by Karin Tabke
Thank you for downloading this Pocket Star Books eBook.
* * *
Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Pocket Star Books and Simon & Schuster.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com
To Lauren, again, thank you for your belief in me as a writer, your patience as I write and your unequaled editorial direction. But most of all, thank you for your friendship.
prologue
After two years of building his rep as the “Widow Maker,” an independent contractor who killed not only for governments but for the everyday working stiff when justice failed to deliver, undercover DEA agent Mathew Kane, known on the street as Mateo Juarez, had his next target in sight.
Javier “El Cuchillo” Bertram. Future son-in-law and heir apparent to the most dangerous cartel in the Americas: Dumas. What made Dumas so powerful was that el patrón, Alexander Maximillian Dumas, ran Reconquista, a consortium of five powerful cartels from South, Central and North America. Their combined resources had created an impenetrable wall of crime.
And Dumas had raised the stakes. Word on the street was that he was solely responsible for the production and distribution of the deadly designer drug O. It turned men into animals. First reports of its use started to trickle in from Colombia two and a half years ago. It took almost as long for it to work its way north. When it hit the US border last month in San Diego, Homeland Security coughed up money and the CIA gave the go-ahead to do what was necessary to locate then destroy the lab and the mastermind behind it.
From the onset of Operation Sworn, Mat had worked tirelessly to establish his MO as the deadly lone wolf assassin known for his up-close-and-personal killing. He’d gone deep, never more patient, more stealthy or more vested in a mission. Bringing down Dumas went beyond Mat’s job. It had become personal when he lost his brother to the whim of Dumas’s pit bull a year ago. Tom had been shot down in the streets of Mexico City like a dog by one of Bertram’s men. Still reeling with guilt-fueled despair over his stillborn son’s death, Tom’s death, compounded by the fact that Mat should have been there to back him up, had nearly done Mat in.
Almost. Instead his brother’s death only served to galvanize his determination to exterminate everything Dumas.
Mat narrowed his eyes at the retreating back of the man who had given Tom’s kill command. He swore on his son’s grave and that of his brother’s that he’d go down in flames if it meant destroying Alexander Dumas and everything he held dear.
And now, with Bertram’s men lurking in the shadows of the dark, dank Mexicali alley, if this went to shit, Mat was going to do the unthinkable: assassinate Bertram in front of his soldiers, and in so doing, pave his way right into the heart of Dumas.
“Ay, ese!” Mateo called to Bertram’s retreating back. “You running home to that caliente mamacita of yours?”
Planting his feet on the stone alleyway, Mat waited. Because now Bertram had no choice. The slur against the capo’s fiancée could not go unanswered. Especially since Mat was calling him out in front of his posse.
El Cuchillo slowed his step but did not stop.
Stubborn motherfucker.
Mateo pushed harder. “Want me to tell your hijos how I know your girl’s a natural blonde?” he taunted. He didn’t know for sure, but from the pictures he’d seen of the unassuming young woman, and his vast experience with natural and bottle blondes, he could guess. Sophia Dumas’s honey blond hair bespoke natural. But insinuating he had intimate knowledge of her pubic hair color was the final push.
A low growl rumbled through the heavy summer air. The alley was narrow and dark. The perfect place to pick a fight. The perfect place to stage a murder.
El Cuchillo stopped completely and on his heels he turned to face Mateo. “You crossed a line, pendejo,” he said.
Mateo flicked his wrist and his signature stiletto switchblade sprang from the leather wrist holster on his right hand. “What’re you going to do about it?”
“Cut you up into so many pieces even the roaches won’t be interested,” El Cuchillo threatened. He flicked his wrist just as Mateo had done, the glint of his blade catching a beam of moonlight. Then he crouched, and began to circle.
Bertram’s men stood back at their boss’s order, giving their leader room but staying close enough to jump in if requested. And it would only be by request. The one significant point of order that set the Reconquista apart from other cartels was their feudal honor system. They were as vicious, as cunning and as criminal as their counterparts, but they held on to the old ways of their European ancestors. It gave them an edge in the criminal world because there was never any question about their order of operation. If reconquistas gave their word, they kept it, whether it was to move two tons of O or wipe out your entire bloodline. Mateo was counting heavily on the primeval dogma to keep both he and Bertram alive tonight.
“Nah, Javi, I’m gonna slice you up so nice that when the wind blows across your neck you’re gonna whistle ‘Dixie.’” Mateo moved in, tossing the switchblade back and forth from hand to hand. “And when you’re staring up at heaven, begging God to let you in, I’m going to walk into Casa d’Oro and take that sweet little chica of yours by the hand and do to her what you weren’t allowed to do.”
“Punta!” El Cuchillo roared.
“Blood for blood, ese,” Mateo said. “Bring it.”
The big capo’s eyes narrowed as he circled. “Who are you?”
“The Widow Maker,” Mateo said, his voice so low Bertram literally leaned forward to hear his words. His soldiers behind him made low, surprised sounds.
“Who hired you?”
“This one’s personal.”
El Cuchillo crouched lower. Preparing himself for the inevitable fight to the death. “I don’t know you.”
