Page 43 of Extraction

“Yes.” I rolled up the checkered paper from my tacos.

“Tell me how you knew where to find the birth certificate,” he urged. I didn’t answer right away. I felt uneasy, and he reached under the table and put his hand on my thigh. My gaze went right up to his. “Relax. He’s just watching.”

“Right.” I repeated his words in my head. “Bruno told me he took my videographer and would hold him hostage until I found that baby. It was obvious the child was someone pretty important. He also made damn sure I knew I needed to get to the child before anyone else did. He obviously wants him badly.”

“And?”

“And two of his men took me to start searching. They had a possible lead on the mother. The guy with the cuts all over his face was the one in charge.”

“The one who had his hands on you at the shootout?”

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Give me the short version, Nicole.” He wanted me to hurry my story along, but it was hard, as my head was everywhere else but where it should be.

“Then Carlos turned out to be really nice.” I closed my eyes and got my mind to focus. “He’s the owner of the motel. He bought my story that Talya and I were old friends, and I was looking for her. He shared that she had left an address in her room. After the explosion, I got separated from the others, so I headed that way.”

“Seems odd she’d do that.”

“Do what?” I focused on him again.

“Leave an address there. You think it was on purpose?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged and sneaked a look at the French man. “She did book that room for two nights and only stayed for one. If you’re running from someone and you leave an address for someone else, you’d sure run the risk of the bad guy seeing it.”

“Yeah.” He looked thoughtful. “So, you keep it vague and give a landmark and hope that the person who you do want to find it can figure it out.”

“Exactly.” I raised my brows to show we were on the same wavelength. “So, when I got to the address she left, which was a church, I put myself in her shoes and thought where I would go with a newborn.”

“The orphanage.” He nodded like he was impressed. “We thought the same thing.”

I drew in my chin at his comment. “You knew about the orphanage?”

He rubbed his lip like he was going to lie but changed his mind. “We had some intel too, but the guys couldn’t get past the sisters. How did you?”

I didn’t know why, but I felt like I might have missed something. I knew Blackstone had incredible resources, but there was something closed off about Paul, and it made me wonder. “Have you met Talya before?”

He shook his head. “No. How did you get past the sisters?”

I went to touch my pendant but rubbed the side of my neck instead. My past wasn’t part of this. “I guess my story was good enough it played on their hearts. I think they could see I wasn’t looking to hurt them, only to find them.”

“The fact that you’re a woman probably helped.” He nodded. “I can’t say I would blame them for that.”

“Yeah,” I had to agree, “and that’s when one of them mentioned that Talya wanted her son to see where everything had begun or something and mentioned a one-winged dragon in Campeche. I just stumbled upon that hotel with the shell logo, and when you mentioned that it looked like the wing, I realized I’d found the place.” I shook my head, still in disbelief at my luck. “How did you know to look there too?”

“Intel.” He didn’t offer more.

“For someone who wants me to share what I know, you’re pretty guarded with your own details.”

Before he could reply, I felt my heart jump into my throat when I saw the French man heading toward us. “He’s coming.”

“Grab your bags.” He stood, and we hurried around the food truck and out into another street with more vendors. “This way,” he said over his shoulder.

For such a big guy, he was quick on his feet. The street was busy with locals, so we stuck out as tourists. I wasn’t familiar with the streets in Campeche, so I had to rely on Paul for direction. People called out as we went by to try to sell us something, and I tried my best to be polite as we hurried past them. Some were downright pushy, desperate to sell something. A man grabbed the edge of my shirt trying to sell me some shoes, and I tried to say no and pull away, but he wasn’t having it.

“Paul!” I called, and he reached between us, took my hand, then pulled my shirt from the man’s grasp. He pulled me close to his side and kept one hand on my hip and the other out straight to make a path for us.

“Here,” he ordered, and we ducked into a fish market. He shielded me from view of the door as I fought to catch my breath. I was in shape and took pride in my endurance, but my breath came in nervous gasps and my stomach was in knots.

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