Phoenix Burning

by Isabella Maldonado

  He could see the moment comprehension dawned on his younger brother. Carlos dragged a hand through his hair. “Shit, Adolfo, that’s my entire stable. They make good money for me.”

  “They can be replaced a lot easier than our computer equipment, our weapons, and our product.”

  “But—”

  “Enough, Carlos. I’ve made up my mind.” Closing the subject, he turned to face Patron, who looked as if he’d been trying to blend into the wall behind him. “I have other business to dispense with.” He pointed the gun at the man’s head again.

  “Please,” Patron pleaded. His entire body shook.

  Adolfo hesitated. He despised meting out punishment. Especially when it involved a tremendous amount of blood and gore, as this execution undoubtedly would.

  A deep voice echoed off the steadily emptying warehouse walls. “Either pull the trigger or put him to work moving boxes.”

  He looked over his shoulder to see Salazar saunter toward him. He’d canceled the order to terminate Veranda Cruz and called Salazar back to the warehouse to help with the expedited evacuation.

  He lowered the gun and turned around completely to face Salazar. Stinging from the thinly veiled insult about his reluctance to kill in cold blood, he curled his lip as he responded. “Why don’t you put those oversized muscles to use and let me do the thinking?” He nodded at the line of men hefting boxes.

  Salazar bristled. “I’m not one of your coyotes and I’m not your servant, pendejo.”

  Adolfo’s temper quickened. Salazar’s very presence leeched authority away from him. He could not allow a subordinate to call him such a vulgar name in front of his men without retribution. Without further thought, he began to raise the pistol toward Salazar.

  In a split second, Salazar closed the distance between them. Seizing the top of the slide to hold it in place, he effectively prevented the gun from firing. Then, with a practiced motion, Salazar twisted the weapon.

  Adolfo’s fingers were trapped in the trigger guard. As metal pressed against nerve and bone, his wrist bent at an unnatural angle. “Damn you!” He rose up onto the balls of his feet as Salazar increased the pressure incrementally.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his men stop their work to watch the drama play out. Lightning whips of agony shot down his arm, holding him in place. The slightest movement brought him paroxysms of torment.

  Salazar inched closer to him, his voice dropping to a barely audible rasp. “Never. Threaten. Me.”

  Locked in an oddly intimate embrace, his brain circuitry overloaded with messages from pain receptors to the point he could scarcely think. He did understand, however, that Salazar had spoken quietly so no one else could hear.

  Eyes watering, he blinked at the chips of onyx that were Salazar’s eyes and saw naked aggression. “You can’t … talk to me … like that,” he said, gasping. “Not in front … of my men.”

  “I will take your orders if you show me the proper respect.” Salazar’s voice was still deadly soft. “But know this, Adolfo.” He gave the gun another fractional wrench and waited for the resulting stream of expletives to subside before he got so close their noses touched. “You are—what is it the Americans say?” Salazar switched to English. “A pussy.”

  He nearly passed out from the release of pain as blood rushed back into his hand when Salazar stepped back, pulling the gun from his nerveless fingers.

  Gaze never leaving Adolfo’s face, Salazar swung the pistol up and fired, point-blank, into Luis Patron’s forehead. Without deigning to look at the body, now lying crumpled in a bloody heap against the wall, Salazar rounded on the stunned onlookers. “Everyone, get back to work. I have another bullet for anyone who is lazy.” As the men hurried back to their tasks, he presented the gun, grip first, to Adolfo.

  When he handed over a loaded weapon after humiliating him and taking over the discipline of his men, Salazar had emasculated him beyond repair.

  Filled with impotent rage, Adolfo snatched his Desert Eagle and jammed it into the holster on his belt. Salazar could not have undermined him more thoroughly. His mind seethed with plots of revenge. First, he would wait for Salazar to kill Veranda Cruz, then he would find a way to feed him to Diablo.

  A slow smile crept across his features as he pictured his father’s ferocious black wolf enjoying an extra-large feast.

