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Chapter Four

Enrique

“ Me importa un culo . Ese culicagado que te den .” I don’t give a shit. That ass shit can get fucked.

I’m fucking pissed. Culicagado doesn’t translate well. It means ass shit—slang that combines two of the most versatile words in any language. But I mean someone who doesn’t know enough to be running their mouth. That would be Sean O’Rourke. Cabroncete. Little fucker.

“Enrique, you know that. I know that. We all know that. But it doesn’t change how Sean’s figured out our cypher or that he’s now got our offshore bank account behind so many firewalls and passwords I’m not sure it still exists.”

Luis’s voice remains calm, but his expression tells me he’s as pissed as I am. I’m at his place along with his son and our nephews. Margherita’s upstairs napping. It’s the only reason we’re meeting right now. As important as this is, I wouldn’t pull my brother away from his wife the first morning he’s home after being back in Colombia for six weeks.

“ Tío, let them keep the account in Belize. It doesn’t have much in it despite what they think. Unless they withdraw cash—which means they find someone they trust to do that or one of them goes down there—and there’s little chance of that—they’ll have to do a wire transfer. I’ll keep an eye on any and all money leaving the country.”

Jorge’s our CPA. He doesn’t just track our profits and losses, he’s also a forensic accountant. Each of the Four Families has one. Jorge is superior to the rest. The other families think they have the best, but we actually do. Jorge’s more discreet with how he manages our money, even if the O’Rourkes believe they’ve secretly stockpiled more than any of us know.

Jorge’s brother Joaquin heads up our intel gathering and is a hacking genius. No one bought his way into MIT. He’s cultivated an image of being the most blasé of their generation, but it’s because he’s painfully shy. He’s a complete introvert who’s learned to navigate an extroverted world. His couldn’t-give-a-fuck attitude masks his aversion to being in crowds or making small talk. It lets him avoid those situations.

Since he’s such a home body and is the most inquisitive of all my nephews, he creates computer programs that run circles around the other families. He built one that allows Jorge to monitor international transactions, especially any connected to Latin America. That means any large transactions get flagged. He’ll let me know the moment anything pings.

No one brings drugs in or out of this hemisphere without my consent.

That makes me think of Ellie—Elodie. She has no idea who or what I am. To her, I’m just Enrique. She doesn’t know my last name, so I’m sure she hasn’t looked me up. If she had, she wouldn’t come near me. If her dog knew what a threat I pose to her, he’d have chewed me apart by now. I shouldn’t spend time with her, but she intrigues me.

I joined Luis down in Colombia for two weeks, but I’ve been in New Jersey the rest of the time. I’ve admitted to no one that part of the reason I’ve stayed up here is to be with Ellie. I keep thinking of her like that. We’ve been going for walks and out on the water for more than a month now, and I treasure every minute of it.

I’ve seen her all but three days in the past month. The only reason I missed those days was because I had a couple of my men make some poor decisions. They needed reminders they worked for me not the other way around. Once I was sure they couldn’t forget, I made sure they couldn’t breathe again.

I consider what Jorge said about the sheltered account in Belize and what to do about the O’Rourkes.

“Fine. But I don’t want too much moving out of that account before we act. I don’t want them thinking it took us long to discover what they’re doing.”

“I can be in Bogotá tomorrow and out to the labs by tomorrow night. I can check on everything. Tío —” Alejandro looks at Luis, not me. “—you didn’t have time to go out there again. I can find their labs and get photos or video. No one will be any the wiser.”

Despite Alejandro being the biggest of all of us, he’s a fucking phantom. Even in daylight, the man moves with such stealth it’s unnerving. He’s been that way since he was a toddler. He’d disappear before anyone realized he was on his feet. Used to scare the shit out of my sister and brother-in-law. It’s why they stopped after one.

“Let me think about it. In the meantime, manito , what happened with Miguel?”

“That cabrón thought he could set up his own import company. He didn’t expect me to stop by.” Asshole.

Miguel Rojas is one of the most notorious murderers in Colombia and has been in prison for twenty-nine years and is facing life in there. He worked for my uncle and was the one who was supposed to carry out the hit that killed my father. Tío Humberto—that fucking flaming sack of shit—wanted what his older brother had and what I have now. The role of jefe de jefes —boss of bosses. I heard about the plot, so I made sure Miguel went away. For the first twenty years, he was an ideal inmate. I’d say jump, and he’d ask how high. But a few years ago, he found his huevos again.

