Supernova

by Desiree Holt

One corner of her mouth quirked up. “That it was none of their business. That it was personal and private and had nothing to do with my job as a senator, so they needed to keep their noses out of it.”

  “Which of course will make them ten times as curious,” Rocket pointed out.

  “Tough. My first concern is my sister and her safety, which is already compromised enough. Now, I am prepared to write you a check today for a retainer or whatever you call it, if you just tell me how much it is.”

  “No check. Let me discuss it with my partners, but just FYI, we invested the startup funds for Galaxy very wisely, after our initial expenses. That allows us to take cases without charging the client, depending of course on who the client is.”

  She smiled. “Senator Franz also told me you’d probably say that. I’m also in a very good position financially, and I don’t want you to stint on this job.”

  Rocket held on to his temper. “We never stint, Senator, whether or not we get paid. It’s who we are.”

  “Of course, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—” She stopped herself, shook her head. “My concern and fear for my sister are throwing me off center here. I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to take this on. Galaxy is my only hope.”

  “You’re welcome. And we’ll get it done.”

  But more because there’s no way I can leave Mallory in danger. And because I want to see her again. Five years has been too long a time.

  “All right. Let’s go over everything, including how Mallory ended up in Santa Marita and why.”

  Rocket continued to make notes on his tablet. At last, he thought he’d squeezed every drop of information from the senator that she had to give. He closed his tablet and called Saint on the intercom to tell him they were ready to head back to base. In a moment, the plane made a turn.

  And all he could think was that maybe Fate was nudging him to reconnect with Mallory Kane. And letting him know he’d wasted five good years.

  Chapter Three

  Mallory Kane unwound the bandana from around her neck and used it to blot the sweat from her forehead. There were a lot of uncertain things in Santa Marita, but the heat wasn’t one of them. It was constant and steady. She never thought she’d be willing to kill for five minutes of air conditioning, but right now murder for chilled air didn’t seem so very wrong.

  This roof had become her refuge, ever since General Felix Barrera, cartel head, butcher and president of Santa Marita, had decided she was trouble and come to the house hunting for her. She really should have known better. Santa Marita was no bigger than a tiny drop of spit in the Pacific Ocean…not a place where she could easily blend in. She should have learned her lesson when tracking the Taliban, and Afghanistan was a hell of a lot bigger than this peanut-size country.

  But other writers had created hugely successful books out of the turmoil in places even smaller than this. And her other books had had great success. Besides, how could she say no to a friend?

  During the day, she hid in the attic that was barely more than a crawl space, with a tiny little electric fan to move the hot, stale air around. No one ever found the room because a painting of the Mayan sun covered the area where the trap door was, the cutout skillfully blending into the painting. Inez had told her the people who had owned the house before them had painted it to keep the evil spirits out.

  But at night, she escaped up here to freedom, breathing fresh air and cooling off. The way the house was built, the roof was flat with a short extension of the exterior walls circling it. Enough to prevent her from rolling off and people in the street from seeing her. And Inez had given her an old quilt and a toss pillow, so she’d have something to protect her from the rough surface of the roof.

  Happy vacation. Welcome to Santa Marita.

  Whoever would have thought that a country barely bigger than the head of a pin would be so full of corruption and crime? She’d expected something, for sure, but maybe just the basis for a series of articles. Since she’d been here, she’d seen people dragged out of cantinas then disappear, others go to work and never come home. Mallory had detected a heavy layer of poverty beneath the colorful surface and the impression of success generated by El Presidente himself, Felix Barrera.

  There might have been a patina of gaiety and exotic flavor overlaying everything, but beneath it the country was gripped with danger and fear. Not to mention the faltering economy that had eliminated so many jobs. Her friend Inez was right about the disaster that was Santa Marita and the terror that gripped so many of its people.

  With the spreading legalization of marijuana, cocaine and opium had become the hot commodities. Acreage that had produced other crops now grew opium poppies and other similar plants. And meth labs had been set up which produced large quantities of the drug they then distributed like a sales organization. Breaking away from the Sinaloa cartel because Felix Barrera wanted to be the big fish in the pond, they’d made their plans and invaded the island, killing those who got in their way. Setting up their drug business. Drawing international criminals because of the lax banking and no extradition.

  Inez had told Mallory there were two things she hated about her work in the emergency room—patching up bullet wounds and treating people who’d overdosed on the products of the Barrera cartel. Both had become primary activities. Santa Marita’s economy had been booming under a democratically elected government when Barrera and his army had decided they needed the entire country as their headquarters. Soon, they’d controlled everything, blanketing their drug business over the existing economy. The peaceful regime of President Alcante that had been responsible for the prosperous growth of the country had been destroyed by Barrera’s criminals. They had simply killed Alcante and taken control, then Barrera had taken a thriving country and turned it into one big criminal enterprise.

  On the one hand, they kept people employed.

  On the other hand, they also killed anyone who tried to get in their way and eliminated the cultural and educational faces of the country that had made it so successful. What they did gave them control, cachet in the international market and a more powerful position. Killing anyone in the population who disagreed meant nothing to them and only raised their stature in the criminal world.

