A Secret Revealed

Guero hadn’t heard back from Sylvie, which made him uneasy. If she couldn’t come through, he would have to find another way around Cavanaugh. The man had his secrets. Rubén provided his insights on one—his penchant for young men, preferably Mexican.

This information alone meant nothing, but it was knowledge Guero could weaponize if he had to. It would be risky going after a man like Cavanaugh, especially with Rubén also working for him. That was something else. Despite their closeness, Rubén hadn’t let on why he was working for Cavanaugh in the first place.

Guero knew his reasons for leaving the cartel—sure, but that alone couldn’t explain his behavior. What did Cavanaugh have on Rubén? Whatever it was, Guero didn’t want to know. One thing he’d learned in Mexico—secrets were more trouble than they were worth.

To clear his head, Guero went for a run along the beach, as he was wont to. He enjoyed watching the tourists, the women and men, sunburnt and speaking all manner of languages. He loved the hotel—the hospitality industry. It was one thing he had managed for the cartels, and the one thing he missed the most about leaving the business.

Now he was on the sidelines, he mused, darting past a woman burying her child in the sand. He smiled at the image, watching as families darted in the surf, playing games and calling out to one another. He felt his heart soften.

Would he become a father? He was older than Leigh, enough to make parenthood closer in his rearview. What kind of mother would she be, he wondered, almost laughing at the thought.

Fiercely protective, of course, intuitive, kind, aggressive in showing her love. A classic Aries, he mused, smiling to himself as he came to a halt.

He felt rivulets of sweat run down his body as he stared out into the ocean. The sun began its descent toward the horizon; tourists would return to their hotels for cocktails, applying foundation over sunburnt skin for a night of revelry.

He thought of Leigh and her friends, wearing skin-tight dresses and running all over Cancun as he searched for her. The chase thrilled him, but it was winning her that mattered the most. Having her by his side and building a life together was a gift that most men like him didn’t have the chance to experience, let alone appreciate.

Guero should be ashamed to want more, but the human condition preceded him. To procreate, to make the woman he loved a mother, was all he wanted for their union now. That and to be safe, to keep her from the violent life he had once known.

He didn’t wonder at her talent for their missions; he understood it. Leigh had a special set of skills. She did what was necessary, as he had done before her. But it hurt her, even if she didn’t know that yet. He was older—had done the job longer. He knew it was starting to add up, all the hits. And as one advanced in age, the nightmares began.

He dug his toes into the sand, feeling the heat from the earth. A couple of teenagers walked past, whispering in German and looking at him intently. They looked so young, as young as Guero had been when he started working for the cartel. The rest he didn’t care to remember.

Slowly walking back to their casita, he wondered at Leigh’s mysterious symptoms. He knew the body worked out what the mind could not. She was too young, already traumatized from this lifestyle. He felt guilty, as if he led her into this. He knew what he was seducing her with; what kind of life he had brought her into. And now he could find no way out.

His phone chirped, and his heart lifted.

Sylvie.

“Hey, stranger,” she said as he answered the phone.

“Hola, you are doing well?”

“Without you, no!” she simpered.

Guero wasn’t in the mood for flirting. Sylvie must have sensed this in his silence.

“Come by tonight, Cavanaugh is going to offer you an out.”

“According to what terms? Tell my Sylvie, don’t let me walk in there blind,” Guero commanded.

“I would never do that!” Sylvie said, her voice tinged with an emotion Guero couldn’t place.

She must love this, Guero mused, having a secret conversation with him that Leigh didn’t know about.

“It’s not what you were thinking, it’s better. One more job—then you’re free, both of you.”

Guero stood very still. This wasn’t good news; in fact, it was the worst thing he could have anticipated.

“And why would he do that?”

“You’re a suspicious one, aren’t you?”

“Did you offer it the way I asked?”

“Of course!” Sylvie replied. Guero heard movement on the phone. “Hold on.” A few seconds later, she returned. “To tell you the truth, he wasn’t interested. Not that I don’t find your company fascinating,” she cooed. “But Cavanaugh said you were a man on the way out. He wouldn’t invest in someone like that. Now, with Leigh—he was extremely interested if she were part of the equation.”

“You mean, I get my freedom, and Leigh goes with Cavanaugh.”

“I don’t expect you’d agree to that, would you?”

Guero’s response was swift.

“No.”

“Well. This is the next best thing.”

Guero held the phone to his ear, thinking.

“Good work, Sylvie.”