Every time he does, I kick him in the balls. Calling them eggs makes much more sense, considering how fragile they are. I make sure Miguel remembers I’ll take him down to his knees if he reaches too far. Right now, “import company” means he’s bringing drugs into the prison without my permission. I’m not getting my cut, and he bragged about that. Luis went down there to shut his operation down.

“How’d you make the connection between him and the O’Rourkes?” That’s at the heart of this, and what I need to know.

“This shit he was selling is as dirty as what we send in, but the formula was different. I traced it back to Bolivia. That’s when things slowed down and why I was out of touch the last two weeks. Fucking no reception in that part of the jungle.”

The first two weeks Luis was down there, he was wrapping up some deals we made with rivals. Those deals meant they pay us a tariff to import and export, and we let them live. He spent two more weeks in the prison with Miguel. He checks in and out of prisons in Colombia like they’re Hiltons. Sometimes he gets himself busted, and sometimes, he just walks in and pays for a cell. Depends on who he’s visiting and what he needs to do.

He’s known as el Espíritu Santo —the Holy Ghost or Holy Spirit—because everyone knows if he’s coming for you, your soul’s about to leave your body.

This time, he wanted to teach more than just Miguel a lesson. No one crosses me without facing me or someone in my family. After neutralizing Miguel, Luis went into the Amazon for some recon. That’s where Alejandro will pick up from.

“What’s so different about the O’Rourkes?” Pablo’s the scientist in the family. He majored in chem and minored in bio.

“They’re adding phenacetin.”

“Where the fuck are they getting that? It’s been off the market since the seventies when they discovered it’s a carcinogen.”

It’s a local painkiller in the same family as acetaminophen—Tylenol—but with side effects like cancer.

Luis looks at his son and shrugs. “I don’t know where they get it. I didn’t have time to find out. They haven’t been using it long enough for it to have done any harm yet. But it’s making their product stretch further since they’re cutting it with that. It’s addictive, but not as powerful as cleaner formulas. It’s got the inmates begging for more, which made Miguel a lot of money, which led to him running his fat mouth. He got really talkative when I put his huevos in kitchen tongs and held a torch to the metal.”

That’s not a new tactic, but we all shift in our seats. No guy wants to think of that happening to their nuts.

“How is that cost efficient for them? If they’re using something that’s not readily available, they’re spending money to get it or to make it. That doesn’t make sense.” Jorge isn’t tight-fisted, but he’ll take his last penny to the grave if he can.

“? Mi amor ?” The meeting ends when Margherita’s voice floats down to us.

“ Si preciosa .” Yes, gorgeous.

My brother’s been calling his wife that since the day they met. Luis was dumbstruck when he saw her for the first time. It was two weeks before their wedding. Margherita’s father forced my hand, and I arranged the marriage. It was an alliance with her family or lose my hold on Colombia. I needed their backing against my uncle, whom I’d just had extradited from the U.S. back to Colombia. Her father refused me since I was jefe , and he didn’t want his daughter to be a young widow. I clearly lived and have been jefe for more than thirty years. But it worked out because they fell in love during the first year they were married. If she and I married, I’d be the one going to check on her. I wouldn’t be looking forward to a walk with Ellie.

I noticed the same car parked two houses down from Ellie just before I met her. It’s there now that I’m back in town. The owner never parks in a garage or driveway, which is weird for this neighborhood. I’ve spotted it in the morning a few times, so I thought it might be a household employee. But then I saw it still parked there yesterday evening, and it’s there now.

I haven’t seen anyone in it, so I have no faces to make me suspicious. But I’ve survived this long because I’m wary by nature, and I trust next to no one and nothing. It’s why Ellie is such a surprise. There’s an openness between us most of the time that’s refreshing. When she gets evasive, it’s to protect her family. Even though we’re spending more time together, she’s cautious not to give a man she doesn’t know well too many details, especially since it was easy to realize she lives alone.

