by Misty Evans
As if to emphasize her words, one hand snaked to her lower belly and rested there.
He knew there was much more to the story, but wanted to give her space. “Totally understandable that you don’t want him out.”
“What about your dad?” she asked, abruptly.
Her need to deflect and change the conversation to something not about her did not escape him. The subject was a touchy one for him too, his dad not exactly an upstanding role model either. “My father suffered from manic-depression and alcoholism. He tried to take his own life when I was ten, my mother tried to stop him, and she ended up with a bullet in her spine that left her paralyzed from the waist down. After he shot her, he ended up murdered—the case is still unsolved. He left me and my four sisters behind. My mother has spent her life in a wheelchair, and if it hadn’t been for some close relatives taking care of us kids, she probably would’ve lost all of us to the foster system. As soon as she was out of the hospital and able to return home, I insisted on going back too. My aunt and uncle, who I was living with at the time, refused to let me, so I ran away and made it home to her. I refused to leave her and eventually got all four of my sisters under the same roof with us again. It was a rough life, but we all ended up okay.”
“Okay? I’d say you’ve done better than that, Director.”
“Still haven’t solved my father’s murder—for years, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I had a lot of hang-ups about the night my mother was shot. But all in all, the important thing was not letting it tear us apart.”
“Your sisters must absolutely adore you for keeping the family together.”
He smiled, thinking about Brenda, Danille, Ruth, and Nikki. Four amazing women who gave him nothing but hell all the time about working too hard, too long, and still being single. His mother usually led the charge. “We are a close-knit family. I think you’ll like all of them. They’re strong women, like you.”
She took an off-ramp. “I’d like to meet them, you know, when and if you want me to.”
He definitely did. “As soon as we’re done with this case, I’ll plan something, okay? Maybe I can finish painting the house and have a picnic.” He’d never planned one in his life, but suddenly, it seemed like the domestic thing to do, right up there with introducing his new girlfriend to his mom and sisters. “How about you? Any siblings?”
She stiffened again and took another right turn, craning her head as if she were looking for the correct street. Maybe she was. “I had a brother. He’s dead.”
No emotion crossed her face, her eyes scanning house numbers. Another touchy subject probably best left for a different time. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Sixty-three thirty-seven. Here we are.” The car slid up to the curb. “I’ll take lead, okay?”
Yep, she definitely didn’t want to talk about her family any longer and he didn’t blame her. “Lead the way, Deputy Marshal Fiorelli. I’m right behind you.”
10
Victor wanted her to meet his family.
Olivia’s pulse jumped around, her heart too. She’d felt things were serious, but the ins and outs of relationships were so complicated, and she was so bad at them, she was still in shock he’d suggested such a big step already.
How sad was it that this was a first for her? She’d never gotten serious enough with anyone to receive such an invitation, and even the one or two who might’ve been candidates had run the opposite direction once they knew who her father was.
Not only had Victor not seemed to care about Felix Fiorelli’s current state of incarceration or his mile-long rap sheet, he’d actually invited her over for a family picnic.
Victor had picnics? She almost chuckled out loud at the thought of Mr. Suit & Tie FBI Director hosting a backyard barbecue.
Marquita’s home was small and shabby, squeezed in among other postage-stamp sized houses on a dead-end street. A couple rusty cars missing tires and other pieces of equipment populated the tiny side yard. A bedraggled Christmas wreath hung on the cheap wooden front door, faded in the afternoon sunlight.
The porch was nothing more than a square section of concrete barely big enough for Olivia to stand on. The sound of music, heavy on the bass, seeped from inside. Olivia knocked and waited, Victor hanging near the car, his eyes scanning the area. Taz hung his head out a back window, panting and watching both of them.
After a minute, Olivia knocked again, harder this time. “Marquita? Are you home? This is Deputy US Marshal Fiorelli. I’d like to speak to you for a moment.”
The music softened, the deadbolt thunked. A crack appeared as a short woman with dark hair peered out at her. “What do you want?”
“I’d like some information on Frankie Molina. I know you used to be close.”
Her eyes were a honey brown, her features pretty, but haggard. “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with him anymore.”
She started to close the door but Olivia stuck her foot in the crack, keeping it open. “You know about him wanting to take over the Suarez Kings, don’t you?”
Marquita pressed on the door, squeezing Olivia’s foot. “I don’t know anything,” she insisted. “Leave me alone.”
“How about Alfonso Barone? What can you tell me about him? You’re working for him, right?”
The pressure stopped. Marquita once again appraised Liv from head to toe. “Alfie? Why would I? He’s nothing but a weasel who thinks his balls are bigger than everyone else’s.”
No argument here. “I know he’s got you pumping Frankie B for information. I want to know why.”
Marquita swore under her breath in Spanish. “I don’t know what you been smokin’, chica, but I wouldn’t give Alfie the time of day, and if I were back with Frankie, do you really think I’d be livin’ in this dive?”
Maybe that’s why she was trying to get close to Frankie again. “I have reasonable suspicion you’re buying drugs from Alfie. Maybe I should come inside and confirm that. What do you think, Marquita?”
