When Fates Align

by Isabelle Richards

  “Too right,” Peter agrees.

  I give them a weak smile and gulp my scotch. The amber liquid burns as it goes down, but the burn promises to dull the excruciating ache in my chest.

  “It’s really a crime to guzzle twenty-five-year-old scotch like that,” Roger says.

  Richard smacks Roger on the back of the head. “Leave ‘im alone! What’s wrong with you? He can fucking bathe in the shite if he wants.”

  Roger shrinks away, rubbing the back of his buzzed head. “Sorry. I was just saying…”

  Peter shakes his head, making a few strands of black hair fall out of his ponytail. He’s the only one of the crew who strayed from military guidelines after discharging. The rest still have crew cuts and dress the part in cargo pants and combat boots. Peter looks more like a rock star with his long hair, skinny jeans, and leather jacket. “Sometimes I wonder why we keep you around.”

  Roger smiles. “Because I’m the only one of you arseholes who knows how to use a computer for more than checking email and watching porn.”

  “Enough,” Nigel snaps. Still the unequivocal leader of the group, it seems. He turns toward me. “Tell us everything.”

  I motion to Max. “Where’d you leave off?”

  “It’s probably best if we hear the whole thing from you. From the beginning,” Richard replies.

  I shoot back what little scotch remains in my glass. “It all goes back to Brooke.”

  All four of them groan. They never liked my wife very much. Then again, not many people did. I tell them the whole story of Brooke’s drug addiction, how she started whoring herself out to lower-level mafia thugs to pay for her habit, and how her tragic death brought me to Lily. Whilst Brooke created her own trouble, disaster followed Lily like a shadow. Her bastard of a late husband bequeathed her a shitstorm of problems, including a debt to the worst kind of people, people who never consider a debt repaid.

  “Which cartel?” Nigel asks. “There’s so many of them now, it’s hard to keep them straight.”

  “Morelia,” I reply.

  Peter sighs. “Dirty fuckers. Not the brightest bulbs in the bunch, but they’re ruthless. They have a seventeen-year-old kid working for them who skins people alive. It’s ghastly.”

  Thinking that could have been Lily’s fate, I swallow the bile that threatens to come up. “I’ve heard.”

  A sadistic grin creeps across Peter’s face. “I keep hoping we’ll get hired to go after that one.”

  “Consider today your lucky day then,” I reply. “I don’t want to just go after the bastard who killed her. I want to bring the whole fucking lot of them to their knees.”

  Richard removes the unlit cigar he’s been mouthing. “That’s a tall order, boss. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but you may want to take some time and think about if you really want to be in the vengeance business. Once you cross that line, there’s no going back.”

  “There’s nothing to go back to,” I reply. “Systematic destruction. Take out their transport, take out their packaging facilities, take out their safe houses. Burn their fields to the ground. If we take out everything they have and leave them as sitting ducks, the other cartels will take care of them. It will be like leading the lambs to the slaughter.”

  Peter scratches the back of his neck. “Doable, but we need massive intel. Eyes on the ground.”

  Nigel nods. “I’ll send a team to Mexico immediately. The faster we get boots on the ground, the faster we know what our options are.”

  Richard taps his chin. “Armand’s crew is free. They could be there by tomorrow.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.” Nigel pulls his mobile out of his cargo pants. “I also have a contact at Interpol who’s an expert on Mexican cartels. If we’re going gangbusters, we’ll need some help. Texting her now to see if she has time to get involved.”

  “What about the hit man? Are we starting there?” Peter asks.

  “Yes,” I reply. “I want him found, pumped for information, and then I’ll remove his internal organs one by one whilst he watches.”

  “How Hannibal Lector of you,” Roger retorts.

  Richard smacks the back of Roger’s head again, making his glasses slide off his nose. “You’re sure they’re the ones that hit her? You don’t think this is about you? With the work you’ve done at Edwards, you’ve got a list of enemies a mile long. You and Lily were all over the news the last few weeks with the hype about the supposed baby on the way, then all the hoopla around the gala. Your smiling faces all over the papers might have just ignited action.”

