“Even if you’re telling the truth, you can’t be her backup,” Diaz said. “You don’t have law enforcement powers in the United States. Or a gun.”
Rios’s response sounded like something he’d researched before coming to the States. “Officially, I can go as an observer. If necessary, I can take action to preserve life.”
“I’ll deal with you later, Rios.” Diaz sounded angrier than Veranda had ever heard him. “Right now, I’m ending this suicide mission.”
Why did Diaz thwart her at every turn? It always came down to a battle of wills between them. “You can’t, Lieutenant.” She took a moment to steel herself. “Because I’m not telling you where I’m headed.”
Rios stared at her open-mouthed. A hot blush burned her cheeks, growing warmer with every second of silence that passed after her defiant words. She took another turn, pressing the gas pedal harder.
When Diaz responded, the chill carried through the phone. “There’s a tracking device in my car, Detective. I’ll get dispatch to find your location.”
She knew patrol cars were tracked through dispatch, but not investigative supervisor vehicles. Diaz must have put in a special request to outfit his Chrysler. “You’ll be too late,” she said, trying not to sound belligerent. “We’re almost there.”
Diaz’s voice grew eerily calm. He spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “Detective Cruz, I am giving you a direct order to stand down. Return to the hospital. Now.”
She licked dry lips. Diaz had drawn a line. Crossing it could cost her badge. She paused to reconsider her options but came to only one conclusion. There would never be another opportunity like the one Daria offered her. She was prepared to sacrifice her position, her career, even her life, to destroy the cartel.
Heart pounding, she stepped over Diaz’s line. “That’s not going to happen, sir.”
She disconnected before he could suspend her from duty over the phone. At least she was still acting under the color of law.
“Why did you tell him what we’re doing?” Rios asked, exasperated. “He can’t help, and he can’t stop us either.”
She couldn’t save Sam, but she could avenge him. “I wanted someone on the department to know what I did and why I did it.”
Rios gave her a shrewd look. “In case you don’t make it back?”
He’d been straight with her, so she would do the same. “Yes.”
Her phone buzzed in Rios’s hand. He glanced down. “It’s Diaz.”
She kept her eyes on the road. “Turn it off.”
He did as she asked, regarding her with deep concern. “What’s going to happen to you?”
“I disobeyed a supervisor’s lawful direct order.” She continued to gaze straight ahead. “I’m well and truly fucked.”
37
Clenching and releasing her fists in rhythmic spasms, Daria paced across the blast pit’s compacted dirt floor. She glanced up at the mirror high above her. How long would it take Veranda Cruz to arrive?
Salazar groaned and began to come around, bringing a smile to her lips.
She sauntered over to him and toed his ribs with the point of her boot. “Wake up.” The command, delivered in sharp Spanish, bounced around the cement chamber.
She’d used a rope with large knots spaced at regular intervals to climb down after pushing Salazar’s unconscious form into the pit. Skilled at restraining men, she’d expertly bound his wrists to his ankles behind his back before he regained consciousness. She’d taken care to leave enough slack for him to breathe properly, but not enough for him to move more than a few inches. Effectively hog-tied, the vaunted El Matador lay at her feet. He had told her to learn her place. Now, he would learn his.
He stirred, muscular arms straining against the thick ropes.
As he thrashed, she admired him with a practiced eye. She considered herself a connoisseur of masculine beauty, and Salazar was a fine specimen, albeit a bit too brawny for her taste. Even though it had only been a few feet, dragging his dead weight to the pit had nearly exhausted her. He was built on a larger scale than most men, and she wondered idly if everything about him was oversized.
Salazar’s eyes blinked open, scanned his surroundings, and fixed on her. “Let me go if you want to live, puta.”
His comment drove more pleasant musings from her mind. “Let me bring you up to speed. Kicked your ass. Tied you up. Went outside to call Veranda Cruz. Told her you’d thrown me in the pit with a bomb. She’s on her way to join you.” She put a hand on her hip. “So don’t threaten me. You’d be dead by now if I didn’t want certain information.”
That was a lie. He was still alive because she wanted him to suffer for humiliating her. And to share Cruz’s fate. If she also extracted usable information from him, so much the better.
Beads of perspiration dotted Salazar’s hairline, betraying the discomfort from his position and whatever injuries he had from the fall. “I am going to enjoy killing you, Daria.”
She had expected him to be angry, humiliated, and afraid. Instead, he threatened her. His contorted position stressed joints and cramped muscles. Even the toughest man would break eventually. Salazar must have a high pain tolerance. She would have to accelerate the process.
She kneeled beside him. “Are you insane? Look where you are.”
“I’ve gotten out of prisons with armed guards at every door,” Salazar said, gasping. “I can escape from you.”
So that was it. He’d fallen for her trap because he’d never been inside this building. Time to enlighten him. “Do you see that digital clock?” She jerked her chin at the metal pole in the center of the pit. “When it gets to zero, flying shrapnel will shred everything down here.”
Salazar shifted his head to look at the timer and cursed.
