Phoenix Burning

by Isabella Maldonado

  Agent Lopez’s part in the story, however, was new to Veranda. How had he been involved and why had he searched for her mother? She sensed the growing confusion around the table and voiced the obvious question: “Could you explain?”

  As they all exchanged glances in stunned silence waiting for Lopez to collect his thoughts, Tiffany pulled a packet of tissues from her purse. She slid one out and handed it to Lorena. The noise of the party seemed to recede into the background. All of Veranda’s attention was directed at the man in front of her.

  As Lorena dabbed at her nose, Lopez answered in English, addressing everyone at their table. “More than thirty years ago, Ernesto Hidalgo was my boss. His promotion to supervisor left an opening on the squad, and I transferred in to fill the slot. Ernesto became my mentor. I was young and single and didn’t know my way around Mexico City. I looked up to Ernesto like an older brother. There were many times he knew I didn’t have much food, and he invited me home for dinner after work.” He gave her mother a fond smile. “I’m not surprised Lorena opened a restaurant. Even then, her cooking was so delicious it made me homesick for my Mamá.”

  Veranda hung on the older agent’s words, picturing him as a young man at the beginning of his career, living alone in one of the world’s biggest cities.

  Lopez frowned. “After a while, Ernesto changed. He hardly spoke to me anymore and he stayed late at the office almost every night. What happened next, I only learned after he died.” Lopez drew a deep breath before going on. “Ernesto figured out someone on our squad sold information to the cartels. Eventually he discovered the mole was Hector Villalobos, and he told his superiors he would get an arrest warrant for Hector the next day.”

  Veranda’s stomach clenched, knowing what came next.

  Lopez gazed into the distance, as if he sought a clue hidden in the past. “Someone must have let Hector know, because that night he killed Ernesto at his desk and burned the office down.” His voice dropped to a low rumble. “When I heard, I went to find Lorena, but her house was empty. The whole family, gone. I thought Hector had taken them away and killed them all, but I searched anyway. I had to know.”

  He took Lorena’s hand, a pleading expression etched into the lines of his face as he spoke to her. “Once I realized someone in the highest ranks of my agency had betrayed Ernesto, I knew I couldn’t use law enforcement resources to track you down. If you were still alive, Hector would have followed me straight to you.

  “Lorena.” He squeezed her hand, willing her to understand. “I had to stop searching, but I never forgot about you. Or about Ernesto. I vowed to bring Hector Villalobos to justice.” He released his grip and Lorena’s fingers slid through his. “Unfortunately, the fire destroyed the evidence Ernesto had gathered against Hector. I had to start over again to build a case against him.”

  A loud snap caught Veranda’s attention and she looked for the source of the noise. His face a mask of thunderous rage, Chuy held two broken halves of a plastic fork in his calloused hand. Dredging up painful memories from the past caused anguish for everyone. She realized Lopez had recounted not only her mother’s suffering, but also her aunts’ and uncles’, including Chuy’s father.

  “What did Hector do next?” Veranda asked, desperate for every scrap of information Lopez had.

  “He left the agency immediately. His days with a badge were over and he knew it.” Lopez dragged a hand through his thick, graying hair. “Instead of putting him in jail, I’ve spent over thirty years watching him grow richer and more powerful.”

  “How did he manage that?” Veranda was curious whether what she’d heard about Hector’s rise to power matched background from Mexican intelligence sources.

  Lopez’s lip curled. “First, the ruthless cabrón butchered his way to the top of the cartel he had sold information to. Next, he married a rival cartel leader’s daughter, killed his father-in-law, and took over. Then, he combined the two organizations to create the largest criminal enterprise in the world, and named it after himself—the Villalobos cartel.” His voice grew cold. “And he became known as El Lobo.”

  She’d studied the origins of the Villalobos cartel but never interviewed anyone with direct personal knowledge of the history as it unfolded. Lopez’s account filled in some blanks.