  I walk to the fire whilst running possible scenarios through my mind. As I stoke the fire, embers burst from a log and float about in the air. Could this possibly be about me? I need to be certain before I answer. “Leo Goldstein, over at SIS, told me in the last forty-eight hours, Morelia’s been cleaning house. Killing off anyone and everyone who could be a threat to them. This is them. It has to be.”

  Peter nods. “Okay, we’ll move forward with the assumption this was a cartel hit, which means whoever did this will disappear like the morning fog if we don’t act quickly. The investigators will still be looking at carpet samples whilst this bastard slips away.”

  “It has to be a short list,” Rodger says. “There are only a certain number of local guys who will kill with that kind of… flare and have the skill to get away without getting nicked.”

  Richard smacks him on the head. “You have the tact of a bull.”

  Rubbing the back of his head, Roger looks at me apologetically. “Sorry, Gavin. I didn’t mean anything by it. But a lot of these toddlers running around pretending to be gangsters will take a guy out then post it on fucking Twitter.”

  I wave him off. “It’s fine, Rodger. Say whatever blasted thing you want as long as you find the guy and bring him to me.”

  Nigel points at Max. “Where do you fit in?”

  Max rests his foot on his knee. “I’m on my way back to DC. I won’t be any good to you here, and the FBI and DEA have been dicking around long enough. I’m going to light a fire under their asses and make some heads roll.”

  “You’re still planning on leaving?” I ask.

  Max adjusts in his seat. “I’ll stay until we can work out a game plan, but I think I can do more for you there than here. You’re just going to have to trust me on this. I’ll have the upper hand now. They won’t be able to ignore me any longer.”

  I snap my head toward Max. “You selfish prick! You’re going to leverage Lily’s death to get your bloody badge back?”

  His foot drops to the ground, and he sits upright, looking ready to pounce. Oh, I wish he would. Tearing him limb from limb might not solve anything, but it sure as hell might make me feel better.

  “Fuck you! You know me better than that!” Max shouts back. “I don’t give a fuck about the badge. I care about actually getting justice for Lily, and I’m going about it the best way I know how. I don’t have the authority or contacts here to help you. At least if I go home, I can do something.”

  I stand, ready to tear into Max, and Nigel blocks me with his arm. “He’s right. If we can get some support from the Americans, we’ll be in better shape. We need all the allies and intel we can get. Having a plant in the other camp can only help.”

  I glower at Max then turn my back on him and walk to the bar. “So what now?”

  “Now you pour yourself a drink, and let us go to work,” Nigel replies.

  Nigel shouts orders, and everyone mobilizes. Calls made, emails sent. I watch them spring into action, and I wish I could do the same. I’d give anything to lose myself in a task, but I’m in no frame of mind to be productive. If I started rattling my contacts for answers and action, I’d possibly do more harm than good. So I pour another scotch and let the guilt, regret, and sorrow fester.

  Chapter Three

  Lily

  Umph. My head crashes into something. Dammit, that smarts. I try to move my hand to rub my head, but my arm’s bound behind my back, the
course weave of the rope digging into my skin. My skull is throbbing, and my throat is on fire. A gritty, acrid fume burns my lungs with each inhale. Where am I? What the hell happened?

  My scalp stings as though I was drug around by my ponytail. Slowly it starts to come back. My head like my hair was used as a leash because it was. The flat, O, my new Mexican friends. I let out a long groan. I think I liked it better when I couldn’t remember.

  I pry my eyes open, not that it does me much good. Wherever I am is pitch black. At least they didn’t blindfold me. But what would the point be? I’ve seen them. Of course, that doesn’t bode well for my fate. But, hey, this ain’t my first rodeo. As Gavin says, I slay dragons with chopsticks. Unfortunately, there’re two of them, which doesn’t help my odds.

  I’m thrown forward and crash into a bristly carpet wall, the kind I’ve only seen in the trunks of cars. Fabulous. By the way I’m crammed into this tiny space, I think it’s fair to say it’s a small car. God forbid they upgrade to the midsize when plotting a kidnapping. Econo-size helps keep down the overhead. Cheap bastards.

