Sam shook his head. “That was a reflex. I would’ve made the same choice you did. His entire upper body was destroyed. No chance. You made the right call.” Irritation drew Sam’s brows together. “And don’t forget, Castillo led a violent street gang. He had plenty of blood on his hands.”
“I know he was far from innocent, but I still wonder if I’d have acted differently if I … well … if … ”
“If you weren’t the daughter of a notorious killer?”
Her eyes slid away from his penetrating stare. “Yes.”
“Well, you’re also the daughter of a kind, compassionate woman who is respected and loved by her family and her community.” When she didn’t respond, he went on. “Hell, Veranda, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ll understand people make their own choices. Sometimes fate has a hand in it, too, but mostly it’s the path people choose that makes the difference in their lives.”
The path. The journey. The words triggered a memory. When her mother recently told Veranda about the circumstances of her birth, she’d also explained the meaning behind her unusual name. Lorena had created it from two Spanish words. Ver, meaning “to see,” and la andadura, meaning “path” or “journey.” When Lorena chose to keep her newborn, she also decided to love the child fully and withhold judgment. She would wait to see what her daughter made of her life. Which path she took. The name Veranda had served to remind Lorena of that private vow.
“Thank you.” Two simple words couldn’t possibly convey her gratitude for her partner’s support. He had reminded her why her mother named her, and that she amounted to more than her bloodline. “But not everyone will share your feelings if it ever gets out that El Lobo is my father. If Lieutenant Diaz suspects I’ve been hiding something, he’ll be the first in line to take my badge.” She met his gaze. “And if my mother learns the truth, she’ll always see Hector Villalobos when she looks at me.” She heard the catch in her own voice as she whispered, “I couldn’t bear that.”
7
An hour later, Veranda perched on a stool at her kitchen counter, studying the man across from her. She pushed a cold bottle toward him. He glanced down at the icy drink and rested both hands on the blue Saltillo tiles covering the countertop. Tattooed above each of his knuckles was a letter, spelling V-I-D-A on one hand and L-O-C-A on the other.
He raised a black brow pierced with a metal stud in the shape of a ball bearing. “What? No lime?”
She rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Chuy?”
“Jus’ sayin.” He shrugged. “Would taste better with a slice of lime.”
“You’ve gone soft after getting out.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Prison teaches you to appreciate simple things.” He lifted the bottle to his lips. “Like a cold one.” As he swallowed, the leering silver skull dangling from the heavy chain around his neck glinted in the light from the overhead kitchen fan.
She eyed him speculatively. “So, will you do it for me or not?”
He finished a long pull and passed a hand over his bald head, which was covered in dark tattoos ending in a point resembling a widow’s peak on his forehead. “Yeah, I’ll do it.” He looked around. “Do you have the stuff?”
She pointed at a black nylon bag on the floor slouched against the kitchen wall. “Everything you need is in the backpack.”
He nodded and took his right hand off the table. The muscles in his bare arm made the tattooed sleeve of body art ripple as he reached down into his lap.
She put her bottle down and lowered her voice. “Careful now.”
He brought his hand up slowly. “You can’t tell anyone about my, uh, little secret.” Inch by inch, he lifted his arm higher until he revealed a tiny, tan-colored Chihuahua puppy quivering in his palm.
The pup’s huge brown eyes blinked and settled on Veranda, who grinned. “You mean that you wear a black leather thong under your jeans when you ride your Harley? Because that’s no secret, Chuy, everybody can tell.”
He leveled a glare at her.
She pointed to his Coke bottle. “Let’s see, it can’t be that you’ve given up beer. Everyone knows that too. Hmm, what else?” She smacked her forehead. “Wait, it’s a different secret. Don’t tell me you sometimes don’t claim all the income you get from selling choppers on your taxes?”
“Don’t even joke about that, mi’jita, I know better than to mess with the IRS.” He lifted the puppy higher and gave it a kiss on top if its apple-shaped head. Its tiny tail wagged. “My secret … is that I have a soft spot for these little guys.” He looked back at her. “If word gets out, I’ll lose my street cred.”
