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"Yep."
"Who's Stephano?" His jaw tightened just an instant before forcibly relaxing. "Tamra's boyfriend slash supplier. That's Tamra with him."
He froze as she studied the picture of his ex-wife. Her sweet features long gone and replaced by the lines and sallow skin of a drug user. Her once full thick hair now hung in stringy clumps down her back, her collar bone protruding from her body as if she'd been starved for weeks and was dying. She probably was. She was killing herself every day, and she didn't care. She stopped caring about anything or anyone when she got hooked. Her every waking breath now only brought thoughts of her next hit and partying.
Megan's head twisted to look at him. "I thought you said she was beautiful."
Huffing out a breath, he responded, "She used to be. That's what the drugs have done to her." He pulled his phone out and pulled up a social media site, scrolling through pictures from Falcon's page. He found a picture of Tamra and Falcon taken the last Christmas she was still somewhat sober. Turning his phone to face her, he watched her eyes grow round and large in her head as she realized just what the drugs had done to this woman.
"Oh my God. That’s awful." She looked at the current picture again and shook her head slowly as if she felt pity.
"So right," Emmy began again. "So, I found out that Stephano is Marcus' boss."
"What?" They said it at the same time, both looking at Emmy for a response.
"Yep." She splayed more pictures onto the counter, and then a final picture of a man with Marcus that looked like the pictures he had of Waylon.
"That's Waylon!" Megan exclaimed. "So, he was working for Marcus?"
"This picture was taken earlier this year, in January. The DEA has been following Marcus around. They know he's involved with the El Pablo Cartel. He's simply managed to keep himself very clean, but they're watching and waiting for him to slip up. Right after this picture was taken, it seems Waylon decided to help himself to some of the coke they're pushing. Taking small little baggies here and there. But cartels don't screw around. Everything is weighed and weighed again for just this reason. At first, it was only off a gram or so, then it grew to be more. Finally, Waylon got very greedy and took two full bricks. A brick is also called a kilo, and a kilo of cocaine in New York can bring thirty grand or more. I don't have exact numbers from my source as to how much he stole before he got very greedy, but suffice it to say, if they had a buyer lined up beforehand, they could have sold it quickly and be out of the country now. He may have needed it to buy off the guards or other personnel to tell him when the van would be coming through and how to pull off his rescue of Bobby Ray."
Walking to his desk, he pulled up his laptop and began typing away. He had a few databases he could search for airports, boat rentals etc., to find if they left the country or were hiding out. His blood thrummed through his body, excitement edging out his sated feeling after making love to Megan. This was the feeling he loved, searching for his prey, and feeling like he had a lead now just brought that fire alive. He tapped and waited as sites loaded. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Rory's number.
"Yeah."
"Any idea if Bobby Ray or Waylon left the country?"
"They didn't. We had surveillance in every airport, dock, car rental place in the country the second we got word that Bobby Ray escaped."
"Okay. I'm doing some checking myself. I'm home now, so let me know when you hear anything."
He began scrolling the page he'd pulled up on his screen. It was a site run by a former Navy SEAL friend of his, Jared Timm, who was also a conspiracy theorist and had so much intelligence on so many obscure things it was mind boggling. The government really should hire this guy; he knew some serious shit. Only a few select people had the password to access the site, and it had served him well on many occasions. He paid him back by donating to his “cause.” A man's gotta eat, after all.
As he read the screen, looking for the section he wanted, he could faintly hear Megan and Emmy chatting away about the soccer game, the weather, clothes, flowers—it didn't matter. What mattered was he had a beautiful woman in his house that he enjoyed spending time with. Her body welcomed his in a way he'd never known before, and his family liked her too. He'd never had that before. And then he sees it, the faint hope that he just might be on to something.
Chapter23
Emmy left, and Ford continued to work at his computer, printing pages here and there, typing notes, and drawing out maps. She watched him for a while, and he seemed to be in a zone, oblivious to her presence. Her stomach growled, and she looked at the clock, surprised to see that it was now two in the afternoon and she hadn't eaten yet. The morning had flown by in a whirlwind, and so did the afternoon. Making them each a ham sandwich, she brought him a sandwich and a fresh cup of coffee to his desk and turned to leave him be when he grabbed her arm and pulled her down onto his lap.
His lips sought hers as his warm solid arms encased her close to him and her arms automatically wrapped around his shoulders as she sunk deeper into his kiss.
He pulled away and touched his forehead to hers. "Thank you."
She kissed his nose, giggled, and replied, "You're welcome."
She stood gently on her sore feet and went to the kitchen to clean up the small mess she'd made. She set a new pot of coffee on to brew since Ford would likely drink it down by the gallon. Then she searched around the kitchen to make supper plans.
She decided on a homemade bar-b-cue chicken pizza, fresh garlic knots, and a salad. Then she spotted the bag of apples Emmy had brought up and decided to make an apple pie. Nila had taught her how to make the famous pies she made at the restaurant, and the thought of her kind employer made her heart ache just a bit. Jolie promised to go and fill Nila in on what had happened and that Megan would be gone for a while, but she knew Nila depended on her and she felt bad for ditching her like she had. Setting about making her crust, she enjoyed looking across the open concept room and seeing Ford, concentration furrowing his brow, but peace and contentment in his posture as he searched and made headway of figuring out where his prey was hiding. It was exciting watching him.
Cooking for him soothed her, and she felt like she was able to repay him for his hospitality by making him homemade meals and allowing him to work. Her mind kept wandering to what it would be like if this was her life. She'd be content living like this. Working in her beautiful home, her husband thriving and happy. If she still thought it wasn't too late, she'd try and get pregnant. Her heart hammered at the thought that there still might be a chance for her to be a mom. Her hands stilled on the apple she peeled as she remembered that she isn't on birth control, and they hadn't used protection the second time they had sex. Of course, it was highly unlikely that one time and she'd get pregnant, but if they found themselves in the throes of passion again, she should probably be smart about it and ask him to use protection. It wasn't a question of being clean; it was the responsible thing to do to not bring an unwanted child into the world, even though she'd always want a child of her own that had grown in her tummy. She'd longed for it for so many years. Heavily sighing, she finished peeling the last of her apples.
After cutting them up, she coated them with her spices, adding just an extra dash or two of the cinnamon like Nila taught her. Hopefully, Ford wouldn't mind. Pouring them into her crust, she dotted the top with butter, added her top crust, sealed the edges with a perfect zigzag and popped it into the oven. Loading her dirty dishes in the dishwasher, she grabbed the coffeepot and limped over to the desk where Ford continued to work. She filled his cup, her heart hammering in her chest when he looked up at her and smiled. Oh, his smile was sigh worthy. Straight white teeth gleamed, his full soft lips formed the perfect shape, and his features looked soft and serene.
"Are you okay, hon? I'm sorry I'm ignoring you, but I'm making some headway here. Just a bit longer, okay?"
"Oh, Ford, please don't worry about me, I'm fine. But my feet are a bit tender, so I'm going to relax on the sofa a bit, if you don't mind."
His eyes grew large as if he'd forgotten about her feet, then he stood, took the coffeepot from her hand and set it on the edge of the desk, and then scooped her up in his arms. "I don't mind at all; and, in fact, I insist."
