Never Trust a Saint (LOS SANTOS Cartel story #1) Page 2

  “We were about to dance,” an irate voice broke between us.

  The stranger turned his gaze to meet Jarrett’s challenge. “No, you weren’t.”

  And with that, I was led to the floor by a man who both chilled me to the bone and ignited my senses. Pulling me into his arms, he held me close, our cheeks touching. I wondered if he could feel my heart beating against his chest. I wondered if he could read my indecent thoughts. He moved with grace, his hand on my back holding me possessively close, his delicious cologne consuming my senses.

  “Who are you?” I managed after some time, my shaky voice betraying me. Why did he make me so nervous?

  “Someone you probably don’t want to know,” he said with such certainty. His rough cheek grazed over mine, my eyes closing against the sensation.

  “Then why are you dancing with me?”

  “Because you intrigue me, Nina Cross.” How did he even know my name?

  “I’m just another face in the crowd.”

  “Even if you were in masquerade, I would know those lips anywhere.”

  Oh!

  He speaks and I feel like a giddy teenager with a crush. The orchestra was beginning to fade and I was caught between wanting to run from this man, or to stay in his arms at all costs.

  “So you know who I am, tell me who you are?”

  “You should be careful who you trust, Nina,” he warned even though I was certain it wasn’t said to scare me. He held me tight preventing me from pulling away.

  “Why?” My hackles were raised, that now familiar chill taking hold. “What makes you say that?”

  “Thank you for the dance,” he said, beginning to loosen his grip on my waist.

  “Wait. Tell me who you are.”

  This time, drawing me in close, lips grazing my ear, he whispered four words I wasn’t expecting. My body shook as he lingered, letting them have to their full effect.

  Four words that ignited a fear deep within.

  Four words that left me breathless as he turned his back and disappeared into the crowd.

  Four words.

  I am your ruin.

  Chapter 2

  “Are you ready?” I asked Tomas, who interrupted his conversation with a gorgeous brunette to study my visibly shaken form.

  His brow creased together. “What happened to you?”

  I could feel the glare from the woman on me, clearly upset I was interfering with her night’s entertainment.

  “I’ll tell you on the way. Can we go?”

  “Sure.” Without even farewelling his new friend, he hooked his arm through mine and led us out into the warm summer’s night in New York. We stood in silence until finally we climbed into the backseat of the cab.

  “Talk to me.” His large hand covered mine as reassurance.

  “That man…” I began, “…are you sure you don’t know who is he is?”

  “The one you were eye fucking?”

  “I wasn’t eye fucking.”

  “You were certainly doing something with those pretty green eyes of yours and it wasn’t a simple ‘hey, what’s up.’”

  “Can you just focus?”

  Seeing how exasperated I was getting, he put all joking aside. “He does kind of look familiar but in all honesty, we see a lot of faces in what we do. Plus, he was at the same convention so he must work within the web of things. You danced with him, all close and personal, didn’t you get a name?”

  “No, he knew mine but wouldn’t tell me his. Tomas, he gave me a warning.”

  This got his attention.

  “Of what kind?”

  “He told me I should be careful who I trust.”

  “Strange thing to say to someone you just met.”

  “But then I asked his name again and he replied with ‘I am your ruin.’”

  “What?”

  “I know! Am I missing something?”

  Tomas had fallen silent. With his arm resting on the door, his hand rubbed his chin.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Again there was silence.

  “Tomas?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing.” He met my gaze. “I don’t know what this guy’s issue is or why he has targeted you. How about we grill the boss in the morning? I’m sure he’s no one you should be concerned about.”

  ***

  That night I lay staring at the ceiling, the words of the handsome stranger ringing in my ears. I had no reason to distrust those around me, yet the power of his words was causing my suspicion to reign supreme.

  The phone call came at what felt like only minutes after my eyes closed. My obnoxious ring tone cut through the quiet, startling me.

  Garcia. His name lit up my screen and the space around me.

  “What?” I asked, falling back onto my pillow, sleep beckoning me.

  The sounds of a scuffle on the other end caused me to bolt upright, a bone-chilling fear taking hold of my body.

  “Garcia?”

  “Go wide, Cross,” my partner’s voice although muffled was loaded with urgency. “Now, go!” Before I could respond, there was a brief noise, one of agony and suffering before a deafening boom erupted on the other end of the line. Frightened, I screamed, pulling the phone away from my ear wanting desperately to believe my fears were unwarranted.

  “What the fuck? Tomas? Tomas answer me…” I waited, my heart pounding painfully in my chest. I hadn’t realized I was on my feet but I was pacing the foot of my bed. The end of the line had gone quiet. There was no more scuffle. No more Garcia.

  “What the fuck just happened?” I mumbled incoherently running a hand through my loose hair. I was still holding the phone to my ear listening for any clues when I heard it. It was a noise that sent a shiver through me, bringing me to a standstill.

  Someone was on the other end, their exhales audible. We stood, listening in a silent standoff. Daring each other to be the first to speak.

  I was aware I was shaking.

  I was aware tears were streaming down my cheeks.

