CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Grace
“I don’t understand, Grace. If your memory is back, why can’t you return to DC?”
Matt finally relented and let me call Elliot. The trade-off cost me. I agreed to apply for a marriage license with him. What he hadn’t secured from me was my definite, affirmative answer about marrying him that Saturday, just two days later.
“I’ve always been in the field before, I don’t know why this is any different,” I told my boss.
“Is it Foster? Are you involved with him?”
Involved was an understatement since I was having the man’s baby. I wasn’t ready to share that yet with Elliot.
“Matt’s not the reason, but, yes, we’re together.”
“You expect me to believe that Foster has nothing to do with your reluctance in returning to our office?”
“No. I don’t know what to expect anymore, Elliot. I don’t understand why you need me there. I can file my report about Troy from here, if you would just reinstate my access.”
“Answer me this. Do you actually have anything concrete to report? You were there for weeks before the bombing and yet you gave me nothing.”
“There were no dealings with the cartel or the Dixie Mafia. Your sources were wrong. I can hardly make up stuff to put in my report.”
“So, nothing? You wasted agency time and money down there with nothing to show.”
“There are rumors that El Segador is in the country and on a rampage.”
The silence was so protracted, I thought the line went dead.
“Elliot?”
“Who told you this?”
“Two of Troy’s men have been killed.”
“deLamar told you this?”
“Yes.”
“Where? When?”
“I don’t know where. A month ago,” I lied. And so, the game of cat and mouse began.
“And he said El Segador was responsible?”
“Yes,” I said. “From what I remember, he’s loyal to Hector Vargas, but I’m not sure if it’s more loyalty to Vargas himself or to the head of the cartel.”
“I’m not sure either, I’ll have to review the files,” Elliot replied. “The bulk of my attention right now is helping the DOJ build a case against Hector Vargas.”
“Then let me handle El Segador.”
“You think Vargas is communicating with him even while he’s in prison?”
“Could be or The Reaper is working on a kill list that had been contracted even before we captured Vargas.”
“We caught Vargas two years ago. Why is this happening now?”
“Maybe The Reaper had orders to eliminate anyone who could testify against his boss.”
“Why target deLamar’s men and not Troy himself?”
“Maybe the cartel still has use for Troy.” I’d been making this up as I went. Misinformation was a very important skill when doing covert work in the underworld. “Just because I haven’t found proof of current partnership doesn’t mean there wouldn’t be future association.”
“All right, I’ll re-enable your access. I’ll text you your new password.”
“Sounds good.”
“Let me know immediately if you find out anything.”
“Will do.”
I ended the call with Elliot without any guilt in withholding information. Even if his involvement with the new cartel leadership was a one-time deal, he was already in their pockets, and it would be easy to blackmail him to do more.
I glanced at the piece of paper Cassie had handed me that morning. Trent left with Colt and Lucas the day before for the nation’s capital to meet with Admiral Benjamin Porter—the architect of the proposed training camp and God knows how many clandestine operations. I had worked with him when we had infiltrated the Russian mob. He’d somehow manipulated Elliot to send me to Misty Grove after Troy. I wouldn’t be surprised if his main purpose was so I’d find out that the cartel’s accountant was prepared to run.
Apparently, the accountant and I weren’t the target of the bombing, but more like a bonus. Trent managed to wrangle some information from the Feds who were investigating the bombing. One of the ambulances had been found, but the importance of that find was way down on the FBI’s list of priorities. However, what was interesting were the traces of heroin discovered inside the vehicle. There wasn’t enough of a sample to discern if the heroin had been laced with fentanyl—its lethal cousin. With fentanyl-laced heroin flooding the market, there had been an exponential rise in heroin-related deaths in the country.
It was time to shut this down. Which was why, even if it wasn’t in the CIA’s realm to get involved, Porter found a way to make it his problem. He just needed people in the right places to take care of it. Namely, me.
He was a wily, silver fox.
Which meant the bombing was a diversion to bring in the heroin, but also served its purpose for ISIS to carry out its attack. I wondered if the accountant and I were just at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Elliot didn’t want me to fly out that day, but later changed his mind. Did he know there was going to be a mother lode of heroin at that time?
