Mickey appeared to be under the influence of either drugs or alcohol, a fact no one wearing a badge found surprising in the least.
“Okay, let’s get searching. I hope you’ve had your shots.” Mac’s sotto voce comment nearly made Peter laugh out loud. Around him lay the worst pigsty he’d ever seen. He tucked his gun back into its holster and pulled out a pair of plastic gloves.
“Should have brought a hazmat suit,” he said.
Outside, the transport vehicles had pulled up to the curb. Cruisers, lights flashing, had closed off the street. The uniformed Dallas PD officers began the loading of the prisoners, one at a time. The chaos of the bust had settled down into an angry, seething rage that every officer there knew well and felt to his bones.
This was no time to relax, but to be extra vigilant. It wasn’t over until it was over.
Confident that he was covered by uniformed officers who stood vigilant and with guns drawn, Peter began his search, but kept his senses alert. Just because the perps had quieted didn’t mean they were meekly accepting their fate.
Mac and Marilyn were also hands in, searching. As part of a Justice Department task force on drug trafficking, they’d targeted one specific cartel that had been increasing in influence in this area of the state. This flophouse was just another conduit by which that cartel flooded illegal substances into the United States from South America, via Mexico.
Peter had personally fired the first salvo in this particular war just over a month before when he’d been able to scoop up a shipment of diamonds destined as payment to that organization across the border.
His attention was caught by one of the perps, an arrogant-looking man of Hispanic descent who managed to look in control even half-naked and with his hands cuffed behind his back. With greasy black hair, dark eyes, and a pride that wrapped around him like a cloak, Peter put the perp’s age at around twenty-two. He bet the kid was used to getting what he wanted and talking his way out of most jams he found himself in.
The kid’s unwavering stare started to unnerve him. “What are you looking at, pal?”
“You. Working with the gringos, their pet Mexican. I recognize you, amigo.”
Peter tilted his head to one side. Used to racially motivated jabs by perps and felons, he’d grown a very thick skin. It just depended on the situation, whether his heritage was being played up, or down. Some sneered at him as if he was lower than dog shit on a shoe. Some appealed to him, trying for a measure of male bonding. Neither attitude moved Peter in the least.
Since the young suspect was probably Mexican himself, it wouldn’t be unexpected for him to try some form of the latter, attempt to initiate a friendly exchange and appeal to Peter’s emotions. Anticipating him, Peter said, “What, I remind you of your big brother?”
“Nah. You remind me of a face on a wanted poster, amigo, the face of a diamond thief.”
Peter felt the chill from earlier return. “What did you just say?”
The kid snickered in response. “Don Miguel is not too happy with you, Officer Alvarez.”
Peter worked hard to hang on to his composure. “That’s Special Agent Alvarez to you, amigo.”
Mac, who’d been within hearing distance, stepped over. “What’s your name, punk?”
“Maybe I don’t got no name. Maybe I got ten.” He shrugged with practiced insouciance. “Maybe I was abandoned as a baby and have been homeless ever since. Who knows?”
Peter shook his head and shot a quick look at Mac. When his boss shrugged, he moved. It proved a simple matter to pick the kid up and slam him down on his belly. A quick search of his jeans’ pockets turned up a wallet.
“Hey, cop, keep your fucking hands off my junk!”
“Trust me, I’m sure as hell not interested in your junk…” Peter thumbed through the wallet until he found what he was looking for—a driver’s license. “Enrique Smith. Really? Smith? Couldn’t you come up with anything better than that?”
“Fuck you, asshole.”
“You ever notice that no matter where or when or who, these little pricks all say the same thing—‘fuck you’?” Mac said easily.
“And fuck you too, gringo.” Smith spat.
Mac didn’t bat an eye, just grabbed the attention of a uniform cop. “Get this kid out of here. This one goes in a box all by himself until I get a chance to talk to him some more.”
Peter did his best to appear unruffled, despite the fact his heart pounded in his chest.
“I don’t fucking like that one bit.” Mac’s voice came out just above a whisper. His gaze followed the kid as the cops took him out to be transported and processed. “I don’t like that he had your name, or that he knew you were the one to grab those diamonds.”
“I’m not too happy about that fact myself. Shit.”
“Christ Almighty.” Mac ran a hand through his hair. “Damn it all to hell, we have a leak.”
Peter felt Mac’s rage wash over him, and it matched his own.
“We have a goddamned fucking leak,” Mac said again and exhaled heavily. “Okay, let’s finish the preliminary work here and then turn the scene over to the locals. I’ll have a go at our little friend, there. And then, my boy, you and I need to talk.”
“Yes, sir.” Peter was all for that, but it took effort to put away his emotions and just do the job.
It didn’t take long to finish their preliminary sweep. No paperwork or documents of any kind tied the inhabitants of this shack with the Ramos drug cartel. The drug haul, on the other hand, would be enough to incarcerate everyone found in the premises this morning for a good long time.
They seized enough cocaine, marijuana, and methamphetamine to ensure that the trafficking charges would stick.
Back at headquarters, spirits ran high. They’d arrested over fifteen suspects, closed one conduit, and all without a single shot being fired. The operation had been deemed an unqualified success.