“Aw, thanks. So, come over tonight? Bring Leigh—she may as well meet the boss, even if it’s for the last time. We’ll have drinks and will go over the mark.”

Guero nodded.

“Sí, Goodbye.”

Guero hung up the phone, holding it at his side for a moment, shaking his head. He turned, walking slowly back towards their casita, running the conversation through his head.

Cavanaugh wanted Leigh. Why?

Was Guero that washed up? He studied the cut of his abs, his lean body in the windows of the casitas as he neared the one he shared with Leigh. He was not yet 40—a man entering his prime here in Mexico.

He felt his pride burn, one of the few things that could ignite his anger. A true child of the son, a Leo to the core, the disrespect made his blood boil. He had worked for Rubén for years, a trusted lieutenant who brought in tons of dirty money for the cartel.

To be treated as a chauffeur was the worst kind of insult. He threw open the door to their residence, heading to the shower. Leigh was inside; he could hear her excited laughter as she spoke on the phone. He called out a greeting, heading to the confines of their marbled sanctuary.

Lathering under the jets, Guero thought over their offer. One last job, how stupid did Cavanaugh think he was?

No, he thought to himself, this was aimed at Leigh. The offer about her sister, the play to get her on their side. They wanted her, but why?

Cavanaugh knew, or suspected, something about Leigh’s past. But this wasn’t the first rumor. There were reddit posts, conspiracies that he had read online. Leigh wasn’t too interested, but Guero read every one. Leigh still had her life ahead of her—he had the most to lose.

Guero remembered how it went down, how his lover bartered her way out of Mexico from a dangerous drug cartel. Only they were present when Gia was traded—sold into slavery, for their safe passage out of Mexico. No one else could know the truth.

So why was he so anxious?

*

As they wound up the drive to Cavanaugh’s house, Leigh chuckled.

“You’re right—it looks just like Rubén’s house.” She reapplied her lip gloss, feeling her heart thump.

Guero acknowledged her comment with a nod. He was unusually taciturn that night. Even Leigh’s offer of a quickie was met without his usual enthusiasm. She knew he must be nervous. If what he said was true, this would be the moment that would determine their futures.

To see her sister again—to wrap her arms around her. It gave Leigh a lift of excitement she hadn’t felt in some time. Taking a breath, she tried to bury her enthusiasm. Guero was always telling her she needed to think before she acted. But then again, she mused, if she had done that, they never would have met. She remembered flirting with him on the phone, his accented voice sending tingles down her spine, then and now.

She focused her ruminations on the night ahead. What would Cavanaugh be like? Leigh had only even met Sylvie once or twice when she dropped off materials for their jobs, lingering long enough to flirt with Guero. Leigh could have told her to stop wasting her time. She wasn’t Guero’s type.

Her boyfriend pulled the car to a halt. Turning off the engine, he turned to Leigh.

*

“Are you ready?” he asked, with more intensity than he meant.

The instruction from Cavanaugh made him nervous. He couldn’t trust Leigh to be logical. It was like bringing a live grenade to a negotiation.

“Aren’t you going to open the door for me?”

“I hate when you ask that.”

“Well, I hate it when you ask if I’m ready,” Leigh responded, eyes on the vanity mirror.

“Remember, stay calm. He expects you to get emotional about Rachel—don’t be. Act cool, dispassionate. And try not to piss off Sylvie,” he added under his breath, before exiting the car.

“I heard that,” Leigh said, kicking the passenger door open.

She stood, adjusting her skirt before offering a wide grin. He took her hand, leading her up the stone pathway to the front entrance. Before they reached it, Sylvie opened the door. It seemed Guero’s earlier comments did not dissuade her attentions. She put in quite the effort, with a face full of makeup and barely-there dress.

“Come on in,” Sylvie said, her eyes falling at the sight of Leigh, looking radiant in her tight black dress and impossibly high heels.

Leigh ignored her greeting, walking into the foyer and looking around expectedly.

“He’s on the terrace,” Sylvie explained, walking quickly to catch up.

Nearly all of their meetings took place there, and it was easy to see why. The house sat above the coastline, and with the sun just dipping over the horizon, it lent a pretty background for their ugly business.

Leigh eyed the melting sunset briefly before turning to Cavanaugh.

“Mr. Cavanaugh, what a pleasure.”

“Ms. Ashford,” Cavanaugh said, shaking her hand. “The pleasure is all mine. I was eager to meet my number one client. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“A margarita is fine,” Leigh said, “a big one.”

