by Fox, Logan
He shook out his unruly brown hair before smoothing it back again. He’d shaved this morning, put on his work suit. Being a DEA agent meant looking the part. No one respected something with stubble and uncombed hair. And he’d need every inch of the agency’s authority behind him this morning. He was breaking the law by working a case when he’d been suspended; something the cop inside of him fought against. But the man inside him, the one that new Plata o Plama to be the parasitic scourge that it was…that man refused to stand down.
The Marfa hotel had a chubby girl with a tired smile working front. As soon as she got a good look at Kane though, she slid off her stool to welcome him. Even her smile got brighter the closer he came. A smile that cracked when he slid his badge and a sketch onto the desk.
“Officer Price with the DEA. Need to ask you some questions.”
The girl’s dull green eyes darted down to the badge, then back up to him. “Let me call the manager,” she said, reaching for the nearby phone.
Kane touched his fingertips to it before she could lift the receiver. “How long have you been working here?”
Her eyes became fidgety. “A few months.”
“Have you seen this man?” He tapped the drawing.
Being suspended, he couldn’t exactly rely on the department’s sketch artist to render a drawing for him. Sketching came naturally to him, though; he’d whiled away countless hours as a kid, filling sketch book after sketch book with his portraits.
She shrugged after barely having glanced at the sketch. “I only work mornings. I should really call—”
“Look again. Take your time.”
The girl frowned hard at him, and turned those same confused eyes to the drawing. “I…I can’t really—”
“Might have booked under the name King. Ring a bell?”
“King?” She scrunched up her face, giving the drawing another quizzical stare before shrugging. “I guess I can check.” Now her eyes almost seemed reluctant to leave the drawing. It was obvious she’d seen the man, but why was she so guarded in admitting it.
She wrinkled her nose as if she’d smelled something rotten, gave him a quick look, and sank onto the stool in front of the computer. A few clicks later, she gave him another wary look. “There was a King who booked in a few weeks ago.”
“Use this credit card number?” Kane asked, opening his notebook.
The girl sat back with a short sigh. “Look, mister, I really shouldn’t be—”
He tapped the badge. “I don’t want to waste any more of your time. Just check the credit card number.”
She squinted at the notepad. “I can’t—is that a seven?”
He snatched it away from her, pointed at the computer screen, and began to read. “3664.”
Her eyes went wide, and she turned stiffly to the computer, giving her head a slow nod.
“5820.”
She nodded until he’d read the whole number. “That’s the one,” she said.
“Which room?”
“305.”
“I’ll need to take a look.”
“It was three weeks—” she protested.
“Look—” he ducked his head, and touched a finger to her name tag where it had been pinned just above her small breast. “Charlie. I don’t want to have to haul you in for questioning.”
“Me?” she squeaked, eyes going wider. “But I didn’t—”
And then she was reaching for the phone again.
He lifted his badge, slamming it down again. “I have every reason to believe that this hotel housed a member of a drug cartel, Charlie. And if you were working that day, you spoke with them. That’s probable cause, right there, Charlie. I could drag you down to holding and start asking you some serious questions. But I’ll go easy on you if you let me see the room. You with me, Charlie? Is it a deal?”
Charlie had gone white. And, apparently, mute.
“Charlie?”
“It’s…it’s been cleaned…” she murmured, but slid off the stool and grabbed down the keys for the room anyway.
She stood stiff and silent inside the elevator, so close to the doors that they’d barely opened before she squeezed her way out. She power walked over to the room at the end of the hall, and hurriedly unlocked it. Then she stood wide so he could pass her into the room.
Charlie spun around and headed for the stairs.
“Charlie?”
She froze, hands curling into fists, but didn’t turn.
“I’d prefer it if you stayed. I wouldn’t want you tipping off the cartel the moment you get to the phone, now would I?”
Then she did turn, face an open-mouthed tableau of shock. “You think I work for them?” she whispered in utter disbelief. “Sir, I have nothing to do with—”
He lifted a hand, and she cut off. Then he beckoned her inside with a finger. He reached past her and pulled the door closed. She jerked at the sound, and almost looked about to start crying.
“You stay where I can see you,” he murmured. “I won’t be a minute.”
It took him ten, but Charlie seemed perfectly happy to stand quivering in front of the closed door. The hotel room was clean; nothing in the trash, nothing in the drawers, nothing in the closets. He went to the living room’s window and glanced out through the blinds.
A feeling came over him them. Almost as if someone was standing right beside him.
Charlie was still by the door, of course…but he knew it wasn’t her he was sensing.
The man in the sketch. He must have stood here. Must have looked out of this very window.
What had he seen?
It was drizzling. Rain smeared the outside world into a drab, surrealist painting.
The artist had attempted to render an empty intersection, but the traffic lights melted into blobs of green and orange. A restaurant sign, picked out in red neon, glowed too bright in the premature twilight. Impossible to make out the name, but the green and reds made him think it was Italian. Possibly a pizzeria.
