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Valentin Carrera had a voice. Any time he spoke, people obeyed, but there was a certain unmistakable tone that he reserved as a snap threat. Like that moment when you stretched a rubber band to its absolute threshold, and you knew you had seconds before it snapped. That was Val’s voice. It was low and clipped, and usually just one or two words that, if not heeded, led to chaos.
Snap threat.
And Mateo heard it loud and clear.
“Right,” he said, pushing away from the table. “I’ll just go help two grown-ass adults give one small girl a bath.”
Even I caught the sarcasm. Mateo might have respected Val, but he wasn’t a pussy.
Val picked up his glass and stood, motioning toward the sitting room. “Let’s have a talk, Harcourt.”
Gripping my glass, I followed him into the same room we last met in. Val didn’t sit, going straight to the bar to fill up his glass. When I didn’t follow, he glanced over his shoulder, cocking a slanted eyebrow. “I’m not a fucking bartender. If you want a drink, get it yourself.”
Meeting him at the marble bar, I accepted the expensive bottle of scotch he offered with a low whistle. “Macallan 1926. You don’t play around.”
He tipped his glass back, his gaze unwavering. “There are three things a man should never compromise quality for cost. Liquor, women…” He trailed off to take another drink so, I finished his trifecta.
“Cars?”
“Condoms,” he said, lowering the glass.
I coughed, the mouthful of scotch I just took spraying everywhere. Val calmly took a napkin from the bar and brushed it down the front of his shirt before helping himself to a refill. He said nothing, but it felt like I had a flashing neon light attached to my forehead.
I fucked your sister. Blink, blink, blink. A lot. Blink, blink, blink.
At least I had to come clean about my job. I owed him that much after the shit I’d pulled lately.
“I wanted to debrief you on what we uncovered,” I started, but Val had other ideas.
“Likewise,” he said, holding my eye. “And since this is my house, I’ll go first.” He let a brief pause hang in the air, no doubt for effect, or just to be an ass. “My men haven’t found Cristiano Vergara yet, but we did find out something that should interest you.”
I didn’t say anything because I had a feeling what was coming.
“Cristiano Vergara doesn’t exist.”
And that wasn’t it.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Sounds of glass clinking cut through the silence, and I glanced over to see Val casually filling his glass. “Doesn’t exist. No birth certificate, no records nothing. Un fantasma en el viento. A ghost in the wind. Innocent men don’t run, but if Ignacio and Cristiano are related, I can’t prove it yet.”
“But you will.”
His lips peeled back into a confident smirk. “I always do.”
Questions flew through my mind, none of which had answers. All I knew was that I needed to talk to Carlos and compare notes.
“Also, there was nothing on the car’s GPS history.”
“You’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “Adriana knew the game too well and which wires to cut.” Val stared at me in silence for a few moments, a curious gaze in his eye. “Let’s hear your debrief.”
My mind still reeled from his bombshell, so I stalled with a generous drink from my glass. Every lawyer’s instinct roared at me to question him, but I liked breathing and would prefer to keep doing it. “I was right when I said I thought something about Ignacio Vergara’s revival of the Muñoz Cartel connected to Adriana. Ignacio was the man who kidnapped her.”
Val stilled, his hand gripping the glass so hard, I expected it to shatter in his hand. “Are you telling me this is the hijo de su puta madre who killed my mother and my aunt?”
“Apparently, another missing birth certificate, only this one recovered.” I recounted the story Adriana told me, standing my ground when his head snapped up once I got to the part where Adriana stole the car to go meet him.
