Chapter One
NASH
“Thanks for coming in. I know it’s early,” Candy said. “But we have an urgent situation.”
I was sitting in the Tac Team briefing room at the Federal Building in Westwood, six-and a half short hours after I’d left the bar with the two hot twinks who’d claimed me on the dance floor.
Two hours after we’d walked to an apartment they shared, I’d left, thoroughly sated and still slightly buzzed.
I slumped in my chair, glancing away from our team leader, and over to Mickey who was pointedly ignoring me, as well he should.
I’d been a cruddy friend, ditching him for the two guys I’d ended up going home with.
I could understand his upset, but I’d given him fair warning that I was going to pick someone up.
After the first few dances, the three of us had downed several shots, followed by more dancing, followed by more shots, before heading to their waiting bed.
I stroked the stubble on my chin and cheeks, trying to remember names, before sighing.
It was no use. PATRóN Silver usually had that effect on me.
I glanced blearily at Candy when I realized he was looking right at me.
“Are you listening, Hampstead? And take off those fucking sunglasses,” my boss barked.
I blinked, since the frown on Candy’s face couldn’t be mistaken for anything but what it was.
He’d caught me in the act of trying to hide red eyes and a raging hangover.
I pulled off the glasses, squinting in pain from the fluorescent lighting in the room, and sat up higher in my seat.
Everyone turned to look at me with amused expressions.
I suppressed the urge to flip them off and glanced back at our team leader.
Candy Sorensen could be intimidating as hell when his bright blue eyes bored into you.
They missed nothing. Standing almost six foot four with a vicious scar running from his left eyebrow down over his cheekbone where it disappeared into a full red beard, the man simply looked fierce.
The Viking moniker that followed him around, was as accurate as hell.
“No sir!” Fuck. “Yes, sir, I’m listening, sir.”
“Uh huh. That’s what I thought. Are you sober, Hampstead?”
“Sober, sir?” I cleared my throat, straightening in my seat. “Of course, sir. I’d never think of coming to work less than sober, sir.”
There were several snickers and a few “Bullshit” coughs under my teammates’ breaths. The boss pursed his lips, shooting daggers in my direction.
“Were you alone on your late night escapade, Hampstead?”
I cleared my throat. “Alone, sir?”
Someone snorted but I ignored it. “Without companions, Hampstead! Was anyone with you?”
I darted a glance at Mickey who was frowning.
“Way?” Candy barked. “I gather you were with him?”
“Yes, sir,” Mickey said, sitting up straight. “He…I…he…yes, sir.”
“You’re fired as babysitter then,” Candy barked.
I bristled. I didn’t want or, for fucks sake, need a goddamned babysitter, and I felt bad that my friend was being blamed.
“It wasn’t Mickey’s fault, sir. He left before me and—”
“I see,” Candy said. He was tugging on his beard, probably considering punishment.
When he finally looked at me, his face was stony.
“I need you at your best, Hampstead, and how about you do your best to keep the partying to a minimum during the week. It’s a good thing you’re single.
What would you do if you had to deal with a boyfriend, or God forbid, children? ”
“Do very needy houseplants count?” I asked weakly.
He narrowed his eyes. “Are we good here?”
I sank lower in my chair. “Yes, boss.”
“Then fucking pay attention. This is important.” He finally dragged his gaze away from me and glanced around the room.
I breathed out a sigh of relief now that his attention wasn’t laser focused on me.
“As you know, Huerta and Mathis are away on their honeymoon, so we don’t have our new trackers.
Fortunately, we won’t need their skills for this joint operation. ”
He looked over to the woman who’d followed him into the room before addressing us again.
“You all know Judy Mendez, our new IT support person, and if you don’t, take the time to introduce yourselves to her.
She can see things on live SAT feeds during operations that you won’t have privy to once bullets start flying. ”
The short, Hispanic, thirty-something woman standing beside Candy, holding an iPad waved. “I haven’t met all of you, but I’ve seen you in action,” she said with a smile. “I look forward to working with you.”
There were grunts of approval and greetings throughout the room.
“Joint operation, sir?” Good asked.
I glanced at the shortest man on our team, Padraic—Patsy—Good, nicknamed Good and Plenty, was our resident ARW team member.
