Chapter Eight
RAVEN
Miguel had to stay in the hospital for another day, going home with a much smaller lump on his head and a black and blue right eye. The swelling had gone down in both injuries and for that, I was greatly relieved. He still had scratches not only from brick shards, but also from the asphalt where he’d landed face first after an overzealous FBI agent had kicked him in the back. He’d been told to limit his pain medication to Tylenol even though he said it didn’t do anything for the aches and pains he had all over. For those, he’d been prescribed something else, also non-narcotic. I didn’t know what it was, but I hoped it helped.
When we’d gotten home and I’d walked into the bathroom while he was stripping for the hot bath he was running, I gasped. Right between his shoulder blades was an almost perfectly shaped bruise.
“What the hell, Miguel?” I said, when he turned to look at me. “I didn’t see that!”
“What?” He frowned at me.
I gave him a hand mirror, before gently taking hold of one elbow and turning him so his back was facing the mirror over the sink. “Look at your back. You have a gigantic boot print. You can match the tread pattern.”
He lifted the mirror, peering in it. “Fucker. No wonder.”
“No wonder…what?”
He lowered the mirror and held it out to me. “Hurts when I take a deep breath, so I keep them shallow.”
I frowned, taking hold of both forearms. “I’m calling Lincoln. I want that bastard brought up on charges. He should join the asshole who kicked your head with a suspension of his own.”
“Leave it, Raven. They didn’t know I wasn’t a cartel thug, and I don’t want to make anything more out of this.”
Why couldn’t he understand that I wanted my own piece of flesh? The man I loved had been hurt…by FBI agents no less. “I don’t understand you. That’s police brutality. They should be punished.”
“The guy who kicked me in the head is suspended pending an OPR investigation. I’ve given Lincoln and Mac and their SAC, Sarah Connor, a statement. Let them take care of things. I trust them to take the right measures. Sarah Connor is not a shrinking violet. I think they were horrified that I got hurt.”
“But the guy who kicked you in the back isn’t suspended. What if he does it to someone else? That was racial profiling.”
“Sunshine,” he said, smiling sadly at me. “Racial profiling happens all the time. I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t make it right.” I felt my eyes getting hot. “And I don’t want it for you. You’re the best man I know.” I pulled him into my arms and rested my cheek against his. “I love you.” I turned my face and kissed him behind the ear so I’d stop shaking. “It isn’t fair.”
He patted me on the back. “It’s okay, Raven. It could have been much worse. I promise I’m fine.”
“I hate it.”
I held him for a few more seconds before letting go and stepping back. His eyes were kind, beautiful, and kind. It was beyond my understanding how anyone could make a snap judgment based on the color of someone’s skin. Then again, one of the reasons I kept my hair short was because I’d seen how some of the men on the rez had been treated. One of the guys I’d gone to high school with had been beaten up in a gas station bathroom. The fuckers had cut his long hair while laughing at him. As usual, Miguel was right. There was just so much injustice in the world. “Take a hot bath while I make you a big bowl of soup.”
He flashed me a grin. “Tomato, okay?”
I nodded. “I knew you were gonna say that. One big bowl of tomato soup, coming up.”
I was just pulling our grilled cheese sandwiches and soup off the stove when Miguel walked into the kitchen half an hour later. He wore a pair of plaid sleeping pants and a black tank top. His hair was still damp, and I could smell the clean scent of soap on him from here. I smiled at him. I loved him more than I could say. He smiled back, padding across the kitchen floor in soft moccasins which matched the ones I wore. He pulled me into his arms, and I lifted my face for a kiss. It was soft and sweet, a melding of lips, making me feel weak in the knees. I forced myself to pull back a minute later.
“Come on, baby. Your grilled cheese is gonna get cold.”
He grinned. “I thought I smelled buttery goodness. What kind of cheese is that?”
I plated up both sandwiches. “Smoky gouda.”
“The one we got from the farmer’s market?”
