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I couldn’t allow that to happen.
“What do you want with us?” I demanded. Maybe they would just try to ask us a few questions. We didn’t have to answer. Valentina and I were American citizens. We might be on Mexican soil, but we had our full rights in the eyes of the law, and we weren’t directly involved in any cartel activities. I didn’t even know anything about the business. I had no valuable information, even if I was somehow coerced into speaking.
Crawford’s blue eyes narrowed. “If you two aren’t outside with me in the next three minutes, my team are coming in.”
Valentina’s narrow chin tipped back, and her white teeth flashed as she defied him. “Let them come.”
“No!” I grabbed her hand, squeezing hard. “We don’t want that.” I fixed her with a pleading stare. “He’s an agent of the US government. He won’t hurt us. He can’t.”
We don’t have to say a word. We don’t have to answer his questions. I tried to convey my desperate thoughts through my tight grip on her hand and my wide gaze.
Her jaw firmed, her dark eyes going hard with resolve. “Fine,” she hissed. “We’ll come in for questioning. But you will regret this.”
My fingers tightened around hers in warning. Threats wouldn’t help our case.
Her lips pressed to a thin line, and she managed a tight nod of understanding in my direction.
We both stood and followed Agent Crawford through the kitchen, my feet heavy as though lead weights were attached to my high heels. Each step away from Mateo ratcheted up the tension in my body, the invisible tether between our souls drawing tight in protest of the increasing distance.
I sucked in a breath and straightened my spine, gathering my courage. I could do this. I had to protect the man I loved.
Warm night air engulfed us when we stepped out the back door into the narrow alley behind Stefano’s building. My hands began to shake as Agent Crawford typed a quick message into his phone. I wiped my sweaty palms on my dress, struggling to match Valentina’s icy composure.
Tires squealed, and a sleek black SUV filled the mouth of the alley. The doors flung open, and three armed men crowded into the alley. They were protected by bulletproof vests and equipped with rifles, stalking toward us with swift efficiency. Within a few heartbeats, they were on us.
The burliest man at the front of the trio grabbed my upper arm and yanked me toward him. I stumbled on my high heels, shocked at the sudden violent way he was handling me.
My stomach lurched, fear detonating deep inside me. Their vests weren’t emblazoned with any official lettering. They didn’t announce their affiliation with the DEA. They didn’t read us our rights.
“What is this?” Valentina demanded, smothering a wince as her arresting officer’s thick fingers dug into her slender arm.
“We wanted Carmen Ronaldo.” The man holding me growled at Agent Crawford. “Where is she?”
Agent Crawford swallowed hard, cheeks paling. “I couldn’t get to her.” He gestured at Valentina. “This is Rodríguez’s wife. She’s even more valuable than Ronaldo.”
Bile burned the back of my throat at the dawning realization that these men weren’t government agents. The bruising grip on my arm told me that they didn’t care about my status as an American citizen with rights in the eyes of the law.
The thug holding Valentina fisted her hair, yanking her head back so that he could study her face. She swallowed a sharp cry, blinking back tears of pain and fear as she glared up at her captor.
“We want leverage over Stefano Duarte,” the third man seethed, pointing his weapon at Agent Crawford. “Go back in there, and get us Carmen.”
The blond man who had deceived us shook his head wildly. “I have to get out of here, and so do you. Rodríguez is Duarte’s boss. Having his wife gives you even more leverage.”
My assailant pulled me closer, and the scent of his rank body odor permeated my senses, increasing my nausea. “And what about this one?” he asked. “Who is she?”
“Does it matter?” Crawford replied quickly as he hastened towards a waiting motorcycle. “Take them both. Or kill her if you want.”
“No!” Valentina shouted, twisting against her captor’s cruel hold. He slapped his hand over her mouth, silencing her defiant cries.
Crawford’s motorcycle roared to life. “I want my money,” he called to the other men.
The one who wasn’t holding us tossed him a thick roll of US dollars. Crawford caught it, got on his bike, and peeled off into the night.
The smell of stale beer wafted over me as my captor leaned in close, his yellowed teeth flashing in a sickening leer. “I guess that means you’re mine to play with, slut.”
His fingers tangled in my curls, and he yanked me toward the SUV. I screamed and thrashed, pain lighting up my scalp as he tore at my hair.
“Shut up, bitch.”
