Page 55 of Colton’s Secret Identity

She opened her mouth to argue, but the quiet click of a door opening reached her ears, making both of them refocus on the cabin.

A tall man she’d never met stood on the cabin porch, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an e-cigarette, lit it. Sucked in a healthy hit, then blew it toward the sky. The profile jolted her memory of a task force file she’d read in preparation for the takedown.

Slim.

She looked at Dylan, but his attention was rapt on the kingpin, whose breath rose in white puffs in front of his face. A slight shake of his head communicated that he knew who the man was, too.

Only after Slim took a second hit did his gaze roam over the woods. When it landed on them, Veronica held her breath.

“You two may as well come over here now and tell me why you’re crawling around the Saskatchewan southern border when a snowstorm’s brewing. Drop all of your weapons before you do. I don’t need to tell you that I have an army of men waiting to kill you both, do I?”

Chapter 24

Dylan held Veronica’s hand as they sauntered across the clearing to the cabin toward Slim, who calmly kept smoking, watching them as one watches a familiar animal in a zoo.

He wasn’t concerned about them, Dylan figured, or he’d have pulled a weapon, called on his security guards or both. Slim didn’t see them as a threat.

Interesting.

The Southern California improv classes were all he could draw on right now, because this scenario had not been in the discussions with either his FBI team or Cal’s task force. This was a seat-of-the-pants moment, where he was either going to get himself and Veronica out of here alive, or not.

“I’m so freakin’ cold, Hawk.” She’d gone into full Monique mode right after Slim had pegged them, showing zero nerves.

“Quiet, and let me do the talking, sugar.” He spoke so Slim would hear. Other than having Veronica at his side, Dylan felt bare-assed naked without a weapon. They’d left the rifles in the woods, and while he’d kept a handgun in his waistband and knives in his boots, he knew Slim was as excellent a shot as any, with his lowlifes to back him up. Dylan noted the security camera on the porch’s roof. A live feed was being watched by at least one if not several of Slim’s sordid staff.

Dylan halted at the base of the steps, behaved as a rival kingpin would, or so he believed.

“Slim, I’m Hawk. I trust you’ve heard my name before. I’m here to make a deal.”

The tall man’s eyes narrowed but he remained silent.

“Slim?” Veronica made a face, narrowed her eyes, peered at the kingpin through those ridiculous false eyelashes. “Damn, I don’t have my contacts in. I thought we were meeting Rex out here. I never heard of ‘Slim.’ No offense.” She nodded at Slim. “We need to talk to Rex, Mr. Slim.”

“Quiet!” Dylan let go of her hand. Then, more conciliatorily, he said, “We’re gonna need your number-counting abilities later, honey buns. For now, you need to let the men settle the business side of things.” He shot Slim an apologetic expression and shrugged. Slim wasn’t looking at Dylan, but stared at Veronica. Monique had caught his eye.

“Whatever.” Veronica stomped up onto the porch and plopped into a snow-dusted rocking chair, crossed her legs, the silly boots hopefully convincing Slim that she was no more than a nightclub manager, a trusted money laundering hand. Dylan eyed Slim, who eyed him right back. Chances were that Rex hadn’t told Slim about his deal with Hawk—that would be certain death. He presumed Rex and Bulldog were among the multiple silhouettes he spotted through the cabin windows.

As if triggered by his thoughts, the front door opened, and Rex stuck his head out. “Boss, you want—” He froze at the sight of first Dylan, then Veronica, on the porch with Slim. With zero hesitation he reached for what Dylan strongly suspected was a rifle at the side of the door. At least two other men Dylan recognized as part of Slim’s security detail appeared behind Rex.

“Leave it,” Slim growled at Rex. “Go back inside.”

“Let me through.” Another low growl, but from inside the cabin. Bulldog pushed his way onto the threshold and his beady gaze took in the scenario with nary a blink. “You need me, boss?”

“No. I’ve got these two. Go back inside and shut the door. Wait until I come back inside.”

Bulldog complied with the order. Dylan again faced Slim, who made no move to take the few steps down to meet him on level ground. When their gazes met, Dylan recognized in Slim’s eyes what he’d feared most. Icy fear pumped through his heart.

Slim knew who they were.

Veronica knew she had to act, and fast. She’d spied several cameras on the porch, covering the front entryway. And now as she sat here she made out at least three more cameras, fastened to trees at the edge of the clearing. Julio “Slim” Lopez, Paloma’s father, had never been surprised by their approach, and in fact, had been waiting for them. If he’d known they were in the vicinity as soon as they’d parked the SUV, she had no way of telling. But she figured that he would have sent henchmen out to investigate if they’d detected them that far away. There was probably some sort of tripwire on the premises, motion detectors that had alerted the kingpin to their activity.

It wasn’t the high-tech gear that scared her, however. Nor was she concerned that Slim had instructed they leave their weapons on the ground. The cameras would see that they’d only dropped the rifles, and surely Slim had to conclude—correctly—that she and Dylan carried hidden weapons. Yet he hadn’t called on a guard to come pat them down.

Maybe he didn’t see them as a threat. But why not?

If Slim was concerned about them coming here to kill him, he didn’t show it. Not with how he stood stock-still, only moving his arm to take a hit from his e-cigarette. Which, from the smell of his smoke, was cannabis.

He obviously trusted his security detail or he wouldn’t risk being under the influence of any drug.