Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three (35 page)

“All you need to know is she’s with me and she’s running point on this mission. Got it?”

“Roger that,” Rush replied.

“One more thing: I got you guys some new gear—”

“What—like new assault rifles?” Talon interrupted, excited.

“Listen to him—he’s like a kid at Christmas,” Marvin laughed.

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Sam continued. “I had some DARPA-developed body armor made for you guys. Wear it please and stay safe.”

“Aww, boss—you know the only guy coming back with bullet holes is Lightner,” Rush drawled.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Sam said with a smile. “But humor me and wear the armor anyway.”

“You got it.”

When she hung up, Alejandro gave her dry look. “Where’s my body armor?”

Sam shot him a look. “You’re lucky I haven’t shot you myself. Count your blessings.” She pushed her fingers through her hair, sighing as she looked up at the ceiling of the study. “Now I just have to convince Uncle Grant and Aunt Hannah to take an extended vacation.”

“We can
all
be gone within the hour. You’re being mule-headed not to leave,” Alejandro told her with a dark look.

“Yes, I heard you the first time you called me a stubborn bitch.”

“I didn’t call you a bitch.”

“Maybe not out loud, but I could hear you thinking it,” Sam replied, a restive excitement thrumming through her, despite the fear and worry. It felt good to mobilize after months of hibernation and healing. She’d hated being sedentary, waiting for something to happen. The hunter in her liked the purpose, needed the kill. Even if she couldn’t be there on the ground with her team, she was still able to move the pieces on the board, direct the scenes. There was a satisfaction in that. She didn’t know if she could give that up for a normal life.

“What are you thinking?”

“How come you never got married?” Sam asked, surprising him.

“I did for a minute,” Alejo replied with a shrug. “Didn’t take.”

Sam’s brows shot up. “When?”

“After Rita died,” Alejo admitted, looking away. “It was short. Less than six months.”

“It’s none of my business, but what happened?”

Alejo stood, paced over to the windows. “I was lonely. Rox was still healing, in hiding. Rita was gone.” He shrugged a little. “I was lonely.”

Sam knew what that felt like. All too well. She’d gone through feeling like she was the last of her family—all that was left behind—and it hadn’t felt like nearly enough. Is that what she was doing entertaining ideas of Jack?

“So you cured yourself after six months of playing house?” she asked carefully.

Alejo turned to look at her, crossing his arms. “Nah, I just couldn’t do it. She was a nice girl. Beautiful, even. But I knew immediately I made a mistake. We should have called it what it was—a drunken weekend and a fling through the Elvis Chapel. What do you squids call it?”

“A ‘shore leave mistake,’” she mumbled, thinking about Jack. She’d seen him standing in the garden earlier, speaking on his phone—presumably trying to convince his father to break some more laws and share information he shouldn’t. What happened with Wes in Afghanistan had been understandable; it had felt like a misguided attempt at closure. But Jack? That was a whole different set of confusing feelings. Was she just using him as a scratching post? A momentary relief from her self-imposed exile? Or did she love him?

“You’re not lonely anymore?” Sam asked in morbid curiosity.

Alejandro turned to look at her. “I guess I wanted the loneliness more than I wanted to try.”

Sam nodded. Loneliness was almost easier by now. She knew it well. She’d become totally accustomed to it. There was no real risk there.
But was it what she wanted?

*

April—Evening

La Colombe d’Or Hotel, Houston, Texas

W E S L E Y

“We can rule
these four people out,” Carey said as he tossed a stack of personnel folders onto the dining table of the makeshift office they’d set up in Wes’s suite. “I’ve had the in-house investigator at Lennox Chase turn over every stone on these guys, and they all check out.”

Wes scrubbed a hand down his face, standing and stretching his tired muscles out as he paced around the private dining room of his suite. To save himself the constant drive back and forth to Austin, he’d rented a lavish suite at the 1920s mansion, La Colombe d’Or Hotel, in Montrose. One of the major perks of becoming a Pulitzer-winning photographer was not having to stay in shitholes when it could be helped, and Wes always liked the idea of having an honest-to-God Picasso to look at over breakfast, even the table he ate at was usually covered in paperwork, photographs, and newspaper clippings alongside his laptop.

