Blaze (The Stark Affair Book 3) (3 page)

Chapter
4

Colton

“Yeah, I know who he is,”
says Max
Zanik
as he bites into his Big Mac.

We’re
at a McDonald’s in Miramar, sitting at a concrete outdoor table, still with a
pool of water from the storm that passed through about an hour ago. He insisted
we meet here.

Max
Zanik
looks nothing like I had expected. He’s skinny, maybe
thirty-five, with wire-framed glasses and messy brown hair. He’s in a plaid
shirt, cargo pants, and sneakers. If you asked me who he is, I’d guess I.T.
consultant or video game developer.

Certainly
not South Florida’s top contract killer.

Not
that I would know what South Florida’s top contract killer would look like.

Whatever.
It is what it is.

I
take back the picture of Jasper van
der
Voort
, replacing it inside the manila folder. I take out
the other one. “He’s not the problem. This is the problem.”

I
throw down a picture of Hector.

Max
Zanik
freezes in place for two full seconds,
then
continues eating.

“Forget
it,” he says. “No deal.”

Huh?
“You know him?”

“That’s
Hector Gonzalez. He’s from Mexico.”

“Yes.
But so what?”

“He’s
a legend, man. Worked for every criminal organization from
Medellín
to Baja. Forget it. If word got out that I put an end to
Hector
,
not that I could, I would be blacklisted. Never work again.”

Can’t
fucking believe
this.
Florida’s top killer is afraid
of Hector. Really
?!
Okay, Hector must be the
baddest
badass of all. But there’s always a
badder
badass.

“Fine,”
I say, “who can take on Hector? Give me a name.”

“Nobody,
man. I’m the best. Hector is the best.
Maybe ten other guys.
We don’t do each other. Professional courtesy. Not only did your man Jasper
hire the most talented, he bought himself a built-in defense. Nobody is going
to kill Hector.”

“Fine.
How about just Jasper, then?”

A
smear of special sauce has lodged itself on his upper lip. He reaches into the
paper bag and takes out a napkin. “Professional courtesy extends to clients.”

I
shake my head. “This is ridiculous. Do you have any suggestions?”

He
wipes his mouth with the napkin.

“Yeah,
man. Run.”

* *
*

I’m
about to take the I-395 exit when my phone rings. It’s Beacon.

“Yep,”
I say.

“There
is a hidden transponder in your car,” says the electronic voice,
then
clicks off.

Hidden
transponder? Seriously?

I
pull off the highway and turn into Museum Park. I check my seats, the back
seats, the trunk, the glove compartment, over the sun visors, in front of the
rearview mirror, back of the steering wheel, under the rims.

Some
kids look at me strangely as they set up for a baseball game.

Transponder?
I don’t believe it.

Wait,
could Sofia have planted it?

I
move over to the passenger side door and nearly take it apart. Nothing. I look
under the seat. Nothing. I put my hands under the seat and feel a loose piece
of plastic clipped onto the piece of metal that runs underneath it.

I
pull it off and look at it.
A flimsy piece of plastic in the
shape of a clip, fully bendable.

Then
I look closer. A tiny protrusion of a copper wire is barely visible, but it’s
there.

Hm.

I
replace it.

Then
I get back into my car and head home.

Hm.

Chapter
5

Sofia

“It looks green,” says the
female voice over the speaker. “Is it supposed to be green?”

“Don’t
know,” says the male voice. “How’s this?”

“What
the fuck are they doing?” says Mike
Everly
, munching
from a bag of Doritos. “Applying lube?”

“Why
is it always sexual with you?” I say, tuning my binoculars. “He could be
adjusting the color on the TV screen. Or they could be examining pickles.
Or a million other things.
Jackass.”

We’re
sitting in an unmarked car away from the streetlights under a banyan tree. The glowing
numbers on the dashboard clock say 9:53pm.

“Oh,
like it isn’t always sexual with you! Remember the Horse-Man?”

I
laugh. “That was... disgusting.”

“Ha!
Not what you said that night. You had never seen a bigger cock, you said. Bet
you still fantasize about it. Oh right, you’re not into cock anymore, right.”

I
get a flash of Colton Stark’s cock stretching my insides wide again.

“Shut
the fuck up or I’m leaving right now! I don’t even need to be here, Mike. This
is your gig.”

“I
know. Thanks for keeping me company, by the way. Looks like you had the night
free.”

We
sit in silence for a
while,
Mike’s chomping the only
sound in the dark car. Our targets have stopped talking.
Sounds
like they’re exercising or something.
Fuck, maybe Mike was right.

Like
I need to listen to that in my current state of horny confusion.

“This
is great,” says Mike. “Just like old times. Four-Victor-Eight is alive again.
God, we had some fun.”

