Page 27 of Wicked Intention

The answer was unexpected, but it explained things better than if she had baldly stated who Castillo was. He asked the question she was clearly waiting for. “How does she tie in to Silva?”

More silence then quietly, defiantly, Zo said, “She was Silva’s mistress.”

“Was his mistress, past tense?”

“Mari is missing. I came down to Puerto Jardin to look for her.”

Finn tensed. “You’re following Silva because you think he’ll lead you to her.”

She shrugged.

“Zo,” Finn said quietly, leaning toward her and taking her hand. He linked their fingers, half expecting her to jerk loose. “Silva doesn’t hide his mistresses when he’s finished with them. If she’s disappeared, she’s probably dead.”

Zo flinched, but she didn’t try to pull free. Instead, her fingers tightened around his. “She can’t be dead. I’d know if she was dead.” She sounded sure, but her blue eyes were watery when she looked up at him. “Maybe she ran away.”

Finn wanted to give her the reassurance she was looking for, but he couldn’t lie. “Even if she took off on her own, Silva isn’t going to personally search for her. He’d send his men out, and they’ll find her before you can.”

“I have to do something,” she whispered. “Would you let one of your friends disappear without doing everything you could?”

“What does her family say?”

“Mari’s parents are dead. I’m the closest thing to familyshe has left. If following Silva won’t help me find her, what should I do instead?”

“Nothing.” Her mutinous expression exasperated him. He didn’t want to wound her, but she needed the truth. “No. You need to back off. If she isn’t already dead, and if she did run off, Silva is going to make her pay for that. Do you want to be responsible for leading his men to her? Do you, loquita? Because when they find her, theywillkill her.”

Chapter Ten

Rio Blanco, Puerto Jardin

Present Day

THE JAIL CELL WAS six by eight. Finn had paced it enough times to have the dimensions memorized. There were three holding cells on the lower level of Rio Blanco International Airport, but he was the lone prisoner. He dropped onto the wooden bench, the only piece of furniture in his cell, and leaned against the brick wall behind him.

There were no windows. He’d tested each bar of his cell, as well as the cell door, with no luck, and without a jailor in here with him, there was no one to bribe. Not that it was likely to work, not with the presidential brigade in charge.

His arrest had to be related to the mess Zo was in—it was too big a coincidence otherwise. Finn tried to ignore the twisting in his gut, but it didn’t matter how smart and resourceful she was, with the government involved, the deck was stacked against her. He couldn’t even be sure any longer that she had made it to San Isidro.

He needed to escape.

They wouldn’t keep him here long, and once they put him in a more secure prison, getting loose would be nearly impossible, not without weeks or even months of planning. That left him with one opportunity to get free—when they transferred him.

Finn tried to work out a strategy. There wasn’t much he could plan, though, not when he didn’t know how many men would be guarding him, where they’d be positioned, or a hundred other variables.

Zo slipped into his head. The last time he’d kissed her had been at LAX.

He’d held on to her longer than usual because he hadn’t wanted to let her go. Because, damn it, he hadn’t wanted her to fly to Puerto Jardin without him. She’d clung to him, too, but Finn doubted it had been for the same reason. Zo was fiercely independent. He fucking loved her strength—it was one of the reasons she’d put him down for the count—but there were times it made him insane.

Didn’t matter. He could live with the crazy as long as he had her.

A sound had him on his feet. The door to the cellblock opened, and three men entered. One appeared to be a Rio Blanco police officer, and the other two were members of the presidential brigade. A fourth man moved into the doorway, his weapon trained on him.Shit.He recognized this dude—he’d been part of the team that had taken Torres down two years ago—Finn was sure the man remembered him. He only hoped it was as a gunrunner.

“Stand away from the door,” the cop ordered in Spanish.

Finn moved back several steps, keeping his hands in plain sight. It wouldn’t take much to incite the brigade to kill him, and he didn’t plan to give them an easy excuse.

“Face the wall.”

Again, he followed orders but turned his head to watchwhat he could. The cell door opened, but Finn didn’t move. He had a quick look at the handcuffs before they had his wrists secured behind his back. The cop grabbed his arm, jerked him forward, and Finn’s gaze skipped to the brigade member at the door, trying to read him. Had he been far enough on the inside of the Torres mission to know Finn was Special Forces or not?

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