He gripped the back of the chair he’d just been sitting in. “That leaves Mack McDevitt, Travis Brandt, and Toma Sakurai on the list of possible suspects.”

“No way,” Carey shook his head. “Uncle Mack would cut his own arm off before harming anyone in my family, and Travis is running his own company now. Besides, the Brandts are old Texas money from way back before the Alamo.”

“I know Travis,” Wes replied, perhaps a little more sharply than he intended. He’d crossed paths with Travis Brandt a time or two. Hell, he’d nearly lost Sam to that smooth bastard in college thanks to his own stupidity, but it made sense to consider him, whether Carey wanted to or not. “Before we consider Travis, tell me why Mack took over Wyatt Petroleum as soon as Rob died. He’s been at the head of the ship ever since.”

“By Sam’s choice,” Carey responded. “Legally, that company’s hers. She just chooses to let him be the CEO while she chairs the board.”

Wes shook his head. “Anyone who knows Sammy understands she never wanted to head that company. It was always her father who was grooming her for it. She never intended to take over.”

“Mack’s a rich man many times over,” Carey protested. “He was already Rob’s number two.”

“This isn’t about the money—not really,” Wes replied. “This was a power play. A checkmate.”

Carey shook his head, his mouth set in a stubborn line. “We can’t prove that.”

“I can
feel
it,” Wes responded, confident in his intuition. “You said it yourself, Mack was number two. Maybe he wanted number one badly enough to kill to get it. Who else was closer to Rob? And Mack would have known Sam had no interest in running the company, even if she wasn’t already heading into her first tour of duty.”

“No,” Carey insisted, vehement. “I grew up with Mack. I know him. There’s no way in hell he’d ever do that. He and Uncle Rob were thick as fleas on a farm dog, I’m telling you.”

Wes recognized a wall when he saw one. And he needed Carey’s help besides. His insight into Rob’s inner circle had pushed his investigation forward by weeks. So he’d just have to step back from this battle and look into Mack McDevitt on his own.

“Okay, then let’s go back to focusing on Travis Brandt then,” Wes offered, sidestepping the issue of Mack. “When I knew him, he was an up-and-comer working for Rob. Travis was being groomed for something big. Then he ups and leaves after Rob dies, to start his own company. Why?”

Carey rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly, I don’t know. That was all before my time. I don’t even know Brandt that well. It’s just a loose family connection at best.”

“Do you know if his company is solvent?”

Carey shrugged. “Honestly, no. He’s not on my radar.”

“Then he’s the guy we look into next,” Wes said with a nod before picking up the photograph of an older Japanese man with a head of thick, white hair, a pristine mustache, and the regal demeanor of a man accustomed to being in charge. “That leaves Toma Sakurai.”

Carey eyed the picture. “He’s Sam’s uncle. The estranged brother of her mother.”

Wes frowned. Sam had rarely ever spoken of her mother, much less her family—nothing other than to say that they hadn’t supported her mother’s marriage to an American Navy officer.

“I thought the Sakurai’s disowned her mother?”

Carey rubbed his mouth, thinking. “I know there was a rift. To what extent I’d have to ask my dad about. He was enlisted at the time—stationed in Okinawa. That’s how he and Uncle Rob became close. They served together on the same naval base there. Dad was best man at their wedding. He used to tell Ry that his mother was descended from samurai and that the Sakurai’s were a big deal in feudal Japan. I don’t know if those were just bedtime stories though.”

“Have you ever met Toma Sakurai?”

“Once,” Carey nodded curtly, his mouth compressing into a flat line. “At the funeral. The only reason I remember is because Dad was shocked he came. No one knew who he was. He was there and then he was gone. I don’t think he even spoke to Sam.”

Wes reached for a sheaf of papers. “According to the will, Toma Sakurai inherited his sister’s shares of Wyatt Petroleum when she died. He owns seven percent of the company.”

