Phoenix Burning

by Isabella Maldonado

  Concerned the terrified women might flee in a panic, get lost in the haze and succumb to the smoke, she rushed inside to guide them to safety. Before she could get a word out, one of the women pointed at her and screamed, “Villalobos!”

  A moment too late, Veranda realized how she must look. Dressed in black leather, covered in cuts and bruises, holding a gun, and sporting a cartel tattoo on her chest with a Villalobos family mark above it.

  Something heavy slammed the side of her head. She staggered and dropped to her knees. The Glock clattered to the floor, and a young woman in a pink tank top kicked it away.

  “No!” Veranda put her hands out to stave off a middle-aged woman in a blue dress wielding the base of a blender, swinging it by its cord as she approached.

  “I’m trying to rescue you,” Veranda blurted in Spanish. “The place is on fire. You all need to get out of here.” She pointed over her shoulder. “There’s a window in the computer room.” She stayed on her knees, open palms raised, attempting not to look threatening. “I broke the glass out.”

  A deep male voice rumbled from the doorway behind her. “For which I am very grateful.”

  Still reeling from the blow, she turned her head to see Salazar, his gun trained on her.

  “Stay right where you are.” Covering the distance between them in one long stride, he bent down, placed the barrel against her temple, and cocked the hammer.

  36

  Veranda thought back to her first felony arrest. She’d forced the suspect to kneel with his hands up for a reason. The position put him at a complete disadvantage. Now Salazar held the position of strength. Any move she made would be telegraphed long before she could mount a counterattack. Heart slamming against her ribs, she calculated the odds of twisting out of the way before he could pull the trigger. Piss poor.

  Salazar pushed the muzzle harder against her skull. “You can fight, puta, but you’re no match for me. You made your choice, and now you will—”

  A dull thunk reverberated through the room and the pressure from Salazar’s gun lifted. Veranda spun to the side and jumped to her feet in a fighting stance. Before she could stop her, the same young woman in the pink tank top kicked Salazar’s gun to a far corner.

  Salazar teetered, and the woman with the blender delivered another vicious blow to his head. He went down in slow motion, sprawling on the floor.

  The woman in the blue dress looked down at Salazar’s inert form. “That was for Mia,” she said. Tears glistened in her eyes as she glanced at Veranda. “An enemy of that pendejo, Salazar, is someone I will help.”

  Veranda’s synapses began firing again. “You must be Mia’s mother.” At the woman’s gasp, she added, “Don’t worry, she’s safe.”

  “What’s going on?” Mia’s mother said, frantic. “Who are you?”

  “I don’t have time to explain.” She performed a quick mental inventory of the room. A kitchenette occupied one corner. The women must have been pressed into service to feed the men … among their other duties.

  She addressed Mia’s mother, gesturing toward the terrified group of women huddled together as the crackling and popping from the encroaching fire increased. “Is this everyone?”

  “Yes. They took my other daughter, Sofia, away with them.” She stifled a sob.

  Veranda decided her new ally was the best person to help. “You need to lead everybody out. Now.”

  Mia’s mother hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. “Here.” She handed Veranda the blender base and motioned the others to follow as she darted from the room.

  Veranda held the appliance up by its cord. It had been effective, but she needed to find both guns. Salazar appeared unconscious, maybe even dead, but she couldn’t be sure and wanted firepower.

  She spotted the Glock on the floor in the opposite corner and took a step in that direction when a muscular arm swept her legs out from under her. She landed hard on her back, knocking the air out of her lungs. Salazar rolled on top of her, pinning her under his bulk. She swung the blender’s base at his face, but he parried the blow, knocking the appliance from her grasp. He grabbed her hand, his other palm encircling her throat.

  Aware she had only seconds before unconsciousness overtook her, Veranda scrabbled for the blender’s cable with her free hand. She grasped it between her fingers, looped the cord around his neck, and pulled it tight. Salazar released her, fingers digging at his neck as he rolled off her body. As soon as his weight lifted, she raised her legs, jammed her feet into his side for leverage, and yanked the cable even tighter.

