by Taylor Lee
“Now, now, everyone. Not that Sergeant Moreau isn’t accustomed to being bombarded by her fans, but if I’m not mistaken, I believe this is her first venture into partisan politics. It’s important that you understand that the reason Enrique and I are so pleased that she is willing to participate in our campaign, at least along the outskirts, is that the issues she is passionately interested in are the primary ones driving our campaign.” He threw Viviana a rakish grin. “Not that I have to protect the sergeant, who, without a doubt, is the scariest woman I’ve ever met. Nobody, including me, would ever want to get on the wrong side of her. That caution stated, may I introduce none other than Sergeant Viviana Moreau, also known as the Enchantress.”
For the next hour, Viviana talked with Enrique’s staff. Many of them referred to her famous cases and identified with her passion. One of them poignantly spoke to the issues that often surfaced in many of the conversations she had. “I know you don’t know me, but you changed my life, Sergeant Moreau.” The young woman, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen, wore the indelible scars of the street on her young face and body. “I’m ashamed to admit I was selling my body to pay for my drugs. One of the older streetwalkers told me about you. I started following the news about you, reading everything I could get. Finally, I decided to go to the shelter, and with a lot of help from the sisters and the other girls there, I’ve been off the streets and the drugs for nearly six months.”
Thoroughly taken by the heartfelt and often chilling tales from one after another of the eager young people, Viviana admitted she needed a breath of air. She shouldn’t have been surprised when Nicolas interjected.
He spoke to the group as a whole. “Okay, worker bees. How about we give Sergeant Moreau a break? Enrique and I are hoping that she will hang around tonight and meet some of our supporters, so we don’t want to wear her out. In the meantime, we have hundreds of posters that need to be hung and at least three times that many envelopes that need to be addressed.”
Viviana tossed him a grateful grin and excused herself, indicating that she needed to go to the restroom. After she’d relieved herself and did a quick repair to her makeup, she sank into an overstuffed chair in the anteroom. Unfortunately, at that moment, the door opened and Sonia Vega entered. Not able to keep from sighing, knowing that her respite was decidedly over, Viviana forced a smile onto her lips and made an attempt to connect with the frosty woman.
“My goodness, Sonia. I thought chasing bad guys and girls was challenging. But campaigning puts police work to shame.”
Sonia threw her a practiced, mirthless smile and agreed coolly, “Yes, it is hard work. Fortunately, when you believe in the candidate the way that I believe in my husband, one is willing to do things that are more than challenging.” She added, her lips curving in what almost seemed like a genuine smile, “But then, if anyone knows what it is like to bask in the limelight, it is you, Sergeant.” When Viviana chose not to answer her, Sonia asked, “Tell me, how does that handsome rogue you are hooked up with deal with your notoriety—as I believe you called it? It must be hard to see every man in the room lusting after his supposed woman.”
Viviana rose to her feet and chose not to pick up the gauntlet that the viperous woman had tossed at her. Instead, she placed as insincere a smile on her face as the one on the combatant facing her and said with a nonchalant shrug, “Jax is well aware that there is only one man in my life and that it is him. That knowledge makes it possible for us to overcome challenges that few couples have to face. But then, if anyone understands that challenge, Sonia, you do. If you’ll excuse me, I promised Nicolas I would meet with some of your donors.”
Without waiting for the hard-eyed woman to respond, Viviana left the room, startled to see Nicolas Garza waiting outside the door. She was grateful when he didn’t pull any punches.
“I trust you understand why Sonia might be a trifle prickly with you, Sergeant.”
Not willing to dissemble any more than the audacious man apparently was, Viviana said curtly, “I’m sure you are aware of the challenges beautiful women and men have. While it is wonderful to know that you are gorgeous, that sensationalism can take a toll on your partner or lover. As I just made clear to Mrs. Vega, there is one man and one man only in my life. Trust me, if you knew Chief Hughes the way that I do, you would know that it would be impossible for anyone to compete with him.”
