Page 40 of No Mistake

The two men lowered their guns. Tracer did the same.

“Talk.”

“He’s gone to take care of the sister,” Juan said.

“What sister?”

“The doctor. When Perez met her at the club, she was with her sister. She’s the one who must have identified him. Ricardo said he needed to take care of the sister, so she couldn’t cause any more trouble.”

“Son of a bitch,” Tracer said. “I fucking warned him to let it go.”

“He said she was a loose end and he wanted to deal with it himself.”

“And is it done?”

Diego answered. “Don’t know. We haven't heard from him, and he’s not picking up.”

Tracer cursed. That asshole was way more trouble than he was worth.

“FBI are actively looking for all of you, and the doctor. I went with my crew to the first safe house to remove any trace of us being there, but we were met by another armed team,” Tracer said.

“FBI?” Juan asked.

“FBI or some other agency.” No fucking way was he killing any of them. He might be a hired gun, but he had a conscience. Especially when he recognized one of them. And that was bad news.

Dexter Dawson. He had served with him and Ryan Baxter on a couple of missions back in his Navy days. Before he got injured and the Navy said thanks very much for your service, but we’re done with you. His leg had got torn up by an IED. He was lucky and surgeons saved it, meaning he would walk, but his days as a Navy SEAL had been over.

Why the hell were Navy SEALs involved in this? A kidnapped woman on US soil was not a SEAL op. None of this made sense. Working with the FBI? SEALs didn’t do that. Unless Dawson had jumped ship to an agency. HRT maybe? But he and the team he was with had worn no identifiable markings. It wasn’t adding up.

“What happens now? We need Perez for the meet,” Juan said.

“I have the details of the deal. We can handle it. But Perez is becoming a liability and you need to find him.”

Neither man looked pleased, but they nodded. Not like they had much choice. The boss only cared about his reputation, the deal, and his son. In that order. Everyone and everything else was expendable.

Tracer grabbed a bag off the counter and went upstairs. Luis Vitelli was sleeping. He left him and walked to the next room, the door was closed. He knocked before opening it.

The doctor sat on the bed, knees hugged into her chest, eyes red from crying. His heart seized. He wanted to get her the hell out of here. She looked at him with unconcealed fear.

“What’s your name?” he asked gently, realizing he had no idea. Everyone had just called her doctor. Or bitch.

“Chloe.”

He held out the bag to her. “Chloe, I got you some clean clothes. Guessed the size. There’s some shampoo, toothbrush and stuff, too. I meant to get this to you earlier, but I got distracted.”

Chloe looked from the bag to him in surprise.

“In case you’re worried the bathroom has a lock on the door.” He placed the bag on the end of the bed.

Her eyes went to the bathroom, but she didn’t move. He didn’t blame her for being scared. He wouldn’t put it past any of these men to come in and take advantage. But he wanted to give her some comfort. It was the least he could do.

“You have my word no one will come in.”

She was watching him warily. “Thank you.”

Yeah, like she would trust him. His word didn’t mean shit to her.

“Chloe, I know you don’t trust me, and you shouldn’t. But I need you to keep Vitelli alive and get him well enough to make his meeting. So, if only for that reason, believe me when I promise, no one will hurt you.”

---