Chapter Twenty-Nine

"You good, man?" Brady asks, shaking out his hand as the ambulance pulls off in the distance, carting our latest target to the hospital. Two LAPD squad cars follow behind, their take-down lights ripping through the darkness.

Brady and I stay hunkered down in the alley half a block away, waiting for the coast to clear. If LAPD is looking for us, they aren"t looking hard. That"s the fourth time since midnight that they"ve come to pick up our handiwork and left without doing more than a cursory glance around. Either they"ve got more important shit to do than deal with a few known cartel associates getting the shit kicked out of them, or they just don"t give a fuck.

After spending the last few weeks picking up the dead bodies Guerrero"s men have left littered all over the city, I"m thinking they just don"t give a fuck. We haven"t killed anyone yet, and they"ve got bigger fish to fry.

So do we.

Guerrero"s men haven"t told us a damn thing. We"re no closer to the son of a bitch now than we were four hours ago.

"They don"t have a fucking clue where he"s hiding," I mutter to Brady, turning my head in his direction when the squad cars disappear from sight.

He grunts, tearing a strip off his shirt to wrap around his knuckles. They"re swollen and bleeding. His hand is probably broken. It hasn"t slowed him down any. He"s been a machine, unstoppable.

"If de Silva didn"t know where he"s at, no one does," I tell him, reaching up to rake a hand through my hair. Halfway up, I remember Jesus de Silva"s blood is still dripping from my hand and drop it back to my side. I"ve been unstoppable, too.

The four we"ve gotten ahold of are going to be in for a very fucking uncomfortable few weeks. Broken arms, jaws…a kneecap. I have no sympathy for any of them. They deserve every bit of pain we inflicted and then some.

The two who almost killed Mila are lucky I left them alive for the ambulance to cart off. Leaving them breathing went against everything I believe, but I promised her I"d be coming for her…and I can"t keep that promise if I"m in prison for killing the motherfuckers.

Guerrero though? He"s done. As soon as we find him, his life is over. If I have to play by Finn"s rules and let him take the first shot to ensure I make it back to Mila, so be it. But he"s going to die.

"I know," Brady says after a moment and then sighs. "There"s no fucking way he was lying."

Jesus de Silva, Guerrero"s right-hand man, is a rapist, a murderer, and worse. And he cried like a little bitch before we let up, confessing to a whole lot of shit we suspected but couldn"t ever prove. He told us where to find the guns. He told us where to find the drugs. He told us fucking everything. The only thing he didn"t tell us is where the fuck Guerrero is. Which means he doesn"t know.

Guerrero is off the grid. Either he ran, or he"s up to something else, and he"s working alone. Neither option is particularly comforting.

"I"m not sure how much longer I can do this shit," I mutter, tipping my head back and closing my eyes. I"m tired of doing this same song and dance. The longer we"re out here, the longer I"m away from Mila. That shit isn"t sitting well with me. As badly as I want to put a bullet in Guerrero"s brain…as much as he fucking deserves to be shot down like a rabid dog…Mila needs me more.

I know she"s safe. No one even knows that Tahani recently moved to Sacramento, so there is no obvious reason I"d send Mila there, and she has two officers guarding her. Declan Carter and Jeff Benson will protect her with their lives if necessary. I trust them implicitly. But she"s pregnant, she"s afraid, and I should be with her instead of running all over Los Angeles, looking for a fucking needle in a haystack.

"What do you want to do?" Brady asks. He eyes me as he wraps his hand up, waiting for me to decide.

I want to get Mila, sort out shit with my daughter, and then sleep for the next week…but I can"t. Not yet.

"I need to talk to Finn," I say reluctantly. The last thing I want to do is talk to Finn. The last time he called, having a fucking conniption about the second man we sent to the hospital, I hung up on him. I left my phone at Brady"s after that. He"s probably more pissed now than he was two hours ago. But he may have heard something we haven"t.

We aren"t the only ones combing the streets for Guerrero. Finn has half the task force out, rattling cages and trying to shake something loose. I hope like hell we find him before they do.

"It"s your funeral," Brady says with a chuckle, shooting me an amused smirk.