  When Inez had reached out to Mallory, begging her to come down there and see for herself, to research a book like she’d done in other situations, she’d jumped at the chance for a new project. Her other books had shockingly all hit the bestseller list, giving her a feeling of success and the confidence to do more.

  She’d done her best to blend into the life of Santa Marita the way she usually did, scoping out shops and restaurants and any fun places that would appeal to tourists. She’d bought touristy things like tee shirts and straw hats and woven bags. She’d tried hanging out in different popular bars and cantinas and sampled drinks. She’d snapped pictures with her cell phone, trying to be casual about it and mixing generic shots with critical ones. And she engaged people in conversation, as someone who was new to a place and wanted to know what was going on would. She’d tried to be friendly, but it wasn’t as easy as she’d thought it should be.

  Things were different here from other tourist spots. Everyone here was tense. They walked around with strained looks on their faces. There was an element of fear in the air that permeated the entire city, despite the illusion of life going on as usual. People didn’t seem to warm up to visitors without ‘connections’, and after a while she noticed there was always one of Barrera’s soldiers hanging around whenever she was trying to talk to someone.

  She’d thought she’d blended in the way she’d learned to do in so many other places, but apparently she was giving off the wrong vibes. She guessed she hadn’t been as casual in her observing and questions in Santa Marita as she’d thought, because she’d landed in Barrera’s crosshairs. Part of it was the constant air of tension and fear. No one really wanted to chat with strangers, and efforts to be friendly were met with suspicion.

  After the lit
tle incident at the hospital, his men had come looking for her a couple of nights ago. Now she was relegated to hiding in the small attic. There was no way off the island under the present circumstances. At least no normal way. Barrera controlled all points of entry and exit. Now more than ever, Mallory wanted to get out of here to write the story of Barrera and what he’d done to Santa Marita. Drugs and drug cartels were hot topics, along with crooked military takeovers, and she could feel another blockbuster coming on. But she needed to stay alive to write it, and that possibility was shrinking by the day.

  That was when she’d thought of the only person she had confidence in to get her out—John ‘Rocket’ Hardin. Five years hadn’t diminished the memories or the effect he had on her, no matter how hard she tried. There just wasn’t room in her life for relationships. Besides, she’d tried it before with disastrous results. Except now her life was again in danger and he was the only person who could help—the reason why she had called Alicia to find him and reach out to him.

  Fate had certainly played a trick on her. Still, she had to acknowledge the fact that five years was a long time not to see or hear from someone, or speak to them. For all she knew, he’d totally forgotten about her. Or maybe he’d figure one rescue was enough and that she was just too much of a pain in the ass to bother with this. She prayed she was wrong, because she had no place else to turn.

  She lay back on the flat roof and looked up at the stars, as if she could find an answer written there. The view was great. The Albados’ home was higher than the ones on either side of it, adobe like the others but a full story taller, because whoever had first built the house had put a garage on the bottom level, adding that much more height. Mallory could look down on others, but they could not look up and see her. It gave her a strange feeling of protection, even though she was trapped here.

  The sound of the hidden trap door to the roof sliding open had her lying as flat as possible on the earth bricks that made up the surface. There was no chimney to hide behind—who the hell would have a fireplace in Santa Marita, which was hotter than hell on a good day?—so she tried to make herself as invisible as she could. No one ever came up here except Inez, but in her situation, she couldn’t afford to let her guard down. She let out a breath of relief when Inez’s head, with its signature ponytail, popped up.

  “Mallory.” The word was whispered.

  “Here,” Mallory whispered back, and pushed herself to a sitting position. There was always a chance someone could look up and see her on the roof, but Inez came up here a lot and no one ever questioned it.

  “I brought you some iced tea.” She handed over a large thermos tumbler.

  Mallory took it, slid the little tab to allow her to drink and took two long swallows.

  “Wow.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Thank you, Inez. That was so, so good.”

  “You’re welcome. I figured you’d be sweltering up here.”

  “I just needed a change from the attic.” She held up a hand. “Which, by the way, I’m not complaining about. Have your parents said anything yet?”

  “They aren’t saying anything about anything.” Inez shook her head. “They’re torn between wanting Barrera out of their country and keeping their heads on their bodies and not rolling on the ground over some imagined infraction.” She reached down and pulled up a brown paper bag that looked as if it contained something heavy.

  “Here.” She handed it to Mallory.

  And it was heavy. She looked inside and nearly dropped it.

  “A gun? Inez, where the hell did you get a gun?”

  “From a friend.” She held up a hand. “Don’t say anything. He’s completely trustworthy and hates Barrera and what he’s done to the country. You said you can shoot one, right?”

  “Yes. I can.” It was the first thing she’d learned to do after she’d been rescued from the Taliban.

  “There’s two clips in there. That’s all he could give me. But at least it will give you some protection until your friend comes.” She studied Mallory. “Do you know yet if your sister got hold of him? That guy, Rocket?”

