Page 55 of Fixed Asset

That was going to be a problem, and not just because Mia could be in danger. Stopping Cole from going out on the hunt to put Carlos down was going to take no small amount of effort. But if Pete couldn’t talk Mason down, shit would turn catastrophic. There was taking out a threat, then there was Mason off his leash. No one threatened to harm the people Mason loved without swift retribution that assuredly would turn messy. On the contrary, Pete’s reckoning would be carefully planned and executed in a calculated manner.

Before Pete could question how Tom had come to this intel or why he hadn’t shared it earlier, the man went on, “Carlos did away with the loans, kept the gambling, but only because he can get payoff in trade.”

That was not shocking nor surprising. Taking out warlords was like a game of Whac-A-Mole. One goes down, and two others pop up.

“And he’s expanded his stable,” Tom finished.

Pete didn’t have to ask if Carlos’s stable of prostitutes included children. He knew it did. The disgusting truth was there was a market for fresh young girls, and he’d learned a long time ago that the only way to survive in his line of work was to remember the people he saved, and not all of the ones he couldn’t. It was the only way to keep a sliver of sanity.

“Explain why you sent Catarina to Honduras to find Berta and give her bogus intel,” Jack demanded.

“Because I need her expertise to find a woman for me, and she needs access to Berta’s network.”

From across the room Jack made a strangled noise, clearly not pleased with Tom’s request.

“Cut the shit, Tom. You said you needed all of us in the room for this conversation. Not just me and Berta. And if that was the case, you could’ve told me that in Virginia. This isn’t about me or Berta. It’s about Pete and his men. Spit it out already.”

Pete stopped his lips from twitching, but just barely. Catarina Keys was something else. She reminded him of his sister, but more ballsy. Jack was a lucky man.

“I need Saint and his team to go back to Juárez with you.”

“Who is this woman?” Mason asked.

“Calista Ventura.”

“Dios mío.”

Everyone’s attention went to Berta. The woman looked ravaged.

“How long, Tom?” Berta seethed.

“Three weeks.”

“And you did not call me. Instead you . . .” One of Berta’s hands came up and swept the room. “Set this up.”

“I can’t have any involvement in this, Berta. None. If the CIA knows I’ve breathed a word of this, I’ll be prosecuted for treason.”

Treason?

“Why doesn’t the CIA want this woman to be saved?”

Tom looked uncomfortable for a moment before he said, “Because she’s an enemy of the state.”

Well, that didn’t mean shit to Pete. If the government knew what he and the team did, they’d consider them felons. There was this gray area where the real world happened. The place where good people did bad things for the right reasons.

“What’s she accused of?” Fallon joined in.

“Murder.”

Again, that meant nothing; murder was up for interpretation. The deceased was not always the victim.

“Who did she murder?” Pete took over the questioning again.

“A senator’s aide.” Tom paused, then under his breath mumbled, “And two other men.”

Well, shit on a shingle.

“If she’s wanted for the murder of three men, why are you helping her?”