  She leaned in to see Salazar’s face turn purple and his eyes bulge. He clawed desperately at the plastic-coated cord, now biting deep into the flesh of his thick neck. She grunted as every muscle in her body tensed with effort. He gurgled and thrashed, but she held firm. A few moments later, he slumped.

  She lessened her hold and panted with exhaustion, her thoughts warring as the room grew hotter.

  She could flee to safety and leave Salazar to burn.

  She could finish strangling him until he was dead.

  She could use the cord to tie his hands and drag him out by his feet. Even if she couldn’t lift him outside the broken window, rescuers would probably have enough time to extract him before the building was engulfed.

  Whatever choice she made, no one would know. His life was in her hands.

  She glanced down, noting the field dressing he’d made for his thigh to stanch the bleeding from the gunshot wound. His survival instincts were keen. He wanted to live. Despite that, he had entered a burning building to kill her. He would always want to kill her. But she could stop him, once and for all.

  She looked down at his inert form. Was she a wolf? Or a guard dog protecting the flock, as Sam had claimed? According to her police training, she should render aid once a suspect no longer posed a threat.

  Precious seconds passed. Tendrils of smoke curled through the doorway. She had to choose. Now.

  She unwrapped the power cord from his neck and rolled him onto his chest. As he started to come around, coughing and wheezing, she used it to bind his wrists behind his back.

  Cursing, she grabbed his ankles and dragged him into the short hallway. The heat beat at her. The ceiling above her creaked and popped, on the verge of collapse. She redoubled her efforts and pulled harder. Her strength waned. Moving Salazar cost her. Overheated air scorched her lungs. A thickening layer of smoke hovered overhead as time ran out.

  Salazar let out a groan as she lugged him through the doorway into the computer room. The wail of sirens competed with the roar of the fire now that she neared the broken window. Would the fire crew check the back of the building soon enough? Would the women tell them she was inside or, afraid of authorities due to their illegal status, had they simply fled?

  Veranda’s muscles burned and fatigue set in. She couldn’t lift him out of the window. The sound of grinding metal startled her. She looked up to see a support beam mounted in the ceiling bow ominously. She hunched over Salazar, covering his upper body as the ceiling gave way with an earsplitting crunch. Pieces of ceiling tile and building debris rained down on her back.

  Fully conscious now, Salazar blinked up at her through the dust. “Untie me so I can get out.”

  She assumed he would try to kill her if she freed him. Completely spent, she had no strength left to fight him off. She gave him a shove. “Get up and walk to the window.”

  He struggled to his feet, unbalanced with his hands bound behind his back and the heavy blender base dangling from its cord around his wrists.

  “Lean your chest and head through the window and I’ll push you the rest of the way out.”

  “I could break my neck landing with my arms behind my back.”

  “Or, I could just leave you inside and let you burn. Your choice.”

  He swore and staggered to the window, forcing hi
s head and torso through. He had to twist his upper body to get his broad shoulders through the opening. She bent down, wrapped her arms around his knees, and heaved with all her remaining strength. Salazar flopped out of the window and thudded to the ground.

  Another piece of the ceiling buckled and fell, knocking her flat on the floor. The room shimmered and blurred. Consciousness ebbed.

  As if from a great distance, her kickboxing instructor’s voice reached her from the gathering darkness. Get your ass up, Cruz!

  No one would get to her in time. She had to save herself. Physical reserves depleted, she called on her emotions to give her strength. For her, anger imparted power. And she knew exactly how to tap into her rage.

  She glanced down at her chest, where the Villalobos family tattoo tainted her flesh. In this moment, she finally understood what Sam had tried to tell her. She had claws and fangs and a predator’s instincts, but she was not part of the Villalobos pack. She had chosen to act as a protector, not as a predator. She had laid down her life to save the women—and even Salazar—as a true guardian would.

