Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three (25 page)

Sam saw the ranch SUVs pull up behind them on the side of the road. Alejo did too.

His phone began to ring again, and he answered it slowly. “Stay in the trucks, guys,” he ordered. “We’re just having a pit stop.”

“You better start telling me the truth, de Soto,” Sam told him as he hung up. “Because I’ve been waiting to put a bullet through you since we were in college, and you’ve just given me enough reason to do it.”

Sam watched him calculate his options. He could try to attack her outright, or parry her position so she wouldn’t be able to shoot him before he disabled her. He could pull his own weapon too, but that would be a Pyrrhic victory at best. If he tried to get out of the car, he’d never make it in time. She knew he would never choose that option anyway. Alejandro de Soto may be a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them.

“I’m not sure what the hell is going on with you and Sandro,” he said in a low, angry voice. “But trust me when I tell you that I was just as surprised as you were that he knew who you were and exactly what you were up to.”

“I know Sandro Roman. That man is a born horse trader. He wanted something in return for his help. What did he ask for in exchange for getting you reassigned to me?”

His mouth thinned. He stayed silent for such a long time, she toyed with the idea of shooting him just to get a reaction.

“Just say it,” she demanded.

Alejandro rubbed his mouth before sighing. “This is going to sound worse than it is.”

“Really?” she taunted. “Because none of it is sounding very good right now.”

“You’re seeing his son,” Alejo said flatly.

Jack.
Her eyes narrowed. “Was.”

He met her eyes. “Carey confirmed it.”

“You’re so sad and bored you have to go to my partner to ask about my sex life?” she replied bitingly.

He grunted, rolling his eyes. “Your sex life doesn’t interest me in the least.”

“So what did Sandro want then?” Sam smiled bitterly. “Let me guess: he wanted you to make sure I stayed away from his precious son?”

“The opposite, actually.” Alejandro’s eyes glittered with a kind of bleak amusement. “He wanted me to keep Jack in the loop with how you were doing.”

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me for
Jack?”
she nearly screamed, emotions barraged her—outrage, hurt,
frustration
—and a few more feelings she was too overwhelmed to name. “How often?” she finally asked when she trusted herself to remain in control.

“Jack calls me once a week, like clockwork.” Alejandro reached into his pocket slowly. “I’m going to show you, okay?” He unlocked his phone, holding the screen up so she could see his call log. She saw Jack’s number show up about a dozen times since she’d returned from Germany.

“Each conversation is brief—I stick to the bare facts,” Alejo confirmed, as if reading her mind.

She saw Jack’s mobile number as he swiped down. Each call came in on Sunday night, and each lasted under a couple minutes.

“What does he want to know?” she asked, her voice nearly cracking.

Alejandro lowered the phone. “He only wants to know that you’re okay. That’s all. He’s never asked me anything more invasive than if you’re okay and if you need anything.”

A part of her wanted to believe him. Because this was exactly the kind of thing Jack would do, and Jack was absolutely his father’s son. They were both masters at cultivating and trading in favors. Tit for tat. It made sense, considering how controlling and obsessive he’d been in the past.

She thought of his letter.
I respect that you need your time to heal and the space to think. All that I ask is that you contact me when you’re ready.

And in the meantime, he’d been watching her like a hawk from the distance. He’d left that part out, conveniently.

“It seemed like a small trade for Sandro’s help,” Alejo went on, regret flickering in his eyes.

“Of course it did,” she said, her voice hoarse. Samantha realized belatedly that the hand holding the SIG was shaking. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t completely overwhelmed. Too much was coming at her—too fast to take in as she and Alejandro faced each other, the air between them thick with tension. “How the hell can I trust you?” she asked. “You’ve been lying through your teeth since you walked back into my life.”

Alejo slowly reached for the SIG, his hand closing over hers gently. Sam’s finger squeezed the trigger reflexively. Just a few millimeters and he’d have a hole blown through his gut.

