Chapter Fourteen
Numb with confusion, Rose pressed her body against Santos’s back, her arms around his waist in a death grip as the cold west Texas wind rushed past them. Santos bore down on the bike for all it was worth, and the twin pipes responded with their familiar breath-taking roar. The Harley seemed to feed on the sound, the motorcycle lifting itself off the pavement as it flew down the highway at a breakneck speed. Santos’s body reflected the bike’s urgency, his knuckles so tight on the handles she wondered which might break first—his fingers or the grips.
After calling the ACES team, he’d told her where they were headed, but the rest of her questions had gone unanswered. “They’ll have to wait,” he’d said. “I’ve got to drive, and you have to ride. Nothing else matters right now.”
It was probably just as well, she thought blankly. If someone had told her the sun would be rising at midnight, she might have believed it. The idea made as much sense as anything in the past thirty minutes. Santos had known where her mother was all this time. The world was upside down.
He slowed the Harley and took a hard left off the highway. Following his lead and leaning the same direction, she clung to him tightly, believing for a second they were going over. Her mouth went dry as he straightened and added even more speed, the bike accelerating so quickly she wondered just how much faster they could go. The first village they passed through was little more than an impression, and the second one was a blur. Santos didn’t let up on the throttle until they took another left, turning into a road she didn’t see until the very last second. This time the bike fishtailed, but he got it under control so swiftly they were out of slide before she could scream. Five minutes later, he brought them to stop in a spiral of dust, jumped off the bike, and threw down his helmet. Grabbing the .45 from the back of his waistband, he was running before she got off the motorcycle. She quickly followed, their dash over the rugged landscape reminding her of their first encounter outside her headquarters.
Dodging cacti and scrambling over rocky terrain, Santos threw up his right fist in a signal as they neared the top of a gradual incline. He fell to the dirt behind a narrow cedar, and she did the same, the tree’s slender branches giving them scant cover as they crept to the highest point.
They were a half mile away, maybe less, but even if they’d been right on top of it, she wasn’t sure she would have seen the compound. The house blended so well with the landscape, it was invisible unless you knew where it sat. High walls surrounded a large square of land, which were the same color as the desert. Even the darker roof tiles of the buildings they spied within the walls seemed to have been chosen to blend in. They melded perfectly into the shadows of the mountains in the background.
A second line of defense, another walled enclosure, had been built behind a rust-colored gate. The double barrier added extra security, forcing whoever drove in to lower their speed to a crawl then turn their vehicle left. The walls also kept out curious eyes. From the elevated spot where they waited, they had a bird’s eye view into both courtyards. The first one was a parking area, and through an arched opening a larger open area was ringed by a quadrangle of buildings, just like Reina’s house. The similarities ended there. Her courtyard had been an oasis of peace; these were staging areas for violent raids.
Rose’s gaze backtracked to the road outside the walls. It was as indiscernible as the rest of the place. Only when she looked closer did she see the underlying smoothness that gave testimony to its use. The native trees and grasses that bordered it had been carefully manipulated, their ragged limbs and seemingly random planting were a clever ruse that hid the cameras in their branches. Someone had spent a boatload of money making sure the place was invisible and defendable.
Santos jerked his head over his shoulder. They squirmed their way backward until they couldn’t be spotted or heard by anyone at the house.
“That’s Ortega’s compound,” he said quietly. “We’ll wait here until the rest of the team arrives.”
“Is my mother there?” Her jaw was so taut with anger and concern she could barely speak. “If she is, we need to go right now. Who knows how long your team could take—” She started to stand, then suddenly she was sprawled in the dirt.
She blinked in disbelief and looked down. His hand was wrapped around her ankle. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m not letting you go down there, Rose. We’re waiting for the team. You know better than I do what might happen if we screw this up.”
“If we don’t get down there, she might die—”
“And if we go down there without backup, we might all die.”
She bit the inside of her mouth, refusing to let her tears of frustration escape. Her brain knew he was right, but her heart didn’t want to accept it. She slumped into the dirt.
He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and his forefinger as if he didn’t believe what he’d seen and needed to clear his vision. “We’ve been trying to find this place for two years. It would have taken us twenty more without your mother’s help.”
“You knew all along where she was.” Her throat went so tight, she could hardly get the words out. “How in the hell could you lie to me like that?”
