Chapter Twenty
The following morning, Enrique slouched in his swivel chair at Rubén’s office conference table.
The scent of leather furniture and peppery cigarillos clogged his nose, and the walnut-paneled walls shrank smaller by the minute.
As his boss presided over the council meeting, Enrique glared at the mounted portrait of Ovidio Lozano—the tyrant who had raised Jacobo into a beast of the highest order. A waste of life.
Lourdes’s self-loathing and tears had left a gaping, bleeding hole in his heart.
The pain in her words, the trembling of her body, and the shame so evident in her scrunched face butchered him.
How the fuck could he make things better?
It’s not like he could go back in time and plant a bullet in Jacobo’s head.
“Enrique.” Rubén frowned at him from the head of the table. “Are you listening?”
Barely, he bit back. Rubén had been droning on about Ibarra’s royal fuckup in assigning the wrong man to the transport detail. Blinking fast, he shifted in his chair. “Of course, jefe.”
“Right,” Rubén drawled and flicked a pillar of ash from his cigarillo into a crystal tray.
He cast his gaze toward Santiago and Domingo.
“Our lawyer is throwing up roadblocks and delaying paperwork with the police while Ibarra is slowing things down from his end. Unfortunately, not every cop in the city is on our payroll, so both men are facing opposition. A detective even tried to get a warrant for my home.”
Jolting upright, Enrique flattened his hands on the tabletop. “And?”
The jefe smirked. “A judge denied it.”
Santiago laughed and scratched his blond scalp. “Did you blackmail or bribe him?”
“Blackmail.” Biting his cigarillo, Rubén leaned back in his seat and drummed his hands on his stomach. The rings on his fingers clinked softly together. “The judge would do anything to make sure his wife doesn’t find out about his affairs.”
“That’s my favorite part of this gig—extorting cowards.” Santiago grinned and scooted his chair back from the table to cross his legs. “There’s nothing more exhilarating than a grown man breaking the law for you all because he’s scared shitless of his woman.”
Rubén snorted, blowing smoke from his nostrils. “You’ve never been married. When Drina is in a rage, I’m tempted to lock myself in the barracks.”
As laughter rebounded, Enrique crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s get back to business.
If you guys keep jerking around, I’m leaving.
” Which was fine with him. Lourdes had joined him at the hacienda to spend time with Drina, but now, he needed to kiss her senseless more than he needed his next breath.
Rubén’s eyes narrowed, the green specks in the brown depths flashing.
Santiago and Domingo shared an arched glance.
“Fine,” Rubén bit out. “Tell Santi and Domingo what you told me, about your plan to frame Officer Sanchez.”
“It’s Lourdes’s plan. Don’t say otherwise.” She deserved credit when credit was due, especially after everything she’d been through.
“Fuck, Enrique. Relax.” Santiago downed a mouthful of his steaming coffee. “What does she have to do with any of this anyway?”
Exhaling a harsh breath, he confided that he’d taken his wife to the Warehouse where she witnessed the interrogation and devised a plan to get the cartel out of hot water.
“I’ll be damned. That girl is something.” Chuckling, Santiago slapped his knee.
“Speaking of Lourdes...” Domingo trailed off as he rummaged through the pockets of his bulky leather laptop satchel.
“The restricted number that texted her has been disconnected, but I narrowed the approximate location of where the messages were sent from through cell tower pings. It originated somewhere within the tolerance zone. My guess, Chicas Asesinas. Zayas’s man took the photos, so he probably sent them straight to her instead of playing middleman with his boss.
” He slid Lourdes’s cell toward Enrique from across the table.
“What happened to the cop’s body and the money laundering equipment?” Santiago asked.
“Dissolved in a vat of acid.” Enrique slipped the phone into his pants pocket. That was one detail he didn’t look forward to telling Lourdes if she asked. And knowing her, she would at some point. “The vans involved in the heist have been crushed in a junkyard.”
“D, tell them what you told me this morning.” Rubén flicked his hand toward the younger man.
“Right.” Domingo smashed a few keys on his laptop and spun it around to face Enrique and Santiago.
A picture of a white riad-style house in a vast walled-in estate filled the screen.
