Feel The Heat

by Cindy Gerard

  Only their problems were just beginning.

  The office door swung open. The light flicked on.

  And Cesar Munoz walked into the room.

  The Ruger Blackhawk he held in his hand was pointed dead center at B.J.’s chest.

  27

  “This is how you repay my hospitality? By breaking into my office?”

  “Tío Cesar. I … I hardly know what to say. I beg your forgiveness.” Rafe shot a chastising glare at Brittany. “I just found her down here. I have no excuse for her behavior. I don’t know what she was thinking.”

  He had to sell Cesar a bill of goods and he had to sell it like his life depended on it.

  “I was worried about my poor Peanut,” Brittany cried, managing to make her lower lip quiver as she took her cue from Rafe. “I only wanted my cell phone. See?” She held it aloft, trying to look repentant. “My little baby … my Peanut has to be wondering where his mommy is. I just wanted to call my sister and check on him.”

  “Her dog,” Rafe explained with an embarrassed if indulgent eye roll. “Peanut is her poodle.”

  “I just miss him so much,” Brittany exclaimed, tearing up.

  “That’s no excuse for what you’ve done,” Rafe said between clenched teeth. “Again, my apologies, Tío Cesar. I will deal with her, I assure you.”

  He grabbed B.J. by the arm and made a move for the door.

  “Stay where you are,” Cesar ordered. “I think perhaps I should deal with her.”

  Rafe affected a wounded look. “Tío Cesar, I understand your anger but I assure you, I can discipline my own woman.”

  “Then perhaps I should simply deal with both of you.” Now was not the time to quit selling. “I don’t understand.”

  “What do you really want here? Who sent you?”

  This was going south fast. “No one sent me. And you know what I want. You know why I’m here.”

  “What I know is that you had many opportunities to return to the family before now. So I must ask myself, why now? Just as I must listen to my gut. I have learned much of treachery over the years. I have learned to question what seems too good to be true. You have been dead to me for fifteen years, Raphael. Now you will talk, or you will die again. You and your puta. I will gladly start with her.”

  Rafe moved in front of B.J.

  Cesar shrugged. “As you wish it then.” He cocked the trigger on the .44 Magnum revolver and took aim.

  The office door opened.

  Still holding the Ruger on Rafe, Cesar looked over his shoulder and saw his wife enter the office.

  “Put down the gun, Cesar.”

  It was Aliria as Rafe had never seen her before. Anger and resolve cast her face in stone. Only the tremor in her hands as she held an ancient cannon of a handgun in a two-handed grip gave away that she was also frightened.

  Cesar looked from Aliria, who now stood to his right, to the gun in her hands. He laughed, like he was looking at a joke. “This is no business of yours. Leave us.”

  “Put down the gun, Cesar,” she repeated, her voice clear and strong. “Or I assure you, I will shoot you.”

  Outrage darkened Cesar’s eyes. “You will do nothing. Just as you have always done nothing.”

  “You are right,” she said, stepping closer. “I stood by and watched you turn my brother into a criminal against his will, drawing him so deep into your dirty business that he could not get out.” A single tear slipped down her cheek. “I watched you turn my sons into criminals. My sweet baby boys are now corrupt beyond redemption. But I have reached my limit, Cesar. I will not allow you to kill the only thing left of my brother.”

  “You knew what I was when you agreed to marry me.”

  “I knew,” she conceded. “And may God forgive me for that. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t mourned all that decision took away from me. All that you took away from me.”

  She held the gun level with Cesar’s chest, but her hands were shaking so badly and her breathing was so erratic Rafe was afraid she would pass out.

  “You love the power and the prestige I give you.”

  “But I hate myself. My integrity is gone. My freedom, gone. My brother. My mother.” More tears fell but she squared her shoulders, looked him straight in the eye. “I know it was you who had them killed. My brother wanted to leave the cartel. He could no longer live with the guilt. So you had him executed.”

  Rafe felt his blood run cold. Cesar? Cesar had killed his father? Beside him, B.J. gasped.

  Cesar shook his head. Sneered. “Put down the gun, Aliria. I demand it. You know you aren’t going to shoot me. You’re as spineless now as you were when I married you.”

  “No, Cesar. You have mocked me for the last time. I am no longer your slave. And I am no longer willing to stand by while you destroy my own blood. When Rafe came back to me, I decided then. Enough is enough. And you will not take the last of my family from me.”

  She drew a steadying breath … and pulled the trigger.

  The explosion of sound hit the room like a bomb.

  But it was the picture of Cesar, a circle of crimson spreading over the middle of his chest, that paralyzed Rafe. It felt like he was watching in slow motion as Aliria reeled from the recoil. Smoke curled up out of the gun barrel. An astonished look of disbelief and awareness of his own mortality froze on Cesar’s face as he slowly crumpled to the floor.