Above them, a layer of clouds shifted over the sun, harbingers of rain. In their growing shadows, he turned and stared at her. “I’ve had your mother inside Ortega’s camp for two years, Rose. She’s done more for this operation than any of my agents.”
Thunder broke the thick silence but neither of them blinked. Agents, she repeated to herself. Done more for this operation than any of my agents…
A cold comprehension slowly spread outward from Rose’s core. Her legs froze, her breath turned to ice; even her heart, especially her heart, hardened into a lump of glacial disbelief. “You son-of-a-bitch.” The curse came out in a whisper of shock. “My mother is your confidential informant. My mother is Lilith.”
He didn’t even try to deny it. “Your mother was Ortega’s lover. When her circumstances…changed, she came to work for me.”
Rose raised her voice, then realized what she’d done, dropping it again. “Why on earth did you tell me you needed my help finding her if you knew all along where she was?”
“I didn’t know where she was. I was hoping like hell that you did.”
“I would have helped you without all the lies—”
He interrupted her. “Have you forgotten you tried to throw me out when you saw me that first night? If I hadn’t told you I was working undercover, you would have run me out of town. And if I’d told you your mother was involved, you would have done just what you tried to do—go off half-cocked and try to rescue her on your own.”
She shifted her gaze away then brought it back. He knew her too damn well.
“I did the only thing I knew—to go after Ortega and still protect her.” He bit off the words then added, “And you.”
“I should have been told.”
“Maybe so, but I wasn’t willing to take that risk. And even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t. As part of her agreement, your mother insisted I not tell you what was going on, and I made a commitment to her that you would never find out.”
He was still talking as she began shaking her head. “I don’t care. You shouldn’t have done that—”
“What should I have done? Just ignore it and leave her hanging?” Santos’s own voice rose and then fell. “When she disappeared, I had a choice—honor that promise or break it. Either way, I still had to hunt for Ortega. I tried to do it all. Obviously I failed.”
“Why would she even go undercover in the first place?” Rose spoke as if to herself, then suspicion suddenly flooded her. She tilted closer to him. An hour ago—a lifetime ago—she would have drawn this near only to kiss him. She spoke with a deceptively soft voice. “What did you do to her, Santos?”
“I didn’t blackmail her, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“She just called you out of the blue one day and said, ‘Hey, Santos, I want to go undercover and find out all I can about this big bad cartel leader so you can arrest him? Oh, and while you’re at it, you can arrest me, too.’”
“I didn’t do anything to her.” His breath washed her cheek. “She did it to herself.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. I suspected she’d been involved with Ortega for several months. That’s why I tried to get you to distance yourself from her right before we broke up. And then one night, I found her running guns two counties over from Rio. Their affair had ended, and Ortega was blackmailing her. She was terrified of him, and rightly so. The night before I saw her, he’d blindfolded her and taken her to the border, where he proceeded to have his men pick up an illegal crossing the river. Ortega grabbed a knife, wrapped her fingers around the handle, and slit the poor SOB’s throat while he made her hold the blade.” He paused as if he couldn’t quite believe his own explanation. “The bastard told her she’d be next if she ever left him, and even if she managed to get away, he’d still have the knife. He’d turn her in, and she’d be arrested for murder. She was trapped.”
Rose’s breath caught until her lungs forced her to breathe again.
“Your mother’s been protecting you, Rose, just as she did when you were sixteen—no matter the cost. And she insisted I not tell you.”
“There had to be other options.”
“Not with this. She could go undercover or go to jail. And I didn’t make the offer. My boss did.”
“But I’m sure you ‘advised’ her to become your informant.”
“I told her to go to jail,” he said bluntly, shocking her into silence. “It would have been a helluva lot safer, in my opinion. She’s the one who made the decision to go under, Rose. I didn’t send her there.”
“But why would she make that kind of choice?”
“She’d been in prison once, and she didn’t want to go back. But she had a more important reason, too.”
“And that was?”
“You.”
Rose shook her head. She knew what he was going to say, and she didn’t want to hear it.
“She knew if she disappeared, Ortega wouldn’t stop looking for her. He’d keep digging and digging until he uncovered everything about her, including you. She decided she’d have more control over the situation if she stayed on the outside. And she made me promise not to tell you. I knew Ortega had figured out she was working for us. When you said she hadn’t contacted you, I was praying he hadn’t killed her.”
“Reina wondered if Ortega knew I was Gloria’s daughter,” she said slowly. “I guess this answers that question.”
