“You were in the Navy?”
“Yes, I joined right out of high school. I was sweet on Isabel even then. But when I went off to the service, she was only sixteen.” Rip stared out at the water, not really seeing it. “But I came home for visits, and…we fell in love.”
“But you didn’t get married?”
“No, I didn’t get the chance to marry her. I was committed to my career and planned to stay in for ten years. The wedding date was set for when I got out.” Rip looked back at Lela. “It’s not a story I share often.”
Lela didn’t say a word.
“She’d wanted to get married sooner, but I wouldn’t agree. Until I was home for good, it wouldn’t have been fair to her.” Rip ran his hand through his hair. “I’d seen too many guys try to sustain relationships while on deployments. It didn’t work. It’s just too hard on the woman.”
Rip rubbed his eyelids with his thumb and forefinger. “I was just about to retire from the Navy…but it was too late.”
“You haven’t gotten over her, have you?”
“I loved her.” Rip wasn’t in the habit of revealing such an intimate feeling. He stood up and paced the deck. Then he looked at Lela. She watched him, but didn’t comment. “I apologize for talking about it with you. It’s not your issue. You have enough to worry about.”
Lela stood and took his hand. “I asked…I want to know.”
Since when had Rip opened his heart to a woman? He was on thin ice, and needed to rein in his feelings before things got out of hand.
“If you’re done with that beer, how about we find some dinner? Nic said there’s stuff in the freezer.” Rip took her inside and they rummaged for food.
For the rest of the evening, Lela was fairly quiet, which was just as well. Rip didn’t want to talk about it anymore.
After they cleaned up, Lela went to her room and shut the door. Rip stretched out on his bed and crossed his feet at the ankles. He stared up at the ceiling.
How had things veered off the path so badly? Rip was there to ensure Lela’s safety, and for no other reason. But he’d shared a story that was so personal he rarely talked about it.
Lela had brought it up. She seemed interested in him, and wanted to get to know him. But that wouldn’t be good. He had to stay professional. Her life was at risk.
This wasn’t a time for romantic interludes, or for him to indulge his sexual urges toward Lela. But he did want her. He’d be a fool not to. She was all he wanted in a woman, and more.
But it didn’t matter. His heart wasn’t available. Isabel had been his first love. And he hadn’t been able to forgive himself for what had happened to her. He hadn’t even given her the wedding she’d dreamed of, because of his unchangeable plans.
And now it was too late. Rip couldn’t change the past. There was no redemption. He’d failed her.
Lela deserved better than he had to offer. She wasn’t a woman to fall in bed with purely for pleasure. But his heart had been taken long ago. He didn’t have love to give to Lela. So it wasn’t going to happen…no matter how much he desired her.
Chapter 7
Senator Ortiz had a busy day scheduled. He was out on bail and life had returned to normal…almost. He still had the issue of the trial, but he was confident. Considering the power behind him, there was little chance the case would hold up in court.
He’d just finished with a staff meeting. Sunlight streamed into the room. The conference space was a huge office on the upper floor, with wall-sized corner windows providing a view of downtown buildings. He prided himself in his achievements, and rewarded himself accordingly.
Ortiz lived in a luxury home in River Oaks, an enclave of estates in an exclusive area of Houston, and ran a successful law practice. The location, the building, and the interior design pleased him. It reflected his importance to the community. He wasn’t about to let anything shake his hard-won status.
The staff collected their papers and shuffled out with muted conversations. It was respectful, and he appreciated that. While slowly following the others out, Ashlee Vidal hugged her notepad to her chest. She’d been quiet during the meeting, just as she had been much of the time lately.
And Ortiz could guess why.
Ashlee was good friends with Lela Cabelo. He had a hunch that Ashlee knew more about her friend’s disappearance than she was saying. Her loyalty might be difficult to shake, but it could be done.
“Ms. Vidal?”
