She left the command bus to a cacophony of light and sound. Three K-9 handlers held Belgian Malinois dogs on tight leashes, their furry partners yelping with excitement at the prospect of a chase. The helicopter whirred overhead, gliding in ever-widening circles in search of heat signatures with its FLIR infrared camera. Commander Miller’s voice crackled over the radio, organizing a grid search and coordinating check points on roads branching out in every direction.
Her department had deployed substantial resources. One of their own had been abducted, held at gunpoint, nearly killed. They would continue to devote time and energy until everyone was certain the suspect had evaded capture.
She worked steadily, checking in with each group, providing background information, doing anything she could to help. About an hour into the search, the Air Unit picked up a heat signature in the desert. She started toward the team heading out to investigate when a deep voice brought her up short.
“Where do you think you’re going, Detective?” Diaz said, stepping in front of her.
“To check out the—”
“You don’t have a weapon.” He looked pointedly at her right hip. “You’re not leaving the inner perimeter.”
Frustration clawed at her, shredding her nerves. “I don’t have my gun because that bitch stole it!” Aware shouting at her supervisor would only make her situation worse, she lowered the volume. “And I have to get it back.”
“We’ll deal with the gun later,” he said. “Right now, we’re focused on apprehending Daria. Commander Miller’s covered all the bases, including notifying surrounding jurisdictions and Border Patrol. If she didn’t get away before we locked it down, we’ll find her.”
A short time later, Veranda listened over the radio as the search team discovered that the Air Unit’s infrared camera had detected a very large, very pissed off javelina. One by one, the other teams deployed throughout the area reported in with negative results. Her mood darkened with each broadcast.
After the exhaustive search spanned another hour with no results, Commander Miller shut down the command post. Daria Villalobos had escaped.
Drained, infuriated, and completely spent, Veranda trudged back to Diaz’s car. She found him with Rios, leaning against the hood talking on his cell phone. He ended the call when she approached.
“Who was that?” She asked him.
“I updated Commander Webster. He insisted on keeping DHS and ATF apprised. He’s calling Flag and Ortiz.”
“Tell them I’ll swear out a warrant for felony abduction against Daria. And this time, I’ll get those search warrants. Daria can’t operate in the open anymore. She’ll go to ground like the rest of the cartel weasels.”
Diaz opened his car door. “Did you get all of your stuff out of the Tahoe?”
She nodded. “Figured I wouldn’t have access when you said Crime Scene would process it.”
“Did Daria take your apartment keys and your creds?”
At least something had gone right. “I could only fit my gun and cell phone in that tiny purse. Stuffed everything else in my go-bag. In fact, can you drop me at my temporary place?”
“You mean Chuy’s apartment.” He made it a statement.
She rolled her eyes. “Chuy has got to stop telling you my business.”
“I’m your boss.” He was unapologetic. “Your safety is my business, which is why I’m not comfortable with you staying there alone and unarmed. Perhaps I should—”
“I’m not unarmed. My backup weapon is at the apartment,” she said. “And I can manage for two or three hours without supervision.”
“Can you?”
Too bone weary for a protracted argument, she blew out a sigh. “I’d appreciate a ride, that’s all I need.”
Diaz relented. “Wear your tactical gear tomorrow morning,” he said. “Rios and I will pick you up at oh-six-hundred to take you to the range. You can qualify with a replacement gun. I’ll have a new fleet car and cell phone issued to you. If we can’t ping your old one, we’ll brick it.”
Briefly repressed thoughts of the missing Glock rushed back to her with a vengeance. She felt naked without its comforting weight at her side. “I still can’t believe she took my damn gun.”
Diaz didn’t offer any sympathy. “You’ll also have to give a statement to Professional Standards about the missing property. Don’t give me that look, Detective. It’s got to be documented and investigated.”
“They would actually write me up for being a crime victim?”
