Stone Cold Undercover Agent

Gabby.

He couldn’t call her that. Couldn’t think of her like that. She was a tool, and a victim. Any slipups and they could both end up dead. He glanced down at her, completely still underneath him, and it was enough of a distraction that he was having trouble deciding how to play things in front of Layne.

She blinked up at him, eyes wide, and though she wasn’t fighting him, he’d scared her. No matter that she understood him, his role here, he didn’t think she’d be trusting him any time soon. How could he blame her for that?

Wordlessly he got off Gabby and the bed and straightened his clothes in an effort to make Layne think he was more rumpled than he really was.

“We’ll finish this later,” he said offhandedly to Gabby, hoping it sounded to Layne like a hideous threat.

Jaime sauntered over to the door, not looking back at Gabby to see what she was doing, though that’s desperately what he wanted to do. He grabbed his sunglasses from his pocket and slipped them on his face as he stepped out into the hallway with Layne.

“Awfully clothed, aren’t you?” Layne asked.

Jaime closed the door behind him before he answered. “Still trying to knock the fight out of her. Wouldn’t want to intimidate her with what’s coming.” Jaime smirked as if pleased with himself instead of disgusted.

“It’s a hell of a lot better when there’s still a little fight in them,” Layne said, glancing back at Gabby’s door as they walked down the hall.

Jaime’s body went cold, but he reined in his temper, curling his fingers into fists, his only—and most necessary—reaction.

“Do you think senor would be pleased with that world view?” he asked as blandly as he could manage.

Layne’s gaze snapped to Jaime and his threat. The man sneered. “Not every idiot believes your Pepe Le Pew act, buddy.”

Jaime flashed his most intimidating grin, one devoid of any of the humanity he was desperate to believe he still had. “Pepe Le Pew is French, culo.”

“Whatever,” the man said with a disinterested wave. “You know what I mean.”

“I know a lot of things about you, amigo,” Jaime said, enjoying the way the man rolled his eyes at every Spanish word he threw into the conversation.

Layne didn’t take the hint. “Maybe you want to pass her around a bit. Boss man’s been pretty strict about us getting anything out of these girls but you—”

Jaime stopped and shoved Layne into the wall. What he really wanted to do was punch the man, but he knew that would put his credibility in jeopardy, no matter how much dirt he had on Layne. He wrestled with the impulse, with the beating violence inside him.

No matter what this man might deserve, he was not Jaime’s end goal. The end goal was to make this all moot.

So, he held Layne there, against the wall, one fist bunched in the man’s T-shirt to keep him exactly where he wanted him. He stared down at the man with all the menace he felt. “You will not touch what is mine,” Jaime threatened, making his intent clear.

“You’ve already stepped all over what’s mine,” Layne returned, but Jaime noted he didn’t fight back against Jaime’s hold—intelligence or strategy, Jaime wasn’t sure.

“I ran this show before he brought you in,” Layne growled.

“Well, now you answer to me. So, I’d watch your step, amigo. I know things about you I don’t think The Stallion would particularly care to hear about. A hooker in El Paso, for starters.”

Layne blustered, but underneath it the man had paled. This was why Jaime preferred everyone think of him as muscle who could barely understand English. They underestimated him. But Jaime hadn’t walked in here blindly. He knew The Stallion’s previous head honchos wouldn’t take the power share easily. So he’d collected leverage.

Thank God.

“Now, are you ready to keep your disgusting tongue and hands to yourself?” Jaime asked with an almost pleasant smile. “Or do I have to make your life difficult?”

Layne ground his teeth together, a sneer marring his features, but he gave a sharp nod.

“Muy bueno,” Jaime said, pretending it was great news as he released the piece of garbage. “Let’s proceed, then.” He gestured grandly down the hall to the back door.

Layne grumbled something, but Jaime was relieved to see concern and fear on the man’s face. He could only hope it would keep the man in line.

They exited the house and Jaime waited while Layne chained everything up. The late summer sun shimmered in the green of the trees, and if Jaime didn’t know what lurked in the shed across the grass, he might have relaxed.

As it was, relaxing wasn’t happening any time soon.

Jaime let Layne lead the way to the shed. He preferred to touch as little as possible in that little house of horrors.

Both men stepped in to find The Stallion pacing, hands clutched behind his back, and Wallace looking wary in the far corner.

The Stallion looked up distractedly. “Good. Good. We’ve gotten news of Herman before Wallace even got anywhere.” The man’s hands shook as he brought them in front of him in fists, fury stamped across his face. The usual calm calculation in his eyes something darker and more frenzied. “With the Texas Rangers and a hypnotist.” The Stallion slammed a fist to the desk that made the creepy-ass dolls on the shelf above shake, their dead lifeless eyes fluttering at the vibration.

Jaime forced himself to look away and stare flatly at his boss. Fake boss, he amended.

“Luckily, Mr. Herman doesn’t know enough to give them much of a lead, but he certainly represents a loose end.” The Stallion took a deep breath, plucking one of the brunette dolls from the shelf. He cradled it like a child.

It took every ounce of Jaime’s control and training to keep the horror off his face. Grown men capable of murder cradling a doll was not...comforting in the least.

“I’ve sent a team to get rid of Herman. Scare the hypnotist. I don’t think I want to extinguish her yet. She might be valuable. But I want her scared.” He squeezed the doll so tight it was a wonder one of its plastic limbs didn’t break off.

“There we are, pretty girl,” The Stallion cooed, resettling the doll on the shelf and brushing a hand over its fake hair.

Jaime shuddered and looked away.

“Until this mess is taken care of, you are all on lockdown. No one is leaving the premises until Herman is taken care of.”

“Then, boss?” Layne asked a little too hopefully.

The Stallion smiled pleasantly. “And then we’ll decide what to do about the hypnotist.”

Lockdown and death threats. Jaime tried to breathe through the urgency, the failure, the impossibility of saving this man’s life.

He’d try. Somehow, he’d try. But he had the sinking suspicion Herman was already gone.

Chapter Five (#ua443a2e0-39b1-5b8e-9c7c-2ae6decd0d50)

Gabby couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t an uncommon affliction. Even in the past two years, exercising herself to exhaustion, giving up on things ever being different, avoiding figuring out the pieces of The Stallion puzzle, insomnia still plagued her.

Because no matter how she tried to accept her lot in life, she’d always known this wasn’t home.

But what would be home? Her father was dead. Her sister would be an adult woman with a life of her own. Would Mom and Grandma still live in the little house on East Avenue or would they have moved?

Did they assume she was dead? Would they have kept all her things or gotten rid of them? The blue teddy bear Daddy had given her on her sixth birthday. The bulletin board of pictures of friends and Ricky and her and Nattie.

Her heart absolutely ached at the thought of her sister. Two years apart, they hadn’t always gotten along, but they had been friends. Sisters. They’d shared things, laughed together, cried together, fought together.