“The very one.” I put both plates on the table in our cozy, little kitchen nook and grabbed a pair of Fiestaware bowls, filling them with tomato, basil soup. It was the kind that came in a can, but Miguel loved it. I made sure to pair it with his favorite sandwich made with his favorite cheese. I wasn’t trying to be health conscious at the moment. I just wanted him to feel better and there’s nothing like a big bowl of comfort food for that. I watched him slide gingerly into the booth and then brought the soup over, setting it down before sliding in beside him.
He put his arm around me and pulled me close, kissing me softly before pulling away. “Do you know how much I love you, Raven?”
I smiled, letting my gaze roam all over his face. “I love you too, baby.” I flicked my fingers encouragingly at his food a couple of times and nodded. “Now, eat your dinner. You hardly ate anything in the hospital at all.”
Miguel snorted, picking up his sandwich, taking a huge bite. His eyes rolled back in his head as he chewed. “That’s because the hospital cafeteria doesn’t have smoky gouda or canned soup made with love.”
I laughed, picking up my own sandwich and dunking it in the soup.
After the meal, Miguel went to the bedroom to search for the muscle relaxant his hospital physician had given him to layer with the pain medication he was taking. He’d been told that the combination of the non-narcotic pain relievers would work better than strictly Tylenol and Advil alone. I was finishing up the dishes when the doorbell rang. I dried my hands and walked out of the kitchen as Miguel came down the hall.
“Were you expecting anyone?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No.” We walked to the front door together, opening it to find Cassidy and Mike on the doorstep.
“Hey, what are you two doing here?” Miguel asked, shaking their hands. “Come in.”
I smiled at them as they walked in. “What’s going on, guys?”
“We wanted to talk to you if that’s okay,” Cassidy said. “Only if you’re feeling up to it, though.”
“I’m fine,” Miguel replied. “A little sore is all.”
We walked into the living room. “Sit down. I’ll make some coffee,” I said.
“Thanks, Raven.”
I padded off to the kitchen and got the coffee going before heading back into the living room. Cassidy and Mike sat on the couch, and Miguel had taken a cushioned club chair. When he turned and smiled at me, I walked over and perched on the chair’s arm, wrapping my arm around his shoulders.
“What’s going on?”
“Cassidy and Mike have taken over the investigation into the shooting at Trader Joe’s,” Miguel said. “They came here with follow up questions.”
“Big guns,” I said, smiling at them.
“Yeah, the captain in Hollywood isn’t happy, but since our captain in Brentwood has a bigger dick, we win,” Mike said.
I nodded, pretty sure that our two friends could walk on water. I was never so happy than the day I’d met them on a recovery job. To find out that they’d known Miguel for twenty years, had only been icing on the cake. “So how can we help? Miguel needs to go lie down.” I looked down at him and he gave me a face.
“I’m fine, Raven. We have catching up to do. A hell of a lot has happened.”
He reached for me, and I took his hand, nodding.
“Hopefully, this won’t take long,” Cassidy assured us before launching into the purpose of their visit. “When we ran ballistics on the bullet which the LAPD dug out of a tree in the Trader Joe’s parking lot—”
“Tree?”
“We haven’t caught you up,” Cassidy said. “So, the morning after you were nearly shot, we went looking for the bullet the man shot at you.”
“Okay.” I’d almost forgotten the man who’d tried to kill Miguel, had originally been targeting me.
“We ran ballistics on it, and found a match in our database,” Cassidy said.
“Oh, yeah?” Miguel asked.
“Yeah, it seems it’s tied back to the cartel,” Cassidy said.
“The cartel?” I felt sick to my stomach. I knew what was coming, but I had to be sure. “You aren’t talking about the same cartel from the coffee shop, right?”
Cassidy and Mike both nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s exactly what we’re talking about. You might recall it’s the Sanchez Cartel out of Guadalajara.”
“Oh, fuck,” Miguel said, gingerly touching the lump on his forehead.
“That’s pretty much what the FBI said when we told them about that connection to our Trader Joe’s case,” Mike said. “The bullet matched one used to kill a different protected witness.”
“Another FBI witness?”
Cassidy shook his head. “A DEA case.”
