Never Trust a Saint (LOS SANTOS Cartel story #1)

by Melissa Jane

  “Who was the man who helped you?”

  Now it was my turn to pause and consider what was to be said.

  The newspaper article I’d seen in Mexico had made no mention of a man helping me. It means that whoever had the footage had deliberately lied to the media about the events, painting me as a cold-blooded killer. The Chief asking about who the man was was a clear indicator he had seen the full tape, therefore, knowing my actions were all of self-defense.

  The puzzle pieces were falling.

  I could sit here and tell the real version of Hunter, the version who betrayed me or lie and say he convinced me to go across the border.

  “That man was helping me. He was keeping me safe while helping me get revenge for Garcia.”

  “What made you think it was them who killed Tomas?”

  “Because they were after me, too. I had done nothing wrong so I could only attribute their hunt to my connection with Garcia. Besides, the man who was helping me pretty much confirmed it.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Just a man.”

  The Chief’s eyes narrowed. “And what did this man get out of helping you?”

  “He wanted Gabriel and Luis Santos dead.”

  The Chief inhaled sharply, his fist coming to rest on his chin.

  “Why?”

  “I ended up in their house after being captured. The man who was helping me was also posing as one of them. You see, they knew I worked with government fraud. They knew everything about me. They needed my skills to access the frozen accounts of another rival, the Florez cartel.”

  I watched curious, as the Chief wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “You don’t have access to those details.”

  “I didn’t need access. I was able to use masked funds to make out I had successfully completed the transaction.”

  “So they didn’t get access to any of the money?”

  “Not a cent.”

  His leg was bouncing, fingers tapping the arm of the sofa.

  “And what of this man helping you?”

  “I don’t know where he is now. After I deceived them with the money, they ordered my friend to kill me. He turned his gun on them and a war broke out. I thought he was going to die.” My throat tightened and the emotions I’d been holding back threatened to break. “We left. He wanted to get me to safety, but he had every intention of ending Gabriel and Luis Santos.”

  “And did he succeed?”

  “I believe Gabriel is dead. He died after having chased us into the desert. I thought we were all going to die. Then the next thing I knew I was waking in the hospital and my friend had left the day before I woke.”

  “And how does this all tie into Garcia?”

  “They killed him because he wouldn’t access the account.” I didn’t want to say it was because he’d worked for them before, and last minute had a change of heart. It just seemed wrong tarnishing his name when he’d done so much good in his career.

  “They also had my father killed years ago.”

  The Chief grew fidgety. Perhaps it was because he knew my father well. They were the same age and had been close friends during their career. “Did they say why?”

  “They painted him as someone who allowed corruption in his town. That he was a renegade agent who would turn a blind eye to the drug dealings for a profit at the end of every week.”

  “Did they mention anyone else?”

  “No. So you see, Garcia’s death wasn’t a home invasion. Even if he wasn’t a saint…” I realized once I said it, it wasn’t the wisest of terms, “…he still deserved his death to be brought to justice. And Alex, he’s done nothing wrong.”

  “Alex leaked confidential information that if in the wrong hands could be disastrous.”

  “But it wasn’t. He helped me not only stay alive but also brought Los Santos to their knees.”

  The Chief stood up and paced the back of the chair, agitation clear. “And Luis Santos. Is he… is he, still alive? You never mentioned.”

  “I don’t know. Not if my friend has anything to do with it. With any luck, he’d be in the depths of hell.”

  In an instant, everything changed. Only a heartbeat, a blink and it all started to unravel.

  What happened next shocked me to the core. He roared in a fit of rage that had me, due to my injuries, staggering away from him. Using the sofa as a barrier between us, I watched perplexed and a little terrified as he seemed lost in his own world, his wrath exploding to the point I no longer recognized him.

  I didn’t know why he’d suddenly turned. I didn’t understand his volatile reaction.

  Even when he faced me, crazy bloodshot eyes and his service weapon pointed straight me, could I believe what I was actually witnessing. I raised my hands to show I was no threat.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You fucking little bitch!” he snapped, spittle flying from his mouth. “You just had to go and fucking interfere, didn’t you?”

  I swallowed hard as I struggled to keep up with the turn of events.

  “I wasn’t interfering. I was doing my job,” I tried to reason.

  “Everything was fucking running to plan until you came along on your high horse and wouldn’t mind your own business. I told you to take leave. I told you, I would handle it.”

  “But you didn’t,” I protested. “You didn’t handle it. You would’ve just let his killers get away with it. They would have killed me, too, Chief. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “It means fucking shit to me!” he seethed like I was the lowest piece of scum. “I’ve worked too hard for too long to have had some upstart like yourself waltz on in and rip it all to shreds.” He waved the gun at me like he was a madman possessed. “If I find out Luis Santos is dead, I will string you up and let the fucking vultures pick you apart.”

  A fresh wash of emotion, something akin to desperation and pleading swept over him. “Already with Gabriel dead you have fucked it up.”

  “Fucked what up?”

