Death Blow

by Isabella Maldonado

  Daria put a hand on each of Sofia’s cheeks, framing her face. “You’re a pretty girl. On the verge of womanhood. All the men are hot for you.” She forced Sofia’s eyes up to hers. “So why are you still a virgin?”

  Her flaming face trapped in Daria’s firm grasp, Sofia could only blink back fresh tears.

  “Because you’ll fetch a high price your first time out. That’s why.” Daria released her and stepped back. “Unless you work for me. Under my protection.”

  Sofia wrapped her arms around her gaunt body. Daria had laid out the options. Become her personal assistant or become a sex slave. Either way, she would belong to the cartel, body and soul, until the day she died.

  Daria stooped to retrieve a length of braided leather coiled at her feet. “Which end of the whip would you prefer?” She jerked her chin toward the three men dangling from the chains. “That one?” Her hand tightened around the grip. “Or this one?” Fingers absently caressing the leather, she regarded Sofia. “In the cartel, you are either predator or prey. I made my choice on the day of my quinceañera, and so will you.” She uncoiled the whip, sliding it through her outstretched hand and tracing the knotted end along Sofia’s collarbone. “I’ll expect your answer tomorrow night.”

  At a loss for words, Sofia gazed at Daria, unable to bridge the gap between them. At only fifteen years old, Daria had chosen power over security. She had gambled with her life, rewrote the rules, and come out on top in an organization where cruelty prevailed. Years spent fighting for dominance had hardened her heart into stone. In that moment, Sofia understood something about El Lobo’s daughter.

  Daria Villalobos was even more dangerous than her father.

  19

  Standing under the gargantuan mobile suspended above the two-story foyer of the Phoenix crime lab building, Veranda gazed up at its components. The morning sun reflected from beakers, petri dishes, scales, and other scientific paraphernalia dangling next to a double helix on wires in a wide circle above her head. Lieutenant Diaz had texted her to meet at the lab instead of the War Room at eight o’clock.

  “I always liked that sculpture.” Sam had pushed open the locked inner door accessing the offices and forensic area. “No time to admire the digs, though—everyone else is already here.”

  She glanced at her watch. Twelve minutes past. Her borrowed designer pumps clacked on the tile foyer floor as she hurried past Sam.

  “I’m not used to the commute from South Phoenix,” she offered in the way of an apology for her tardiness. “And then I had to walk over from the VCB lot because there’s no damn parking at the lab.” She lifted her foot and pointed at it. “In Marci’s FMPs. How does she walk around in these things every day?”

  “No worries,” Sam said. “Everyone’s on their second cup of coffee.”

  “Why are we meeting here, anyway?”

  “Only a few of us are actually at the lab. The rest of the team’s in the War Room.”

  “Why?”

  Sam looked uncomfortable. “The forensic examiners found something. Tye’s prepared a presentation for us, but he won’t discuss it until we start. Should be interesting.”

  Veranda followed Sam inside the glass-paneled meeting room. Tye Kim stood next to Diaz at the far end of a long oval conference table next to a thermos and a stack of cups. Slipping in quietly to avoid drawing attention to herself, she found a chair.

  Despite her effort to be inconspicuous, Lieutenant Diaz spotted her and took a seat at the head of the table. “Let’s get started.” The chatter died and everyone settled into a chair.

  Scanning the table, she noticed Agents Flag and Ortiz flanking another man, then did a double take when she recognized Agent Manuel Rios of the Mexican federal police. Her internal thermostat spiked at the memory of their last contact. After his recent assignment in Phoenix, the federale had given her a very unexpected, very passionate kiss at the airport before boarding his flight back to Mexico City. None of her colleagues had witnessed the intimate moment, and she hadn’t communicated with Rios in the seven weeks since.

  Rios turned his head and caught her staring at him. A slow smile crept across his handsome face. Her cheeks flamed and she forced her focus back to the front of the room. Too late, she realized Diaz had witnessed her reaction.