I glance over my shoulder as I jog toward her house. She’s just closing the garage door as I reach her driveway. She’s got tight workout shorts on, which isn’t what she’s worn in the past. They’ve always been looser, not clingy. Rather than a tank top, she has an over-sized t-shirt on. It covers her ass, but it also covers her tits. I’m not thrilled about either of those.

“ Hola, chiquita .” Hello, little girl.

Where the hell did that come from?

I haven’t used an endearment for a woman since I divorced the woman I was eventually forced to marry. The few endearments I used were as forced as my wedding vows. This slipped out, but I mean it.

Her smile improves my day. The meeting at Luis’s wasn’t that bad, but my day went to shit afterward. The bratva’s running most of the docks these days, and they’re strong-arming me for more protection money against customs inspections. Alejandro and Pablo came over to my place so we could strategize. I wound up in an argument with them. They’re intelligent and experienced, but sometimes they forget my memory is longer than theirs. Their suggestion was a short-term solution to what could become a much longer-term problem.

“ Hola .”

She’s definitely not a Spanish speaker, but her bubbly response is cute. The way she greets me with that smile feels like I’m coming home from a hard day of work to a warm welcome. Except we’re standing on the street, and we don’t share a home.

I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around her and taste her. I want to know how it would feel to press my dick against her cunt. I want to know how her tits would feel in my hands. I want to squeeze her ass and grind her on my thigh. I want her ass against my cock like I did at the lake the first time we went rowing together.

I’ve had these thoughts since we met. I jacked off to them while I was away. I’ve been doing that more often than I have since I was fourteen. I wonder if she thinks the same things about me. Could I be on her mind if she gets herself off?

“How was your day?” I need to get my mind out of the gutter.

“It went well. I’m ready to stretch my legs though. Way too long at the computer.”

She tilts her head in one direction, then the other. I hear the cracks, and it tempts me to carry her inside, strip her, and give her a massage.

I’m in my fifties, and my dick doesn’t lead me anywhere. I’ve never let it. I’ve been with enough women over the years to prove I’m no monk. But I master my libido; it doesn’t master me.

Until now.

Fucking hell.

I’ve kept my dirty thoughts to a minimum when I’m with Ellie, so she never thinks I’m a stalker perv. But my mind’s in overdrive this evening. Maybe it’s because she’s more covered up than usual. It’s not like she’s ever scantily clad, but my imagination’s working overtime, picturing what I know is under that damn t-shirt.

“How about you?” She looks over at me as she rolls her shoulders back.

“Long day too. But the worst is over.”

Her eyes drop to my lips, but they dart back up to meet my gaze. Perhaps she is thinking the same thoughts I am right now.

I always sneak glances at her while we walk. I love her profile. But today I’m likely to fall over my feet because I can’t look away. It’s not just the t-shirt that’s different. Something’s off. Something’s bothering her, and I can tell. It’s why I want to hold her even more than usual.

“Did something happen today, Elodie?”

She stops while Constantine sprays his favorite tree. She hesitates for a fraction of a second before she shakes her head. I know I didn’t imagine her discomfort, even if the average person couldn’t notice. I’ve spent more than four decades drilling secrets out of people. I started young. I know every sign there is when someone’s hiding the truth.

“No. I was busy today, and I still have a few things left to get done.”

I step closer to her as we reach the bottom of the hill. I put my hand on her arm, and it’s the first time I’ve touched her since the lake the first time we rowed out together. As I turn us to face each other, I glance back toward the car parked on the street. I shouldn’t have stopped us so close to it, but I did.

“Ellie, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I know something’s bothering you. If I can help, I will.”

She twists her arm, and I think she wants me to let go. But she rests her hand on my forearm, her thumb sweeping over it twice before she stops herself.

“Nothing’s wrong, but thank you. I appreciate the offer. It’s kind.”

I don’t slouch, but I straighten to my full height and lean in to whisper to her. “I told you, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want, but don’t lie to me, chiquita . I know when you are. Tell me you don’t want to talk about it. Tell me it’s none of my business. But if you lie, I’ll think you’re guarding yourself against me finding out something. It will only make me more determined to know if something’s wrong, if someone’s upset you. Do you want to change your answer?”

I step back, and I watch the cords in her neck strain as she swallows. She doesn’t appear frightened of me. Just the opposite. There’s curiosity and temptation to challenge me. She wants to know what I’ll do next. It’s not to pick an argument. Just the opposite.