  Herky Jerky behind the wheel up there is clearly heavy-footed with the brake. Considering he’s got a woman tied up in his trunk, I’d think he’d be more concerned about getting rear-ended. I’d love to see him try to explain that one to the cops. Who am I kidding? They wouldn’t wait for the police. They’d just shoot the driver and run, because that’s how jackasses like him are caught. Not by police investigations and forensics, but because they get tripped up by something stupid. Like their victim going splat on the grill of a car that had the unfortunate luck of driving too close to a psychopath.

  Think, Lily! Think! How the hell am I going to get myself out of this one? Crazy Eyes said something about making money off of me. That means one of two things: either they’re going after Gavin for ransom or they’ll sell me. I’ve done enough research to know that would be a fate worse than death. Regardless, they need me alive for either plan, so I have time. It’s a clear sign your life has taken a turn for the worse when you’re praying to be ransomed.

  Between the fumes and the lull of the tires on the road, my eyelids droop. I’m so tired. It’s tempting to just submit to the beckoning call of sleep, but I fight the urge. I need to strategize. If they go with the ransom route, there’s no guarantee they won’t just kill me anyway. If they go with option B and sell me to some sick fucker who likes to torture women, I need a plan. I haven’t fought this hard for this long only to wind up chained in a basement somewhere as a sex slave.

  I refuse to go out this way. Thunk! That is, if I don’t get a brain bleed from slamming into the trunk wall too many times.

  Chapter Four

  Gavin

  Everyone’s hard at work whilst Max and I are setting a record for the most amount of scotch consumed in the shortest period. No words are exchanged, just copious amounts of alcohol. A million words should be said. We’re both raw, eviscerated. There’re so many feelings bubbling under our surfaces and begging to be shared, but we remain silent. If I start talking, it would be like a knife slicing me open, and I’m not sure I could stop the bleeding if I tried. I have no time for an emotional breakdown right now. If I give in and let the emotions swallow me whole, I’m not sure I’ll ever come back.

  “The friend I mentioned, the one who works for Interpol? She just pulled up. I’ll go let her in, ya?” Nigel says before he leaves the study.

  “Looks like the circus is in town,” Richard mutters before returning to his laptop.

  A minute later, Peter jumps up from his seat, takes off his headphones, and looks around. “Where’s Nige?”

  “He’ll be back in a moment,” says a raspy female voice. “His mobile rung as he let me in, so he directed me down here.”

  I turn around to see, leaning against the doorjamb, a woman in painted-on jeans, a deep V-neck T-shirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, a biker jacket, and knee-high boots that give her at least five inches of lift.

  Peter crosses the room. “I thought I smelled trouble.” He hugs her, lifting her off of the floor. After setting her back down, he says, “How long’s it been?”

  She tosses her long red hair over her shoulder. “Peshwar? Bogata? Dawei? So many cities, it’s hard to keep track.”

  “Isla,” Richard grunts from across the room.

  “Dick,” she says, mocking his tone. “I see the stick is still wedged up your arse.”

  He scoffs. “As professional as ever, I see.” He returns to his laptop. “What Nigel sees in her, I’ll never understand.”

  She scowls at his backside.

  Max’s eyes dart back and forth between them, clearly annoyed by their flippant behavior. He slams his hand on the table. “If social hour is over, can we all please get back to the task at hand? I spent the day looking at blood splatter from where my best friend’s tongue was cut out, so I’d love it if we could save the reunion until after we find her killer.”

  Bile rises in my throat. “He… re-re—” I bring my hand to my mouth to stop myself from vomiting. “He removed her tongue?” Torturous images pervade my mind. I push the heels of my hands into my eyes, hoping it will stop the visions.

  Peter pushes me backward until I fall into a wing chair. “Have a seat, mate. You look green.”

  Max runs his fingers through his hair, pulling at the roots. “Sorry, man. I wasn’t thinking. You shouldn’t hear that shit.”

  Pointing her thumb at me, she looks at the group. “He’s the boyfriend, right?”