  As she felt her flush deepen, Diaz addressed the group. “Most of you have met our newest visitor. For those who haven’t, we are joined by Agent Manuel Rios of the Policía Federal Ministerial in Mexico City.” Diaz belied the polite introduction when he aimed a look of pure loathing at Rios before turning to Agent Flag. “Would you brief us on your visit to the PFM?”

  “It’s classified,” Flag said. “You don’t have a security clearance.”

  She started to laugh, then realized Flag wasn’t joking. “Agent Flag, we need information.”

  “I’ll provide what I can on a need-to-know basis during the meeting.” He spread his hands. “Look, I’ll contribute what I can, but I won’t provide a briefing.”

  She swept her hand in an arc around the table. “We are all on a need-to-know basis right now.”

  Stone-faced, Flag crossed his arms over his chest.

  Diaz gave his head a small shake and started the report-outs with Sam. “Detective Stark, have you and Detective Cruz prepared the affidavit?”

  “It’s on your desk, as ordered,” Sam said. “We pulled it together yesterday evening.”

  “I’ll look it over when I get back,” Diaz said. “Anything from ATF, Agent Ortiz?”

  “The components of both devices are at our California lab,” Ortiz said. “We confirmed the link the Phoenix lab found between the two bombs. Although constructed differently, some of the trace materials are identical. Independent verification from both forensic labs is enough to prove they were assembled at the same location.”

  Excited by the news, Veranda forgot her irritation with Flag. “So if we get a DNA hit on one bomb, we can show the suspect is good for the second one as well?”

  Ortiz nodded. “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Speaking of DNA evidence,” Diaz said. “We’re meeting here at the lab this morning because Detective Kim has developments to report.”

  Tye got to his feet. “The best way to explain this is with a visual aid.” He crossed the room to stand next to a large screen extending down from a slot in the ceiling. He touched a control panel, and the lights dimmed.

  Even in semidarkness, Veranda could read the eagerness on the detective liaison’s features. Something had piqued his interest.

  “You recall that we located Adelmo Salazar’s latent fingerprints on the remnants of a plastic water bottle recovered from the storage unit scene.” At everyone’s murmured assent, he continued. “We also did a rush examination on the trace DNA trapped between what remained of the mouth of the water bottle and the cap.” He clicked the remote, filling the screen with an array of horizontal rectangular bar graphs, each containing several spiked peaks in bright colors. “This is an electropherogram comparing that sample with the DNA profiles of Hector Villalobos and his deceased son, Bartolo. All three have a familial relationship, meaning they’re all biologically related.”

  Tye paused to see that everyone followed his explanation. Taking in their nodding heads, he shot Veranda an apologetic look. “Sorry about this next part, Detective, but I had no other way to reach a conclusion.”

  Everyone’s attention veered toward her before going back to Tye. Mouth suddenly dry, she licked her lips. She should have expected this. The lab would use every bit of information available to identify the unknown sample, and Hector had made sure everyone knew he was her father.

  Tye cleared his throat. “Next, we used the previous DNA profiles to run another comparison. This time, including Detective Cruz in the analysis.”

  When Tye pressed the remote again, four graphs appeared, labeled HECTOR, BARTOLO, V
ERANDA, and UNKNOWN MALE. “Her DNA shows that, like Bartolo, she’s a child of Hector Villalobos. It also indicates a different mother.”

  She squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the numbers, spikes, and colors in the rectangles. Glancing at Diaz, she caught him watching her, concern drawing his brows together before he directed a question at Tye.

  “With all due respect,” Diaz said. “We already knew this. Why are you bringing Detective Cruz’s parentage up again?”

  Tye smiled. “Here’s where it gets interesting. Unlike Bartolo’s DNA, the sample from the bottle is more like Veranda’s profile. Same father, but different mother. It means the suspect is Bartolo’s and Detective Cruz’s half brother.”

