Afterburn: A Kenzie Gilmore Thriller

by BIBA PEARCE

  The older man turned to them, a practiced smile on his lips. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Antonio Fernández. I believe you wanted to talk to me about investment opportunities?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Kenzie stood. “I’m Kenzie and this is my husband, Reid.”

  Reid had gone white and seemed to have lost the ability to speak. His eyes were still on the closed elevator the younger man had disappeared into.

  “Do you have time to see us? I’m afraid we don’t have an appointment.” She flashed her dimples at him and he melted.

  “I think I can squeeze you in. Follow me.”

  She elbowed Reid in the ribs and shot him a look that said, Get a grip! She couldn’t have him falling apart on her now.

  Whoever that man was, it would have to wait. They had a job to do.

  Fernández led them down a corridor to an office at the end. It was sparsely furnished but had big windows overlooking the city.

  “Lovely view,” Kenzie complemented, playing for time. She needed Reid to pull himself together.

  “Thank you. One of the bonuses of being this high up. Please, take a seat.”

  They sat. Reid seemed to have regained some of his color.

  “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “Well, a friend mentioned she invested with you, and we’ve just come into some money, so we thought we’d explore our options. Would you mind telling us more about what you do?”

  His chest puffed out. “Of course. We’re a brokerage firm with a contemporary approach to wealth management. We always put our customers first.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “We offer a wide range of services, including personalized financial advising and retirement planning, as well as expert investment research. We’ll invest on your behalf and develop a portfolio that suits your needs and focuses on your financial goals.”

  “Sounds excellent,” said Reid, getting into the role.

  “What do you need from us?” asked Kenzie.

  “It depends entirely on your budget,” Fernández said. “You’ll meet with a financial advisor who’d take you through the process. We’ll develop a strategy for you, build a portfolio, and take it from there. Do you mind if I ask who referred you to us?”

  “Natalia Cruz,” said Kenzie. “Before she…” Her face clouded. “Well, you know.”

  She could have sworn Fernández paled, but he recovered well. He cleared his throat. “We were all shocked to hear what had happened to her.”

  We? So far, he was the only person Kenzie had seen on the whole floor. The female voice who had greeted them via the intercom seemed to be just that, a voice, and there were no employees walking around, no office banter, nothing.

  “Yes, it was a terrible shock,” she replied. “It makes you realize how vulnerable you are, as a woman.” Kenzie clutched Reid’s hand.

  “That’s why you’ve got me.” He smiled and squeezed back. She almost believed him.

  “What exactly did Ms. Cruz say about us?” Fernández asked.

  “Oh, she didn’t go into detail.” Kenzie tossed her hair over her shoulder. “She mentioned a couple of firms and you were one of them.”

  “Do you mind telling us what you did for Natalia?” Reid asked.

  “That’s confidential,” he said.

  “She paid you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” Reid watched as the man’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “That’s a lot of money. Must have been a good investment.”

  “H–How do you know that?” he stammered.

  Reid took his badge out of his pocket and placed it on the desk. “I looked at her bank statements.”

  The man stared at it. “You’re a cop?”

  “Got it in one.” Reid leaned forward. “Now, you can tell us what Natalia paid you for, or we’ll get a warrant, confiscate all your computers, rifle through your files, make an unholy mess, and probably uncover a whole bunch of other things you don’t want us to know.”

  Kenzie had to admit, he was intimidating. She was grateful she was sitting next to him and not on the other side of the desk.

  “We managed her portfolio.” He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

  “Could we see it?” asked Kenzie.

  “I can’t give it to you. It’s confidential.”

  “I guess I’ll have to get that warrant after all.” Reid pulled out his phone.

  Unfortunately, Fernández called his bluff. “I’m afraid I can’t hand over the files without one.”

  Shit.

  Kenzie clenched her fists.

