by CW Browning
“So earlier today the Sea Queen passed Miami, destination unknown, and now, possible cartel members are showing up dead in New Jersey,” she said. “Oh no, that’s not suspect at all. Sorry, Damon. I’m with Blake on this one. Something’s going on.”
Blake began typing on his laptop.
“I’ll see what I can find out about these victims,” he said. “We can’t take what the news says as gospel. Hell, they could all be members of the same book club for all we know.”
“Blake, I don’t think they were part of a book club,” Stephanie said slowly from the recliner, her eyes on the tablet in her lap.
Alina glanced at her sharply. She knew that tone. Stephanie knew something.
“Neither do I. It was just a figure of speech.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Stephanie said, dropping her legs down and struggling to her feet. “Something bothered me about the description of the wounds on all the victims. It sounded familiar, so I just pulled up some old case files that John and I worked.”
She hobbled across the room, leaning heavily on her cane, her tablet in her hand.
“I’ve seen those types of wounds before,” she explained, setting the tablet on the dining room table.
“Where?” Michael asked, walking over to glance down at the tablet screen. “Are they exactly the same?”
“Without seeing the bodies of the victims from today, I can’t be sure,” Stephanie answered. “But if we go off of what the news said, it matches the MO of Stefan Delgado, Frankie Solito’s main enforcer.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alina’s lips tightened and she felt, rather than saw, Damon glance at her sharply.
“Frankie Solitto?” Blake repeated, sitting back in his chair and staring at Stephanie. “Old-school mob boss; head of the New Jersey Family; that Frankie Solitto?”
“Yes. John and I worked a lot of cases where we tried to get something on him, but nothing ever stuck. He’s got people everywhere on his payroll. John believed he’d even got his hooks into Washington.” Stephanie pulled out a chair and sat down. “Stefan Delgado is his main enforcer. He’s a real piece of work, and these killings fit his MO. When he’s not arranging convenient accidents, he likes to get up close and personal. He usually reserves it for the ones Frankie considers traitors, though.”
Michael circled the dining room table to the other side where his laptop was plugged in and charging. He seated himself and opened the computer.
“You said the cartel was moving drugs up the coast?”
Blake nodded. “Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“As far as we can piece together, all kinds of things,” Blake said with a shrug. “Drugs, guns, cash. You name it, the cartel probably has their fingers in it.”
“Guns?” Stephanie repeated, her eyebrows coming together. “Frankie doesn’t deal in arms. That’s one of the only businesses he doesn’t have a finger in.”
“Who does?” Michael asked.
“Bobby Reyes,” Alina answered, uncrossing her arms and turning to go into the kitchen. “They came to an agreement years ago. Bobby controls the illegal arms trade from New York down to Washington, and Frankie gets a stipend from the business. In return, Frankie stays out of it, giving Reyes a monopoly.”
Stephanie nodded in agreement.
“Exactly. So Frankie wouldn’t be bothered about the cartel moving guns around.” She frowned thoughtfully. “The drugs are another issue. That would cut into Solitto’s revenue stream, but I really don’t see Frankie targeting a handful of cartel thugs. It doesn’t seem like it would be worth it to him. He’s very careful these days. We’ve gotten too close to him and he’s been toning down all his operations recently. At least, he’s been toning down the publicity.”
“Who’s keeping an eye on Solitto now?” Blake asked. “The agency must have assigned him to someone else when they moved you and John into anti-terrorism.”
Stephanie shrugged.
“Last I heard, he was on Agent Ross’s plate, but that was six months ago. Check with Rob. He’ll know who’s working him.”
Blake nodded and leaned forward to begin typing on his laptop.
“If these killings are the work of Delgado, the agent assigned to him will know about it,” he said. “That’s the best way to confirm whether or not Frankie is going after the cartel.”
“It’s one way,” Stephanie said, glancing into the kitchen where Alina was pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge. “There are others.”
Blake glanced at her.
“What are you talking about? What others? It’s not like we can call Frankie and ask him.”
Damon followed Stephanie’s gaze and his eyebrows rose in amusement. She was looking at Alina thoughtfully.
“We can’t,” Stephanie murmured.
“I wouldn’t go down that road, if I were you. I’m not sure that will end well,” Damon told her, turning to go into the kitchen. “Anyone want a beer?”
“I’ll take one,” Michael said, not raising his eyes from his screen.
“Same,” Blake seconded, then he turned his eyes back to Stephanie. “What road is he talking about?”
“We have someone here who has a direct line to Frankie Solitto,” she answered.
“I wouldn’t call it a direct line,” Alina said, carrying her water to the bar and sitting on a stool. She pivoted to face the crew at the dining room table. “Follow the safe route and go through your agency.”
“Oh, come on, Lina! When we went to Atlantic City just before all hell let loose with that Ebola nightmare, Solitto called you to a meeting. I was there. I remember. You weren’t even surprised when his goon came over to get you.”
“I wasn’t surprised because I saw Frankie while we were at the roulette table,” Alina replied calmly, sipping her water. “That doesn’t mean we’re best friends.”