“Fuck!” Miguel and I said at the same time. His eyebrows shot up in question at me. “There’re way too many letter agencies in my life at the moment,” he said.
I frowned at him, nodding before turning my attention back to our LAPD friends. I couldn’t agree more.
“So…the FBI wants you in protective custody,” Cassidy said.
I stood up, letting go of Miguel’s hand. “No way, Cassidy. In case it escaped anyone’s attention, that didn’t work out so good for the guy at the coffee shop.”
“Raven, that wasn’t the FBI’s fault,” Mike said. “That witness voluntarily left their safehouse. Once he took his safety into his own hands, all bets were off. Far be it for me to defend the FBI, but the truth is, they really were trying to protect Rufus Modelo until he had a chance to testify against the head of the Sanchez Cartel. By escaping their custody and calling his girlfriend, Gina Cardoza, he put his own life and hers at risk. And one of the Sanchez Cartels’ bosses, will probably walk since Modelo is no longer around to testify.”
I stared them both down. “Maybe he had a reason to be scared. Maybe he figured out that it wasn’t safe in FBI custody.”
“You think the FBI is dirty?” Cassidy asked. The frown he wore was almost comical.
I shrugged, glancing at Miguel before looking back at him. “Maybe. It’s not the first time, I’m sure.”
Miguel reached out a hand to me. “Come here.”
I walked over and took his hand, allowing him to pull me back down to the arm of the chair as he smiled up at me. “You watch too much TV.”
“That’s not fair!” I would have jumped up again if he didn’t have such a tight grip on my hand.
“Raven.”
I dragged my death glare away from Miguel and back to Cassidy. “What?”
“Do you trust Lincoln and Mac?” he asked.
“Of course, but—”
“Then, if I told you they agreed two guys from his team will be the agents assigned to take charge of your protection, would that make you feel any better?”
I shrugged. “I guess, but I don’t understand why anyone would think Miguel is being targeted anyway. No one could have known he’d be at that coffee shop and in case it’s escaped anyone’s notice, he wasn’t the one shot by a cartel hitman. That guy had been targeting that Modelo guy, not Miguel,” I said, sure I was right about this.
“Raven?”
I looked down at Miguel. “Who says the cartel was targeting me? That guy outside Trader Joe’s had you in his sights. He tried to shoot you in the back of the head, not me.”
I opened my mouth and then shut it before turning to Mike and Cassidy. “Me? Why? I don’t have any connection to the Sanchez Cartel…or any cartel.”
“No, but we think Benedict Flores did and that makes both of you targets.” Cassidy lifted his face and sniffed the air. “I’ll tell you why after we get that coffee.” He smiled.
“Oh, shit.” I jumped up. “Be right back.” I ran into the kitchen and returned with a coffee mug for each of them. “So, tell me.”
Mike took a sip before setting it down on a coaster and leaning forward. “The fact that you were driving Miguel’s old Ford and not your own truck, probably saved both of your lives,” Mike said. When I opened my mouth to say something, he held up a hand. “As you know, the Ram was towed to our impound lot. It was broken into last night. There’re very few personnel on duty at night, but it’s protected by a fence and cameras. On surveillance tape, a man matching the description of the shooter out in Compton, scaled an eight-foot-high fence, threw a coat over razor wire at the top so he wouldn’t get all cut up, and strolled across the lot right to your truck. He looked inside, wrote something down, and then got away before anyone could stop him.”
“ Huh ?”
“We think he was confirming the truck was yours because he seemed to be reading the VIN number off the dashboard,” Cassidy said.
I flashed Miguel a look before turning back to them. “How could he check the VIN number?”
“A cartel contact working at the DMV or any number of other ways, Raven,” Mike said. “We think they were looking for the Ram but if the cartel hitter had been searching for Miguel’s older F-150, things at that coffee shop, might have turned out to be a win-win for the cartel. The hitter could have taken Miguel and you out at the same time as Modelo if he’d put two and two together. As it was, driving the Ford, probably saved his life.”
“That’s pretty thin, Cassidy,” I said.
