Chapter Thirty-one

He found a woman lying on a small bed, a brunette Laila’s size with bandages on her face. For a moment, he’d believed that after all these months, he’d finally found her.

Then he’d heard the language the woman was shouting. German? It turned out she was a wealthy businesswoman from Berlin who’d come to recover from her face-lift in privacy and seclusion. Xavier had only convinced her not to call the police through substantial cash compensation.

Cash that would come out of his payment to Montez, Xavier thought, gritting his teeth, for feeding his chief bodyguard such faulty information.

But in his heart Xavier did not blame the investigator. He blamed only himself. He was the one who’d failed Laila, again and again over the past year. And she was still out there somewhere. Dying. Alone.

They drove back to Cabo San Lucas in silence. Entering the villa, Xavier felt hollowed out. He walked through the heavily embellished oak door with his shoulders hunched. Wearily, he pushed open the doo