  At that moment, a barrel-chested man with tough eyes and an ill-fitting suit marched into the office. Kenzie didn’t have time to wonder where he’d come from before he grabbed Reid’s arm and hauled him out of the chair. Kenzie leaped to her feet.

  Reid shrugged off his hand. The two men glared at each other.

  Kenzie’s heart skipped a beat. Please let them not get into a fight now. Both men were clearly armed, and she didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire.

  “It’s okay,” Fernández said. “They were just leaving.”

  She exhaled.

  “We’ll be back,” Reid promised. “You can count on it.”

  “You do what you have to.” The financial advisor gave a slimy grin before his henchman ushered them out of the office.

  “Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all,” Kenzie said as they got into the elevator. “I thought that guy was going to physically throw us out. Fernández is definitely hiding something.”

  “Without a doubt. I’ll get a warrant and come back tomorrow. We’ll tear that place to shreds.”

  Reid was angry. His body was stiff and the veins in his neck stood out. But she wasn’t entirely sure it was because of Fernández.

  “Who was that man in the lobby?” she asked, as they descended to the ground floor.

  His voice hardened. “Alberto Torres. He works for the Morales cartel.”

  Kenzie gasped. “You’re kidding! The Mexican drug cartel?”

  “Yeah. He was the one Bianca seduced to infiltrate the network. He’s the one who shot her.”

  Kenzie stared at him. He was almost pulsing with angry energy.

  “What was he doing here?” she whispered.

  “That’s what I’d like to know.”

  They walked to the car and got in. Kenzie’s investigative mind was working overtime. “Do you think he’s investing with Fernández’s company?”

  Reid scoffed. “No, that’s not an investment company. It’s some sort of Ponzi scheme. I’ll bet my house on it. He’s not investing for the Morales Cartel, he’s laundering money for them.”

  “Oh, my God.” She fastened her seat belt as Reid drove out of the parking garage. “This is huge. Local Miami Firm Launders Money for Mexican Cartel.” She could see the headline.

  Reid turned to her. “You can’t write anything about this. Not yet. We don’t know what the connection is. I’m just guessing, but it’ll be something along those lines. You can count on it.”

  “I can’t write about anything I haven’t proven, or at least double-sourced. What are you going to do?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. She had a horrible feeling Reid was about to go rogue on her.

  “I need to talk to my lieutenant. If Torres is in town, then the Morales cartel is still active in Miami. They may even be mixed up in this gang war.”

  “You’re going after him?” It was more of a statement than a question.

  “I have to. He killed one of our own. I can’t let that go.”

  Kenzie turned away. “What about Fernández? Are you still going to get a warrant to search the premises?”

  “Of course. I’ll arrange it this afternoon, and we’ll raid the place in the morning.”

  “Won’t that give them ample warning?” she said.

  “Yeah, but it can’t be helped. They won’t have time to doctor their books, and if they do, we’ll pick up on any discrepancies.”

  “I hope you�
��re right.”

  He dropped her off at home and picked up his laptop. “I’ll work on Gabriella’s finances this evening,” he said. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

  Feeling restless, Kenzie went into the office. She wanted to write up what had happened today and file a preliminary report on both Natalia Cruz and AF Investments. There were two big stories there, and she wanted to be ready when they broke.

  “It’s about time,” her Editor-in-Chief called as she walked in. “I was wondering if you still worked here.”

  “Sorry.” She approached him. The open office was emptying now that it was the end of the working day, with only a few die-hards chasing deadlines. “I’m on to something, and it’s big.”

  “Come, let’s talk.”

  She took a seat in his office, and he poured them both a cup of coffee. “What’s happening? How’s that cop you’re working with?”

  “He’s fine. We’re making progress.” At least, she thought they were. She told Keith what they knew. “We don’t think Natalia Cruz was killed by the Swamp Strangler.”

  “You’re shitting me?” His eyebrows shot up.

  “Different MO, but nobody knows yet.”