  “You fucking don’t get it do you?” he spoke like I was a child. The fact of the matter was I always had a feeling he had something to do with it all. I just didn’t know the extent or complexity of it.

  “Tell me. What am I missing?”

  He debated whether to continue before shrugging his shoulders. “I’m gonna fucking end you anyway. Sit the fuck down.” He gestured toward the couch with his gun. Unsure whether I wanted to be closer to him, I didn’t move. “Sit the fuck down,” he yelled again.

  Doing as he said, I reclaimed my seat and watched nervously as he scratched his chin with the barrel. “Luis and Gabriel Santos were my retirement. They paid me a sum of money, more than I earned a week from my fucking day job, to keep the Florez money frozen so the IRS couldn’t touch it. I did so for years, the agreement being when ten years were up it became government property.”

  “You were on their payroll?”

  “I was one better. I was to get a percentage from it. A very large fucking percentage. And now it looks like it will sit in the Cuban account until the next opportunity presents itself.”

  It was all starting to make sense. “You need a secondary source?”

  “Bravo Agent Cross. You excel at your job. Without Luis Santos involved, I lose any hope of moving the cash. I can’t keep it myself. No agent is allowed an off-shore account, and without Santos happily taking the fall for it cos he’s fucking untouchable, I am fucking stuck up shit creek.”

  “But they were double crossing you. They wanted the money all for themselves five years earlier than agreed.”

  “You don’t think I already knew that?” he yelled. “What the fuck do you think Garcia was for? He was the voice of reason. The go between middleman ensuring everything was looking and running kosher. But he fucked up, you see. He turned on me. Started working a little more for them than what he was for me. When I found out, I promised to destroy his career so he came back, but with a chip on his shoulder. Threatened to out
me to the press. Claims he had evidence.”

  “So you had him killed?” I was feeling lightheaded, unsure whether my words were coherent.

  “No, someone else beat me to it. Los Santos wanted his blood and I will quite happily let them take the fall for it.”

  “Footage shows there was an agent entering his apartment at two in the morning.”

  “And that surprises you. There are fucking allegiances throughout the whole agency network. Money, Cross. Money can rot the core of the sweetest apple.”

  “Why are you trying to pin it all on me?”

  “What can I say, you were making it a fucking easy thing to do.”

  “So now what?” I met his stare and watched while he threw his head back laughing.

  “Now I want to know the name of your boyfriend. The one who fucked everything up.”

  “I don’t know where he is.”

  “Don’t fucking lie to me, Cross,” he raged, advancing toward me, stopping just shy of my feet.

  He reached forward gripping my hair forcing me to my knees on the couch. My hands wrapped around his in an attempt to the quell some of the pain.

  “I’m telling you the truth. He left when we were in the hospital. He’s still somewhere in Mexico.”

  “Contact him.”

  “I. Can’t. Reach. Him,” I seethed, pissed off he wasn’t listening.

  Just like earlier, he roared, using his strength to throw me over the arm of the chair. I landed heavily on the debris, my palms sliced open from broken glass.

  “Your deal is over, Delacroix.” I hated to antagonize especially when he had the upper hand, but beating me was not going to change anything. For that, I received a boot to the ribs. They were still tender from when Gabriel did the same thing. I became air-born until I landed heavily on my back. Wincing and struggling to inhale without causing more pain, I watched with a sickening dread as he stood above, his tall figure a looming one. Extending his arm he held the Glock toward my head and switched the safety.

  “I’ll ask one more time, Cross. Where the fuck is your friend? And don’t fucking lie to me.”

  “I’m right here.”

  The voice startled us both, more so Delacroix, who actually wasn’t sure who he was dealing with. He turned, facing our intruder.

  “You!” he said in recognition.

  I had been wrong.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t piece it all together,” Hunter quipped.

  How the hell did they know each other? And why was I just finding out now?

  Delacroix gave a know-it-all chuckle. “I had my suspicions,” he replied arrogantly.

  “The game’s over. So how about you get the hell off her so we can end this once and for all.”

  “Did he send you?”

  I had no idea who they were talking about.

  “I had my own debt to settle with Los Santos. You just happened to be tangled in their web. Now get the fuck off Nina.”

  “Why don’t you leave so I have a chance to settle my debt?” It wasn’t so much a question than a demand.

  Hunter shook his head in resignation. “No can do.” Raising his Glock a fraction higher he fired, hitting Delacroix below his shoulder. I rolled to my right while he fell to the left, Hunter’s hand wrapping around my elbow and pulling me to my feet.

  “Cariña,” he practically growled, a small twitch pulling his delicious lips.

  “Hunter,” I replied breathy, all the ways he made me feel coming back in one tantalizing wave of glory.

  A string of vulgar curses and promises of revenge broke through our reverie as we both faced the biggest traitor of all.

  “You were supposed to be the good guy, Chief,” I said, failing to disguise my disappointment.

  He scoffed, his hand over his wounded arm doing little to stop the blood from gushing out. “Good guys always finish last.”

  “Not in this case.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Cross!” He almost laughed. “This is still all on you. Every bit of it. Garcia’s death, the convenience store massacre, assaulting a federal agent and now thanks to your admittance, defrauding the government.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  A snide smirk twisted his face. “Oh, I do.”