  Max’s jaw drops. “Who’s this chick, and why didn’t her parents teach her any manners?”

  The woman slips out of her leather jacket and tosses it over the back of a chair. “He does need to know it all. Masking the facts to dull the truth won’t help him. The fact they cut out her tongue makes it obvious that they went after her to prove a point. If we’re not going to actually look at this case—blood, guts, and all—you’re wasting my time and his money.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Isla, his girlfriend died less than twelve hours ago!” Richard shouts. “Try to dig down deep into that crevice where your heart used to be and find some fucking compassion.”

  She shrugs. “You want rainbows and unicorns? You called the wrong woman.”

  “I called the right woman,” Nigel says as he walks into the room. “Now everyone sit down. We have a lot to discuss.” He turns to me. “Have you met Isla?”

  Swallowing hard, I try to push the image of Lily out of my mind so I can focus on the task at hand. “We haven’t gotten that far.”

  She tosses her hair over her shoulder as she sits across the table from me. “Isla McGregor. Interpol.”

  She extends her hand, which I politely shake. Her firm grip takes me by surprise. Clearly this woman is used to showing men she’s not easily intimidated.

  “If you’ve noticed,” Richard sneers, “this is a nice, proper house. No stripper pole.”

  As she pulls her hand away, Isla looks down and notices that between the gape in her shirt and lack of bra, she’s exposed herself to everyone in the room. She looks at Richard, completely unabashed. “If you can’t handle it, you shouldn’t have looked.”

  “Awfully young and underdressed to be Interpol, aren’t you?” Max asks. “I was under the impression Interpol’s typically for highly seasoned, professional cops. You don’t look old enough to sit for a police exam.”

  From his tone, I can tell he either doesn’t trust her or plain doesn’t like her. Which is peculiar for Max. I thought he had blanket appreciation for all beautiful women, especially ones who flashed him.

  She smiles at him as though she welcomes the insult. “Have badge envy do you, former FBI agent McCarthy?”

  Now Max looks as though he wants to reach over the table and strangle her.

  “I manage and facilitate all cartel-related undercover drug operations. I got to my position because I’m the best at what I do. My work has led to more arrests and more drug seizures than anyone else in my d
epartment. In the history of Interpol.” She motions to her clothes. “As far as my attire goes, my dress code is anything that makes me fit in as an average, everyday twenty-something. If a dealer’s looking at my tits, he’s not thinking about the fact that I’m about to end his life as he knows it. As I said, if it bothers you, don’t look.”

  Nigel pulls out the chair next to Roger, takes off his jacket, and sits. “Isla is the cartel expert I was telling you about. She may be young, but I assure you, no one knows cartels the way she does, especially the Morelia cartel. She’ll be pivotal in helping us determine who we’re going after.”

  “That’s simple. Every last bloody one of them,” I reply. “We’re taking down the whole fucking organization.”

  Isla leans back in her chair. “Whilst that’s a nice sentiment, it’s simply not realistic to dismantle a whole cartel. I can help you focus on some key players and disrupt their functionality, which may in turn cause them to self-destruct, but I wouldn’t hold your breath for wiping them out of existence.”

  I slap the arm of the sofa. “Bullocks! I’m not settling for anything short of total fucking annihilation!”

  “Then you’re setting yourself up for disappointment,” Isla replies. Her tone isn’t argumentative or defiant but rather matter of fact. She’s confident, not arrogant. “I’ve seen many people try and fail. And by fail, I mean wind up chopped into pieces. I’m on board to take them out, but be prepared to throw good money after bad, and make sure your affairs are in order.”

  “I actually disagree with you there,” Nigel says. “But that’s getting way ahead of ourselves. We need to figure out who did the hit first. Max, fill Isla in on the scene. She might be able to point us in some directions.”

  She reaches across the table to grab a pad of paper and a pen, unabashedly exposing herself again. “I can tell you right now, I don’t think they would have contracted out. It’s not their style. Someone flew in for this job. It’s very possible whoever did it could be on a plane back to Guadalajara right now.”