Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4) (16 page)

He was sure about it. Heck, she probably had put up with them longer than she would have if he’d kept his trap shut.

“Has she tried to ditch you again?” James asked, taking him out of his reveries.

“Not recently, no.” Then again, he hadn’t given her many opportunities. He spent the day trailing her, and the night between her legs. “She does a million things a day.” Even on Mondays, when Rosita’s was closed, she organized a boot camp in her backyard for the women of her neighborhood. Where she got the energy, he had no idea.

“What happens when this situation is over?” James asked. “When you’re not forced to spend time with her?”

“I’ll walk.”

James’s expression went hard. “Jack—”

“She knows,” he cut James off, already guessing what he was getting at. “I’ve been very clear about this and she agrees. Believe me, she doesn’t want me around anymore than I do.”

Fucking her was mind-blowing, and he couldn’t deny enjoying her wiseass comments and their back and forth outside the bedroom, but he was thirty-six. It was time to stop jerking around and plan for the future. Elle wasn’t his future and he wasn’t hers. She needed an easygoing, laid-back guy that would let her do her thing. He needed a dedicated woman. They would drive each other insane. Love didn’t grow out of conflict. Sexual chemistry did. And building your future on your dick’s whims was a very shaky foundation.

“I don’t want her hurt,” James warned. “You’re my son’s godfather and I love you like a brother, but if you break her heart, you’ll have me to answer to.”

“I would never hurt her.” He was not at risk of breaking her heart because her heart was not on the table. She’d made that clear too. They were two consenting adults having the best sex of their lives. His life, at least. Although she hadn’t seemed unhappy at all this morning, when he’d taken her in the shower and she’d come twice, screaming and scratching his back.

“Who did Elle cross in Florida?” James asked. “She never gave any names to Tate.”

Jack pretended he didn’t hear him. “What about the search for your lost sister. Any news on that front?”

“Elle is much better at deflecting than you.” James scowled him. “No, so far we’ve gotten no leads. Now answer; who did she cross in Florida?”

“Maldonado.”

James stilled. “Maldonado? Joaquín Maldonado?” Jack nodded and James cursed. “Maldonado is not a small-time crook like she told Tate. He’s a…”

“Monster,” Jack finished.

Jack explained what had really happened in Florida and James turned white as a fucking sheet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Yep he could say that again. “Mullen’s on the case.”

“And? Have they found a way to arrest Maldonado?”

Jack shook his head. “Plane was clean and other than several appearances of Aalto in the airport cameras, they got nothing that would tie him to Maldonado.” The bodyguards were a no-go. The one who had a niece with drug problems seemed to have disappeared. The niece too.

Whoever in the deceased politician’s office was aware of his connection with Maldonado was not talking, and their computers didn’t hold any leads.

Jack knew how this shit worked. Maldonado was very powerful with influential friends. Big pockets, even bigger connections. He could buy anyone he wanted and cover his own tracks. Surround himself with so many lawyers, it would take a century to peel through them to reach the bastard. Not to mention his underground, ruthless, extremely illegal ways. After all, one didn’t become the most feared narco in South America by being a softie.

To nail Maldonado was going to require much more direct action than the police could provide. They would need Jack down there. They had to figure out the connection between Aalto and Maldonado or Elle didn’t stand a chance.

“Why are you letting Elle get her way? You need to lay low. Stay under the grid.”

“Elle doesn’t want to leave and dump the restaurant on your wife.”

“Fuck that,” James cursed again. “Paige, Tim, and me can deal with Rosita’s. Does she understand the danger she is in?”

Jack didn’t answer.

The truth was Elle didn’t have the slightest clue of the danger she was in. The second Maldonado found out she was alive, there would be a bounty on her head so big she would have to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life. Which, if Maldonado had anything to say about it, was going to be damn short. Should she testify and the DA managed to put him away, the bounty on her head would be even higher. Imprisoned, spiteful narcos had long memories and lots of free time. Bad combination.

If the police couldn’t catch Maldonado without Elle and insisted in involving her, Jack would take matters into his own hands. He was walking out on her, but he wasn’t going to let a single hair on her precious head be harmed.