“Disciplinary action from the department is the least of your problems,” Diaz said. “No matter how it happened, your issued personal duty weapon is in the hands of the Villalobos cartel.” His dark gaze met hers. “Trust me, this will come back to bite you.”
26
A painful jab to her thin ribs woke Sofia Pacheco from a fretful sleep. She groaned, rolled off the makeshift cot, and fell onto Nacho, who slept beside her. She blinked up at Daria, who kicked Nacho with the pointed toe of her boot and waited, hands on hips, looking down in overt disgust.
“Get up. You two have work to do.”
Sofia struggled to her feet. The tiny workshop in the base building’s armory was cold in the predawn hours. She had been up late working with Nacho, terrified to fail Daria. They’d been unable to hack into the police server, and Sofia had the sinking feeling that Daria’s promised retribution was at hand. Today was her birthday. She would either join forces with Daria or suffer her punishment.
Nacho rubbed his eyes with his fists. “What happened last night? One of the men said you took José to get Veranda Cruz.”
A red scald crept into Daria’s beautiful face. “All you need to know is that I have her gun, and this.” She lifted a hand, showing Nacho the slim rectangular device resting on her palm.
Nacho hesitated before he spoke. “Does Cruz know you’ve got her phone?”
“I just spent three hours hiding in the South Mountain facility before I could come here. I’m tired, thirsty, and in no mood for questions,” Daria said on a weary sigh. “Yes, she knows.”
Sofia shuddered. She had seen the building at the foot of the big brown mountain. Inside its soundproofed walls yawned a deep, dark hole that reminded her of the ones she’d learned about in science class. Hungry black holes from which nothing could escape. She never wanted to go anywhere near that place again.
“Is Cruz in the pit building?” Nacho asked, his voice cracking.
“She got away, but not before I took this.” Daria held up a beaded purse in her other hand. “The cell phone is for you.” Daria tossed it to him. “But this”—she pulled a blocky-looking matte black gun from the purse—“is mine.” She gazed at the weapon, a gratified smirk curving her lips, and dropped the empty bag to the floor.
Nacho turned the mobile over, examining the back. “If the police know we have the phone, they might try to ping it.”
Smile gone, her eyes snapped back to Nacho. “Which is why I turned it off. It’s time you earned your pay. Start by disabling the GPS, then see what Cruz has been up to.”
Nacho powered it up and tapped the screen. “Locked.” He glanced up at Daria, who had released the gun’s magazine and caught it in her left hand. “After the last security breach, they put more firewalls up to protect their server. I’m not surprised to see they’ve also added security on their cell phones. I’ll have to be careful going in, but I should be able to unlock it.”
Daria shoved the magazine back inside the grip, snicking it back into place. “Should is not an option.”
“I’ll get in,” Nacho said, eyeing the pistol. “Then I can mine the unit. If she’s downloaded stuff from the main server, I can backdoor my way in.”
Daria looked mollified. “I’ll grant you another twenty-four hours with your little assistant here to get into that system. But if you don’t give me something by—”
The workshop door banged open, making Sofia jump. Framed in the doorway, Salazar surveyed the room. Legs wide, fists clenched, and teeth bared in a predatory snarl, his feral gaze swept the area, coming to rest on Daria. Sofia began to tremble. If El Matador ever looked at her like that, she would pass out from sheer terror.
Daria took a step back as Salazar advanced on her. The backs of her legs bumped against a workbench. Eyes locked on Salazar, she reached behind her, her fingers blindly groping along its dusty surface. Her shaking hands found a screwdriver and clutched it in a white-
knuckled grip.
Sofia watched in horror as Salazar attacked. His hand shot out with the speed of a viper, clamping around Daria’s slender neck. Daria swung the screwdriver up toward Salazar’s face. His free hand snatched her wrist mid-strike, holding the tool’s flat edge at bay. Powerful muscles rippled under his shirt as he raised his other arm enough to lift Daria to her toes. Daria dropped the screwdriver to claw Salazar’s hand and kick him with the pointed toes of her boots.
