by Lisa Harris
She turned to Ivan, uncertain. If they waited too long to continue to the mainland, their pursuers would more than likely be waiting for them.
Michael opened his eyes and tried to figure out where he was. Stars hung above him, and the ground beneath him rocked. A car? No … a boat? He turned his head and found her beside him, close enough that he could feel the pounding of her heart. His guardian angel. He could smell the faint scent of vanilla in her hair mingling with the distinctive tang of salt water. But she’d been nothing more than a dream. Or so he thought.
He searched his memory for clues. The last thing he remembered was being in the cottage. They’d killed Kendall. Promised to kill him as well. Then she’d appeared—his angel—with a crazy idea to rescue him.
Pushing an elbow against the hard flooring, he tried to sit up, but the pain radiated through his rib cage. He might have gotten away with minimal damage, but that didn’t mean that the injuries they had inflicted didn’t hurt like the dickens.
The young woman gripped his arm and motioned for him to be still.
He nodded, catching her features in the moonlight. Water droplets peppered his face. The steady hum of a boat’s engine droned somewhere in the distance. His mind fought to focus on what she was saying, but instead, blackness tried to envelop him.
He closed his eyes. Memories of the last time he’d talked to Kendall replayed in his mind. It had been pouring rain when he arrived at the café. He’d stepped inside, immediately taking in all the details. A waitress with choppy highlights and a checkered blue uniform poured coffee for an older woman at the counter. A thirtysomething-year-old man wearing a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt sat reading a newspaper and sipping a cappuccino. A couple of college-age girls texted instead of chatted, waiting—like the rest of them, presumably—for the downpour to stop.
He’d studied the rest of the customers while slipping his umbrella into the stand by the front door, still unable to shake the unease that had taken hold of him. He’d always loved this time of year, but hearing Dean Martin’s “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” play in the background, and knowing his family was less than a dozen miles away and he still couldn’t see them, didn’t exactly make this a Christmas worth remembering.
He missed his family. Missed his mother’s roast turkey, cornbread dressing, and divinity she served every Christmas. Missed the ornately dressed twelve-foot tree topped with his grandmother’s glass star. Shoot, he even missed the hideous red and green Hunt family sweater traditionally passed from one lucky person to the next each year.
He shoved back the memories. Except for a perky blonde flashing him an inviting smile from one of the tables, the rest of the customers were either too engrossed in their food or in each other to notice him.
Ignoring the blonde’s gaze, he headed for the leather booth at the back of the room and slid in across from Kendall, wishing he were the one facing the front door. He’d walked around the Atlanta neighborhood for ten minutes, in and out of busy shops, until he was convinced he hadn’t been followed. But even though no one had managed to arouse his suspicions, his gut told him they were taking a big risk meeting in public.
“Would you prefer I did a background check on all the occupants in this room?” Kendall glanced up at Michael through a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and grasped his coffee mug.
Michael forced a weak smile. “Might not be a bad idea.”
At least the man had attempted to shed the recognizable FBI garb for something a bit more casual, though the plaid flannel shirt wouldn’t have been Michael’s first pick.
Kendall signaled the waitress. “I told her to bring you a cup of coffee when you got here, but if you’re hungry—”
Michael waved away the offer. “Coffee’s fine.”
“Were you followed?”
“No.” Michael grabbed the plastic menu lying in front of him and tapped it against the table. “But I’m still not sure that meeting in person is wise.”
“You worry too much. What do you have for me?”
Michael slid the flash drive across the table.
“What’s on it?”
“The evidence you’ve been looking for. It’s the second set of books, the master list, where Valez has been keeping track of all his illegal gains.”
Kendall’s eyes widened. “This is priceless. How’d you get it?”
Michael shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“Well, it looks like your months of hard work have finally paid off. You can stop worrying now and come in.”
“Come in? I’m not done yet. I still have to tie all of this to La Sombra if we want this house of cards to come tumbling down.”
“If La Sombra even exists.”
“He exists. I know it.” He just didn’t know who he was. Yet.
“I don’t think sticking around is a good idea.” Kendall shoved the drive into his front shirt pocket. “There’s been a change of plans.”
“What do you mean, ‘a change of plans’?”
Kendall leaned back, silent as the waitress approached their table. She set a burger in front of Kendall, then filled up Michael’s empty coffee mug.
“Anything to eat, sir?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
The waitress turned to Kendall. “And you, sir?”
“The coffee will do for now, Darlene. Thanks.”
Kendall watched her walk away, hips swaying wider than necessary.
“How’s your wife?” Michael threw out the not-so-subtle reminder.
“Wouldn’t know. We’re separated.”
“And the kids?”
“Doing as well as they can despite their bouncing back and forth between us.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too, though being separated has its advantages. How else would I get away with eating this?”
Michael stared at Kendall’s plate.
