by Logan Fox
Kane flipped open his notepad, dragging hard on his cigarette as he held his pencil poised to write.
“Yeah, I know it. It’s just off the interstate, ain’t it?”
Kane scribbled into his notebook.
“I’ll go over there soon as they open and pick something out. Should I get something specific?”
What the hell were they talking about? Kane’s hand trembled as he waited for Duncan to speak again.
“Well, if it’s Day of the Dead, would a skull work? Anything? Gotcha.”
It had to be a code. A pretty fucking good one, too. Luckily this was all recorded. He could go back once this call had ended and try and decipher their conversation.
“I’ll see what they have.”
Another hard drag. Kane found a half-empty can and drained it.
“Six-thirty. Got it. You expecting trouble?”
Kane drew a dot, and spiraled outward in concentric circles as he waited for something significant to be said.
He’d replaced the listening device with a fresh one a few days ago. It was sound activated, so it didn’t spend the entire day recording. But he might have to replace the battery sometime today.
It sounded like Duncan had an errand to run, which meant Kane could look around the safe house if Duncan would not be there.
“ECV? Whose party?”
Duncan laughed.
“That chica’s only twenty? Fuck, what were they thinking when they made her capo?”
Kane’s pencil stopped.
“Got it, jefe. See you tonight.”
The shark-tooth wave forms on his laptop’s monitor flat-lined. Kane waited, hoping Duncan would mutter, but that never happened. A few household sounds loud enough to activate the listening device — the slam of a trash can lid, a thump like someone stamping their feet in their boots, the squeal of a window being closed — and then quiet.
Duncan was on the move.
Kane opened an internet browser window, and logged into the portal that allowed him to track Duncan’s car.
It was a pity Zachary West hired such idiots to work for him. Then again, good help was scarce when you were hiring criminals.
The man’s garage door had been closed, but not locked and, the same night Kane had gone to replace the listening device, he’d also planted a tracker on Duncan’s car.
The man had gone nowhere of interest — MacDonald's didn’t count — since then. But now he headed in a different direction.
Duncan stopped a few minutes later. Kane looked up the address in Google Maps, and zoomed in to street view, rotating until he was facing the building where Duncan had parked.
A costume shop.
Strange and stranger.
Kane pulled the tab free and made it a little smaller, opening a new tab to the side so he could monitor the man’s movements while he browsed one of his favorite online stores. Spies-r-us was the most infantile name they could have come up with, but fuck did they have some decent equipment on their digital shelves.
It didn’t take Kane long to find what he was looking for. As always, the gadget shop’s vast selection of equipment impressed him.
He went to check out, and fumbled in the pocket of the jacket hanging over the back of his chair until he found the hooker’s credit card.
Mindy…had that been her name? The card belonged to M Decker, so it possible.
A hooker using her real name.
What a shame.
She had been pretty, if thick as a two-by-four. And he’d been right — she’d been waiting for her pimp to collect his money. There’d been over three grand on her, and two credit cards. This one looked brand new, so he hoped there was credit on it.
Kane placed his order, and smiled when it went through without a hitch. Same day delivery cost extra, but it was worth the ten bucks.
He had a birthday party to attend tonight. He wasn’t planning on arriving empty-handed.
. . .
Kane tipped his can of energy drink against his lips and took a long sip. He couldn’t taste the vodka inside it anymore, just like he couldn’t taste his cigarette when he dragged at it.
Life had lost its flavor again.
After placing the online order earlier today, he’d decided against calling Fredericks. After all, he might have even more compelling evidence in the next few days.
He’d expected the lengthy email he’d sent to Agent Fredericks at the Albuquerque office to trigger a response. Even if it was just to tell him to hand over his case file and get back to being suspended.
But nothing.
Sonofabitch hadn’t even bothered to read his mail. And he’d know; didn’t matter if Fredericks declined to send a read receipt — Kane used sales software that embedded a tiny, invisible image into the email that could be tracked when it was downloaded, which happened as soon as someone opened the email.
No…Fredericks had to be off sick (not that he knew the man to ever have gone off sick) or dead. Because who the fuck could have resisted his subject line of:
I’m bringing down the ECV Cartel. You want in?
Maybe he’d been too arrogant.
Kane took a drag of his cigarette, and scraped away the edges of the cherry against the butts in his ashtray until only the embers burned bright.
It had been spectacular, setting that poppy field alight. He’d kept his drone in sight of the plumes of pale smoke until he’d almost risked it not returning to him before the battery failed.
No one had investigated.
Perhaps there were other fields, but he doubted it; the one he’d razed had been vast.
Why hadn’t Fredericks responded to his request yet? He’d have liked two SWAT teams with him tonight when he followed Duncan to the party. If Fredericks responded in the next hour, he could have ECV—
Someone knocked at the door.
Kane glanced up, took a long drag from his cigarette, and wedged it between thirty of its fallen brethren.
He ducked his head to look through the peep hole, and smiled.
“DHL—” the delivery man began as Kane opened the door.
“Thanks, bro,” Kane said as he grinned at the delivery man. “That was fast.”