  “There are times I doubt I will ever bring him down,” Lopez said quietly. “Even though I am an old man, I haven’t retired because I want to see Hector in jail first. But I must face facts.” His shoulders drooped, a bleak expression on his careworn face. “That may not happen. So I train Agent Rios.” He clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “He will carry on if I cannot.”

  “Passing the baton to the next generation.” Veranda voiced the thought as it surfaced, unbidden, in her mind. “The same thing Hector’s doing with Adolfo. Like we talked about in the café at the Hyatt over lunch.”

  Rios nodded. “That’s right, Veranda. And it’s the same thing Detective Stark is doing with you.”

  She recognized the truth in his words. Sam had mentioned he couldn’t go into DROP until he felt the next generation was ready to take the reins. She had teased him about it, but now realized he meant her specifically. The changing of the guard was something they all had in common.

  Lopez leaned forward. “El Lobo and others like him have hurt the people of our beautiful country, and now they want to do the same to yours.” His eyes, tired a moment ago, gleamed with renewed energy. “It is no coincidence I am here. When I read the news reports about the Villalobos family’s actions in Phoenix, I used my seniority to come here and join the task force. I thought this would be my best chance to fight the cartel. For once, I wouldn’t have to worry about the Villalobos family interfering with the investigation using police informants or corrupt politicians. That’s why I’m here.” He turned to Lorena. “Gracias a dios que te encuentro. Who would believe I would find you after all this time?”

  Lorena dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Thank you, Esteban.” She had switched back to English as well.

  The older agent held her mother’s gaze. “Lorena, I have always wondered, what happened that night … when you ran to the US?”

  Every muscle in Veranda’s body tensed. Lopez couldn’t possibly know the pain his innocent question had caused. He had asked her mother about the worst night of her life. When she became a widow. When she was forced from her home. When Veranda was conceived.

  All eyes turned to her mother. Voice thick with emotion, Lorena finally responded. “After he murdered my husband, Hector came to my house. You may remember, my younger brothers and sisters lived with us. But it was late, and everyone was asleep.” Lorena spoke haltingly at first, clearly struggling to express herself without revealing too much. “Hector broke in and … and … threatened me. My brother Juan woke up from the noise. Hector was … hurting me, and Juan hit him on the head with a pot from the kitchen.” Lorena gripped the tissue with trembling fingers. “Then Hector was lying on the floor, not moving. We stole his car and drove north. Crossing the border was easier in those days. We got as far as Phoenix and settled here.” Her eyes drifted to Veranda. “I didn’t realize I was pregnant for another two months.”

  Lopez’s mouth fell open, his head whipping around to face Veranda. “But then … you are … Ernesto Hidalgo’s daughter!” He looked to Lorena, who nodded in confirmation. He turned back to Veranda. “Increíble!” He clasped both of her hands in his, a look of wonder lighting his features. “I am sorry your father died before you ever knew him. He was a great man.”

  “Yes, he was,” Lorena said, a watery smile on her lips. “And she followed his path when she joined the police department. We are all so proud of her, even though we worry about her every day.” Her mother glanced from Lopez to Veranda. “She also fights the Villalobos family. You two are much alike.”

  “I still cannot believe Ernesto had a daughter,” Lopez said, letting go of Veranda’s hands.
“Because of you, he lives on. And you continue his battle.” His expressive face held an almost reverent look. “I am honored to know you.”

  Humiliation burned through Veranda. She couldn’t bear the heartfelt emotion in Lopez’s eyes or the pure love in her mother’s. She was not Ernesto’s daughter, and had no right to their admiration. She was the offspring of the man they hated above all others. If they ever learned the truth…

  She stood, overwhelmed by the urge to escape.

  The mariachi band had switched to a boisterous rumba, and the floor soon filled with gyrating couples. Her thoughts in shambles, Veranda practically bolted from the table toward the pavilion.

  Agent Rios, who had also gotten to his feet, caught her arm. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” she shot back. Then, aware she’d spoken too harshly, she smiled up at him. “The conversation got too intense. I just need to think about something else for a while.”

