Page 26 of Risking Romero

As an officer of the court, the words I say next are an abomination. As the lover and protector of the woman I’ve just left upstairs, they’re a necessity. “Is he vulnerable to extrajudicial solutions?”

“Unlikely. His security is all but impenetrable. He’s vengeful when thwarted, even in small things. If he learned the identity of an attacker, his response would make vendetta look like child’splay.”

Lando says, “So he can’t be taken out and he can’t be turned aside.”

“Not without extremely high levels of potentially lethalrisk.”

Turnbull’s message comes back to me. “The lawyer’s making threatening noises about the animalshere.”

“He’ll strike where the girls are most vulnerable. Terrorizethem.”

In the silence that follows this statement, we hear the soft pad of footsteps on the stairs. Matteo pulls back into the shadows until he disappears. Even though I know he’s there, I can’t seehim.

A moment later, Quinn comes into the kitchen, her path taking her right past the spot where Matteo’s standing. As she passes the wall switch she flicks it on, flooding the kitchen with light.

“Oh, hi, guys,” she says when she spots me and Lando. “I woke up and got the munchies. I think there’s still some ice cream inhere.”

She’s dressed in a nightshirt that ends above her knees, her blonde hair tousled. Behind her, Matteo’s like a statue, staring at her. She roots around in the freezer and pulls out a container, seemingly oblivious to the tense atmosphere.

Even when she turns to take a spoon from the silverware drawer, she doesn’t spot him. Only when she’s on her way out of the kitchen does the very large man with the scarred face register on her senses. She stills, and I wait for her to startle, scream, demand explanations.

Quinn does none of these things. She stays where she is, her head tilted a little to the side, studying him. All I can see from where I am is the back of her head; I’d give anything for a view of her face rightnow.

Matteo doesn’t speak, doesn’t so much as twitch. His burning eyes are locked on her face. Finally, she moves … and goes right up to him. I tense, as if witnessing a child who’s gotten too close to the tiger’s cage at thezoo.

“Here,” she says. “You need this more than I do.” She holds out the ice cream. One of his hands comes up, more by reflex than volition, and Quinn puts the container init.

Then she walks out without a backwardlook.

Matteo’s gaze has turned inward; his muscles are tense. He gives the impression of a man waging a mighty battle with himself. I more than half expect him to fling the ice cream at the wall. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he moves to the counter and sets it down, carefully, almost reverently. Only then does he focus on me and Lando again.

“How much time do we have?” I ask. Before Santiago escalates.

“Hours; days. Not weeks.”

“Hours or days?” Lando demands.

Matteo’s silent a moment. It’s the first time he’s paused before giving an answer. “Figure hours. Safer.”

Moments later, he’s gone. And even in this creaky old farmhouse, there’s no sound of his passage.

Lando and I look at each other. “Let’s wake the girls up,” he says. “Get them started packing. We’ve got four hours until sunrise.”

We move toward the stairs, and I try to figure out how to tell Jade she might lose her farm afterall.

Fuck Santiago.

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