Ortiz stared at her long blond hair. From the back, he could see her fine ass under the designer skirt, and her legs that looked a mile long with those high heels on. He’d come on to her a few times—discreetly, of course. She was an employee and should have been flattered at his interest.
Yet Ashlee had given him a polite, if terse, brush-off. She would come to regret that.
“Yes, senator?” Ashlee turned to face him, but her expression revealed little. She was a looker; he’d give her that. Those blue eyes and lovely lips belonged on a magazine cover. But she was haughty, and thought she was better than he was.
“Can you stay for a minute?” Ortiz said with his best smile. He could be magnetic when he wanted to be. That might have been where he’d erred. With a bit more charm, he might yet gain her favor.
Ashlee didn’t reply, but she didn’t leave, either. She stood near the door, as though he might jump on her. It was an idea. This was his law office. He could lock the door and have his way. But that was a bad idea, considering the current atmosphere.
“Please sit.” Ortiz kept his tone smooth. He didn’t want to sound like he was ordering a pet around.
After a brief hesitation, Ashlee took a seat in the chair closest to the door.
“I’m just concerned,” Ortiz said, wrinkling his brow.
Ashlee didn’t do him the courtesy of inquiring why. She seemed reluctant to engage in conversation.
The senator put aside his annoyance; he was good at covering up such things. “Your friend Lela is still missing.” He paused for a beat. “She’s worked here for quite some time, so I’m fond of her. It’s disturbing that she’s on the run, and I’m worried.”
He could swear that Ashlee narrowed her eyes, but the motion was so fleeting that he couldn’t be certain. “Yes, I’m sure you are,” she said.
She wasn’t going to make it easy on him. “Have you heard from her?” He could have been more tactful, but he really didn’t have the time for that.
Ashlee’s lips narrowed into what could hardly be called a smile. “No, sir.”
“If you do, will you report it?” That might gain acceptance more than asking her to tell him personally.
“I’ll do all I can to ensure Lela’s safety…if an opportunity arises.”
What in the hell was that supposed to mean?
“Is there anything else, senator?” When he didn’t say anything, Ashlee rose from the chair and left the room. Dammit, she wasn’t going to co-operate. He’d have to come up with a different approach.
*****
Lunch was in the private dining room at Morton’s. His attorney Leonard V. Townsend had offered to foot the bill for the meal, as well he should. Ortiz was paying him enough for a good criminal defense. The private room had been Leonard’s suggestion, so they could talk without being overheard.
When Ortiz arrived, his attorney was already there. He stood and shook hands. “Good afternoon, Senator Ortiz.”
“Leonard.” His attorney had addressed him by title to show respect for his position. Ortiz didn’t offer the same.
The senator ordered vodka straight up, and Leonard had iced tea. “I have some meetings this afternoon,” his attorney said, “but you go ahead…enjoy.”
Miniature crab cakes and prosciutto-wrapped mozzarella were served with the drinks. While waiting for the steaks to arrive, Leonard started the conversation. “I don’t wish to be negative, but the longer that witness is gone, the worse it is.”
“How do you mean?”
“The case is getti
ng a lot of press,” Leonard said, “which I’d rather avoid. Your former paralegal has garnered sympathy. A young woman being chased by dangerous enemies makes a sympathetic figure.”
Ortiz sipped his drink, then leaned closer. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if she’s the public’s new sweetheart. The charges against me won’t stick…so it won’t matter.”
Leonard appeared concerned. “The woman went to the FBI, and clearly she has something, or she wouldn’t have been headed for witness protection.”
“Lela Cabelo is a liar. She’s out for notoriety, a feather in her cap. Even when the criminal case fizzles, she’ll still be a star. You watch: she’ll write a book or something and make millions…if she lives that long.”
Leonard looked thoughtful. He stirred some sugar into his tea, then said, “Senator, I want to ask you…one more time. And this is very important.” He took a breath. “Is there anything that you haven’t told me?”