  It was B.J. who finally had the presence of mind to spring into action. She dropped to her knees, pried the Ruger from Cesar’s hand, and checked for a pulse.

  She looked up at Rafe, shook her head.

  Cesar Munoz was dead.

  Rafe carefully approached his aunt. “Tía Aliria,” he said gently, knowing she needed his support but not quite capable of grounding himself.

  “Go now,” Aliria said, snapping out of her shock. “You must go now.”

  “We have to help you with this,” Rafe insisted. They couldn’t leave her here with Cesar’s body. It wouldn’t be long before the staff would come running. They couldn’t know that she’d killed him; she would be the next target of the cartel.

  “I dismissed the security guards. Only the household staff is here. And they are loyal to me. It will be a very long time before Cesar’s body will be discovered.”

  In that moment, Raphael knew she had been planning this day for a very long time. His heart broke for her, this gentle woman he remembered from his childhood. This sister of his father who had often worn bruises she’d tried to hide with makeup.

  “I am so sorry.” He carefully removed the gun from her unsteady hands.

  She turned misty eyes up to him. “Forgive me.”

  He drew her into his arms. Held her. “There is nothing to forgive.”

  “Only a lifetime,” she whispered against his cheek, and kissed him. “Now go.”

  “Rafe.” B.J. touched a hand to his arm. “She’s right. We have to leave.”

  He held his aunt a moment longer. “Be safe,” he whispered to the only family he had left in the world.

  “What do you mean, the Tompkins woman escaped?”

  Alex Brady closed his eyes and lowered his head as the senator’s anger ripped through the phone lines. “My men were outmanned and outgunned.”

  “In other words, you fucked up!”

  “Look.” Alex had had it. “I’ve lost a total of five men on this wild goose chase! All valuable assets, all difficult to replace. And the only thing fucked-up about the entire operation is that you were certain that Stephanie Tompkins’s protection detail would be pushovers. Rent-a-cop types, if I remember your assessment correctly. Instead they’re like some ninja warrior super squad. That’s your fault, not mine. And if you want me to continue the search, it’s going to cost you.”

  “It’s already costing me.”

  Alex grunted. Then he named a figure.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

  “No,” Alex said. “I’ve got a lot of overhead.”

  “I’m not paying t
hat price.”

  “Fine. Been nice doing business with you.”

  He hung up. Tossed the phone on the bed and started throwing his things in his duffel. He was done with this mess.

  The cell phone started ringing almost immediately. He ignored it. It was time to get out of town. At this point, the illustrious senator could offer him Fort Knox and he’d still walk away.

  Far away. In fact, Barcelona sounded like the perfect spot to count his losses and regroup. The cell phone was still ringing when he took one last look around the room.

  “Screw you, Senator,” he muttered with a great sense of satisfaction, then let himself out the door. It was only nine p.m. If he hurried, he could still book a night flight to Spain.

  Emilio Garcia could hear the party still going strong as he sat behind his desk in his office, sipping scotch and pondering Raphael Mendoza’s future. And yes, thinking about his puta of a fiancée. Raphael had dragged the lovely whore out of there over half an hour ago and Emilio was still hard, still hungry, and still thinking about the slut’s amazing body and lush mouth.

  Women. Sex. Power. All three came to him like breathing. Free. Easy. Constant.

  But now he had a decision to make. He clasped his hands together and tapped his index fingers against his chin. What to do? Mendoza wanted into the organization. Cesar seemed to approve. But something … something didn’t feel quite right.

  His phone rang, jarring him out of his pondering. He considered letting it ring and rejoining the party but then he saw the number on the caller ID.

  Frowning, he picked up.

  “Hola, Senator.”

  “We have a problem.”

  The keys to all six vehicles parked in Cesar Munoz’s garage hung in a row just inside the door like soldiers. Rafe had grabbed the keys to a black brute of a Hummer and they’d made tracks straight to Medellín and the airport. Beside him in the front seat, B.J. had called Nate and filled him in on what they’d found on Garcia’s computer. Then Nate had called Savage in Barranquilla so they could all mobilize and move on up the coast to Santa Marta.

  “Time?” B.J. asked when the charter flight that Rafe had paid through the nose for landed at the Santa Marta airport two hours later.

  “Almost eleven,” he said as they walked briskly toward the terminal across a tarmac lit by floodlights.

  Eleven o’clock. They were down to seven hours before the sub left port.

  “Over there,” he said when he spotted Savage, Gabe, and Doc waiting by the arrival gate.

  Gripping B.J.’s elbow, he steered her over to the guys, saw the look on Doc’s face when he got a look at B.J. in her skintight spandex and tube top, and had to bite back a warning.

  Doc let out a low whistle.

  “Do not say a word,” she warned under her breath.