Cassidy smirked at Mike. “He thinks we woke up as detectives yesterday and don’t have a combined thirty-five years of experience on the job.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said, knowing I probably sounded like a pouty kid.
“He didn’t mean any insult, guys,” Miguel said. “Why do you think the hitter went to the extraordinary length of looking at the Ram’s VIN number?”
“Mike’s theory, and it’s a good one, is that the cartel thinks you two are undercover FBI agents,” Cassidy replied. “By confirming that your truck was in an LAPD impound lot and not released to you by the FBI immediately, they have confirmation that their theory is maybe wrong about you being undercover.”
I felt a chill go through me as I realized the implications. “But that might mean the cartel now thinks we’re undercover LAPD cops.” My stomach was doing flip-flops.
Cassidy and Mike nodded. “That’s entirely possible and either way, that makes you targets in the FBI’s mind. Thus, the polite request that you remain in their protection.”
“That’s fucked up,” I muttered, glancing down at Miguel. “Isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “It’s reasonable, Raven. We should cooperate with the FBI if Lincoln is assigning his own guys.”
Cassidy cleared his throat and we both looked over. “Where’s your grandmother?”
“She went to stay with her nurse, Dolly. That’s why we were in Compton. We’d just dropped her off at Dolly’s house.”
Mike smiled. “Good thinking.”
I shrugged. “Well, it seemed like the best thing. With Miguel hurt, rogue CIA fuckers trying to get us to do their bidding, and now a fucking cartel hot on our trail, I’m glad we made the decision.”
“Me too,” Cassidy said.
“So, what were you saying about Benedict Flores having a connection to the Sanchez Cartel?” Miguel asked.
“We looked into your new client, Mr. Leopard, and his partnership with Benedict Flores also,” Cassidy said.
“Yeah?” I asked, sitting up straighter.
“Yeah. When they opened their casino, Leopard wasn’t the original investor. There was a group of investors who pulled out at the last minute which is why Leopard decided to fund the casino startup himself.”
“Leopard told us that,” Miguel said. “The part about the startup, I mean. Are you saying that the Sanchez Cartel is connected to the casino?”
Cassidy and Mike nodded. “We think so, yeah. The connection is murky, but yes, we think so.” He glanced at Mike, and I could see the two detectives making a decision about what to tell us. Cassidy leaned toward us. “This is what Mike and I think.”
I nodded, desperately wanting to know what was going on.
“I’ll preface what we’re going to say with this. We think that our other case, the murder of the investigator, might have been a cartel hit also.”
“Dave Reynolds,” Miguel said.
“Right,” Cassidy replied. “We can’t confirm it because not only was no weapon found at the scene, but no bullet either. Our guys searched the entire area where the body was discovered but nada.”
“So…what makes his murder a cartel hit?” I asked.
“When we looked into Dave Reynolds, it turns out, the guy was pretty smart. He worked for Aston’s firm for many years, and when we interviewed all the other attorneys at the firm, they swore by his work. Our thinking is that he got himself killed by the cartel because he figured things out.”
“What things?” I asked.
“We think he figured out Gregory Aston was behind the theft of the ruby you guys were hired to recover. You said there were threatening letters delivered to Mr. Flores’ office.”
“Right,” Miguel said. “Aston told us Dave Reynolds checked them for prints, but they were a dead end.”
“So, maybe Aston lied about that. Maybe Reynolds confronted him when he figured out that the letters had been faked by Aston, so Aston had the cartel kill him.”
“Shit,” I said. “But what about the theft of the ruby? Who stole it, if it was ever really stolen at all?”
“Oh, we think it was stolen,” Mike said. “We think the robbery was carried out by Salvatore Mancuso. The police investigating the theft when Tawny reported it, looked hard at him. He was their main suspect but they weren’t able to prove it.”
“Why?”
“Because Mancuso’s got some training. He’s former military. He was hired by Benedict to be his personal bodyguard, possibly with Aston’s encouragement. Think about it. It conveniently put him in Benedict’s house at all hours. The original officers could never get enough evidence, though. They also looked at Tawny.”
