Page 42 of Rebel Protector

I’m still undercover.

Alek glowered, pacing to the window. “He’s showing off,” he muttered. “Coming here unannounced just to prove he can. The bastard’s trying to make a point.”

Becca frowned as Dom strode toward the main house, Carlos still ranting after him. His face was set in a grim line, dirt smeared across his jaw, his eyes burning with something darker. “I don’t think it’s just that. He looks… pissed.”

Her father squinted, but Dom was already out of sight, Carlos still gesturing uselessly after him.

“We’re about to find out,” Alek muttered, irritation lining his features as he crossed his arms, waiting.

Becca’s heart did a full somersault as Dom marched into the office. He was caked in mud, his clothes filthy and he smelled of damp foliage, but despite his disheveled state, it was great to see him. She had to bite her tongue not to ask if he was okay.

Alek beat her to it. “What the hell happened to you? You look like you just crawled out of the damn jungle.”

“I did.” Dom’s voice was a low growl, cutting to the point as he jerked his head toward Alek’s office. “We need to talk. Now.”

Becca stepped aside, feeling a strange pang of disappointment as Dom brushed past her without even a glance. He hadn’t even acknowledged her. The distance stung more than she cared to admit. It was as if whatever they’d shared didn’t matter now that they were on opposite sides.

But they weren’t really on opposite sides, were they? He wanted Alek locked up, and she… she wasn’t exactly opposing him. She just wasn’t helping. It felt like sitting on a fence, watching a war play out, unsure which way to fall.

She sighed, dropping heavily into her desk chair. The numbers on the screen blurred, and after a few minutes of staring, she gave up entirely, her gaze drifting toward Alek’s office. The door was thick, soundproofed, but she caught fragments of the conversation—“ambush” and “patrols.”

Jeez. That didn’t sound good.

She got up and tiptoed closer to the door. Had the shipment been compromised? Ambushed by border patrol? And if so, howhad Dom made it out? The questions bubbled up inside her, but she knew the answers weren’t coming anytime soon.

“What’s going on?” Ramirez’s sudden voice behind her made her jump. “I heard Dominguez arrived without escort. Carlos is furious. Why are you standing outside Alek’s door?”

“I was about to ask if they wanted tea.” She tried to sound casual, though the sharpness of Ramirez’s stare unnerved her. There was something calculating in his expression, something that reminded her too much of the way he might have looked when giving the order to have his wife killed.

She knocked on the door, her heart thumping.

“What?” Alek’s irritated voice rang out.

“Ramirez is here. Should I send him in?”

Alek nodded curtly.

She opened the door, letting Ramirez pass, then hesitated. “Do you need anything?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

As expected, she received a blunt, “No.”

Becca closed the door and backed away. Maybe it was better not to know what was being discussed in there. After all, she was only here to reconnect with her father, not to get involved in his criminal activities. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Restless, she headed down to the kitchen to make herself a coffee. She wasn’t about to hang around the office like a lovesick puppy waiting for a glimpse of Dom. She still had some dignity left.

Outside, the kitchen door was propped open. Fernando, the chef, stood in the doorway, cigarette in hand. He glanced at her as she stepped out. “I heard shouting when Señor Dominguez arrived,” he said, his voice low. “Carlos is very, very angry.” He chuckled, blowing out a long stream of smoke.

Becca forced a smile. There weren’t many men who could piss off Carlos and get away with it, but Dom was one of them.That didn’t mean Carlos wouldn’t make him pay for it later. Men like that held grudges. Dom would have to watch his back.

“Is there trouble coming, Miss Becca?” Fernando’s voice was suddenly serious, the lightness gone. His dark eyes held a weight that made her stomach clench.

“Why would you ask that?” She turned to face him, surprised by the anxiety in his expression.

He shrugged, flicking the ash off his cigarette. “I got a bad feeling. You tell us if trouble’s coming, okay?”

She swallowed hard. Byus, he meant the staff—the gardener, the maid, Fernando himself. The ones who had nothing to do with the darker side of her father’s business. The innocent ones. Somehow, she felt comforted by being lumped in with them. It reminded her she had a choice.

“I will,” she promised, hoping she could keep her word.