I shake my head. This has to be a fake alibi. Langston can’t be here while Bishop is in Cabo. One of them has to have Isla. Unless… “Did you kill her?”
“Jesus Christ.” He snatches his cell back. “You may act like you don’t want to become your father, but on the yacht I recognized a man willing to go to brutal lengths for a woman. So there’s no way I would’ve reinstated contact without your approval. And Bishop’s vindictive nature has mellowed now that he has a family.”
Fuck.
I scrub a rough hand over the back of my neck. “Who else would take her? Did my father appoint more men to manage the agreement?”
Langston shrugs. “Potentially.”
Dread seizes my chest.
If this son of a bitch isn’t lying, Isla could be anywhere. With anyone.
I’ll have to contract private investigators. Organize mercenaries. Prepare for war—professional, physical, whateverthe fuck it takes. And by then it might be too late. Who knows if it already is?
“Instead of holding me accountable, cousin,” Langston drawls, “why not ask me for help?”
I don’t want his goddamn help. I don’t appreciate that I’m here at all, associated with his existence, in his fucking presence. But pride and preference aren’t privileges I can indulge when Isla’s life is on the line.
I lower the gun a fraction, resigned to do what’s necessary, when he launches from the sofa and shoulder-charges me. I’m knocked backward and slammed into the glass coffee table. It shatters beneath us. I hit the carpet, Langston on top of me, a knife pressed under my chin, the tip piercing skin.
His eyes gleam with scorn. “Don’t ever pull a fucking gun on me again unless you intend to tap the trigger. Understood?”
I rage to tear his throat out. Every instinct roars for retaliation. But his death won’t get me to Isla any quicker.
“Understood?” He digs the blade deeper.
“Understood,” I snarl.
“Good.” He grins, retracts the blade, and pushes to his feet, offering me a hand. “Your father was a great man. It would’ve been unfortunate if I had to be the one to make the two of you reunite. Although I’m sure wherever he is he’s getting a kick out of the balls it took for you to come at me in my own home.”
I ignore his hand, along with the sensation of blood trickling down my neck, and sit up.
“Would you like my assistance in finding your woman?” he asks.
I glower, vibrating with fury.
“Now’s not the time to hold a grudge,” he drawls with smug satisfaction. “Especially when your favorite cousin arranged for your chief stew to place a precautionary tracker with Isla’sbelongings while on the yacht.” He palms his phone and scrolls the screen. “Let’s see if it still works.”
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
RAFFAEL
The last smearof daylight bleeds through the private terminal building, dull and weak against the glass façade. Michelo leans against the exterior wall, arms folded, foot tapping.
I walk outside and straight past him, not breaking stride. “Did you come alone?”
“Yes.” He pushes off the wall and falls into step beside me. “And I kept my mouth shut like you asked.”
“Good.” I’m not capable of facing Eliseo without a violent greeting—not yet. Not with how he failed Isla.
“But that woman—Cross’s friend,” Miko adds. “Dear fucking Lord, she hounded me all day for updates. She’s relentless.”
I suppress a shudder. “Where is she?”
“I assume still camped out at the office. I left without telling her.” He jogs to keep up. “Is it true Isla’s missing?”