She wondered if the woman would call her bluff. The best defense was a good offense, so Olivia beat her to it, turning toward Victor. “Bring the dog,” she said, waving at Taz. Turning back to Marquita, she hitched a thumb over her shoulder at both of them. “Good thing I brought the drug dog. You know he can sniff out things like crack and weed a hundred yards away. He’s been on alert since we came around the block, and I’m guessing he’ll find some good stuff inside this house, won’t he?”
The door crack widened slightly and Marquita’s hand shot out as if blocking Taz’s approach. “I don’t do no drugs. He’s probably smellin’ the neighbor’s stash. You don’t need to bring him in here. I swear to you, I don’t do that stuff no more.”
How many times had Olivia heard that in her line of work? She held up her phone with a picture of the woman who had met Alfie in the alley. It was grainy due to the low lighting, and the woman was mostly hidden by that damn jacket and hood, but Liv waved it in front of Marquita’s face. “I recorded your little meeting with Alfie last night. Stop playing games.”
Victor and Taz came up the sidewalk, and the woman’s eyes went wide with fear. She gave the photo a quick glance before her gaze went back to the dog, who was now straining against the leash to get to Olivia. Marquita probably assumed he was following the scent of her drugs. “That’s not me. I never left the house last night. And look, chica, that woman is way taller.”
It was true, but Liv pressed on, hoping to ruffle the woman’s feathers enough to get something out of her. “She’s wearing three-inch heels. The picture’s distorted. Are you telling me you don’t have shoes like that?”
“That’s not me, I swear. I got nothing to do with Alfie, I ain’t got no drugs, and I don’t know anything about the Suarez gang.” She glanced at Victor, then did a double take. “Hey, you’re the guy that actress went to see yesterday at the hospital. I saw your picture on the Red Star Report this morning. They said you’re getting back together.”
Red Star Report was a daily online gos
sip e-zine. Olivia frowned and glanced at Victor. He was definitely Hollywood handsome, but…
The look on his face told her this was not a mistake. Marquita was not confusing him with some headline-making actor. For a moment, Olivia struggled to put two and two together, then remembered that Victor had once dated a very famous young actress.
What was her name…?
The light bulb went off. Holy shit.
Tracee Tyson.
Before she could stop them, the words spilled out of her mouth. “She came to see you at the hospital yesterday?”
His tanned skin turned a funny shade of gray. He ignored the question, turning his attention to Marquita. “You have me mixed up with someone else. When was the last time you bought drugs from Alfie?”
Taz sniffed at Marquita’s feet and she slid farther behind the door. “Long time ago. He doesn’t mess around with people like me anymore. He thinks he’s big time, so he moves a lot of product to the rich and famous these days, people who can pay a lot and want larger quantities. What has this got to do with the Kings?”
Olivia was still trying to get her bearings about Victor and the actress. A part of her felt dumbfounded, the little voice in her head telling her he’d been too good to be true, while logic told her there was a simple explanation. “Territory disputes,” she said. She flashed the picture in front of the woman’s face again. “So this woman met him in an alley. You really think I believe she’s some rich and famous gal?”
“I don’t know.” Marquita shrugged, her nervous eyes glancing at the dog, now sticking his nose through the crack in the door. Olivia kept her foot there to be sure Taz didn’t end up with his nose broken off. “He doesn’t deliver product himself anymore. If he was meeting her, it must’ve been a big score for him, but he didn’t want to be seen going to her place or meeting her openly. Maybe she’s helping him take down Gino.”
“Take down Gino?” Alfie was planning to take down Gino all right, but with Olivia’s help, wasn’t he? Why would he use a junkie, no matter how rich and famous? “What are you saying? Alfie’s going after the head of the West Coast Fifty-seven Gang?”
“Look, Alfie is smart and ambitious. He doesn’t say a lot, but he’s always running a plan to get up the ladder. He gets people under his thumb then forces them to help him.”
Tell me something I don’t know. “Have you heard anything about a mob hit against a DEA agent?”
“I don’t run with that group anymore. How would I hear anything like that?”
Liv pulled out her card and handed it to the woman. “Keep your ears open, and call me if you hear anything about Alfie, Frankie, or Gino. I don’t care how insignificant it seems, you get in touch with me, otherwise I’ll be back.” She patted Taz’s head, backing him up and removing her foot from the doorframe. “And I’ll bring the dog and a warrant with me, you understand?”
The woman nodded, snatched the card, and slammed the door. The deadbolt cracked loudly as she snapped it into place.
She, Victor, and the dog made their way to the car in silence. As soon as they were inside, Victor said, “Tracee heard about the shooting and happened to be in the area. She stopped by to check on me. That’s all it was.”
Liv started the car and pulled away from the curb. “That was nice of her.”
“I guess the paparazzi thought they could spin the picture and get her fans to speculate we were getting back together.”
She drove on autopilot. “You two are still good friends, then?”
“Far from it. I haven’t spoken to her in nearly two years.”
Olivia was looking forward to her weapons training now even more than usual. She might actually have a face to put on the target. “Kinda strange she’d come to the hospital to find you, isn’t it?”