“Yeah,” the man said, sounding disgruntled. “Until they decide a drone could do my job better.” He handed Kane an electronic signing pad, and then a large, flat envelope that bumped up in the middle.
Kane’s smile lasted only as long as the door stayed open. Then it flashed into a thin line as he took the envelope back the motel room’s crowded table. He swept aside a few bottles of energy drink with the side of his arm, clearing a space large enough to set the envelope down.
Then he lit a fresh cigarette, drained the rest of his can, and carefully opened the package.
Inside was a wrapped box. He drew it out, unwrapped it, and levered open the lid. A black charm bracelet glittered like the scales of an ebony snake. Beside it, wedged into a foam cushion, was a charm.
The box was large — almost too large. But when he lifted the cushion out, he saw it had to be to accommodate the USB charger and the separate 8 gig memory card that sold with the bracelet.
He took the charm out, and laid it on his palm. A grinning skull stared back at him, tiny ruby eyes glistening. He hooked the charm onto the bracelet, and let the black chain slither through his fingers.
That technology had advanced so much that a tracker and a sound-activated listening device with a battery life of twenty-four hours could be no larger than a penny…he fucking loved it.
The skull was a little macabre, but most fitting.
The death penalty was still legal in both New Mexico and Texas.
15
Maybe she is the one
When Finn opened Cora’s room door, he stood for a moment on the threshold before going inside. Cora stood in front of an ornate stand mirror, studying her reflection.
She looked stunning and, thankfully, anonymous. Every eye would be drawn to her but, hopefully, no one would
know who they were looking at.
A staff member had hurried past him while he’d stood guard outside the room, paints and brushes in her hands — she must have been the one who’d painted Cora’s face with such an intricate sugar skull pattern.
“Do you like it?” Cora asked, watching him in the mirror as he stepped inside.
“You’re still going to wear a mask, right?” he asked, before he could stop himself. The sugar skull did a good job of hiding her features…everything except her golden eyes.
“Does this count?” Cora asked as she reached up and drew a black veil over her face. It shielded her eyes and most of her face, and cast such a shadow over her features that the sugar skull looked uncomfortably realistic.
He came up behind her, encircling her narrow waist with his hands. Her red and black outfit comprised a corset and a layered skirt cut above her knees in the front and almost trailing on the ground behind her. Stockings painted with skeletal femurs, patellas, and tibias clung to her legs. A pair of black high heels lifted her an inch off the ground, but still didn’t allow her to reach his chin.
Finn drew the veil up, and toyed with her black curls. “I don’t think I’m letting you leave,” he said, but with a smile so she’d know it was a joke.
Her returning smile was faint, and her eyes darted over his expression as if searching for something.
Finn grabbed her shoulders, turning Cora to face him. “What’s wrong?”
She looked away, and nibbled her lip. “Nothing.”
“Cora…” His voice was low and dangerous. If she was having second thoughts—
“What if they think I’m just some girl, Finn?” Her eyes, wide with uneasiness, darted his. “What if they don’t take me seriously?”
“Of course they will,” Finn murmured, running his hands up the sides of her neck. “Javier’s corpse is proof enough they should start taking you seriously, if they don’t already.”
Her eyes flashed away from him again, and he gingerly touched her jaw, making sure not to smudge her elaborate face paint.
“Cora, I might not act like it, but I do believe in you. In what you are, what you will become.”
Her eyes grew wet, but she blinked furiously and those pre-emptive tears vanished again.
“Now it’s time you believed in yourself.”
“But what if I’ve made a mistake?” she whispered. “What if something goes wrong?”
He wanted to tell her it wouldn’t. That the party would be just that — a celebration of her twenty-one years on this planet.
Too many people. Too many faces.
And he agreed with his beast. Despite the guest list, although Lars had promised he would frisk everyone down…something felt wrong about tonight — like a blood moon casting its uncanny light on the world.
But this wasn’t some rare cosmic event.
This was Cora, and he’d promised to support her. To protect her. To obey her.
The only problem was, he had a feeling only one out of the three could ever be possible.
“We’ll be fine,” he said, drawing her close so he could plant a kiss beside the blood-red flower adorning her head.
16
Brave
“Is that it?” Finn asked warily, slowing the SUV as he indicated to turn.
“It’s got to be,” Cora said, rolling down her window so she could stick her head out and get a better look at the towering structure.
Ana had only been partly right — the abandoned Grand Redoak hotel was off the interstate, but they’d driven fifteen miles of poor road to get here.
No wonder they’d abandoned it; no one could have turned a profit with a hotel this isolated.
Dios mio, it was breathtaking.
The sun was already touching the horizon, but enough ambient light remained in the sky to cast the gothic architecture in stark relief. Gargoyles perched on the hotel’s four towers; one at each cardinal point. An ornate wrought-iron gate opened for their SUV when Finn hit the gravel drive. They coasted inside, a white-gloved man wearing an old-fashioned bellhop uniform directing them toward a parking lot.
