by Carly Fall
Everyone shook his or her head. “Okay then. We’re out of here first thing in the morning. Let’s get to work.”
Chapter 17
Rayna arrived home, exhausted. Her desk had been buried in tedious paperwork, and she decided she wasn’t meant for long hours of sitting. She longed to be in motion, not chained to a desk. However, she needed to prove herself before her superiors would clear her for fieldwork, and so she stayed at her desk all day and worked through the cramped shoulders and numb butt.
The garage door slid down, and a vehicle pulled up in the driveway just as the door kissed the pavement. Her heart quickened as she wondered who could be calling on her since she had no plans for the evening.
Moving into the house, she hurried to the front door and looked through the peephole. Her father and his driver emerged from the car and walked up to the stoop.
“Papa!” she exclaimed as she opened the door.
“Hello, my love,” he said with a grin as he took her face in his palms and kissed each cheek. “It is so good to see you.”
“Papa, what are you doing here?” she asked, stepping aside to let him in. At age sixty, her father, Daniel Gomez, was still an impressive figure. Threads of silver peppered his black hair, his emerald green eyes the same color as Margarita’s. He stood at almost six feet, his body still strong, thin and muscular, his footsteps conveying confidence and superiority to those around him.
He gazed around the condo for a moment, his green gaze hard as if he were assessing the space. Rayna knew he wasn’t looking over her furnishings—or lack there of, in this case—but what she had done to update the security.
“I’m so happy to see you have put in the blackout blind on the sliding glass door,” her father murmured. “Do you have your weapons where you can get to them easily?”
Rayna smiled. “Of course, Papa.”
“Show me, love.”
As Rayna went through the living room and bedroom, pointing out the five guns she had stashed in each area, her father nodded approvingly. She may be CIA, but she was the daughter of the head of one of Latin America’s biggest drug Cartels, and she realized if for any reason anyone made the connection between her and her father, her life would be in danger. The other Cartels wouldn’t hesitate to kidnap her for ransom, or worse, kill her for retaliation. That was why she used her mother’s surname, and her sister used a stage name.
Most days his world was far, far way, but when her father came to visit, she was reminded just how close she resided to lawlessness.
“You’ve done well, Rayna,” he said, his voice swelling with pride.
Rayna smiled in spite of herself, letting her father’s praises wash over her. Despite her father not being in her life full time, she was still a daddy’s girl.
“What are you doing here, Papa?” she asked.
“Do you have any wine? Perhaps one of the bottles I brought you last time I visited?”
She laughed. Her father hated her grocery store “swill,” as he called it, and preferred to keep a stash of highbrow vintages at her house to enjoy whenever he came to visit. “Of course. I still have the 1952 merlot. Would that be okay?”
“Perfect. Thank you, love.”
As she poured a glass for her father, she quickly downed one, and then she refilled it. She brought the glasses to the tan leather couch and handed one to him while sitting down.
“We should have let this breathe before enjoying it,” he murmured after taking a sip. “But sometimes life doesn’t give us time for such allowances. Speaking of time, you need to go visit your mother. She hasn’t seen you in two weeks.”
“I know. I was planning on stopping by tomorrow.”
He set the wine glass down on the old wooden coffee table and nodded his approval. “You didn’t return my call last night, Rayna,” he said settling back against the cushions.
“I know, Papa. I had to think things through, and I meant to call you this morning, but I got tied up at work.”
He nodded. “I figured. I wanted to come for a visit, anyway, so I flew in on a charter. What are your thoughts on helping your sister?”
Rayna sighed and set her wine glass down next to his. “Papa, I’m working so hard to move up in my job. I want to get out from behind a desk and into the field, and I feel that even if I’m owed vacation time, leaving now would be a bad idea career-wise.”
Her father nodded, his piercing green gaze making her think he could see into her very soul. “I understand, Rayna.”
He took her hand in his, his skin smooth and just a little darker than hers. “Your sister . . . I don’t even know what to say about her. She was not what I expected when Monique, God rest her soul, gave birth to my daughter. From day one that child always needed to be the center of attention. When she was old enough to walk, she ‘d dress up for dinner parties and insist on entertaining the guests. She never watched cartoons, but entertainment shows. Don’t even get me started on her teenage years.”
Monique was Margarita’s mother, and Daniel’s first wife. Rayna had not been born when she was gunned down at a grocery store drive-by shooting. A year later, her father met Rayna’s mother, Sandy, and Rayna was born almost one year later to the day.
Rayna remembered her father bringing Margarita to visit, and how she’d whisper in the dark before they fell asleep that one day she would be famous and the world would love her.
“She has a beautiful voice, but she insists on dressing like a common whore and shaking the gifts God gave her on stage. I cannot stand to even watch her perform any longer.”
Seeing her father worry about his daughter and disagreeing with what she did, made Rayna sad. She knew her father would never express his true feelings to Margarita, but he also came from a different time. Today, everything was sexualized, and her sister used what she had to claw her way to the top.
“But you, you are so different from her. I believe that is because of your mother. After Monique was killed, I always wanted a different life for Sandy and you. That is why I set you two up in the United States, and I remained in the shadows.”
