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Isabelle gasps. “You—”
“Move,” I say, punching the unlock code into the door and shoving it open. Then push her outside.
“Is he dead?” she whisper yells as we walk briskly across the pave stones.
“Yes,” I reply. “I need you to calm down like I showed you.”
“Right. Yes. Right,” she says, blowing out a breath and not looking calm at all.
The top of my Jeep Sahara is down, and I climb into the driver’s seat, throwing the backpack on the floor behind me, waiting for Isabelle to scramble up on her side.
Short ass. But she’s a sexy short ass.
I start the engine and press the button to close the roof. It whizzes as it lifts up, and by then, I’m reversing and moving us as fast, but fucking slowly, as I can out of the property. Without drawing attention.
I pull one of the Glocks out from my holster and lay it on my lap. There are no soldiers flying out of the house, so I think we got lucky. Except my heart is still beating like a drum and I’m pretty sure I can hear Izabelle’s.
“Put your seatbelt on,” I ground out. She fumbles and gets it on as I flip the glove box open. I point to the pack of cigarettes.
“Light one and smoke it.”
“Gross, no... okay,” she says when I interrupt her with ado itexpression.
It will keep her hands busy while I speak to the guards at the gate. I slide to a stop as I recognize one of the regular night guards.
“You going out early, Dex?” Rafael asks.
I smirk and rub my fingers together. “Yeah, but it’ll be worth it, hombre.”
Rafael grunts out a laugh.
I’m too senior for him to be asking where I’m going, but he dips his head and looks at Isabelle. She turns her head away and blows out the smoke.
The timing couldn’t have been better.
The gates click and start to swing open. They’re silent as fuck because they cost a ton, but there are four more guards on the outside watching us.
“See you in a few hours,” I say, pressing the radio on as if it’s just another job. Led Zeppelin fills the car, and I put my foot on the gas, giving him a casual two-fingered wave as we cruise past.
Afterwards I turn left, and with some more pressure on the gas, we pick up speed. We’re both quiet as I take another turn and then floor it.
Like fucking floor it.
“Hold on,” I say, gripping the wheel and getting us the hell out of Sinaloa.
Without stopping, it will take us nearly twenty-four hours to reach the border. But wewillhave to stop. Pablo has eyes everywhere, so traveling during the day will be too dangerous. If I can get us to Mazatlán, four hours from here, I will find us somewhere we can bunker down by the time the sun rises.
If.
It all depends on how soon someone finds the soldier’s dead body and raises the alarm. As soon as they do, they’ll wake Miguel and he’ll phone Pablo.
It might occur to him that I’ve infiltrated his cartel for six long years, but he’ll believe I’ve betrayed him by stealing Isabelle. As if he owns her.
In his mind, he does.
This is how human traffickers think.
My time as an undercover gangster is done. When we return to the U.S., I’ll retrieve my real ID, but I’ll always need to remain vigilant and live in the shadows.