“This burger”—Kendall took a bite and talked while he chewed—“is man’s greatest invention. Three patties, four kinds of cheeses, bacon, and mushrooms.”
“My cholesterol spiked just listening to you.” Michael watched Kendall eat, wondering how he could be so relaxed. “You said things have changed. What’s changed?”
“You need to come in.”
“You know I can’t come in now.”
“Can’t or won’t? So far you’ve given us enough information to put a huge dent in Valez’s organization—”
“As much as I’d rather be sitting with my family on Christmas Eve instead of drinking stale coffee and watching you eat that burger, this was never just about Valez.”
He’d given Kendall the cooked numbers. But now he needed to identify La Sombra.
“You might have to forget La Sombra, as much as I hate to say that,” Kendall said. “Too much has happened this past week. It’s not safe anymore.”
“It’s never been safe,” Michael said. “What happened?”
Kendall leaned forward and lowered his voice. “A week ago, Charlie Bains was shot and killed.”
“Charlie? What happened?” Michael’s younger sister had broken off her engagement to Charlie, but his death would still affect her, despite the fact Emily wasn’t in love with him anymore. “Who killed him?”
Kendall dropped his gaze.
“Kendall … who killed him?”
“Like I said, a lot’s happened this past week. There was a shootout, and your sister was involved.”
“Avery?” His stomach clenched. “Is she okay?”
“Not Avery. Emily shot Charlie.” Kendall’s fingers tapped against the side of his coffee mug.
“Emily?”
Michael’s mind spun at the information.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“I guess I should have brought you a newspaper. It was the headline news in Atlanta. It’s a long story, but the bottom line is that Charlie was working for the cartel. He tried to shoot Mason, and Emily ended up stopping him. Your sister’s quite a shot, by the
way.”
“Maybe, but my sister’s not a cop.” Familiar guilt surfaced. He should have been there for her. Should have stepped in and stopped the situation. He knew what it felt like firsthand to shoot and kill someone. It didn’t leave you feeling like Rambo, like in those shoot-’em-up finale scenes portrayed in the movies.
Michael pushed his drink away, his stomach soured by the news. “She’s strong, but this is going to take a long time for her to get over.”
“And that’s not all.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was another cop arrested during the operation.”
“Who?”
“Russell Coates. He was working undercover—arrested in order not to blow his cover—but before he was released, someone took him out.”
The noose around Michael’s neck pulled tighter. He’d been the one who’d suggested that Kendall approach Coates. Coates and Michael had run a few undercover operations together, and Michael had always been impressed with his integrity. Then Coates had made unexpected inroads into the cartel with his undercover identity. He hadn’t even hesitated when Michael suggested he take it a step further.
And now he was dead?
“Michael, this isn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it is.” Michael stared at the brightly painted yellow wall behind Kendall, filled with dozens of eclectic pieces of art. Photos of coffee cups and coffee beans, antique advertisements and signs.
“What happened?”
“They found him dead in his cell this morning, which poses a problem. Everyone thought that the leak—whoever had been selling information, presumably to the cartel—was plugged when Charlie Bains was killed, but now it appears that the cartel has a few more cops on the payroll than we realized.”
“We need Valez,” Michael said. “We need La Sombra.”
“The bottom line is that I’ve managed to keep your identity here a secret for your own protection, but the longer you stay with Valez, the greater the risk. If he finds out who you really are …”
“Then I’ll come in and work from inside the department.” Michael’s mind was spinning at the thought of being able to see his family again. After eight long months, it didn’t even seem possible. “I’ll have more resources, which will be better in the long run—”
“You better hold on before you plan your prodigal return.”
“Because Coates is dead?”
“Yes. Partly because we don’t know yet who wanted him quiet, but also because there are some who still believe you were—before your unfortunate death—the department leak.”
“That’s not exactly new news.”
“Maybe not, but when they find out you’ve spent the last few months working for Valez …”
Michael leaned forward and lowered his voice. “So you’re telling me that if I stay undercover, I’ll likely be caught and killed by the cartel, and if I come in, I’ll be arrested and possibly killed by some rogue cop on the cartel’s payroll.”
“That’s a simplistic way of putting it, but yes.”
“So without knowing who we can trust, I can’t come in.” Michael weighed the situation, not liking any of his options. “I knew the risks when I walked into this, but I didn’t think my own people would decide to implicate me for treason.”
“Come in now, and I’ll do everything I can to ensure your safety.”
“You just said—”
“I can put you in a safe house.”
“A safe house?” No way. “I’m your best bet to bring Valez’s organization down, but I can’t do anything to help if I’m off the grid, and you know it.”
And without knowing who’d killed Coates, there were no guarantees that whoever did it wouldn’t find him as well.
Kendall leaned forward. “I can guarantee your safety with a few men I trust, and it would just be temporary, until I can sort this out.”
“Who else knows about me? That I’m not lying in that casket?”
