Blood's Echo, page 9
Veranda’s pulse ratcheted up. She swiveled to face Diaz. “You want to put me under house arrest?” She clenched her hands to prevent herself from throttling him. The bastard!
As if he sensed she was on the verge of violence, Sam spoke. “I need Detective Cruz with me. She can best help the investigation on the front lines where things are happening. We barely have any traction on this case and we’ve got to keep our momentum.”
“You won’t make headway if you’re constantly dealing with threats and attacks,” Diaz countered. “Detective Cruz is more of a liability to your investigation than an asset.”
Marci narrowed her eyes at Diaz. “So, you expect the little woman to wring her hands and wait by the phone for the big, strong men to tell her it’s safe to come out?”
Doc groaned as every eye turned to Marci. Her comment created the tension of an armed bomb inside the vehicle. And no one knew which wire to cut without causing an explosion.
Commander Webster broke the silence. “Detective Blane, no one is questioning Detective Cruz’s abilities. We all know she’s an experienced investigator and has the most expertise about the suspect. As her commander, I have to weigh the risks and benefits of her continued involvement in this case.” He addressed Veranda. “You mentioned at our briefing that cartels don’t usually target individual police officers in the States. Why do you think this happened?”
Veranda composed her thoughts. Her next words were critical to her position on the Homicide squad. “I believe Bartolo may have gone rogue. From everything I know about El Lobo, he would never sanction this break-in. He knows it would put his organization on everyone’s radar.”
“Is this move out of character for Bartolo?” Sam asked.
She recalled Flaco’s comments to her a few days before his death. “According to my CI, everyone in the cartel avoided dealing directly with Bartolo. They knew he did drugs and was getting more paranoid all the time.” She didn’t add that even Bartolo’s top sergeants were rumored to be afraid of his increasingly violent outbursts. No sense giving Diaz more ammunition for his campaign to lock her away.
Aldridge peered around his headrest to question her. “Are you saying Bartolo is acting on his own?”
“Likely. Nothing else makes sense.”
“An irrational drug lord has targeted one of our officers,” Diaz said. “That’s reason enough for extreme precautions.” He turned to glare at Marci. “I would say the same thing if Detective Cruz was a man, by the way.”
Marci snorted and rolled her eyes.
“I’ve reached a decision,” Commander Webster said. “I agree with Sergeant Diaz that we need to implement measures to ensure Detective Cruz’s safety.” Veranda opened her mouth, but Webster held up a hand. “However, I also agree with Detective Stark that we have the best chance of arresting Bartolo if she remains on the Homicide squad.”
He gave Veranda a stern look. “You will move into a safe house immediately. Sergeant Jackson will know your whereabouts at all times.” He glanced at the back row of seats. “And you will apprise Sergeant Diaz of any developments in the case.”
Veranda slumped in her seat. It was a relief to keep working with Sam, but Diaz’s comments still rankled. He seemed to dog her every move.
She reflected on her situation. A few days ago, her career was on track. She was the respected leader of her team, a seasoned veteran at the top of her game. She was in control.
Bartolo had pulled the rug out from under her. Now she was the rookie in Homicide. Her base of power, gone. Her life, disrupted. She had to battle on several fronts just to keep her badge. A knot formed in the pit of her stomach as another realization hit her. Something she had learned in her kickboxing classes. Bartolo was keeping her off balance. Not giving her time to recover from the onslaught of blows. As soon as she’d staggered back to her feet from his left jab, he sent her reeling with a right cross.
If he kept it up, he would win.
13
Villalobos family
compound, Mexico
Adolfo Villalobos waited in the anteroom outside his father’s office. He had called to schedule a private meeting with El Lobo, explaining that the information he had was too sensitive to provide over the phone. To his surprise, his father told him to fly to Mexico immediately to discuss the matter, instructing him to retrieve a package from the mole’s drop point and bring it with him on the family jet. Adolfo had located a brick-sized parcel wrapped in brown paper and sealed in a tamper-proof plastic bag at the clandestine location where the mole occasionally left materials for pickup by the cartel. His father had assured him it wasn’t contraband, but he would not divulge the contents. Instead, he threatened Adolfo not to break the seal on the packaging.