“Last year in Mexico City you gave the kill order on Tomas Juarez. My brother.” Mateo moved slowly toward the big capo. “Now you die.”
Five hours later, Federal Building,
San Diego, California
Mat walked into Interrogation Room 3 and nodded to fellow agent Johnny Ray and the very much alive Javier Bertram. If it were up to Mat, the bastard would be dead for what he did to Tom. But he was a means to an end. And for now, he needed him alive.
Bertram reminded Mat of a retired heavyweight fighter who had taken too many blows to the face. He was big, mean as hell, ugly as sin and, despite his heir position, not the sharpest tool in the toolbox.
Mateo inclined his head toward the dead-to-the-world cartel capo. They had, as far as Bertram’s men were concerned, fought to the death in that alley—Mateo repeatedly stabbing their leader in the chest and neck. Or so it had appeared. If Mat had his way it would have been legit, not staged. He despised the fact that he sat so close to his brother’s murderer and not only couldn’t lay a finger on him but would have to negotiate the fucker’s freedom for information.
When he’d claimed victory over the still, bloody body of Bertram, Mateo stared the capo’s stunned men down, daring them to take a step toward him.
He’d grabbed the back of Bertram’s shirt and pulled the limp body up to show off his handiwork. “Tell your ese’s prometida that he won’t be coming home,” Mateo had called out to them. “Then tell her father hell is coming.” With that final threat, he dragged Bertram’s heavy body into the shadows, where his backup waited. In seconds they were in an unmarked black van heading west.
While Johnny uncuffed Bertram, Mat pulled out a chair on the other side of the table. Turning it around, he
straddled it, and putting his elbows on the tabletop he fisted his hands and set his chin on them. Bertram stared unblinking at him.
“The people who can make the deal you want are watching and listening on the other side of that glass,” Mat explained. He inclined his head toward the large double-glass window to his right. “Everything you say is being video- and tape-recorded.”
Bertram nodded.
“Tell me what you want,” Mateo said, “and I’ll let you know how much it’s going to cost you.”
Bertram sneered. He might want his freedom for selling the devil’s soul but he wasn’t going to give it up easy. Mateo got it; the man had his pride. He’d pretend to respect that so long as the capo made it so that he could.
“There’s someone I must protect,” Bertram said. “For that to happen, she must be removed from Terra Oro pronto. When I can verify that has been done, I’ll give you Dumas.”
“Make the deal,” Mateo’s SAC said in his earpiece.
• • •
The next morning, Mateo was still chained to his desk when the call came in: Target extracted.
When Mateo and Johnny reconvened in Interrogation Room 3, Mateo slid a cell phone across the table to Bertram, who had not left the room except to piss. “Tap the video icon.”
When Bertram did, the soft sound of a woman’s voice filtered through the room. Mat watched the hard lines of the notorious gangster’s face soften. Then his eyes reddened with moisture. He raised them to Mateo. “Gracias.”
Taking the phone, Mat nodded as Johnny slid a legal pad and a pen across the table to the capo.
“Write down every answer to every question we ask as well as speak it clearly for the recorder,” Johnny directed.
“The woman we extracted, her full name and relationship to Dumas,” Mateo began.
“Ana Elena Montes is Alexander Dumas’s niece and the mother of my unborn child.”
Mateo whistled. “Oh, Javi, you have been a bad boy. What do you think the old man will do to you when he finds out you’ve been sticking it to his niece while engaged to his daughter?”
The gangster met Mateo’s stare with defiant eyes. “I’m not going to find out.”
Bertram wrote down the names and information.
“How is the niece related?”
“Dumas’s youngest sister, Penelope’s, only daughter.”
“Tell me about the O,” Mateo said.
Bertram stared at Mateo for a long moment before he said, “It’s a designer drug being manufactured by Dumas in an undisclosed lab.”
“With the blessing of Reconquista?” Johnny asked.
“No.”
“What about your father, Victor. He’s a boss in his own right. What does he have to say about it?”
“He knows nothing of Dumas’s operation. None of the family heads know, but they suspect.”
“What are they doing about their suspicions?” Johnny asked.
Bertram laughed. “Nothing. Dumas’s arrogance knows no bounds. If the cartels are not with Dumas they will be against him. If they are against him they will die.”
Mateo shook his head. “The sexual assaults in San Diego County alone are up seven hundred percent since the O crossed the border—how can anyone be with him on this?”
Bertram raised his brows. “How can they not? The money is obscene and the power that comes with it is unparalleled.” Bertram shook his head. “It’s a terrible drug. I witnessed the trials of several dozen men and women. It sickened me.”
“Our labs broke it down to a hybrid of Ecstasy, Viagra and meth on steroids.”
Bertram nodded. “Turns men into rabid animals.”
“Where’s the lab?” Mateo asked.
“Underground.”
“Look,” Mateo said, standing up. “We’ve come this far, Bertram, so stop playing coy and tell me where exactly.”
“There’s a labyrinth of tunnels beneath the hacienda.”
“Where did you watch the trials?” Johnny asked.