“Wait a minute,” Michael said, looking up. “You had a meeting with Frankie Solitto? Are you out of your mind? The man’s a crime boss! He’s dangerous!”
The look he encountered from Alina made him flush.
“I can’t really say I lose sleep over that,” she said dryly.
“Well, you should,” he muttered, dropping his gaze back to this laptop. “Hell Lina, people who associate with him end up at the bottom of a river.”
“I can assure you, I have no intention of going swimming.”
“You never did tell me what he wanted,” Stephanie said after a moment of silence. “Why did he want to talk to you, anyway?”
“I don’t remember,” Alina lied.
Damon walked into the dining room and set two bottles of Yuengling on the table, then turned to pull out a chair.
“What difference does it make if Solitto’s behind these killings?” he asked, turning the chair with a flick of his wrist and straddling it. “Who cares?”
Stephanie stared at him.
“We should all care. If Frankie Solitto is going to war with the Casa Reinos, it’ll tear Jersey apart! Do you have any idea what happened the last time Solitto went head to head with someone? The death toll was astronomical.”
“Well, that’s another issue.”
“It is another issue,” Michael agreed, glancing up. “Let’s forget Solitto for a minute. I just pulled up some rough numbers. You said that the cartel has been moving products up the coast for the past six months?”
“Yes.”
“According to the ATF, the amount of seized illegal firearms has gone up by around forty-five percent over the past four months. Before that, it was increasing in line with expected trends, given what they know of the gunrunning networks already in place. Then everything spiked.”
Blake whistled and sat back in his chair.
“That’s higher than our estimates,” he said. “We had it at around twenty percent.”
Stephanie frowned.
“Why are the ATF numbers not part of our information flow?” she demanded. “That’s infor
mation we should know.”
“Oh, trust me, I’ll find out,” Blake said grimly.
“If the cartel is undercutting Bobby Reyes by forty-five percent, that would be enough for him to start a war,” Stephanie said slowly. “He’d be furious. That doesn’t explain Stefan Delgado, though. Frankie would hardly go after the cartel for Reyes.”
Damon glanced at Alina. Her face was impassive and not by the flicker of an eyelid did she display the slightest interest in the discussion, but he knew better. If Frankie was going after the cartel, Viper would want to know why.
“I’m still not seeing what this has to with us,” he said, sipping his beer. “If they’re starting a power grab, that doesn’t affect Viper and I, or our ability to find Harry and get Angela back.”
“Actually, it might,” Alina said unexpectedly. “We know Harry has had dealings with the cartel in the past, and the Sea Queen is moving into the Atlantic without warning and without Salcedo onboard.”
“You think Harry is working with them?” Michael asked, looking up in disbelief. “To what purpose?”
Alina shrugged. “No clue, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility.”
Damon watched her thoughtfully for a minute. She wasn’t giving anything away to the others, but he knew that she had just realized exactly the same thing he had: if Harry wanted to ensure that either Viper or Hawk went after the Casa Reinos Cartel, one of the fastest ways would be to have them involved with Angela’s disappearance.
“Oh my God!” Stephanie exclaimed, her eyes widening in horror. “If Harry’s working with the cartel, then do you think it was one of them who took Angie?!”
A decidedly ugly look settled on Michael’s face and Blake’s lips thinned and pressed together.
“God, I hope not,” he muttered.
As one, everyone at the table turned their eyes to Viper. She met Stephanie’s gaze, her face an emotionless mask.
“It doesn’t matter who took her,” she said, her voice cold and flat. “Whoever it was is a dead man walking.”
The bedroom was pitch black, the moon unable to penetrate the thick, black storm clouds that covered the sky. Raven lifted his beak from his shoulder, directing his steely gaze onto the bed. His mistress was stirring restlessly, something disturbing her sleep. He straightened and moved to the end of his perch, staring at her for a long moment before his gaze darted to the man beside her. When she jerked sharply to her side, the man sat up swiftly, casting a sharp glance around the dark room. Seeing it empty, he exhaled and slipped his weapon back under the pillow before turning to the writhing woman beside him.
After watching her for a moment, Damon shook his head and reached out to smooth a thick strand of bleached hair off her forehead.
“Hey,” he said softly, dropping his hand to her shoulder. “Wake up.”
Viper came awake suddenly, terror flowing through her, leftover from the vivid nightmare that had had her in its grip seconds before. Surrounded by darkness and completely disoriented, her heart surged into her throat. She reacted in the only way she knew how: she attacked.
Damon threw up his left arm in a defensive block as her right hook drove toward his head.
“Viper, it’s me!” he exclaimed. “Wake up!”
The deep voice made it through the noise and chaos in her mind and Alina gasped, lowering the Ruger that she’d pulled from under her pillow with her left hand. In an instant, the remnants of her dream evaporated and she realized she was in her own bed, staring into Damon’s face.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, lifting a hand to his face. “I’m so sorry. Did I get you?”
He shook his head and turned his head to kiss her palm.
“No, but only because I had a feeling you’d wake up fighting,” he told her. “Damn, you’re quick.”
Alina dropped back against the pillow, breathing heavily, and stared at the dark ceiling.
“Then so are you.” She took a deep breath, willing her heart rate to slow, and rubbed her face. “I didn’t know where I was for a second.”