“The reason she was in the area was legit, and I like to think maybe she’s realized what a great guy I was, and how she blew it. But the truth is, she was probably looking for a photo op. She always is.”
He sent a charming smile her way and she felt the grip on her rib cage loosen. “No chance the paparazzi are correct? That there is some kind of reconciliation going on?”
He shuddered. “Not a chance in hell.”
Olivia breathed a silent sigh of relief. “I guess Marquita was kind of a bust. Sorry about that.”
“She knows more than she’s admitting, and I have no doubt she’ll be calling Frankie, or one of the other guys, to fill them in. She seems like the type to bitch her head off about us showing up on her doorstep. You never know, if Frankie slights her, maybe she’ll dig up some info and give us a call.”
They breezed down the freeway. “Any luck with your other leads?”
He was checking his phone as they drove. “Well, this is interesting.”
The way he drew out interesting made the hair on the back of her neck tickle. “What?”
“Roman assigned some of his team to follow up on several Suarez gang members who have explosive experience in their background and the use of explosives on their rap sheets. One went to the home of a woman named Kelly Perez to question her, and guess what? She’s dead. Two bullets to the heart and one to the head.”
“Execution style,” Liv said. Mob style.
Victor looked out the window pensively before glancing her way again. “What if we’ve been going at this backwards? What if Gino and Frankie aren’t trying to take over the Kings, but instead, they’re working with them?”
“But they’re fighting over the same territory and resources. Why would they suddenly start working together?”
“I don’t know, but I think we better find out.”
Later that afternoon, Victor sat at the safe house once more with Thomas, Ronni, and Roman, filling in some blanks for Emma on the other end of the phone. Olivia had shooting practice and then the job at four that afternoon, so he was meeting her at her place that evening.
Meanwhile, Victor had the dog with him. Taz lay under his chair at the kitchen table. It wasn’t really big enough for all four of them and their assorted laptops and phones, but they’d squeezed in best they could. Emma was working on a psychological profile for the shooter, and they were feeding her Victor’s latest theory about the Kings and Fifty-seven Gang working together.
“Crimes committed across territories by cooperating OCGs—organized crime groups—is nothing new,” Thomas explained. “Colombian cartels and Mexican drug-trafficking organizations have been operating within the United States for decades, often working together to advance their mutual goals.”
Roman shifted awkwardly, trying to find space for his legs. “Terrorist groups work with drug trafficking organizations in a symbiotic relationship too. For instance, Hezbollah established a strong base in Latin America, working with Mexican DTOs to launder money, finance terrorism, and smuggle people. The Intelligence Community has seen a growing international convergence of OCGs and terrorist organizations taking advantage of the specialized skills and assets of each group.”
“The mafia has worked with al-Qaida and outlaw motorcycle gangs here in the US to carry out criminal operations,” Victor added. “All of these groups have diverging interests, goals and philosophies, yet they’re working together to capitalize on each other’s specific skills or assets.”
They heard typing on the other end, Emma making notes. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, then, eh? Very enterprising of them, and a little surprising, since I’m sure each group feels they are the power player in any of those scenarios.”
Ronni took off her reading glasses and tossed them on her keyboard. “These working relationships are usually short term. It would not surprise me if both the Kings and DeStefano’s Fifty-seven Gang are pooling resources, and also secretly planning to wipe each other out once their goal is accomplished.”
“It’s a possibility we have to consider,” Victor said. “Cooper’s shooting appears like a mob hit, while the bombing points to the Kings.”
Thomas leaned in and took a sip of his soda
, staring at photographs from the latest crime scene. “This definitely looks like the work of a mafia hitman.”
More typing. “Or someone wanted it to,” Emma countered.
Ronni sat up and studied the photos too. “That’s it. It’s possible the two organizations are working together, but it’s also possible they’re each trying to frame the other for these crimes.”
She had a point and Victor rolled both ideas around in his head.
Roman shifted again, still not seeming to find the right spot for his long legs. “We have three other Kings we’re searching for in the bombing case that have explosive experience and/or have used a bomb in a crime. So far, none have been home, but my team has all three residences staked out.”
“I think it’s time to stakeout Gino DeStefano and Frankie Molina too,” Victor said. He planned to keep an eye on Alfonso Barone himself, hopefully without stepping on Olivia’s toes. “Thomas, you know all the cartels and their leaders. Is it possible to track down Silvestre Santos?”
Santos was head of the Kings, and much like DeStefano, kept a low profile, moving his home and headquarters around a lot. At any given time, he might be drinking champagne in a millionaire’s estate in Bel Air or slumming it with some of his family members along the Mexican border.
Thomas quirked a blond brow. “Track him down, as in bring him in for questioning, or put surveillance on him?”
Victor looked at Roman. “Either way works for me. What do you think? Putting pressure on the leaders of both the mafia and cartel might prove fruitful.”
Roman nodded slowly. Victor could see the gears turning in his head, analyzing the options. “I agree. The clock is ticking. Why don’t we start with the lieutenants in both organizations and work up from there.”