“Well, that would only make sense. Like we told you before, we’ve always thought she faked the robbery, stole the ruby herself,” I said.
“We’re not so sure about Tawny’s involvement,” Mike said. “It makes more sense that Aston hatched the plot to steal the ruby all by himself.”
I opened my mouth but before I could ask about why Aston would want Mancuso there at all, Miguel beat me to it.
“Why would Aston encourage Flores to hire Mancuso, assuming he was the one who stole the gem?” Miguel asked. He was so logical. His mind worked in that linear way, while mine hopped all over the place.
“The investigating officers wondered about Tawny Flores insisting that no interior cameras would be allowed in the house. And that the ones already there, be removed so no one could piggyback on them to spy on her in the buff, or whatever.”
My eyes widened. “You think Aston put Mancuso in place to seduce Tawny and get at her fortune?”
“That’s what the original investigators thought, and we think it’s a good possibility. Also, I imagine being a casino boss might come with some risk,” Cassidy said, nodding slowly. “But that’s not why.”
“Because maybe Aston and Mancuso have ties to the Sanchez Cartel,” I blurted.
“Interesting,” Mike said. “We think so too.”
“You do?”
Cassidy smiled. “We do. Not only that. We think Gregory Aston encouraged Tawny to hire you two as a ruse when he had the ruby stolen by Mancuso, to throw her off the scent. He probably figured a little start-up company like Trackers with two guys trying to get the business off the ground wasn’t a threat. But then you guys turned out to not be the fuckups he’d hoped you’d be.”
I nodded as Miguel squeezed my hand.
“We think he planned on selling the ruby to a buyer at one of Rosina Cassanova’s private auctions. He fucked up, though, because he’d been told that the ruby was part of Benedict Flores’ estate, passed down through generations. When he figured out that it was part of a cache of stolen gems from the Middle East, he was stuck with a ruby he couldn’t sell at one of Cassanova’s little auctions.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I have to interrupt. Do you think that Aston is also involved with the rogue CIA guys? That was one of our theories.”
Mike snorted, rolling his eyes at Cassidy. “Do you think our captain would hire them as detectives? They’d be better than some of the schmucks the LAPD has on the job.”
Cassidy chuckled before turning to us. “In fact, we know Aston is connected through the cartel, but we’re not sure about the rogue CIA cell.” He winced. “God, calling them a cell makes my stomach turn.”
“Mine too.”
“Still, we haven’t made that connection yet,” Mike replied. “Like Cassidy said, the connection we found is through the cartel and Mancuso.”
“Salvatore Mancuso works for the cartel,” Cassidy continued. “At least we think so.”
“How?” Miguel asked.
I nodded vigorously. I was also interested in that answer.
“Gregory Aston is the attorney of record for several low-level Sanchez Cartel thugs. He represented them in small-time busts and that means he’s on the cartel payroll.”
“Shit,” I said.
Cassidy nodded. “When Benedict Flores and Brian Leopard went into the casino business, the original investors—the single, silent investor actually—was the Sanchez Cartel. They fronted Benedict Flores fifty million dollars for the start-up but then pulled out when the town council where they were going to build it, started making noise. The cartel didn’t want anyone looking into their involvement, or more precisely, any negative headlines. Casinos always make headlines but if someone on the town council decided to stage protests, it would turn negative. And whenever these things happen, someone always looks at the investors’ books.”
“And the Sanchez Cartel sure as hell didn’t want anyone knowing where the money for the start-up was coming from, so they pulled out,” Mike said.
“That’s when Brian Leopard stepped up and decided to fully fund the casino project instead,” Miguel said.
“Right,” Cassidy replied.
It made sense. “Do you think Brian Leopard knows Benedict’s original investors were the Sanchez Cartel?”
“We don’t know, but I doubt it,” Cassidy said. “It could be he completely trusted Benedict. They’d been friends for years. Leopard probably thought all Benedict had to do was give the money back to the original investors, and it was a done deal. As of now, though, we don’t know if Flores ever returned it.”
“He didn’t,” I said. “At least I don’t think so.”
