Where Evil Waits (9 page)

K
ARA BLANCHED.
“M
Y
husband
?”
she asked. She was shocked, Luke thought, but within seconds, anger seeped in. He was about to accuse Andrew Chandler of something awful. He wouldn’t be the first. “Andrew didn’t play in those circles,” she shot.

“Forgive me, Ms. Chandler, but I don’t think you always knew just where your husband was playing.”

That hurt—Luke could see it in her eyes, along with a truth he imagined she didn’t want to acknowledge. A sliver of guilt slid under his skin but he flicked it away. He needed for her to be willing to share Andrew’s secrets with him, her knowledge and her suspicions. Even their pillow talk.

He could think of a pretty good place to do that. There was a giant Jacuzzi in the master bedroom upstairs and a big king bed that had been calling his name even before he met up with Kara Chandler. It wouldn’t stretch Luke’s ethics too far to use the circumstance of a post-orgasmic glow to find out what she knew.

“Get to the point, Mr. Varón.”

“Your husband’s firm built Montiel’s low-income
housing. Andrew entered into a ten-year contract with HomeAid just before he died.”

“He was a general contractor. It was his business to enter into contracts with developers.”

Luke studied her. He wished Andrew Chandler was still alive so he could put a fist in the man’s face. His wife didn’t deserve this. She was a good woman—strong, intelligent, principled. And as captivating as an edgy brunette as she’d been as a sophisticated blonde.

He tamped back that last observation and reminded himself that a tumble with Kara Chandler was out of the question. Aside from the fact that she’d sooner shoot him than kiss him, there was a fatherless fourteen-year-old boy involved. Fatherless, in part, because of Luke. The thought passed that Lukas Mann might have been a big enough man to handle that, but Lukas Mann wasn’t here. Luke Varón was. Mann had gone under long ago, and only rarely surfaced for air.

Luke traded his mug for a set of papers in a hutch. Kara followed him into the great room and he sat down on the sofa, opening the file on the coffee table.

“Do you recognize this sub-contract?” Luke asked, handing her a contract between Chandler Enterprises and a company called MHA out of Savannah: Macy’s Heating and Air.

“Lining up sub-contractors was part of Andrew’s job. Why would this one be special?”

“Because this one is a contract for distributing cocaine, nationwide. Everywhere HomeAid needs a furnace.”

She went rigid. It wasn’t the first time someone had suggested that her husband had secrets. But it might have been the first time someone had laid clear, hard evidence at her feet.

“What are you talking about?”

“Macy’s transports cocaine. Close to five pounds per unit. That’s what they found was the optimum amount in the test runs.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“Like this,” he said, and pointed at a diagram of the heating unit. “The cocaine comes in from sea. Divers move it from fishing boats offshore to the bottom of tourist boats around Jekyll Island. From there, it’s taken right down the road to Macy’s, where they fill each blower chamber with close to two pounds of powdered cocaine. The combustion chamber holds the rest. They ship it to regional distribution centers for HomeAid, empty the chambers, then the drugs hit the streets while the units get installed into houses.”

Hate filled her eyes.
“They?”

Luke was ready for that.
“We,”
he said.

Kara stood and stepped away from him, the air around her vibrating with tension. He could see her mind spinning.

“Bet you wish you hadn’t died last night, huh?” he asked. “Ben Archer would promote you to God for information like this.”

She wrapped her arms around her torso. Hate rolled off her in waves. But she didn’t deny her husband’s involvement. That was what struck Luke as most odd.

“You knew,” he said, and a sliver of disappointment slipped under his skin.

“I knew he had secrets. But I didn’t know it was…” She shook her head, her hands clenching into fists even as a tear rolled down her cheek. Fury versus pain. Always a brutal battle. “I thought it was just women.”

“
Just
women?”

Her eyes went hollow. “We married young. I was used to it.”

And that was the sum of that marriage, Luke thought. If he’d been cut from a different sort of cloth, he might have wondered how long it had been since a man had handled her well, or made her feel loved. But he wasn’t, so he pushed that thought away and said, “I think it would take me longer to lose interest.”

She blinked, apparently uncertain whether he’d complimented her, and Luke shrugged. “I’m just sayin’.”

He forced himself to move on. “You were explaining—”

“No. I wasn’t explaining anything because I don’t know anything. I don’t know what Andrew was doing. I only know he—” She stopped.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Damn it, I can’t help you if you don’t come clean with me.”