He shocked her by pulling the gun up so the muzzle pressed against his chest. “You and I have had our beef, Wyatt. But the day you saved my sister’s life and took revenge in the name of my family, I knew it was just a matter of time before I paid you back.” He looked her in the eye. “I’m here, Wyatt. No one forced me. I
wanted
to do it. Talking to Jack seemed harmless; if it had threatened you in any way, I would have found a way to be here without Sandro’s help.”

They stared at each other in the tight confinement of the car, the tension thick and charged. Alejandro held her gun to his heart, his gaze pitch dark and serious when they were usually all swagger and insolence. There was a gruff sincerity to his statement that she recognized. He cared profoundly, though she patently disliked how he’d gone about showing it.

“If you don’t believe me, just shoot me and get it over with, Wyatt.” His eyes narrowed, like he was daring her to do it. This was the Alejandro de Soto she knew. This was the arrogant jerk she’d competed with all those years ago.

“I can’t trust you,” she whispered.

“You can,” he insisted grimly, squeezing her hand to his chest. “You just don’t want to have to.”

“Your loyalty lies with Sandro.”

“
Bullshit
,” he gritted out. “If I have to choose between protecting you or doing a favor for Sandro, there’s no question. We may not get along, Wyatt. We may not like each other, but none of that matters. I have your back. You
know
this is the truth.”

The tremor in her hands intensified now that he wasn’t gripping her. The weight of the gun wasn’t helping either. Sam wasn’t certain if it was adrenaline or exhaustion or both at this point, but she felt like she couldn’t hold it up anymore. And the pain in her back had bloomed into a vibrating ache that she could no longer ignore. She pulled back, slipping the gun back in the holster that she kept wedged between the seat and the door. Alejandro watched her silently as she gripped the steering wheel to hide the shakes. She took a deep breath – then another – trying to calm herself down. She needed to rest her forehead against the wheel. Just close her eyes for a few minutes and begin processing it all—

Alejo swung open the car door, stepping out, giving her a moment to get it together as he met the guards at the trucks. He returned after a minute, opening her door and squatting on his haunches beside her as the sun set behind him, a hot orange ring that set the prairie in the background ablaze.

“You don’t have to tell me everything that’s going on in your head. God knows, I’m used to working with little to no information. But I need you to let me do my job,” he told her bluntly. “I swore to Roxy I’d take care of you. I promised Carey and your family. I may be an asshole, Wyatt—but I keep my word.”

Sam said nothing. The accumulated fatigue and pain engulfing her now was too overpowering.

“Let’s just start small okay?” he suggested, eyes gentling. “Where were you heading before you threatened to kill me?”

She thought of Wes—the
other
man in her life who couldn’t help but intrude left, right, and center. The original master of ‘give an inch, take a mile.’
Jesus Christ
, she could really pick them.

“Austin,” she answered tiredly.

Alejandro nodded. “Then let me drive. You can close your eyes for a little bit. Think through what’s next.”

She was exhausted, pulled down by the emotional undertow and her own significant physical limitations. She’d done and faced more today than she had in months. She honestly didn’t think she could make it the two hours it would take to get there.

Alejandro handed her the SIG she’d stowed in the holster between the car door and the seat. “Just in case you want to shoot me after all.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered, accepting the gun before she took his hand and stepped out of the car. The other guards waited patiently by the ranch SUVs as Sam stretched, taking a minute to try to ease the stiffness in her back.

When they set off again, Alejandro fluidly maneuvered the Mustang back onto the highway, picking up speed. She felt the thrum and throttle as he opened up the engine, letting the car eat up the long, dusty gray ribbon of road as the sun set behind them.

“Where to in Austin?”

“The Elliott Perry Fields Agency.”

Alejo shot her a look. “Elliott? As in Wes Elliott?”

“The very same.”

He shook his head, “You’ve got more drama than a
telenovela
, Wyatt.”