  “This could be big, Kenz.” He rubbed his temple. “I want to make sure we’re the first to break it.”

  “We will be. We’re also chasing some leads. There are several suspects, including an investment firm who was scamming her. And get this, we also think they’re laundering money for the Morales cartel.”

  Keith spluttered out his coffee. “Seriously?”

  “Garrett recognized one of Federico Lopez’s men. He was coming out as we were going in. They looked like friends, or at least business associates.”

  “Holy shit. Can you get proof?”

  “We’re going back with a warrant tomorrow to confiscate their computers and records. Garrett has a team at the department who will scrutinize them for fraudulent activity. If they’re laundering funds, they’ll pick it up. Then I’ll have my proof.”

  “And Garrett is prepared to share this information with you?” Keith frowned.

  She didn’t blame him for being skeptical. Cops and reporters weren’t usually a good mix. “Kind of. As long as nothing I write jeopardizes the investigation. I’ll have to clarify that with him before we go to press.”

  Keith’s frown deepened.

  “I know,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I don’t like it either, but it’s the only way. I’d have nothing without him.”

  “Well, we can’t wait forever,” Keith said. “Make sure you have something for me soon.”

  “I will,” she promised.

  13

  Alberto Torres.

  Reid increased the speed and felt the airboat accelerate beneath him. He was hoping the wind would clear his head and drive away the memories. Seeing him standing there had been a shock to the system. In that instant, he’d been catapulted back 16 months to when Bianca had died. That last frantic text message.

  They know!

  Then nothing.

  He’d known then she was dead. That’s when he’d ordered his team to descend on the bar. Sure enough, there she was, lying in a pool of her own blood in the back office.

  The place had been cleaned out, the safe left open. The only evidence they’d found was the dead body of his agent.

  His agent.

  Until now, everyone had assumed Lopez and Torres skipped town.

  Yet here he was, as calm and cocky as ever, shaking hands with an investment fraudster. Business as usual. What else was he doing there if not laundering the cartel’s ill-gotten gains?

  Reid swung the wheel hard to the right and felt the boat slide across the water. He executed the turn and then sped out towards the cypress swamp where he’d found Natalia’s body.

  A flock of birds flew low beside him, keeping up with the roaring jet engine. They veered off as he approached the swamp, as if they sensed something bad had happened there.

  He stared at where he’d spotted the yellow dress. Nothing was there now. Just grass and reeds and a tangle of roots. She hadn’t even changed after the party. That meant she hadn’t had time to have a bath before her attacker had grabbed her. Chances were, he or she had come in right after Snake had left the room, or perhaps they’d been lying in wait the whole time.

  Could it have been Fernández who’d ordered the hit? Had Natalia realized he was conning her and threatened to go to the authorities? But then why dump her body in the swamp? Why not just ditch her on a roadside, or leave her in the hotel room?

  Unless they wanted to make it look like she was another one of the Strangler’s victims. Perhaps they wanted to allay suspicion, send the cops on a diversion. Except they hadn’t known about the sexual assault. The police had deliberately withheld that information from the public.

  At first, it was thought it would create too much of an outcry. A dead girl was bad enough, but raped, too? Then, when the second victim had been found, Pérez had purposely held back the details. “That’s something only the killer knows,” he’d said, and he’d been right. Withholding that information had been a smart move to rule out any copycats.

  There was a problem with that theory, though. Fernández couldn’t have known Natalia would leave the party early. Not unless he’d had a spy, someone who’d spiked her drink.

  The other possibility was that he hadn’t known. He or his hit man had broken into the room, planning to hide until Natalia and Snake got back, then he was going to take them both out. Perhaps he’d make it look like a murder-suicide. When Snake had returned to the party, he’d had to change his plan.

  Reid’s pulse quickened. That could be it. He’d run it past Kenzie tomorrow and get her opinion.

  He bit his lip. Listen to him. Since when had he started running things by her. A reporter. He crinkled his nose. Until recently, he’d considered them the scum of the earth. Bottom feeders, scavenging on the victim’s pain.