“I’m assuming Ortega was trying to intimidate you simply because you’re the sheriff. If he knew you were Gloria’s daughter, you’d already be dead.”
She blew out a breath and looked up. In the distance, a bolt of heat lightening crackled through the darkening clouds. The long streak reached out to the nearest peak, then pulled back. “I should have known,” she said quietly.
“You couldn’t have possibly figured out the details. And even if you had, it wouldn’t have made any difference. She protected you once. She wanted to protect you again.”
“I wasn’t talking about my mother.” She turned toward Santos. “I was talking about you. The only thing that matters to you is the end result. The circumstances—and the people—mean nothing. All you wanted was Ortega, and you didn’t care who you had to use to get him.”
“If that’s the case, you would have known the truth. I wouldn’t have bothered to keep her role silent.”
She made a dismissive sound.
“Ortega’s a risk to your mother, to you, and to everyone else in this part of Texas,” Santos said. “He sells death and destruction. He’s the one you need to condemn, not me.”
“Maybe so,” she said, turning away from him. “But he’s not the man I thought I loved.”
…
Santos had no reply, so all he did was stay silent, and Rose did the same. When his phone vibrated, he thrust a hand inside his vest and pulled it out. Jessie answered his terse hello, a country and western band playing in the background, liquor-fueled laughter accompanying it.
“I’m ten minutes out,” she said. “Do you want us to come in now?”
“Is everyone there?”
“No, just me. I was the closest when you called. I’m at a bar just down from your location in San Rosa.” He heard the sound of breaking glass, and Jessie cursed. “It’s getting nuts in here,” she said unnecessarily. “What should I do?”
“Give it another ten minutes, then come in. Bring our friends, too.” He punched the end button and stuck the phone back into his vest pocket.
Rose sat beside him with a stony face.
He crawled back to the edge of the crest, his binoculars in hand. Rose trailed him, the clouds now overhead and building into taller peaks. The eastern sky had turned into a dark purple, the day turning dim.
As he stared at the compound, the inside of the courtyard lit up like a football field getting ready for a game, a series of floodlights abruptly coming on one by one. The image was reinforced when a team of men straggled out and ringed the balconies. They were spectators.
Two more men emerged, this time into the center of the interior courtyard. A woman was struggling in their grip and fighting them both, lashing out with her feet and screaming. She was the entertainment, he realized sickly. Her blond hair glistened as the rain began to fall.
Beside him, Rose gasped, and he responded without thinking, his fingers going to her arm. Gloria couldn’t have possibly heard her, but she looked up at the same time.
“Oh, dear Lord,” Rose whispered. “Tell me that’s not my mother.”
“Try not to panic.” He tightened his grip then released her. Training his binoculars on the courtyard, he pulled out his phone, dialing without looking at the keypad and praying at the same time that they weren’t about to witness an execution.
Jessie answered instantly. “The guys just arrived,” she said. “We’ll be there in ten.”
“Make it five,” he ordered. “Full throttle.”
Rose turned, and this time she was the one who gripped his arm. “We can’t wait for them, Santos. We’ve got to help her now. We can’t let this happen.”
“Absolutely not,” he answered instantly. “I’m not letting you commit suicide, and that’s exactly what it would be—”
“That’s my mother, Santos,” she said, her voice full of desperation. “I don’t care. I have to help—”
She didn’t finish. The screech of creaking metal made both of them jerk their gazes back to the hacienda. The gate was swinging back with infinite slowness, the sound splitting the dry desert emptiness in half. Before the entrance to the compound, as patiently as scorpions, three black Suburbans waited in the heat.
Rose jumped to her feet. With a curse, Santos snagged the edge of her chaps and pulled, but this time she was prepared. She instantly rolled away and escaped his reach. Half falling, half running, she tumbled down the ridge and jumped to her feet, racing toward the gates now closing behind the SUVs. He followed, his heart pounding, not from the sprint, but from fear. If she was seen, they’d shoot her first then figure out who she was. He didn’t even want to consider what would happen if she got inside and he didn’t.
He tore frantically through the cactus-dotted brush. The gate was seconds from snapping in place when Rose reached it and dived inside, the inner wall protecting her from sight by the men inside. He spun in behind her, but as he cleared the track of the gate, he was jerked to a stop. His breath was yanked from his body with a noticeable whoosh then he was slammed to the ground. Flat on his back, his body began to move, the ground passing under him, the gravel carving a swath of pain across his skin as he was inexorably pulled in the opposite direction. Rose pivoted, her horrified expression all he needed to finally understand what had happened.
