The senator opted for an early evening, and left his cohorts before dessert. He wasn’t in the mood to socialize. And if, by some miracle, Ashlee regained consciousness, he wanted to know about it. The hour didn’t matter.
It wasn’t that Ortiz planned to visit the hospital. That would connect him to the incident. But he’d given Hagan explicit instructions. He wanted to know what Lela had said to her friend, and Ashlee would have no choice but to cooperate.
He welcomed the sanctuary of his estate home. It was on a large lot, surrounded by trees and a six-foot-high wall. The gate to the driveway was password protected, and he had a security detail on premises.
Once inside, he changed into running shorts and a shirt. A jog on his treadmill would relieve his anxiety. It was driving him crazy, waiting to see if Ashlee was going to talk. She could die right afterward, for all he cared. She’d betrayed him.
Repeatedly, Ortiz had tried to persuade her to share any information she had. She’d lied right to his face. That transgression irked him.
Ortiz ran for thirty minutes, until he was breathing hard. He stopped to swig some water. And just when he thought that his evening couldn’t get any worse…it did.
His other phone, used only for contact with the cartel, vibrated in the cup holder of his treadmill. He considered not answering, but that wouldn’t be smart. It was hard to get away with anything when it came to the boss.
Ortiz answered, and without even a hello, his contact launched into a tirade. “Is that what you call handling your mess?”
How did he already know about the shooting?
“It wasn’t my fault, jefe. The cops let things get out of control,” Ortiz said. “How can I be expected to answer for their blunders?”
“You’re clearly incompetent. We’ll take over from here. And need I remind you that you’ll owe me when this is taken care of?”
“I’m in your debt.” What else was there to say? It was fatal to say no to jefe, or even to argue. There would be a price for the cartel interceding and saving his ass. Ortiz would pay for it.
“Lela Cabelo has no idea what she’s up against. And Ashlee isn’t the only person she cares about. She has other vulnerabilities.”
“You’re going after her family?” Ortiz said.
“Whatever it takes to get her attention. No one is off-limits.”
“She has help,” Ortiz said. “Some ex-military dude.”
“Yes, we know about him.”
Why was it that the cartel seemed to be one step ahead of him?
“The man has put his life in peril, in a foolish attempt to rescue Ms. Cabelo. Well…we’ll be glad to accommodate him. Since he’s volunteered for danger, there’s plenty coming his way.”
The senator ended the call. He was nauseated. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sat on a bench. He couldn’t care less what happened to Ashlee. He’d been told to move aside, so that meant her questioning would be handled by the cartel.
And Lela might not live long either. Her life wasn’t worth much. Once she was blackmailed into turning over her evidence, she’d be terminated—with no remorse.
That was how the cartel did things.
But what had him worried was the price that jefe would extract from him. Ortiz’s pulse was elevated, and it wasn’t from jogging. He’d ticked off a powerful man, failed to take care of matters—and all on the heels of a scandal implicating the cartel, and a criminal case that would be unfavorable toward the organization.
Ortiz closed his eyes and prayed, something he rarely did. His life would continue as long as he was of use to his contact. He’d need to make sure that was a long time. Because if he pissed him off, or jefe decided that he’d betrayed him…it would be over.