Adolfo ruminated as he held the parcel in his lap. Now was the time to further his plan. He glanced at his Rolex, certain his father kept him waiting on purpose—a deliberate show of his status as alpha.
Adolfo looked down at the carpet and was reminded of an incident from his childhood that occurred in this very room more than two decades ago. The four Villalobos children were waiting to speak to their father. Adolfo had been doodling to pass the time when Bartolo snatched his favorite pen from his hand. Adolfo’s stomach twisted into knots as the memory flooded back.
“Kick his ass!” Carlos shouted over the din of his two older brothers locked in combat. Adolfo’s nose bled freely onto the imported Persian carpet. Bartolo swept Adolfo’s legs out from under him with a swift kick. The two younger siblings, Carlos and Daria, backed up to make space as they eagerly watched Bartolo pounce, pinning his older brother down with his heavier bulk. Adolfo cried out as his brother’s fist smashed into his unprotected face, his nose making an ominous crunch. The younger children whooped and jumped.
El Lobo opened his office door and walked into the room. “What is going on here?” He did not shout, but all action ceased as soon as he spoke.
Bartolo looked up. “We were just settling an argument, Papá.”
Their father gazed down at the scene in front of him. He seemed to assess each child. Bartolo was astride Adolfo’s chest with a look of fierce determination. Carlos quivered with excitement, his eyes full of bloodlust. Daria, the youngest, could not suppress a giggle. And Adolfo, the oldest, quietly sobbed.
Adolfo saw his father slowly stroke his goatee. “Well, finish it then.” He crossed the room to take a seat and watch his children.
Adolfo’s nose had been broken in two places that day. His father had not allowed him to have it treated, saying he wanted him to see the result of weakness every time he looked in the mirror. Adolfo rubbed his crooked nose reflexively as the door to the inner sanctum creaked open.
His father’s butler emerged and held the door open for him. Adolfo strode inside and the man bowed his way out of the office, firmly shutting the massive twin doors, leaving Adolfo alone with El Lobo in oppressive silence. His father took his customary seat behind the ornate desk and gestured to the leather chairs that faced it.
As Adolfo sat, he glimpsed the taxidermy stuffed wolf in the corner behind his father. Positioned on its hind legs, the enormous creature towered over seven feet tall. Its black fur bristled and fierce amber eyes blazed above razor sharp teeth bared in a predatory snarl. The wolf appeared to spring from the shadows to tear out the throat of any visitor who displeased El Lobo. Adolfo knew the animal had been placed behind Hector to face the visitor’s chairs for precisely this effect. The wolf was vicious, feral, and deadly—like the man in front of it.
Adolfo shuddered. “I’m sorry to bring you disturbing news, Papá, but I felt you had to know.”
Hector extended his arm across the enormous desk and addressed his son in Spanish. “Before we get to that, give me the package.”
Adolfo rose to put the parcel in his father’s hand and sat down again. His jaw hardened as he pondered the contents of the package. Why didn’t his father trust him with information that the mole, an outsider, clearly had? He concealed his irritation and waited.
His father placed the package on the corner of the desk and met his eyes. “What involves the family or the business matters greatly to me, and you said you have news about both.”
Adolfo took a deep breath. He had to proceed with care, project just the right note of brotherly concern while he laid the groundwork for his strategy. “I’m worried about Bartolo, Papá. The mole briefed me on the information he provided to you about my brother’s recent … activity. This is part of a larger problem.” He smoothed a crease in his slacks. “As you know, Bartolo decided to deliver a personal message to that Phoenix detective after he disposed of Pablo.”
Hector’s dark eyes were inscrutable. “Go on.”