His belt was hooked on the iron latch of the gate.
Reaching out, he flailed desperately behind him. Five more seconds and he’d be crushed between the opening and the stucco wall. Rose threw herself at him and held on, but the extra weight meant nothing to the motor operating the gate. It continued down the track without even slowing. Clawing her way up his body, Rose managed to unhook the leather at the last moment, the gate clicking in place as they tucked their chins and twisted away.
He shot her a grateful look. Wasting no time to acknowledge it, Rose jumped to her feet and dashed for the nearest wall, Santos right behind her. The rough stucco at their backs, they moved in tandem, whipping their guns up, as they approached the first opening. The parking area now held a Range Rover, two Toyota Land Cruisers, and the three Suburbans. Santos lifted his gaze and saw what he’d missed before. Underneath the roofs hanging above the balconies, a man waited in each corner, cradling a gun and looking down. Above them, a row of minarets decorated the third level. He’d thought they were ornamental. He’d been wrong. They were real towers, and they had gun slits facing four different directions. He couldn’t believe he and Rose hadn’t been seen from their vantage spot, but as he stared, he began to realize why. The gunmen were focused on the inner courtyard, too, their posts momentarily deserted.
Rose edged around the corner, hurling herself toward the closest opening. He followed, praying she wouldn’t do anything more rash than she already had. Even as he wished things were different, he had to admire her courage. If mettle were all it took, this fight would already be over.
He put his hand on Rose’s arm and tried to hold her in place. A single man now stood in the middle of the courtyard, and Gloria was on her knees at his side. Dressed in dirty denim and scuffed boots, he was short and squat with longish black hair, a scraggly goatee, and a gut that hung over his belt. One shoulder was higher than the other, and when Santos glanced down, he realized why. The man’s left knee angled out at a peculiar slant. It’d obviously been broken at one time and had healed improperly. He didn’t look like the polished and handsome actors who played cartel leaders on TV.
His right hand was threaded in Gloria’s hair. Pain twisted across her features as he tightened his fingers and yanked her head back to bare her throat. In his other hand, he held a machete. He spit in the dirt and glared at Gloria. Dread rolled through Santos’s gut.
“Take a good look, my friends. Here she is.” He shook her head viciously. “This puta won’t be with us after today!” The crude insult echoed against the walls, along with the nervous laughter of the watching men.
Rose cut her eyes toward Santos and whispered, “Is that Ortega?”
“I don’t think so. Our only photos are worthless, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a limp.”
Rose’s mother reached up and held onto the man’s wrists, trying to alleviate the pressure of his grip. “You’re making a huge mistake,” she said from behind gritted teeth. “When he finds out you’ve treated me like this, you’re a dead man.”
The man wasn’t Ortega. Santos didn’t know if he should feel relieved or angry. Both, he decided. Relieved, because he hoped this man might not be as bloodthirsty as Ortega so Gloria stood half a chance. And anger, because it meant he still didn’t know where Ortega was.
Jerking her to one side, the grinning man held out his arms without letting her go and waved his knife, looking up at the men and hooting. “I’m a dead man?” he laughed. “If anyone here is dead, it’s you, La señorita Rubia.”
“Let me go.” She pulled against the man’s relentless hold, her fingernails biting into his wrists and leaving a bloody trail. As the men began to laugh, he spit out a curse and transferred his grip on her hair to the other hand. Lifting the hilt of the blade above Gloria’s head, he brought it toward her temple, then froze as a deep voice slashed through the laughter.
“Basta!”
Santos jerked his eyes upward. The speaker was standing right above the spot where he and Rose were hiding, on one of the balconies facing the courtyard. Santos couldn’t see him, but if his voice was any indication, he was the one in charge. All the other men turned to look as if pulled by the same string. He jerked Rose closer beside him.
“That’s enough of your stupidity, Manuel,” the voice overhead ordered. “Release her.”
The man with the machete turned slowly, a defiant glint in his eyes. Santos could see he didn’t appreciate the scolding—if he didn’t answer it in kind, his authority was in jeopardy. His men would no longer respect him. He kicked at something beside his feet and a cell phone skittered into the open, spinning to a stop.