  Veranda felt the blood drain from her face. “I have another half brother?”

  Tye grimaced. “A half brother who has attempted to kill you. Twice.”

  “But the prints on the bottle belonged to Salazar,” she said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  Sam stroked his mustache. “Perhaps Salazar let someone else drink from his bottle. Or maybe he screwed on someone else’s cap. That could transfer DNA.”

  “We found no other DNA under the fragment of cap we had,” Tye said.

  She circled back to the issue making her pulse pound in her ears. “Bartolo and Carlos Villalobos are dead. The only brother left is Adolfo. Holy crap, did El Lobo’s wife step out on him?”

  Tye shook his head. “Not possible. We also ran the samples for mitochondrial DNA analysis, which allows us to identify the matrilineal genetic line, and their mito DNA profiles are different.”

  “Pretend we all don’t have advanced degrees in genetic science,” Sam said through an exasperated sigh. “And give us the bottom line.”

  Tye turned to Veranda. “It means that you, the suspect, and Bartolo all share the same father, but different mothers.”

  Why should she be surprised? A man like Hector Villalobos probably slept with hundreds of women and thought nothing of it. Now another one of his offspring was at her throat. As waves of pity emanating from her colleagues swamped her, she put her game face on. Appearing flustered would get her reassigned for the duration of the investigation. She had to convince Lieutenant Diaz she could remain objective about the case. No matter where the evidence took her.

  She drew a breath and focused on the federale. “Agent Rios, do you have any intel about mistresses Hector kept?”

  “We don’t.” Rios seemed genuinely disappointed he couldn’t help. “His women are very discreet, or they are very dead.”

  “We need a sample of Salazar’s DNA to eliminate him,” Tye said.

  Agent Rios brightened. “We have Salazar’s DNA from his military service. I can get it to you right away.”

  Tye shook his head. “The military doesn’t allow us to use DNA samples from enlisted personnel unless it’s to ID them in instances of death or injury.”

  “You’re talking about the US military,” Rios said, dimples creasing his cheeks. “Salazar served in the Mexican Army. I’ll have what you need by the end of the day.”

  No one questioned Rios. Whether policies were different in Mexico or if he resorted to back channels to get the information, Veranda had no doubt he would deliver on his promise.

  “This round of tests has already eliminated another suspect,” Diaz said. “The DNA is from a male. That means we can’t put Daria Villalobos at either scene.” He looked at Sam. “Disregard the affidavit for Daria’s DNA. No judge will sign a warrant for it now.”

  Diaz was right. And she’d been so sure Daria had been behind the bombings. No matter how she turned it in her mind, she couldn’t argue with DNA science. Daria was in the clear. She glanced back up at the screen, a new concern uppermost in her mind. Who was the half brother who wanted her dead, and how did he fit into the Villalobos family hierarchy?

  20

  Daria smiled down at José. “Perhaps you’re not just a pretty face after all.” She gave the glistening skin of his back a leisurely stroke, then lifted the tips of her fingers to her mouth and tasted his salty sweat. A bead of perspiration trickled between his shoulder blades. Well acquainted with the symptoms of pain, she knew when a man teetered on the edge of his tolerance. José couldn’t take much more.

  Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She slid it out, glanced at the screen, and cursed. “Stay exactly as you are,” she said to José. “If you move so much as a centimeter …”

  His muscles quivered with the effort of maintaining his position. “Sí, Señorita.”

  She tapped the screen and lifted the phone to her ear. “What do you want?”

  Salazar’s harsh voice chafed her ears. “Are you at the Armory?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is the new ammunition ready?”

  “I said it would be ready, and it is.”

  “I’m flying to Phoenix in seventeen hours to take over your operation. You are to do nothing until then. Do you understand?”

  The abrupt announcement jolted her. “Are you relieving me of my command?”

  “Liars who plant evidence don’t deserve to lead. I’m in charge now.” Salazar drew out the proclamation. “You answer to me.”