“For your own safety, I haven’t told anyone.” Kendall patted his shirt pocket. “But hopefully this will go a long way in proving whose side you’re on.”
Not for the first time, Michael wondered if their decision to keep his assignment classified had been a mistake.
“I would appreciate that. I didn’t spend the past eight months hiding out on the doorstep of an infamous drug lord only to be taken down by the good guys.”
“I’ll find a way to get you out of this, Michael. I promise. But I still think you should come with me now before things get worse.”
“So they can what? Arrest me so my family finds my body in some supposed safe house or jail cell? No thanks. I’ll take my chances that Valez doesn’t know who I am. Give me a few more days—”
“A few more days, and you could be dead. Bains is dead. Coates is dead. There’s a good chance that they’re homing in on you as well, and what happens when Valez realizes the truth about who you are?”
“I’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
“When? When you’ve just been dumped in the middle of the Atlantic? It’s too big a risk, Michael. I want you to come in now.”
“Give me one more week. Valez invited me to the island tomorrow for Christmas. It will give me a chance to find the last piece of the puzzle.”
Kendall sighed. “Fine. Go to the island. Act like everything is normal. I’ll make sure things are in place for you once you do come in. But remember, Valez won’t hesitate to kill you if he finds out the truth.”
“I know that.”
“And you’re willing to take that risk?”
“You just find out who’s behind Coates’s death, so when I do come in I’m not thrown into the fiery furnace.”
5
Michael opened his eyes again at a nudge against his shoulder. His angel still hovered over him, the wind whipping through her hair as she looked down at him. How much time had passed? How much of what he remembered was real?
“What time is it?” he asked.
“You’ve been out about twenty minutes. I found some pain medicine for you. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”
He nodded, then downed the pills with a swallow of the bottled water she gave him. His mind fought to find his way out of the fog and the throbbing pain in his side. Maybe passing out wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Then the only thing he had to deal with was the haunting dreams.
“Where are we now?” he asked.
“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes from the shore. There was another boat after us, but Ivan managed to lose them shortly after you passed out the first time. Once we get to the dock, my car is parked nearby, but we’re going to have to make sure we avoid any welcoming committees.”
He handed her back the water bottle, struggling to remember the names she’d told him. Ivan … Olivia.
“What happens after that, Olivia?” he asked.
She leaned back, her hand braced against the side of the boat for balance. “We’ll drop you off at the nearest police station on the mainland. They’ll be able to help you—”
“No!”
“No?”
Michael hesitated, knowing he needed to form a rational response to his outburst. Even in the semidarkness of night, as they flew across the water, he didn’t miss the doubt in her eyes. Or the hint of anger in their depths. He deserved both. His pursuit of justice had landed him in the middle of a hornet’s nest, and now he’d dragged her and her brother into it right alongside him.
But walking into a police station was just as risky as running into Tomas in a dark alley. Russell Coates had been playing the same deadly undercover detective game. Knowing that he was dead and that it had been an inside job meant that Michael wasn’t just running from the cartel. The leaks in the department had yet to be plugged. If he showed up alive, he’d jump to the top of some dirty cop’s hit list.
He caught her gaze, wishing he hadn’t noticed the soft curve of her lips or the dimple in her chin. “We can’t go to the authorities.”
“We can’t go to the authorities?” Her eyes widened. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not sure who we can trust.”
“Last I heard, Tomas and his goons are the ones to be afraid of, so why would we not go to the authorities? They’re supposed to be the good guys, remember?”
Not all of them.
Lights of the mainland came into view. Michael scrounged for a source of energy to combat the deepening fatigue he felt. All he really wanted to do was disappear and sleep for the next week or two, praying that when he woke up all of this would be over.
But there was no escaping this situation.
“There are things you don’t understand,” he said.
“Listen, I get it,” she said. “You’ve been through a horrible ordeal. Betrayed, deceived, threatened, whatever—”
“It’s more complicated than simply what happened back there on the island.”
She shoved back a strand of hair the wind had plastered against her face. “Who are you?”
Michael eased into a sitting position and stared out across the water as the pontoon skimmed across the surface. She deserved an answer. Even deserved the truth—and somehow, he had to convince her of that truth.
“I’m an undercover cop.”
“A cop?” She let out a shallow laugh. “Ivan was convinced you were a spy. Is Liam Quinn your real name?”
He weighed her question, still unsure if she’d even believe him if he told her the truth. He could tell her more lies, but whether he liked it or not, they were in this together. She’d risked her life to save him, and she deserved the truth.
“My real name … is Michael Hunt. I’ve been undercover for the past few months … working for Valez. For the last eight months my family has thought I’m dead.”
He studied her face in the moonlight. The lines of truth and reality in his life had long since blurred out of focus. He was tired of risking his own neck while trying to bring about justice. Sometimes all he could see was the corruption and evil all around him. Because Valez, La Sombra—whoever he was—and their men were only one layer of the issue.