I think she wants to challenge me, so she gets more of the same dominant personality I’m showing now. While she’s been easygoing so far, I didn’t get the feeling she’s submissive. That’s how I’ve liked to play in the past, but it’s not a requirement for me. It piques my curiosity even further. But I could be wrong.

“I had to talk to my ex-husband today, which isn’t something I do often. We lead incredibly separate lives, considering we only finalized the divorce eight months ago. But he needed to find some documents I left for him. He insisted they were nowhere to be found. I insisted on where they were, but he refused to believe me. He kept going on and on about how I lost them, or I put them somewhere to screw him over on purpose. It was way too long a conversation that didn’t make sense most of the time. In the end, I swapped it over to a video call and made him go through the stack of documents where I said they were. Lo and behold, that’s where he found them immediately. I know he didn’t look closely because he’s too lazy. And he’s too lazy because he still assumes I’ll do things for him. But that’s not my responsibility anymore.”

She pushes hair out of her eyes as the wind whips the wispy strands across her forehead. It tempts me to tuck them behind her ear.

“I don’t even have the documents to do what he needed, so it pissed him off to realize he’s got to take care of himself like a grown-ass adult. It pissed him off even more that I was right about where they were. It bruised his ego all the way around. And in the meantime, I had to listen to him go off on me about it. It tempted me to hang up. But I wanted this over and done with, and I knew it wouldn’t be until he found the paperwork. It was still just easier to bite my tongue like it has been for the past twenty-seven years. That put me in a foul mood. On top of that, I had a really frustrating call with someone I hired to take care of a couple of business matters.”

I turn toward the direction we were going, but I don’t move even when she takes a step forward. She looks back at me, her brow furrowed again.

“How did the conversation with your ex-husband end?”

She offers me a half-hearted smile. At least she doesn’t appear upset, which could be a well-practiced mask after many years of hiding a dysfunctional relationship. When she opens her mouth to respond, I step forward, and we continue our walk.

“The way it usually does. Neither of us saying goodbye. We stop talking, then we hang up. He can’t be bothered to greet me properly on a phone call. When I call, he’s answered with ‘yeah’ or ‘what’ for ages. Now that’s how I answer his call, which I know didn’t set the best tone from the get-go. But I simply don’t care about his feelings any longer. And because I don’t have to live with him, I don’t really care if he’s pissed off at me. So, the call ended the way it started. Neither one of us wanted to talk to the other. I’ve moved on.

“Do you think he’s going to do anything because you argued?”

“He can try. But there’s nothing he holds over my head. This house is mine. Paid for in cash with my half of the proceeds from the house we sold together. I’m self-employed, so he can’t interfere with an employer or put me in a position where I have to quit. I’m not financially reliant on him for anything. He can piss and moan all he wants, but he’s got no whipping boy—or rather whipping girl—anymore.”

“Do you think he’ll tell your boys about this?”

Her laugh is anything but humorous. “That would involve him reaching out to them, which he doesn’t do because he’s pissed they don’t reach out to him. He has never seen that as the first adult in the relationship, he should have led by example. He was disengaged for years, so the boys just don’t really factor him in too much anymore. They say they’re not bitter or anything like that. He’s just a non-entity in a lot of ways. He didn’t speak badly about me to them when they were kids. But if he were to call one of them or all three and bitch about me, they’d likely just let him ramble because his attitude toward me wouldn’t be anything new. It didn’t come as a shock to any of them when I filed for divorce. I was there for as long as I was for their sake. I waited to make sure all three were settled and on their feet. I know they’re all self-sufficient and fine. So now I’m on my own.”

She looks straight ahead and keeps walking. She doesn’t look down as though she’s ashamed or regretful. She doesn’t look away as though she’s embarrassed or avoiding anything. She merely looks like she’s accepted everything for what it is. And that saddens me for her. She’s shared enough of her personal life. More than she ever has, so I won’t press her any further about her day, but I’ll listen if she wants to say anything.

Even though it might’ve been easier if I’d asked about work rather than her private life, I appreciate what she’s shared. It’s given me insights I didn’t have. I get the feeling what she left unsaid about staying until her boys were on their feet was that she couldn’t afford to support them and herself. That seems contrary to what anyone would guess, considering the home she’s in. But she said she paid cash from the settlement.