Nicolas nodded and flashed his sharp smile, followed by a wink. “Yes, having seen Chief Hughes up close and personal, I can imagine how that astonishingly handsome and arrogant man could capture even as noteworthy a prize as you, Enchantress.”
Biting her tongue to keep from saying something she would regret later, Viviana couldn’t hold back completely. “The last thing I want to do is to give an accomplished puppet master advice, but believe me, Nicolas, no one who goes in the ring with that particular police chief comes out with all the equipment he went in with.”
Nicolas gave a knowing laugh and shot her his trademark wink. “Believe it or not, Viviana, if I may call you that, not only is Chief Hughes the luckiest man alive, he is also one of the most formidable. Indeed, if anyone is almost as scary as you are, it is that fortunate man, who has captured you.”
At that moment, Enrique came from the conference room and must have overheard Nicolas, because he added, “I’m not sure what you two are discussing, but if it is your debonair partner, Sergeant Moreau, he is lucky indeed. However, getting to know you as I am doing, it is hard for me to believe that anyone, even as superlative as Jaxton Hughes, could ever truly capture the Enchantress.” Turning to Nicolas, he added, “I know we are meeting with supporters later, but I have to believe that Sergeant Moreau needs a break as much as I do. How about it, Sergeant? Can I entice you with a shot of whatever liquid pleasure you imbibe and a few minutes out of the limelight?”
Viviana smiled, surprised at how much she needed both liquid refreshment and a chance to relax. Twenty minutes later, sipping on her second shot of potent whiskey, she admitted that the charming candidate had accomplished what few men had ever done—intrigue her. She surprised herself by sending Jax an unexpected text.
“I know I said that I would meet you at Flemings, but I got caught up in a flurry of campaign appearances. Please give the guys my regrets. I know you’ll understand when I brief you on the issues at the heart of this campaign. As hard as it is to believe, given Enrique’s passion, we might actually be able to elect a governor who can do something about the things I care desperately about.”
****
Glancing up from his phone, Jax met Mick O’Reilly’s troubled gaze. Knowing what was on the frowning man’s mind, he shrugged. “Sorry to say, Sergeant Moreau won’t be joining us.”
Mick was quiet for a moment, then apparently unable to hold back, he said, “I hate to pick at a pimple, Jax, but fuck it, this is the third time Vivi has skipped a happy hour at Flemings.”
Jax blew out a hard sigh and decided not to evade Mick’s unspoken concern. Given that their silence confirmed it was a concern Francis Fleming and Greg Bannon clearly shared, he chose to address it.
“I’ll admit, Mick, I don’t like it any more that you do that Viviana has gotten so involved in Vega’s campaign. To the point that it is interfering with her work.” He added with a forced grin, “And with her pleasure, which is how we describe sitting with all of us scarfing down Francis’s high-end booze.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “All of us know how passionate Viviana is about abuse issues and the hideous toll they take on the victims. It appears at least in her mind these issues are a central part of Vega’s campaign. I’m not surprised that she’s intrigued with the campaign and the candidate. Frankly, it’s good for her to have a concrete way to address some of the problems that have bedeviled her all her life.” Glancing at the men who were studying him with varying degrees of skepticism, he barked a short laugh. “Of course, it doesn’t help that the fucker is Hollywood handsome and almost as arrogant as I a
m. Just know, fellows, that between Viviana and myself, I do not refer to him as Enrique, as she does. Rather, I call him the asshole who’s going to get his ass kicked if he tries to move in on my woman.”
Chapter 19
Glancing at her phone, Viviana was relieved to see Jax’s response. She was certain he was disappointed when she texted him to say that she wouldn’t be able to make it to Flemings. The team had planned to meet to go over the agenda for the next day. Knowing that she was blowing off a relaxing time with the guys as well as working on next steps in their attack on the rival gangs, Viviana was grateful that Jax didn’t seem angry.
If anything, his response was solicitous. “Good that the campaign is addressing important issues. We’ll miss you. Until tonight. J.”