There seemed to be more questions than answers right now, and something told me I was running out of time.
*****
I needed to talk to Troy and sent word that I would meet him at the little coffee shop and bakery, Java Outpost, located right at the edge of Misty Grove. I thought that would be neutral enough territory, unlike the diner. I heard there was a bit of bad blood between the Outpost owner and Millie. Something about the former lusting after John Crowder for a long time, but it was common knowledge that the man only had eyes for Millie. And since they became a couple, the cold regard between the two owners had only grown frostier.
Oh, the drama in such a small town.
Matt had some business in Atlanta, and, after he’d yelled at me on the phone for planning this meeting when he wasn’t around, he sent Roger with me. Fair enough. I guessed many things could happen even if the garage was only a mile away from Java Outpost.
Since it was a balmy day in March, I wasn’t surprised to see Troy and Cristiano sitting outside at the available tables, soaking up early spring weather.
“Gracie girl,” Troy greeted me in a bear hug.
“Troy,” I returned when I was able to breathe. I nodded at Cristiano. Troy’s second-in-command unnerved me. Not only did he watch me closely, but he was only one of the few people I knew who carried his gun openly in this town.
“Hope you have good news for me, lady,” Troy said as he sat on a scroll iron chair that matched the table design. He motioned me to sit in the chair beside him, and I did. Cristiano and Roger sat at another table.
“Actually, I was hoping you had some news for me.”
The biker’s brow furrowed. “What’s this about?”
“Have you heard of any major influx of heroin into the southern states?”
All geniality on Troy’s face vanished. Cristiano looked more forbidding.
“Where the fuck did you hear this?” Troy growled.
“Answer me.”
“Grace, what do you know?”
“I’m not saying anything until you tell me what you know and don’t lie because your face tells me I’m onto something. You shouldn’t play poker, Troy.”
The biker scowled at me, and leaned closer as he looked left and then right before saying, “Two weeks ago we were approached by a runner of the Dixie Mafia. He said they have a steady supply of heroin.”
“Is it pure heroin?”
“Yes, but they said they could spike it with fentanyl.”
“Where do they want you to take it?”
“Ah-ah, Grace. Quid pro quo. How do you know this when Matt has you all but ensconced in a fortress?”
“I have my sources.”
“Grace, goddammit,” Troy stood up, trying to intimidate me with his height. Roger stood up too, his face warning the biker to watch his step. Cristiano continued to watch us.
“The terrorist bombing was a diversion,” I said. “I think someone brought in heroin on one of the flights or there’d been a customs seizure the DEA knew nothing about or it was off the books.”
“I can bet who knew about it,” Troy drawled as he sat down again. “Your boss.”
A waitress brought out the biker’s order of coffee and muffins. I ordered a cappuccino for myself and told Roger to get whatever he wanted. Troy took a sip of his coffee and offered me the plate of muffins, but I declined. I may be pregnant, but it didn’t mean I was hungry all the time.
“So how did you find out about the heroin, Grace?” Troy asked when the waitress was out of earshot.
“Remember I asked Trent about the missing ambulances?”
“Yeah?”
“They found one and there were traces of heroin in the vehicle.”
“Damn.”
“They used ambulances to ferret out the heroin from the airport when there were more than two hundred wounded,” I said trying to control the rage I felt every time I thought about it. “This is what the war on drugs has become, and to say that I am sick to my stomach that my boss might be involved is an understatement.”
“What do need from me?”
“We need to know who supplied the Dixie Mafia with the heroin.”
“You know you probably wouldn’t be needing that info from me if only you’d remember what the accountant told you,” Troy said, scratching the beard on his chin.
“Don’t you think I know that?” I said in annoyance. “At least I’m not waiting on my ass doing nothing.”
“Matt wasn’t kidding when he said you had the tenacity of a pit bull.”
“Did you turn down the Dixie Mafia?”
“Yes,” Troy replied regretfully. “I’m not losing another man as long as The Reaper is at large. All my men and their families are in the compound on lockdown. I’m not sure if that invitation from the Dixie Mafia wasn’t a trap.”
