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Dornan had found her.
He’d fucking found her. And along with her, his kid.
John hung up the phone and looked around his kitchen, rage and guilt rising inside him. The conversation hadn’t gone down well. Dornan had demanded his presence in Colorado, and insisted that he bring Mariana.
Did he know about Murphy? About the kiss? Did he know about the way John had put his hands all over Dornan’s woman, about how he wanted to do more and no matter what he tried to do to take his mind off it, he couldn’t get her out of his fucking head?
‘That’s a fifteen-hour drive,’ John had protested, as soon as Dornan had made the request. ‘I’ll grab a flight. Or ride it. I can ride faster than I can drive a car.’
‘You’re not riding with Mariana on the back of your bike,’ Dornan had growled. ‘Where are you?’
John glanced at his daughter, lying on the couch as she watched TV. Caroline was in bed, where she’d been for the past three days, only getting up to take more pills. Sometimes she liked uppers, but this week she was systematically knocking herself out for six hours at a stretch. He’d been sleeping on the couch to stay away from her. Their bedroom smelled like unwashed bodies and stale beer, and he wasn’t about to go in there and clean it up. At least when she was on a downer, he could keep tabs on where she was.
‘I’m at home,’ he said. ‘Tell me what’s going on.’
Dornan cleared his throat. ‘I’ve found Stephanie.’
So it was true. Fuck. Did he know the rest, too? Did he know that John had already known where she was all along?
‘Alive?’ John asked finally.
‘No. Well, yeah. She was alive when I got here.’
Jesus.
John wondered about Jason, Stephanie’s son. Dornan’s son. He couldn’t very well ask about him, though. He wasn’t supposed to know Jason existed.
‘Okay, you wanna tell me what happened?’
‘Not particularly. You’ll see soon enough.’
‘Give me an address,’ John said reluctantly. He didn’t write it down. He didn’t need to.
He knew exactly where he was going.
CHAPTER FORTY
MARIANA
Somehow knowing that I was pregnant made the nausea worse. It had ramped up significantly since the shooting, and it was taking everything I had to keep it concealed.
Guillermo’s mother had improved, and so he’d come back to the apartment. I had hardly seen Dornan in the past few weeks and I’d mostly kept my head down. I’d called Miguel and checked on Luis, desperate for information. My family had been buried in a plot without a funeral. There had been no investigation.
The corrupt fucking police force that was supposed to protect my country was probably being paid by the cartel to do their dirty work. I mean, it made sense. Emilio had Colombia by the balls, and he paid the police commissioner handsomely. I would know. I was the one who organised the cash transfers into his bank account.
It was around eight at night and I was cleaning up the dinner plates after Guillermo had cooked tacos. It was the only thing he knew how to make, and he’d already started before I could protest that my ass was going to get fat from the food he kept bringing home. There was a knock on the door. Guillermo looked at me from his seat at the breakfast bar.
‘You expecting company?’ he asked, one hand going to the gun at his hip.
I shook my head. ‘Nope. You?’
He shook his head, sliding off the stool and approaching the front door. He moved like a freaking cat, he was so stealthy, his feet gliding along the tiles as if they weren’t even touching them.
He keyed in the code and the door clicked, whoever was on the other side opening it immediately.
Guillermo aimed at whoever it was, until the person smacked the gun out of his hand and grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back and slamming him face-first into the wall.
‘John?’ I asked, watching the gun slide across the tiles.