* * * *

Maldonado was sitting on the terrace of the exclusive spa when he saw Nico walking in his direction. “You here for some relaxation?” he asked as the Russian reached him.

“The person your men thought dispatched your flight, didn’t. Somebody impersonated her.”

Fantastic. So those idiots snuffed the wrong chick. “Who did then?”

“Don’t know yet, but I intend to find out. I’m off to Hawaii.”

Thank God Nico was taking care of this personally, because Maldonado was going to start shooting his own people if there were more fuckups. The morons better pray real hard to Jesús Malverde, the patron-saint of drug dealers. Not for protection from the DEA, but from him.

A waitress approached them. “Anything I could bring you today, Mr. Maldonado? We have this new recovery drink.”

He shook his head, watching while the man at the neighboring table drank one of those murky protein shakes and spoke into his earpiece.

Man, Americans were so freaky. Even Latinos had been Americanized and were doing the weirdest things.

His country might be considered third world, but Maldonado preferred the way of conducting business down there. While hunting, or enjoying a good, bloody barbecue. Drinking in a country club. Not in Florida. Here they spent all their time in a gym doing yoga, saluting the sun and shit like that. But when in Rome, right? So after moving to Miami Maldonado had joined the most exclusive gym and spa in the state and started conducting business Florida-style. Heck, he’d even hired that buttard Lars to keep him in shape, but he drew the line at those murky protein shakes. So fake everything. But he wasn’t the one going to judge folks taking a preference for powdery stuff, was he?

Joining that gym had been most profitable. Not so much health-wise, for networking, it had been invaluable.

After giving him an approving once-over, the waitress offered a shake to Nico, but he refused.

The Russian was in top shape, though Maldonado never saw him using the spa facilities. Or training with the ultramodern machinery there. Not the style of the enforcer.

Nico’s phone beeped. After reading the message, his expression tightened.

“What? More trouble?”

“Another shipment has been lost. Intercepted upon arrival.”

Not to mention they still had one stuck in an all but paralyzed port.

Maldonado let out a curse in between clenched teeth.

Lately, everything was going to hell. And it didn’t seem to be improving in the immediate future. The whole mess with Aalto. The mysterious witness at large. Back home he was having trouble with the police and the other cartels. Nico would be the one to send to take care of that, but Maldonado was forced to see his best asset off to Hawaii on a wild goose chase because an old fart didn’t know that when he couldn’t swallow an olive it was time to retire. Oh, and he couldn’t forget the morons who’d dumped a body over the ocean and had it land on an island. And then made the wrong witness disappear.

“Any news on Jacobson? Any vices we could exploit?” Maldonado asked, trying to breathe through the murderous thoughts.

Nico shook his head. “Nothing so far.”

Jacobson, the politician who’d replaced Aalto, had even a tougher line on immigration than his predecessor. What was worse, he was squeaky clean, and no matter how hard they tried, they hadn’t been able to dig up any dirt on him.

He was a fanatically religious man with an equally enthusiastic wife. No vices. No extramarital affairs. No kinks. The asshole was a frigging saint. Give him a decade and all that enthusiasm would go down the drain. He would be taking bribes, doing drugs, and fucking whores by the dozens, but they didn’t have a decade.

“We can talk to him,” Nico suggested. “Convince him of the error of his ways.”

True. Intimidation worked as well as blackmail, but fanatics tended to love to end up like martyrs. No time for that kind of shit. He’d try other venues. It would take some time and would require him traveling and kissing some ass, which he was not too keen on doing, but he reckoned it’d be worth it.

As Nico stood up to leave, Maldonado said, “By the way, I saw Carlos. What happened to his face?”

Nico didn’t even flinch. “I work alone. And heat makes me cranky.”

It was best that the Russian worked alone then, or he was going to disfigure half his men.

* * * *

“Why is your bodyguard-slash-private-terminator staring at you as if he wants to eat you alive?”

Elle smiled at her inquisitive sister. “Probably because he does. Starting with biting my head off.”

“Nah,” Tate said, “I think he means to start eating much lower.”

Elle covered her nephew’s tiny ears and feigned shock. “Who are you and what have you done with my straitlaced sister?”

