The Edge of Trust: Team Edge (16 page)

“You drove right past Delmonico’s!  I saw you!  We had a…a--”  She flipped a hand in the air, at a loss.

“Date?  Appointment?  A kiss and make-up meal?  As crazy mad as you were over those stupid damn pictures?”

“I still went to the restaurant.  I waited for you.”

He slammed his fist against the table.  “And you damn well should’ve stayed there!” 

“You want to slam things?  Fine!”  She picked up her plate and sent it crashing against the floor.  “Does that make everything okay?  Not by a long shot.  You want to talk, by God, go talk to your other family!”

“They’re dead!”  Guilt and rage and self-disgust balled in his stomach and not even the wrath of God could stop him now.  He braced his hands on the table, leaned in close, and let the fury fall.  “You will not speak of them again.  You did not know them.  You have no right to accuse me of something you know nothing about.  I repeat, I never,
not ever
, cheated on you.”

“I’m not blind, I saw the pictures.  Intimate, family pictures of you, a woman, a child.  You fell in love.”

Dillon straightened, nudged a piece of plate aside with his shoe.  “With a child, yes.  Not with the child’s mother.  Not in the way you mean.  But I did love them.”  He let out a long breath.  “And then I, in the end, well then I killed them.”

Sara shrank back, looking at him for the first time as though he’d struck her.  “You’d never hurt a woman…certainly not a child--” 

“They died because of me and that’s all I’m going to say.  I don’t know who sent you those pictures, or why, other than to make you doubt me.  You had no right.”

Silence hung thick, miserable.

Her gaze left his face and stopped somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.  “You used to be the greatest man I knew.  But now, should I, after a year of hell, believe you’re a good guy?  After everything that’s happened?”

Stunned, he gaped at her.

“I don’t even know what’s happened!  Christ, Sara, when are you going to tell me?”  His blood pressure soared into the red zone and he was going to explode all over this nice, once-tidy kitchen.  “I just killed a man!  To save
you
!  I’d say that gives
good guy
a whole new meaning!”

“I could’ve handled him.  I didn’t need you.”

“The shooter outside would’ve shot you like a dog.”

She flinched, then straightened and looked ready to bolt. 

“Don’t do it.”  Being wrecked and irrational could make all sorts of foolish ideas seem reasonable, and Sara was definitely wrecked.  “Be pissed, be hurt and confused, but don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid, or suicidal.  I’ve learned close up and personal what Sanchez can do.  But I’m also pretty sure you’re not the only person in town who can help me.”

He walked around to where she sat, stiff and stubborn.  Then he leaned over and planted one hand next to her on the top of the table.  “Unfortunately I am.”  He leaned in even closer and whispered with steely softness, “God help you, Sara, because no matter how fast you run, no matter how far you go, Sanchez will find you.  Then he’ll kill you.  Even if you give the map back, it’s now a matter of principle.  Hell,” he said, “it’s always been principle.”
 

Her gaze jerked back to his and her eyes widened.  Good.  She needed to be afraid.  Very afraid.  He hated her fear, but whatever kept her safe.

“What am I supposed to do then?  Hide behind you?  I won’t do that.” 
Not only won’t, but can’t.  I couldn’t stand it if you died because of me.
 
Because you’re right, I’m in the crosshairs and have something I’m sure Sanchez desperately wants.

“Hiding behind me is exactly what you’re going to do.”  He backed off and ran a hand through his hair.  “Now please, tell me what happened.”

She sighed and sagged back in the chair.  “You want to know what happened, fine.  I’ve been hiding, living in and out of hospitals, motels, and cheap apartments.  I’ve been looking over my shoulder for twelve miserable months, praying I’d never see Sanchez again.  Craig and the feds kept me safe, but not safe enough.  Somehow Sanchez and his men found me.  The next thing I knew I woke up in some grungy room surrounded by filthy, leering men, then got tossed on a boat somewhere in the Pacific.”
 
She took a deep breath and an awful look crossed her face.  “Sanchez
was going to kill me, drop me literally at your feet, he said.  But I escaped and,” she shrugged one shoulder, “that’s how I ended up on your beach.”
 

She looked like she was about to add something more, something even more horrible, but then her expression closed.  Dillon waited, but she said nothing, so he finally asked, “So you just happened to get lucky enough to grab Rafael’s map and dive overboard?”