No one dwelled on the reality that this had been a small bite of a bigger prey. In all likelihood, Ramos would have this one conduit replaced before the end of the week.
You take the victories you can take. Peter understood that was the only thing any of them could ever do. There were no long-term victories in this war. There were only small, temporary ones.
Peter arrived in the conference room ahead of his boss. Checking his watch, he realized he’d already been gone from home longer than he’d anticipated. Stepping back out of the room, he headed to his desk, an area where he could be assured of a modicum of privacy.
He pulled out his cell phone and hit number one on the speed dial. Jordan answered on the first ring.
“Peter?” Jordan’s voice sounded only a little anxious.
“Yeah. I’m fine, no problems. Things went off like clockwork, not even a shot fired. We have a last minute meeting here at the office, though.”
“That can be a pain if your meetings are anywhere near as boring as mine.”
Peter grinned. “They can be. But I don’t think I’ll be much more than another hour, tops.”
“Take the time you need to take. I’ll be here.”
“That’s good to know. I’ll see you when I can.”
“Drive carefully.”
Peter nearly laughed at the caution, because he knew Jordan’s sense of humor and understood his lover was making fun of his own anxiety.
“Always.” Peter disconnected the call and slipped the cell phone back into his pocket. As he headed back toward the conference room, he saw Mac. More, he noted the man’s grim expression.
I’m not going to like what he has to say. There was nothing Peter could do about whatever information Mac had gleaned. The only thing he could control was how he reacted to it—that, and he could make damn sure he kept whatever threat there existed against him to himself.
* * * *
Tracy closed Sarah’s journal and set it down. The day that had dawned with brilliant sunshine had taken on an overcast hue, with light gray clouds covering the sky. Restless,
she walked out onto the balcony of her one-bedroom apartment that sat near the edge of town.
Lusty boasted a number of small buildings such as this one, none of them more than three floors, at each end of town. Just down the hall from her own second-floor apartment, her coworker Ginny Rose and her son Benny had the spacious two-bedroom apartment that used to be Kelsey’s.
It was a nice building in a nice town. Anytime she wanted to, Tracy could go and visit her parents, who lived less than six blocks away. Most of her friends—who happened to be cousins far removed—lived within walking distance. Today was Friday, and as she’d done on every Friday, she’d tidied her apartment and done her laundry. Soon, she’d leave for her job at Lusty Appetites. She’d work until five, because in the last few weeks, she’d had Friday as her leave-early day.
In short, Tracy’s life was nice and safe and boring.
“Boring, boring, boring. How the hell did I ever expect to get those two strong men to move on me, living such a boring, pathetic existence?” Long in the habit of talking to herself out loud, she didn’t expect an answer.
Tracy looked over her shoulder to the coffee table, at the closed journal of Sarah Carmichael Benedict. She’d read the journal of her other great-great-grandmother, Amanda Jessop-Kendall, more than once. Now there was a woman who didn’t wait to let things happen to her. She’d gone out and seized a career for herself at a time when that simply wasn’t done, then seized two lovers the same way.
Of course, Sarah had turned out to be a woman of action, too. It didn’t take any effort at all for Tracy to imagine Sarah rising from the water of the river and, naked, claiming the men she’d come to love.
Unable to resist the temptation, Tracy picked up the journal and opened it to the passage that had sped her heart and started her mental wheels in motion:
It is true, and should be noted, that men, left to their own devices, generally muck things up. I want to make one thing, therefore, perfectly clear. It wasn’t my dear husbands who took that first step to bring us together in love and intimacy. It was I.
I, who had been sold into marriage by my father to a man who didn’t want me. I, who had been the target of paid assassins. I, who had fallen hopelessly in love with not one, but two handsome gunslingers. I did not know if we would survive to the end of our journey. But after all I had been through, I refused to die a virgin, not knowing a man’s touch, or a man’s love. Not knowing the touch and the love of the men who had captured my heart.
The decision was made subconsciously, I believe, as I rose from the river, wet and clean and oh, so hungry for a delight I’d never tasted. I knew only a few moments of doubt and fear. What if they didn’t want me as I hoped they would?
But then they turned, as one. They saw me, as one. And as one they came to me, and I knew they did indeed want me as desperately as I wanted them.
Tracy felt her cheeks heat as she realized why it was Grandma Kate had given her the book, and the implied action she should take. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—there was no river in sight. Tracy gently placed the journal on the table once more.
The shimmer of an idea began to take hold, and Tracy gasped because the idea was so bold, so un-Tracy-like, that the strength went out of her knees. She sank to her chair and actually considered it.
Her hand automatically went to her mouth to stifle a giggle. In the next instant she had both hands covering her mouth, and the heat of embarrassment colored her cheeks in earnest. Oh my God, that would be perfect! But did she have the nerve to dare to actually do it?
“Well, girl, that depends. Do you really love those two men, or do you just think you do?”
Good question. Tracy was nearly one hundred percent certain she was all the way in love with them both. Everything she’d heard listening to Kelsey and Susan chatting, everything she’d read on the subject, all that she’d learned living in Lusty combined told her these emotions running hot inside her—emotions she’d had for Jordan for years—had one name, and it was love.
