by Peg Brantley
He had pulled his sister too tight. Sedona’s hand pressed against him, pushing him away. He both heard and felt her take a deep breath.
“Who, Sedona?”
Whatever elements in her body that had softened and relaxed pulled taut again.
He reached for her arm and began to massage it. “Tell me.”
“It’s Vega.”
Mex had an immediate reaction to the name. Visceral. Unchallenged. An icy coldness poured itself into his veins. No.
“Vicente Vega wants to speak with you.”
* * Vicente Vega. The cartel. The reason his family was dead. Why in the world was Vicente Vega in Aspen Falls to see a man who wanted anyone associated with the cartel dead? Fed to the vultures, but only after being tortured for hours, just as he had been tortured over the last six years. Vega may not have been involved personally—he’d run a completely different arm of the organization—but it was… still personal.
Mex fought to suck in some air. “Vega is here? In my home?”
“He was in your foyer. I could not invite him in further.”
“Did he say why he was here? Why he wants my help?”
Sedona shook her head. “I didn’t ask him. I didn’t want to know.”
Mex considered all of the
possible reasons for Vega’s appearance. None of them good. None of them anything he could ignore. “Tell him I’ll be out shortly.”
“Are you sure?”
“Just tell him.”
Sedona rose to leave, head low and shoulders pulled toward the earth like some kind of fallen angel.
“Sedona?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t worry.”
“No killing? No vengeance?”
“Not tonight.”
Mex sat in the quiet room. He needed to find strength. To prepare himself to face this man and listen to whatever he had come here to say. He closed his eyes and centered himself. Said the private words that led him to his core. When he opened them again the gray-scale shifted into a silvery
luminescence. He drew on the solace. The power. The optimism the
incandescence held out for the taking.
Mex rose from the bed and ran his hands through his hair. It was time to get this over with.
He moved through his house, not in any particular hurry to meet with the man who worked for the organization that had his family murdered. The man might wield power over Sedona, but he had none over Mex. As far as Mex was concerned, Vicente Vega could rot in hell. But he was curious why Vega had come. Why he thought Mex might help him.
At the front entry he stopped and looked around. His sister stood with her back against the wall, her face blank. “Sedona?” He sharpened his tone to get her attention. “Sedona.”
She shook her head and he watched as her eyes slowly focused on him.
“You said he was in my foyer. Where’s Vega now?”
She nodded toward the door. “I made him wait outside.”
* * Mex opened the massive wide-planked door. The man who looked him in the eye was at once familiar and a stranger. Vicente Vega had aged. And not well.
Neither man spoke and neither man extended his hand. Mex turned and walked toward his study, leaving the door open. Vicente Vega followed. If Vega looked around at his home, Mex didn’t know. He didn’t care.
Once inside the den, Mex turned on a couple of lights and closed the door. He motioned for his visitor to take a seat, then backed up to his desk and leaned against the edge. He waited for the man to say something.
“I need your help.” Mex arched an eyebrow but said nothing.
“I want to hire you.”
Mex lurched from the desk and
moved to open the door. This meeting was over. He still hadn’t spoken and now there would be no need.
“My daughter is missing.” Mex stopped on his way to the door. He walked behind his desk and sat, but didn’t pick up a pen or give any other sign he might be interested.
Vega took a quick breath and began speaking. “Dia has been gone for two days. I know that does not seem like very long but in my business… ” He cleared his throat. “Her nanny is missing as well.”
Nanny? The Vegas never used nannies. Guadalupe Vega raised her children on her own. Everyone in the cartel and in law enforcement knew that was a matter of pride and pleasure which set the Vega family apart from other powerful cartel families. They had servants and staff, but never a nanny.
“I have not received any demands and cannot go to the authorities. I fear she has been taken by the La Familia cartel. If I am correct, I will not receive any demand. They will torture her and then find a way to prominently display her body.”
Mex spoke for the first time. “Could she have just run away?”
“With the nanny?”
Good point. “Tell me why you have a nanny.”
“My Guadalupe died eighteen months ago. My son I know what to do with. My daughter needs a hand. Pilar Villanueva is the fifth one who has worked for us. She is the only one Dia has approved of. She is younger than the others and perhaps my daughter was ready for a friend.”
Maybe she did run away with the nanny, Mex thought. “Why me?”
“You know I personally had nothing to do with the deaths of your family.”
“If I thought you had, you wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
Vega bowed his head in
acknowledgement. “You hunted the men who killed your family through at least two countries for two years.”
“Three countries.”
“You know how to track people who do not want to be tracked.”
“I never found them.”
“My business partners know how to make problem people disappear. It does not matter whether they are our enemies or our employees.”
Mex figured that was the case.
“Why should I help you?”
“Aside from the fact that my daughter is an innocent, I will pay you one million dollars to find her. Three million if you bring her back to me alive.”
“Look around you, Vega. I don’t need your money.”
The man sighed and closed his eyes. “I thought as much.”