“About two years ago, Zayas purchased this property in Casablanca. It once belonged to some Spanish diplomat ancestor of his,” Domingo added, almost as an afterthought.
“Casablanca, huh?” Enrique rubbed his stiff neck. The gorgeous property had to cost a small fortune. “If he escapes the country, at least we know where to look for him. Where did he get the money for a place like that?”
“That’s the troublesome part.” Domingo stood, leaned over the computer, and clicked a browser tab.
An account on a banking website popped up. Over a million US dollars were in savings.
“About time, D. His offshore bank account.” Enrique swung his glare to the hacker. “How the fuck did you find me in a matter of days, and you’re still searching for Zayas?”
Domingo scoffed. “Zayas isn’t a fool. He must know someone with the right skills to hide his digital fingerprint. You tried to do all that by yourself. And failed.” He smirked, letting the implication hang that Enrique was, indeed, a fool.
Fresh irritation burned like a living disease under Enrique’s skin. Let it go, he told himself. You did fuck up.
Though if those words had come from anyone but a friend, game on.
“As I was saying,” Domingo continued and tugged on the hem of his jersey shirt, “Zayas has been up to no good for a while. For five years, in fact. He’s been stealing from us.
Small amounts here and there, but it’s added up.
He stopped a few months ago at the same time Abaroa died, so I suspect they had some kind of deal worked out. ”
Seething, Enrique shook his head. The bookkeeper, Councilman Abaroa, had sided with Rubén’s enemy in an attempted coup, then disappeared like Officer Sanchez.
“Fuck, Domingo. That’s good work. Have you frozen the account?” Santiago braced his feet on the floor and flicked open his metal lighter before snapping it shut. His gaze zipped across the screen. “It doesn’t look like it.”
“Rubén said not to.” Domingo turned the laptop back around and returned to his seat.
“We don’t want him to know we’ve discovered it.
Losing access to that money might make him lose what sanity he has left, not that there’s much to spare.
I’m running more traces to check for other accounts, but I doubt I’ll find anything. ”
Rubén stubbed out his cigarillo in the tray, and the tendrils of smoke snaked around his hand.
“Betraying us over his bruised ego is one thing, but stealing from us? From my father when he was alive? Goddamn, that takes balls. I’ve been in touch with Paredes to find out exactly how much Zayas took.
” Cursing under his breath, he raked his fingers through his brushed-back hair.
“I fucking promoted him because I thought he was straightlaced and reliable. I should’ve listened to you, Ricky. ”
Enrique snorted at the half-assed apology. He’d told Rubén the man wasn’t trustworthy, though he only had his gut instinct telling him so. Too bad Paredes, Abaroa’s replacement, hadn’t caught and traced the financial discrepancies sooner.
Santiago crossed his legs again and continued to flick his lighter open and closed. “We’ll make some of that money back if we sell his Moroccan house. Maybe we could use it ourselves as a hideout or vacation home. Once Zayas is dead, of course.”
“Something to think about for later. As much as we all want Zayas’s head on a platter, he’s not our only matter of business.
” Rubén rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “Enrique, Paredes also said you haven’t filed the monthly expense report for the training camps.
I know things have been hectic, but you have barely a week left to get it done. ”
“I’ll do it today.” He gritted his teeth, checking his temper.
“What about the visits?” Rubén pressed.
Right. The fucking visits. As if he had time for that.
“Yesterday, I called the lead lieutenant at each camp in the Hermosillo plaza and the capos in the other plazas. They all reported low supplies of provisions and ammo. Some need weapons. Each camp can survive maybe two or three months as they are now.”
Grimacing, Santiago shook his head. “That doesn’t cut it.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Rubén tapped his fingers against the table. “Ricky, get Jesús your list of needed supplies when he returns. The camps with the most need will get the first delivery of arms and ammo. Handle the food and other necessities yourself.”
“Will do,” Enrique snapped, already planning to prepare what he could once he got home to his office. Rubén’s orders sat with him like a bunion on his ass, as if he didn’t know how to do his own damn job. “We cannot train boys to be killers without fucking ammo and rations.”
Rubén’s forehead creased. “I still expect an in-person evaluation. Do the local camps before the week is out and rework your schedule to fit in the others. If you’re worried about leaving Lourdes alone overnight, she can stay here.”