  Mallory shook her head. “No. I haven’t heard a word yet. It’s only been a couple of days since I reached out to her, though, and I’m just praying she’s made contact with the man.” She loaded one clip into the gun, stuck the other in her pocket and placed the gun next to her.

  That was what she got for being a bloodhound, she told herself. She’d soon gotten the sense that they were keeping a closer watch on her as she played tourist in Santa Marita. Whatever it was, Barrera’s men had begun to look at her with an expression that was a combination of hostility and suspicion. She’d just smiled and nodded whenever one of them had made eye contact, but casual was her middle name. However, she’d been seen enough with Inez for the goons to link them, although when questioned, she and Inez gave their stock answer—she was visiting her friend Inez and soaking in the local culture.

  Then she had gone to see Inez at the hospital where she worked in the emergency room. Mallory had been unable to contain her curiosity about the patients there and she’d wanted to get an idea of how many patients had bullet wounds, knife wounds or other damage. To disguise her visit, she’d pretended that she’d hurt her wrist, a turista casualty, as an excuse. She’d figured that was innocent enough. She’d thought she’d been very careful, aware that Barrera’s soldiers had begun to pay a little more attention to her.

  But while Inez had been wrapping her wrist and Mallory had been looking around and whispering questions to Inez—something she had repeatedly kicked herself for—she’d seen one of the guards who’d been standing watch at the emergency room entrance make a call on his cell phone.

  Damn. She had known better, but her consuming curiosity had overridden her common sense. When she’d left the area, he’d asked for her identification. She’d given him the fake ones she carried when she was doing this kind of dangerous work, something she’d started right after Afghanistan. She also had no social media pages, no footprints anywhere. She knew in this day and age that might look suspicious, but if questioned she could always say it made her nervous. The last thing she wanted was for someone to pull information on her from the internet.

  “Melinda Clayton.” He examined the driver’s license and passport as if they contained some secret code. “What are you doing here?”

  She held up her wrist. “Getting this fixed. I’m so clumsy. I fell on it.”

  “No, I mean here. In Santa Marita.”

  “Visiting Inez. My friend. We’ve known each other since college and kept in touch. She told me what a great place this is. I had some vacation time, so I thought I’d check it out.”

  “You’ve been seen spying on places around town. Asking questions.”

  Oh, shit.

  “No, no, no. What kind of spying?” She managed a smile. “I’m just a tourist. I like it here. I’ve been trying to get a real feel for the place so I can tell my friends what a great spot it is to visit.”

  The guard was short and as wide as he was tall. He stared at her, a look on his face as if he’d cheerfully break every one of her bones if he could prove she was lying. He blocked her path for another moment, then stepped out of the way. But he headed toward Inez as Mallory walked toward the exit.

  When Inez came home at the end of the day, Mallory learned the guard had asked her many, many probing questions.

  Inez just sighed. “They wanted to know who you were. I told them someone I was friends with in Houston who wanted to come down and see what Santa Marita was like. I played it real casual and I think I deflected their interest.”

  But Mallory’s feeling that she’d tripped a switch solidified later that night when Barrera’s men came to the house looking for her. Inez had heard the slamming of car doors in the street, peeked out of the window and seen them. She immediately sent Mallory up to the attic, sliding the almost invisible access into place.

  “There’s a sleeping bag in the corner,”
she told her. “Lie down on that and open the little windows so you get some air. Don’t move, though. We don’t want them to hear you. I’ll let you know when they leave.”

  “But what about you? Your parents?”

  “We’re used to stuff like this. We’ll handle it.” She managed a smile. “Mama will wail and Papa will grumble and they’ll leave us alone.”

  Mallory had no idea how much time passed while Barrera’s men searched the house, but eventually Inez joined her in the attic.

  “Bastards,” she snapped when she joined Mallory in her hiding place. “They said you fit the profile of someone who is against the regime. That you’ve been too nosy for someone who’s just a tourist.”

  “Well, that’s certainly the truth,” Mallory agreed. “What did you tell them?”

  “That we had no idea where you were. That you’d left the house to check out some nightspots and we hadn’t heard from you. That we were very worried and hoped they could help find you. They searched every inch of the house and told us wherever you were, they’d find you. Thank god the access to the attic is so well hidden.”

  “No kidding.”

  “But I know they’re keeping an eye on the house. Doing drive-bys now and then. Maybe they even paid some of our neighbors. Mallory, you have to find a way out of here. Not for us but for you. God. I’m sorry I ever asked you to get involved here.”

  “No, no.” Mallory grabbed her hand. “I’m glad you did. When I get out of here, I’m going to pitch this to my publisher. He likes books like this, obviously.”

  That was the situation that had made her call Alicia and ask her to find the only person she knew who could make that happen. Then she’d settled in to wait, always on pins and needles.

  Now she and Inez huddled facing each other.

  “I shouldn’t have asked so many questions,” she told her friend. “But this is not your fault. I should have been a little more careful. Inez, I’m so sorry to make trouble for you and your family.”

  “No, I’m glad you came. Someone has to tell people about this.” Inez let out a long sigh. “But now I wish I hadn’t gotten you involved in this.”