  “Then may I have this dance?” he asked her in formal Spanish, his penetrating gaze darkening as he bent at the waist and extended his hand.

  Caught off guard, her head still swirling with emotions, she nodded. A broad grin dimpled his cheeks as he led her to the stone floor in front of the band. In perfect time with the music, he pulled her against him, then stepped back and spun her in a tight circle. Devoid of thought, she surrendered to the pulsating beat and joined in the sensual dance. His eyes locked with hers as they moved in rhythm, his hand occasionally touching her hip to enhance a spin or sharpen a turn. For a few moments, she let her cares melt away and lost herself in pure movement.

  Diaz appeared and seized her free hand, jerking her out of the dance-induced spell as he yanked her away from Rios. “You’re supposed to watch her back.” He scowled at the younger federale. “Not grab her ass.”

  Rios clenched his teeth and took a step toward Diaz, nostrils flaring.

  Veranda shook free of Diaz and stepped between the pair. She stretched her arms out, placing a palm against each man’s chest as they squared off. She wasn’t in the mood for Latino male bullshit. She didn’t care for machismo in general, and certainly refused to tolerate it at Gabby’s special party. Rios flirted shamelessly, but Diaz reacted as if he had a right to care. She could sense the undertow and didn’t want to get pulled down into the vortex.

  “Stop stamping and snorting.” She shot them each a withering glare. “This isn’t a bull ring. It’s my sister’s quinceañera. Show some respect.” She waited for their breathing to normalize before dropping her arms. “I’m going to give my sister her present now.” Still fuming over Rios and Diaz, she marched back to the table to find Chuy and Tiffany.

  Everyone else had left the table, but her cousin and his girlfriend had remained seated. She squatted down between their chairs. “Can I have the puppy to give to Gabby?”

  Tiffany pouted her highly glossed lips, then handed the black shoulder carrier over to Veranda. “We set up a little crate and a big box of toys for him in Gabby’s bedroom after she got ready for the party.” Tiffany giggled. “Gabby has no idea.”

  “I can’t thank you enough.” Veranda glanced at each of them in turn. “This present means the world to me. And to Gabby. I couldn’t have pulled it off without you.”

  She tucked the carrier close to her body and sought out Gabriela. Her sister wasn’t hard to find. Surrounded by friends in festive dresses, Gabby looked somewhat subdued. Veranda fought her way through the crowd to reach her.

  Veranda took Gabby’s small hand and looked at her lovely young face. “I’m so happy for you, hermanita. I want to give you your birthday present now.”

  “You don’t have to give me anything, Veranda. You were there when I needed you most, when I had lost all hope. You saved my life.”

  The words sank like lead weights in Veranda’s stomach. Only after I endangered it. She pushed the thought away and forced a smile to her lips. “This is no ordinary present. It’s very special. I’m giving you a fierce protector and a friend who needs you. You two can take care of each other.”

  Gabby furrowed her brows, blinking her confusion.

  Veranda reached inside the carrier and lifted the tiny puppy out. Enormous brown eyes looked around inquisitively. A black leather collar with silver studs contrasted with the angelic little face. With a measure of relief, Veranda noted Chuy hadn’t opted for spikes on the collar.

  “Awwww,” Gabby cooed. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Can I hold him?”

  “Of course, honey. He’s yours.”

  “Mine?” Her sister swept the quivering little dog up and held him to her cheek.

  “You’ve been begging for a puppy for years. Mamá finally agreed.”

  “Why did you say he’s a fierce protector? He’s so tiny.” Gabby laughed. “And he’s shaking.”

  Veranda did her best to look serious. “Don’t let his appearance fool you. They may be small, but Chihuahuas are feisty. Size isn’t everything. They’re proud guardians of their pack.”

  “But if he ever got into a fight, he’d be—”

  Veranda interrupted before her sister could complete the thought. “—barking his head off before the fight even started. No one will get near you without you knowing about it.” Like Bartolo did. “This guy is your personal alarm system.”