“Why would he want to kill Rob and Ry?” Carey questioned. “His sister died giving birth to Ry. That was years ago.”

“Revenge?” Wes shrugged. “I think it’s part of the Bushido warrior code if the samurai stuff is true.”

“How on earth do you know about that shit?” Carey marveled.

“I did an article about the last generations of practicing samurai a few years ago,” Wes explained. “There are many who believe that if revenge isn’t carried out, no matter how long it takes, they would lose their honor. Maybe the Sakurai family blamed Rob for their daughter’s death. Maybe they never let it go.”

“I’d have to ask my dad,” Carey admitted. “To my knowledge, Sakurai isn’t involved in Wyatt Petroleum’s meetings. He doesn’t sit on the board, and Sam’s never mentioned him to me.”

Carey’s mobile phone rang and he glanced at the screen. “It’s Sam. De Soto’s probably driving her nuts.”

Wes didn’t doubt it. Those two had always fought like cats and dogs. When they weren’t outright fighting, they were bickering like those two old grouches on
The Muppet Show
.

Carey stood and answered the call. “No, you can’t kill de Soto, so quit asking,” he teased before crossing into Wes’s bedroom and shutting the door.

In the week they’d been working together, Wes had to hand it to him: Carey’d been serious about separation of church and state. He kept news and updates about Sam to a minimum, and their interactions, while fairly frequent, were pretty strictly related to their investigation. But that didn’t mean Wes wasn’t above leveraging his alliance with Carey, however brief. He picked up his phone, turning on one of the nanny cams he’d hidden in his suite so he could listen in.

“You’re sure the intel is good?” Carey was saying, a serious expression of his face as he paced the room.

Wes’s ears pricked up.

“I should go with them,” Carey muttered. “I should be there.”

Go with who? Where?
Wes turned up the sound, wishing he could hear both sides of the conversation.

“Yeah, I can come back to the ranch tonight,” Carey continued, glancing at his watch. “I don’t think I can get my parents to leave, but it’s worth a try. Either way, we need to tell them what’s going on. It’ll come back to bite us in the ass if we don’t.”

If Sam wanted Carey back at the ranch and she wanted Grant and Hannah off the ranch, something major was fixing to go down. Wes wondered briefly if Lightner was in Texas.
Was that the intel Carey was referring to?

“It doesn’t make sense for anyone to be at the ranch right now. Not until we kill that bastard once and for all.”

Shit.
Wes’s hands tightened around his phone. If he knew her, she’d stay right the hell put out of stubbornness alone. Sam wasn’t one-hundred-percent better, but she was well enough to travel. Wes could hide her until Lightner was either shot or captured. He’d survived in some of the most dangerous places in the world covering stories. He knew how to stay off radar when he needed to.
But if Carey and de Soto couldn’t get her to leave her home, could he?

“De Soto, I need a word in private with Sammy if you don’t mind. Can you take me off speakerphone?” Carey said after a moment before continuing, “Sam, I know you don’t want to leave the ranch, but de Soto has a point. It’s better if you go underground—just for a little bit.”

Wes immediately started thinking of all the places they could go; all the places they’d be invisible.

“You’re letting Jack stay?” Carey blurted suddenly, incredulous.

What the fuck?
Wes did a double-take.
Jack was at the ranch?

“How do you know he can get his father to help?” Carey continued, cautiously.

A light dawned. So that was Jack’s play. Smart. Dangle Sandro Roman’s connection to the CIA to buy some time. Who knew if anything would come from it? It was a big ask—maybe a fifty-fifty chance of yielding something of value. In the meantime, Jack would get face time with her and make his move.
Shit.
Wes wanted to chuck his phone across the room, but then he would have missed the rest of the conversation.

“Yeah, I’m just at the office,” Carey said, glancing at the bedroom door with a brief look of guilt. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

Carey hung up and dialed another number, giving instructions to have the helicopter meet him at the top of Wyatt Towers within twenty minutes.