Pizza. Close enough to order in, but a man like the man in the sketch liked to walk. Maybe he’d get a better lead from the restaurant.
When he turned to the door, Charlie jumped. He came toward her, and she hurriedly licked her lips.
“Is that all, sir?” she murmured, already feeling behind her for the door handle.
“Yes, thank you, Charlie,” he said. “That’ll be all.”
Charlie gave him a grimace that was probably supposed to be a smile, and whipped open the door so fast that she caught herself on the shoulder. She hurried down the hallway, repeatedly jabbing at the elevator button until the doors opened.
Once inside, she spun around to face him.
He hadn’t moved. It was obvious Charlie had something to hide, but he wasn’t interested in whatever degenerate activities she was involved in.
The cartel was his only priority. He wouldn’t stop until he’d taken down Plata o Plomo.
Maybe, once he was done eradicating that cartel, he’d come back and ask Charlie some of those serious questions he’d threatened her with earlier.
The elevator door closed, but not before he saw the girl’s shoulders slump with relief.
Amazing—yesterday, Brenna had let him fuck her on a porch. Today, just because he wasn’t hiding the fact that he was a DEA, his presence terrified.
No one in this damned country respected the law anymore. Not a fucking sole.
46
Five days, chica
She was as powerless to stop Bailey from leaving her room as she had been with Lars. The urge to crawl into a ball and cry was intense, but anger snuffed out that self-pity a few seconds later.
How dare they make her out to be some kind of slut? She hadn’t chosen this. This had all just happened. She couldn’t help her feelings. Was she supposed to ignore them? To lie to everyone? What good would that do?
She’d spent so many years of her life pretending to be the daughter of a wealthy businessman, when in fact she was the heir of a
drug cartel.
The time for masquerading as anything less than who she truly was…it was over.
Resolve filling her to the brim, Cora made for the door.
But it opened before she’d reached it.
Neo stepped inside, and from the angry set of his jaw, she already knew why he’d come.
“Neo, before you—”
But he was in front of her a second later, grabbing for her.
She knocked his hand away with her arm, twisted with the flow of her momentum, and drove her knee into his groin. He groaned as he folded up and fell onto the floor.
“You bitch!” he spat, digging his hand into the carpet as if he wanted to drag himself closer to her.
“Stay down, or I’ll kick out the other one,” she said. She pulled Lars’s pistol from her belt and aimed it at Neo. “I mean it.”
“Fuck!” he pulled his legs into a fetal position, and stared daggers at her from the floor. “My men are right outside,” he said. “So you’d better put that gun—”
She pulled back the hammer. “You’ll be dead before they get here.”
Neo’s eyes glittered with rage, but he seemed to reach the same conclusion as her. He sat up, moving arctic-slow, with his mouth twisted in pain. “You too busy brushing your goddamn hair?”
She blinked at him, the muzzle of Lars’s pistol dipping for a second before she forced her arm straight again. “What are you on about?”
Neo held up his fingers. “Five days, chica. We’ve got less than a week to figure out how the hell we’re getting out of this.”
Her arm dropped to her side. “We?” she asked bitterly, sliding her gun behind her back.
“I’m the groom, remember?” Neo got to his feet, but still bent over, and cupped his groin as he shuffled over to the settee. He sat with a hiss, and turned a white face to her. “And?”
“And what?” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.
Neo grimaced at her. “You don’t have a clue, do you?”
She shifted her weight, but didn’t say anything.
“You’re just as useless as my mother.” Neo shook his head, lips parting in a sardonic smile. “She goes on and on about how she’s got my dad wrapped around her finger.” He gave her a hard stare. “But she can’t even get him to cancel the wedding.”
“And what about you?” Cora asked, stepping closer. “What are you doing to get us out of this?”
“Me?” Neo touched his fingertips to his chest, for an instant a perfect replica of his father. “There wasn’t even mention of anything like this until you came along.” He laughed, winced as he got to his feet, and wagged a finger at her. “Oh no. This isn’t my fuck up to fix. You’re the reason there’s a wedding in the first place.” He poked her shoulder. “You fix it.”
She wanted to tell him to fuck off, but right then, the insinuation that she was useless cut her so deep that she couldn’t hold back.
“I have a plan.”
Neo’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, do you?” He winced again as he took a step closer. “Pray tell.”
“I’m working on smuggling us out of here.” She wouldn’t give Gabriella all the credit; especially since she didn’t understand why the woman would keep Neo out of the loop. Shit…unless she was worried he might tell Javier. But Neo seemed so pissed off at his dad, she couldn’t believe he’d do that.
Neo didn’t seem impressed by the news. He studied her for a long moment, and then turned his gaze from her as he shook his head. “If you’re just trying to buy some more time, let me remind you that we don’t have any. Okay? Do you understand? The wedding is in five—”
“I’m not a moron,” Cora cut in. “But we don’t know if it’s going to work yet.”
Neo stepped closer, but then stopped as if he wasn’t sure when she’d decide he was standing too close. “So when will you know?”