Veranda reached for her cell. “That is so damned cute. I have to get a picture.”
Chuy lowered the dog back onto his lap. “You may be my favorite cousin, but if I see you point that smart phone at me, I’ll cut you.”
She snorted. “I’ve heard that before. And the guys who said it are behind bars.” He chuckled and petted the puppy as she laid the phone on the counter and reached out to squeeze his free hand. “Thanks for finding him for me, Chuy.”
“De nada.” He waved dismissively. “My neighbor breeds them. There was a litter a couple of months ago and she asked me if I wanted one. Heard you were looking for a puppy for Gabby, so I checked and she still had this one.”
Remorse pierced her at the mention of her kid sister’s name. She wished she could take away the terror Gabby had suffered at Bartolo’s hands. Her sweet, young sister had become yet another victim of her relentless pursuit of the cartel. Of the insatiable need spurring her to take them down.
Chuy interrupted her rumination. “I never heard the whole story about Gabby. All I got was bits and pieces from the news. No one in the family will talk about it.” He leaned forward. “What really happened?”
“The Villalobos cartel happened.” Anger tinged with shame tightened her throat. “You remember I was in narcotics investigating their cartel?”
He nodded.
“Bartolo Villalobos, the second born son, was supposed to take over their empire from his father. After two years, I finally had enough physical evidence to make a solid felony charge. Before I could move on him, Bartolo kidnapped Gabby and offered to trade her for the evidence.”
Chuy loosed a stream of Spanish expletives.
She waited for the outburst to subside before continuing. “I can’t go into details, but we managed to rescue Gabby before Bartolo could do her lasting physical harm. She sure as hell suffered a lot of emotional trauma though. She still has nightmares, barely eats, and doesn’t leave the house unless she has to.”
Chuy’s dark eyes took on the hooded stare of a hardened criminal in gen pop. “It’s a good thing Bartolo’s dead. If he wasn’t, I’d kill the motherfucker myself.”
She gave him a wry grin. “And I’d look the other way.”
They clicked their soda bottles together and sipped in silence.
Veranda blew out a sigh. “I set Gabby up with a victim assistance counselor. He says she’s got PTSD, which is why I asked you to find her a dog.”
“Gabby’s wanted a puppy for ages.”
“The counselor liked the idea, so I cleared it with Mamá too. I’m going to give it to Gabby at her quinceañera Saturday. She’ll love it. This little guy can comfort her, and she can take care of him.” Veranda tilted her head and considered the pup. “He seems like a pretty good listener.”
Chuy stroked the fur on its tiny ears. “Can I at least get him a black leather collar with metal studs on it?”
She laughed. “Fine. I’m too busy to care for a puppy until the party, so I need you to bring him and meet me there.” She pointed a finger at him. “But don’t get too attached.”
Before he could answer, the doorbell rang. Chuy got to his feet.
Not expecting a visitor, Veranda rested her hand on the grip of the gun tucked into her wai
stband at the small of her back, padded to the front door, and peered through the peephole. A wide expanse of chest filled the viewing portal. She grinned and yanked open the door.
Cole stood on her doorstep. “Hi th—,” he began, then his gaze traveled up and locked onto something over her head. His smile evaporated.
Veranda turned to see Chuy standing behind her, arms crossed. He had stashed the puppy out of sight. Tension crackled in the air between the two men, and she tried to see the situation from Cole’s perspective, appraising Chuy’s appearance objectively.
Almost every inch of visible skin except her cousin’s face was covered in biker tattoos. Indigo skulls, crosses, and gothic symbols formed a mosaic of ink that spanned his muscular arms. More body art decorated his chest, bare except for a black leather vest. Faded jeans were encased by chaps reaching down to the soles of steel-toed boots. Veranda had to admit, Chuy looked every bit the ex-con he was. Cole would wonder why she was alone in her house with him.