“Please. Your straitlaced sister, lover of soft-mannered, politically correct metrosexuals, married James Bowen. She’s gone.”

That was true. And this new Tate was so much fun. Motherhood really became her. James became her.

“Are you still pretending to be together, or are you fucking him for real?” Tate asked.

“Let’s just say we decided it would be mutually beneficial to find a way to work out the sexual tension between us before it went
kaboom
.”

“And?”

Elle chuckled. “What do you mean ‘and’? We are working it off.” Although it didn’t help. The more they went at it, the more electrified the air around them got.

At that moment, Jack walked to them and nodded to Tate, then turned to Elle. “Pet, wrap it up. There’s somewhere I have to pass by on the way home.”

“Two minutes, Borg.”

He cupped her neck and took her mouth. “You have one,” he said and strode away.

“I see getting into bed with him hasn’t made him more laid-back,” Tate whispered.

No, it hadn’t. Jack was as intense as always. More even.

And God help her she liked him. His intensity and grouchiness too. He didn’t speak much but he had a very sharp sense of humor, which she loved. Even if it came at her expense.

“You taking him to Jonah and Lizzie’s party this weekend?” Tate asked while they both got up from the loungers. Jonah didn’t seem to like being moved because he started to fuss.

“Have to,” she replied, rocking the baby in her arms. “He’s made it very clear that he goes where I go or I don’t go at all.”

Tate lifted her eyebrow. “And you haven’t chewed his head off yet?”

“I tried, but he’s like a tank, sis. Immovable.” Nothing veered him from his path.

“I told you he wasn’t like your other boyfriends.”

No shit. He was like nobody she’d ever met. Not that she knew that much about him, but what she knew, wow. She hadn’t recuperated yet from the revelation about the burn marks on his body. And worse yet, the dismissiveness in his tone when he spoke of them.

“Let me get James,” Tate said and went into the house. The second she left, Jonah started crying.

As Elle reached the truck where Jack was already waiting, she remembered her bag and handed the baby to Jack. “Just a sec. I forgot my stuff.”

She strutted inside and bumped into James and Tate in the hallway. Her sister was carrying Elle’s bag.

Elle looked at them and suddenly her chest clenched. She didn’t even dare to speculate what would happen if she had to testify against Maldonado. Witness protection program, probably. Which meant severing all ties with her family. Forever. Now that she’d started manning up and showing up for her life and she’d be cut off from everybody. Her mom, Tate, her nephew, the Bowens. Rosita’s.

Panic rising inside her, she pushed that thought away. No, no, no. One crisis at the time, please.

She took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face. “Thanks. I almost forgot. I have the things for my next flash mob in here.”

“Do not aggravate him,” James warned her, looking more serious than usual. “And for the love of God, do as he says. This is his area of expertise.”

Elle hugged her brother-in-law. “Don’t worry. I’ll return him to you safe and sound. I promise.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about, you nutcase,” James muttered.

They walked out of the house, and she noticed right away Jack was holding a quiet baby in his arms. He was talking to Jonah. Smiling at him, his huge hand cupping his tiny head, his thumb caressing his cheek. The giant was not fond of big displays of affection; he always greeted people with a curt nod—if he greeted them at all, because minimum physical contact seemed to be his mantra—yet he looked so comfortable with the baby.

James took Jonah and after saying their good-byes, Jack and Elle got in the truck.

“You’re great with kids,” Jack said.

“Of course I am. Kids are very smart. They sense awesomeness,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “You are not bad yourself. You got him to stop fussing.”

Jack shrugged, his gaze on the road. “I had experience.”

In true Jack form, he dropped that bomb but didn’t explain further.

“Well, I do love kids,” she continued. “I plan to have a bunch of them.”

He narrowed his eyes, looking surprised. “You want to have children?”

His skeptical tone rubbed her the wrong way. “Of course I want kids, sunshine. And before you ask, sorry, but I’m a firm believer in modern diapers and child vaccinations. Along with electricity, indoor plumbing, and cars. Oh, and when I say I plan to have a bunch of kids, I mean three, not eighteen.”