"I seem to recall your phone ringing when we were leaving," I point out, knowing damn well he"s in as much shit as I am at the moment. He may have turned in his transfer paperwork already, but until it"s approved, Finn is still his boss too. "And you didn"t answer that shit either." Matter of fact, he left his cell on his kitchen table, right beside mine.

"Couldn"t. I didn"t want you to feel like a pussy."

"You"re so full of shit."

"Don"t worry, bro. I"ll protect you if Daddy gets mean." He flashes me a grin.

"Man, fuck you," I mutter, laughing.

Fuck, I missed his stupid ass.

Being done with this shit right alongside him is the right thing to do, not just because of Mila and Tahani, but because I can"t imagine doing this job with anyone else. He"s been by my side through everything, making me laugh even when I wanted to kill someone. I flip him the bird and stride out of the alley before jogging down the street toward the car.

This part of the city is dead at a little before six in the morning. Gang graffiti is scrawled all over the place, making it clear that el Demonio—a gang affiliated with Guerrero—controls this section of the city.

"You drive. My hand is fucking killing me," Brady says, reaching into his pocket with his good hand as he jogs beside me. He holds up the keys and then tosses them to me.

I snatch them out of the air and shake my head. "You need X-rays."

"Later," he grunts before ducking into the dirty alleyway where we left the car.

The late 90s model Corsica is falling apart. Half of the thing is primer gray; the other is what used to be white. The car has been lowered so much that it drags the ground on every speed bump and hill. I feel like I"m in a goddamn clown car in this motherfucker, but it blends in like nothing else would in this particular neighborhood, allowing us to get around undetected.

I follow Brady into the alley and then circle around to the driver"s side. The door handle is broken, making it impossible to get in without help. Once he climbs in the passenger side, folding his big body until his knees are damn near in his chest, he reaches over and opens the door for me.

"I hate this car," he mutters when I finally manage to cram myself in and start the engine.

The car shudders and jerks but doesn"t die. The smell of burning oil hits the air as soon as I push the gas and roll out of the alleyway, hooking a right.

We drive in silence until we"re out of the neighborhood. Seven short blocks separate this territory from the next gang"s, but driving from one territory to the next is like driving into an entirely different world. The gang graffiti here is less blatant, with small symbols carved and painted on storefronts and street signs instead of all over the place. The trash that littered the road in el Demonio territory is absent here. This area is every bit as impoverished as el Demonio"s, but they take better care of their shit and have a sense of pride.

Once we reach downtown Los Angeles, we swap the decoy car for Brady"s SUV and head for his house. Early morning traffic has picked up, slowing our progress to a crawl.

By the time we make it to Brady"s house, it"s after seven in the morning, and the blood on my hands has dried and congealed. All I want to do is take a fucking shower and sleep for a week. Until we know where Guerrero is at, until I know that Mila is safe again, I can"t sleep. I have to see this shit through.

I climb from the SUV, weary to my soul, and follow Brady to the front door.

His house is a split-level brownstone, comfortable and homey. I"ve spent so much time here over the years, it"s damn near as familiar to me as my own. Unlike mine, though, Brady"s house is filled with memories. Pictures of Carla and Andres are scattered all over the place. Andres"s toys are strewn from one end of the living room to the other, making my chest ache. Even though his wife and kid are in Arizona visiting her parents, Brady"s house is full of their presence in his life.

I want that for myself, so fucking badly it hurts.

"I"m getting a shower," Brady mutters, tossing his keys in a bowl by the door. Instead of heading down the hall, he makes a beeline for his phone on the kitchen table.

"Damn, Daddy"s mad." He smirks, holding it up for me to see.

Nine missed calls from Finn.

"Oh fucking well," I mutter, grabbing mine to see that he"s called me just as many times. Instead of calling him back right away, I scroll through my texts. Most are from informants, telling me they haven"t heard anything. There are several from Finn that I ignore. There"s also one from a number I don"t recognize. I tap the screen to open it.

I love you, Roman. Please stay safe.

As soon as I see the words, that familiar warm feeling shoots through my chest, sending heat twisting through me. I quickly save the number under Mila"s name and then have to fight myself to keep from calling her.