  33

  Veranda bent to peer directly into Mia’s widened eyes. “What do you mean you know what happened to me last night?”

  Shivering, Mia peeked at Diaz, then sidled closer to Veranda before she said, “Sofia heard them planning, and she told me everything. Señor Adolfo sent Salazar to your house last night. As soon as you opened the door, Salazar texted Nacho, and he called your cell phone using a blocked number. You were supposed to be distracted with the phone and the alarm when Salazar attacked you.”

  Veranda listened to the account in a detached way, as if taking a statement from a witness. She couldn’t remember any of what Mia described. Even so, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

  Salazar had been inside her home. With her.

  “He injected you with something,” Mia went on. “Then one of the cartel artists tattooed a wolf over your heart with a Villalobos family mark above it. They did it right there at your house.”

  Emotion clogged her throat. She had finally gotten some answers. Standing next to her, Diaz shuffled his feet, but she didn’t look his way. She wondered if he still believed she was a traitor, then remembered her next question. “Did Sofia tell you anything about sending an email to the media?”

  Mia bit her lip. “Sofia felt really bad about that. She said Nacho made her Photoshop a picture of you sitting at a table in the Villalobos family compound in Mexico. They took the picture with a drone they sent to your sister’s quinceañera. In one of the pictures, you were sitting at a table, so you were in the right position.”

  Veranda hazarded a glance at Diaz. What would her supervisor, so keen to confiscate her badge, think of Mia’s account? His dark eyes were riveted on hers, and she knew he had recalled the drone at the party.

  Now that she’d started, Mia seemed anxious to continue. “But Sofia tricked Nacho. She messed up on purpose. There’s a shadow on your body that doesn’t line up with the ones around you. It’s hard to tell, but it’s there if someone’s looking.”

  “What about the DNA results?” Even to her own ears, she sounded breathless.

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “I’m assuming those are genuine,” Diaz said. “They wouldn’t have given you the family tattoo otherwise. It’s a point of honor. Even if it’s part of a plan to set you up, only a true Villalobos would be allowed to wear that ink.”

  She considered his words. He was right. In that moment, she released the last vestiges of hope that the cartel had somehow faked the DNA results. “Why did they go to all the trouble to set me up? Why not just kill me?” She directed the questions at Mia.

  “I heard them talking before they dragged me out. They wanted to make it look like you’re a traitor. Señor Adolfo said everybody hates a spy.”

  Diaz stepped closer to Mia, his voice sharp enough to cut steel. “Why would he want everyone to think Detective Cruz was a spy?”

  Mia quailed under his intense stare.

  “For heaven’s sake, Lieutenant,” Veranda said, rubbing the girl’s shoulder. “Dial it down.”

  Diaz stepped back but didn’t ease the tension lining his features.

  Mia turned to Veranda and swallowed. “Señor Adolfo said his plan worked and that you weren’t a police officer anymore.” She peered up briefly before looking down again. “Nacho found an email with an attachment that said you had to stay home. Señor Adolfo laughed and said you’d probably go to jail, except that … except that … ”

  “What?” Diaz and Veranda said in unison.
r />   Mia twisted her fingers together. “Señor Adolfo sent Salazar to kill you. He’s looking for you right now.”

  “That’s it.” Diaz’s eyes left Mia’s startled face to settle on Veranda. “You’re going into lockdown.”

  “No way.” She went from shock to antagonism in a nanosecond. “You heard what Mia said. Adolfo will vacate while you and the Feds try to scrounge enough evidence to secure a search warrant.”

  “There’s more,” Mia mumbled. When they turned, she cleared her throat. “My mother and sister are still at the warehouse where they moved all of their stuff. So are about thirty other women. They’re captives. If Señor Adolfo has time, he’ll take them so far away I’ll never see them again.” Tears pooled in her doe-brown eyes. “He might even kill my mother and sister for what I’m doing now … talking to you. He punished me every time Sofia tried to send you a message or get them caught.” She appeared to gather her nerve and looked up at Diaz, then back at Veranda. “You have to leave right away to save them. If you wait, I’ll never see them again.”

