Page 48 of Savage Reckoning


Font Size:

“Punctual. I like that in a partner,” Isabel’s voice says, smooth and pleased.

“‘Partner’ is pushing it,” I say, my voice a low sound against the running water.

“Is that any way to greet the woman who’s about to give you everything?” A soft chuckle. “I have it, Lea. The proof.”

Air stalls in my lungs. After years of instinct and this twisted dance with Nico, could it be this simple?

“Define ‘proof,’ Isabel.”

“The kind that holds up in court,” she says, her tone sharpening. “Buried police reports. Financial transactions. Witness statements. Everything you need to prove it was Nicolás Varela who ordered your father’s hit.”

My hand flies to my mouth, knuckles pressed against my teeth. I think of Nico’s face in sleep, the vulnerability I saw there. The tenderness in his hands when they weren’t inflicting pain.

“I need to see it,” I manage, my voice strained.

“Of course. Tonight. I’m arranging a diversion that will pull Nico away. You’ll need to slip out.”

“Impossible. The security is?—”

“Leave that to me. Be ready. A car will wait beyond the east perimeter, where the old service road meets the tree line.”

I close my eyes, calling up the mental map I've been building. “Yes. But Isabel, your insider, Domingo, was caught. Nico knows he helped you.”

A beat of silence, then a low, rich laugh. “Darling, you don’t build an empire with just one mole. There’s always another. Just be ready.”

Click.

I stare at the blank screen. Another mole. His fortress isn’t as impenetrable as he thinks. The thought should be reassuring, but a sickening knot forms in my belly.

I turn off the water, strip, and slide into the tub. The scalding heat does nothing to unlock my taut muscles. I need to sell this. Just another day playing house with my captor. Not someone plotting to run. Not someone ready to destroy the man who, against all logic, means more than he should.

When I finally emerge, wrapped in a fresh robe, the guard is at attention outside the door.

“Everything alright, Ms. Song?”

“Perfect.” I flash a smile. “I’m going to take a nap.”

I sprawl on the bed and watch the light shift across the ceiling.

The day bleeds away, and just as I think the plan is a bust, the house phone rings. I hear Blake’s stressed tone in the hall, then his boots slamming against the hardwood, coming my way.

A sharp knock, and he appears, his expression severe. “Ms. Song, there’s been a situation. Mr. Varela is on his way back, and he’s asked me to lock down the property. You are to remain in your room.”

“What’s happening?” I inject just the right amount of worry into my voice.

“A precaution. I’ll be stationing men at all exits. No one in or out until Mr. Varela returns.”

“Of course,” I say, the perfect picture of compliance.

The moment the door closes, I’m at the window. I see the beams of flashlights cutting through the dusk, men moving with purpose across the grounds, the dark shapes of their weapons outlined against the fading light. Isabel’s diversion. It’s happening.

I throw on black jeans, a dark sweater, and boots made for running. The burner phone goes in my pocket. I peek through the crack in the door. The hall is empty. The guard usually posted outside is gone, pulled into the chaos.

I slip out, moving toward the back stairs used by the staff. Each step is a gamble. The house is eerily quiet, with the bulk of security now outside. At the bottom of the stairs, I press myself against the wall. The kitchen is empty. The service door to the gardens is across the room.

I dart across, my hand closing on the handle.Please.It turns. No sound. No alarm.

The cold, damp night air washes over me. The yard is black—the floodlights are out. Isabel’s man is good. Through the murk, I see flashlights bouncing near the north woods, hear muffled shouts. They’re chasing ghosts.