She rubbed at a spot on the table.  “Something like that, yes.”    

He started pacing, from the counter to the table, from the table to the wall, from the wall to the counter.  Sara was obviously done with that subject for now and he wasn’t going to push for the rest.  Not yet.  But he did have one question he wanted an answer to now.  “Why didn’t you let me know you were alive all this time?”

Her mouth parted slightly, but then she shook her head and gave him a sad, pained look.  “I couldn’t.”

“Nice try, babe, really great look, but you’re not playing me this time.  You could’ve called if you’d really wanted.  Admit it, you were still upset enough not to call.” 

“That’s part of it, yes.  Why should I have risked calling you?  So you could tell me again just how sorry you were that you married me?  You do remember that part?” 

And the truth shall set you free...but first it’s gonna beat the shit outta you.

Feeling raw, he stopped pacing and stuck his hands in his pockets to keep from cradling her face and begging for forgiveness.  He kept his voice neutral, hiding pain and fury.  Toward Sanchez.  Toward whoever sent those damning pictures.  Toward Sara.  Toward the lies he’d told and been told.  “You should have called me because like it or not, I’m still your husband.”  He spoke softly, watching her face, hoping she’d cave and give him something he could use to move forward, instead of being stuck in this friggin’ stalemate.  “I thought you were dead.  I saw you fly off the dock with my own eyes.  Now here you are and I still don’t know anything that actually happened to you during the last twelve months.”  He raised a hand when she started to argue.  “A few sentences paint a very broad picture.  You haven’t given me any real details.  I don’t know why you didn’t call.  And I don’t know how you got that map.”  He leaned forward and placed his hands on the table.  “Although, I do know one thing.  You have a map that’s somehow connected to Rafael Sanchez, and you might have gotten by once, but you won’t get by again.”

  Sara carefully folded her hands in front of her and looked at him.  “What are you willing to tell me about Sanchez?  Other than what I already know.  Give me a timeline.”

“Look, I’ve been out of this for six months.  A lot’s probably changed.  I’m not even sure who all the players are anymore.”  Which was sort of true.  Vega was still a mystery and Dillon’s focus lately had been solely on Sanchez.  The other players were mostly inconsequential at this point. 

When Sara continued to wait, he sighed.  “My team’s been after Sanchez for five years.  I was on the inside for three, as you know.  I’ve been working the periphery for the last year.
 
Craig Duncan’s been working lead.  And now we’ve got Manny Vega, his newest sidekick, to deal with.  If we can catch them, they’re history.  But they’re good at what they do.  They’re very, very good.” 

Neither spoke, and Dillon let the threat hang in the air.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When Dillon mentioned Manny Vega as Sanchez’s sidekick, Sara’s heart nearly stopped.

Matt?  Manny?  The same person, but… What the hell was Matt doing?  What was he thinking?

“So how did you get pulled back in that night on the pier?  Your cover had already been blown.”

“Vega.  I was supposed to meet up with Vega.  Only he never showed.  The whole thing was a set up to--”

“Kill you?”

“Yes.”

“And then I showed up.”

“Yes.”

Vega.  Matt.  Whose side was her brother really on?  Had he lied?  Dear God, what kind of man had she left her child with? 

No.  She couldn’t think that way.  She couldn’t.  Matt had saved her.  Gone to prison for her.  He would never hurt her child.  He wouldn’t.

Fatigue and fear crashed into her and suddenly nothing mattered now except getting her baby back.  She pushed away from the table, strode to the living room, and when she returned, dropped the nylon bag into Dillon’s hands.  He wanted Sanchez so badly, he could have him and whatever else was on the flash drive.  “Here.”

To her way of thinking, the best thing she could do for both their sakes was let Dillon handle Sanchez and Craig and the flash-drive.  She’d wait for Matt to bring her Ellie and then she’d see. 

“The map needs to be turned in, either to the FBI, or the DEA, but it’s late and I’m tired.
 
We’ll turn it in tomorrow.  Right now, we’re both wrecked and need sleep.” 

He was right.  There was nothing she could do tonight.  Hell, she could barely stand upright.  She nodded. 

Sara walked back into the living room and sat on the couch, bone-weary and exhausted.  Dillon followed.  He sat down beside her and fingered the waterproof pouch.  Then he unzipped it and drew out the map.  The silver flash drive fell onto his lap.

