Chapter Eighteen
Missoula
The sedan finally drove inside the open bay doors of the warehouse that hadn’t been in use for years.
“Rio’s here. Come on.” Alvaro opened his door and got out of the vehicle, waiting for her to climb over the center console to his side.
Still handcuffed to him, Christina had no choice but to follow him.
They headed inside the warehouse to where the sedan had stopped. The trunk popped open. As they drew closer to the vehicle, she saw what was inside. A corpse in a black body bag.
Alvaro picked up the body, jerking her arm as though it were attached to a doll. Her hand inadvertently brushed the bag. It was cold. Alvaro set the body on the ground.
The driver’s door opened. But the trunk blocked Christina from seeing who got out of the car. Footfalls drew closer as someone came around the vehicle.
Rio Estrada stepped into sight.
Confusion washed over Christina as familiar brown eyes locked with hers.
“Hello, Christina. While I wish I could say it’s wonderful to see you again, the opposite is true.”
The face and voice snapped together in her mind like an errant jigsaw puzzle. Rio Estrada was a woman—not a man. El Jefe was the same person Alvaro had introduced to Christina as his aunt.
But the voice she recognized as that of Dawn Quinones.
“I don’t understand,” Christina said. Nothing added up.
Quinones over the phone didn’t sound anything like Alvaro’s aunt in person.
But the woman standing in front of Christina now was the same one she’d had dinner with four years ago.
The same wise, elegant lady who had embraced her, taught her how to make a traditional mole sauce and encouraged her ambition as an independent working woman.
“Is this better?” the woman asked, using a heavy Mexican accent with the timbre of her voice lowering a bit. “Sound more familiar?”
“Yes.” A chill ran over Christina. “But the Rio Estrada I spoke with on the phone…”
“Simple enough to produce with a top-of-the-line AI voice generator. For the right price, instead of it sounding digitized or fake or somewhat off, it comes across as human. Natural. Doesn’t it?”
“You had me fooled,” Christina said.
“That was the point.”
Now Christina understood why they needed to get the surveillance footage.
She had been wearing a necklace with a camera the night she had dinner with Alvaro’s aunt.
Kirk hadn’t been interested in watching the video of her learning how to make mole sauce with a sweet lady.
The FBI agent had only been thrilled that she was making such headway with Alvaro.
“What should I call you?” Christina asked. “Tia Aguilar? Rio? Dawn?”
She shrugged. “Whatever you prefer, but El Jefe has a lovely ring to it. Doesn’t it?”
“How long have you been living in the States?” Christina reined in her composure, needing to keep the conversation going until Jackson reached her.
“Since I was five. I took the place of an American child, who was close to my age when they died. Dawn Quinones. I assumed her identity.”
Christina thought about the grieving family who had lost a child. “And they just went along with it?”
“Not at first. But once they realized who my father was, a powerful cartel boss who could have them killed with a snap of his fingers if they didn’t cooperate, they agreed.
I also think I filled a hole for them, gave them another child to love and care for, even though they were constantly reminded that I was an Estrada and would never truly be theirs.
My father paid the Quinones family quite well for their silence.
After he passed away, my older brother continued to fund my life here and ensured I had protection.
Sent dear Alvaro, my cousin, not nephew, to be my right hand. ”
That’s why all the lieutenants listened to and feared Alvaro, and the reason a hit man was able to wield so much power. He was the right hand of El Jefe.
“The other mole,” Christina said, “who is it?”
“I have many. But the one on the task force?”
Christina nodded. “Vazquez? Mirabal?”
“Tillman.”
“But he was shot in the chest twice.” Christina had witnessed it.
Alvaro drew her gaze. “I shot Tillman twice in the armored vest. With regular bullets. Only every third round in the submachine gun was armor-piercing.”
All that skill and precision and drive used for evil instead of good. Such a waste.
“Whose idea was it for you to infiltrate the federal government and become an insider for the cartel?” Christina asked. “Your father? Your brother, Dante?”
El Jefe laughed. “Of course not. Neither my father nor brother thought a woman could cut it in the cartel. I had to prove myself as I went up, along every rung of the ladder. It was my idea to infiltrate federal law enforcement and become the Estrada cartel’s most powerful asset.
I was a visionary, thinking outside the box.
When Alvaro told me about you, I thought we might be kindred spirits.
After I met you, I saw so much of myself in you.
So much raw potential. My greatest prospect.