When she’d met Peter Alvarez last month, she’d known he was meant to be hers and Jordan’s.
Jordan had gone to Dallas, to spend a few days with Peter. She’d overheard him reserve one of the penthouses, so she knew where they could probably be found. Both men had likely booked time off work to spend together.
The only question was, could she enact her brazenly bold plan?
Tracy snatched up her portable phone and quickly keyed in a familiar number. It was answered on the second ring.
“Lusty Appetites, Kelsey speaking.”
“Hi, it’s Tracy. I am coming in to work today, but I was wondering, could I have the weekend off?”
“Absolutely.”
“Wow, just like that? No questions? No request for a doctor’s note, or anything?”
Kelsey laughed. “Nope. You want it, you’ve got it.”
Tracy heard the sound of Kelsey moving and guessed she was taking the call into her office.
“Or maybe I should amend that to, you can have the time off if you’re planning to finally let a certain couple of someones know how you feel about them.”
My God, did everyone know her secret longing? “Um, that’s the plan.”
“Then, great. I’ll see you when you get here.”
Tracy hung up, and then, before she could change her mind, dialed a second number.
“Kendall.”
“Hi, Jordan, it’s Tracy.”
“Hi, sweetheart. What’s up?”
“I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
Tracy scrunched her eyes closed and crossed her fingers. “I’ve come up with a new dessert, and I need a couple of taste testers. I was wondering, could I come by tonight and get you and Peter to sample it?”
“Hell, we’d both be delighted, Tracy, but we’re in Dallas.”
“Yes, I know and, see, that’s perfect, as I really have to be in Dallas tomorrow, anyway.” That is, she did because that’s where those two buff studs were.
“Well, in that case, come on by. We’re at the Plaza, at the penthouse I usually use.”
Tracy smiled. He didn’t offer to tell her the number, because he knew that she knew which one he meant. They really had been close almost all their lives. If Tracy had her way, they were about to get a whole lot closer. “Great! I should be there around seven.”
“Seven. The perfect time for dessert. It’s a date. We’ll see you then, honey. Drive carefully.”
“Will do. See you then.” Tracy hung up the phone and all but threw it onto her coffee table.
“Oh my God, oh my God.” She’d done it! She’d really done it.
“No you haven’t. Not yet. You’ve just made arrangements to do it.”
She jumped up from her sofa and headed to her bedroom. Throwing open her closet door, she rummaged through the contents until she came up with what she intended to wear for the most important date of her life.
She pulled it out and hung it on the top of the door. The coat, sleek and black, came to just above her knees. Four buttons and a belt, it was just right for what she had in mind.
She held out her hands and watched them shake. One bold move, do or die. Now all she had to do was decide between chocolate syrup and strawberry.
Chapter 4
Smoke rose lazily from the end of his cigar, the aroma of the finest Cuban tobacco filling him with a sense of relaxation and accomplishment. A soft breeze swirled the light blue stream around his head, looking very nearly like a halo—a concept that made him smile. The air then carried the smoke off toward the mountains behind him. The sun shimmered on the coast below, the view from the patio on his private hacienda outside of Culiacán, as always, filling him with pride and tremendous satisfaction.
As a young boy scrambling for his living in the streets of Mexico City, Miguel Ramos had come to associate the scent of cigars with great wealth and power. At night, when, homeless, he would hide in the shadowed corners of alleyways, he’d watch as the r
ich and powerful would amble from club to club. Hunger pangs clawed at his belly, yet it was the scent of those expensive cigars that represented to him who and where he would one day be.
So many years ago. On the outside, Miguel had traveled worlds away from that filthy street urchin he’d once been. On the inside, a small vestige of that child remained still.
He would never go back to having nothing, to being nothing. Anyone who got in the way of his keeping that sacred vow to himself would be dealt with severely.
“Excusa, Patrón.”
Miguel looked up from his contemplation of the ocean and fixed his attention on his houseman.
“Yes, Tomas?
Tomas blinked, and Miguel understood he’d forgotten his master’s preference to have English spoken in his home at all times. “Juan Pecos is here. He would like to speak with you, sir.”
Miguel nodded. He’d been expecting Juan to report in. “Have him wait for me in the study.”
“Sí, graci—yes, thank you, sir.”
Miguel took one more draw on his cigar and then set it down. He never regretted leaving behind his moments of relaxation in favor of conducting business. Business had given him all he now possessed, and business would give him all he wanted to claim for his own in the years to come.
Soon now, his business would bring him more wealth than that dirty street urchin had been capable of even imagining.
As he moved from his terrace into the house, he opened his senses to consciously appreciate the luxury with which he’d surrounded himself, to wash away the images of the past.
He made himself remember the poverty and squalor of his early years for a few moments every single day. Miguel believed if he never forgot, then he would never return to that abysmal existence.
Inside his office, his employee awaited him, looking more than a little nervous. This was yet another outward sign of his success. Miguel Ramos held great power within his hands, and men quaked in fear of that power, and of him.
Covington, Cara - Love Under Two Strong Men [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 4
