Page 43 of Chris

Abril nodded. “You know, in my experience, it’s always what motivates a man that determines whether his actions are justifiable. What do you think, Chris?”

Huh.

Seems someone had been listening.

He smirked. “I would say you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

Although Chris was in Mexico with the Lòpez cartel for a reason, he could still appreciate and respect the set up they had here. The ranch itself was almost a small community. In the middle, a cluster of homes sat in a large circle, all connected by pathways and gravel driveways. Another two barns also sat further in the property, along with stables.

For horses, apparently.

The cocaine, the man showing Chris around explained, they made and packaged it for shipping in Colombia where the cartel had gained control over production. They moved the substance between several locations—the ranch being one—to store before a smuggle run, which was a different story, and something Chris would get details on later.

“It’s important,” the man—Jesús, was it?—said as they stepped out of the house that Chris would use for his stay, “that the cartel maintains its control over territory, and distribution. Territory is the issue we’ve been having for a while, because of the García organization.”

Right.

The cartel that controlled the lower portion of Mexico, and for a while, had tried to take control of the production in Colombia.

“We’re working on that,” the man said before Chris could ask further.

He wasn’t that interested in the cartel, or their business. Cartels were complex criminal organizations, but he had a good enough grasp on the details to know how they worked. The lengths the family went to in order to maintain their privacy and control fascinated him, but he didn’t really care.

Yet, he had to pretend to.

Fun.

Chris’s entire purpose here rested on a ruse, and him being able to keep it up. The longer he could stay in the Lòpezs’ presence, gather as much information about their lives and business, the better chance he had at getting Valeria and her daughter out of here alive. So, he continued to ask questions, and allow the man to take him around the ranch when what he wanted was a goddamn nap.

As far as the Lòpez family, and Jorge, understood … Chris was here because his father was anal on every single detail in business. Most, if not all, organizations would not be willing to indulge the demands Gian had made for this deal, but because the Lòpez cartel needed something from the Guzzis—the arrangement for a cocaine supply between them would be in the hundreds of millions a year—they would play along.

But for how long?

That was the real question.

As they walked along a pathway leading toward the biggest house on the property, something in the corner of his eye caught Chris’s attention. A familiar woman came out of the stables with a saddle in her hands that she tossed onto a fence to hold it up before turning back to disappear inside the building.

Valeria.

For a second, Chris felt as though he could breathe a little better. Sure, he had seen her the night before, but he hadn’t felt safe asking her questions about her safety here when prying ears were nearby. All week, he had worried about that woman, and what might happen to her. It left him with little sleep, and more restless nights than he cared to admit. And when he slept, images of her beautifully sad face filled his mind.

Not that he needed to be dreaming about that woman at all, or how she had looked with her curves filling out a dress, heels to show off long, golden legs, and black hair pin-straight falling down her back. Because no, he didn’t need those images in his mind alongside the concern he already had for her.

This was a problem waiting to happen.

Obviously.

It was a little relieving for him to see her looking well and happy in the daylight. He still wanted to speak to her—get close, look her in the eyes, and make sure things were okay. It wasn’t a game he should play, and nothing good would come out of the fact he had a growing emotional attachment to this job, but whatever.

Chris was who he was.

Someone who cared.

He gave a fuck.

Before he reconsidered, he asked the man ahead of him, “Can we go inside the stables?”