“My ‘stupidity’ found this phone on her, jefe. Are you still sure you want me to let her go?”
Santos heard a hammer click back, and so did the man standing in the courtyard. Panic filled his expression, then he simply crumbled, a neat round hole centered on his forehead. From the back of his head, blood splattered out across the bricks and Gloria, as well. His knife clattered to the ground, coming to rest beside the phone. To his amazement, Gloria scrambled for the blade, and then stood up without sparing the man a second glance. Did she know the shot had come from the balcony?
A cry of alarm sounded suddenly from the roofline. A single guard had turned, and was pointing over the wall. “Men coming! Federales! And more…los motos!”
The courtyard erupted into confusion that quickly segued into chaos. Clattering down the stairs, the guards surged toward the gate, their haste making Santos and Rose dive behind a stack of firewood pressed against the nearest wall.
They were barely in place when a deafening blast blew a gigantic hole in the exterior wall, sending a shockwave through the men running for the gate. The ones nearest the wall filled the air with strangled screams while those who still had time pivoted and tried to escape the way they’d come. Another explosion followed, and trapped between the killing zones, they spun in terror, caught between that noise and the roar of the motorcycles that were coming. A wave of federales poured through both openings.
The pandemonium grew instantly worse, the sounds of rapid gunfire breaking out in every direction. Before he could stop her, Rose ran for the inner courtyard, fighting through the bloody craziness, pushing to the center of the courtyard, where she fell to her mother’s side.
Santos joined her a second later. Gloria was sprawled on the cobblestones, a streak of dark blood painting a crooked path between the bricks.
…
Rose didn’t know what to do. She was afraid to move her mother and afraid to leave her alone. When Gloria opened her eyes and held out her hand, Rose cried out and grabbed it.
“Stop it,” Gloria ordered weakly. “It’s okay, Rose, please. The bullet barely grazed me.”
“You’re not okay,” she cried. “You’ve been shot.”
As he heard Gloria speak, Santos jumped to his feet and raced toward the action. The federales quickly gained control over the chaos a few moments later, the ACES team wading into the craziness with them. The officers forced everyone to the ground, and the gunfire dwindled into silence. Cries of innocence took its place, a pall of smoke from the explosion mixing with the sharp smell cordite. Rose barely registered the smells or the shouts. Trying to stay her panic, she swung her gaze around until she spied Jessie. “Call for an ambulance,” Rose yelled at the redhead. “She needs help. Right now.”
“The EMT guys are already here,” Jessie called out. “The federales brought them. Hang on, I’ll go grab them.” She ran off, firing off a rapid string of Spanish to men around her. They began to run, too.
Rose turned back to her mother. “Lie still,” she ordered. Whipping off her jacket, she pressed the fabric at the red streak across her mother’s hair line. “I need to stop the bleeding.”
Her mother’s fingers tightened on Rose’s arm. “I didn’t want you here. You weren’t supposed to—”
“Shhh, Mother. You shouldn’t be talking.”
To Rose’s amazement, her mother laughed weakly. “I haven’t seen you in years, and you don’t want me to say anything?”
Rose couldn’t stop the tears that filled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant. But we have to talk, Rose. I have to tell you about Santos—”
“He doesn’t matter. Not right now. All that matters is getting you some help.” Rose turned her head. “And I hear the medics coming.”
She was pushed aside as the emergency techs dropped to their knees in the dirt, their hands a blur as they checked out her mother’s wounds. A moment later, they lifted her in one fluid motion to the gurney they’d brought. As they started to push her away, Rose jogged to keep up, her hand finding her mother’s, their fingers linking.
Just as her mother said, they’d been apart for years, and now that she’d found her again, Rose couldn’t bear to let her go. But she had to when they reached the ambulance and began to load her mother into the back. The EMTs protested as Rose jumped in beside her mother. She ignored their objections. Wrapping her arms gently around her, Rose whispered, “I’ll come to the hospital as quickly as I can, and we’ll talk when I get there. I love you, Mom. I—”
“Go do your job,” her mother interrupted. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She took a ragged breath but she still managed to return Rose’s hug. She began to cry again as her mother’s reassuring hands patted her on the back. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll wait for you,” she promised. ”I’m not going anywhere.”
