Cold Spite (Cold Justice: Most Wanted #5)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

A fter a long day, Cas came out of the interview room. He wanted to find Delilah. Make sure she was okay. Instead, he bumped straight into the Special Agent in Charge of the San Diego Office, Peter Ridgeway. Ridgeway wasn’t his favorite person, but then Cas preferred the people on the ground doing the grunt work rather than the pen pushers and administrators.

Cas was officially based out of the LA office, but he’d barely started work there before being fingered by the undercover division for this assignment. He’d met his own SAC a total of two times and doubted the guy would recognize him in a crowd. Ridgeway though, he liked to keep up with what was going on in the San Diego office and surrounding area.

Ridgeway held out his hand to shake Cas’s. “I wanted to say congratulations. Great work today.”

Cas’s brows hiked. Today ? He’d been undercover for nearly a year.

“Both the Policía Federal and Policía Federal Ministerial were very happy with the information we provided. They raided the garage shortly after you left.”

Cas’s mouth tasted of sand. “Did they catch everyone?”

Ridgeway nodded. “They got them all. Ten dead. Four injured. Three arrests. No members of la Guardia Nacional or civilians were hurt. They found nearly three tons of cocaine on the premises and are hailing it as one of the biggest wins against the cartel in years…”

He kept talking, but Cas wasn’t listening.

Sickened, he closed his eyes. Ten dead? And four casualties whose wounds would likely fester in jail until they died.

“Who? Who was wounded?” he interrupted.

Ridgeway blinked, clearly taken aback.

Cas cleared his throat. “I’d like to see a list of the victims from today. Sir,” he added belatedly.

Ridgeway’s lips pursed. “I’ll have someone send it to you.”

Cas nodded. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

Ridgeway placed his hand on Cas’s left shoulder, and it took everything in him not to violently shake him off. “Anyway, I wanted to extend my personal congratulations on a job well done. There’s a commendation in this for you, mark my words.”

The man’s eyes danced with delight. The deaths were barely a postscript on his conscience.

Cas watched the SAC stride away as if he had somewhere important to be, perhaps a press conference or a meeting with the FBI Director. Cas pulled out his personal cell. There was a missed call from Delilah, and he closed his eyes as more pain piled on.

What he was about to do would break her heart, but it was for the best. She’d find someone else. Someone better suited to the Assistant Director’s daughter—as the man in question had been keen to point out to him before his interview to get into this year’s round of the Hostage Rescue Team’s selection process.

The threat had been explicit, although the man hadn’t uttered the words. Keep seeing Delilah and Cas’s chance of getting into HRT would be zero, zilch.

So, that was his “choice.”

Be with the woman he loved knowing that it was only a matter of time before she realized for herself that their wildly differing backgrounds would never work in the real world. Or get a shot at HRT selection, which had been his dream ever since he’d met a man named Kurt Montana attached to his SEAL team, in a dusty Afghan desert.

The fight for justice, even in a war zone, had appealed to Cas’s innate sense of fairness, his sense of honor, and he’d applied for the FBI from his bunk in Kandahar. But his undercover role with the Mexican cartel hadn’t felt particularly honorable. Even though he knew the evil of the drug trade, had seen friends from his days in the foster system succumb to the lure of chemical oblivion, the stories of hardship and violence of the men he’d met in Mexico resonated. He’d been one bad decision away from that being his life. Instead, he’d been fortunate. Joining the Navy, having the aptitude for the SEALs and then the Bureau. Not everyone was that lucky.

Funny, he’d always thought being lucky would feel good.

Hotness slithered through his gut.

He texted Killion asking for a breakdown of what had happened in Mexico and exactly who’d died. The thought of Pedro and a couple of the others being hurt cut deep. If they were injured, perhaps he could figure out a way to get them treatment, or possibly extradited to the US. Perhaps he could spin it so Pedro could turn state’s evidence in exchange for more information on his brother’s role in the cartel.

His hands shook as he read Killion’s reply. A list of names and photos of the dead. Saliva flooded his mouth as an image of Pedro flashed onto the screen. Blood dribbled out of his mouth, and his eyes were closed.

Bile rose up his throat, but he forced it down. Tears burned at the back of his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall, not when today still had more pain in store for him.

He needed to get it over with. Inflict all the punishment in one go and hope to survive the aftermath. He headed outside to the parking lot. He’d handed the Camaro back to the FBI’s carpool and picked up his truck which had been dropped off here by one of his colleagues from the undercover division .

Keys were in the ignition.

Delilah texted him an address and a sense of numbness enveloped him.

He had to end this thing now. Before he hurt her even more than he already would.

He used his cell to direct him to the condo she’d bought a year ago when she’d first been assigned to the west coast.

The fact she could afford to buy anything around here on a single salary reaffirmed they came from polar opposite backgrounds.

There was a space on the road near her place, so he pulled in and turned off the engine.

He forced the emotion out of his head. No way would he be able to do this if he thought too much about it. He was an old pro at dissociation.

He checked the house number and then headed down the narrow path, eyeing the clear turquoise pool with envy, passing the tamed hibiscus bushes and beneath the jacaranda trees with their obscenely beautiful lavender-blue flowers.

He found the right block of condos and climbed the steps to Delilah’s front door. He’d been dreaming about this moment since the day they’d first realized their pretend romance was actually the real deal.

She opened the door, her natural long dark hair wet from a recent shower and the familiar scent of her almost brought him to his knees.