“I was blindfolded and when they removed the blindfold, I was in a room with a two-way mirror, much like this one, where I could watch the trials without being seen or endangering myself.”
“So you watched the men take the pill, turn into sex-crazed maniacs, then hunt down a woman and violate her to death?”
“Yes.”
Mateo looked at Johnny and shook his head. The images that flashed through his head sickened him.
“The drug is so addictive Dumas can’t produce it fast enough,” Bertram added.
“Well, Javi, with your help we’re going to put a stop to it before it’s out of control,” Mateo said.
“I’ve given you information; I’ll give you nothing else.”
Mateo grinned and sat on the edge of the table. “Oh, there you are wrong, amigo. You’re going to get me a place at Dumas’s table.” He leaned forward. “Now, tell me about the boss’s daughter.”
Bertram’s angular face tightened. “She’s been indulged by her father all her life. Thinks she’s better than everyone. Serves her right being reined in like she’s been. Now she can’t make a move without el patrón being informed.”
Mateo nodded to Johnny, who pulled out several eight-by-ten color photos of an unassuming blonde from a thick folder they had brought in with them. Her thick, wavy hair hung straight down and covered most of her face. Her big brown eyes, hidden behind Clark Kent glasses, were bright and intelligent. “She looks to me like a woman who doesn’t want to be noticed.”
“She’s learned not to attract attention. It hasn’t ended well for those who would have liked a taste of the forbidden fruit.”
Mateo eyed the deposed heir. “Did you? Take a bite?”
“Even had I wanted to, which I didn’t, she wouldn’t let me get within ten feet of her.”
“How is that, when you were her fiancé?”
Bertram shrugged. “She may look unassuming but she’s smart and loyal to her father. That loyalty is the only reason she agreed to marry me. I have no doubt when she learns of my death, Sophia Dumas will throw a party to celebrate.”
“Why is that?” Mat asked.
Bertram gave him a look that said, Fuck you. “You know how Dumas operates. Don’t act like you don’t.”
“I know of his criminal activity, and now I know more about the O.” Mateo leaned in closer. “But I need to know a lot more if I’m going to infiltrate his organization. To do that effectively, I need to know what matters to him. And then I need to exploit it.”
Bertram scowled and sat back as if rethinking the repercussions of his role in Dumas’s demise. Mat saw the first crack. “Give me the information I want and you and your family will be given new lives.”
Unconvinced, Bertram shook his head. “He has eyes and ears everywhere.”
“We have more, amigo.”
Bertram exhaled but shook his head again.
“We’re the United States fucking government. A superpower. Dumas is a cartel. We shit on cockroaches like him and anyone associated with him.”
“If you are such a fucking superpower, why are you making a deal with me?” Bertram asked.
Mateo sneered. “Because to get him, I need to stoop to your level, and you’re going to pave the way for me do that.”
Bertram laughed mirthlessly. “Your government doesn’t play cutthroat. Its hands are tied because of its politically correct rules of engagement. Rules that tolerate no collateral damage.” He leaned forward. “Dumas is a terrorist who encourages collateral damage. Why do you think your brother was killed?”
“His cover was blown.” How that had happened, no one knew. Tom had been deeply embedded.
Bertram shook his head and sat back. “No, my friend, from the moment Tomas made contact with Dumas, he was made. He didn’t have the pelotas for what he was se
lling. El patrón ordered the kill because he wanted to send a message to your super fucking power government. That message was, ‘I have the balls, you don’t.’ ” Bertram paused for a moment before he said, “Don’t lie to yourself by thinking if you get past the hacienda front doors you can play by your rules. Dumas’s instincts for a mole are as sharp as a snake’s.”
Mateo tamped down the roiling rage over his brother’s needless death. That Tom’s assassination had been a mere “fuck you” to the administration made his death all the more heart-wrenching. The urge to lunge across the table and tear the heart out of the bastard sitting so smugly before him was so strong, Johnny picked up on it and moved closer to Mat in case he needed to be restrained. Angrily Mat shrugged him away. Because if what Bertram was saying was true, then Mat had to strut in with government-sized pelotas and take no prisoners. If anyone had the balls and the will to sling them around, it was Mat. He had nothing to lose, and because he didn’t, he’d do whatever it took, even breaking civilized law, to bring the greater threat to mankind to his knees.
Mat looked pointedly at Bertram. While the capo was happy to share the reasons why Mat would fail, he hadn’t given him the information he needed to succeed. “You have two minutes to tell me what I want to know. If you don’t give me the information, I’m going to escort you out of this building and send an audio of our meeting last night as well as this one to Dumas.”
Mateo watched resignation fill the capo’s dark eyes. Mateo looked at his watch, then back at Bertram. “One minute.”
“Sophia Dumas is Alexander’s only surviving child. He will do anything to make sure his bloodline is continued through her. Take her, you take everything from him.”
“What about the older sister, Fatima?”
Bertram’s face bunched up into a scowl, making him uglier. “When she refused me, her father . . . removed her from Terra Oro.”
“Is she dead?”
He nodded. “I believe so.”
Mateo whistled and sat back. “That’s cold shit right there.”