“You think the cartel knows you’ve been trying to get the accountant out, and that’s why he sent The Reaper after your men?”
“Difficult to determine at this point,” Troy answered with a deep exhale. “There are loyalties and alliances both within the cartel and its cronies. As far as I know, The Reaper has been carrying out cartel-sanctioned executions, but that doesn’t mean anything.”
I was about to speculate on The Reaper’s next move when Troy stiffened and Roger rose to his feet. An unfamiliar car screeched to a halt by the curb right in front of our table. My heart leapt to my throat as Roger scrambled to my side. Alarm lessened to consternation as Kyra staggered out of the vehicle. I had not seen her since the diner incident, and I knew Millie told her to take a few days off. Judging from her disheveled and gaunt appearance, she had not spent that time regrouping.
She stumbled around the vehicle and leaned against it so she was facing me.
“Are you drunk, Kyra?” Roger demanded.
“Drunk?” she sniffed as she swiped her nose with the edge of her long-sleeved tee. “I haven’t had a drop of alcohol.”
She wasn’t drunk; she was high. Years working for the DEA had trained me well to spot the signs.
Kyra looked at me with glassy eyes, her lips sneering. “You’re a scheming bitch, trapping a man into marrying you by getting pregnant.”
“Kyra, I think you need help.” I stood and tried to reach out to her, but Roger pulled me back.
The other woman laughed shrilly. “Oh, this is priceless. Matt’s so crazy about you, he gave you your own bodyguard. What do you have? A golden cunt?”
Heat crept up to my hairline as I noticed spectators starting to gather.
“Go home, Kyra,” Roger ordered.
“Did you fuck her too? Is that why you’re protective of her?” Kyra taunted.
I convinced myself that it was the drugs talking and tried to tamp down the angry retort that I wanted to unleash on her.
“Troy,” I turned to the biker who seemed to be enjoying the show. Motherfucker. “Can you help her?” I didn’t add “dry out.” I suspected heroin.
The lazy amusement on Troy’s face turned darkly forbidding when I heard gasps and muffled cries from the spectators around me. Confused, I spun back in time to see Kyra drawing a gun and pointing it at me. She was backing away, so as not to get jumped by any of the guys.
Everyone was frozen as I belatedly heard a gun cock.
“Put that gun away,” Roger growled, moving to shove me behind him when a shot rang out and kicked up debris from the pavement right where Roger and I were standing, separating us.
“What the hell, Kyra!” Matt’s mechanic shouted.
“Grace. Always Grace!” Kyra screamed. “Even Millie told me to take a break just to make it easy for you.” She returned the gun’s barrel to me, her hand shaking. Tension was high as people realized Kyra was unstable. “I should kill you”—her finger tightened on the trigger before she smiled chillingly— “but you’re not mine to kill.”
And with those cryptic words, she lowered her gun, and got back inside the car. Tires screeching, she peeled away from the curb and disappeared.
“Matt’s gonna kill me,” Roger groaned as he sunk to the chair I formerly occupied.
“No, he won’t. It’s no one’s fault.”
“She’s high,” Troy observed grimly.
“You think?” I muttered. “I need to let Millie know. She’s probably the only one who can help her.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Roger said. “Kyra may be flirty, but she’s never been flighty. She’s got the hots for Matt, but this borders on obsession.”
“Matt swears he’s never led her on.”
Roger nodded. “I’d trust what Matt said.” He swiped the front of his face in frustration. “I don’t know what to tell him.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t tell him,” I suggested, feeling a bit nervous myself knowing Matt’s volatile temper. He’d been doing so well, but this might just set him off.
My phone buzzed.
I looked down at the screen and saw it was Matt.
Roger’s face looked pained. “Too late. He already knows.”
“Are you going to answer it?” Troy asked with a smirk.
I stared at the device in my hand, undecided. I wasn’t ready to talk to a pissed-off Matt. As if reading my mind, Roger said, “He’s going to be more worried if you don’t answer.”
“Crap, you’re right.” My phone quit ringing. This time Roger’s cell lit up.
Looking at me in resignation, Roger answered his phone.