She flung herself at him and entwined her arms tight around his neck. He wrapped his around her and held her tight. Sank his nose into the crook of her neck and inhaled. This was it. This was all he would allow himself.

He squeezed her tight and felt her wince. He pulled away. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Her brown eyes were shining with joy as she pulled him inside.

Despite the guilt about what he intended to do, he looked around with interest. It was the first time he’d been to her home, and even though he was torturing himself, he was curious about her space. Her couch and recliner were a soft brown leather that looked classy and expensive. The walls were painted off-white, and the floors were glossy hardwoods. There were paintings on the walls that looked to his uneducated eye to be originals.

“Want a drink?” She turned and headed toward the small kitchen.

“What the hell happened to your back?”

She looked over her shoulder and grimaced. “Scanlon jumped me when I arrested him, and I got a bit scraped up.” She fished into the back pocket of her tight-fitting blue jeans, handed him his treasured balisong knife. He cradled it when he really wanted to cradle her.

“He almost peed his pants when he realized we had recordings. Wife’s gonna be pissed when she hears him proposition me in the truck.”

“That motherfucker.” Rage heated his bones. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head.

“Delilah?”

Her head jerked up then. It was the first time he’d used her real name. He hadn’t dared before, not when a mistake could mean her death.

“He didn’t hurt me. He just wanted to take what belonged to you.”

It was as if someone had scooped out his insides and dumped them in the ocean.

Those brown eyes softened in concern. “I heard about what happened back at the mechanic shop. Are you okay?”

He shook his head but didn’t say anything else.

“What is it? Having trouble adjusting to our new reality?” She laughed softly as she handed him a bottle of his favorite beer.

“Want to go on a date?” Her eyes shone with love. What else would make her look at him like that? “We can hit a restaurant on the beach, catch a movie. Do something that normal people do.”

Normal?

He’d never been normal.

He placed the beer carefully on the counter. She took a step toward him, but he held up his hand to ward her off.

She paused, and he saw the way her eyes started to change.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks for the beer, but I have to drive to LA tonight.”

“Now?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

He nodded. “Yeah. I plan to be on the road to Quantico in the morning.”

She blinked. “Oh. Well, I took off next week and thought I’d help you move. That way we get to spend a little time together before you start selection and we can maybe pop in to meet my parents. They’re dying to meet you.”

A bitter laugh escaped. He put his hand over his brow.

“Cas?”

His name on her lips sent a crack through the wall of his heart.

She took a step closer. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He thrust all the emotion away. The despair. The hurt. The insidious fucking hope. “I need to be honest with you about something.”

Ironic, as she was the only person he’d ever been truly honest with and even she didn’t know half of his dirty secrets.

“Sometimes things happen during an assignment that shouldn’t happen. Emotions get amplified. People say things that in the cold light of day might not be true.”

“Things?” She hiked a fine brow in obvious confusion.

“Yeah. They, er, say things and make promises in the heat of the moment.”

“Are you telling me you don’t want me to drive across the country with you?” A dent of confusion crinkled the skin between her brows. “I get that you need some time to process what happened over the past twelve months?— ”

“Not just that.” His voice was sharper than he’d meant it to be.

“Oh, oh .” Her hand covered her mouth. “You mean things like ‘I love you’ and ‘I want to spend time with you when we’re not in danger of being sliced and diced by the cartel’? Those things.”

He wanted to deny it all and tell her the truth, but then she’d never let him go. She’d convince herself that the feelings they shared would compensate for his lack of pedigree and breeding. It wouldn’t. Not in the long run. He wasn’t worth the sacrifices he knew she was willing to make.

“Look, we had great chemistry in bed, but it wasn’t real, okay? It was a reaction to the danger we were in. The situation. The tension. The fact you look like sex on a fucking stick.”

Her eyes swam with tears. Her voice grew thick. “I don’t believe you.”

He couldn’t look at her. He had to cut the ties irrevocably. Kill the beauty of everything they’d had together and let her move on. He made his expression cold. “You were a good fuck, Delilah, but don’t ruin things by getting clingy. I’m trying to do the right thing here. I’m going to be thousands of miles away. I’m not making any promises about fidelity, and I know women like you expect promises.” He met her gaze then and let his expression open up. “I mean, if you’re willing to keep things casual, then maybe we can hook up again next time we’re on the same coast.”

She flinched away from him and sorrow as sharp as his beloved blade sliced through his chest cavity and shredded the organ in his chest until it was bloody.

“Get out.” She wrapped her arms around herself and curled over as if in pain. She screamed. “Get out. Get out. Get out!”

The sight of her hit him like a felled tree. This woman had faced down killers and drug dealers with an easy smile.

Nothing had dented her composure.

Nothing.

Except him.

Cas searched for numbness, but all he found was heartbreak and grief. So what if her beloved father hated him? So what if his own dreams were crushed? Didn’t matter he was doing it for her own good, this felt like dying. He forced himself to get moving, to leave her in her small, neat kitchen before he fell to his knees and confessed it was all a lie and he’d take what he could get for as long as she wanted him.

Ultimately, it would destroy him, but as long as she was okay, what did it matter? He hesitated on the threshold of her home blinded by the late afternoon sun. He looked over his shoulder and she stood there with dry eyes and a blank expression on her pale, beautiful face.

He inhaled unsteadily and then turned away, stepping into the setting sun. Into a life of loneliness and wishful thinking.