As the two men glowered at each other, Veranda pointed behind her. “This is my cousin Chuy,” she said, then turned, sweeping her arm in Cole’s direction. “And this is Captain Cole Anderson with the Phoenix Fire Department. He’s my … uh … friend.” She grimaced at the lame description of their relationship.
Cole was definitely more than a friend, but she didn’t want word spreading around the family about their current status. Her mother tended to get overexcited. Veranda winced inwardly as she recalled a previous boyfriend. After three dates, her mother had started thumbing through wedding magazines. In front of him. He hadn’t called her again.
Cole’s demeanor stiffened, stance wide, jaw rigid. She wasn’t sure if he was more irritated by Chuy’s presence or her hesitance to acknowledge their relationship.
From his position behind her, Chuy directed a challenge over her head at Cole. “You got a problem?” His voice dripped venom. Her cousin had used the mad-dogging technique he’d learned in prison. Meant to intimidate, it was a show of force, staking a claim to his space.
Cole brought himself to his full, and considerable, height. He scowled back at Chuy. “No. You?”
She sensed that her cousin had taken offense at Cole’s tacit judgment. And Chuy wouldn’t tolerate disrespect. Without intervention on her part, things would escalate.
She spun to face her cousin. “Chuy, you have everything you need. I’ll see you later.” She made it a statement instead of asking him to leave.
Chuy tore his gaze away from Cole and tramped to the kitchen, boots thudding on the tile floor. He scooped up the backpack and bent over the dining chair with his back to them. From her vantage point, she could see him lift something and slip it inside his vest. When he pivoted around, only a slight bulge indicated where the puppy nestled against his chest.
Chuy directed a menacing glare at Cole. “I’m done here.”
Veranda tugged Cole inside to let her cousin pass and closed the door.
Cole’s eyes, frosted blue chips of ice, met hers. “What the hell, Veranda?”
She didn’t appreciate his attitude toward a member of her family. “Don’t be so quick to judge, Cole.” She stalked back to the kitchen as Chuy’s Harley roared to life in her driveway.
Cole trailed her. “Family or not, I can tell a criminal when I see one.”
“He’s an ex-con, but he’s out of the life now.”
“Really.” The word oozed sarcasm.
She tamped down a spike of indignation. How could Cole know what Chuy meant to her? “When he was younger, he did heavy drugs. Stole cars to support his habit. After his last stretch, he got involved with a volunteer program and got clean.”
She didn’t add that she’d visited him in prison regularly. “Chuy’s been sober going on five years. He earns an honest living now as a mechanic. Even managed to set up his own garage a few months back.”
“What was he doing here?”
“Family stuff.” She changed the subject. Thoughts of Gabby were too painful. “Why did you come?”
“Wanted to say goodbye before I leave for training in the morning. You’ve got to work on your presentation for tomorrow, so I won’t stay long.”
“Ah.” The reminder of her impending leadership role clawed at her raw nerves.
Cole shook his head. “I still can’t believe Diaz is in charge. He’s got no business running the operation.”
“Maybe he’ll just hang out in his office and read reports. Either way, I plan to keep my distance.”
“Good.” He snagged a finger on her belt loop, pulling her close. “Because it doesn’t matter what the rules say about fraternizing with subordinates, I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
She traced the stubble along his jaw with her nose, nuzzling him. “You mean like he doesn’t trust me?”
“No, like he doesn’t trust himself around you.”
She pushed away, rolling her eyes. “We’ve been through this. He doesn’t want me like that. He thinks I’m a loose cannon, so he keeps an eye on me.” She opened the fridge, pulled out a Coke, and handed it to him.
“That’s your take.” Cole twisted the top off. “Mine is that he’s overprotective and jealous whenever you’re around.”
“It adds up to the same thing. He’s going to scrutinize everything I do. If he finds any excuse, he’ll pull me off the case and reassign me.”