“My men are working on it,” she said airily.
“When?” Neo muttered, shivering as if he was finding it hard to restrain himself.
“Two days,” she lied. She licked her lips. “I’ll know in two days.”
Neo lifted his chin at her, drawing air in a hiss through his nose. He pointed at his groin, jaw so tight that his muscles twitched. “This fucking hurt.”
“Then go put some ice on it,” she said calmly.
He swung around, muttering, “¡Chúpame la pija!” under his breath.
She should have been offended at the curse, but instead she smiled. Maybe she had no control of her men yet, but at least Neo would know not to fuck with her again.
* * *
Cora stood with Javier in front of the metal gates that led to the poppy plantation. It was warm, but not hot; clouds veiled the sun and kept the rocks from baking like they usually did.
Javier had been silent the entire ride. He climbed out and went ahead. She trailed him at a few paces, wary about his seemingly sour mood.
Like last time, his lieutenants waited outside. Santino didn’t even give her a smile like he usually did—maybe they were all affected by Javier’s moods. Or maybe they didn’t want to do anything to piss him off even more.
When they reached the platform that looked out over the field, Javier took a hold of the railing and stared out over the view like a captain on a ship regarding the ocean.
The silence stretched until she was so desperate to break it, she said the first thing that popped into her head.
“Are they busy harvesting yet?”
A handful of workers wearing bright yellow raincoats moved through the rows of plants although they were too distant for her to see what they were doing.
“It will be another few days,” Javier murmured.
So after the wedding then.
She curled her hand into a fist, and touched her thumb against the ring clinging to her finger as she thought back to last night.
It was true—she didn’t call the shots in her own bedroom. And even out here…it seemed she’d always be answering to someone else. She could fool herself as much as she wanted, but her title of capo was as fake as the marriage she was destined to be part of in a few days.
Maybe she’d never had a choice. Maybe this was her lot in life, decided by a random toss of the dice thrown from a skeletal hand by a saint who listened to the prayers of those others shunned…but at a hefty price.
Javier’s voice tore her from that depressing thought, and she was almost grateful to him for it. “You have a lot to learn in a very short time, Elle.”
“I do?” Her voice sounded as dull as the sky.
“Your father played a vital role in the cartel. It will be difficult, but you’ll have to rebuild his connections. I know of some, but unfortunately…” Javier turned to her. “Those archives were the cartel’s life blood. A map of every connection; from this poppy field to the dope fiends in their crack dens.”
“Our customers,” she said quietly.
“No, mi reinita,” Javier said. “We sell to drug dealers. What they do with our product, is their business.”
“And that makes it okay?”
“I wasn’t aware Riveras felt guilt,” Javier said. There was something subtle to his tone of voice, but she couldn’t say why.
“You’re killing people.”
“I’m not killing anyone,” Javier murmured. “I am no different than a store, or a florist, or a doctor. We supply what they demand.”
“It’s illegal.”
“That’s what makes it so profitable.” Javier faced her, sliding his hands behind his back and studying her. “It’s a pity your father never prepared you for this day.”
And then she got it. It sounded like he was fishing, trying to find out what her father had told her about the cartel.
Although he’d told her stuff, it hadn’t been anything to do with El Calacas Vivo’s inner workings. Nothing about the connections Javier was on about. So why did Javier think that Papa would have said something?
Because he’d given her the archives. He�
��d trusted her with that information. Was she supposed to have looked at it? He couldn’t fault her for handing it over in exchange for his life, could he? Even though it had been pointless, he’d have done the same. What was money—dirty money, at that—compared with saving her father’s life?
“When?” she asked.
“After the wedding,” Javier said. “I want our distributors to meet Mr. and Mrs Martin.”
Her skin turned to ice at the thought that in a week, she’d be married.
Unless Gabriella’s plan to get her out of here worked. She’d agreed to it, but Finn didn’t seem to trust Bailey at all.
But there was no way she was getting married. Not to someone she hardly knew as some part of a convoluted scheme that would most likely end up with her dead.
She was getting out of here, whether her men approved of the way she did or not. Lars had said she called the shots. Even if it didn’t feel like she had the power to, she was damn well going to try.
Maybe it was best to make Javier think that she was playing along…just for now. Less friction. Less conflict.
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Javier cocked his eyebrows at her. “The wedding?”
“Meeting my distributors,” she said in an even voice. “I think it’s important they know who I am.”
The thought chilled her to the core; meeting with heroin dealers? She couldn’t imagine what it would be like. But she refused to show fear to this man ever again.
If he’d been satisfied that she was finally coming around…her last comment dried up that pleasure.
Let him think she wouldn’t just be a puppet. Maybe it would keep him busy long enough for her to get out.
Except…ever since Lars had been in her room last night. Ever since he’d said those things to her…there was one thought that kept swirling around in her mind. A dollar bill, pressed against the window of a washing machine while the clothes splashed against it in their gray water.
If it wasn’t for the wedding…would she have stayed?
47