“Of course, jefe.”
“I also need you to fill Nando’s position. Look toward the higher soldiers. Someone’s got to stand out as worthy.”
He dipped his chin. “I’m on it.”
The door closed quietly, the lock engaging along with the coded alarm. I stared at the cool coffee containers and cursed under my breath. Business came first and one unpleasant phone call needed to be made. Sighing, I pulled my phone from my pocket and addressed my current problem before I opened the door to my other.
I fought a yawn as I dialed the number. He answered on the first ring, his voice holding a satisfactory mix of trepidation and anxiousness.
This might be easier than I thought.
“What do you want, now?”
“Brody, that’s hardly an acceptable way to greet someone, don’t you think?” I imagined him loosening his tie to breathe easier. They all did.
“I’m at work, Carrera.” His voice sounded rushed. “I’m going into court.”
“Be late.” I picked up my coffee, agitated from my conversation with Mateo.
“I can’t,” he snarled through what sounded like clenched teeth. “Talk fast.”
“A few officers paid a visit to one of my men early this morning at his cantina. Do you know anything about that, Brody?” The man couldn’t lie for shit. He had to be the worst assistant DA in history.
“N-no. Nothing, Val. I haven’t heard a thing.”
I knew he was lying. Brody Harcourt never called me by my first name. It was a human reflex to become friendly and communicate on a personal level when a man lied through his teeth.
“Nothing? Not a word around the office?”
“No, I told you, Val. It’s been quiet. Nothing’s come across my desk.” He paused, and his breath became labored. “Why? What happened at Caliente? Something bad?”
My fingers tightened around my coffee. “I never mentioned it was Caliente.”
“Well, I just assumed, you said cantina, and I know your guy, Emilio owns Caliente.” He laughed nervously. “Simple process of elimination, Val.”
Goddamn it. Stop saying my name.
This conversation was obviously headed nowhere fast. Harcourt knew more than he’d divulge over the phone. He needed some face-to-face encouragement to not be a rat bastard.
“Nothing happened. The alarm must have tripped and alerted the authorities.”
He audibly swallowed. “Yeah, sure. That has to be it.”
Of course, it does, you lying motherfucker.
Once I got Eden settled, and Mateo came back, I’d pay our fair ADA a visit and jog his memory. Until then, I’d humor his selective amnesia.
“Enjoy your day, Brody. Watch out for cars when you cross the road.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
It meant absolutely nothing. I just enjoyed fucking with him.
“Traffic. I heard it’s bad today. You’re late for court.” I disconnected the call in the middle of his string of curses.
Every man in the Carrera Cartel knew the penalties for lying. That knowledge prevented lies from being told amongst our men. Unfortunately for Brody Harcourt, he’d find out soon enough why there was rarely a crack in our cartel family code of honor.
Chapter Fifteen
Valentin
An hour later, I still held the phone in my hand, my eyes shifting to the closed door that led down the stairs to the basement. Mateo made sense. Continuing to interact with her wasn’t the smartest move, but I couldn’t deny the magnetic pull she had over me. No matter how many times my brain told my body to shut up and turn away, I found myself facing that goddamn door.
I’d taken three steps toward it when the phone vibrated. Since only business associates knew my number, I didn’t hesitate to answer in my native tongue.
“Si?”
“It’s Consuelos.”
Chris Consuelos had been hard to bring to control when I’d arrived in Houston six years ago. One night of Nando sitting across the street from his house in a tinted SUV cracked the Chief of Corpus Christi Port Security’s shell before I could pull my phone from my pocket. Nothing changes a man’s attitude faster than an unspoken threat to his family.
I kept my gaze on the basement door. “Not a good time.”
“Your boat never arrived, Carrera.”
The edge in his voice gave me pause. “What do you mean, it never arrived?”
“Exactly what I said. The boat was never found, but the bodies of your boys washed up on the Padre Island National Seashore. There’s no proof, of course, but if I was a betting man, I’d say they were intercepted not long after they left the coast of El Mezquital.”
Son of a bitch.
Small shipments had been MIA here and there for months, but lately, the frequency had tripled. Stolen cargo was a nature of the business, and I’d learned to eat the cost, but I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Writing it off as a coincidence wasn’t an option.
With the weight of his words distracting me, I stepped away from the door. “What the hell happened, Consuelos?”
For the first time, fear crept into his detached voice. “I have no idea, but my guess is there’s only one group with the cajones big enough to cross you.”
Muñoz.
My hand tore through my hair as my fingers ripped the strands from the root. Scenes of what would happen when word reached my suppliers that Muñoz enforcers had intercepted their shipment flashed through my head. “Do you realize what this means, Consuelos?”
“It can’t be good.”
“Good? These are the fucking Colombians, Consuelos. Suppliers don’t send an IOU to collect a debt on ninety pounds of cocaine.” I closed my eyes and cursed. “They wipe out entire neighborhoods.”
“That sucks, man.”
I opened one eye at his dismissal. “Don’t be stupid, pendejo! If you think they don’t know what you ate for breakfast this morning, you’re an idiot.”
His voice shook. “You mean…”
“Update your insurance policy.” I disconnected the call without another word. Callous? Probably. But I had more pressing issues than Chris Consuelos’s newly-soiled pants. I had hours to figure out how the hell to appease an eleven-million-dollar debt and smooth trade negotiations with my best supplier.
This feud had gotten way out of hand. Rivalry was one thing, but they’d fucked with my business one too many times. I’d had enough. Filling my chest with a calming breath, I released the death grip I had on my phone and started to dial the last man I wanted to talk to, when a high-pitched scream echoed from the basement followed by a clang of metal.
Warning that had built inside of me all morning exploded into a siren. Dropping the phone, I flung the door open and took the stairs four at a time, pulling my gun from my waistband.
Eden stood next to the iron bed, her cherry-red hair disheveled and wild, with a crazed look in her eyes. Bent over the mattress with her hands clasped together, she jerked roughly on the handcuff, snapping the metal into her wound with each pull.
Shocked at her ferocity, I stood with my gun pointed at her while she continued to jerk and pull, screaming like a wounded animal. Blood poured down her arm, and the food tray lay on the floor just under repeated marks and chips in the wall where she’d beaten into it. I assumed it was to get our attention.