There were already over twenty cars in the lot. Ana had come ahead of them to set up, insisting that Cora wasn’t to lift a finger preparing. She’d have loved to help, but she was also glad she wasn’t already worn out from setting up such a massive event.
She was about to meet a handful of some of the most influential drug dealers in the El Calacas Vivo cartel, after all.
In fact, she wasn’t even sure if they were part of the cartel. Somehow, the fact that she couldn’t just tell them to go to hell made her feel she might not be in a position to order them around.
At least she’d have her men with her.
Bailey sat in the passenger seat of their SUV. Both he and Finn were dressed in black Tom Ford slacks and pristine white, button up shirts. They were supposed to be wearing capes, but she doubted she’d be able to convince them to put them on.
But at least both had agreed to wear their tooled silver masks. All three her men had received the same mask—a growling beast in dazzling silver—and wore the same outfits.
Bailey came around the car to open her door for her, extending a hand so she could climb out of the SUV.
She hadn’t bothered with a purse—what the hell would she have put in it?—but her outfit came with a shawl glittering with tiny red and black stones. She draped it over her bare shoulders, and rested her hand on Bailey’s arm as he followed Finn toward the hotel.
“It’s huge,” Bailey said. “You sure Lars said they’d locked it down?”
Bailey was referring to the heated conversation Lars and Finn had had about three hours ago. Lars had come through with Ana—being the doorman, he had to be there for the early birds—and he’d been pissed off when he arrived. According to him, the ‘gigantic moldy mausoleum’ of a hotel was the most impractical, unsafe environment for La Sombra he could have dreamed up. He’d even said it would have been easier just handing her over to Jalisco or Sinaloa.
As if either cartel had even shown an interest in her.
Finn had talked him down, walking him through a security check. After which Lars had— grudgingly—agreed that perhaps Cora might just, just, make it out alive here by the end of the evening.
Cora came to a stop just in front of the short flight of stairs leading to the grand entrance.
The facade’s pale concrete, stained with rain and moss, had weathered over the years. About twenty rooms faced the front of the hotel, all with French paneled windows, most snag-toothed with the shards of glass that remained.
She felt that, if she stared up long enough, she’d see a ghostly shape move past one of those windows.
“I fucking love it,” she murmured, squeezing Bailey’s arm and glancing up at him.
He looked down at her, a fond smile on his mouth. “You’ve got more than a little dark in you,” he said.
The comment sounded so out of place, that Cora didn’t have an answer for him. He guided her up the stairs and the entry hall that lay beyond the thrown open double doors.
There was a metal detector and, behind that, a red rope barring entry to a gaping darkness curtained in faded red velvet drapes. Lars leaned against one wall, staring into the depths of the hotel.
He could have been posing for the Halloween edition of a men’s fashion magazine. His slacks hung perfectly, his shirt immaculately tailored to his tall, lithe form.
Lars tossed hair from his eyes, and in doing so must have spotted them. He straightened, throwing a dazzling smile at her as he came closer.
She didn’t deserve this.
Cora ground to a halt.
She didn’t deserve them.
Glancing up, she caught Bailey’s gray-eyed stare as she untangled herself from his arm. He frowned at her, that luscious mouth of his parting as if to ask her if something was wrong.
“Cora?”
She swung to face Finn.
Why would they follow her?
Worship her? Give her so much happiness, she felt she’d burst? Why, when she’d done nothing in return.
Finn’s stony face cracked with a frown, his intense stare drilling through her as she took one step back, then another.
She shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be here. As she turned to bolt outside, she caught the suggestion of a figure in that curtain-draped darkness beyond the metal detector.
Santa Muerte, wearing red and black. Veiled like a grieving widow.
Exactly how Cora was dressed.
She managed a breathless, “Just getting some air,” before she hurried outside.
The world smudged through brief tears, but she blinked them back hard. Two cars came into the hotel’s property—a white Bentley followed by a gold, fully-kitted Range Rover.
She was on her second gulp of cool pre-twilight air when a warm, firm hand grabbed her arm.
“What is it?” Finn demanded.
“I just…” Cora glanced up at him. She wanted to lie, but her tongue refused to form the words. Instead, she said, “I’m scared.”
She expected him to announce that she was going back to the villa. That this whole idea had been idiotic, and he’d been right all along.
But he cupped her face, and his face softened. “Were you scared, when you were walking up to the altar?”
She took a moment to puzzle out what the hell he was talking about. And then her chest went tight. She gave a curt nod, pressing her lips together so they wouldn’t tremble.
She hadn’t been able to feel her fingers or her toes. Her heart had been beating so fast that her entire body had felt as if it was shaking from the effort.
“But you did it anyway. You took your life into your own hands, and you did what you had to do.”
Finn grabbed both her arms, squeezing her hard as he dipped his head a little. “You did it once. You can do it again.”
Her back straightened. That queasy, acidic pool in her stomach bled away.
“I can do this,” she said quietly, and heard resolve in her voice.
Feet crunched behind her, and she hurriedly stepped out of the way as a couple approached, subtly trailed by three bodyguards.