“Did you get permission to stay out past your curfew?”
Viviana startled and looked up to see Enrique grinning at her. Before she could respond, he said with a chuckle, “Hey, Enchantress, I’m just kidding. If anyone is aware that no one, even the compelling police chief, could put a curfew on you, it’s me.” He added more seriously, “On that point, Viviana, I know I’ve taken a large amount of your time today and will understand if you need to leave.” He quickly added, “I’m hoping you can stay, because several important potential donors will be dropping by later this evening. I would be honored to have you meet them.”
Once again, Viviana felt the shiver of unease that had been pricking at her throughout the day. She’d made it abundantly clear to her team that she was the only one of them who had the street cred to meet with the leaders of the two warring gangs. Yet here she was, nearly eight hours after she met with Manuel Torres, blowing off a recap with her team, not to mention her boss and lover. Her text to Jax reminded her that it wasn’t as though she was playing hooky from her work. If anything, the issues that were driving the Vega campaign were at the heart of the critical case she was working on.
The touching stories she’d listened to throughout the day from damaged young women were all too familiar. Prostitution, human trafficking, and pedophilia were built on the despicable foundation of illegal drugs. This made the case that her multifaceted team was working on especially relevant. That the Vega campaign was focused on rooting out illegal drugs and addressing the hideous effects on the addicts whose lives were being ruined convinced her that there was more than one way to attack the illegal drug industry. Perhaps candidates who were consumed with the need to attack the hateful industry could do as much as law enforcement could. She wasn’t naive enough to think that the bad guys would just pick up their toys and leave if Enrique Vega’s campaign was successful. But having a governor who was as passionate as Vega was would have to change the landscape, make it harder for the cartels to move into a city or state. Seeing Enrique studying her, Viviana felt the need to test her embryonic thoughts.
“How did you become so passionate about the issues at the center of your campaign? Surely you know that the worldwide illegal drug industry is flourishing. What can one governor—no matter how well-intentioned—do to make a dent?” She added with a heartfelt sigh, “God knows I’ve spent my life in the trenches taking down one evil entity after another, only to see a bigger, more virulent gang emerge from the ashes.”
Enrique frowned thoughtfully, then nodded. “You are correct. On the one hand, I’m not so guileless to think that if I was governor, there wouldn’t be an illegal drug industry in California. That I could wave a magic wand and the drug and human traffickers would simply vanish—poof—in the night.” As he spoke, he flicked his fingers at an imagined cloud of noxious air. A serious expression creasing his brow, Enrique captured her with his earnestness. “Believe me, Viviana, I know my limitations. And I most certainly know the industry I’m taking on. But you need to understand I have fought these despicable criminals all of my life and one thing I have learned is this.”
He reached for her hands and held them tightly. If anything, his gaze was more intense. “The reason the drug industry is flourishing can be captured in one word. Power. Every kind of power but particularly political power. Do you honestly think that the drug lords could control an economy the way that they have without covert and, in some cases, overt political support?”
At her questioning frown, he rushed forward, his words spilling eagerly from his mouth. “Surely you know the ways that city and state governments can strengthen the chokehold of the illegal drug industry by turning a blind eye or accepting contributions from questionable sources. Or by crippling the law enforcement agencies to prevent them from doing their work.”
Not releasing her hand, he moved forward in his chair until their knees were touching. The nearness of his powerful body and commanding presence captured her attention. His eyes flashed with intensity. “Think about the cases you have solved. And yes, Viviana, I have been studying your remarkable successes. Correct me if I’m wrong, but in each pedophilia case you’ve broken, one consistent element was that high-level political forces or law enforcement bigwigs were involved. And in every case, money and lots of it allowed those evil men to wreak havoc on the defenseless souls they sought to corrupt. The prostitutes, the kiddie strollers, the drug addicts, the children exploited in the pornography industry. What is the consistent element in all of these crimes, Viviana? Let me say what you already know. It is power. Political and economic power that allows evil men and women to inflict irreparable harm on the poor, the young, and the disadvantaged.”