Maybe he controlled her all those years. Or maybe she sacrificed a career in order to keep her family together. That story sounds far too familiar.

“Well, tomorrow brings a new day.”

I tried to sound optimistic, but I fear I sound phony. She looks over at me and grins. This time, she means the humor in it.

“Okay, Orphan Annie, the sun will come out tomorrow.”

“I suppose it will. And whatever else you have going on, tomorrow is another day.”

She laughs out loud. “Well, you’ve gone from Orphan Annie to Scarlet O’Hara.”

My brow furrows. “ Gone with the Wind ?”

“Yeah, that was her line. ‘After all, tomorrow is another day.’ Sounds like a plan to me since I may have to let somebody go in the morning.”

I cock an eyebrow, and her smile falters. She observes me for a long moment before she carries on.

“Yeah, I have a publicist I hired for a project, and we aren’t in agreement. I may have to let her go if she won’t compromise. She’s patronizing as fuck.”

She shakes her head and rolls her shoulders back, pressing them down, forcing herself to relax.

“If you know what’s going wrong, then you must know what’s right. Why hire a publicist then?”

She looks up at me, and her gaze sharpens. It’s her professional business side I’m looking at now. Her chin notches up, and there’s true defiance in her gaze.

“I’m not beyond learning new things when I need to learn them. The woman doesn’t get that just because I hired somebody to do a task for me doesn’t mean I don’t know how to do it. It means I don’t have the time or the built-in connections in that area. If I wanted to be patronized, I wouldn’t pay for it. The woman is good at what she does, but she believes she knows more about this particular niche than I do. I thought that was true. That’s why I brought her on. Turns out she doesn’t. So, I won’t pay good money hand over fist for somebody’s mediocrity. I’m not risk averse. I just like my risks to make me money. I’ll take the tasks back on myself until I find somebody competent. Then I will farm them out and move on to the things only I can manage in my business.”

Our gazes are locked as though she dares me to disagree or to think she’s foolish. Or worse, incompetent. Instead, I think she’s never looked hotter, and my balls ache to pump my cum into her. It’s a good thing I’m not trying to run with this hard on.

“Sounds like the decision I would make, and so would most people. Hopefully, the conversation goes smoothly, and you get what you want out of it.”

She relaxes, and the tension eases away from her. I don’t know if she expected something else, and she’s relieved. Or if that was what she wanted me to say, and that’s where the relief comes from. But either way, she’s not as tense as she was a moment ago.

“I think you probably had a better day than I did, considering I dealt with an ex-spouse and maybe firing somebody. Am I right?”

If only she were. After my meetings with my brother and nephews, I dealt with a few more annoying matters and a trip to the out of business bodega we own in Queens. It’s not just a closed little corner grocery store. The basement doubles as our place where we handle the more unfortunate side of our business.

I had questions, and Pablo tried to get the answers. It was an exhausting waste of time since, as good as Pablo is at getting information out of the most recalcitrant, this guy was bratva and trained never to squeal. Except I made him sound like a stuffed cerdito —little piggy. I still have a few tricks up my sleeves even my head enforcers, Pablo and Alejandro, don’t. Pablo has fewer limits than Alejandro, but he still has some.

I have none. That’s not something Ellie can ever discover. I need to come up with something to say rather than the truth. It’s one of many lies I’ll tell her if we continue to become better friends—preferably something even more.

“I had a meeting with a business associate who thought he could out-negotiate me, and it turned out to be a waste of time. He had more to give than I did, and he wound up giving in. He just took forever to do it. We could’ve finished in five minutes if he’d cooperated.”

“Sounds quite a bit more familiar than I think either of us imagined.”

She’s being sympathetic. If only she knew how far off the mark she is.

“If you have a publicist, what are you trying to get publicity for?”

She doesn’t strike me as a social media influencer type, but maybe she is. I don’t know any, so I really shouldn’t make any assumptions. Her entire expression relaxes, and I know she’s happy to talk about whatever she does.

“I’m an author.”

“What types of things do you write? Self-help? Business? Finance?”

She laughs. “No, I write psychological thrillers.”

“That wasn’t what I expected you to say.”