  She may not be able to control her heritage, but her choices made her one of the sentinels who watched over her city. She belonged to no one, and she would not let El Lobo claim her. How dare he mark her as one of his own?

  Fury now burning as hot as the fire around her, she forced her unsteady legs to stand, pitched forward, and clamped her hands on the window frame. With her last measure of strength, she hoisted her body through the window.

  Slamming onto the ground in a heap, she coughed and gasped. Eyes stinging from smoke, she staggered to her feet and looked all around.

  Salazar had fled.

  37

  Two hours later at police headquarters, Veranda hung back as Sam opened the greenroom door.

  “Give us another five minutes, dammit,” he said. “And she’s not going out there until someone brings her a raid jacket.” He shut the door in Sergeant Hearst’s face and turned to her. “They can’t wait to shove you in front of the cameras.”

  Still wearing Tiffany’s biker-slut outfit, she tugged the bustier up to be sure nothing spilled out. “Yeah, I totally need that jacket. What’s the rush with the news conference anyway?”

  Shortly after falling through the warehouse window, she’d been grabbed by firefighters, who’d slapped an oxygen mask on her face and hustled her out to a waiting ambulance. During her checkup from the paramedics, she’d been interrogated by the entire task force and SAU. Every attempt to locate and apprehend anyone from the cartel failed.

  Instead of being allowed to go home and clean up, Veranda and the team were ordered to headquarters after Chief Tobias informed them the mayor had called a news conference. Veranda had ridden Chuy’s motorcycle, complete with police motor squad escort. She hadn’t understood all the fuss at the time, and she wanted answers now.

  “What aren’t you telling me, Sam?”

  He lowered his voice. “The mayor is out there in front of a pack of reporters right now telling them what a hero you are. You’re about to be trotted out like a show pony.”

  “What? Please tell me you’re joking.” She swiped a hand across her nose in a vain attempt to clear the residue of smoke that continued to irritate her sinuses. “I thought I was headed for prison.”

  “Old news. Now, you’re the police officer who saved more than thirty women from certain death while you singlehandedly took on a notorious drug cartel.” His mustache twitched. “And it doesn’t hurt that you were almost killed in the process.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “You can’t be serious.”

  “The mayor stuck up for you after the multiple warrant service fiasco. He must’ve felt like a pair of cheeks when those photos came out making you look like you were in cahoots with the cartel because of blood ties.”

  She clenched her teeth at the mention of her public humiliation. She had vowed to keep the secret of her birth. Now she’d been exposed for all the world to see. But the world didn’t know the true extent of her shame. The real victim was her mother, who had never asked for this fight. First Lorena’s husband, then her eldest daughter, had dragged her into it. Veranda blinked and tried to catch up as Sam continued.

  “Of course, I’m sure the mayor supported you based on a recommendation from Chief Tobias, who was about to lose his job this morning.”

  She cast her eyes to the floor. Yet another person who had paid a heavy price because of her. “I forgot about the chief.”

  “Now they both want vindication. They’ll turn you from the goat into the hero and the mayor will be reelected while the chief stays in his comfy office on the fourth floor.” He frowned. “Everybody’s happy.”

  Cognizant of the edge in Sam’s voice, she glanced back up. “Then why do you look upset?”

  “Because you need to understand why you’re suddenly the PPD poster child.” He sighed. “It’s politics. Also, I don’t like it because they’re going to make you get in front of those microphones and make a speech. And El Lobo will see it. The target on your back will be bigger than ever.”

  “In case you forgot, I blew Carlos’s brains out and neutralized Adolfo, who’s now a fugitive with outstanding warrants and can’t operate freely in the US anymore. His house and all of his properties in Phoenix will be seized.” She lifted a shoulder. “Hector can’t want me any deader than he already did.”

  “But seeing you on camera. That’ll drive the point home like nothing else.”

  “Fuck him.”

