THERE always has to be a complication.
Alejandro Santiago frowned as he spotted the gold sedan in front of Lana’s house. He didn’t recognize the vehicle as belonging to any of Miguel’s men. With any luck, they hadn’t searched the place before now. He checked his rearview mirror. No sign of surveillance. The street lamps barely lit the darkened neighborhood, and with only a sliver of moon, the night afforded him much-needed cover. He reached behind him and removed the Sig Sauer from his back holster, and pulling the slide back slightly, he checked for a round in the chamber before replacing the weapon. His US Marshal badge lay concealed behind the waist of his jeans.
Behind the front window, the faint glow of a lamp and the shadow of a small figure told him someone else had access to the house. Lana didn’t inform him of that fact the last time they met. He considered the situation. Whatever Lana hid from Miguel was important enough to get her killed. Did she tell anyone else about it? I can’t return to headquarters without checking the house first. He’d just have to deal with whoever was in there.
Ale breathed out slowly to calm the quick pace of his heart. He wanted out. Undercover gigs usually lasted only a few months, but he’d been under for almost two years. If he didn’t find something to break this case… if he didn’t get out soon, he feared more than just losing his life — he feared losing himself. Ale exited the car, shutting the door as softly as the heavy metal of his 1969 Buick Wildcat would allow.
The sounds of crickets and other night insects he couldn’t readily identify greeted him as he scanned the quiet residential street for movement. Although a few house lights illuminated their porches, the neighborhood remained still, its residents retired for the evening.
Ale jogged to the house belonging to the mistress of Miguel Trujillo and avoided the porch, opting instead to enter through the back door. Rounding the corner, he ducked just before his head hit the wind chime. A small glass replica of a toad held fast to his station near the farthest corner of the screen door on the cement slab that served as the porch. Ale squatted and lifted the heavy ornament, feeling beneath it for the key taped to the bottom. So far, so good.
Lana trusted him. Several days before her disappearance, she came to him, wild with fright. Miguel wanted her back. She refused him, telling Alejandro things were different now; she was different. Ale recognized her need for protection — and she’d do anything for it. He introduced her to his boss, and she became an informant for the US Marshals. The knowledge she had on Miguel’s narcotics operation would help bring down the mid-level drug lord and secure her freedom forever. She loathed returning to her former life, but believed he’d keep her safe and in a few short days, as he promised, it’d all be over.
In a few short hours, she’d disappeared.
Ale snatched the key from the tape and set the frog back in its place. Focus or Lana’s death will be in vain. His gut told him Miguel didn’t discover Lana’s secret either, or he’d have moved his operation down to Laredo last month as originally planned. Instead, he and a few members of his trusted inner circle, including Ale, remained in San Antonio.
Ale carefully pulled back the screen door, grateful it didn’t squeak along its track. Slipping the key into the lock, he turned it, and then paused after hearing the soft click of the bolt, listening for any movement from inside the house. The closed blinds that hung inside over the door blocked his vision, but no footsteps sounded in his direction. Ale expelled a quick breath, opened the door, and slipped inside.
Rafael (The Santiago Brothers Book One) Page 41