“I don’t come across as the bloodthirsty murdering type?”

“Hardly.”

“I write some historical ones, but a lot of them are contemporary.”

“A lot of them? Do you have many published?”

“I do. This is my full-time job now. It has been for about ten years.”

“Wow. How long will it take me to read through your catalog?”

She looks at me sideways, unsure if I’m serious.

“I don’t just work out, Ellie. I do read, and it’s not all for my edification.”

She nods. “I have one hundred and ten.”

I think my mouth hangs open. That’s hardly what I expected her to say either.

“A hundred and ten in ten years? I thought you might say fifty—sixty—but I didn’t think you’d average eleven a year.”

“Some years it’s been more than that. Some years it’s been a little less, but I love what I do. So, that old saying that ‘it’s not work if you love it’ actually is true. I always thought it was a pile of bullshit. Work is work, and your job is a job. You might enjoy it, but not always. As an adult, you get on with it, and you pay your bills. But I realize there is truth in that. I just wasn’t doing the right thing before.”

I furrow my brow once more, unsure what she means, since I got the feeling she might’ve been a stay-at-home mom. But perhaps I totally read that wrong. I’ve been wrong all evening.

“You look nervous to ask me what I did before I was an author. I was an accountant, and I enjoyed it. I specialized in forensic accounting. I like puzzles and mysteries, hence the mystery and suspense parts of psychological thrillers. But it wasn’t as rewarding as being in my imagination all day, which is a much better place most of the time than reality. Or at least it was the escape I needed for the last decade of my marriage.”

“I guess I figured you did something other than that.”

“You thought I was a stay-at-home mom because of what I said about sticking around for my boys.”

“Not that accounting doesn’t have its challenges, but I can’t imagine a harder job than being a stay-at-home parent. But I also think it’s probably one of the most rewarding experiences.”

“It can be, and there were certain periods over the years when I was, but not my boys’ entire childhoods. I worked outside the home for a long time, then there were also several years where I had a home office. I’m glad now that I travel even more for this work, I’m not leaving my boys behind. They’re young men who fend for themselves. It’s given me freedom back.”

We’ve taken our loop around the park, and we’re back at her driveway. She’s revealed more to me than I expected, but I love it. I know I’m going to have to do the same for her, or she’ll feel taken advantage of. It’ll make her vulnerable and close off to me, and that’s the last thing I want.

“Should I start with your very first book, or is there one you recommend over the others?”

“You could start with the first one. It’s not my best, but all the series connect to each other, and the books within each series connect to each other. If you’re going to jump into the world I created, you may as well start at the very beginning. Hopefully, you don’t think I’m too twisted once you get an actual glimpse of how my mind works.”

I wish I could tell her there’s not a chance in hell she’s more twisted than I am. I grin instead. “What name do you write under?”

“Elodie McCann.”

“I’ll be filling my digital library when I get home. I shall blame you if I get no sleep tonight because I’m up reading the whole time.”

Her smile falters. “Enrique, you don’t have to flatter me. I’ve been at this long enough to know I can’t please all the people all the time. At best, I can please some people some of the time, so it’s all right when people don’t like my books. It won’t offend me if it’s not your cup of tea.”

“I’m still going to read at least one, Ellie.”

She watches me for a moment, and I know she caught the other time I called her that, but she hasn’t said anything about that, or the two times I called her chiquita . Her hesitation makes me wonder if she’s thinking about inviting me in. She let Constantine off his leash, and he’s sitting in front of the garage. But she doesn’t, and it crushes my soul a little.

“I won’t ask you tomorrow what you think. I’ll know by your expression. So don’t worry. I won’t put you on the spot.”

I smile and nod, but it’s not true. She’ll never know anything I’m thinking that I don’t want her to. I’ll only give away what I want, never all of who I am.

“Have a good night, Ellie.”

“Night, Enrique.”

I head back to my place after we say our goodbyes. I snapped a picture of the license plates as I jogged past the car still parked across the street from her. They come back as fake. Not stolen, not mismatched, but fake.

They’re not in the system at all. That sounds all sorts of alarms in my head, even if it has nothing to do with Ellie and isn’t a direct threat to her. Something shady is going on near her, and I don’t like that. I arrange for two of my most trusted and discreet guys to stake out her place.

