Agent Gates scoffed. “We’re in the middle of a major investigation here. Can’t you just give her your present and see her later?”
Veranda wasn’t surprised Gates felt this way. Family members of those in law enforcement had to accept missed gatherings and special occasions. The job never slept. But Gates wasn’t from a Latino family and her mother wasn’t Lorena. Veranda would never hear the end of it if she didn’t show. And, after everything her little sister had been through, she owed Gabby.
“It’s not an ordinary situation,” Veranda said. “It’s Gabriela’s quinceañera.” Aware everyone at the table would have read the file about the incident involving Gabby, Veranda wanted to be clear about the circumstances. “She paid a huge price for being my sister.” Guilt formed a knot in her throat. “She hasn’t left the house since Bartolo Villalobos kidnapped her. That was six weeks ago, and she still has nightmares.”
She stopped short, the knot constricting her speech. A vision of her sweet sister, gagged and chained in a cartel stronghold, swam before her eyes. That day, Veranda had experienced the most profound rage of her life, followed by a tidal wave of remorse. “I will be there for her.” She heard the edge in her voice as her final statement came out in a raspy whisper. “I have to.”
Sergeant Jackson, who’d been silent for much of the discussion, cleared his throat. “It’s okay, Detective. We all have our assignments and can manage without you for a few hours. We do have experience in investigations, you know.” His smile eased the tension in the room.
Relief poured through Veranda when no one raised any further objections. She forced herself to regain her footing. Leading task forces in the past, she’d learned to appear strong and capable at all times, regardless of her inner turmoil. “While I’m out tomorrow, everyone can finish writing the affidavits.”
“What about the operation itself?” Marci asked.
“Sergeant Grigg from SAU just sent me a text. We’ll meet tomorrow night for a dry run. He set it up with SWAT teams from other agencies.”
“When and where?” Agent Tanner snatched up his notepad.
“We’ll be at the Shoot House. Let’s meet at nineteen-thirty hours tomorrow evening at the front gate of the police academy. That gives me plenty of time to suit up after I leave my sister’s party. Plus, I want to practice at dusk because the lighting’s similar to conditions around dawn, which is when we’ll do the real operation. I’ll text everyone with the exact address and other details.”
“At least we get a practice run,” Agent Wallace said. “We can tweak the actual operation based on the debrief and after-action review.”
“What about Agents Lopez and Rios?” Jackson angled his head in their direction. “They can’t write affidavits in the US. What’s their assignment for tomorrow?”
She’d considered the problem and was about to suggest they shadow one of the other teams when Lopez spoke. “Agent Rios and I should go with Detective Cruz to the quinceañera.”
“What?” Diaz’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?”
“She may take time off, but the cartel won’t.” Lopez’s expression darkened. “Her family gathering could become a target. I wouldn’t put anything past El Lobo.”
Veranda felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t miss the event and let Gabby down, but neither could she lead the cartel to her family’s doorstep again.
Lopez’s warm brown eyes softened as he turned to her. “You enjoy the party.” He pointed back and forth at Rios and himself. “Let us watch for Salazar.”
“I can do that,” Diaz snapped. “I have full law enforcement powers in this city, and I’m already attending the party.”
Veranda’s mind reeled as the conversation careened in a new direction. “Wait. What?”
Diaz squared his shoulders as if bracing for a fight. “There’s a young man I’ve been mentoring through a program for at-risk youth. He’s in your sister’s quinceañera court.”
“What are you talking about?”
“One of your sister’s friends is dating him.” Diaz looked short on patience. “She got Gabriela to invite him. He asked me to come because he’s nervous about dancing. I’ve already spoken to your mother about it.” He waved a hand as if that settled the matter.
Thunderstruck, Veranda could barely manage a response. “You know my mother?”
“Everyone knows your mother.”
She should have seen this coming. Active in church, volunteering in the community, and donating extra food from her restaurant, Lorena had woven herself into the tapestry of South Phoenix. Revered for her generosity, she was a true matriarch.