Damon looked down at her for a moment. “What happened? In your dream?”
Alina visibly shuddered and he frowned.
“It’s just a dream,” she said. “I’ve had it before, but this time it was...different.”
He studied her and the frown grew when she didn’t continue. He laid down on his side and propped his elbow on the mattress, his head in his hand.
“Tell me.”
Alina looked at him and shook her head. “It’s nothing. It’s over. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s not nothing,” he said bluntly. “You woke up in a blind panic.”
Her gaze wavered then dropped away, and he sighed, sliding his other hand across her bare stomach and pulling her closer. He leaned down and pressed his lips softly against hers, kissing her until she finally relaxed against him.
The heat from his body and gentleness of his lips combined to ease the remaining tension from her body and Alina sighed into him. His arm was strong around her, his shoulders solid above her, and for the first time in her life, Alina actually felt that she wasn’t alone. The night was no longer empty, and the nightmares seemed far away.
Damon lifted his lips and laid back, pulling her with him until her head was cushioned on his broad chest. She exhaled, his strong, steady heartbeat beneath her cheek, and a feeling of contentment washed over her. The fingers of one hand were playing with her short hair while his other hand covered her forearm where it lay across his abs. This was where she belonged, she realized with a start, right here in Damon’s arms. This was where she had always belonged. He was her rock, and always had been.
“I dream about the night I killed Al-Jibad,” she heard herself say after a few moments of silence. The fingers in her hair stilled, the only indication that he was listening. “I’ve had dreams about some of them before, the ones that were more...messy, but this is different. The dream is the same, but the target changes.”
“Changes?”
Alina nodded, not lifting her head to look at him. She wasn’t sure why she was telling him about the dreams, but it was easier to say it if she didn’t have to see his face. Then she didn’t have to see what a nutcase he thought she was.
“The first few times, it was Al-Jibad. It was the events as they happened, nothing more or less.” She paused and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Is a memory really a dream?” she wondered. “I mean, a dream is a subconscious manifestation, but a memory, well, it’s real.”
“You don’t think you can have a subconscious manifestation of something that really happened?” he asked, a thread of amusement in his voice. “If you’re asleep, it’s a dream. Let’s keep things simple.”
Alina smiled and pressed a soft kiss against his chest. “Ok.”
“You said the first few times the target was Al-Jibad. What about the next time?”
Alina’s body stiffened and he squeezed her gently before his fingers resumed playing with her hair. She inhaled and forced herself to relax again.
“It started out as Al-Jibad,” she said softly, “but when the head hit the floor, it was John’s face that stared up at me.”
Damon stilled and was silent for a long moment.
“You actually re-live cutting off Al-Jibad’s head in the dream?” he finally asked. “The whole thing?”
She nodded.
“How messed up is that?” she demanded, sitting up and leaning on her elbow. “I remember it all, even the shock going up my arm as the blade hits the spinal column.”
Damon looked up at her thoughtfully. “And tonight? Was it John again?”
The impassive, emotionless mask that she wore so well slid into place and she began to turn away. Damon frowned and pulled her back.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he murmured. “You can’t keep me out now. Spit it out. Who was it?”
Alina bit her bottom lip and raised her dark eyes to his.
“You.”
Damon exhaled and pu
lled her down onto his chest again, holding her close.
“Baby, I’m not dead,” he murmured soothingly, “and I don’t plan on being dead for a long time.”
“No one plans on being dead,” Alina muttered against his chest. “John didn’t plan on it, but look what happened to him.”
“Trust me. I’m not going anywhere any time soon.”
“It was bad enough when it was John’s eyes staring up at me,” Alina said in a low voice, “but seeing yours...”
Damon tightened his hold as a shudder went through her and lifted her hand to press a kiss on her palm.
“Like I said, I’m not going anywhere, and I’m sure as hell not getting beheaded.”
They lapsed into silence, and she stared at her hand as her pointer finger traced random patterns across his pectoral muscle. It was solid and hard, a clear testament to his extremely active life. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man.
“Why?” she asked, breaking the silence a few minutes later. “Why am I having these dreams?”
Damon was quiet for a long time, then he sighed.
“We deal in death,” he said slowly, his thumb rubbing back and forth on her arm absently. “Quite literally, we’re death dealers. We have to keep all those emotions that normal people feel about dying buried and out of the way. That’s how we work. It’s the only way we can work. But you lost someone close to you, someone who was a big part of your life for a long time, and you’re having a problem accepting it. You’re not used to facing emotion like this now. I warned you to deal with it before it started to affect you. Maybe your mind is taking matters into its own hands and dealing with the emotions the only way it can: when you’re asleep.”
“I haven’t had time to deal with it!” Alina protested, raising her head and glaring at him. “We’ve had just a little bit going on over the past couple of weeks.”
“I know,” he said, raising his hand to her cheek. “I’m not saying you could have done anything differently. I’m just saying that maybe that’s why these dreams are happening.”
“And you? Why am I now seeing your head hit the floor?” Alina shook her head and pulled away, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. “I better not be losing my mind. I don’t have time for that right now.”