I
smile. “Yeah we did.”

“Remember
the guy you were chasing and the old woman came out of her house and kicked him
in the balls, knocking him to the ground? The expression on your face was
priceless. Didn’t think you were going to stop laughing.”

“Yeah.”

Mike
looks at me. “I like it when you laugh. You never laugh anymore,
Sofe
. You used to laugh a lot. What’s up?”

“I’m
fine, Mike.”

“Whenever
you say ‘I’m fine, Mike’, you’re never fine. Something is up. What is it?”

I
get a flash of Colton Stark’s tongue pressing on my clit.

“Nothing,”
I say. “Can we just focus on the surveillance please?”

“They’re
not doing anything. Besides, we’re recording this.”

“Then
why are we even here?”

“My
informant said somebody is coming by with a delivery. I want to see his face.”

Mike’s
eyes catch mine. We hold eye contact a little too long. I close my eyes and lean
back. He goes back to munching.

We
remain in silence for another short while. Then I take a calculated chance.

“Mike,
what do you think about Frank?”

“Frank?
Salt of the earth.
One of the best men I know. Why?”

“Just
asking.”

“You
think Frank is on the take?”

“What
?!
No! I didn’t say that!”

“This
is part of your secret deal with
LaTashia
, right? You
think Frank is on the take.”

“Mike,
what makes you think I’m on a secret deal with
LaTashia
?”

“Because
I saw your napkin from The Betsy Hotel. Funny, one was on her desk too.”

Fuck.
Mike is very observant.

“Okay,
Mike, but don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“So
what’s it about?”

“I
can’t talk about it.”

We
sit in silence for another while. Nothing moves. The palm trees blow in the night
breeze.

“Can
I tell you a secret too?” Mike says.

“Sure.”

“Jen
and I are... on a break.”

I
sit up and face him.

“Oh
Mike, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“The
usual. Me. I happened. You know me. But we’re working on it. We’re in
counseling, which is a load of bullshit. But we want to make it work... you
know... for the kids.”

I
feel like bugs are crawling all over me. I raise the binoculars to look at
nothing but dull flashes indicating a TV set.

“It’s
just that... Jen and I are different. She’s all homey, baking cookies and on my
case to mow the lawn. I’m not... that guy. I’m... this guy. Here in this car.
Listening in on a suspected drug dealer.
With you.
This makes sense to me. That does not.”

“But
you love your kids.”

“Of
course I do. I just... can’t get used to... being the guy my dad was. All he
wanted was to be home, to work in the garage. Why can’t I be like that? All I
want is to be out here. It’s like I’m in love or something.”

“In
love?”

“Yeah.”

I
look at Mike. He turns and glances at me. Quickly his
Dorito
-flavored
lips are on mine, his tongue in my mouth.

I’m
so horny I start to kiss him back, but then I get control of myself and leap
back, pushing him away.

“Mike!”
I say. “What the fuck?”

He
stares at me, his expression frozen. His eyes are wide and his breathing is
hard.

“Sorry,”
he says,
then
looks down. “Sorry. I–”

“It’s
okay. Forget it. Look, I don’t think your guy is showing. They seem to be
asleep up there. So I’m going to go, okay?” I grab my bag.

“Yeah,
okay. I’ll stay a while longer, just in case. Thanks for keeping me company.”

“No
problem.” I have my hand on the door handle.

“
Sofe
,” he says, putting his hand on my arm.

I
stop and look at him.

“
Sofe
, did you ever think about it?”

“About
what, Mike?”

“About
you and me.”

“Oh,
Mike... Mike, you’re like my best friend.”

“That’s
what I’m talking about,
Sofe
. You get me. You
understand me. I just...”

“Mike,
don’t. Just don’t. Not right now, okay?”

“Okay.
Good night,
Sofe
.”

“Good
night, Mike.”

I
walk back three blocks to my car.

That
was fucking awkward. I love Mike, I really do. I practically lived with him for
four years in that damned patrol car. I’ve probably spent more time with him
than any other human being on earth.

But
it’s not like that with Mike. It’s just not.

Shit,
now I feel like the world’s biggest loser on top of being the world’s worst
cop. I’d never want to hurt Mike, but looks like I did. Never meant to.

I
get in my car and bang my head on my steering wheel.

“What
the fuck?” I say out loud.

Chapter
6

Sofia

As I ring Colton Stark’s
doorbell, I can’t believe I’m wearing a lime green Forever 21 dress that I
picked out myself.

Okay,
okay, I got some help from the sales clerk. But I did put to good use some
valuable tips I picked up from Jorge last week.

I
also put my hair in an
updo
with long earrings and
curls framing my face.

The
door opens.

