Page 26 of Ravaged Hearts
Vaughn slumped onto a sofa, and when I went to sit beside him, he snagged me around the hips and pulled me onto his lap. “It’s been a long day. Don’t even argue with me.” His raspy voice made my belly tingle. And when he nuzzled my neck and inhaled, I just about combusted.
Sage sat on the sofa directly opposite us, still seeming delighted by my closeness to Vaughn. “Looks like you’ve had a breakthrough with the haphephobia.”
Vaughn tilted his head. “Of sorts.”
“Just out of curiosity”—Sage tapped one finger against her lips—“if a random stranger were to try to touch you?—”
“Limbs will be broken.” Vaughn ran his fingertips up my bare thigh until he reached the hem of my dress. “Only oneperson lays their hands on me, and that’s this woman right here.”
I curled my arms around his neck and pressed my forehead to his temple. “Only you could say something both terrifying and romantic within the same breath.”
“Drink?” Brandon asked as he walked toward a built-in liquor cabinet on the far side of the room.
“Bourbon,” Vaughn and I said at the same time. “Bring the bottle,” he added.
Brandon dipped his head. “Copy that.” He handed out glasses of neat bourbon and left the Woodford Reserve on the coffee table. “Sorry. I should’ve asked if you wanted something to eat first.”
Vaughn took a sip. “We’re here now. Let’s talk. General Martinez?”
Brandon sat beside his wife. “A small patrol arrived in Playa de la Palmera two hours ago. Martinez assures me more will be on-site first thing tomorrow morning. From then, the village has their protection for five days.” He pressed his lips together. “That was the best I could negotiate.”
“That’s not a lot of time,” I said.
“Agreed.” Brandon nodded. “Which means we need to move fast. When does la Mano Roja want you to make their shipment?”
“Not for two weeks.” Vaughn sighed. “What about the Manzanillo search? How’s that going?”
Sage reached for a laptop on a side table. “We’ve compiled a preliminary list of possible locations for the compound.”
I sat up. “Already?”
She shrugged. “Manzanillo is a smaller region to search. Our intel consists only of Google Street View and overhead satellite images until we can get a surveillance team to capture drone footage of each of the properties of interest. If you’re not too tired, you could look at them now.”
“Please,” I said.
Sage opened the laptop and placed it on the coffee table. I climbed off Vaughn’s lap and knelt before the screen.
There were around a dozen folders, each containing photographs of luxury residences similar to what I’d described during our first phone call a week ago. As I clicked through the files, a heavy feeling settled in my stomach. None of the properties were the one I’d seen Carlos stroll through during our FaceTime calls.
I shook my head. “I don’t recognize any of these places.”
“What about the first folder?” Brandon asked. “That was our strongest lead. It’s close to a school, surrounded by a large perimeter wall, and has a lush garden. Tight security, too.”
I shrugged. “Unless they’ve painted the wall and given the gardens a makeover, it’s not Carlos’s home.”
Sage’s expression tightened as she closed the laptop and moved it aside. “We’ll keep looking.”
I returned to the sofa beside Vaughn, and he folded his arm around me. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be more help.”
“Hey.” He gave me a squeeze. “We’re not giving up. We’ll keep working this angle, all right? We’ll find something.”
I’d believe him, except the silence in the room told me everything I needed to know. The intelligence on that laptop had been the last hope of finding the PCC compound anytime soon. Maybe Carlos wasn’t in Manzanillo after all. Maybe he wasn’t even in Mexico.
We were running out of time. Every day, more women were stolen from the streets to become slaves, lives of innocent people were destroyed to benefit the cartel, and narco henchmen drew closer to taking over Playa de la Palmera.
I massaged the intensifying headache from my brow as distress, anger, and futility warred within me. We couldn’t let my father’s atrocities continue. We had to do something, butlocating Carlos was like looking over a football field of anthills and trying to single out its most elusive resident.
If only we could?—