Her father had been good to her all her life, although he was absent most of the time. He sent her to the best schools in the Virginia area and housed Rayna and her mom in comfort. When he came to visit on fake visas and a private plane, which was about once a month, he brought Margarita, gifts and incredible amounts of hugs, kisses and love to tide her over to his next visit. Even though they lived in different countries, when Margarita and their father came to visit, it felt like a true family.
When she was old enough to finally have an idea what he did, it was his sheer love for her that overrode any ill feelings she had.
Her father was head of one of the largest drug Cartels in Mexico with talons stretching into Guatemala and Honduras.
Before her sat the largest contradiction she’d ever imagined.
As the head of the Cartel, her father ordered people killed—how often, she didn’t know. It could be weekly, or even daily. He commanded an army of men to do his bidding, no matter what that may entail. Cruel, powerful and relentless were words she would use to describe that side of him.
However, as a father, he was kind, gentle, and guided her with optimism and an unwavering belief that her life could be normal, despite the title he held. At times like these when she sat with him sharing a bottle of wine, it was hard for her to imagine the other side of his life, the Cartel side. He’d made certain her existence was never tainted with his business, and that was why it was hard for Rayna to wrap her mind around that part of her father: she’d never seen that side of his life.
“But you, you are different, Rayna,” he said, sipping his wine. “While Margarita uses her body and her God-given talent, her voice, you use your gift: your brains. You don’t need the limelight she craves so badly. You are much happier in the shadows, using your intelligence to guide you through your life. I’m so proud of what you’ve become.”
“Thank you, Papa.” Rayna s
aid, heat warming her cheeks.
“That is why I’m asking you to please be with your sister in her time of need. She can be bombastic and impossible, a creation I take full responsibility for. I grieved for her mother and tried to make up for her death by giving Margarita everything she wanted. I realize now I made a mistake. You are a good match for her because you two are so different. Your intelligence combats her impulsiveness. I’ve seen the two of you interact, Rayna, and you can keep her in line.”
Rayna took a sip of her wine. The only reason her sister even half-listened to her was because Rayna didn’t take any crap from her. “What is this protection you said you hired? Why not just bring her to the compound in Mexico? Surely that is safe until the crazed fan can be dealt with.”
Her father shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t want her there, Rayna. Even with her life in danger, she needs the spotlight. She’d be more of a distraction than I can afford at this point.”
A chill ran up Rayna’s spine at her father’s words. “What does that mean, Papa?”
Her father took another sip of his wine. “It means that we may be having some issues in one of our pipelines, and I need my men focused, not preoccupied by Margarita. Please don’t concern yourself with my problems.”
He’d always shielded her from his business transactions, wanting her life to travel on the straight and narrow. Her path was not to be dirtied by his dealings.
“The protection is a unique agency I was made aware of through some acquaintances,” her father continued. “They hire special people to look after those who need protection and can pay the price. Although Margarita drives me insane, she is my daughter, and her safety doesn’t have a price tag. However, as I stated on the phone, I want you to be there. Although Margarita is older than you by two years, I sometimes feel as though you are the elder sister, the more mature and stable one.”
Rayna stared into her wine glass. Her father made it hard for her to say no. Everything he had said about Margarita rang true: the woman was nearly impossible with her demands and attitude.
“Where would we go?” she asked, not meeting his gaze.
“After consulting with the head of the agency, we’ve decided the more contained she can be, the more secure she’ll be. Therefore, you’d be accompanying her on a yacht with a special crew in the Caribbean. I figure she can’t get in much trouble if she’s confined to a boat out on the ocean. With you there to keep her in line, she’ll be safe.”
Rayna glanced up at him. How could she say no to a yacht in the Caribbean?
“She’ll be safe, and if you go, the crew will be as well,” he said with a chuckle.
Rayna couldn’t help but laugh.
“What do you say, Rayna? I know I’m asking a lot, but she’s my daughter, your half-sister. In the end, family is all we have left. The money, the nice homes, the cars and planes . . . as I grow older, I realize that none of it matters. Please, my beloved, help me preserve what is left of my family.”
Rayna eyed her father, thinking he had the ability to dish out Catholic guilt that would put any hardened priest to shame.
“How long do you think it will be? And what about the fan? How far has he or she taken things?” she asked.
Rayna listened as her father told her that the policia were after the fan, but so were his men. It was a matter of who got to him and “neutralized” him first. “The situation has been escalating. Margarita says it stared with silly love letters that she didn’t know about for months because her people kept them hidden from her. Then the letters turned violent and threatening, and she was made aware of them. The police were called. He sends her flowers backstage at her shows, usually white roses with drops of red on them. The most recent bouquet he left a note saying he’d bled for her. The police tested the red drops and indeed, it was human blood. He’s broken into her house twice, but thankfully she wasn’t home. He recently killed her cat, gutted it and hung it from the chandelier in her bedroom.”
“Oh my God,” Rayna murmured.
“Yes. You can see why I worry. This isn’t some lovesick fan. This man is demented and needs to be stopped.”
