Page 18 of Thaddeus

Fuck.

I had to blink the vision from my mind and turn away. This Emerson, fresh-faced with her hair pulled up was the one I’d remembered. The one I’d fallen in love with.

Goddamn it.

“And damn if Sidney wasn’t spot on. The dogs who were in the cages waiting to fight were heavily guarded. The smell was atrocious,” Brooks added.

“They guard the dogs so one of the competitors doesn’t try to poison the competition before the fight. Or harm it in any way,” Emerson told us.

“How many fights have you been to?” Declan inquired.

“Three big ones. One in the States. One in Spain. And one during my last trip to Venezuela.”

“All with Garcia?” Dec continued.

“Yes. Besides those, he’d taken me to dozens of smaller ones.”

“Smaller how?” I asked.

“Smaller in the number of dogs fighting and attendees. Jefferson traveled all over scouting dogs he wanted to buy. He’d go to small fights put on by the locals of wherever we were, and if he felt the winning dog had potential, he’d buy it.”

“Why would they sell their dog if it was a winner? That doesn’t make sense. Were they breeders or using the animal as income?”

Emerson held my eyes when she answered. “Because the people he bought the dogs from didn’t have a choice. If Jefferson wanted their money maker, he’d take it. No one said no to Jefferson Baldwin.”

No one said no to Jefferson Baldwin.

The thought turned my gut. And Emerson had been his woman. She’d slept in his bed and hung off his arm like a prize.

Fucking gross.

“When we got upstairs to Jefferson’s office, the target was gone. The room was empty,” Declan finished.

“Jefferson’s office isn’t upstairs. Not in that warehouse. There’s a room off where the kennels are kept. He likes conducting business in full view of his snarling dogs. He thinks it’s a show of power,” Emerson corrected.

“Fuck,” Declan snapped. “Bad intel or misdirect?”

“How many people know where Jefferson’s office is?” Tatiana asked. “What I’m trying to get at is, is it well-known he conducts his meetings near his dogs or does he try to conceal his location?”

“His security knows. Anyone who’s met with him in private knows. He doesn’t keep it a secret but I wouldn’t say he broadcasts it either. I guess what I’m saying is, anyone who paid attention would see him entering the room. And considering you’re dealing with shady criminals, they all paid attention. But if it was someone’s first time at one of his fights, they may not know. There are offices upstairs but he doesn’t use them.”

“We’ll have to have Garrett run his informant to find out how involved he is in Garcia’s dealings.”

“You keep calling Jefferson, “Garcia”. You do know he changed his name to Baldwin, right? When he and his mother left Brazil.”

Interesting. Emerson knew some of Garcia’s background.

“When’d he leave Brazil?” I asked, fishing to see just how much she knew.

“When he was a kid. From what I could gather, his dad made some bad business dealings and was killed. His mom took him to Guyana and changed their name.”

“And where did you gather that information—from his LinkedIn for Gang Leaders account?”

Emerson cut her eyes at me and part of me was happy to see she’d taken a hit. I knew I was being a dick, was doing it on purpose, and hoped she’d read my message loud and clear.

“Actually…” Her lips curved up in a cruel smile and I knew I didn’t want to hear her answer. I was hanging onto what was left of my sanity by a thread, and if she told me she’d learned about Garcia’s childhood from whispered words and pillow talk I’d lose my shit.

So instead of listening to her spew some shit that was going to make me go ballistic, I cut her off. “His father was a snitch and was killed because of it. Pablo Garcia actually wanted better for his family and informed on a local gang leader in exchange for money from the government so he could move his son and wife out of the slums. Lizza Garcia took Jefferson to Suriname where she worked until she could afford to buy them new identities and get them in Guyana, where she found a job as a maid.”