“I’ve been an open book from the start.” Ortiz maintained his sincere demeanor. “If anything sticks, it will be minor infractions. Whatever else the feds think they have has been falsified. It’s just a bunch of trumped-up charges. If it’s evidence of anything, it’s that Lela Cabelo is jealous and aspires to be in the limelight.”
Leonard didn’t pursue the matter.
“It’s your job to make the case go away,” Ortiz said. “I’m a senator, for Christ’s sake.”
It was ludicrous that the government had dared come after him for actions they were guilty of. Money laundering and stealing was their method of operation, part of a strategy to catch the bad guys. The high-risk activity involved agents depositing drug proceeds into accounts designated by traffickers, or in shell accounts set up by agents.
The tactic had raised questions with the media, about the government agencies’ effectiveness in bringing down drug kingpins. It certainly blurred the lines between surveillance and facilitating crime. In the process of laundering drug money, cartels were allowed to continue their operations over months or even years, before seizures or arrests were made.
And those same agencies had the gall to point the finger at him. So what if he’d dabbled in money laundering, used his connections to protect the cartel, and called in favors that involved looking the other way on drug operations? It was no more than the government had authorized its own agencies to do.
Plus, the profits couldn’t be argued with. The salary of a state senator was paltry, and even though the law practice should have supported him well enough, it hadn’t quite cut it. So Ortiz had found another source of income. Anyone in his position would have done the same.
The cartel had treated him well. The contributions that had been discreetly funneled into his campaign had kept him in office. It was in their best interests to secure his status. It was mutually beneficial. The money Ortiz had acquired wouldn’t be missed.
And he’d taken extra care to cover his tracks on that. One thing he was sure of: the feds wouldn’t discover where he’d stashed the money. He’d been too clever for them.
*****
The next morning, Ortiz left the office to make a call, since he assumed that his office was bugged. He walked over to Root Square, a well-manicured park that was nearby. He passed the memorial and headed for the basketball court, where a friendly game was going on.
After retrieving a new cell phone from his pocket, he sat on a concrete ledge surrounding a garden area. He’d ditched his phone after the arrest, since it might have been compromised. The prospect of talking to the cartel boss was distasteful.
It shouldn’t be. The guy was on the same side, and could be expected to lend support. Permitting criminal charges to hold up in court wouldn’t be good for either of them. Ortiz assumed his contact would bail him out, or at least have some solid input about how to proceed.
The cartel was a scary bunch, even to Ortiz. He shuddered when recalling a recent news story about the notoriously brutal leader of the feared Los Zetas gang. The cartel hit man had been found dead, along with five others. Earlier that week, he’d been arrested with fifteen other suspects and had confessed to participating in ten executions. He’d been charged with murder, torture, kidnapping, extortion, and human trafficking.
Ortiz assumed that was the short list. What a cartel member was capable of defied description. The article had stated that the cartel was known for kidnapping random citizens and, worst of all, beheading its rivals. The group had expanded operations across the border into Texas and other states.
Their recruiting was focused on street gangs and former inmates. But the cartel was organized, and to maintain a highly disciplined, structured hierarchy, they had recruited some members with specialized training, such as former military and law enforcement officers.
Ortiz rubbed his temples. He had no direct link to Los Zetas. His connection was an offshoot of the main cartels. He wanted to amass wealth, but he intended to stay alive in the process—so it was safer to stay on the periphery.
The tranquility of the day and the peaceful atmosphere in the park belied the nature of his life. Ortiz hadn’t gotten ahead by sitting back and letting things take a natural course. He was a mover and a shaker, so he’d taken control. And he’d reaped the benefits.
Once the senator put this new twist of fate behind him, he’d resume the lifestyle he enjoyed without disruption.
His phone vibrated in his hand.
“Hola, amigo.” The voice on the phone was deep and gravelly. It held threat merely by its tone. Ortiz hadn’t been given a name. The man’s identity had been withheld for the bigwig’s protection.
“Hola, jefe.” The senator addressed him as boss, as he’d been instructed to from the beginning of the relationship.