  I was also aware of the urgent warning Garcia sent me. One that only I would understand, yet I couldn’t move.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. It was painful and loaded with fear.

  There was a longer exhale, one drawn out for emphasis and then abruptly the call ended. The small click cutting me off from whatever it was that had just occurred.

  My cell slipped through my fingers landing with a thud on the rug-covered wooden floor. Bile rose in my throat, and before I could make it to the bathroom, the night’s dinner brought itself up. Heaving twice, I rinsed my mouth and washed my face.

  The pounding in my chest hadn’t stopped, and it felt like my rib cage would explode. My worst fears had become a reality as Garcia’s last words played over in my mind.

  Go wide.

  It was a saying only between us if ever we found ourselves in trouble and needed to warn the other.

  Go wide.

  Get far, far away and don’t look back.

  Chapter 3

  I arrived at Garcia’s by cab twenty minutes later, taking two stairs at a time up to his loft. Officers on the ground had already cordoned off the area, their bright red and blue lights bouncing off the surrounding buildings. The fact they were still there, exchanging solemn shakes of the head and disbelieving thoughts caused my heart to sink.

  “Let me through,” I ordered pushing my way past a pair of uniforms who stood sentry at the door. They didn’t argue though I doubted they knew who I was.

  I came to a standstill, motionless, fighting for air as I took in the scene before me. His loft had been turned upside down, every fragile object now shattered into a million pieces. But I didn’t care for that. What I cared for was the gathering of law enforcement located in Garcia’s bedroom. Swallowing the lump, I approached, broken glass crunching beneath my booted feet.

  “Cross,” Chief Delacroix’s voice intercepted, placing a hand on my shoulder. I met his troubled gaze, eyes saddened with the loss of one of his
finest agents. “Maybe you should wait outside. This is not something you should see.” He gestured for me to go back out.

  I knew I didn’t want to see.

  I knew the gruesome images would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  I knew that whatever Garcia had done, wasn’t deserving of the heinous crime.

  But I also knew I had to see the crime scene in order to know what I was dealing with.

  Ignoring my superior, I pushed past the row of men who stood taking notes and discussing possible theories. My own grief engulfed me, tears brimming as I studied the horrific scene. Garcia, wearing only his boxer briefs, lay haphazard, his bottom half still on the bed, the rest slumped on the ground. His handsome face which was normally alight with humor was now half blown off, bone, blood and gore spattered against the walls and surrounding area. He was unrecognizable.

  I stood, my hand covering my mouth. Shattered. Broken.

  A sob erupted, the kind that makes your face ache before the tears even spill. Pulling me into his arms, the Chief held me close, grief becoming all too much.

  Garcia was my best friend.

  He was my partner.

  He had my back.

  And yet as I cried, a war of emotions took hold. He told me to run, a warning I knew I should heed, but I simply couldn’t leave without finding who had done this to him.

  I owed Garcia that much.

  While he always had my back, even in his final breath before he was murdered, I had failed him.

  “They used his gun,” the Chief’s solemn voice broke through my thoughts. “They came in while he was asleep. He woke and disturbed them. Reached for his gun,” he pointed to the open drawer where Garcia kept his loaded Glock at night. “A struggle broke out and the assailants took possession of Garcia’s service weapon and put four bullets in his skull and face. Then fled, but not before one or more of them trashed the place.”

  “That’s your theory?”

  He looked at me like I slapped him in the face. “You think different?”

  The question left me gutted, a queasy sensation further unsettling my stomach. Throwing a glance around the room, I saw all eyes surreptitiously observing my interaction with the Chief.

  “Can we talk in private?” I asked, defiantly wiping tears with the back of my hand.

  He nodded before guiding me out the door and down the stairs. A small crowd had gathered outside, this sort of violent scene nothing new to them. Except this time, they knew Garcia was the good guy.

  “He rang me,” I began, the terrifying memory of his last moments haunting me.

  “Who, Garcia?”

  “Yes. But it was too late. They were already in there but he was able to call and warn me.”

  The Chief’s brow knitted together. “Warn about what? This was a home invasion.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “This was more than that. He told me to go wide. He wouldn’t have said that over a home invasion.”

  “Go wide?”

  “Yes, it means whenever one or both of us is in danger we say ‘go wide.’ Get off the grid. Disappear.”

  “You two been working on something I should know about?”

  “No, we’re between cases. Unless this is retribution for something earlier, I don’t know. But somehow we’ve pissed someone off.”

  “If that were the case, they would have come after you at the same time. It’s clear Garcia was the target here, and without more evidence we’re pinning it down to a home invasion. However…” he looked me dead in the eye knowing I wasn’t taking no for an answer, “…I will have a team look into some old files and hopefully then we can find the fuckers who put a target on his back.”

  ***

  I crawled back into bed just as the sun was coming up, my mind a dead haze and my heart shattered into a million pieces. Although my heavy eyes closed I fell into a fitful semi-sleep, hearing the horrific sounds of Garcia’s voice only moments before he was killed. I woke several times with a start, hearing his pleas and overwhelmed with the need to run. But I couldn’t move. I was stuck in place as the blurred faces of his killers laughed around me. Including that of one person, I never expected.