Mex remembered the moment his wife told him they were going to have another child. His beautiful, sweet wife would want him to find this young girl who was in trouble. “Finding your daughter is the only element that
intrigues me. Nothing else does. And frankly, you have enough manpower that you could bring almost any government to its knees if that’s what you wanted. Let alone a bullshit kidnapper. They may not be able to get you the results I could, but then… their history with you isn’t the same as mine.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly?”
“I have more to offer you.”
Mex sucked in some air. Vegas’s tone suggested things he didn’t have the luxury of considering. Did he want to go down this road? With this man?
Vega leaned forward in his chair. “I can—”
“Stop.” If Vicente Vega suggested what Mex thought he might suggest, there would be no going back. Mex would be dragged back in to living his days because of the cartel’s influence on his life.
And nothing the Senora-Ciento cartel had ever brought into his life had been good. It had only brought
devastation and evil.
There could only be one thing Vicente Vega would have to entice Mex into a working partnership.
“If you do this, in addition to the money, I will give you some new information related to people within the Senora-Ciento cartel who were directly involved in the decision and directives to sacrifice your family.”
“Sacrifice? I don’t believe you. Sacrifice? For what? To send a message to other lawmen?”
“It was for the good of the
organization. More precisely, for those on top of the organization.”
“You’re on top, Vega—at least near it. How do I know you weren’t responsible for the order to have m
y family brutally murdered?”
“You don’t. Not for sure. But I believe you also understand my code. It is older and less convenient than the code of those who are in charge today. I can look at you and I can look at God and swear I had nothing to do with the killing of the people you loved. On my honor.”
Mex considered the man’s offer. He thought of the missing girl. Antonio would be about her age if he hadn’t been killed. Mex had seen Dia one time with her older brother and mother. They were in a park, laughing and singing. “What kind of information?”
“The best I could give you would be names and last known locations. The rest would be up to you.”
“These would be the names of men who were connected how again?”
“I will provide you with the name and location of the man who ordered the murders, as well as the men under him who carried them out. These are men whose names you did not find in your hunt. They are protected.”
He lusted for more names of those responsible for the horror in his life.
He hadn’t made up his mind, but Mex took out a legal pad and reached for his pen.
CHAPTER THREE
Dia Vega Arroyo flung her arms above her head and spun in a circle, threatening to topple a bowl of freshly picked green beans to the floor of the tiny kitchen. “Adaché, of my own free will! I’m so glad to be away from him!” She looked at Pilar and grinned. “I’m so glad you were my nanny. Now you’re my friend.”
Pilar smiled from her place in front of the stove. Steam billowed into the fragrant air. “As your friend, I could use some help with dinner.”
Dia reached for the beans and began to trim them by pinching the ends with her fingers. “I mean, seriously. I’m proud of my Arroyo name. My mother’s family name. When Mamá died, his true colors came out. He only loves my brother. Me, he just wants to order around—if he talks to me at all.”
“He doesn’t know what to do with you.”
“Tell me about it.” Dia continued to pop the ends of the beans, placing the fresh, usable bits into another bowl and piling the ends on the scarred wooden table. She paused. “He will be angry with us both if he ever catches us, you know.”
“Between you and me, your father seems perpetually angry.”
Dia laughed. “You are so right. And now his fierceness is no longer in our lives. Thanks to you and Obatala we can build our future the way we want.” Dia had loved learning about Obatala, King of the White Cloth. The oldest of the orishas, or deities, of Santeria, Obatala was responsible for crafting human bodies. She thought it sort of sad and sort of funny that he got into trouble by creating some deformed bodies one day after drinking too much palm wine.
Pilar’s smile dimmed. “I’ve told you to be careful about revealing to others that you are a santeros. Santeria has many influences, and outside of those who share our belief the influence is rarely good. When you speak of an orisha, speak silently—to yourself.”
“But it’s just you and me, Pilar. And we’re not in my father’s house.”
“Humor me. Only when we’re in a ritual do I want to hear so much open talk about Santeria from you.”
Dia felt her elation ebb for a moment, but then she considered who was talking to her. Pilar was just being extra cautious. The beautiful young woman who had come into her life when she most needed a mentor and friend would never try to dominate her the way her father had. Pilar exposed her to a world where she felt loved and
appreciated.
Santeria gave Dia the feeling of having a real family for the first time since her mother had died a year and a half ago. Everyone in Pilar’s group had accepted her from the first minutes they’d met. Not like those terrible nannies her father had forced on her because he didn’t want to deal with a daughter.
I miss my mamá. She thought about when her mother was alive. Regardless of Father’s wealth and position, when Madre was alive, there were no nannies. She made every day fun. Dia and VV never wondered if they were loved. They were a family, even though they seldom saw Vicente Vega. She and VV Jr. went to a private school accompanied by bodyguards. They didn’t realize how unlike other kids they were until Mamá died.
Dia gazed out the kitchen window. There wasn’t much of a yard, but nearby a stream meandered lazily through the property. On either side, large trees cast their shadows into the water, regardless of the time of day. Puffy white clouds sat like game pieces on a brilliant blue sky.