“To be honest, I wouldn’t mind you investigating something else. A nice safe serial killer or ax murderer. Anything but that damned cartel.” He took a swig. “Diaz may be technically in charge of the operation, but your chief made it clear you’ll be the lead detective. That puts an even bigger target on your back.”
They’d been over this ground before, but Cole would never accept her self-imposed mission. “I’ll go after the Villalobos cartel until they’re all behind bars.”
He thumped his bottle on the counter. “That entire family’s nothing but murderers, sociopaths, and degenerates. I swear, there’s something defective in their gene pool. Not one of them is normal.”
His words seared her heart. He had just expressed her worst fear. Said what everyone would think of her—what he would think of her—if word got out about her parentage. She blinked away a hot stinging behind her eyes and glanced down, unable to face him. “I’m getting a headache. And I’ve got a lot of prep work for the briefing tomorrow morning. I’ll catch up with you after you come back to Phoenix.”
His shoulders sagged, concern crossing his features. “Can I get you something for your headache?” He reached for her.
“No.” She took a step back. At his hurt expression, she softened her tone. “Like you said, everyone’s looking to me. And I’ve only got a few hours to come up with a plan.”
This time when he approached, she didn’t stop him. His hands circled her waist before he slid a large palm up her back and tightened his arm, pressing her body against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed herself the comfort of a brief embrace. She felt like a thief of the heart, stealing tender moments on a false pretense. Gathering herself, she gently pushed away. She must not get too attached to this man. He had revealed his true beliefs. He could never accept her for who she was. She didn’t blame him.
She couldn’t either.
8
The coffee in the paper cup next to Veranda’s fingertips had grown cold. She had arrived in the Fusion Center early in the morning, an hour before the scheduled meeting, to set up the room. She’d pushed four rectangular tables together to make one large conference area in a corner of the vast open space. Her plan was to brief everyone as a group, then dole out assignments and separate the tables so each team could work independently.
Some bleary-eyed computer techs helped her with power strips, cords, and chairs. She had them connect her laptop to the projection equipment they had installed overnight so she could brief the team
with the PowerPoint she’d created before going to bed.
She sat at one end of the elongated table to confer with Sam about her plan.
“I’ve got one question.” His deep baritone rumbled as he spoke. “How drunk were you when you came up with this scheme?”
“I know it’s a bit … bold, but it’s sound. I’ve led similar operations in the past, just not on this scale and within this time frame.” She lowered her voice. “I need your support, Sam, I’ve got to—”
He raised a finger and looked over her shoulder toward the far door. “Here they come.”
She stood as Chief Tobias strode in, Assistant Chief Delcore, Commander Webster, Lieutenant Diaz, and Sergeant Jackson in his wake. Behind the procession of police brass, a line of people wearing dark suits, ID cards clipped to lanyards around their necks, filed in.
She recognized two of them. Feds.
Had they just come from a private meeting before entering the Fusion Center? Unease rippled through her as she speculated about what they might have discussed behind her back. Chief Tobias had supported her in the past, but the shit storm he’d weathered at the news conference could have changed his mind about her.
Everyone else in the Fusion Center had gotten to their feet as well. A gaggle of computer techs clustered in the far corner where they had set up an array of equipment, Veranda’s Homicide squad clutched Styrofoam cups of rot-gut coffee in the middle of the room, and Gang Unit detectives leaned against the back wall.
“Good morning,” Chief Tobias said, stopping next to the makeshift jumbo conference table. “A special thank you to everyone who worked through the night so we could hit the ground running today. This is the most critical situation Phoenix has faced since I’ve been in law enforcement. We’re all hands on deck.”
A beat of silence added weight to the declaration as Tobias’s piercing green eyes swept the room. “As I stated at the news conference yesterday, Assistant Chief Delcore will be at the top of the chain of command for the Fusion Center and will provide daily briefings to me. Lieutenant Diaz will oversee the day-to-day operations and will keep management apprised of all developments.” The chief turned to his right. “Assisting us are several Federal partners.”
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