Guero watched the exchange with interest, taking a seat next to Leigh.

“Just a beer for me,” he said.

“Ask and you shall receive, Sylvie!” Cavanaugh said, his words slurring slightly.

Guero noticed his bloodshot eyes. Was Cavanaugh stressed about the meeting? Maybe so, though possibly for a different reason.

Sylvie arrived on the patio, a tray full of drinks. Cavanaugh reached for a frosty glass, raising it high. The group toasted as he continued.

“You two are my shining stars. Whatever assignment I give you, you’re on it—it’s done like that.” Cavanaugh snapped his fingers, stealing a glance at Leigh. “I think it has much to do with you, young lady. That’s why I asked you here today.”

As Cavanaugh lavished compliments on his girlfriend, Guero felt his anger flare. He wondered if Cavanaugh gave one thought to Leigh’s placid smile. Under that thin veneer of a normal-looking party girl lay a cold-blooded killer.

“I was sad to hear from your boyfriend here,” he continued dismissively, waving his hand at Guero. “That you are looking to end your contract. Before you do, we have one last job for you.”

“But before we do that,” Sylvie held up her phone, shooting a glance at Cavanaugh. “I know you say no pictures, but since it’s the last job and all?”

Cavanaugh hesitated so quickly that Guero thought he imagined it. But it was Leigh who rose and took the photo of the group. Guero watched her from behind the phone lens as Sylvie’s hand snaked up her thigh. He dearly hoped she hadn’t noticed as Leigh took the shot.

“Text me that!” Sylvie cooed as Leigh resumed her seat.

Cavanaugh bore the disruption with a pained look. After the women dutifully texted on their phones, he shot Guero a half-smile.

“As I was saying. Once your work is complete, we’ll part amicably. You’ll even get a golden parachute—enough to start a new life.”

Guero’s sat at-attention, poised to deconstruct the plan as it unfolded around him. Cavanaugh pulled out a manila file. Leigh’s features softened. Guero knew she was thinking of Rachel. Cavanaugh toyed with the envelope, deliberately goading her.

“Open it,” he finally said, plopping it down in front of Leigh.

She turned to Guero, an appeal that made him swell with pride.

“Go on, Corazón,” he said, offering a nod.

Leigh ripped it open, pulling out a stack of photographs.

As she spread them on the table, Guero leaned forward, anxious to see what Cavanaugh had uncovered.

“She changed her name, going by the alias of Alexis Bennett,” Cavanaugh said, smiling at his audience.

Leigh picked up a picture with shaking hands. Looking over her shoulder, Guero noted the resemblance between the two.

“Oh my God, she’s alive,” Leigh said, the emotion in her voice palpable.

“I knew you’d be pleased.” Cavanaugh offered an expression Guero couldn’t place. He felt the Glock heavy against his side. Would he have to use it tonight? He would shortly find out. He didn’t trust Cavanaugh, not for an instant. But where Leigh was concerned, he would tread lightly. He was getting used to that now—he had someone else to think about, another person to protect.

“Where can I find her?” Leigh asked, her eyes desperate.

Guero had never seen her so vulnerable around others. Even with him, she held up her front before his goading encouraged her to trust. Seeing her so stripped made him unreasonably angry, something that Cavanaugh’s actions did nothing to dissuade. He had watched Leigh’s reaction with interest, his eyes like dull buttons in the folds of his skin.

“Ah, not so fast!” Cavanaugh cried, wagging his finger playfully.

Sylvie stifled a giggle. One look from Leigh silenced her.

“Though you might think I’m a cold-hearted bastard, I’m not without sentiment. You’ve done an excellent job, and I want to reward you. That’s why I’m arranging for her to come down here—to meet you.”

“How . . . ” Leigh began, her voice a whisper.

“I can’t go into why she is in the witness protection program,” Cavanaugh said, holding his hands up in a show of defense.

“What? Why?” Leigh asked, eyes like saucers. “What on earth could she have seen, she was only . . .”

“Yes, it’s all there. If I told you her address, you’d blow her cover by visiting. You can be . . . what’s the word? Impulsive,” Cavanaugh said, winking at Guero.

Leigh turned to him.

“Did you help with this?”

“No,” Guero said, looking at the pictures carefully, “but it would explain a few things.”

“Thank you,” Leigh said, sounding shocked.

“Now, let’s say we toast!” Cavanaugh said. “To Rachel!”

All but Guero raised their glasses, clanking them together noisily as he stood rigid. He now knew this was a setup. Rachel—alive?