I"m such a fucking coward, but if I hear that sweet little voice, I"ll go to her. I won"t be able to stop myself. When it comes to her, I have no self-control. She eradicated it the first time I felt that gorgeous little body pressed against mine. Every beat of my heart belongs to her.

As Brady wanders off to shower, I call Finn. No point in delaying the inevitable.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he snarls as soon as he answers.

"Busy," I grunt, leaning back against the kitchen counter and closing my eyes.

"Jesus de Silva showed up in the emergency room thirty minutes ago with a broken jaw, two broken arms, and funny enough…a dislocated dick. Says two men in ski masks jumped him in an alley. Know anything about that?"

"Nope," I lie, knowing damn well he doesn"t want to hear the real answer to that question. After the shit de Silva confessed to doing, he"s lucky I didn"t cut his fucking cock off and leave him to bleed out in the street.

"Didn"t think so," Finn mutters.

"You might want to send LAPD by to talk to him about his involvement in a sexual assault four days ago over near Hyde Park," I say quietly. He"s paying for this one. A broken dick isn"t nearly enough. "The victim was a seventeen-year-old."

"Son of a bitch. You got her name?"

I give him her name.

A faint scratching comes down the line like he"s writing down her name.

"The guns and drugs are in a storage facility near the airport, one of those rent-by-the-month places. Expect it to be heavily guarded before you go in," I warn Finn.

"You"re sure?"

"Brady broke his hand getting the info."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Finn growls. "We"ll hit it up."

I exhale a breath. Wherever Guerrero is, his world will be in pieces by the time he gets back. If I don"t find him before then.

"You ever heard of a Selena Ortega?" Finn asks half a second later.

"Not that I can recall." I hit the speaker button on my phone and then set it on the counter to scrub de Silva"s blood from my hands. The knuckles of my right hand are scraped and bruised beneath. "Why?"

"Her name came up. Not sure that it means anything, though."

"Then why"d you bring it up?" I dry my hands, frowning.

He hesitates for a moment. "Rumor is that she"s pregnant with Guerrero"s kid."

"You"re kidding me."

"We"re looking into it."

I grunt, but don"t say anything. If she"s pregnant with his kid, I haven"t heard anything about it. Not that I would have. Guys like Guerrero have a lot of kids running around. Most of the time, they don"t even know the kids. They certainly don"t stick around to take care of them. If this Ortega is pregnant with his kid, it"s doubtful that the information helps us much. Still…Finn wouldn"t have brought it up if he thought there wasn"t anything to it. He"s done this shit long enough to know how to cut through the bullshit to get to what matters.

"Where"s she at, Finn?" I ask him.

"You and Brady need to cool it for a while," he says instead of answering. "LAPD is starting to get antsy about all the injured cartel members you"re leaving scattered around the city. If they catch up with the two of you, they will drag your asses in. I"ve got enough shit to deal with already."

"Where"s she at, Finn?" I ask again, ignoring him.

"I told you, we"re looking into it. Let it go, Roman."

"You know I can"t do that," I say softly. He doesn"t really want me to let it go anyway. If he did, he wouldn"t have even brought her up. I know him. I know how his mind works. And I know damn well he wants a bullet in Guerrero"s head as badly as I do. Unlike me, he"s just not willing to do it himself.

"Fuck," he curses and then rattles off an address in Mar Vista.

I repeat it back, committing it to memory.

"Whatever you"re going to do," he says, "you better do it fast. We"re bringing her in."

"Son of a bitch. When?"

"As soon as I can spare a team."

"Give me two hours."

"Roman."

"Two hours, Finn. You know what"ll happen to her if you go in and pull her out."

"Fuck, fine. You got two hours, and then we"re bringing her in whether you like it or not," he mutters. "Hurry the fuck up and do whatever you"ve got to do."

"Yeah, thanks." I disconnect and then scroll back to Mila"s text and run my fingers across the words, reminding myself what I"m fighting for. Why I"m here instead of there with her. I would defend her with my dying breath if that"s what it took.

If Guerrero cares about this Ortega…would he do the same for her?

I don"t know, but I don"t have anything else to go on. If finding her gets me closer to him, I"ll search the entire goddamn city.