“Wow!”
he says as he stares at me. “You look... no, you are... stunning.”

Tonight
his hair is perfect, not that it ever isn’t.
Thick strands of
dark locks
waving themselves to crisp-cut corners in the back.

He’s
wearing a white dinner jacket with a blue shirt and blue tie.

I
feel like we’re going to prom.

But
no, this is far from prom. This is adult dinner with a billionaire at his
mansion.

He
kisses me.
Soft and gentle, but with a hint of losing
control.

Then
he pulls back and smiles at me.

“Come
in.” His words cut through the ever-present magnetic field that vibrates
between us.

As
he motions me in, I realize I’m not the same person I was before our eyes met
that night at Heat. Something has changed. I’m not sure what. Just something.

“Nice,”
I say as I look around. He disappears around the corner.

It’s
truly a man’s house. No frilly curtains, lacy pillows, or flowered wallpaper.
Everything is sparse, sleek, and understated. The art on the walls is abstract,
but unpretentious as it blends into the muted tan tones.

A
giant wall of two-story windows look
out onto the sparkling
lights across the water.

“Nice,”
I say. “Decorate it yourself?
”.

He returns,
smiling with a bottle of champagne and two glasses in his hands. “What do you
think?”

“I
think you can afford an interior designer or two.”

He
pops the champagne bottle and pours. “You think correctly. I’m not much of a color
coordinator, but I did cook dinner.”

“
Mmm
, smells good. Smells like home.”

He
hands me a glass of champagne.
“
Arroz
con
pollo
. From
scratch.”

“
Por
supuesto
.”

He
clinks my glass.
“
Por
supuesto
.”

We
drink.

I
put the glass down.

He
moves in and kisses me.

It’s
glorious. I want to sink my teeth into his flesh as I melt in his arms.

But
an alarm bell goes off and I push him back.

“What?”
he says.

I
must have a distressed look on my face because he’s staring at me quizzically.

“I
can’t do this,” I say.

“Do
what?”

“It’s
not right. It’s just not right. The other day... we... it was...”

His
fingers go up to my lips, pressing them shut. His right hand grabs my left and
leads me.

“Come
on,” he says as he takes me through the door onto the outdoor patio.

“Where
are we going?”

“Trust
me.”

I
wish people wouldn’t say that to me.

We’re
out on his deck by his pool. The bright city lights reflect a blue-pink glow up
into the dramatic clouds.

He
walks past his yacht over to the Go-Fast boat and leaps in.

“You
want me to get in that?” I say.

“You
don’t like boats?”

“Girls
from
Wynwood
tend not to date boys with boats.” I
glance at his yacht. “Or two boats.”

“How
about a guy with three boats?”

“Three?
Where’s your third?”

“Hidden
under camouflage.
Oooh
, how do you like that,
detective? I just gave you a clue. Come on, get in, and you might get another
one.”

I
laugh. He smiles. God, that’s a killer smile.

But
I just stand there.

“Get
the fuck in,” he says.

Oooh
, I
like the way he says that in such a commanding tone. He can tell me to get the
fuck in any day of the week.

I
get the fuck in.

He
starts the engine. The twin
Mercs
and my pussy both
roar together.

He
unties us and soon we’re heading west toward the city. The wind is warm but
strong, the water choppy.

I
give in, putting my arm around him as he steers the boat. He doesn’t seem to
notice, like he expects it.

Damn,
how many girls has he taken on this thing? The thought sends an irritating zap
to my head and I take my arm back, leaning on the windshield instead.

He
shoots me that look.

“Get
back here,” he says.

Oh
damn, I can’t help but comply. I snuggle into him.

God,
he’s like granite. A wall of chiseled rock.

We
pass under the MacArthur and along the port. We circle south past
Brickell
Key.

The
view out here is amazing. The last time I was on a boat was after a party with
some friends back in high school.

The
city looks so clean and pristine out here. Multi-colored lights glowing and
glistening, hiding the seething streets I know so well. How can a place be so
beautiful and so ugly at the same time?

And yet
I love it. We love it.
Nothing stopping people from packing
up and leaving.
But life anywhere else would seem dull by comparison.

Colton
Stark smiles down at me. I nestle in closer.

The electrical
field is afire with sharp dancing impulses between us.

God,
I’m so happy. Everything fades away in the night wind as we pass under the
Rickenbacker.
All my problems.
My dad. Wondering
who
the mole is.
My investigation of this
man.

What
is happening to me?

The
estates on our right are lit up in their gaudy ambience, casting a spell of
money across the water. Yet less than two miles behind them a family of five is
living in one smelly room.

They got a thing for criminals. They like bad boys.
All of them.

Shit,
why am I hearing my dad’s voice in my head right now?