Impervious to the counterattack, Salazar steadily raised his arm until Daria’s feet left the floor. She thrashed frantically as he squeezed. Finally, face purpling, her eyes bulged and rolled back. When her body went limp, Salazar released her to crumple to the floor.
Sofia and Nacho traded petrified glances. Had Salazar murdered Daria right before their eyes in cold blood?
Sputtering and choking interrupted Sofia’s racing thoughts. Daria sat upright, clutching her throat.
Salazar loomed over her. “I gave you an order. Did I not make myself clear?”
Daria tilted her head back to gaze up at him. She opened her mouth, but only managed a faint wheeze before she dissolved into a fit of coughing.
He knelt beside her. “I couldn’t hear you. Let’s try again. Did you understand my orders, Daria?”
She released a croak and nodded vigorously.
With a gentle touch, Salazar lifted her chin, angling Daria’s face up to his, and slowly lowered his head. For a heart-stopping moment, Sofia thought he would kiss her, but he stopped just short of brushing his lips against hers.
He spoke with soft menace, every word filled with pure loathing. “After I finish cleaning up your mess here, I will drag you back to Mexico to face El Lobo’s judgment. I will convince him to disown you. Once you are not a Villalobos, you will become cartel property and join the other women working in the brothels.” He gave her chin a shake. “Your first clients will be your own coyotes, who will treat you exactly as you have treated them.” He shoved her away and stood.
Daria buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Tears leaked between her fingers.
Salazar curled his lip at her before turning to Nacho. “What are you working on?”
Nacho swallowed audibly. “I have Veranda Cruz’s cell phone.” He held up the device. “I’m using it to access their server.”
Salazar’s attention moved to Sofia, sending icy waves of panic down her spine. She’d been forced to watch Salazar brand her sister. Although she’d suffered the same punishment when El Lobo seared the cartel logo onto her own chest, her twin’s screams tormented her more than any physical pain she’d endured. Since that day, Salazar’s flat black gaze had haunted her waking moments and fueled her nightmares.
He regarded her in silence, watching her trembling grow into violent shaking that racked her frail body.
Nacho laid a hand on her shoulder. “She is helping me.”
“Is she?”
Sofia heard the suspicion in Salazar’s question as he moved to stand in front of her. She kept her eyes down, terrified he would somehow read her intentions. As he’d done with Daria, he used his index finger to lift her chin, forcing her eyes up to his. His raw power overwhelmed her, weakening her knees. She sent up a silent prayer. Please don’t let me faint.
“You have shown yourself to be a liar and a sneak in the past,” Salazar said. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
Somehow, she stayed on her feet. “Yes, sir.”
Salazar dropped his hand and addressed Nacho. “She’s your responsibility. You will answer for her behavior.” He pivoted to Daria, who hadn’t stirred from her position on the floor. “Get up.”
When Daria didn’t move, he strode to her and bent to grab a fistful of her long, glossy hair. He tugged her to her feet and she yelped, but offered no resistance. He marched her to the open doorway, his hand clenched against the back of her head.
Salazar paused before leaving the workshop and looked over his shoulder at Nacho. “I’m putting shackles on this one. Give me results, or you’ll join her.”
Nacho closed the door and leaned against it. “We can do this, Sofia,” he breathed. “We have to.” He pointed to the floor where Daria had fallen. “Hand me that screwdriver.”
She noticed he had said we, and drew strength from it. They were a team. She retrieved the tool and held it out, plastic yellow handle toward him. He slid it from her grasp and began to pry open the back of the phone.
“What are you looking for? Wouldn’t you disable the GPS using the screen menu?”
“I have to unlock the phone to use the menu. But first I’m checking for any kind of external tracking device hidden inside the shell. You never know, and I sure as hell don’t want to make a mistake.”
She watched Nacho pop the phone’s back cover off and inspect the unit.