Irked at the intersection of her professional and private lives, Veranda scowled at her boss. “When were you going to tell me about this?”
“I wasn’t.” Diaz shrugged. “It doesn’t concern you.”
“When my family is involved, it definitely concerns me. In fact, you’d—”
“Excuse me.” Lopez cut in, directing his comment at Diaz. “But your presence will not help. Salazar changes his appearance often. It’s one of the reasons no one has caught him for so many years. Agent Rios and I are the only ones who can spot him through a disguise. We need to go too.”
“Fine,” Veranda said, tired of the discussion. “I’ll pick you both up at the hotel at noon tomorrow.”
She led the group through the rest of the meeting, explaining the particulars of the controlled buy involving SSS scheduled for that night and how it would provide the final intel for that part of the operation.
As she spoke, the dark recesses of her mind repeatedly dredged up horrific pictures of Salazar, the man Agent Lopez had referred to as El Matador, making an unwanted appearance at her sister’s birthday party the next day.
15
Adolfo looked up when Nacho burst into the drop house living room.
“I’ve got her!” Nacho blurted.
For the second time, his computer expert had violated protocol by entering without knocking. Because of Nacho’s work on various hacking projects, Adolfo interacted with him often. Over time, the young man had become accustomed to direct communication, and Adolfo relaxed the usual code of conduct out of convenience. Perhaps too much. He was about to admonish Nacho when Salazar stood and crossed the room in one lithe movement. His well-practiced hand shot out, latched onto Nacho’s throat, and squeezed. The rest of Nacho’s words became an indistinct gurgle.
Salazar leaned in close to Nacho’s purpling face and whispered in Spanish, “You do not enter without permission.”
Adolfo knew Salazar was enforcing order, but he resented it. Adolfo would discipline his men when and how he saw fit. He recognized the subtle undermining. Salazar’s actions implied Adolfo needed assistance to control subordinates. Salazar, the interloper, exerted power effortlessly, like a matador wielded a sword. Adolfo watched the scene before him with a certain amount of detachment and realized he despised Salazar.
Finally, Nacho began to slump, the laptop slipping through his fingers to drop on the carpeted floor.
Adolfo got to his feet. “Enough. Nacho is useless to me if he’s unconscious.” When Salazar showed no sign of stopping, Adolfo raised his voice. “Or dead.”
Salazar released his grip and Nacho fell to his knees, coughing and clutching his throat. Adolfo waited for him to pick up his laptop and stand on shaky legs.
“S-sorry,” he mumbled, putting the computer on the table and opening it to face them. “Was excited.” He continued in a hoarse rasp. “Wanted to show you right away.” He pointed at the screen. “Look.”
A two-dimensional map of downtown Phoenix with a red dot on it filled the display area. Adolfo leaned closer. The stationary dot hovered at the intersection of 8th Avenue and Adams Street.
He glanced back to Nacho. “What’s this?”
Nacho appeared to regain a measure of his enthusiasm.
“I cloned Detective Cruz’s phone.” He managed a tenuous grin. “I’ve accessed the internal GPS and now we can track her movements in real time. Whenever her phone gets a call or a text, I can listen in or read them as they come through. I get the outgoing stuff too.” He pulled a smart phone out of his pants pocket. “This unit mirrors her phone.”
Adolfo took the device from Nacho’s outstretched hand. His computer tech could be cocky, sometimes bordering on disrespectful, but he was damned good at what he did. Adolfo smiled to himself. His trust in the young man had been rewarded, but he still had questions. “Can she tell we’re monitoring her?”
Nacho flicked a nervous glance at Salazar before returning his attention to Adolfo. “No, señor. There’s no way to tell it’s been cloned.”
Adolfo scrutinized the phone before handing it back to Nacho. “What about the rest of the task force?”
“I already have their numbers from the email Cruz sent out earlier. That’s all I need. Within the hour, I’ll have duplicate phones for the whole team and their supervisors. Once that’s done, they can’t take a shit without us smelling it.” His gaze dropped to the floor.