  Diaz’s expression softened a fraction. Veranda needed no further invitation. “Lieutenant, the cartel had to empty all of their sites before the raids. Everything is consolidated in one location. Adolfo is there with all the evidence we need to send him away for life.” She lifted a shoulder. “Hell, we might even have enough to shut the cartel down for good. It sounds like they’ve stockpiled their computers, data, personnel, weapons, drugs, and prisoners. That has never happened in the years I’ve investigated the cartel.” She pleaded with Diaz, determined to make him understand. “We will never have an opportunity like this again. The very thing they did to save themselves is what we can use to take them down.”

  Mia turned beseeching eyes to Diaz. “Please don’t wait, Teniente Diaz. Please go now.”

  Her heart pounded as she waited for Diaz’s verdict. Mia had explained how the cartel had planted every incriminating item the media reported about her except the DNA results. She couldn’t escape the truth. She was Hector’s daughter. If Diaz trusted her, he would believe Mia’s story. If he had doubts, nothing would convince him of her innocence.

  Diaz tilted his head back and scrunched his eyes shut. After a long moment, he looked back down at them, resigned. “First, we need to safeguard Mia. I’ll call for some uniforms to watch her and get the hospital to conceal her identity.”

  She released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “That will take too long,” Mia said, wringing her hands. “I’ll find the security guard. I’ll be fine. Just go!”

  Veranda shook her head at Mia. “No, sweetie, we have to take care of you first, but I have an idea how we can make sure Adolfo doesn’t slip through our fingers again while we get everything in place.”

  Diaz regarded her with suspicion. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “After we make arrangements for Mia, I’ll go to the cartel’s warehouse and set up surveillance.” When Diaz frowned and opened his mouth, she held up a finger. “I’m only going to watch from a distance. I’ll make sure they can’t identify me. Trust me. If they bug out, I’ll follow from a discreet distance so I can see where they go. That should buy you time to get back to the Fusion Center and brief the task force.” She paused. It cost her a great deal to admit the next part. “No one will believe anything I have to say, so you have to convince the task force.”

  Diaz looked skeptical. “I could use a hospital phone to call Sam.”

  “You can’t,” Veranda said. “They’re monitoring Sam’s cell phone, and there aren’t any landlines at the Fusion Center. It’s only a temporary location, so the techs never set up any infrastructure.”

  “Then I’ll take you there with me. We’ll convince them together.”

  Veranda did a mental head slap, frustrated they were wasting time debating the issue. “Lieutenant, Adolfo’s probably packing up the warehouse as we speak.”

  “I don’t want you going after the cartel alone, Veranda.”

  When he spoke before, she detected anger. Now, a deep ache infused his words. She was certain he didn’t realize he’d used her first name, a rarity. She dropped her voice to a soothing tone. “I won’t be alone for long. You’ll bring backup.” She had made her case. Now she waited in silence and fine-tuned her strategy.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted on his feet. Finally, he blew out a noisy sigh. “How will you get there and how will you stay in touch with us?”

  Veranda barely managed to stifle a whoop. “I’m going to call someone who can give me a ride, a different cell phone, and a disguise. All in a matter of minutes.” The final pieces of the plan coalesced in her mind as she spoke. “Once you’re at the Center, get a new mobile and call me so I have your number. I’ll update you then.”

  “How am I supposed to call you? I don’t have your new cell number.”

  “Actually, you do.” She grinned. “I’ll explain the details before you leave.”

  Diaz shook his head. “I don’t like this. You don’t have a badge or a gun. And you’re still suspended from duty.”

  “I won’t take police action. Won’t interact with anyone. Strictly recon. No one will even know I’m there.” She decided to force the issue. “Lieutenant, it’s time you made up your mind.” She moved in close, tilting her head back to look him in the eye. “Are you a cop or a bureaucrat?”

  A heavy silence surrounded them. Had she crossed a line? Then, with slow deliberate movements, Diaz brought his hands to his waist and unbuckled his belt.