Viviana startled, realizing that the fervent expression lighting his face was familiar. It should be. She’d seen it often enough in the mirror when she confronted a hideous crime or took down a despicable villain. Even so, she was shocked at the words that tumbled from her lips. “How did you get out, Enrique?”
His expression should have frightened her. Anger contorted with overwhelming determination darkened his face. Except, as before, she recognized it. His eyes literally gleamed. He was quiet for a long moment and then, making an obvious effort to dampen the emotion he was clearly feeling, he said, “That’s an easy question to answer. I became as ruthless as they were.”
Viviana wasn’t sure that she wanted to know, but it was impossible not to ask. “Who hurt you, Enrique? Your mother, your father? The gangs?”
He laughed as he rose to his feet and began pacing across the room. “Hmm, Sergeant Moreau, that is a loaded question. And it begs for an answer.” The mirthless gleam in his eyes conflicted with the grim smile curving his lips. “How about I start with my parents. Probably, I should begin with the woman who gave birth to me. We can forget about the missing father, at least the one who donated his sperm, because I never met him. It’s questionable if my mother even knew who he was . . . which says a lot about my mother. To put it bluntly, she was a crack-snorting whore who sold her body to pay for the poison she shot up her veins and snorted up her nose. When her body was so ravished by smack and Super 8 that she couldn’t make enough from it to cover her next hit, she found another product to peddle . . . me.”
At Viviana’s gasp, Enrique stopped pacing and locked her in place with a hard gaze. “I know you are more than familiar with the kiddie stroll, Sergeant Moreau, and you are well aware that young boys are as sought after as girls. Especially if they are cute, brown-skinned, and available. And their pimp happens to be their mother, who is knowledgeable about life on the street and knows how to market the product who happens to be her son.”
Enrique strode to the cabinet along the wall and took down a second bottle of Jack Daniels. He shrugged and said, “Sorry, I’m confident you are accustomed to better booze. Unfortunately or fortunately, I learned early on not to care about the niceties. Anything that I could drink or snort that deadened the pain was good enough for me. And given that I was seven years old at the time, it didn’t take all that much to numb me out.”
He walked over to her and, without asking, refilled her glass. Seeing the distant look in his eyes, once again she felt a shiver of recognition. Taking a hearty sip of the Jac
k, she forced herself to ask the question she had to know the answer to. It was critical to her understanding of the man practically glaring at her. She took a deep breath, then asked the question she’d asked before. “How did you get out?”
He blew out an audible sigh, then sank into the armchair across from her, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. She kept from pushing him, knowing that if he was going to tell her any more, it would have to be because he trusted her or, she thought with a shudder, because he may have recognized a kindred spirit.
He sighed again and then asked rhetorically, “How did I get out? It’s a long and likely familiar story to you, Viviana. I’m sure you’ve heard it many times. In the beginning, I chased after boys who were bigger and stronger than me. I did what they told me to do and became a consummate crook and drug runner. When I was eight years old, I was a recognized spotter on some of the most vicious corners in Chicano Park. That’s where I met Nicolas. He was three years older than I was. When he knifed an old geezer who was in the process of raping me, I believed I’d met my savior. Nicolas could have told me to murder my mother and if I coulda found her, I would have. I looked up to him like he was the second coming of Christ.”
At this point, Enrique had risen from his chair and was staring out the window with what Viviana was sure were sightless eyes. He told the rest of his story in a monotonous tone that was eerily familiar to Viviana. She knew that tone. She’d heard it in her voice when she broke down and told Jax her ugly story. “To cut to the chase, Sergeant, Nicolas and I spent our teenage years moving from one gang to another, each one more violent than the previous one. I won’t tell you the things we did to ourselves and to others. Just know that our goal was simple. It was survival. Any way that we could. Breaking whatever rules we needed to break and, frankly, committing any crimes we needed to commit. The end goal was simple: survival.”