“Tell me about it.” Her head dropped back as her eyes closed. “My life is full of men who are spying on me. Too bad none of you bossy bastards are going to get your way.”

*

March—A couple hours later

Austin, Texas

W E S L E Y

“Don’t think I’ve
ever seen you in the office for more than a couple weeks in well… ever. Shit’s getting strange,” Chris Fields commented from the doorway of Wes’s office.

Wes looked up from his work. “You’re just afraid if I stick around too long, you’ll finally be forced back on the road to earn your keep.” He sat back, eyeing his best friend and business partner. “You oughtta think about getting back in the mix, Chris. Do you some good to be back in the action after running this office all these years. Your ass is getting big from sitting behind a desk bossing everyone around all day.”

“You let me worry about my own ass,” Chris replied with a laugh. “Though I’m pleased as punch you still check me out when you think I’m not looking,” he added with a wink.

Wes rolled his eyes. Chris wasn’t wrong—about the sticking around part, anyway. This was the longest he’d had stayed in any one place in years. And if he was honest, he kind of liked it. More than he’d thought he would, even though the one person he wanted to see still wouldn’t take his calls.

Chris pushed off the door jamb and tossed him a beer. “Besides, you know my wife would skin me alive if I left her at home alone with the girls.”

“You’re just too fat and happy to get out on the road again—admit it.” Wes popped the cap off the beer, toasting him.

“Hell, Wes, you’d be fat and happy too if you were married to a chef,” he replied, patting his belly.

“No doubt.”

Wes gave Chris crap all the time, but the truth was the guy was still built like a brick shithouse, well over two hundred and fifty pounds and towering, despite the little extra padding he’d put on since retiring from the NFL. They’d been roommates in college, back when Chris was a linebacker for the Aggies, before he made it big being drafted by the Cowboys after college. When Chris finally decided to retire after a spate of knee surgeries, Wes had convinced him to follow through on their dream of starting their own agency together.

Wes took a satisfying sip of his beer before his eyes dropped back down to the stacks of photos and documents he had spread out on his desk. He’d lost whole days trying to make heads or tails of it. It was like trying to slot together pieces from multiple puzzles—
unbelievably
frustrating.

“You look about as flummoxed as a goat on AstroTurf,” Chris drawled, leaning back in the guest chair.

Wes pushed his hair back with both hands. “Rob Wyatt had more enemies than you could shake a stick at, and that’s putting it lightly. Feels like every stone I turn over leads to more riddles.”

“Thought he was in oil. Doesn’t that narrow it down some?” Chris asked, scratching his cheek.

“He was one of the biggest private petroleum players in the U.S., but he had his fingers in all kinds of pies.” Wes glanced down at the documents on his desk, his brows pulled together. “Nuclear energy, aerospace, commodities—you name it.” He leaned forward. “I have a contact who’ll swear on his mama’s eyes that Rob was involved with the cartels.”

“No shit?” Chris whistled.

“No shit,” Wes confirmed grimly, poking at a stack of photos. “Problem is that makes narrowing down the list of suspects damn near impossible.”

“But there’s a big difference between disliking a man and going so far as to kill him and his son. That’s two different buckets of possums,” Chris pointed out. “How many people really hated Rob Wyatt’s guts that bad?”

“He was a hard-ass, sure. I never liked the man, but kill him?” Wes shook his head. “It was more like the other way around.”

“Well, you
were
also dating his only daughter,” Chris pointed out. “I like to think I’m a nice guy, but I know for a fact I’ll be a complete bastard to the first guy that makes a run for either one of my girls. You look like a bum today, by the way.”

Wes picked at his t-shirt absently. He was dressed down compared to Chris’s button-down and khakis, but then he usually was. On a normal day, he wore jeans, a tee, and maybe a cargo shirt if the weather warranted, but as Wes rubbed his hand down a week’s worth of beard growth, he realized Chris was probably right. He’d been so focused on gathering intel and worrying about Sammy, he hadn’t really been bothering with much else.