“It was nothing.” She grew wistful. “Just something he promised me once, that’s all.”

She closed up and a knot of disappointment tightened in Luke’s gut. If she was telling the truth—and she was pretty damned convincing—she truly might not know much about Andrew’s activities. She might not be able to help him.

But he had to try. He owed it to Elisa, not to mention that he now had Kara Chandler and a fourteen-year-old kid in his care. But whatever he did, he would have to do it in the persona of Luke Varón. He couldn’t risk it any other way.

Luke gave her a look that was at once dark and hungry. “Here’s the deal,” he said, his voice clipped. “I want to find the man who killed your husband and is now stalking you and your son. Not because I care about the two
of you, mind you, but because I can’t afford to have any loose ends out there right now.” He smirked. “How’s that for irony? I help you find your stalker and you help me run the cartel.”

She glared at him. He went on; this was the hard part. “Part of that is getting your son out of the way.”

The color drained from her face. “No,” she breathed.

“You hired me to do a job. I need to be able to do it.”

She closed the distance between them, visibly fighting to keep her voice low. “You can’t take my son.”

“I give you my word he’ll be safe.”

She jerked back. “Your
word
? You’re a killer yourself.”

“I don’t hurt kids,” Luke growled. “And I haven’t gotten to the top of one of the most secure organizations in the world without learning something. You know that, too, that’s why you called me. I can keep him safe. He’ll be unreachable. I’ll let you know where he is. You can talk to him anytime you want. I’ll make sure he’s comfortable. I promise you all that.”

She stared. He wasn’t sure whether fury or fear would win out. “I’m not leaving my son.”

“You don’t have a choice, Counselor.”

“Oh, really?” she asked. She advanced on him again, fury rising to the top. “It seems to me that you’re the one with no choice, Mr. Varón. Have you forgotten about the letter I wrote about Montiel? It will surface before your precious shipment does unless I do something to stop it. And right now, I don’t think I’m in the mood.”

Luke went still. Ben Archer wouldn’t go through with the case no matter what he thought he had in the way of indictments—the FBI had made sure of that. But in the meantime, if Kara had absconded with some of the DA’s intel, she could single-handedly spook Collado.

“You’re a reckless woman, Ms. Chandler,” Luke said. “Brave, but reckless.”

“I’m past caring about bravery or recklessness, Mr. Varón. I would think my contacting you in the first place proved that.”

Luke eyed her. “You don’t think very much of my character, do you?”

“I don’t think very much of your character. Your only saving grace is that I do think a lot of your skill set. But all deals are off without my son by my side.”

Luke shook his head. A parent’s love for a child—it was the most powerful force on earth. Luke had been one of the lucky ones. The Mann kids knew about parental love and support. Even the one who’d gone to work for a drug cartel.

“All right,” Luke said, and let his eyes trek down Kara’s body. He’d let her have this round. In the end, he’d win. “With one condition.”

“You’re hardly in a position to demand conditions, Mr. Varón.”

“You’re hardly in a position to decline, Ms.
Carter.
”

She quailed a fraction, then lifted her chin.

“Lose the bra,” he said.

“You’re out of your mind.” She started to turn away, but he caught her arm and spun her around. Luke tried not to notice how much he liked feeling his hand on her bare skin. Like having lightning at his fingertips.

Kissing her would be even more explosive.

Christ. Stop it.

“You can’t resemble Kara Chandler,” he said, keeping his voice rough at the edges. “That means more than just changing your hair and the outer layer of clothing. It means you change your walk, your attitude, the way you speak. It means: Lose the bra.”

She swallowed, as if not knowing whether to believe he was genuinely concerned about her ability to stay
incognito
or whether he was just feeding his own lasciviousness. So it was with both astonishment and admiration that he watched her twist her hands beneath the back of her shirt, unsnap her bra, and tug the straps down over her elbows in that way a woman can. Two seconds later, the satin came out from beneath the tank top and she slammed it into his chest. He caught it against his shirt by sheer reflex.

“Your turn,” she snarled. “Find Andrew’s killer.”

S
ASHA KICKED THE DOOR
shut behind him. Who’d have ever thought Kara Montgomery would come in here like this, putting on a show? Seven Minutes of Sin, from her perspective—playing with the bad boy while the love interest stands outside waiting. Andrew wouldn’t interrupt. Neither would the other kids. That’s not how it was done.

