Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88918 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“How much?”
“Depends on the level of risk, the location, and whether she’s being held against her will. Extraction jobs can last months, man, and the expenses add up—surveillance technology, specialized weapons, informant bribes, recruitment of resources, hush money, travel costs… The bill would run higher than the six-hundred thousand sitting in your bank account.”
Tate’s stomach bottomed out, and it wasn’t only from the outlandish price. Knowing Cole had hacked into his finances, the fucking pity etching his face—all of it made Tate want to slam a fist into the wall.
“Let’s just…slow down.” He took a drag on the cigarette and squashed it out. “We need to find her first. I doubt she’s even alive.”
“You believe that?”
Did he? With a deep inhale, he mentally probed his gut and found the hope he’d held onto for years. “I know she was abducted from her home. Her parents were tied in with cartel. Both were murdered after she disappeared. And justly so. They gave her up to spare their own lives.”
When Matias had learned they’d sold their daughters—both Lucia and Camila—he’d killed them. Camila had eventually escaped Van Quiso, but Lucia’s kidnapper died eleven years ago, taking her whereabouts to the grave.
“Her last known location,” Tate said, “was in a sex trafficking transport in Peru. It crashed. No survivors, but her body was never identified. I traveled to the crash site myself a few months ago. Talked to the locals in the village. No one knows anything, or so they claim.” He met Cole’s eyes. “To answer your question, I believe she survived that crash and is being held somewhere against her will.”
“What will you do when I confirm your suspicions? When I give you proof of her life? Since you can’t afford my retrieval fee, will you ask Matias Restrepo for help? We both know he has the power and resources to assist.”
Fucking hell. Since Cole was privy to Tate’s relationship with Camila, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he knew about the man she lived with. While the cartel capo could fund his own operation to find and extract Lucia, he’d already looked for her. And failed. Because he’d given up.
Tate wouldn’t be asking Matias for shit. He was doing this, in part, as a gift to Camila. He didn’t want Matias involved.
“No?” Cole’s gaze pressed against him, probing too close for comfort. “Okay, so what’s your plan? Will you try to retrieve her on your own and get yourself killed in the process? Or maybe you’ll ask your roommates to help you? Are you willing to risk their lives?”
What the hell was this guy’s problem? Tate just needed to know if Lucia lived. If she did, he’d figure it out from there.
“I don’t care what you do, man.” Cole leaned back, drummed his fingers on the table. “But before you go down this rabbit hole, you need to really think hard on why you’re doing it and the price you’re willing to pay. Right now, you can assume she’s dead and walk away. If you hire me, it’ll be too late to turn back.”
Cole was right. If he found her, if she was still alive, it didn’t matter how dangerous the situation, Tate would do whatever it took to reunite her with her sister. He ached to see the relief on Camila’s face. To know that he was the one who put it there. That he had given her something Matias couldn’t.
That was the fucked-up part, wasn’t it? His motivation was perverse, bordering on obsession, because dammit, he still wanted to win her heart. He wanted to be the one Camila belonged with.
So when Cole asked what price he was willing to pay, what he really wanted to know was how much Tate loved Camila. The answer was easy.
“I’ll send you everything I have on Lucia Dias.” Tate pushed away from the table. “Find her.”
CHAPTER 2
Five weeks later, Tate woke in an unfamiliar bed to the muffled chirp of his phone. Blinking away grogginess, he pushed a feminine arm off his chest and scanned the moonlit room for his pants. A trail of women’s clothing led out the door and into the hall, where he spotted his shoes and shirt.
“Where’s my—?”
“Here.” A naked woman sat up beside him and dragged his jeans from the floor, bringing the sound of his phone closer.
While searching the pockets, he slid off the bed and shuffled through the room. 1:13 AM glowed from the clock on the nightstand amid a clutter of empty beer bottles and condom wrappers.
Fuck, he hadn’t meant to fall asleep here—wherever here was.
The blonde he’d gone home with rolled to her stomach, her mascara-smudged eyes roaming his naked body. What was her name? Alicia? Allison? Did it matter?
Jesus, I’m an asshole.
His fingers bumped against the phone in the pocket, and he connected the call from an unknown number. “Hello?”