Chapter Seventeen
The next morning before she awakened, Spence subtly adjusted the sheets and looked down at Mollie.
They’d gone through a rough couple of days, and he wanted to check out the bruises and scrapes on her body—battle scars she wore like medals after the chase through Denver and being manhandled by Youngblood and Julio yesterday.
Her left wrist—gripped too hard by Julio—had already gone from an irritated red to purple.
Her knees and elbows had scabs. The delicate skin on her ribs darkened from numerous contusions, some of which Spence was responsible for when he threw her to the tarmac at the airport to protect her.
He leaned down and kissed the bruises. Probably should have insisted on X-rays when they were at the hospital, but she hadn’t complained about pain. He covered her again, satisfied that she wasn’t too badly injured and angry that she’d suffered at all.
Her eyelids fluttered and slowly lifted. When she smiled at him, Spence gave her a peck on the cheek and a little kiss on the lips, which was meant to be an easy-going wake-up. Though they’d had sex twice last night and played around in the bathtub until the water cooled, he wanted more.
He growled and kissed her harder.
“Stop,” she said. “I’m not awake.”
“If you don’t mind,” he growled, “neither am I.”
Playfully, she shoved at his chest and sat up on the bed. “Full disclosure—I’m a morning person. I wake up fully awake, and I don’t like being messed with when I’m still asleep. You’re playing with dynamite, mister.”
“I’ll take my chances.” He leaned back against the pillows. “Sorry you’ve been knocked around so much.”
“Yeah, I’m kind of sore.” She stretched and winced. “What happened to our interview with the undercover agent? Did we get a call from Jamison?”
He checked his phone on the bedside table. “It’s seven twenty-seven. Jamison just called and woke me up. The video call with Kiki the undercover agent will take place at seven forty-five. We’ll use the computer in my bedroom.”
“I should brush my teeth.”
“Kiki can’t smell you through the computer screen.”
She gave him a quick kiss and rolled out of bed. “What about coffee? And clothes?”
He left her to get dressed while he threw on a shirt and pants and went downstairs to the kitchen, where he found Thornton, the newbie whom Mollie had locked in the third-floor room at Bethany’s house.
Thornton straightened his shoulders, standing at attention.
“Morning, sir. I’m sorry for what happened yesterday. I won’t let you down again.”
Spence felt like he’d stumbled into a flashback of his years in the military. “No need to call me sir. We’re civilians. Babysitting Mollie didn’t seem like a tough assignment, but I knew it was.”
“Yes, sir, Spence.”
“And I fully expect to be let down again. Mistakes happen. All I can ask is for you to do your best.” He removed the eight-cup carafe from the coffee maker, grabbed two mugs and a container of cream from the fridge. “I’m taking this.”
In his bedroom, Mollie had pulled on a pair of jeans and another T-shirt, which she wore under a beat-up beige jacket he recognized from yesterday.
She sat at his small desk in front of the blank computer screen.
Alert and bright-eyed as she’d promised, Mollie was definitely a morning person.
He figured that she’d already brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face and dragged a comb through her choppy, blond-streaked hair. “You look good,” he said.
“I love this jacket. It’s mine from five years ago. See the splotches of paint? Mine.”
He set down the coffee and told her to serve herself while he got ready for the video call from the undercover agent.
“What does Kiki stand for?” she asked. “I know it’s probably not his real name, being as he’s undercover, but I’m curious.”
“I’m guessing Enrique. Or Kinsey. Or it could be short for quickie.”
Spence completed the computer setup and initiated the contact with Jamison. The screen of his laptop showed the interior of Jamison’s kitchen and the agent himself. Unlike Mollie, he wasn’t a morning person. His eyelids drooped at half-mast, and his stubble verged on becoming a spotty beard.
“We’ve got about five minutes before Kiki checks in,” Jamison said. “Last night, I got another piece of info for you. The unidentified third set of fingerprints on Mollie’s note belongs to Raquel Diaz, a young woman who works with Madison in her property broker offices.”
Spence glanced at Mollie. “Does the name sound familiar?”
“Not at all. I didn’t even know Madison had an office.”
Spence turned back to the computer. “Have the guys you took into custody yesterday started talking? Have you found Julio?”
“Not him or any of the other people associated with him. Julio Flores isn’t a high-priority drug dealer.
Not anymore. But the FBI, DEA, ATF and Homeland Security are all looking for him.