She gestured to the knotted rope dangling down to the dirt floor a few feet away. “Or you can climb out before Cruz gets here.” She waited for his gaze to swivel from the rope back to her. “If you answer two questions.”
“What do you need to know so badly?”
He’d stopped berating her to see what she wanted. A good sign. She had no intention of letting him out of the pit, but maybe he thought she was stupid enough to untie him. Experience interrogating prisoners had taught her to begin with a smaller question.
“First, where is Nacho?”
“Nacho?” Salazar’s brows shot up. “What the fuck do you care about him for?”
She would get to the important question next, but Nacho played a pivotal role in her future plans.
“I’m asking the questions.” She grasped the length of rope between his wrists and ankles and gave it a sharp tug. “Not you.”
Salazar jackknifed backward, spine arching as she drew his limbs closer together behind him. He gnashed his teeth, biting back a howl of agony.
She eased the tension long enough for him to catch his breath. “That overgrown schoolboy can access every part of our business.” As Salazar gasped, she repeated the torment with each pronouncement. “Our finances.” Tug. “Our distribution network.” Tug. “Our facilities.” Tug. “If they catch him, he’ll cooperate.” She released the rope. “And we’re finished.”
“Enough!” Salazar called out.
She crossed her arms and waited.
“I didn’t want him killed or arrested at the armory,” Salazar said, panting. “I sent him out to cross the border in one of the loaded vans while I came after you. He took the girl with him.”
Anger roared through her. “You fool. Nacho will get caught.”
Muscles along Salazar’s entire body quivered spasmodically. When his watering eyes found hers, they did not display fear. They promised retribution.
Somewhat unnerved by this, she proceeded toward her objective. “Second question. Who is the Rook?”
Knowledge of the man’s identity would give her considerable leverage. She might even f
orm a secret alliance with him.
A slow smile spread across Salazar’s strained features. “Do what you will, puta. You won’t get his name out of me.”
The bastard wouldn’t tell her outright, but perhaps he would react if she guessed. “Is it the federale, Agent Manuel Rios?” She remained on her knees to study his face.
Not even a twitch.
“He’s coming here with Cruz. Just the two of them. If he’s the Rook, I won’t kill him. He’s an ally.”
Salazar continued to stare at her.
Had she guessed correctly? Pointing to the ceiling, she made a final attempt to force his hand. “Look up.” When he didn’t move, she clutched a hank of his hair and pulled his head back to see the enormous convex mirror positioned at an angle above the pit.
Her men had bolted it to the rafters yesterday so she could supervise their work while she reset the explosives below. She’d been able to see her men carry cement mix in through the rear service door and patch the damage along the upper edge from her position at the bottom of the blast chamber.
“They’ll enter through the back door like you did. I’ll drop Rios first.” She held up Salazar’s matte black Desert Eagle. “With your gun. He won’t survive, but I’ll make sure Cruz does. She’ll die in the pit … with you. Unless you tell me who the Rook is.”
She sensed his implacable resolve. He wouldn’t give up the name if she tortured him for hours. She glanced at the clock. There was still time to inflict other kinds of damage.
“You will die in the dirt on your belly like the worm you are.” She gave him a moment to contemplate her words. “Putting me in chains earned your death sentence, but I assumed you’d been arrested in the raid and I wouldn’t get to carry it out. I also gave up on my original plans for Cruz and tried to shoot her on the way here. Fortunately, I missed.” She smoothed the deep furrows of confusion creasing his forehead with her fingertips. “When I heard you were chasing me, I
wanted both of you here. You belong together.”
He recoiled from her touch. “Who told you I came after you?”
“Figure it out.” She stroked his cheek, relishing his revulsion at her continued contact. “Do you know what you and Cruz have in common?”
“A twisted, sadistic puta for a half sister.”
Sick of being called a whore, she curled her fingers. Sharp nails sank into his face. “A tattoo you don’t deserve.” She raked down, gouging him from cheek to jaw. “Both of you are bastards, yet you bear the Villalobos family mark on your chests.” She pulled her hand away and yanked a sock from her back pocket. “In less than twenty-seven minutes, those tattoos will be obliterated.” Her fist tightened, wadding the sock into a ball.
His expression grew wary. “What are you—”
She punched his throat, forcing him to sputter and cough. When he opened his mouth to gulp air, she crammed the sock in. Holding the gag in place with one hand, she pulled the bandana she’d used on Cruz’s gun from her other pocket and wrapped it around his head, securing it with a knot.
“Can’t have you warning Detective Cruz when she comes to rescue me.” She stood, enjoying the sight of Salazar lying in the dirt. “My father transferred the kill order for Cruz to you.” Bending down, she slid a finger under the taught rope between his ankles and wrists. “Well I’m taking it back.” She raised her arm, relishing his agony. “Because Veranda Cruz is mine.”
38
Veranda slid the lieutenant’s sedan to a stop behind a rocky outcropping and killed the engine, leaving the keys in the ignition for Rios. She’d agreed to let him back her up, but not to enter the building with her. He could be her eyes and ears on the perimeter.