  Gabby beamed. “He’s perfect, Veranda.” She gave him a kiss on top of his round head. The dog’s tail wagged frantically. “Thank you.”

  Veranda knew Gabby had understood her message. Fear was insidious. It robbed you of joy, peace, and the strength to face your enemy. Chihuahuas may not win in a fair fight, but they would not cower or back down, no matter the size of the opponent.

  Veranda’s cell phone vibrated in her purse. She slipped it out and tapped the screen. When Sam’s name appeared on the caller ID, she walked toward her mother’s house for privacy as she answered the call.

  “What is it, Sam?”

  His deep baritone sounded harsh. “Commander Webster ordered everyone on the task force to report to the Fusion Center immediately. Pass it on to Lieutenant Diaz and the federales. You guys need to change into your gear before you get over here.”

  Alarm spiked her pulse. “What happened?”

  Sam didn’t mince words. “This whole operation just became a clusterfuck.”

  20

  Barreling down Adams Street, Veranda wove the Tahoe through traffic toward the Fusion Center. Agent Lopez clutched the door handle as she swerved to avoid a petite redheaded reporter in sky-high heels perched in the street next to a satellite truck. Veranda suppressed a groan, recognizing Kiki Lowell, who watched as a white concave dish the size of a manhole cover locked into position on the vehicle’s roof.

  Veranda spotted Sam, huddled with Commander Webster and someone in uniform, several paces away from the media. She careened into the Fusion Center parking lot, skidded to a stop, swung down from the Tahoe without waiting for her passengers, and stalked over to Sam and Webster. “What’s going on? Why aren’t we at the Shoot House?”

  Webster jerked a thumb in Kiki Lowell’s direction. “Someone told that freakin’ reporter we’re doing a dry run for a series of raids.” He paced in a tight circle, gritting his teeth. “I called Hearst out to broker a deal and ordered SAU to meet us here.”

  When Webster moved, she recognized the uniformed officer as Sergeant Hearst from Public Affairs. Tall and distinguished in his neatly pressed blues, he could be seen regularly on local news channels as the handsome face of the PPD. With his straight white teeth and the perfect amount of silver at the temples of his jet-black hair, he looked camera-ready at all times. He tipped his head to her, pivoted, and strode toward the news van.

  The Tahoe’s doors slammed shut. Moments later, Lopez and Rios arrived at her side. She turned to the screech of tires as Diaz parked his Chrysler and trotted over to join the group.

 
She spared them a glance before she reconsidered the problem at hand, directing her question at her commander. “How is that possible?” She refused to believe anyone on the force would provide confidential information to the media. Especially when it could compromise a tactical operation. She knew leaks happened, but the idea of such disloyalty when police lives were on the line infuriated her.

  “No clue,” Webster said. “Ms. Lowell doesn’t have a lot of details. Of course, she won’t say how she found out, just said she got a tip that we were meeting here for advance prep.”

  Veranda clenched her jaw so hard her molars ached. A principled reporter would go to jail rather than reveal a source, but some cops ran their mouths without thinking—one of the things she learned while working undercover. “You think someone on our team looped her in?”

  Webster scratched the back of his ear. “Can’t rule it out, but I doubt it.”

  The Public Affairs sergeant broke away from the media crew and reentered the law enforcement huddle.

  His face expressionless, she couldn’t get a read on Hearst. “What are we supposed to do now?” she asked him. “If Kiki Lowell goes on the air tonight with this dress rehearsal story, both target organizations will bug out, and we’ll get nada when we go in.”

  Hearst smoothed the front of his uniform shirt. “I cut her a deal. I can’t legally prevent her from reporting what she’s heard, or from shooting footage of the SWAT teams gearing up and heading out—as long as she’s in a public place when she records the footage.” He addressed the commander. “I did the only thing left, sir. I got her to sit on the story.”