” He lifted something off a plate beside the computer and took a bite before tilting it so Spence could see. “Leftover pizza.”
“Breakfast of champions.”
“When I switch over to video with Kiki and make the connection between you, I won’t be on screen, but I’ll still be watching and recording. Kiki runs the show. He doesn’t have a lot of time and might need to end your session quickly. You and Mollie stay online.”
Mollie squeezed into the screenshot beside Spence. She waved. “Hi, Jamison. Any news about my sister?”
“Nada.” He took another bite of pizza and started fiddling with unseen buttons on his computer, adjusting the volume and background. “Okay, here we go.”
Jamison and his kitchen disappeared and were replaced by a thin-faced man wearing a battered trucker’s hat and a black surgical mask. The pandemic had done a great favor to undercover people who preferred not to show their faces. Spence saw little more than Kiki’s brows and dark eyes—ebony brown.
The undercover agent stared through the computer, and then he nodded approvingly. “Good golly, Miss Mollie. You look exactly like Princesa.”
“Thanks.” Rather than commenting on the obvious fact that identical twins look alike, she jumped in with a question. “What happened on the day you took the video of Julio’s yacht?”
“I wasn’t planning to do surveillance,” he said.
“Like everybody else, I was on the shore, watching while Julio cruised past. I liked the boat, and wanted a photo in case, someday, I could afford such a luxury. Many who worked for Peligro were jealous of Julio. He had money and a pretty girlfriend, and he hadn’t been arrested with the other high-ranking cartel members.
His uncle and stepbrother were in prison. Not Julio. He was fancy-free.”
“Why do you think he got away with his crimes?” she asked.
“Not because he was smart,” Kiki said. “Madison was the brains in that couple. Most women don’t have a say in cartel business. Sorry to offend, Miss Mollie, but it’s true.”
She didn’t show her irritation, but Spence felt it when she elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m sure it’s true. Very macho.”
“I was born in Mexico.”
Kiki’s statement surprised Spence. Undercover agents aren’t usually open and don’t share personal information. Kiki didn’t have a trace of an accent.
“Please continue,” Mollie said.
“Madison—la Princesa—had a head for numbers. She managed Peligro finances for Julio, building his profit.” He adjusted the mask across his nose. “When the yacht exploded, I wasn’t surprised. I figured somebody was getting even with Julio and his lady.”
Spence asked, “Did you have suspects?”
“I turned all my suspicions over to the FBI, and they sorted it out with the other feds. ATF was most interested. Julio was suspected of dealing in exotic firearms. And his skills with explosives were legendary.”
“Do you believe the explosion on the yacht was rigged?” Mollie asked.
“Had to be. I think Julio, your sister and the crew abandoned that beautiful boat using scuba gear and detonated the charges from a distance. A clean escape. After the smoke had cleared, they were gone. Disappeared.”
“How long before they surfaced?” she asked.
“I wasn’t part of that investigation,” Kiki said. “After two more years, Peligro Cartel was no longer considered a priority. I moved on.”
Spence was curious about this guy who floated undercover at the edge of danger. Must be a lonely life without ties to family or friends. Hiding his identity meant he lied to virtually everyone he met. Not unlike Mollie’s experience in WITSEC.
She craned her neck forward as if she could get closer to Kiki through the screen of the laptop. “What else can you tell me about Julio and my sister?”
“At first, the FBI believed they were dead. After about a year, rumors hinted that they had assumed different identities and set up a new lifestyle near Mexico City.”
“Why weren’t my dad and I informed that my sister might be alive?”
“It was an on-going investigation. We don’t pass on every bit of information to witnesses and survivors. It seemed like they were using money accumulated from the cartel’s drug trade but didn’t go back into the drug market. They were making a fresh start.”
“We heard that Madison was buying and selling property.”
“That’s right,” Kiki said. “She had the advantage of coming across as a wealthy American. At the same time, she and Julio projected an image of Latino royalty. Very smart.”
“And how did Julio keep himself busy while my sister was building her empire?”
Behind his mask, Kiki chuckled. “You not only look like her, but you’ve got the same wicked sense of humor.”
“Tell us about her empire,” Mollie said, digging for any sort of clue. “We heard she has an employee named Raquel Diaz.”
“Another smart, beautiful woman,” Kiki said. “Julio and Raquel are having an affair.”
“Not possible.” Mollie shook her head. “My sister would never sit by and watch while her boyfriend was playing around.”