“What is it, Nacho?” Adolfo couldn’t hide the impatience in his voice. Nacho had obviously been traumatized by his near-death experience with Salazar, and his demeanor had changed dramatically, leaving him uncharacteristically cowed.
Head bent, Nacho murmured his response. “I’ll need help watching all the phones, more computers, and a place to set up a workstation so we can monitor communications around the clock. I’m sure Cruz and her team will be working at all hours, and we don’t want to miss anything.”
“How has Sofia been acting?” Adolfo asked. “Can you use her until we get more people for you?”
“She’s been very compliant since…since your last visit. I gave her a fifteen-minute break to change her sister’s bandages. Keeps her in line. Reminds her to obey me.”
Salazar’s obsidian eyes gleamed. “Good,” he said. “What have you learned from the detective’s phone so far?”
Nacho trembled as he answered. “Cruz sent out an email updating the ops plan we intercepted before. It’s got the final locations for the search warrants. Three are SSS and twelve are ours. There’s no date or time given, but the email says the affidavits will be completed tomorrow. There’s also something about a full-scale practice exercise tomorrow night.”
Adolfo’s pulse picked up. “Sounds like they plan to move fast.” He hadn’t anticipated this. Law enforcement agencies were usually methodical and careful in their planning. He would have to adapt to their condensed schedule. He sorted through various options in his mind. Through the mental chaos, a strategy took shape, and everything clicked into place. He could turn the situation to his advantage.
“Nacho.” Adolfo deliberately barked the word, causing the young man’s head to pop up as if he’d been slapped. “Send out a blast text to all of our men in the Phoenix area. Tell them to stop whatever they’re doing and report here immediately. I have a plan, and it’s going to be a long night.”
For the first time, Adolfo felt the full confidence of a man with a well-formed strategy who knew how to carry it out.
As Nacho left the room, Adolfo paused a moment to savor the prospect of his success. Veranda Cruz was totally compromised … and she had no clue. He considered the intelligence the GPS tracker provided, factored it into his plans, and a smile played across his lips.
He owned her now.
16
The blade whistled through the air in a silver blur. Veranda twisted away from the knife’s cutting edge as the tip thudded into the butcher’s block, almost slicing her arm. “Hey, watch it!” She stepped back.
Tío Felipe grinned. “Not a lot of room to work in here, mi’ja. If you get in the way … ” He shrugged, hoisting the enormous meat cleaver again.
After her meeting at the Fusion Center, Veranda had driven to the food truck in search of answers about Diaz. Instead, she found herself drafted into service as her aunt and uncles helped her mother prepare for the dinner rush. Juana and Juan were outside setting up card tables and umbrellas in the parking lot, while her mother oversaw Felipe and Rico inside the truck’s tiny galley.
Lorena slid a cutting board laden with vegetables in front of her. “Don’t just stand there, mi’ja, wash your hands and get to work.”
Veranda cleaned up and yanked a chopping knife from a magnetized bar bolted to the interior bulkhead. She grabbed a red bell pepper, lopped off the top, and blew out a sigh. She shouldn’t have tried to interrogate her mother during dinner rush the evening before a major family event. Lorena was recruiting everyone in sight to help with the party. Some of tonight’s food prep was also for tomorrow’s quinceañera.
Tío Rico handed her a spoon to scrape seeds from inside the pepper. He cast an appraising glance in her direction. “So, are you bringing him?”
“Who?” She laid down the knife and took the proffered utensil.
“El capitán.” Rico waggled his brows. “Your novio. He is coming to the party, yes?”
She thrust the scraping spoon into the pepper with so much force it burst through the bottom. “No and no.”
“What do you mean? I only asked you one question.”
“No, Cole Anderson is not my boyfriend.” She dragged out a clump of small white seeds. “And he’s out of town, so no, he won’t be coming.”