  The Chief.

  ***

  By the time I woke, I was drenched in sweat.

  By the time, I showered and threw on some casual clothes, I felt the urge to vomit again.

  By the time I arrived at the station, I walked in on a meeting taking place between the Chief and fellow agents.

  He hadn’t told me about this. Garcia was my partner and he hadn’t felt the need to at least throw a courtesy invitation?

  I listened for all of one minute as the gruesome details of the murder were relayed to the solemn audience, still with a ‘home invasion’ twist on it. Feeling my skin flush and sweat with annoyance, I left the meeting and headed to Garcia’s desk.

  I paused in the doorway of the office block, half expecting to see him there. To hear his witty sense of humor while he teased me and everyone who walked by. A small sad smile touched my lips as I remembered the many conversations that passed between us. Our desks sat facing each other, a position that allowed for possibly a little too much work-unrelated banter. But it was an empty seat now, its former occupier never to return. I didn’t know what I would find in my search. I didn’t even know what I was looking for. Garcia had been an agent four years longer than me. He had inherited me when his partner was suspended and decidedly never returned. Garcia never told me what it had concerned and I knew better than to ask.

  Sitting down at his desk, I flipped through the cream manila folders that were neatly stacked in the corner. They were profiles from our previous case that we had studied night after night until we could read them verbatim. Nothing of interest caught my attention, so I turned my focus to his computer. Moving the mouse, the screen came to life with the department’s logo and a prompt for a username and password.

  “What do you think you are doing, Cross?” the Chief’s voice startled me.

  “Nothing, just looking for anything that might give me some insight.”

  “Did you not hear me this morning?” There was agitation in his voice which I thought given the situation was undeserving.

  “Yes, I heard you. But he is… was my partner. And I feel the need to find some answers also.”

  “I told you I had a team working on it and you, Cross, are in no right headspace to be taking on such a task. So go on home, take some time off if you choose, and deal with this the way a normal functioning human being would.”

  I understood what he meant. I needed time to grieve for my best friend and colleague, but at the same time, I felt he needed justice.

  “You know the department pays for trauma counselling. Perhaps you should pay her a visit. I hear she’s very good.”

  “I don’t need counselling, boss.”

  “Well what you need, you won’t find here.” His eyes narrowed in challenge. “Don’t think I’m joking, Cross. Pack what you need and get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to see your face at least for a week.”

  Chapter 4

  Two days painful passed and no word of any leads. Instead, as I slid on my sunglasses and smoothed my plain black dress, I contemplated breathing life back into my own investigation, especially considering the primary focus was still misguided. Not one inch of me believed Garcia had died at the hands of a home invasion gone wrong. It was too aggressive. Too premeditated. And from all reports nothing of value was taken.

  “Nina,” came a familiar voice. I turned to see Garcia’s younger sister and a sudden wave of guilt washed over me that I hadn’t rung to express my condolences. We looked alike and perhaps that’s why Garcia and I got along so well. She too had thick, long, chocolate brown hair, and deep green eyes framed with thick lashes. While she was much fairer in complexion compared to her brother, she could easily pass as my blood sister. “So glad you could make it.” Lana said, clasping my hand.

  We embraced and both shed sile
nt tears. As the somber crowd gathered around, Lana took my hand and led me to the front where the burial was taking place. The sun sat high in the sky and warmed my exposed skin. It was a beautiful day. Too beautiful to be saying goodbye to someone I love. The classic mahogany coffin had been draped in cream lilies that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. Garcia would have hated all the fuss. He loved immediate attention but not the sort that had people going out of their way, even for his funeral. Glancing up, I saw the faces belonging to the rest of the team. The Chief was positioned in the middle¸ his hand wrapped around one wrist as he watched me. His expression stoic and unreadable. It was unlike him and I couldn’t help but think that he was also taking Garcia’s death hard.

  The minister cleared his throat and the service began. He delivered the usual spiel about death and the taking of a life all too soon, especially one that ended in such a cowardly attack. Beside me, Lana—Garcia’s only living relative—sobbed. As we both wiped away the tears that fell, I struggled to ease the pain that was in my heart.

  The coffin lowered into the ground, and as we lined up to gather a handful of earth, a cold shiver spread through me. That familiar feeling had returned and I could feel his lingering gaze. Unlike last time, his presence now felt sinister.

  What was he doing here?

  Was he somehow involved in Garcia’s death?

  Cautiously glancing around, I only saw those who had been in attendance the whole time. The cemetery was deserted other than the congregation surrounding me, but he wasn’t part of it. Ignoring the feeling, I took another step, this time to sprinkle the dirt.

  Pausing, I stared down at the coffin now waiting to be engulfed.

  My vision blurred and my throat constricted. “I will find them for you. I promise.” As I sprinkled the earth, tears tickled a line down to the cliff on my chin, my sadness mixed with a promise of vengeance spilling onto the ground beneath.