  Sam gave a bark of laughter. “There’s the attitude that’s made you so popular with El Lobo.”

  “You mean my father.”

  All traces of amusement fled Sam’s rugged face. “The decisions you made at the warehouse prove where your heart is. Remember our conversation a few days ago when you felt bad about chasing Roberto Bernal instead of stopping to help Castillo?”

  “Yes,” Veranda said quietly. She lowered her head to study Tiffany’s ash-covered boots.

  “This morning at the warehouse, you could’ve chased after Adolfo. You called the fire department to rescue the women. No one would blame you for not running into a burning building before help arrived.” He frowned. “In fact, Diaz is still furious you put yourself in harm’s way instead of waiting for the firemen to show up.”

  “I had to do something.”

  “Exactly.” He grew animated, voice rising as he continued. “You watched it all go. Every scrap of evidence that could exonerate you, the cartel’s contraband, and the computer-hacking equipment. Worst of all, Adolfo himself.” He paused. “You let him walk in order to rescue the women. Hell, you even saved Salazar.”

  She owed him the truth. She met his intense gaze and said, “I almost didn’t.”

  “When it counted, you proved you were a guardian. You protected the flock.”

  “Yeah, well I didn’t mention during my after-action debriefing that I actually enjoyed choking out Salazar. When I thought of all the people he’s hurt and killed …” She hesitated a moment, deliberating whether to tell him the rest. “I seriously considered leaving him to burn.”

  Sam placed a hand on her shoulder. “But you didn’t do it. We all have dark thoughts at times. Our actions are what define us.” He dropped his arm. “And thank the good Lord for that, because if I was tried for every criminal thought that passed through my mind, I’d be a lifer.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “Say what you want, Sam, but I don’t feel respectable enough to be a guardian. I’m too much of a wolf. Sometimes I feel like two sides of me are at war.”

  He studied her, as if reflecting on her words. “If you’re a wolf, then you’re a breed apart from the rest of the Villalobos clan. I don’t care what your DNA report says.”

  A different breed of wolf. She turned the concept over in her mind.

  The door banged open and the entire
task force trooped into the greenroom. Diaz carried her raid jacket. His dark eyes lingered over her curves, accentuated by Tiffany’s getup, as he handed it to her.

  Marci gave her an appreciative look. “Just for the record, I freakin’ love that outfit. You totally rock the whole dominatrix Latina biker chick thing. Personally, I think you should wear it out there with your tattoo on full display.” She waved her hand indifferently. “Tell them all to kiss your ass if they can’t handle it. Never apologize for who you are, Veranda.” She looked around as if daring anyone to contradict her. “I sure as hell don’t.”

  She cracked a smile. “You’re awesome, Marci.”

  “I know, right?” Marci winked. “Smart. Sexy. Sassy. I’ve got it all going on.”

  A chuckle went around the room as Veranda snapped on the blue nylon windbreaker with the PPD logo embroidered on the upper left chest, directly over the tattoo. With HOMICIDE stenciled in bright yellow letters on the back, the jacket covered her from neck to mid-thigh, and she felt the police department cloaking her blemish.

  Agent Rios inclined his head at Veranda. “Agent Lopez and I will fly out tomorrow. We will search for Adolfo, Salazar, and Sofia Pacheco in Mexico. I do not believe they will kill the girl. According to her twin sister and her mother, they never injured Sofia because she is too valuable to them.”

  “What about Mia and her mother?” Diaz wanted to know.

  Lopez responded. “They are both anxious to return to their home in Mexico as soon as possible, as are all the other women. We delayed our flight back so we could personally escort them after they give statements. They understand they may be needed for a trial.”

  Sam snorted. “Doesn’t look like that’ll happen anytime soon. Every single suspect’s either dead or in the wind. We’ve got warrants out, but … ” He spread his hands in futility. “We wanted to get evidence against El Lobo’s daughter Daria as well, but apparently she never had anything to do with the human trafficking operation, so the women don’t know much about her.”