“It’s clean.” He snapped the cover back in place. “Now for the fun part.” He turned the phone over in his hand and tapped the screen.
Tongue clamped between his teeth, Nacho worked feverishly. After several long minutes, his face split into a grin. “I’ve almost got it.”
She peered over his shoulder, leaning closer to the phone. “Did you unlock it already?”
The screen lit up and the sound of a camera clicking came out of the phone’s tiny speaker.
“Shit!” He looked at her, eyes wide.
“What just happened?”
“The fucking thing was equipped with an antitheft device.” He swallowed audibly. “Some phones are set up so the owner can remotely access a system that takes a picture of whoever unlocks it. It’s designed to get a snapshot and immediately transmit the image. I have no doubt someone on the Phoenix Police Department is looking at a picture of both of us right now.” He leaned back and clutched at his thick dark hair. “We are so screwed.”
Sofia tamped down her elation. Someone on the police department would know she was in the US, a prisoner of the cartel. If she managed to survive long enough, maybe they would rescue her. For the first time in months, hope blossomed in her heart.
“Maybe it’s not what you think,” she said, anxious to prevent him from sounding the alarm so Salazar wouldn’t evacuate them before the police came. “I don’t want to see you get in trouble. Just don’t say anything. No one has to know. Besides, you might have just accidentally pushed the camera button.”
He gave her a look. “I didn’t accidentally push the camera button. I know what that was. I’ve got to report it.”
“You saw what Señor Salazar did just now. There’s no telling how he would react if you made him mad. They call him El Matador for a reason. It’s not worth your life. Or mine.”
Even though she couldn’t convince him to let her escape, she sensed that Nacho had feelings for her. Time to see if she was right.
“You know Señor Salazar doesn’t like me,” she said. “One day, he’ll kill me.”
“Not if you continue to make yourself useful. And, of course, stay out of trouble.” He got to his feet. “Which means I have to find him and report this.”
“But Señor Salazar will—”
“Salazar will assess the situation and deal with it. Our only hope is to tell the truth and beg his forgiveness.”
“My forgiveness doesn’t come easily.”
&nbs
p; She whirled to see Salazar leaning against the doorjamb. Her mouth went dry. How long had he listened to their conversation?
27
Veranda exhaled slowly, squeezing the trigger until the gun fired. The target was slightly out of focus and her sights were crystal clear. Perfect. She used the rhythm of the recoil to line up her sight picture for the next shot. A split second later, she leveled the barrel at center mass. Another squeeze. Another bang. The target swiveled away, and she holstered her replacement Glock.
The range master’s voice sounded through the intercom from the tower. “Stand down for scoring.”
Sam walked up behind her and squinted down range at the silhouette target, which had rotated back to face them. “Not bad.”
Lieutenant Diaz stood at her other shoulder. “She threw one wide at the twenty-five-yard line.”
She rested a hand on the butt of her gun and glared up at him. “Bullshit.” When he raised a brow, she added, “Sir.”
Sam’s mustache twitched. “I think we’re about to find out.”
Veranda followed his gaze. The range instructor’s tan polo shirt blocked their view of the target as he stood in front of it scrawling something in the upper right corner with a fat black Sharpie. She held her breath until he stepped aside.
“Two fifty,” Sam said. “Perfect score.”
She smiled up at Diaz with exaggerated sweetness. “What was that about dropping one, Lieutenant?”
“I stand corrected.” He bowed his head in mock shame. “Let’s get to the cleaning shed. Rios, Flag, and Ortiz are waiting.”
Despite the early hour, the sun had already warmed the outdoor range. She was grateful to be here in early November with gorgeous weather. Qualifying with a duty weapon in the summer months could be brutal.
They trekked the short distance to the open-air shack topped with a terra cotta tiled roof. The two American federal agents, engrossed in conversation with their Mexican counterpart, continued their discussion as they drew near.
Death Blow Page 17