Hottest Mess (S.I.N. #2)(31)

“It’s not your call,” Bill said, his voice irritatingly level. “It’s not even Eli’s call,” he added, referring to Dallas and Jane’s father. “Although I’m going to talk to him, too. Professional courtesy. Family courtesy, too.”

“Courtesy? You think it’s courtesy to insert yourself where you don’t belong? It’s been seventeen years, and Ortega—” He snapped his mouth shut before he jammed his foot right into it. Dallas knew damn well that Ortega had been killed in custody—and that his death had been labeled a suicide. He also knew damn well that the government was keeping the death quiet. It was locked up tight and classified, sealed with a nice shiny bow.

Which meant that the playboy department store heir Dallas Sykes couldn’t know about it. And Bill couldn’t know about Dallas Sykes, the founder of Deliverance, who had his own means of obtaining that kind of information.

“What about Ortega?” Bill pressed.

“Just that—you have him in custody. He’s going to say whatever he thinks you want to hear,” Dallas improvised. “And since it’s been seventeen years, the odds are pretty damn good he doesn’t know anything useful. But he can make all sorts of shit up and send you on a wild goose chase. And that may keep your agents earning their paychecks, but it’s going to wreak hell with me and my family.” He took a beat to calm down. “Just let it go, Bill. I have.”

He closed his eyes, thinking that every single word was a lie. A deception. And that he damn sure hoped that it worked.

“You’re right that it’s a risk,” Bill agreed. “Ortega might not have anything relevant to reveal. But I think he does.”

Dallas narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out Bill’s angle. The man knew Ortega was dead, so what kind of game was he playing?

He debated between feigned disinterest and another plea for Bill to just drop the issue on the one hand, and a request to know exactly what information the supposedly still alive Ortega might have on the other.

He knew he should try to push the topic of the investigation away. But he was too damn curious. “What? What do you think he knows?”

Bill sighed. “This is top secret, Dallas, but Ortega was murdered in prison. Murdered right after revealing that he would disclose information about a Sykes kidnapping in exchange for leniency. That’s a bold stroke, and highly risky.”

“Which is why you believe what Ortega said—that there really was a Sykes kidnapping.”

“Exactly,” Bill said. “But there’s more. Security was tight around Ortega. Damn tight. No one outside of WORR, the FBI, or UNODC should have been aware of the information he was providing,” he added, referring to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, with which WORR worked closely.

“So you have a leak,” Dallas put in. He didn’t say that Bill himself was the leak, albeit an unknowing one. Dallas hadn’t realized it at the time of Ortega’s death, because he hadn’t known about Colin. Now that he did, Dallas understood what happened—Bill had told Jane. Jane had told Colin.

And Colin had arranged the kill.

Dallas fought the urge to close his eyes against the truth that pressing in against him. Sure, he could be wrong about Colin. About all of it. But more and more he feared that Colin was at the heart of it. And when Jane learned that her conversation with Colin led not only to Ortega’s death, but had also triggered WORR’s investigation into the Sykes kidnapping …

Well, it would rip her apart.

He had to tell her. But how the hell could he tell her?

Bill let out a frustrated breath. “A leak? Yeah, it sure as hell looks that way. And whoever wanted Ortega dead must have a solid network of eyes and ears looking for leaks about the kidnapping even after all this time. A network,” he reiterated, “and a powerful one at that. He was able to insert an operative to kill a witness. That’s someone dangerous.”

He met Dallas’s eyes. “And that’s someone that neither my group nor the FBI nor any of the agencies that WORR works with is willing to have on the street. Your kidnapping is our best lead to finding this person. Maybe we prosecute for the kidnapping, or maybe we prosecute for Ortega’s murder. But we are going to follow the evidence. And, Dallas, the evidence starts with you.”

“I guess this wasn’t ever intended to be a friendly chat,” Dallas said, his temper rising. He wanted his kidnappers caught—no question. But he fully intended to be the one who had the pleasure of bringing the Jailer and the Woman down.

He took a step toward Bill and felt a sharp stab of satisfaction when the other man sank back in his chair. “You just came here to tell me you’d shoved a knife in my gut and now you’re going to twist it.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Dallas. But I do want to find the person who did this.”

Dallas pointed to the door. “You know what, Bill? Why don’t you get the hell out of my house?”

Bill levered himself out of the chair. “Now wait a minute, Dallas, you’re being—”

The door opened, and they both turned as Jane stepped into the room, her eyes going wide as she assessed the situation.

Dallas started to move toward her, craving the comfort of simply touching her. But he couldn’t claim that now. Not in front of Bill. And so he stopped in place while the man he wanted off his property went to greet the woman Dallas loved.