He balked. “You want me shoot your lock?”
“Nah. I’ll just show you what would happen. I can do it manually. But it’s automated under certain circumstances.” She tapped her phone, and he immediately wished he hadn’t taken out his ear plugs. At the same time that metal gates crashed down from the ceiling to the floor over every window and door, a piercing shriek of an alarm started blaring.
It stopped almost as soon as it started, and the fortress unraveled itself, transforming the house from a kickass safe room back into a cute beach bungalow.
“Holy shit,” he said. “Do you have a price on your head?”
“Not anymore,” she said with a casual shrug. “But you never know, do you? That’s just the basics, by the way. There are more bells and whistles.” She smiled and batted her eyes. “Don’t cross me, okay?”
He laughed, even though he wasn’t entirely sure she was kidding. “Wouldn’t dream of it. And honestly, I know you’re predisposed to tell me to fuck off, but after seeing all of that, I want you on that island with me more than ever.”
She glanced around the room, as if the security system were still fully engaged. “High tech security systems get you hard?”
No, but I think you could.
Fortunately, he stopped himself before that admission rattled off his tongue. It might be true, but he had a feeling that saying it out loud would be a very bad idea.
Instead, he told her a different truth. “I’m looking for someone who can hold their own. I’m going in blind here. Possibly to meet someone who wants to help me. Possibly to meet someone who wants to kill me. I don’t need arm candy. I need a partner. A female, true. But someone with skills and experience.”
She picked up her glass and finished off the whiskey in one swallow. A waste, he thought, considering how fine a blend it was. But then she poured a fresh one, picked up the bottle with her other hand, and started toward the living room. “All right,” she said as she walked. “Tell me the rest.”
He followed, then took a seat on one end of the overstuffed sofa. As soon as she put her glass and the bottle on the coffee table, he tossed back the rest of his drink, then poured a fresh shot. He took a sip, savoring it before swallowing. To her credit, she didn’t press. Just sat back, one leg tucked up under her, as she waited for him to continue.
He rolled his shoulders, got comfortable, and decided to tell her the full story. He wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy. He didn’t believe in oversharing, and he’d just as soon get strapped to a rack than suffer an evening of talking about his feelings. But he also knew that people fought better and worked harder if they knew what they were fighting and working for. And they couldn’t make smart decisions without knowing all the facts.
Emma was smart—he could see that. And she’d fight hard for something she believed in. He could see that, too. He wanted someone competent on his arm. So now it was his time to fight for what he wanted.
At the moment, he wanted her. And he was more than happy to toss all his ammo into the fight if it meant that at the end of the day he won the battle. “I’m looking for a man,” he said simply.
“Is that who you’re meeting on the island?”
He shook his head. “No. As far as I know, I’m meeting a woman.”
“All right. Back up and give it to me chronologically.”
He did. It was easier that way, anyway. He didn’t tell his story often, but when he did he started at the beginning. It was familiar. And that meant he could be unemotional. Just a recitation of facts the way he would with any other assignment.
“My dad was a prick. That’s about the sum total of it. But he was a smart prick. Sailed through business school—Harvard, of course,” he added, trying out his pathetic Boston accent and making her laugh. “He ended up in international trade.”
“Is that a euphemism for drugs?”
Tony shook his head. “No. At least not at first. Later, he probably dabbled. There came a point where he thought he was untouchable. That he’d made so much money it gave him carte blanche on the world, morals and ethics and laws be damned.”
She was nodding, so he knew she’d met the type.
“He started out small and he cast a wide net. For a while, he lived in Texas and was going back and forth into Mexico on a regular basis. Eventually, he moved to California and did the same thing, and he started narrowing his business to Mexico and Central America. He was importing all sorts of things, from automotive parts to tequila.”
“That’s not an uncommon story,” she said, “especially for his generation.”
“Well, trust me. My dad was not a common man. At any rate, at one point he met my mother. She was going to school at UCLA. Her father was a math professor. And her grandfather owned about half of the real estate in Mexico City. Not to mention a cattle ranch outside of town. The family was basically local royalty. And as far as I’ve been able to tell, they were powerful without being corrupt.”
“What was your mom’s name?”
“Sanchez. Lucia Sanchez.”
Her brow furrowed. “The same last name as your dad. That’s a coincidence.”
For a moment he was confused. “Oh, no. My dad’s father was as WASPish as they came. Trust me,” he continued, holding up a hand to forestall her question. “Once I finish, you’ll know why I decided to use my mom’s name.”
She nodded, and he continued. “So my grandfather, the professor, died of cancer and my mom moved home to be with her grandfather at the ranch in Mexico. My father followed. They dated, fell in love, got married. At least that’s how the story goes. From my perspective, I think my dad was after the estate all along. And he got it. At least, he got it by marrying my mother.”
He studied her face, wondering if he’d either lost her or was boring her. But there was no sign she was drifting. On the contrary, she looked rapt.
“Go on,” she urged.
“After I was born, we moved to California and dear old dad got richer and meaner. He started running the ranch. He hired someone to start making tequila. Small batches, very high end. There’s more, but the bottom line is he got rich. He got powerful. He started getting pissed off when he couldn’t get what he wanted when he wanted it. Because what was the point of money and power if they didn’t buy him nice things and respect?”
“My father had no money and no power, and he got pissed off, too. It’s not the bank account, it’s the man.”
Tony nodded, hearing more in her voice than she was saying. “I know. Believe me, I know too many people who could have bought and sold my father a thousand times over, with more kindness and class than that man ever had. It’s nothing to do with the bank account. Not really. I’m just trying to paint you a picture of who he was.”
She pulled her knees up and hugged them to her chest, her wide eyes on his face as he continued.
“I don’t remember being happy as a child except when he was traveling. Then my mother was alive. My uncle would come over then, too, and I adored him. He wasn’t really my uncle. Just a family friend. Possibly even my mother’s lover. God knows I wouldn’t have blamed her. I never knew for certain. All I know is that she was happy when my father was gone. When he was around, she was like a hermit crab scared into its shell.”