Page 64 of Worth the Heat
Trace shakes his head. “Nothing that I can find so far, but she’s got connections with a known drug trafficking ring that has ties to the Salazar Cartel in Mexico. These dumbass white kids who grew up wealthy want to experience life on the wild side, so they get involved with drug distribution. Berkley does have a connection to that jackass Devon, who broke into Isabella’s apartment.”
Blood boiling, I grab onto the edge of the bar, tightly squeezing it until my knuckles turn white. I shook that woman’s hand. She infiltrated the book club and I had no idea. “So you’re saying Isabella’s ex-boyfriend was distributing drugs, although we don’t know what kind —”
“Fentanyl, probably,” Trace interrupts.
“And he told his drug buddies that she took the drugs, and they go after her. Then, when they still don’t find anything, they send in a woman to scope things out at a book club, while none of us have a fucking clue. Jesus Christ. How the hell am I supposed to protect her if I don’t even know what — or who — is coming?”
Trace smiles bitterly. “I think we’ve reached the end of our abilities here, Prez. We keep things by-the-book in Range Riders, and anything from this point on begins to fall in a gray area. If you want to move forward, we need to bring in authorities. If you want to continue without anyone else, we at least need to bring it to a vote at Church. Some of these guys have families, and they deserve the right to step aside.”
I nod. “I don’t want to do anything that jeopardizes our guys. The whole point of RMRRMC is to provide a place where veterans find consistency, healing, and comfort. I’m not fucking with that. Who do I need to call?”
“I’d start with the Colorado Bureau of Investigation and the DEA. They’ll tell you what we need to do. Knowing how the Salazar Cartel operates, I’d definitely be careful who you talk to, and only make phone calls when you know no one is eavesdropping. I’ll give you the scanner that detects any devices.”
I let out an aggravated breath as Trace exits my office. It’s not that I don’t want to involve authorities, but I hate when I can’t control the entire narrative. It’s especially concerning because this impacts Isabella. And if something happens to her because some dipshit junior officer in the FBI decides to have a pissing contest with me, I will not be judged for how I choose to react. An eye for a fucking eye.
Before I can make any calls, I know I need to explaineverything I’ve uncovered with Isabella and her family. I pick up my phone, and close my eyes as I wait for her to answer.
“Hey you,” she says quietly.
“Hi, baby.”
“You okay?”
“Why?” I ask with a chuckle.
“You don’t normally call in the middle of the day. You’ve been known to text, but calling is unusual. And your voice is different. I have to assume it has to do with me,” she answers hesitantly.
“It does,” I say simply. “I think it’s time we have dinner with your family.”
I’m notsurprised when we are pulling onto the street of Isabella’s childhood home to find virtually no parking, because every one of her siblings is already here. Our family dinner is the day after Trace and I realized the connection to drugs is worse than we feared.
Isabella’s brother Leo waits at the top of the driveway, his posture stiff as he casts wary glances all around. He motions for us to park on the driveway, like they saved this spot for us. The guests of honor. Or maybe I’m the grim reaper, about to deliver some really bad news.
“Are you sure it’s okay that we came?” My mom asks.
“Of course,Abuelita. Everyone loves you,” Camila answers matter-of-factly. I glance in the rearview mirror of my parents’ SUV, and find my daughter dancing in her booster seat.Abuelais next to her, with my parents in the third row. It’s not ideal, but it got everyone here.
Isabella looks over at me nervously. Reaching over to her, I cup her face. “It’s going to be fine,Naranja.”
She smiles, but it’s a strained pursing of the lips with nosparkle in her eyes. She pulls on the hem of her shirt nervously as we unbuckle our seatbelts and exit the vehicle.
Leo walks up to me, his gait off, as he seems to only put his weight onto his right foot. I know his convoy hit an IED overseas, and he was injured, but he’s never gone into detail about what happened. Knowing what I do about veterans, I can tell he has a significant leg injury, most likely to his left leg. Both arms appear to have scars scattered haphazardly across his flesh, most likely from shrapnel, but his face doesn’t appear to have any lasting injuries. His eyes, however, tell me a different story. The pain I can see tells me he has trauma and guilt built up so much he probably can’t see the top.
“You need to tell me right now what we’re dealing with. Before we go in. I have to know what I need to do, and who I need to call,” Leo says aggressively. It’s possible this is triggering for him, as his posture is tightly wound, like he’s expecting an attack at any moment.
“I would rather tell you all at the same time,” I answer gently. He’s like a spooked deer, and I’m trying to get him inside before he throws himself into oncoming traffic. “I have multiple sources I plan to contact, and I’m more than happy to go over them with you. But for now, let’s go inside.”
“But —” he starts, before Isabella interrupts him.
“I love that you’re all riled up for me, Leo, but let’s hear what Sebastian has to say before we jump to conclusions.” She rubs her hand along his arm reassuringly.
“Excuse me,” Camila says, coming to stand between the three of us. Leo looks down with surprise. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“Uh, okay?”
“I’m Camila.”
“I’m Leo.”