He looked at the drive then back at her.  “A flash drive directly related to Sanchez?  And you’re just now handing it over?” 

“I was supposed to turn it over to Craig.  But as you said earlier, it can wait until morning.  I don’t know what’s on it.” 

They both stared at each other and then Dillon strode across the room to where a computer sat in a corner and plugged the drive into a USB port.

Sara followed. 

Odd characters and symbols popped up on the screen. 

“I told you I didn’t want you involved.”  She turned away.  Paced.  “This was supposed to be simple.”  Get the drive to Craig.  Have Craig contact Matt.  And have Matt bring her Ellie.  All neat and tidy.  Only now it was anything but.

“Simple?  Jesus, God, Sara.  I don’t know who the hell gave this to you or why you won’t tell me, but knowing Sanchez, this flash drive is more than likely your death warrant.”  Dillon typed in several commands, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “The entire thing is encrypted.”  He scrubbed a hand over his face.  “Fuck.”

“We have to get it to Craig.”  Please.  Before Sanchez figures out you have it and we all die. 

<><><>

Dillon shook his head.  “It could be days before Craig can get access, or even have the ability, to decode this.”  Dillon studied the screen a few more minutes wondering how far Craig could be trusted.  He may have kept Sara safe for a year, but he’d also lied to Dillon.  And in the end Sanchez had nearly killed him.

If Dillon’s instincts were right, this wasn’t something that could wait until morning, but getting to Craig was now out of the question and Sara was so tired she was swaying.  “Go to bed, Sara.  Get some rest.  I need to make a phone call.”

She gave a distracted nod and sat on the couch.  She looked weary and lost, with shadows in her eyes and a bruise on her cheek that had become more stark against skin too pale from exhaustion.

Realizing she was waiting for him, he picked up the phone, dialed his boss and mentally damned Rafael Sanchez to hell. 

Admiral Edge picked up on the third ring, his voice coarse.  “Where the hell are you?”

Dillon gave him a minute to clear the cobwebs, then briefly explained about Sara, the flash drive, and then listened to his boss for a minute before his temper completely derailed.  “What do you mean don’t bring the drive in?  This drive could very well blow Colombia and Mexico right off the map along with Sanchez and his entire drug cartel!” 

Frustration hummed in the admiral’s voice.  “I’m getting closer to finding the leak.  Until I find out exactly who, it’s not safe.  Take Sara and the flash drive and get out of the country for a while.  Go under and stay there.  I’ll have someone get your dog.” 

He could leave the country, sure, but Sanchez had long arms, deep pockets, and extensive contacts.  Where would Sara be the safest?  “Somewhere in Europe?”

“Canada’s better.  Stay close in case something comes up.  Take your cellphone and I’ll contact you when I know more.”

“I’m on my own on this?”

“I think it’s safer that way.”

“Probably for the best, all things considered.”

“I hope so, Commander.  For your sake, and Sara’s, I really hope so.”

They exchanged secure numbers and Dillon hung up.  Just as he laid the cordless handset down, it rang again.  He snatched it up, wondering if the admiral had forgotten something.  “Yeah?”

<><><>

The satisfaction Sanchez had felt by shooting Craig Duncan dimmed.  The bastard was still alive and Sara Caldwell was safe with her husband. 

Safe the way he, himself, had once felt with Caldwell, before he’d learned the truth...

The sprawling villa where Sanchez lived with his family on over two hundred acres was not known to many.  Luxuriously appointed, Rafe made sure his wife wanted for nothing.  Dreena was tutored, taken to parks, and active in dance and several social circles.  Busy for a six-year-old.  But necessary according to Adoña, and Rafe could not say no to his wife or child.

Safety was always a concern, but in the two years since Dario had worked for him, only one of his men had been killed, and even though the cartel wars grew more vicious by the day, no money had been extorted, stolen or exploited. 

It had taken Rafe a long time to trust the gringo, but he had to admit, Dario had kept his promise.  Rafe’s family was safe and he had a sense of security he had not known in many years.

He, Adoña, Dreena, Xavier and Marco were playing standard-six domino one summer evening, after an early dinner of grilled steak, when Dario came by as he usually did before going to his bungalow for the night.  He greeted Adoña with a warm embrace and a giant bear hug for Dreena.