That wasn’t the case for Ricky. No, he just flat-out hated Hector.
They had no evidence against Hector’s involvement in human trafficking. Their claims came from alleged news reports and rumors they’d heard in the circles they ran in. Or so they said.
That was where her suspicions really niggled. What circles? Who were Martin Lockwood and Ricky Saldivar really? Where did they come from? Why had they paid their way into Area Three if it wasn’t to join La Rocha Cartel and take advantage of that protection?
She didn’t know all their truths or the details about their pasts. They maintained they were innocent of their drug trafficking charges, which she believed. They were too high-minded and honorable to fuck around with narcotics.
So why were they arrested? She didn’t buy their bullshit story about a Mexican vacation gone wrong. The military didn’t just scoop up American tourists and throw them in prison.
Except that was exactly what happened to her.
With a self-pitying groan, she dropped her head in her hands.
She cared about them deeply, possessively. They’d taken her from feeling nothing to feeling everything, and it wasn’t just lust and orgasms. It was more profound and soulful. She thought of them as hers. Hers to hold and support and love.
She didn’t know if she loved them. There was so much about them she still hadn’t discovered. Not just the secrets they kept from her, but who they were outside of prison. What did they do when they woke every morning? Where did they go? Who were their friends?
All this could be derived from a conversation, but she wanted to experience it herself. She wanted to be with them outside of these claustrophobic walls, and that couldn’t happen for at least three years. Maybe longer, pending their sentences.
Even then, when she was released from Jaulaso, she would never be released from Hector.
Hector.
Her loyalty to him was all tangled up in her feelings for Ricky Martin.
Whenever she asked Martin what he wanted her to do about the accusations he threw around, he told her to find the truth.
Open your mind. Be skeptical. Investigate your boss.
If she could be suspicious of Martin and Ricky, why couldn’t she be suspicious of Hector La Rocha?
Because she was scared.
Terrified.
Fear had kept her from poking around, but here she was, prepared to do just that.
Her hands slicked with sweat, and her pulse tapped neurotically in her throat. She was a nervous fucking wreck.
Another five minutes passed before she heard footsteps in the corridor.
She rose soundlessly and darted behind the partially opened door to her cell. No one would suspect she was in here. Her cell had been empty for a month.
She held her breath as the movement in the hall passed by without stopping.
Tiptoeing around the door, she peeked out to see the backs of Garra and Hector as they made their way around the corner and out of view.
She blew out a quiet breath.
With Luis out of prison now, Hector had become wary about his personal security. Garra had stepped in to do the job until Hector could find someone permanent to trust with his life.
In the meantime, he reduced the number of meetings in his private quarters and kept to himself more than usual. But he still had to shower, and he did it like clockwork, every other day at eight in the morning.
She stepped into the empty hall and silently raced the thirty feet to his cell. The handle turned. Unlocked.
Only someone with a death wish would enter his space without his permission.
Her heart banged so hard in her chest she thought she might pass out.
She didn’t know how long he would be gone. Ten minutes tops. She slipped inside and went straight to the filing cabinets. She’d never seen inside the drawers and expected to find paperwork when she opened them.
Nope. Every drawer held nonperishable food. Pork rinds, bread rolls, cereal, rice, tequila, and enough soup to feed an old man for twenty years. No wonder Hector rarely left his cell.
Her nerves tightened as she stepped toward the rear of his quarters. Behind a heavy drape sat a small bed with folded linens and a soft pillow.
This was the first time she’d ever been back here, and she hoped it would be the last as she ran her hands under the mattress and rummaged through every nook and cranny.
She found a knife under his pillow and left it there. There were no documents. No diaries. Nothing that might incriminate him. Where the hell would he hide his secrets?
Something rustled behind her. Her heart rate exploded as she spun around.
A massive cockroach darted across a paper bag and squeezed into a crack in the wall.
“Fuck!” She pressed a hand against her chest, trying to soothe her wailing heart.
He could walk in at any moment, and she didn’t even know what she was looking for. She just needed…something. Proof that he was or was not trafficking women and children.