I loosen
my grip on Colton’s arm.

Is he right? Is my dad right?

No,
I don’t think so.

I
refuse to believe it. Colton Stark is no criminal.

Shit,
now I sound like one of those girls I always had to deal with... always
defending her abusive man. Right to the end...

* *
*

“Four-Victor-Eight, we have a thirty, possible
thirty-one at Flamingo Terrace Apartments.”

My heart sinks.

Fuck.

Thirty is stabbing or shooting. Thirty-one is
homicide.

“Acknowledge,” says Mike into the radio as I
put the sirens on and turn around, barreling back the way we came.

Fuck.

I believed her. I trusted her.

Soon we’re back on the street we just left. But
something has changed. I get that sick feeling I’ve come to know too well.

As our lights hit the side stairs of the
apartment complex, my heart sinks.

The girl who just talked to me several minutes
ago... who assured me her boyfriend was a good man... who said he wouldn’t hurt
her... is lying on the outside stairs leading up to the second level.

In a strange contorted way. Surrounded by a
pool of blood.

“Shit,” says Mike as he picks up the radio. “We
need backup now!” He slips out of his car, gun held in front of him.

I take out my gun and cover him from the side.
The
sound of the sirens from the back-up units get
closer as I reach the outside stairwell.

As I near Wanda, an anger wells up inside me.
It’s an uncontrollable urge. I don’t need to check if she’s breathing. I know
she’s gone.

And she’s staring right up into my face.

Saying something to me.

Cursing me for believing her.

How could I have been so stupid?

So pretty.
She could have had almost any man she wanted.

But she chose Angel Guerrero-Juarez.

And by doing so, ended her life.

We run up the steps past Wanda to the third
door. It’s open.

“Police!” shouts Mike as we enter the
apartment.

Angel sits on the living room couch. He’s
smoking a crack pipe watching TV, covered in blood. Next to him on the couch is
a large kitchen knife, also covered in blood. The sound of a baby crying comes
from the bedroom.

“Put the pipe down slowly and put your hands on
your head!” says Mike.

Without looking away from the TV, Angel deliberately
lays the pipe down on the coffee table and moves his hands to his head.

“On your knees now!” says Mike.

Angel complies. The backup units arrive,
bursting into the tiny messy apartment.
 
They leap on Angel, pushing him face first into the floor
while tying his hands behind him with flex cuffs.

I’m not sure exactly what happens next.
Everything goes blurry as something bursts in my head.

All I remember is Mike and three of my
colleagues trying to pull me off Angel, his face bloody from my boot.

From the descriptions conveyed to me later, I
apparently broke his nose and jaw. Dislodged a ton of teeth too.

I probably would have killed him if I hadn’t
been pulled off him.

And I probably would have gone to jail if it
weren’t for Mike.

The other cops take Angel away, and Mike
forcibly yanks me into the room with the crying baby.

Grabbing my shoulders, he looks me in the eye.

“Pull yourself together, Officer Martinez-
Vallejos
!”

I can barely hear him over the rushing of blood
in my ears and the baby crying.

“I’m going to kill him, Mike,” I say, putting
my hand on my gun.

He slaps my face.

“No you’re not! I’m not going to let you go to
prison because of someone like him! Now, you listen to me. Here’s what we’re
going to do. None of that happened out there. None of it! He resisted arrest
and we had to force him to the ground. That’s what happened. Nothing else.”

“But Mike—”

“Shut the fuck up! Now take that baby in your
arms and carry her out for all the people videoing this on their cell phones.
You’re the good guy. Save that baby!”

The blurriness clears a little as Mike reaches
into the crib and picks up the little girl. He hands her to me.

Strength finds me again as I take the baby in
my arms. God, she looks just like Wanda.

“Now we’re going to walk out there, our heads
held high. Do it for the baby, for Wanda.”

“Okay,” I say.

Sure enough, there are several cell phones in
the hands of gathered spectators as we emerge from the apartment. Several more
cruisers have shown up, including an ambulance.

On the way down the steps, I break protocol. We’re
not supposed to touch or disturb a dead body, but I can’t help myself.

Crying baby in my arms, I sit next to Wanda. I
bring the baby’s head over to her mother’s cheek and lightly touch her head to
it.

Then I get back up and continue descending the
stairs.

I’m crying now. Two
EMTs
approach me to take the baby. I hand her to them and they go to the ambulance.

Next thing I know Mike’s arm is around me,
leading me to our cruiser. He opens the passenger door and pushes me in. Then
he gets in the driver’s side and shuts the door.

He grabs my hands and puts his arm around me,
pulling me into him.

I lose it. I cry uncontrollably.

“It’s okay,
Sofe
,”
Mike says. “You’re going to be okay.”