe it was the trained DEA agent in him, but he seemed content to toss insults back and forth with no signs of breaking.