Rayna studied her father and saw a glint of anger and determination in his green gaze. She had no doubt his men would find the psycho before the police did and would make sure the man never lived to send another love letter to anyone.
He set down his wine glass and took his hand in hers. “What do you say, Rayna? Will you help me protect my insolent, rude, bombastic daughter whom I love?”
“How long do you think I’ll be gone?” she asked.
“My guess would be a week, ten days tops.”
Rayna quickly assessed the situation. She had vacation time saved up, so she could claim a family emergency to get the time off, and she wouldn’t be lying. However, the CIA could never know it was her drug Cartel father and her famous sister who was in crisis.
And really, how could she resist a yacht in the Caribbean? Margarita was difficult, but she could be dealt with. Rayna had been dealing with her for twenty-eight years and had learned a thing or two during Margarita’s visits about how to talk to her to keep her in line.
This protection agency had to be reliable, or her father would never trust them with Margarita’s life. Basically, the only thing she would have to do is relax, catch some sun and tell her sister to shut the hell up every now and then and remind her of exactly why they were on a yacht in the middle of the Caribbean.
It shouldn’t be too difficult.
However, she had the feeling taking the trip would set her back in her work, but her father was right: when it came down to it, family was the only thing that mattered.
“Okay, Papa. I’m in.”
Chapter 18
Rayna and Margarita landed in St. Thomas, the private plane coming to a halt on the tarmac.
The company her father had hired arranged the jet, a new experience for Rayna, but Margarita was in her element, haughtily ordering the flight attendant around for food and drinks as she checked her email, responded to her Facebook page, and looked over her Twitter feed. She sent her Diet Coke back twice because she was certain it was regular. She demanded her food be heated up, but then complained it was too hot. Margarita acted liked a spoiled, entitled brat, which she was. The five-hour flight was long with only a brief respite as Margarita took a short nap.
Disembarking the plane, Rayna inhaled the warm air as it caressed her skin. She tensed as a bald, white man in his fifties dressed in a flowered shirt and kaki shorts approached. “Ms. Garcia?”
“I’m Margarita Garcia,” her sister said, stepping in front of Rayna.
“It’s my pleasure to meet you,” he said with a slight bow. “My name is Henry, and I’m to take you to the boat.”
Rayna relaxed, recalling her father saying they were supposed to meet a man named Henry.
“Excellent!” Margarita exclaimed. “Could you please grab my bags?”
Rayna noted she didn’t wait for an answer, but teetered toward the running SUV in her sky-high heels with her light blue, ankle-length sundress floating behind her, and slipped in the back seat.
Rayna followed, her flip-flops smacking against her feet and her duffel bag thrown over her shoulder.
“Oh, this air conditioning feels good. It seems so much more humid here than Mexico,” Margarita said in Spanish, once they were in the car.
Rayna leaned her head back, hopeful the drive to the boat wasn’t too long.
Henry lifted Margarita’s bags into the back and slammed the door. He took his place behind the driver’s seat and the sped off. A guard at the end of the tarmac opened the gate, and they bypassed the traffic clogging the airport, immediately merging on to the freeway.
St. Thomas was on the U.S. Virgin Island side, so they were able to bypass customs, which made Rayna happy. Right now, she just wanted to get to the yacht, get settled in and embark on their journey. Two days ago, Margarita had received another note reading, I will always love you. If I can
’t have you, then no one will. I bled for you, and you will bleed for me.
It was frightening to consider someone thought of her sister in that way.
They drove in blessed silence as Rayna watched the island whiz by, wishing she could experience it. Perhaps she would come down to the islands at another time for vacation.
Busy shops gave way to even busier outdoor market places as locals tried to sell their goods while tourists tried to talk down their pricing. It reminded her a lot of the markets she’d seen in Mexico—somewhere in the middle of the negotiation everyone would find a fair price.
A few minutes later, they pulled into a gated area with signage reading, St. Thomas Marina. Glancing around at all the brand name shops—Gucci, Dolce, and Saks Fifth Avenue to name a few— Rayna wondered if Margarita would want to shop. She would have to make sure to put a stop to that as her job was to get Margarita on the boat, not let her run up her Am-Ex card.
They exited the car, and Rayna took in the hustle and bustle of the marina. People swarmed about, and she heard English being spoken with American, British and Irish accents. She even thought she detected a Canadian. As Henry unloaded their bags, a couple to her right conversed in Chinese, while another family argued in Spanish about where to eat lunch. It seemed people from across the globe traveled to visit the beauty of the Virgin Islands.
Just as a golf cart pulled up to take them down to the boat, Rayna heard, “Margarita Garcia?”
She turned to see a young woman in her early twenties approaching her sister.
“Yes!” Margarita said, her smile giving away that she was thrilled she had been recognized.
“Oh, my God! I love you!” the woman gushed in Spanish.
Rayna stepped up to put some space between Margarita and her fan, but Margarita gently pushed her out of the way.
“Can I get a picture with you?” the woman asked.
“Of course!” Margarita said, bringing her long ponytail over her shoulder so it rested on her breast. “Let’s take the picture this way so our beautiful faces are properly lit.”