She looked at Pilar. “Can we stay here? I like this place.”
Pilar shook her head. “Luis told me we need to leave tonight. Hector is already packing up supplies.”
Dia swiped her forearm across the table and ends of green beans flew into the air. “We’re always leaving! For no good reason we leave one place and then we leave the next! I’m tired of it! Tired! Are you listening?”
Dia reached for the bowl on the table, already feeling the satisfaction hurling it would give her. Hot tears filled her eyes and she pulled in a breath. Her fingers curled over the rim and began to pull it toward her when a strong hand grasped her arm and held it tight. She looked up into the flat,
unexpressive face of Luis. His dark eyes gave nothing away.
Pilar ran over and touched the arms of both Dia and Luis. “Please. Luis, she is young and passionate and understandably upset,” Pilar pleaded with him. Luis relaxed his grip and Dia yanked her arm to her side.
Then Luis grabbed Pilar and pulled her out of the room. Dia could hear his low urgent tone and Pilar’s mumbled agreement. Dia again
considered throwing the bowl but thought better of it. She’d wait until Luis wasn’t so close.
Pilar returned, a wan smile on her face, moved back to the stove and began stirring the liquid in the pot.
Dia squared her stance. “This isn’t my fault. I want to stay here. With you. Let Luis and Hector keep moving.”
Pilar shook her head. “You know very well amiga, it is because of you we must leave this place. Your father is very powerful and his reach is long. We leave these places to keep you safe.”
Dia’s shoulders sagged and she walked to the stove. Pilar laid the spoon down and gave her a hug. “Will we ever be able to stay in one place, Pilar?”
“I hope so, niña. I hope so.”
* * * Vicente Vegas’s son looked at the two men who stood in front of him. The cold interior of the empty warehouse made him want to hug his coat tighter, but no one else indicated any discomfort. He eyed them carefully, gauging their response to his instructions. It didn’t matter that they were older than him. It didn’t matter that they were bigger than him. He was Vicente Vega, Jr., and he could make their lives heaven or he could make them wish they were in hell.
He took a toke on his cigarette then threw the butt to the ground. Part of him hated the habit he had picked up during his European education. Another part loved that the addiction afforded him physical ways to express himself. “You will get her. You will hold her. She is the key to getting my sister back.”
Intelligent eyes met his. “Your father is aware of this operation?”
VV pulled another cigarette from his gold case and turned his back on the man who dared challenge him. “Just do it.” He turned around and eyed the man. “Never question me again. Never.” His lighter flared to life and he cupped his hand unnecessarily before once again turning away.
His father had become weak. Power was theirs for a reason—to use. And VV knew how to use it, something his father had apparently forgotten.
The older Vega had run to
Colorado to get help from a lawman who had virtually laughed in their faces. Even though they’d used him to make a statement to other officials, Mex
Anderson now led his perfect little life in Colorado. Untouchable. Or so he thought.
The half-gringo had one weakness left. If the Mexi-Melt wouldn’t come to their aid willingly—for a significant amount of money—maybe he would see things their way if the life of his sister was in the balance. VV’s father w
anted to achieve things one way. The old way. By agreement. But times had changed and at the very least they needed some insurance. Controlling the life of Sedona Anderson was the best kind of insurance they could buy.
He remembered Sedona from years ago. He hoped he wouldn’t need to have her killed. She’d been kind to him.
VV called out to the men as they walked toward the exit. “Let me know when you have her.”
When he was alone in the metal building, except for the two bodyguards who were his silent shadows, he considered his position. The prudent thing would be to call his father. Explain his actions. Get Vicente Vega to accept and support the decision he’d made. But the prudent thing was also the weak thing. This was the time for him to break loose and spread his wings. This was the time to show his father he was ready.
For a moment, thoughts of his mother filled his head. He could smell her perfume—a curious mixture of lavender and something spicy. Her hair was what he imagined sunlight would smell like. She was the only person in his life who had ever loved him
unconditionally. Except for Dia.
He shrugged. Even if his mother had lived, VV would be moving away from her protection and closer to his father’s world. That was the way things were done.
As Dia’s older brother, it was up to him to protect her, especially from herself. Dia’s nanny, Pilar, had gone missing at the same time making it unlikely it was a kidnapping. Unless Pilar was the kidnapper. However, the family had received no ransom demands, and the Senora-Ciento cartel was too formidable. It would be suicide to take the daughter of a man as high up in the organization as Vicente Vega.
Carlos, the bodyguard who had been assigned to VV for the last ten years, opened the door at the rear of the warehouse. VV hung back, waiting for the signal that it was safe to leave the building. He touched the gun in his shoulder-holster like a talisman.
VV got the sign and moved quickly to the open car door, looking dead ahead, without checking the surroundings. He slipped into the back seat of his city car while his other guard slammed the door and jogged around to enter from the other side. The car started moving immediately. His guys were good.
Aspen Falls was a beautiful place. He understood why the Mexi-Melt chose to live here. Even though VV preferred the action in the three cities where his father had homes, there was something nice about all of this space and fresh air.
