Page 11 of Faded Gray Lines
I couldn’t comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. It was as if wires had crossed in my brain and sent an electrical shock down my spine. I tried to sit down, but it was more of a stumble—a fall from innocence that left me unstable—in more ways than one.
“No. You’re lying. My brother works for the DA’s office.”
“Which makes him all the more valuable to a man like Valentin Carrera.”
I’d heard the name before. No one lived in Houston for any amount of time and didn’t know the legend of the Carreras. However, my big brother would never betray the law he swore to uphold and protect.
“Fine,” he growled, obviously taking my silence as disbelief. “Some people need to hear shit for themselves—twice.” He pointed a finger at the taller of the two guards. “Play it.”
I knew the voices immediately and recognized the words. I heard the panic in my own voice, forcing me to hear the iciness in his tone I’d ignored before.
“Brody?”
“Are you on your own phone?”
“Yes.”
“Have you called the police?”
“No.”
“Good, don’t. Listen very carefully. Don’t touch anything. I need you to get anything out of there that’s yours or that has your information on it. Anything, Leighton. Pack your bags and come to Houston now. I’ll take care of it.
When it was over, Alex tapped his finger against his dimple again. “Why do you think he was so calm, Leighton? You admitted to murder.”
“You bugged my phone?”
“I told you, we’ve been watching you,” he replied impatiently. “Having Swenson over there install spyware on your phone while you daydreamed over coffee wasn’t hard. You don’t pay attention for shit.”
I covered my ears. “Please stop.”
But mercy wasn’t on Agent Atwood’s agenda, and he jerked a hand away from my head. “I’m finished with the kid gloves, so here’s how this is going to happen. You’re going to take that bag of shit over there, get in your car, and drive to Houston like Brody told you to. What you’re not going to do is speak a word of anything that happened here tonight.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
His eyes darkened. “You’re going to hand me the heads of the Carrera Cartel on a platter. I want Valentin Carrera, Mateo Cortes, Emilio Reyes, and your brother, or we’ll take you in right now and charge you with murder.”
Sweat trickled down my neck at the thought of being locked away, but my stomach curdled at being the cause of damning Brody to the same fate. “No matter what he’s done, I won’t be the one to ruin my brother.”
He loosened a button at the top of his white collared shirt and cursed under his breath. “What if I arranged immunity for him? He’d have to turn on the rest of them, but if you get me Carrera, Cortes, and Reyes, I’ll go easy on him.”
I failed to see how this was any better. “You want me to lie to my brother?”
“He’s been lying to you.”
I weighed the consequences. “I have family here. How can I be sure they’ll be safe?”
“We can protect them.” The response came too quickly—as if he’d been expecting it and came prepared.
“You know about them?”
“I’ve told you, I know everything about you, Leighton, and that includes the people around you. We can take them into protective custody.”
The thought ripped me apart. “They’ll never go.”
“I’m sure you can be quite convincing,” he said, giving me a condescending wink.
He was right, and he knew it. A couple of promises and they’d do whatever I told them to. Blind trust was deadlier than any weapon.