  Leaving Hunter’s side, I retrieved my smartphone from the side lamp table I had uprighted before Delacroix got here. Unlocking the screen, I showed my soon to be ex-Chief the recording taking place.

  I watched with internal glee as the corners of his lips dropped, his skin paling.

  “I will be honest and say that I wasn’t sure how this was going to pan out. I wanted to believe you weren’t corrupt. But I was wrong. It’s all been recorded, every last word.”

  Unlike Delacroix, Hunter was beaming, a sense of pride shining from his eyes.

  “That’s not going to mean shit.”

  I raised my eyebrows in amusement. “Won’t it? You just don’t get it do you, Delacroix? You’re responsible for all that’s happened. Whether you were behind the gun or the computer, you’re the one who snowballed this whole operation. Garcia is dead because of you. I lost my father because of you. Alex is locked away, his career potentially over… because of you. I have become a suspect in my own partner’s murder, because of you. And it’s all on here.” I waved my phone and watched as a glimmer of defeat washed over his face.

  It was beginning to dawn on him and it was a beautiful sight. He staggered forward and slumped in the chair.

  “You should go, Hunter,” I said knowing it wasn’t wise for him to be around when I contacted the Commissioner. He nodded in understanding before approaching Delacroix and pulling him to his feet. He conducted a weapons search and pulled free a small revolver from his shin holster and a Taser from his belt. Satisfied, Hunter pushed him back on the chair and passed his Glock to me. Holding my gaze, he winked, a promise of something I craved glinting in his eyes.

  And then he left, leaving me alone with the man, who out of everyone in this whole fiasco, should be the one buried six foot under.

  Chapter 24

  The afternoon passed at rapid speed, and before I knew it, I was stepping out of the station with the sun long retired. I was exhausted, emotionally drained and still aching from the injuries that seemed to be mounting up.

  The Commissioner and his men arrived half an hour after Hunter had left, Delacroix pleading I had assaulted and held him hostage. Of course, since I had been wanted for questioning over Garcia and the convenience store, I was approached with the expected hostility one would expect when apprehending a criminal. They all paused stopping dead in their tracks, including the uniforms given the task of handcuffing me when I played back Delacroix’s confessions.

  From then on, I sat in the interview room at the station reliving the details of the last two and a half weeks. This time, I told the truth. The whole truth. I had to. The Chief knew of Hunter and would most likely aim to bring him down, so me refusing to talk about him would only leave giant holes in the story and possibly wind me up in prison. That being said, I certainly painted a glowing portrait of the man who was only seeking justice. What he did was unorthodox and criminal in nature, but deep down he was a good man who only wanted those who had caused pain and suffering to be either, brought to justice or face their own form of pain and suffering.

  With the harsh fluorescent light above hurting my eyes and the two agents in gray suits hanging onto my every word, I managed to spare no detail. I needed the Chief to go down for this. Retribution was sweet. Particularly for those who treated human life as if it held no value.

  Sipping my fourth cup of cheap station coffee, I waited having been left alone while they talked in private. I could feel the stares coming through the one-way glass, and I had no doubt they were wondering how a rookie agent like myself managed to get tangled in this web of lies, murder, and deceit.

  Eventually, they returned tossing me a bag of chips which I greedily devoured. I couldn’t remember when my last meal was and over the cour
se of the adventure I had lost a lot of weight. They both sat down opposite me, sighing heavy sighs, their own mental exhaustion over the convoluted story evident. They were in a tough position. Delacroix, the Deputy Chief was held in high regard. So what happened next surprised me.

  “Turns out, you may have just brought down quite the network.” The blonde agent said.

  “Oh?”

  “With what you’ve told us we can now link to suspicious activity that before now had very thin, even questionable connections.”

  “The media will have a field day with this,” the other chimed in. “So…” he held out his hand for me to shake, “…congratulations Agent Cross. Your name has been cleared and you are free to go.”

  “Really?”

  “Really!”

  “You did a fine job.”

  “What about Alex?”

  “He will be released without charge, and will resume his normal position at the Agency.”

  As I walked from the office, a huge weight had been lifted from my tired shoulders. Calling into the local liquor store, I picked a bottle of my favorite wine and headed home.

  The warm air—even though the waft of the city’s garbage mingled in it—was refreshing. While it had only been less than three weeks, it felt like a lifetime since I could stop and breathe.

  Throwing my keys on the counter, I crunched and trudged my way through the broken glass and mess to the kitchen. Stealing a wine goblet, I made straight for the bathroom where I ran a hot bath being extra generous with the bubbles. Stripping off, doing my best to ignore the aches, I sunk myself into the welcoming heat. Pouring a glass of red, water sloshing over the edges, I sipped and smiled. It wasn’t a smile out of joy. More sadness.

  It was over.

  Garcia’s death, even if he wasn’t guilt free, has been avenged.

  Another cartel world was crumbling.

  Delacroix, the toxic link between it all had been brought to his knees.