Tío Felipe stopped cutting strips of beef to join the conversation. “If he is not your novio, then why was he kissing you in the parking lot last week?” He brandished the cleaver. “Should I have a talk with him?”
Veranda gave herself a mental forehead slap. “No, Felipe.” Her family constantly interfered, especially in her love life. “You shouldn’t get used to him anyway.” She tried to sound casual, but she wanted to lay the groundwork in case things went badly when Cole returned. “I’m not sure where we stand right now.”
Her heart constricted when she recalled Cole’s parting words. He’d made it clear he thought anyone related to the Villalobos family was from a defective gene pool. What future did she have with a man who found her very existence repulsive? Whether she told him the truth or he discovered it on his own, he would spurn her in the end.
“Ay, dios mio.” Lorena gestured at her oldest daughter, no doubt reading the subtext. “This one will never give me grandchildren.”
Veranda had grown used to her mother’s endless complaints about her lack of romantic prospects. Over the years, she’d fended off more fixups than she cared to think about. Anxious to change the subject, Veranda steered the discussion to the reason she had come. “Why is Lieutenant Diaz coming to the party tomorrow?”
Lorena’s hazel eyes brightened. “Ah, now there is a man I like very much.” She nodded approvingly. “Richard Diaz would be good for you if the capitán doesn’t work out.”
Veranda felt her jaw go slack. The prospect was too hideous to contemplate, so she tried for more answers. “How do you even know my lieutenant?”
In the South Phoenix Latino community, many families attended the same churches and generally knew each other, but she had no idea her mother was personally acquainted with Diaz.
Rico slung a heavy pot down from its hook. “Because Lorena helped his mother through a very bad time.”
At Veranda’s questioning look, her mother sighed. “Although we have not been close for many years, Anita Diaz was once my dear friend. Out of respect for her, no one talks about it, so please do not repeat what I am about to tell you.”
Veranda’s pulse quickened at the prospect of secret information about her boss. “I won’t.”
Lorena’s expression grew distant. “Twenty-five years ago, Richard Diaz was only ten years old. His father was dead, so he looked up to his older brother, Manny, who was sixteen at the time.” Her words were suffused with sorrow. “We were all so poor
back then, everyone in the neighborhood. Families helped each other, but there wasn’t much anyone could do when Manny started to get in trouble.”
Veranda searched her mind for details and came up blank. She would have been in second grade at the time, but she didn’t remember the Diaz family at all. She waited while her mother gathered her thoughts.
“One night, the police caught Manny running with a gang.” Echoes of past grief lined her mother’s face. “For months, we all watched over him. Said prayers for him. Tried to talk sense to him. But he would not listen.” Lorena pressed a palm to her chest. “Then one day, Manny did not come home.”
Tío Rico moved to stand next to Lorena. “Someone from another gang shot Manny because he was on the wrong street.” He shook his head. “Anita couldn’t even have a funeral to bury her son, because the police were worried there would be more gang attacks at the service.”
That explained why she had no memory of the funeral. Such a tragedy would have been marked in the community. Her heart went out to Anita Diaz, a widow whose oldest son was senselessly murdered, leaving her to raise her younger boy in poverty, without even the support of her community at the memorial service to comfort her.
“How did Anita manage?” Veranda asked.
Rico lifted a plastic carton of water from the counter. “Anita was terrified Richard would follow his older brother’s path. People wanted to help her raise the boy, but Anita moved to a different neighborhood and kept everyone away. Our families grew apart, and that is why you didn’t meet Richard until you were both on the police department.”
“What happened to Richard after they moved?” It felt strange to use his first name.
Rico twisted off the carton’s lid and began to pour water in the pot he’d gotten down earlier. “Turns out he was good at baseball. When he got to high school, his coach took an interest and helped him get a scholarship to ASU.”
Her mother took up the story. “After he became a police officer, Richard and his old high school coach started a program to help boys from the neighborhood stay out of trouble. They teach them baseball, basketball, boxing, and soccer.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a slight smile. “He calls them the South Phoenix Boys.”
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