“How do you know?” Mike asked.
“Because our assistant, Judy Mendez, found an account in Benedict Flores’ name with fifty million dollars in a Cayman Island bank. And come to think of it, the account was opened right around the time the casino broke ground.”
Cassidy and Mike exchanged a look before turning their regard back to us.
“Well, then the cartel has been extremely patient,” Miguel said. “That’s been like five years. Why on earth would they have waited?”
“If the fifty million belongs to the cartel, why would Benedict Flores stick the cartel’s money in a trust fund in Tawny’s name? That’s super risky. He set it up so she can’t get to it until she’s thirty. That’s five years from now.” I looked back at Cassidy and Mike. “We’ve always thought that she and Mancuso were lovers and that they decided to kill her husband to get to the money sooner, but maybe it was all just a big middle finger to the cartel. But Flores had to know playing games with fifty million dollars of cartel money was a death sentence. I wonder why he didn’t just give it back.”
“If you’re right, I’d say greed played heavily into that decision,” Mike said. “After all, Benedict Flores was a casino owner, the very definition of a sick gambler.”
“A total idiot,” Miguel said. “And now, it’s out of reach because it’s in a trust fund in the Cayman Islands.”
“For the time being, anyway,” Cassidy said. “My guess is that a trust fund like that can’t be broken that easily. What do you want to bet that Aston’s desperately been working on trying to do that?”
Mike nodded. “Makes sense, and it also makes sense that he would insert Salvatore Mancuso into Tawny’s life to keep eyeballs on Benedict’s private business. Having Mancuso there, might also explain the ruby theft.”
“Right, you said you think Aston had Mancuso steal the ruby,” Miguel said. “That part doesn’t make any sense. Mancuso and Aston both work for the cartel so why would Aston take the risk of having Mancuso steal the ruby when he might tell the cartel about it? That would put Aston’s life in extreme danger.”
“Since we think Aston was trying to get the cartel’s fifty million back by breaking the trust, maybe allowing him to pad his own pockets with a two-million-dollar ruby was no big deal to them,” Mike said. “The ruby never belonged to the cartel. Why would they care if Aston worked little side projects?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because they’d be crossing the rogue CIA cell?” I asked.
“Maybe Aston had no idea about the rogue CIA guys,” Mike said. “Aston thought the ruby was part of Benedict’s estate for generations. That’s what he was told by Tawny and probably by Benedict Flores himself. He might have simply decided that he could sell the ruby at an auction to pad his own pockets. But then, you guys uncovered the plot with the whole rogue CIA group, and he probably found out there were other stones. Who the fuck knows what motivated him after that. In the short term anyway, he could sell the ruby for a couple of million, but then by keeping you close, also get a line on where the other stones were.”
“You think he planned on getting his hands on the whole cache of gems and selling them too?” Miguel asked, sounding flabbergasted.
“We know Aston thinks he’s smarter than anyone else,” Cassidy said. “And if he was in debt to the cartel to the tune of fifty million bucks, a bunch of untraceable stones worth a fortune would certainly help him settle that debt.”
“He’s gotta be the biggest idiot on the planet,” I said. “He’s playing Russian roulette with a cartel and rogue CIA agents. Aston either has some massive balls or he’s the biggest gambler of all.”
“Or both,” Cassidy said.
I looked down at Miguel when he sighed. He had his hand on his forehead again. “You need to get in bed, Miguel.”
Cassidy and Mike immediately stood up. “We’ve kept you guys too long, but it’s been good to talk through things. If it’s okay, we’re going to stop by your office to talk with Judy to look at that Cayman Island account she found.”
We both stood as well. “Of course, guys.” We shook hands and walked them to the door.
Mike frowned at us. “Stay put and don’t open the door to anyone until Lincoln’s guys get here.”
I sighed. “Fine. Do you know their names?”
The detectives exchanged a glance. “Rayburn and Perez, I think?” Cassidy said. He pointed at Miguel. “Keep your gun close and get some rest. You look like dog chow.”
I laughed before shutting the door and locking it up tight.