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“Matthew?”
“She knew it was the other way ’round. We’d talked about it only a couple of hours earlier. She asked me about my tattoo and I told her how we’d debated whether to get a skull and crossbones or an eagle, and how the eagle had won, and she knew that. She knew!”
Cam and Alex exchanged bewildered looks.
“And?” Alex said.
“And,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse, “I was too busy wallowing in self-pity to get the message.”
“Yeah, well, count us in because we don’t get it, either.”
“Mia loves me,” Matthew said with conviction. “She’s not the woman Hamilton said she was—and, dear God, I let that son of a bitch take her away!”
He shot to his feet, took out some bills and dropped them on the table. He was halfway to the door before his brothers caught up to him.
“What’re you talking about?” Cam said.
“Yeah, man. You gonna let us in on the mystery?”
“It wasn’t Mia who scammed me, it was Hamilton. And I—I fell for it. I let him take her with him.” Matthew ran to the curb and flagged a taxi. “God only knows what he’ll do to her. What he’s already done to her.”
“Matt. Wait a minute…”
Matthew jumped into the cab. It was a small vehicle. Any sane person would have said three men the size of the Knights couldn’t possibly fit into the back seat, but they did.
The Learjet Matthew had chartered for his flight home was still at the airport. The pilot was just getting ready to make the return trip to Colombia.
“No problem,” he said, when Matthew ran into the private aircraft terminal, yelling that he wanted to charter the Lear again.
The brothers scrambled on board. Matthew dug out his cell and punched in a number he’d never forgotten.
The same dispassionate voice from the past answered. Matthew gave the right code words. Seconds later, he was talking to the man known as the Director, who had run black ops for the Agency as long as anyone could remember.
When the conversation ended, his expression was grim.
“Son of a bitch,” he said tonelessly. “I should have known. Nothing’s changed. Black is always white and white is always black in the Agency’s world.”
“Mia wasn’t running drugs?” Alex said.
“She was a secretary, working at the Department of Defense. A secretary, goddammit! But they didn’t care. They got word Hamilton might be dirty, went through the files and learned she’d worked for him, called her in and handed her a load of b.s. about it being her patriotic duty to get the goods on him. Then they sent her down to Cartagena to be Hamilton’s P.A.”
“And she got the proof they wanted.”
“Yes. He’s the one. The turncoat. The smuggler. Mia got hold of the names of his contacts. That’s why she ran, and why he had to get her back.”
Cam cursed, softly and eloquently. “It’s gonna take us, what, five, six hours to reach Cartagena.”
“An eternity,” Matthew said, his voice low and rough. “I told that to the Director. I told him what was happening and he said okay, he had enough to raid Hamilton’s house.”
“And?”
“He’ll raid it…but not for another twenty-four hours. He says that’s how long it’ll take to coordinate the Agency, DEA and the Colombian cops.”
“That’s too long.”
“You bet your ass it is.” Matthew looked at his brothers. “I’m not Agency. I’m not DEA and I’m damned well not the cops. I’m gonna make a couple of calls, line up some gear.”
Nobody asked what kind of gear he meant. They knew. Weapons. Wire cutters. Electronic stuff. Whatever would get them into Hamilton’s place—and get Mia out.