  Mia gasped and shrank back behind Veranda as he began to slide the belt through his pant loops.

  Veranda blanched. “Lieutenant?”

  “If you’re going to do this, you’d better have some sort of defense,” Diaz said. “Just in case.” He pulled the belt the rest of the way out, deftly catching his duty weapon in its pancake holster when it fell free. Looking as if it caused him acute physical pain, he held the gun, holster and belt out to her.

  She stared, transfixed. He’d just violated the most sacrosanct rule in the Regs book. An officer never gave up his weapon. If she fired it, Diaz would be held directly responsible for her actions. His career was on the line. This action, more than any words he could have spoken, demonstrated his trust in her.

  “Take it,” he said. “I’ll get your Glock at the Fusion Center. Haven’t had time to log it in at the Property Room yet.” He tilted his head, eyes traveling over her. “The belt is too big, but you can find a way to wrap it around yourself so it holds the gun tight against your body.”

  When she still hesitated, he frowned down at her. “Veranda,” he said softly, using her first name again. “I’ve only agreed to this insanity because I don’t have a better plan. You’ll need firepower if things go sideways, which tends to happen with those cartel bastards.” He inhaled deeply and blew out a long, slow breath. “I want you back in one piece.”

  Seeing Diaz in a new light, she lifted the gun and leather belt from his outstretched hands.

  34

  Veranda turned Chuy’s cell phone over in her palm. “Screen’s cracked.”

  Her cousin hooked a thumb into the waist of his motorcycle chaps. “I don’t remember how the saying goes about beggars and choosers, but I think you’re not supposed to be picky, mi’jita. The thing works. That’s what matters.”

  Ten minutes after Diaz left for the Fusion Center, Chuy and Tiffany had arrived at the hospital. She’d asked them to hurry, and they had obviously taken her seriously.

  Chuy’s bald head gleamed under the fluorescent lights of the ER waiting room, bringing the tattoos covering his scalp into sharp relief. “You said you wanted us here fast, but you didn’t say nothing about clothes.”

  With Veranda’s personal car out of commission, she had asked Chuy to bring Tiffany and ride to the hospital on two bikes with
an extra helmet. She hadn’t, however, thought to tell him to tone down his girlfriend’s usual attire.

  She had gone to the ladies’ room with Tiffany to exchange clothes. It took her five full minutes to wriggle into Tiffany’s skintight black leather pants and matching bustier. The corseted top bared her shoulders and put her cleavage on full display. When she added Tiffany’s thigh-high boots, the ensemble became full-on slut wear.

  Now that she stood next to Chuy in the waiting room, she felt the stares of other hospital patrons. Men gawked and women sneered. She turned to Tiffany. “I don’t know how you walk around like this. I look like Kinky South of the Border Barbie.”

  Tiffany motioned up and down her body, indicating Veranda’s conservative pantsuit. “What about me?” She wrinkled her nose. “My estrogen levels are dropping every minute I have your monkey suit on.”

  “It’s business attire.” Veranda shrugged. “Not my favorite look either. I’d rather be wearing tactical gear.”

  Tiffany pouted. “This getup could be sold as passive birth control.” She turned to Chuy and grimaced. “Don’t look at me, papi—I’m hideous.”

  Chuckling, Veranda shot a mocking glare at Tiffany. “At least you’re comfortable. This outfit, on the other hand”—she pointed at herself—“could lead to medical complications.”

  Concern flitted across Chuy’s face. “What are you talking about, mi’jita?”

  Veranda quirked a brow. “I may need surgery to repair damage from this camel toe.”

  Tiffany bent to examine the formfitting pants clinging to Veranda’s curves. “That’s how they’re supposed to fit.”

  Veranda stuck out her leg. “And thigh-high leather boots? Honestly, Tiff, how do you shift gears when you ride your bike?”

  Tiffany scoffed. “Those heels are less than four inches. Practically flats. I ride in them all the time.” She looked down at her feet, which were encased in Veranda’s slip-on loafers. “These clod-hoppers, however, look like the Buster Browns I wore as a kid.”