Page 2 of Wait for You

She nodded, bolstering her courage. Two months ago, her brother vanished off the face of the earth. They’d never gone longer than twenty-four hours without contact, so when one day stretched into two, she’d known something was wrong.

He’d gone dark in the past, but not without a warning first. To blow off steam, he’d spend a weekend in Vegas, a few days in Ibiza, or even just a night in Austin. When he’d disappeared this time, there’d been no note, no texts, nothing to tell her where he’d be.

As much as she hated it, she knew he used other methods to let loose when the pressure became too much—cannabis, opioids, and MDMA. With her father roping Emil into his latest scheme to secure funding for a new drill site in the Eastern Pacific and her mother’s urging for him to settle down, he’d been using more frequently. She’d wanted to speak to him about it, but he went missing before she had the chance.

A pang of regret resonated through her, and she rubbed a hand against the tightness in her breastbone. She’d make up for that missed opportunity by bringing him home. Her current employment was a good start.

The Lazcano Cartel controlled the drug trade in the northern half of Texas. She didn’t know who Emil’s dealer was, so she’d gone after a bigger fish—Señor Morales, a lieutenant for the Lazcanos. He might not be the head of the Lazcano Cartel, but when it came to its foothold in the states, the lieutenant was theoperation’s arm. Its very lethal arm. With enough autonomy to be dangerous.

It had taken her weeks to learn even that bit of information. She’d known the cartel had influential allies. After a few well-placed comments at the right function, she’d found a crooked politician to question. Money was good for greasing squeaky wheels, and this particular wheel hadn’t needed much before he’d given her the lieutenant’s name.

Juan Morales was her starting point because she’d bet her life the cartel had something to do with her brother’s disappearance. She didn’t expect the guest wing to provide any clues, though.

Imogen huffed out a breath, the air ruffling the tendrils of dark brown hair framing her face. The shorter strands refused to stay in the bun into which she’d twisted the rest of her long locks. With an impatient gesture, she brushed them aside.

Tapping the duster against her palm, she glanced around the parlor. The white sectional tempted her to take a seat, but adrenaline hummed in her veins strong enough that she didn’t think she could sit still. A flash of sunlight caught her attention, and the view past the set of triple windows drew her closer.

When she gazed through the arched frame of the center one, her eyes fell on a landscaped courtyard containing a fountain. The double-tiered, white marble water feature dominated the outdoor space. Rays glinted off the liquid flowing over its rims; she could hear it gurgling. The sound haunted, like a drowning man struggling for his last breath.

Perhaps her subconscious meant to tell her she was in over her head, but she knew that already. A punch of fear threatened to cripple her. While fighting it back, her gaze flitted over a hedge of golden privet, its yellow leaves as bright under the spring sunshine as they’d be in winter. The weather was alreadyturning warmer to welcome the flowering season, and the evergreen plant flourished.

But it was far from warm inside this mansion. Like the soul of its owner, it was ice cold.

A draft from the air vent on the floor beside her feet made her shiver. She blinked and took in the carvings gracing the base of the fountain. They added to the piece’s ornateness. When she squinted against the morning sun, it became clear what animal they depicted.

El Jaguar.

Fitting, considering that was the nickname the Lazcano lieutenant went by. Behind the fountain, an arched opening cut into a wall covered in Mexican flame vine. The deep orange flowers grew wild over the stone, enticing butterflies to light on their leaves for a respite. Her mouth twisted. It irked her that a man as terrible as the lieutenant should have regular Monarch visits. He didn’t deserve to see the spectacle the butterflies made on their annual migration.

One of the flowers suddenly took flight, and she realized it wasn’t a flower at all.

Una mariposa.

Following the butterfly’s path, her eyes stared through the archway to what appeared to be another wing of the house beyond the courtyard. When she noted it, a tiny line bisected her brow.

Where am I?

El Jaguar’smansion boasted ten bedrooms, not including his own, plus twenty bathrooms spread over a ridiculous 45,000 square feet. Not to mention a library, a ballroom, and a garage for his many classic cars. She supposed she should be grateful the house was so big he needed an army of maids to maintain it. Otherwise, she didn’t know how she would’ve gained access.

But if she had any hope of finding information about her missing brother, she needed to orient herself—learn the lay of the land. Not stand here watching butterflies.

A tenuous smile curved her cupid’s-bow mouth. Itwasher first day on the job. She could always say she’d gotten lost if she got caught wandering about.

???

Mateo

One year, four months, ten days, and—he checked theCuervo y Sobrinoswatch on his wrist, which cost more than he made in a month—two hours. That’s how long Mateo Travers had been undercover with the Lazcano Cartel.

He hadn’t asked where the timepiece came from—the thing looked more like a compass than a clock—but an evidence locker seemed a likely source. He was damn positive the Department of Public Safety hadn’t shelled out the six grand for it. The thought almost made him smirk, but his mask—that of a loyal servant—stayed firmly in place.

The position he held with the Lazcano’s lieutenant meant he had an image to uphold. The fancy watch and suits had been their own form of torture at first since Mat was most comfortable in worn-in jeans, but he’d had enough time to get used to them.

The watch’s crystal case back flashed under the study’s lights as he shifted in his seat, nodding in response to what the lieutenant was saying.

El Jaguarsat behind a pale oak executive desk while Mat and ahalcónsat in matching leather bucket chairs across from the lieutenant. He wore his black hair past his shoulders, slicked back from his face and parted in the middle. The man was onlya few years older than Mateo’s thirty-four years, yet he looked younger. His almond skin didn’t show the strain Mat’s was starting to.

Maybe that’s what happened when you had unlimited resources to do your dirty work for you. As far as he’d gathered,El Jaguarspent as much of his day in leisure as possible. Often with his favorite hooker and powder up his nose.

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