I often have bodyguards with me, but the route through her neighborhood is in a gated community and close enough to my home that I enjoyed the time to myself. Now I enjoy the privacy of being with Ellie without an audience besides Constantine.

My men set themselves up in two separate spots in wooded areas near her house. They’re on private property, but no one will know they’re there unless they make their presence known. Alejandro trained them.

I stay up all night reading her first book. I’m entranced by the end of the second page. The story completely sucks you in, and it is pretty fucking twisted, but it shows she’s as brilliant as I imagined. It takes a lot for anything to surprise me when it comes to human nature, especially in books and TV shows. I usually predict the ending before I finish the first quarter of the book, but this one blew me away.

I can honestly admit I did not see that ending coming. It wasn’t like she pulled it out of nowhere, and it made no sense. It made perfect sense, but completely surprising. I even flipped back to different parts of the story to see if she’d foreshadowed anything or planted any red herrings, but she truly hadn’t. The complexity of the story seemed so smooth when I came to the end until I stopped to think about what it must have taken to craft that story.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think she ran a criminal organization because there’re few other people I know who could plot something like this and make it entirely plausible. I read a lot of psychological thrillers. Maybe it’s a constructive outlet after what I do, blurring the lines between reality and fiction.

No, that’s a pile of bullshit. I never blur those lines. It’s not escapism from everyday life. Just the opposite. Many of the books mirror the truth too much. I suppose it’s familiarity that makes the genre interesting to me. That’s an entire psychopathy I don’t need to examine.

I get the first report back from my guys at five a.m. It was too dark to see who got in the car and left an hour earlier, but the same car is back now. However, my guys are certain it’s different men who went into the house. One of my men sneaked out and spotted a dash camera pointed toward Ellie’s house, so away from him.

I’m headed there now to slip a note under her door before the sun’s up. I’m telling her I’ll be away for a couple days, but I won’t be. I want to give her some space to see who these people are and what they’re up to. If I’m a threat to her, then I need to know, and it’ll mean walking away for good. I hate that thought, but I won’t endanger her.

Even if I’m not the reason for it, I want to know anyway, so I can put protection in place for her. When I get home from that errand, I get cleaned up and head to my office. I downloaded five more of her books before I got out of bed. Now it’s time to dig a little more into Ellie McCann and find out who she is.

I’ve been working for the past two hours, and I’m no more informed about Ellie than I was when I started. Her name links to next to nothing except the publishing company, which isn’t a well-known one. It’s an anonymous LLC, which makes me question why there’re no names linked to it, not even hers.

There’re only three states where you can file an anonymous LLC. Delaware—which is a place plenty of people file regular corporations—New Mexico, and Wyoming. She said she grew up in D.C. and lived in New England, but this LLC is registered in New Mexico.

In order to have an anonymous LLC, there still has to be a Registered Agent. Someone who can receive mail and sign contracts. I struggle to find that, so I’m growing more alarmed by the moment.

Why does she need this anonymity?

Is Ellie McCann her real name?

I assume not, since there’s not a single record that matches up with her. Not a birth certificate. Not a social security number. Not a marriage license, a divorce decree, nor birth certificates for her children. Nothing. There’re a few mentions of her at book signing events, and her books are listed all over the place. But there are no official documents.

Does she have a stalker? Is there more to her ex-husband than she admitted? Did that motherfucker abuse her? Is she in WITSEC? Witness Protection, as most people call it.

There’s a reason for this, but I don’t know what it is. And while she said she likes puzzles, I hate them.

I look down when my phone buzzes on my desk.

“Hey, Martín.”

It’s a guy I have watching her place.

“ Jefe, nobody’s come out of the house since those men went inside, but another car’s driven past three times already. There’s nothing that makes us think it belongs to somebody here on the street. It went up past the hill, but wasn’t there long enough for anybody to have bothered with the park, even if they were meeting somebody, then left. I don’t know why they’ve driven by a third time in the last two hours. They’re coming back down the hill now. Do you want us to do anything?”

“Get pictures if you can, but don’t engage. I don’t want anybody to make you.”

This isn’t cool. I’ve spent all day at this, and now it sounds like my chiquita has some kind of stalker. It nearly kills me, but I wait two hours until it’s completely dark out before I head over to her house.