  But Kenzie was different. She cared. She wanted to find the truth. That was her sole aim. In that respect, she was just like him. He hoped he wasn’t making a huge mistake by trusting her. If the Lieutenant found out, or if she broke their agreement and let something slip. Christ, he couldn’t even bear to think about it.

  Another wild turn and he was heading back the way he came. She was a good investigator, though. Better than he was in some ways, not that he’d ever admit it. He enjoyed working with her. That was a first. Usually, he flew solo. Even at the precinct, he’d been more of a leader than a team player, which was why he’d risen so quickly through the ranks to Sergeant.

  He slowed down and cruised for a while, raising a hand in greeting to another tour operator as he passed. If he got fired for sharing information with Kenzie, he could always take tourists around the swamp. It wasn’t the worst job in the world.

  An hour later, he sat on the deck with his laptop, sipping a cold beer and going through Gabriella’s financial statements. He highlighted a few discrepancies worth further investigation. A large sum of money had been paid to a magazine for an exclusive of the wedding, but several large amounts had been paid to other publications. A thousand dollars here, fifteen hundred there. Why was she paying them if there was an exclusive deal?

  He googled those other publications and found they didn’t exist. Gabriella had fabricated them to extort money from Natalia, and she’d been too naive to realize. He recalled Kenzie telling him she was considered vacant and an airhead. Perhaps that's why she’d been so easily taken advantage of.

  Her PR agent had been ripping her off. Fernández had conned her into that fake investment scam. He sighed. Where was her husband in all this? Or her father? She had two strong men by her side, but neither had guided her.

  He made a mental note to ask them about it in the morning.

  His phone buzzed.

  Pérez.

  “Hey, LT. What’s up?”

  “Meet me for a drink at Smiley’s?”

  “Sure
, now?”

  “I’ll be there in five.”

  Smiley’s was the kind of bar you didn’t go to unless you were desperate, or a local. It was filled with gatormen, prostitutes, and swampers. Most nights, folks fought, bled, and drank themselves silly. Still, it was early enough to be reasonably safe—for a police officer.

  Nobody in the area knew Reid was a cop. He’d gone there a few times over the last year and a half, mostly when he’d first moved into the cabin and thought drowning his sorrows was a good idea. He didn’t want them to find out now.

  Pérez walked in wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He got a few stares, but was crumpled enough to not arouse suspicion.

  “You look like you need a drink.”

  Pérez grunted. “Rough day.”

  Reid ordered two beers. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “I thought I’d swing by and see how you’re doing? God knows, I could use a drink.” He glanced around. “I haven’t been to this dive since I was a teenager. Even then, I was too scared to come here at night. The day was bad enough. It was the first time I saw a man passed out cold. At noon.”

  Reid laughed. “It hasn’t changed.”

  “How's the investigation going?” Pérez asked.

  Reid filled him in. “Three suspects, none with a steadfast alibi. Bella Montague, the disgruntled ex, was home alone. Gabriella Vincent drove home via a gas station—security footage confirmed she was there—but she could have driven back to the hotel. And then there’s Fernández. We’re raiding his office tomorrow morning as soon as they open.” He took a long pull of his beer.

  “Motives?” asked Pérez.

  “Bella Montague hated Natalia for stealing her man, Gabriella Vincent was ripping her off, and Fernández was scamming her. Out of the three of them, he’s the top suspect. I think he may have taken a hit out on Natalia. She was naïve, people took advantage of her, but I think she saw through this one. She was going to report him to the authorities, so he took her out.”

  “Can you prove any of that?”

  Reid shook his head. “Nope. Not yet.”

  “You’re absolutely convinced this has nothing to do with the Swamp Strangler?” He glanced around as if he expected to see the serial killer sitting at the bar. It wasn’t the most unlikely prospect, given the place’s reputation.