Dreading the inevitable argument, she’d put off telling him she was going in alone. The mountainous desert landscape had proven helpful, allowing her to park nearby but far enough away to obscure them from view while they reconnoitered the site. She’d spotted the Jeep and a van parked out front and drove around to check out the back of the building.
Rios stepped out of the car with a pair of binoculars he’d appropriated from the go-bag. “Looks like we can approach from here using those bushes for cover.”
She got out and joined him by the hood of the car and followed his line of sight. “Is there a rear access point?”
He twisted the outer ring around the lenses. “I can see a service door.” He turned to her. “We’ll make entry there.”
She checked her watch. Just over twenty-five minutes to spare until detonation. Time to deliver the news. “Diaz won’t send patrol units, and Grigg’s SAU team is tied up on the west side. If the lieutenant called a fresh SAU team right away, it would still take at least thirty minutes for them to suit up and deploy. That doesn’t factor in travel time from the Tactical Support Bureau building to this location. They won’t make it before the clock runs out.”
He lowered the binoculars. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“I’ll make entry through the back,” she said, bracing herself. “Alone.”
“Bad tactics.” He shook his head. “We shouldn’t enter at different points with only two officers. It works with two teams in constant radio contact, but it can lead to a crossfire situation if I go in the front while you’re going in the b—”
“You’re not going in at all.”
Her words floated in the air between them like dust particles after the storm.
He moved closer, invading her personal space. “Pérdon. I must have heard you wrong.”
She recognized the move as an overt challenge to her authority and responded accordingly. Overriding the reflexive need to step back, she held her ground. “You’re on my turf, Rios. I’m in charge. You will remain on the perimeter observing the building. Call or text me if you see any movement. If you spot Salazar, keep him in sight. If there’s an explosion, stay outside and call Diaz.” She lifted her chin. “Or you can sit in the car. Your choice.”
Without waiting for a reply, she muted her phone and jammed it into a pouch on her ballistic vest. When she turned to start her approach toward the building, a firm hand landed heavily on her shoulder.
She spun out of his grasp to face him. “We don’t have time for this.” She tapped her watch. “We’ve wasted one whole minute arguing.”
He exuded anger. “I thought we were a team.”
“Exactly,” she said. “If we both go in together, no one can help us. But if I go down, you’ve got my back.” She had a strong urge to grab him by the vest and shake him. “Dammit, Rios, you’re supposed to be my backup, so back me up.”
He hooked his thumbs onto his belt loops and glanced at his shoes. After a long moment, the fight drained out of him. “Program my cell number for one-touch dialing.”
She did as he asked and matched his cool tone. “I’ll call if I need you.”
“The rear service door opens inward,” he said quietly. “You’ll have a blind spot behind it. Look between the door and the frame when you go in.” He held out the folding knife with the wicked-looking blade. “And take this.”
She bent down to stuff it into the top of her tactical boot. “If Daria’s information is correct, she’s in there by herself.” She held up both hands. “I know she might be lying. Or Salazar could have used her to lure me in. I’ll watch my six.” This time, she didn’t get a chance to turn away before he reached out to her.
He clasped her hands in his, a torrent of emotion flooding his dark features. “Please be careful,” he said to her in Spanish. “If anything happened to you …” He brought her knuckles to his lips, then released her.
What he had just done was about ninety-seven clicks past professional, but she let it slide. She would deal with the handsome federale, and whatever was happening between them, later. First, she had to come out of the building in one piece.
Using the shade from the red-brown boulders nearby,
she picked her way around the cholla and barrel cactus to dart behind a saguaro. She leaned out, checking for signs of movement, cameras, or counter surveillance.
She noted the barn-sized building’s lack of windows. Made sense if Daria routinely detonated explosives inside. To avoid attracting attention, Daria had probably installed soundproofing and blast-proofing as well. Filing these observations away, she raced forward and pressed her back against the rough exterior wall. When no one challenged her, she slipped around the corner to the back of the building.
She edged her way to the rear service door and considered the situation. Any structure containing explosive agents should include a secondary exit to evacuate people or fumes. Assuming the emergency exit would be unlocked, as it was in public buildings, she slowly twisted the metal doorknob. Relief rushed through her when it turned freely.
She inched the metal door open and peered through the opening. The interior lights seemed dim compared to the sun-washed desert outside. She placed a booted foot inside, paused, and scanned. She realized the door was designed to self-close, so she held it open with her shoulder. Looking to her right, she focused on the blind spot Rios had warned her about.
She’d been on enough tactical operations during her time in narcotics enforcement to have seen her share of nasty surprises lurking behind doors. Despite the best training, sometimes there was no good way to enter a room. Cops called them Fatal Funnels. Specific points where an officer was vulnerable to attack. Hallways, elevators, stairwells, alleys, and doorways topped the list. As part of an entry team, she would kick open the door, sending it crashing against the wall to clear the space behind it.
Working alone, she opted for stealth. A quiet entry gave her the advantage if she could get inside undetected. Aware of the danger posed by the door, she made her decision.
Drawing a deep breath, she eased her body over the threshold and entered the Fatal Funnel.
39
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