…
Santos and the team searched the villa from top to bottom. Inside the sprawling compound, they found everything from gold-plated guns to an elaborate movie theater with fur-clad recliners. There were bedrooms lined in silk, a paneled library full of books, and a marble-clad dining room, including a table and chairs, also carved of marble, that would serve dozens. The table was laid out as if ready for a banquet with silver platters and crystal wine glasses. But paper towels served as napkins, and metal tray tables sat beside the fur recliners. The complex represented a bizarre combination of wealth and poverty.
Everything imaginable was there…except Ortega.
Striding out the nearest door and into the courtyard with the rest of the ACES team, Santos shook his head at the captain of the Mexican officers who was overseeing the loading of all the men he’d rounded up. They exchanged a chagrined look before Santos turned to Rose. Her stance was stiff and unforgiving, her eyes cold, her lips narrowed. Before the wailing ambulance had carried Gloria away, Santos had cuffed her to the gurney after Rose relinquished her place by mother’s side.
She glared at him now with anger…and disappointment, lifting her gaze as he neared. “No sign of Ortega?”
He wiped his brow on the sleeve of his shirt, dust from the search still clinging to his hair and face. The storm had broken and fled, leaving the quadrangle sweltering. It could have been hell. For Santos it was. “We looked top to bottom. No sign of him.”
“Tunnels?”
It wouldn’t be the first time a cartel member had escaped that way. They’d dismantled a warren of them between Texas and Mexico a few years ago. “Gloria told me he has a helicopter pad right behind the house. I called Austin, and they told me he’d be long gone before they could even get something up. He’s probably out of the country by now. Your mother said he’s got homes sprinkled all over the place—Guatemala, Belize, El Salvador.”
“What about his men?”
“As many as we could catch are in there.” He tilted his head toward a yellow school bus the federales had commandeered. “Padilla pulled two of them out and locked them in one of the rooms. He and Joaquim talked to them.”
Padilla?”
“Alazo Padilla. He’s the capitán of the federal agents. He’s been my contact inside Mexico since the very beginning. He’s the one who knew we were in Mexico when we visited Enrique’s family. I trust him as much as I do my own people. I just came from talking to him.”
“And…?”
“The men inside insist they know nothing about anyone named El Brujo.”
She spoke with disgust. “Right.”
“According to them, Manuel didn’t send the boy with the knife to scare you.”
“Manuel?”
“The dead guy with the machete. Padilla says he was Ortega’s right-hand man. A rogue kaibil from El Salvador.”
“One of their special ops guys? I’ve heard of them.”
“They’re military, but they’re also killers. I think this one might have bit off too many chicken heads.” Rose furrowed her brow, but Santos continued without taking time to explain. “They claim they know nothing about the candle left in your bedroom. The only thing they orchestrated, or so they claim, is the attempt to kill the Stanleys. They wanted you to witness it so you would know what was coming if you didn’t give in to Ortega when he showed up.” His gaze went to the mountains in the distance. He thought for a minute then brought his eyes back to Rose. “But I have to admit, that doesn’t fit Ortega’s pattern. He just kills people, as Manuel would testify if he could.”
“What about the trailer park attack? And Carlos Hernandez’s sister?”
“They denied they had anything to do with those two things, either.”
“Juan Enrique?”
“They acted as if they didn’t know him, but when I said he was dead, they laughed, so they were definitely lying about that. When I told them he’d been butchered, they laughed even harder.” Distaste deepened his voice. “They were obviously happy he’s gone on to his final resting place, wherever that might be.”
His anger mixed with disappointment, leaving him with the feeling he’d failed again. “Padilla’s going to talk to the men again. He has the government behind him. Sometimes people open up when they see the value of their contribution.”
“But you still cuffed her.”
He knew immediately she was talking about her mother. His voice softened on its own accord. “I had to, Rose.”
“She almost lost her life back there, Santos. She might yet. Don’t you take any responsibility for that?”
“She made her own choice,” he said.
“You could have stopped her.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” she said, the ache in her voice too vivid for him to ignore. “You should have thought of something. Anything. You could have kept all of this from happening, and you didn’t. You should have locked her up!”
“She wanted the opportunity to do something right for a change,” he said quietly. “She wanted redemption for the things she’s done. And I gave it to her—even though I’m the man ‘who only cares about his job.’” He took a beat, then gave her the ghost of a smile. It was the only thing he could do, because he’d given her everything else, including his heart. “I would think you’d understand, Rose. Aren’t second chances what you’re all about?”