So: Sasha had six minutes.

He stepped toward Kara and she grew an inch taller. “Don’t even think about it,” she snarled.

He stopped. Felt like she’d slapped him across the face
. Tease. Bitch.
He’d known she was just using him to make Rich Boy jealous, but goddamn it, he didn’t care. She was his now, just for a little while.

“You chose the dare,” he said. Heat coursed through his veins. He’d gotten hard as a rock just waiting for her, and now all that heat boiled into anger. “What’s the matter? If I were your pretty Andrew, you’d have your panties around your ankles already.”

Her cheeks darkened. “This is just a game. I don’t even know you.”

Sasha scoffed. That was the fucking truth, if ever he’d
heard it. Christ, he’d been around for almost all her life and she barely knew he existed. He even remembered when she’d first arrived here and all the hype that surrounded her adoption. He was five and Stefan was sick, and their mother had worked extra hours in the big house for weeks getting ready, and when the day finally came, Sasha stood behind a door and watched a crowd of rich folks fawn over her and wondered what a stupid baby could have done to deserve all the fuss.

Nothing, that’s what.

He advanced on her. “I’m Sasha. My parents have both worked here since before I was born. I’ll bet you don’t know them, either, though, because we’re all invisible. All the people who make your food and keep your stable clean and make special name cards for the kids at your fucking birthday part—”

“That’s not true,” she said, and he was within arm’s reach now. His blood was on fire. He was alone with Kara Montgomery and had free rein, but the rich girl was all talk. Didn’t want to be soiled.

“You think you’re so much better than the rest of us,” he snarled. “You aren’t even a real Montgomery. The only reason you have anything at all is because your old man thinks it makes him look good to spend money on you. You were probably born in the streets, lower than me. Did you ever think of that, rich girl?”

She stared him down but Sasha could see he’d struck a nerve. Standing this close to her, he could feel the tension vibrating from her frame. A scent rose around him—something sweet but with an edge of spice to it. Not the simple scent of his mother’s honeysuckle perfume or some cheap body wash; this had layers of aromas that tickled his nostrils.

It was the smell of privilege. Privilege she didn’t deserve.

“You’re just luckier than me, that’s all. Lucky little rich bitch.”

She winced, as if she’d never been spoken to so harshly before. Sasha unfastened his buckle.

“Stop it,” she said, backing up. “I’ll tell my dad and he’ll throw your whole family off this farm.”

“Really? You’re going to tell your daddy that you agreed to come in the tack room and suck off the likes of me?”

“This was just a game.”

“I like games.” Sasha dropped his pants, freeing himself. He was ready. Jesus fucking Christ. He was so ready.

She winced and turned her head. Holy shit, maybe a virgin after all. He wasn’t fool enough to think he could fuck her and get away with it, but he sure as hell was gonna enjoy that mouth.

She glanced at the door behind him. Sasha laughed. “What’re you gonna do, call for Andrew? Is that the same Andrew who just said he wants to fuck Evie?”

The insult hit its mark. Her chin went up.

Sasha pushed his advantage. “Show him, Kara. Show him what he’s not getting. He doesn’t really want you anyway. I heard him talking to his dad. He’s just making time with you to get his dad a special deal on that stallion’s sperm. It’s all business.”

The barbs brought tears to her eyes. They glistened like water on emeralds. Sasha reached out and threaded his fingers into her hair. Careful, don’t grab yet. Just a little pressure.

She sank to her knees, her hands bracing herself on the plank floor. Sasha almost lost it. “That’s it, baby. Do it.”

He clutched her hair, guiding her forward.

Seven Minutes of Heaven, down to five, now.

It was all he’d need.

Kara watched Varón turn the bra over in his hands. She shivered, bracing herself for him to notice the panels she’d hastily sewn inside—emptied of cash now—but he only crossed the room and dropped the garment into the trash can. Announced that he needed a couple of hours to pull together some leads and suggested she go lie down with
Austin
for a while.

Kara didn’t argue with him. Aidan needed the sleep;
she
needed the sleep. She hadn’t slept much all week and whatever was going to happen with Varón, she would need to be clearheaded. Already, she could feel the exhaustion taking its toll on both her actions and her judgment. She felt as if she couldn’t trust her own thinking right now.

I fucked up, baby, but tonight will change everything. I’m making it right.

Oh, Andrew. What did you do?
The night he died, he’d seemed so upbeat. He’d acted as if some great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
Tonight will change everything,
he’d promised.