“Bartolo may have left forensic evidence behind when he broke into her house. The things he did made no sense. He drew our wolf emblem on her bathroom mirror using her lipstick, and left a photo of Pablo’s body in her kitchen.”
A muscle rippled in Hector’s jaw. A sure sign that Bartolo had indeed acted without his father’s knowledge. “Your brother’s behavior angers me, but I will turn it to my advantage.” His dark brows drew together. “I am already aware of the break-in. Do not waste my time.”
Adolfo hastened to respond. “I’m concerned that Bartolo is becoming obsessed with this detective. She could have awakened and found him there. Shot him. Arrested him. He’s not thinking clearly—”
Hector held up a hand and his son fell silent. “You said you also had news about the business?”
He affected a grimace. “Unfortunately, yes. I was going over our accounts and there are irregularities with Bartolo’s part of the operation. Even after I deducted the losses we took due to Detective Cruz’s task force, there was a substantial shortfall.”
Sweat gathered in Adolfo’s palms. The next part was critical. He locked eyes with his father and arranged his face into a look of deep concern. “Papá, I believe Bartolo embezzled money from his portion of our family account. I have documentation if you wish to review it.”
“How much?”
“Two million US.”
Silence.
“Papá, if I may?” Adolfo spoke softly. When he got no response, he hazarded, “Perhaps you might order Bartolo back to Mexico. Right now he handles our narcotics distribution from Phoenix, but he could oversee the grow operation here in Mexico instead.” He swallowed. “Temporarily, until the storm passes.” He folded his hands so they would not shake. “Then he could go back to Phoenix and take over his old position.”
“And who”—Hector’s baritone voice dropped to a rumbling whisper—“should be entrusted to run Bartolo’s Phoenix operation in his absence? Pablo is gone too.”
Adolfo dug a finger inside his starched collar to loosen it. “I could step in. It would also give me a chance to rectify his accounts. My area of responsibility, our finances, are in perfect order. My subordinates are very efficient and can keep things running smoothly while I divide my time.”
“It would seem you wish to change your place in the pack, mi’jo.” Hector eyed his son as he stroked his goatee. “Perhaps you will live up to your name after all.”
Adolfo straightened at the reference to his given name. As the first born son, he’d been christened Adolfo, from the Latin adolphus, meaning “noble wolf.” El Lobo had expected his eldest son to take over the family business. That had been the plan until Bartolo had systematically undermined him over the years. Bartolo took every opportunity to humiliate him and denigrate his accomplishments until he lost his favored status.
Hector rolled an ivory letter opener between his fingers. “Despite your assurances that you are ready to take over for your brother, I am not prepared to make such a move yet. I have many things to consider.”
“What do you mean?”
“The embezzlement troubles me. Bartolo can buy anything he wants.” Hector shook his head. “Why steal money when you are rich?”
Adolfo decided to drive the wedge in further. “Maybe he’s planning something he hasn’t told you about.”
The flash of anger in his father’s eyes told Adolfo he had hit the mark. “You accuse Bartolo of acting against me?”
He was in danger of going too far. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but he is being very … erratic. I hear he takes drugs. That could be it.”
Hector studied the signet ring on his right hand. It bore the Villalobos family crest. “There might be an explanation for your brother’s behavior toward Veranda Cruz. I gave him some information this morning. Perhaps he overreacted to the news.”
Adolfo had not expected this. His stomach roiled with anger at the idea that his younger brother had been entrusted with a secret. “What did you tell him, Papá?”
Hector leaned forward, fixing his dark gaze upon his son. “Even the preliminary facts I gave Bartolo upset him. I will not share them with anyone else until I have the whole picture.”
Adolfo raised his chin. “I’m not Bartolo. I can be trusted with sensitive information.”
“Echoes from the past can reverberate into the future, mi’jo. This is an important lesson for you to learn, as I see you are willing to set in motion a chain of events that could change our family’s fortunes forever.”
