Page 8 of Extraction
“Who?” Cole looked confused.
“Bruno Perez.” Everyone went silent as the realization that Martin Castillo’s nephew was still fucking alive.
Frank turned to look at me straight on. “That’s impossible. You killed him. I saw you do it.”
“Apparently, he pulled a me and returned from the dead.”
“That doesn’t look like Bruno.” Cole tried to catch up while his face drained of color.
I puffed up my cheeks then slowly let out the air while my own head tried to connect the dots. I studied the footage again. “It’s his driver for sure, and I thought he’d been killed in that explosion as well. If his driver’s alive, then you can sure as hell bet Bruno is too. The shots from that SUV,” I pointed at the footage again, “they were trying to take out Jerry’s men.”
“Paul.” Frank didn’t have to say it.
“Yeah,” I shook my head, “we need confirmation that’s really Bruno, because if it is, we’re fucked.”
TWO
NICOLE WINTER
“Come on, you piece of shit.” I smacked the side of the satellite phone. I’d snagged it from a police chief a while back and felt zero remorse for taking it. These people were so messed up they’d raid some poor person’s business on the pretense of looking for someone they knew friggin’ well wasn’t even there. The raids were just a means to help themselves to whatever they wanted.
I loved Mexico, and I’d spent more time there than anywhere else, but the country was horribly corrupt, and the people were at the mercy of those who called themselves police. Of course, like everywhere, not all of them were bad, and I’d made a few good friends. It was just such a shame that the few spoiled it for the rest. Sadly, the bad way outnumbered the good. Money was the driving force in Mexico—money and violence.
I twisted the dial and tried a different channel, but I got the same static as before. I jammed it back into my bag and flopped my head back against the wall. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
Suddenly, a child’s brown, tear-filled eyes blinked up at me as his mouth moved but I was thrown back into a memory and remembered Justin’s face before I left.
“Who was that on the phone?”
“Work.” I zipped my knapsack.
“Why can’t you tell me who it is?”
I shook my head. “You know I can’t do that.”
“If you leave this time, Nicole, that’s it. I’m not going to wait around anymore for you to leave your job for me. It’s been four years. It’s me or Mexico.” Justin leaned forward over the arm of the couch and nodded toward the engagement ring he wanted me to have. I stared at the diamond, and the noose around my neck tightened and the walls started to close in. Marriage was something I wanted someday but not right then. I needed to be free to do my job and help people. In my mind, it was more than a job, it was a calling, and Justin would never understand that. His was a nine to five corporate type. He loved his nice clothes, cappuccinos, and weekends he knew were his.
“You know I love my job, and what I do does make a difference.”
“It doesn’t to me. All I see is you leaving, and then I hold my breath until you come home. Why can’t you just stay here, be here, with me? Start a life, kids, you know, the whole white picket fence thing. Don’t you want a house in a safe suburban town where we can make something good happen? That would make a difference.” His brown eyes teared up as he pleaded. I pulled up the handle of my suitcase and gripped the handle for something to hold me in place.
“I’m sorry, Justin, but this was what I was made to do. It’s what I need right now.”
He snagged the ring off the table and snapped the box closed as if to mimic my action. “I’m sorry too.” His eyes turned angry. “I’m sorry for you, Nicole. You can’t see that you’re going to spend the rest of your life alone or,” he made a face, “dead in a hole somewhere.” He brushed by me and headed down the hall. “And you wonder why no one sticks around in your life.”
“Justin,” his words lashed at a deep, raw wound, “that’s too far.”
He stopped and rubbed his face with a heavy huff. “You know what? No. It’s time you hear this. Nicole, you’re impossible to love.” My chest heaved at his words. “You’re unlovable because you don’t give anything of yourself to anyone who might care for you even a little bit. Your own family trauma has spilled over into mine, and I can’t do it anymore.”
My anger over such a hurtful statement rushed to the surface. “All right, you want to toss all the blame at me for leaving. Let’s be honest, shall we? Two months ago, when I called home, and I heard a woman on the other end of the phone, was that Pam? Did you sleep with your co-worker?” He looked away, and I knew it was true. Tommy the doorman had warned me, but I didn’t want to believe it. “Be a man and answer me.”
“Yes.”
I let go of the air I held as my chest hurt. “Was that the first time?”
He dropped his hands with a defeated shrug. “No.”
“Right,” I sniffed. I didn’t want him to see how much he’d just hurt me. “So, you want to marry me, make me leave my job, give up everything I worked so hard for and what? So you can have Pam on the side?”
