Page 62 of Cartel King

“Stop. Both of you.”

Ellie pushes my hand out of the way and steps around me. She walks to her son, and he gives her a quick hug. She walks back to my side, watching me, nervous.

She should be. But I also hate that she fears me. That’s not what I want. She stops in front of me, our gazes locked.

“Will, you didn’t know until just now, did you?”

“Of course not. He wouldn’t be in your kitchen, and he sure as shi—shooting wouldn’t have been kissing you.”

He catches himself twice. He doesn’t swear in front of his mom. Good.

“Have I told you anything about him beyond his name’s Enrique?”

“No. Last I heard, you didn’t even know his last name. Did you before I said it just now?”

“Yes.”

I don’t like the insinuation, but Ellie’s expression warns me to remain quiet.

“Will, didn’t I tell you not to dig around?”

“Yeah. Did you tell us that after you knew who he was?”

“No. I didn’t want you boys prying into anyone’s private life.”

She’s going to hate learning how much digging I did into hers.

“Enrique, what do you think my name is?”

“Think?”

“Yes. What’s my name?”

“Elodie McCann.”

When Will shifts, and my gaze flies to him, she whirls around, stepping in front of me.

“I’m not shooting him if he’s not touching you, Mom. You really haven’t told him anything, have you?”

“No. Why do you think he’s so shocked a Vizzini’s standing in my kitchen? Why do you think you’re so shocked a Diaz is standing in my kitchen?”

“He was doing a lot more than standing, Mom.”

“Get used to it.”

She doesn’t quite snap at him, but it makes him jerk his chin back. The oven timer goes off, and I’m closer. I grab oven mitts while Ellie walks up to her son again. I can’t hear what she whispers, but he nods.

“We wanted to be sure you got home safely.”

I barely hear Will, but I catch what he says. Five minutes ago, I would’ve thought it was the normal question you ask when you know someone was traveling. Now it probably means something entirely different.

She doesn’t keep her voice down now, and she looks over at me before turning back to Will. I set the quiche on a trivet and put the mitts down. I want to wrap my arm around her again and stake a claim. But that’s utterly prehistoric and likely to cause a war with the first battlefield in Ellie’s house.

“Will, what are you doing here instead of Boston?”

“I have a meeting.” He stares at his mom.

Probably Salvatore Mancinelli.

---