"Yo, Brady," I yell. "Hurry up. We got shit to do!"

"Give me five minutes," he yells from the back of the house.

Knowing Tahani won"t answer her phone if I call her, I lean back against the kitchen cabinet again and dial Trent"s number. Until I can be with Mila, someone should be. She"s alone and she"s scared. She needs her best friend and a little bit of hope. Tahani"s the only one who can give her that right now.

"Roman," Trent says on the second ring, wide awake. He"s always up with the sun and out on the basketball court not much later.

"I need a favor."

"You know I won"t make her talk to you," he says immediately.

I can"t even be mad about that. I respect the hell out of him for having the balls to say it. His allegiance is to my daughter, exactly like it should be. I"m fucking proud of her for picking someone worthy of her.

"I"m not asking you to, but I am asking you to take her to Mila," I say, quickly filling him in on the situation or as much of it as possible. He knows more than Tahani about what I do, but not everything. He also knows why I keep this shit from her. I"ll never tell her that he"s known since shortly after they got together, but he needed to know in case I ever fucking failed her.

"Jesus," he mutters when I"m done talking. "Where is she?"

I rattle off the address of the hotel. "She"s alone, and she"s scared." I pause for a split second. "She"s pregnant, man."

"Fuck me."

"I"d prefer for me or Mila to be the ones to tell Tahani that news, but if you have to do it…"

"I"ll get her there, Roman," he promises me softly.

"Once this shit is dealt with, the silence ends," I warn him. "It"s gone on long enough. I"ve given her all the time she"s going to get. If she doesn"t start responding soon, I"ll show up on your doorstep."

"About fucking time," he mutters. "No disrespect to you, Roman. I know you mean well not telling her this shit, but I"m fucking tired of her crying. You need to handle shit there and then fix this because she"s miserable, and it"s driving me crazy. She misses you both."

"I plan on fixing it."

"Good. I"ll get her to Mila. And congratulations on the baby, man."

"Thanks," I mumble, warmth spreading through me again. Mila"s pregnant with my baby. I know she"s worried out of her mind that something"s going to happen to the baby, but I"m not. I know down to my fucking soul that the baby is going to be just fine because Mila"s a warrior, and our kid will be too. With a mother as strong as her, how could our kid not be a fighter?

"It"s about fucking time you did something about Mila. The only reason she was with that dick was because of you," he says, his voice deadly serious. "He didn"t deserve her."

"No, he didn"t," I murmur, surprised as hell that Trent knew how she felt about me, though I"m not sure why that catches me off-guard. She"s looked at me the same way since the day I met her, like she wanted me to claim her as badly as I wanted it…like she wanted to curl up in my lap and stay there. It"s honestly more surprising that Tahani never noticed than it is that Trent did.

"Future father-in-law or not, if you hurt Mila, I"ll break your kneecaps. She"s like a sister to me."

"Fair enough," I say with a smile. Not that I"d let him do it, but I"m fucking glad that he"s protective of her. She deserves people like him and Tahani in her life, in her corner. He doesn"t have to worry about me hurting her, though. I"d cut my own fucking heart out first. I protect what"s mine.

When I"m done, no one will ever threaten her again.

"You sure about this?" Brady asks me, his eyes locked on the house across the street.

The Spanish villa is almost a mini-mansion, located miles from Guerrero"s usual haunts. It"s three stories of stucco and decorative arches under red tile. The yard is perfectly landscaped and clean, with a fucking fountain out front. A wrought iron security fence surrounds the property, keeping the curious out.

I don"t know if Guerrero has any of his men inside, but we"re about to find out.

"We"re going in," I mutter to Brady. "Even if we have to shoot our way in."

"Fuckin" A," he says, a grim smile spreading across his face. He may have fucked up with the motherfucker who followed him home, but there"s no one else I want inside with me if we end up in a fucking shoot-out. Brady is an artist with a gun. He hits exactly what he aims for, every damn time.

I loop my shield around my neck, leaving it outside my shirt so it"s visible. If Guerrero has men inside, I want them to know who is coming for his girl. I want him to know who"s coming for him. check over my Glock before holstering it with the holster clip unfastened to allow me to draw it quickly if need be.