On the rare occasions that he called, his connection spoke English, even though he was aware that Ortiz was bilingual. The choice of language was a way of showing equality, if not superiority. It made sense for the senator’s contact to be higher up in the organization. After all, he couldn’t be expected to deal with street thugs.
“I’m displeased,” the boss said.
In the silence that followed, a tinge of fear snaked up the senator’s spine. But he shook it off. This was a business call, and he expected co-operation, not judgment.
“I’m not happy with the situation either, jefe. I could use your support on this. The feds are hot and heavy on this deal. I wouldn’t want any fallout to reflect on your organization.”
The flattery apparently fell on deaf ears. “It’s your mess, senator. You clean it up.”
The message was clear, but Ortiz didn’t like what he was hearing. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Figure it out.” The reply had been delivered with dead calm, threat woven into the command.
“What I don’t get is why your guys didn’t bump off Lela Cabelo when they had her. What were they waiting for?” The senator’s question sounded sharper than he’d intended. The cartel expected manners, no matter the situation.
A deep-throated chuckle spoke volumes. But Ortiz didn’t get it. A lot of trouble could have been avoided if the gangsters had walked into the train station and shot Lela on sight. They’d seen fit to take out the feds, so why not her?
“Without finding out what she knows? That would have been unwise.”
Ortiz listened to the man’s heavy breathing while he thought that over.
“So, senator…I’d advise you to make her talk before you bump her off.”
Ortiz cringed. He was okay with the drugs and the money, but he hadn’t planned on bumping anyone off. Although he would have no objections if Lela disappeared for good—dead or alive.
“I have one more question.” His contact didn’t reply, but Ortiz sensed that the man was losing patience. “How did you know about the train station?”
His contact huffed. “You think FBI agents can’t be bought off, like anyone else?”
The insidious nature of the cartel hit home. Ortiz realized there wasn’t anything they c
ouldn’t gain access to. Money wielded unlimited power. And the cartel had so much wealth that the organization was nearly legit. Like the mob, their activities earned an obscene amount of income. But laundered and funneled into other business vehicles, the group presented an acceptable image—when they needed to.
*****
Before heading back to the office, Ortiz took time to consider his options. His contact had issued an ultimatum: handle the situation or else. The or else hadn’t needed to be stated. That was how the cartel operated. Second chances weren’t part of their mentality.
Ortiz was treading on thin ice. Bringing down the wrath of the feds on the drug business was frowned upon, and carried lethal consequences. If Lela Cabelo testified at trial, and confirmed the evidence she had against him, it would be all over.
But there was a way out of this dilemma. Ortiz had the power and connections to ensure things worked out in his favor. He didn’t need to get his hands dirty; he was too smart for that. He had other people to execute the deeds. That was the most advantageous way.
All he had to do was find his runaway paralegal. Once he had his hands on her, Lela would talk. He’d see to that. Then he’d destroy the evidence. The cartel could buy favors, but so could he. With the only person who could finger him out of the way, he’d take care of the rest.
He’d find out if she had copies of documents and where she’d hidden any evidence. And he’d make her reveal if she’d told anyone else. He couldn’t risk overlooking any possible source of attack. Once he gained control, Lela wouldn’t be of any further use.
The call with the cartel boss had unsettled him. But Ortiz was regaining his confidence. He had power and authority to use for his benefit. It was no easy task to take down a senator, particularly one of his cunning. Lela would rue the day she’d decided to go against him.
Ortiz had a connection in law enforcement, a district police chief on the payroll. The cartel owned him. Michael Hagan had helped the senator before. Reelection had gone more smoothly after the police chief had lobbied for him.
Hagan wouldn’t refuse to assist the senator. He was in as deep with the cartel as Ortiz. The chief had recruited a couple of cops at his station, who were willing to do his bidding for a financial payoff. The officers had acquired the habit of looking the other way on drug shipments, and the cartel had been appreciative.
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