It certainly had.

She stretched out on a daybed in the room where Aidan slept, her mind going in circles, her heart aching for Andrew and Louie and the Wolffs and the man someone named Gina loved, whose pen was among the collection of gifts from people who were almost certainly dead. She thought about Sally hearing the news of the boat explosion and Seth—who’d just lost his father—losing Aidan as well, and wondered if Varón’s compulsion to keep the drug ring intact would prove enough reason to keep Aidan
safe. A host of invidious thoughts followed her into sleep and she snapped back when a knuckle rapped at the door.

“Krista.” Varón’s voice. He tapped again. Kara rolled off the couch and looked at the clock. It was noon, on the first day of her nonexistence.

Aidan stirred as she opened the door. She ran her fingers through her hair, winced at the short spikes, and looked up at Varón in the doorway. “What?” she snapped.

“Ooh,” he said with a disarming smile. “Not a morning person.” He looked past her at Aidan, who pushed to the edge of the sofa, getting oriented. “We need to move. Come on out and I’ll catch you up.”

Catch you up.
Kara blinked. She’d slept while Varón had carried on. He’d changed out of the sleek suit and now wore jeans and a loose Oxford shirt in an unlikely shade of pink. The collar was open and his sleeves were rolled into folds on his forearms, accentuating deeply tanned muscles. He hadn’t shaved and a blanket of stubble darkened his cheeks, but his hair was damp as if he’d just showered.

“Mom?” Aidan said. Kara shut the door on Varón. Aidan frowned at her new look, then ran a hand over his own head. Remembered.

“God,” he said, and got up and walked to a mirror. Kara swallowed, realizing she looked as out of character as he did. Miniskirt, spiky hair, no bra. She wasn’t a busty woman, but she had some curves. Enough that she didn’t generally go without a bra.

Aidan turned from the mirror and said, “I can’t believe this. Why is this happening? I don’t get it.”

Kara wrapped her arms around him, laid her head on his shoulder. When had he gotten tall enough for her to do that?

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But we’ll figure it out.
The important thing is to stay strong now. And stay out of sight.”

He stepped back and looked at her, a frown marring his forehead. “You should’ve told me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t understand it myself.” Kara squeezed his hand. “But we’ll figure it out. Come on. The first step is to find out what Varón has in mind.”

“You trust him?” Aidan asked, looking skeptical. “He was supposed to kill Dad.”

“No, I don’t trust him, not as far as I can throw him. But the bottom line is, he wants to know who killed your father as much as we do.”

Aidan was too sharp to let that slide. “Why does he care about Dad in the first place?”

And there it was, that knife in the chest. Kara tamped back the impulse to offer platitudes: Aidan deserved to know the truth about his father. “Honey,” she said, and saw his hackles lift, “it looks like your dad was into something bad before he died. Varón showed me evidence of… Your father was part of Varón’s cocaine ring.”

Aidan blanched. Every sinew grew tight. “No.”

“I think so,” she said, though even as she said it, she knew she was hedging. In her heart, she was sure Varón was right. “I only know that whoever killed your father is still out there, and he’s hurting people and trying to scare me and Varón is going to help us find him.”

Aidan backed up a few steps, as if the suggestion had come as a physical blow. “That’s bullshit,” he spat. “Dad didn’t do cocaine. He didn’t buy it, he didn’t sell it. It’s that son of a bitch, Varón. He has you believing lies.”

He trembled with emotion, his face nearly bloodless. Kara’s heart went soft. It was awful to realize your father
wasn’t a saint. She remembered that well. Except it had happened at a much younger age for her than for Aidan.

She went to him and ran her hand across his head, feeling the strange carpet of silky spikes of eighth-inch long hair. “Luke Varón is a criminal, yes. But he’s smart and resourceful and he wants the same thing we want. And he’s all we’ve got.”

“We’ve got new identities. Let’s just go. Start over someplace.”

And have Varón searching for us, too?
She didn’t want to admit that part—the part that made her feel as if Varón was their captor. “Aidan, I know about men like Luke Varón. If the delivery of his cargo is at risk because your father’s killer isn’t dead, trust me, he’ll find him. We’d be crazy not to use him.”

Aidan rubbed the heels of his hands in his eyes. “How?” he asked after a long moment.

“We’ve waited long enough,” she said. “Let’s go figure that out.”