Brady does the same with his and then grins at me. "Let"s do this," he says, holding out his fist for me to bump it.

"Let"s go," I mutter and bump his first before climbing from his Rover. I keep my eyes on the house as we jog across the street, but nothing moves. I scan the area anyway, looking for any signs that Guerrero has his people watching the house. Aside from a couple climbing into separate cars halfway down the block and three little girls skipping toward the bus stop at the corner, there"s no one around.

Brady hits the buzzer on the gate as soon as we step up to it.

I position myself near a column in case we need to duck for cover.

The intercom buzzes.

"Can I help you?" a woman asks.

"My name is Brady Kaplan, and this is my partner Roman Gregory," Brady says. "We"re with the ATF. We"re here to speak to Selena Ortega."

The woman is silent for a brief moment. "Hold your badge up, please."

Brady lifts his up with a finger and turns in a circle.

"Now his, please."

I roll my eyes before doing the same thing Brady just did.

There"s another brief silence, and then the gate clicks and slowly begins to open.

"I"ll meet you at the door," the woman says softly, resignation heavy in her voice.

Brady and I wait until the gate fully opens and then step through. We keep our eyes peeled, watching for movement…for any signs that we"re about to be ambushed. We make it to the door as a woman pulls it open, her long brown hair piled into a bun on top of her head. She"s beautiful, elegant, with glowing olive skin and big, brown eyes. A simple black robe is cinched tight around her waist, stretching across her pregnant belly. It skims her wide hips, ending at her knees.

Her gaze hones in on our badges and flickers across them before she meets my gaze and then Brady"s. She purses her lips like she isn"t sure what to make of us. Her wary, unsurprised look makes it clear that she knows why we"re here, though.

"Come in," she says quietly, holding the door open for us.

"Miss Ortega, I presume?" I step inside, quickly scanning the residence, but the foyer and living room beyond are empty. If there"s anyone else inside, they"re quiet and staying out of sight. Heavy oak furniture rests on porcelain tile, shining brightly in the early morning light. The house is nice and clean…not unexpected given the area, but still surprising.

How the fuck did someone who lives like this get mixed up with someone like Jose Guerrero?

"Yes. How can I help you?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head back to look up at me. Something like recognition flickers through her eyes before she quickly schools her expression. She knows exactly who I am, I think.

"We"re here about Jose Guerrero."

She tenses when I say his name before relaxing again. Her gaze darts away and then right back to mine.

"You"re pregnant with his kid," Brady states.

She doesn"t deny it.

"Do you know where he is?"

"I…No." She shakes her head.

Brady glances at me. He doesn"t say anything or change his expression, but I"ve worked with him for so long I can read him as easily as he reads me, and his bullshit meter is going off too. She may not know exactly where Guerrero is, but she knows enough. She knows how to contact him.

I watch her for a minute, taking in the way she clenches her hands tightly, trying to hide the way they tremble and shake.

"How far along are you?" I ask her, my voice quiet, conversational. I don"t want to scare her any more than she already is, but she should be afraid. Hell, she should be terrified. She should run as far and fast as possible and not look back.

"Four and a half months," she whispers.

"He tried to kill my girl. Had his people burn down my house with her inside."

"Why…" She licks her lips. "Why are you telling me this, Agent Gregory?"

"My girl is pregnant, too. Because of your man, she"s terrified that our baby might not make it." I jerk my chin at Brady. "One of Guerrero"s people held a gun to his two-year-old son"s head. They"ve been killing people all over this city for weeks, and it"s only going to get worse. I think you know that."

She doesn"t say anything, but recognition flares in her eyes again. She knows I"m right.

"I also think you know that being with Guerrero put a target on your back. Because of his little war, if anyone finds out about you, they"ll come for you and they"ll come for your baby."

"Like you have?" she asks, squaring her jaw.

"We didn"t come to kill you," I tell her, holding my hands up, palms outward. "We aren"t Guerrero. We aren"t his men. We don"t hurt innocent women."

"What do you want?"

"Guerrero," Brady says. "We want Guerrero."

She says nothing.