The Army Ranger Wing was the Irish Army’s special operations force, a branch of the Irish Defense Forces equivalent to the better-known British SAS.
Patsy’s lilting Irish brogue always made me smile.
I really admired the man. He’d overcome some tough stuff.
I liked all the guys on our team, but Patsy was special.
“Yes,” Candy went on. “You should know from the outset that this is a joint FBI and DEA operation.”
A collective groan went up in the room as several members of the team protested.
I got it. Working with the DEA on one of their fucked-up operations was never easy.
It didn’t matter whether it was here in Los Angeles—our team’s new base of operations—or Houston, where we’d come from so recently.
None of us trusted the drug enforcement guys as far as we could throw them, because their intel was generally suspect.
I could understand that. Most of the intelligence they got came from their own undercovers who were embedded with this or that cartel, or given to them by informants.
The problem with informants was that they were—by their very nature—unreliable at best, usually coked-up or on meth.
Personally, I preferred the coked-up ones, if I had to choose.
At least they didn’t bounce off walls like the meth addicts who were…
let’s face it…spun units. I was pretty sure most DEA agents were cleared to use drugs when the job called for it, since they had to pal around with drug dealers to get close enough to make a case.
That never sat well with the FBI brass. We were a straitlaced group, though, blessedly, we weren’t required to wear suits like the agents in our office did.
Our FBI’s Spec Ops Tac Team was made up of highly trained, former military special operators, one and all.
We came from different branches, but we worked together like a well-oiled machine.
“Knock it off,” Candy bellowed to shut us up. It worked.
I sat up straighter in my seat and shook my head to clear any errant thoughts, almost immediately regretting it. I had a splitting headache and there wasn’t enough Tylenol in the world to tackle it at the moment.
The boss sighed, growling in that snarly way he did when he was irritated.
The sigh that followed was telling. “Look…I know it’s been challenging to work with the DEA in the past, but that’s the assignment, so get used to the idea.
We’re working with their agents alongside their Tac Team in this operation.
Any questions? None? Good,” he growled. “Let’s move on. ”
He turned to the whiteboard behind him, tapping the single photo tacked to it.
“This is Pedro Gomez. He’s second-in-command of the Los Toros Cartel out of Mexicali, Mexico, just across the California border.
His boss, Manuel Tomas, was taken into ICE custody while trying to cross the border, so he’s out of commission, leaving Gomez temporarily in charge, at least for the moment.
Once he’s deported, he’ll no doubt be back to business as usual in Mexico. ”
Candy turned around to face us. “For a little background—” He glanced at Judy and nodded.
She tapped several keys on her iPad. “Los Toros is a separate and much smaller cartel than the Sanchez Cartel, which still isn’t fully operational after Oscar Castillo and his brother were killed two months ago, thanks in part, to the agents on this team.”
“Make no mistake,” Candy continued. “Although we’re talking about two separate cartels here, they work like two cogs of the same fucked up drug cartel machine operating in Mexico.
Not all of them are rivals and they try not to step on each other’s toes.
When they do, it costs them money and men so none of them want war.
There’re billions to be made for keeping the peace and not drawing attention to themselves.
The cartels cover different territories, all selling the same poison. ”
I nodded. Taking part in the operation down in the Cayman Islands had been satisfying. It wasn’t every day that the team got the chance to help kill the head of a cartel and put them out of business—if only temporary—as the underlings fought for dominance to take the top spot.
“The DEA tells us we’re in luck. Pedro Gomez is here in L.A.
to meet with the new head of the Sanchez Cartel—Juan Rojas—who sells Los Toros’ the drugs they pedal.
The goal of the meeting is to strengthen Los Toros’ alliance with Rojas to keep the pipeline flowing.
The DEA tells us that might change once Rojas has had time to make changes now that he’s on top, but for now, the two cartels are working together. ”
“Until Rojas decides he doesn’t need Gomez and Los Toros anymore,” I said.
Candy nodded. “Seems that way. The DEA is pretty sure they’re not at war and really want this alliance to work…for the time being anyway. Regardless, Gomez is holed up in an apartment in Chinatown, and he’s the DEA’s target.”
“Hang on,” Clifford said, raising his hand. “I must have missed something, boss. You’re saying the bloody Sanchez Cartel already replaced Oscar Castillo and his brother?”