” Her smile faded, her expression turning downright sinister.
“But you turned out to be Kirk Kehoe’s asset, and my greatest disappointment. ”
Christina flicked a glance at the corpse on the ground.
Rio, Dawn, El Jefe sashayed over to the cadaver and unzipped the body bag.
“I should’ve killed you and Kehoe sooner.
Because of you and Jackson Powell, this is what I’m reduced to,” she said, gesturing to the dead woman, who somewhat resembled her, and then Alvaro handed El Jefe the detonator.
“With today’s massive seizures of our product, cash and weapons, totaling close to half a billion dollars, and my identity soon to be exposed on your surveillance footage through Odin’s Eye, I’ll be recalled home.
To Mexico. But I intend to stay here, controlling what I built, Team US.
Running my network of traitors that I’ve created and cultivated.
Tillman is only one of many. And the only way I can do that is if no one is looking for me.
That’s why I switched my dental records for hers.
In the rubble of the explosion, they’ll find two corpses.
Mine.” She eyed the dead body and then looked back up at Christina. “And yours.”
Alvaro whirled on Christina and seized her throat with both his hands.
Instinctively, she clutched his wrists, trying to pry his grip loose. But it was no use. She fought for air as her windpipe was constricted.
Christina stomped on Alvaro’s foot. Tried to kick his knee with her boot heel, a move that would bring the biggest assailant down, but he was too close for it to be effective. She threw a hard knee into his groin.
Growling in pain, he lifted her from the ground. Kicking, she clawed at his fingers, her feet dangling in the air. In a swift motion, Alvaro slammed her down onto the concrete floor.
Agonizing pain blasted through her skull. The sudden impact stunned her, and her hands slipped from his wrists.
Bearing down on her, Alvaro tightened his hands on her throat in a steel grip.
Her weapon. If she could reach it, she might have a chance.
Christina bent her right leg, dragging her heel as close to her butt as she could.
She jerked the cuff of her pants up to her shin, exposing the knife.
Snatched it from the holster strapped to her calf.
Jammed the blade low into Alvaro’s back.
“No!” Rio screamed.
Pain registered across his face. His grip loosened on her neck. A hiss seeped from his lips.
Christina pulled the knife out and stabbed him again. This time straight into his side, aiming for his belly.
Clenching his jaw, Alvaro clutched her throat once more and squeezed harder. “We’ll go together,” he growled, blood coating his teeth.
“Alvaro!” Rio cried. “I need you!”
Christina fought with everything she had, but her strength was draining, diminished by her struggling lungs and still no match for his brute force.
Gasping for air, she kicked. She clawed.
She drove the blade into his flesh again.
The backs of her eyes stung with unshed tears. Her lungs burned, starved for oxygen.
On her back, on the cold concrete floor, the fight seeping out of Christina, her world ending, she stared into Alvaro’s face, cursing the injustice that he would be the last thing she would ever see.
Heavy footsteps pounded into the warehouse.
Two sound-suppressed shots whispered through the air. Alvaro froze. His eyes went blank as the intensity in him deflated and his grip on her throat slackened.
Jackson kicked Alvaro’s body to the side before he collapsed on her.
Christina hauled in a huge, desperate breath. Coughing, she dropped the bloody knife and clutched her throat.
The rest of the team surrounded Rio Estrada, with their weapons pointed at her. They took turns screaming at her to stand down and drop the detonator.
Jackson unlocked the handcuff, releasing her from Alvaro.
She was free. From the cartel. From the Grim Reaper. Finally free.
Another shot was fired.
The detonator clattered to the floor, and Rio grabbed her wounded wrist. Then the team swept in closer to Rio, wresting her arms behind her back, driving her down to her knees and handcuffing her.
Kneeling beside Christina, Jackson gathered her into his arms. “Tell me you’re okay.
” He pressed her head to his chest and stroked her hair.
“My heart stopped when I saw him on you and something inside me shattered.” He shifted her away to arm’s length, his gaze raking over her. “Talk to me, Chrissy.”
She clutched him, determined never to let him go. “Say that again,” she rasped, her throat sore and achy.
“What? Talk to me?”
Shaking her head, she smiled and cried, tears rolling down her cheeks. “The other part.”
“Chrissy,” he said, and there was so much warmth and adoration in the way he called her name.
She nodded. “I love you, Jackson.” A part of her had never stopped and would always love him.