Adolfo was used to his father’s dramatic speeches. For El Lobo, every struggle was a fight to the death, and every obstacle, a Herculean challenge. This time, however, Adolfo sensed that what his father withheld could alter his plans. “I understand.”
“No, you do not. But you soon will.” His father leaned back in his chair. “This morning Bartolo called after he killed Pablo. At that time, I told him what I had learned about Detective Veranda Cruz.” Hector returned the letter opener to its place on the desktop. “A check into her background revealed something … remarkable about her history. Something I doubt she even knows.”
“What is that?”
Hector rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. “I don’t have all of the answers yet myself, but I am trying to fill in the missing pieces. When the time comes, I will explain.”
Thirty minutes later, Adolfo sank into the white leather seat on the family jet as it taxied down the runway of the airstrip next to the Villalobos compound. A leggy brunette strolled over to offer him a wine list to peruse during takeoff. He waved her away and she teetered on high heels to the front of the cabin and buckled herself in the jump seat.
His mind raced. The visit to the compound had been a partial success. He had managed to undermine Bartolo’s position with their father, but he was still not sure of his place in the pack.
An idea began to form. He could take over all US operations if he garnered support from Carlos and Daria. He would start the propaganda campaign as soon as he returned to Phoenix. The only thing that stood in his way was Bartolo and, after what he gathered from his father’s cryptic comments, possibly Veranda Cruz. He would figure out a way to eliminate both of them without drawing suspicion.
As he considered various plans in turn, awareness washed over him. He was reliving his childhood memory. They were all grown up now, but El Lobo still stood by to see which of his children would be the victor as they battled amongst themselves.
He vowed to himself that this time the outcome would be different.
14
Veranda almost collided with Sergeant Diaz as he blocked her path to the Violent Crimes Bureau conference room door. “I’m not finished with you yet, Detective Cruz.” He stepped closer, his nose nearly touching hers.
She pointed over his shoulder. “I need to get into the war room. The entire team is waiting for me.”
“Would you prefer to go over to PSB and have this conversation with a voice recorder on?”
She planted her hands on her hips at the threat of another official interrogation. “Look, I didn’t deliberately exclude you. It’s just that PSB was not the first thing that popped into my mind when someone broke into my house.”
He relaxed slightly and lowered his voice. “Detective, I told you to keep me apprised of all developments. I find out from Lieutenant Aldridge about the shootout with Pablo. And about your burglary. You need to be the one to brief me, and do it in a timely manner.”
“It won’t happen again, Sergeant.”
Now that the tension had eased, their stance felt too close. Almost intimate. The wood and spice scent of his aftershave filled her nostrils.
His eyes traveled down to her mouth. He seemed to sense the awkwardness and stepped back. “By the way, Detective Johnson filed his paperwork. There will be no criminal charges placed against you for shooting the truck driver during the interdiction.”
She blew out a sigh.
“Before you get too relaxed, I’m still conducting the administrative investigation into whether you followed proper procedure during that incident.”
Her face fell. “Right.”
“Now that we understand each other, you can go into the meeting.” He turned and opened the door to the conference room. “But I’m coming in with you.”
All eyes turned to Veranda as she strode in. Head held high, she did not betray the inner turmoil her confrontation with Diaz had caused. She sat in the empty chair next to Sam, who scowled at the PSB sergeant taking a seat on the opposite side of the room.
Sergeant Jackson stood. “All involved teams are ready to report our progress to date. Before we get to today’s incident, let’s update the other related investigations.” He turned to an olive-skinned man with thinning dark hair and a scraggly mustache. “Detective Johnson, you have the floor.”
Johnson stood and flipped his notepad open. His voice had the rasp of a two-pack-a-day smoker. “The criminal investigation of Detective Cruz for the fatal shooting of the cartel truck driver, Oscar Ramirez, is concluded. The Prosecutor’s office was notified through chain of command that no probable cause exists for an arrest. They have elected not to pursue an indictment.” He looked at Veranda. “Criminally, you’re clear.”