  White hot rage shot through her. While she’d been in Phoenix, Salazar had used the opportunity to undermine her. “I won’t take orders from you.”

  “Not only do I give the orders from now on, but I also take them away.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’ve taken the kill order for Veranda Cruz,” he said, not troubling to hide his contempt. “You will stand down.”

  With extreme effort, she steadied herself to ask the only question that mattered. “Did this come from El Lobo himself?”

  “Straight from his mouth.”

  Everything she had built, all of her sacrifices, every drop of blood on her hands, had been in vain. Salazar had stolen her future.

  A swelling wave of anger broke over her, leaving utter hatred for the person she held responsible in its wake. “I will never submit to a vile, manipulating—”

  “You will show me respect when you speak to me. I’m not one of your servants or man toys,” he said. “El Lobo made it official today.”

  “Made what official?”

  “That I will succeed him.”

  She heard his disdain as clearly as his words. “You arrogant bastard!”

  Salazar responded with quiet menace. “Call me that again, Daria.”

  Sensing she’d gone too far, she held her tongue. The silence stretched so long she wondered if he’d disconnected.

  “El Lobo chose me to lead for a reason,” Salazar finally said. “Your behavior is unstable, untruthful, and … unnatural.”

  Far from keeping her proclivities secret, she’d made sure everyone knew what she did with her men behind closed doors. Still, his insult cut her. “How dare you judge me.”

  “When I take over tomorrow, I’ll put a stop to that too.”

  “You’re offended because I’m female. We all know what the coyotes do to the women they bring in and you’ve never said a word about it. Spare me your self-righteous attitude.”

  “Those women are easily replaced. They have no special skills nor any loyalty. Our men, on the other hand, are trained assets who routinely lay down their lives for us. There is no comparison.”

  “Women could be trained to—”

  “This discussion is over. I called to check on the ammo and give you a direct order to leave Veranda Cruz to me. I have a plan to deal with her when I return tomorrow morning. Until then, you will follow orders.” His tone sharpened. “Veranda Cruz is mine. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  She scrunched her eyelids shut. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He disconnected.

 
; She spat out a stream of profanity and flung the phone onto a padded bench bolted to the floor. It landed next to a sheet of neon green paper.

  She stalked over and bent to pick up the page José had brought her earlier. Heavy print scrawled across the top of the paper read DÍA DE LOS MUERTOS. An invitation to join the Cruz family for their annual celebration at their property in South Phoenix included an address, directions, and today’s date.

  Veranda Cruz would be at the party. Rios would probably go as well, thinking he could protect her. A check of the tracked GPS on his cell phone would let her know for sure.

  She tightened her fist, crumpling the paper in her hand. To hell with Salazar’s orders. Cruz was still hers. The party was her last chance to corner the bitch before Salazar flew in from Mexico. She had to act tonight. Her mind in turmoil, she began to pace.

  To win her father’s approval, this particular execution must have her stamp on it. Salazar would settle for a bullet to the brain, but she could do better. Her feet moved faster, as did her thoughts. An image of the pit surfaced, spreading a ripple of excitement through her. If handled properly, killing Cruz might change her father’s mind about her.

  Across the room, José groaned. She came to an abrupt stop, regarding him with cool detachment. He hadn’t been one of the three who had tried to grab Cruz—a good thing, because he was too pretty for the kind of punishment she’d brought down on the others. As she considered how the three men could have succeeded, the seed of an idea found fertile soil in her mind.

  The party invitation José had found was exactly what she needed. Smoothing the sheet, she perused it again. The seed took root, blossoming into a plan.

  She strolled over to José, who still held his position. “How would you like a special assignment?”

  “What do you want me to do?” he gasped, panting with strain.

  “You’re a very sexy man.” She ran her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. “I want you to get Veranda Cruz alone tonight at their Día de los Muertos party.”