  “I was just going to welcome you to Santa Marta.”

  She shot him a “yeah, right” look as they rushed out of the terminal and headed across the parking lot.

  “Okay. So maybe I was also going to mention that those duds beat any op gear I’ve ever seen.”

  “There,” she said with a tight smile. “You feel better now that you got it out of your system, don’t you?”

  Doc grinned. “Yes, ma’am. I do.”

  When Rafe shot him another glare warning him to back off, Gabe barked out a laugh. “So that’s the way—”

  “Zip it,” Rafe interrupted, wishing to hell these guys didn’t know him so well. Gabe had taken one look and he’d seen the way it was for him where B.J. was concerned. Nothing for it but to bear it.

  “What’s Nate’s ETA?” Rafe asked as they approached a tan cargo van. Since Cartagena was twice the distance from Santa Marta as Barranquilla, he already knew that Nate would arrive later.

  “They’ll be here within the hour. As soon as we set up an FOB, we’re to call him with the location and he’ll join us.”

  Savage settled in the shotgun seat while Doc got behind the wheel and Gabe, Rafe, and B.J. climbed into the second seat.

  “Nice toys,” Rafe said after twisting around and looking under the tarp that covered most of the cargo area. The back of the van was full of automatic weapons, handguns, and ammo.

  He had to grin when he spotted a Glock 19 and a box of hollow-points. Someone had been paying attention. B.J. would be a very happy girl.

  There were also several pairs of night-vision goggles. The NVGs would come in handy since the night sky was overcast. “This it?”

  Doc grinned over his shoulder. “What do you think?”

  What he thought was that Nate would have a few surprises—most likely in the form of explosives.

  “Let’s roll,” Rafe said.

  Forty-five minutes later they’d located and checked into a decrepit, seaport no-tell motel a quarter of a mile from the target facility. Doc was just returning to the single dingy room with bags full of food and bottled water when Nate, Reed, and Lang pulled up in an older-model SUV.

  It was five minutes to midnight.

  “You doing okay?” Rafe asked B.J. when he caught her merely nibbling at her food.

  She gave him a quick but not very reassuring nod. “I’m good.”

  She’s lying, he thought. She was not good.

  “We’re slipping outside for a sec,” Rafe said over his shoulder. Taking B.J. by the arm, he walked her to the door.

  The night air smelled of sea salt, fish, and diesel from the cargo ships lined along the wharfs. A pair of hookers trolled the corner across the street. A drunk sagged against a building, head down, an empty bottle at his feet.

  “What’s wrong?” Rafe asked as B.J. leaned back against the motel wall.

  “I told you, I’m fine. I’m just … regrouping is all. Getting my head together.”

  Okay. He got that. They’d been riding on the ser-rated edge of danger for days now. What he also got was that they’d both cheated death too many times to count on this op, and that was what was bothering him.

  “Look,” Rafe said, facing her. “Maybe you should sit this one out.”

  She looked up at him like he’d just suggested she cut off an arm. “What are you talking about? I’m not a quitter.”

  He rested his hands on her shoulders, squeezed gently, and said what he needed to say. “No. You’re no quitter. But you’re not a part of the team either.”

  Stunned silence. Then a knowing nod. “You mean the boys’ club? Well, sorry. I can’t do a damn thing about the fact that I can’t stand up to pee.”

  “B.J.” He shook his head, squeezed her upper arms. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  Great. He’d wanted to reason with her and all he’d done was piss her off. Hell, maybe he ought to just go with it. “I don’t want you on the op,” he said flat out.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She jerked out of his hold.

  He caught her. Hung on tight. “Damn it, B.J. It’s not that I don’t think you can hold up your end. You’ve more than proven that you’re capable.”

  “Then what is the problem?”

  All he could do was come out with it. “The problem is I can’t trust you not to go Rambo on me again. Wait,” he insisted, giving her a little shake when she tried to break away again. “It’s not just you and me this time. There are six other men—six of my brothers—counting on everyone to be a team player. You pull one of your solo stunts and someone could die.”

  She closed her eyes, looked away before meeting his gaze again. “You know what your problem is? You have control issues. Wait. I’m talking now,” she informed him when he would have interrupted. “I did what needed to be done at Cesar’s and at Emilio’s. I’m not stupid. I know how to minimize the risk, and I know when the risk is worth it. I would never take a chance that would jeopardize an op or the life of anyone involved in it. You’re just ticked because what I did was effective and because you didn’t get to micromanage every second of my time.”

  He stared at
her long and hard. “Okay, fine. I’m pissed,” he said, and then admitted, “because I’m scared to death of losing you. Damn it, B.J.,” he went on, more gently now. “If something happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  He drew her close, bent his head to kiss her. She jerked away like he’d hit her instead, stumbling before she caught herself.