I watch her closely, noting the little chinks in her armor, the way she clenches her jaw to keep her bottom lip from trembling, and the way she keeps her hands in fists to hide the way they shake. Both are little signs that let me know she"s not nearly as brave as she wants us to think.

"In about an hour," I say, "our boss is going to show up here and pull you out. Once that happens, everyone who has a grudge against him will know about you."

That"s how shit in this world works. Once Guerrero and Francisco"s rivals know that Selena Ortega exists, that he cares enough about her to have hidden her away, they"ll come for her. Guerrero is a death sentence hanging over her head. Her life ended the day she hooked up with him. I think she knows it, too. I think she"s terrified we"re her reckoning.

"We can protect you and your baby," I tell her softly, following my gut feeling that she wants out. "We can help you disappear and stay that way if that"s what you want."

She eyes me for a long, silent moment. "You want to know where he"s at."

I nod.

"If I tell you, you"ll get me out of here?" She sounds almost…hopeful.

"That"s the deal," Brady says. "You tell us where to find him, we help you disappear."

"You"ll kill him."

I just look at her levelly. I"m not going to lie and tell her that he"ll be just fine because he won"t be. If we find him, he"s going to die. That"s how this ends. His fate was sealed the minute he sent his men after Mila. He doesn"t get to walk away from that. I think Selena knows it, too.

Something like relief flashes through her eyes before they fall closed. She exhales softly and then pops her eyes open again, pinning me with her gaze. Pity and sympathy swirl through the brown depths, throwing me off-balance.

I frown at the sight of that emotion in her eyes, unease twisting through me.

"He knows who you are, Agent Gregory," she tells me. "He"s known for weeks."

"What are you saying?" Brady demands, wariness in his voice.

Her gaze never leaves my face. Never wavers. "I"m saying that he wants you out of the way. He"s planning something, and he doesn"t want you around when it goes down. He knows about your girl and your daughter. He"s planning to use them to get to you."

"Where is he?" I ask, but I don"t want to know the answer. I don"t want to fucking know that he"s—

"The last time I spoke with him, he was in Sacramento."

My heart stops beating, my blood freezing in my veins as her words rip through me. Guerrero is in Sacramento.

Mila. Tahani.

"I"m so sorry," she whispers.

"Jesus Christ," Brady breathes.

I sway, grasping at the wall to hold myself upright as a wave of terror slams into me like a brick wall. Everything in me wants to turn and run to the Rover, to get to Mila and Tahani before that motherfucker gets anywhere near them. But I"m hours away, and there"s no way I can get there in time to protect them if he"s already there.

The thought destroys me. He"s going after them, and there isn"t a fucking thing I can do to stop him.

Not unless…Fuck. Not unless he"s willing to trade my girls for his.

This is fucking wrong on every level. Using her as collateral goes against everything I"ve ever been taught. I"m not Guerrero. I don"t take hostages or trade lives. I"m a fucking cop.

And that"s exactly what Guerrero expects me to be. He thinks he"s untouchable because I"m bound by law and my own fucking sense of duty and obligation. He came for Mila because he thought I was soft, that I"d sit back and let the law handle it. That"s still what he expects.

Too fucking bad for him. The rulebook went out the goddamn window the minute he came for Mila. I"m writing my own this time, and I"ll do whatever the fuck I have to do to ensure Mila and my kids are safe.

"Get dressed," I bark at Selena, trying to breathe through the rage flooding through me with each beat of my heart. "You"re coming with us, and we"re leaving. Now."

She opens her mouth and then closes it. Fear flashes through her eyes. I think she knows exactly how far I"m willing to go to protect my family. But she doesn"t argue, plead, or beg for me to let her go. Instead, she takes a deep breath and nods before spinning around and hurrying into the house. She moves quickly, her head held high.

"You good, brother?" Brady asks me quietly when she starts up the stairs.

"No. Fuck no." I grip my hair and tug hard, letting the dull pain ground me. "If anything happens to them…if he touches them…" I can"t finish the sentence. I can"t even finish the fucking thought.

"We won"t let that happen," Brady promises me, murder in his eyes. "We"ll kill the son of a bitch first."

God help the motherfucker when I find him, because that"s exactly what I plan to do. Slowly and painfully.