Running With the Devil (14 page)

“A friend of Marissa’s. Tino somebody.”

“Tito,” she corrected. “Tito Cortez. He was also a friend of Jerry’s.”

“Jerry mentioned him a couple of times. Guess Cortez is a friend of my boss, although we’ve never met.”

“Really?” Marissa placed her hands on her hips. “Who’d you say you worked for in Miami, Mr. Mayhaven?”

Kenna held her breath. She suspected this wasn’t going the way Drake had planned.

“I didn’t say. I’m flattered you’re so interested in my life, Ms. Cruz. I work for Jesse Vasquez. Do you know him?”

“No. Tito might, though, since he’s from Miami.”

“Great idea. Think you can introduce us?”

“I-I’m not sure.”

Kenna started to get nervous. Tito Cortez scared Marissa?

“Don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure you can convince him to talk to me.” Drake stared thoughtfully at Marissa’s empty hands. “Could I buy you a drink before we meet him?”

The “we” part wasn’t lost on Kenna. Nor on Marissa.

“Not necessary,” Marissa said abruptly with a half-smile. “Better hurry if we want to catch him before the concert starts.”

As they walked past the mysterious demo room, Kenna tried to peek inside. Heavy black drapes fell from the tent ceiling to the ground, concealing it completely. Thumping bass and the pungent scent of incense drifted out when a couple exited. What had put those enormous grins on their faces?

She focused on Tito’s cordoned off area. With a dove gray leather couch, two leopard print easy chairs and a plush white Sherpa area rug, it was easily nicer than her living room.

Marissa motioned her over to where Tito Cortez held court.

Although Drake hung back, Kenna felt his compelling gaze laser into the back of her neck. And with Tito’s eyes undressing her, she felt like a slab of meat dangled between two hungry tigers.

Didn’t male tigers fight to the death for a female? But if the way Drake had been acting today was any indication, she was on her own.

She shivered.

“Tito,” Marissa said, “this is Kenna.”

Kenna took his outstretched hand and yelped when he yanked her directly onto his lap.

“A screamer,” he said. “I like that.” One slender brown finger traced the exposed tops of her breasts. “And I definitely like these.”

She wanted to snap that rude finger in half, but she played along, knowing he was the type of guy who’d enjoy it more if she fought him. Thankfully, he quickly tired of groping her and moved on.

His hand smoothed her wig. “You a natural blonde?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Ooh. Ick. What had prompted her to say that? Taunting the tiger wasn’t in her best interest.

“Not so easily swayed by my charm, eh?”

“No. Bet you don’t have to work for anything. Bet you always get what you want, huh?”

“Yeah. So you wanna bounce around on my machine? It’s a great big one. You’ll be impressed with all the tricks I can do with it.”

“I can’t wait.” Kenna tossed a quick glance over her shoulder. Marissa had her back to Drake while he was deep in conversation with another bodyguard. Didn’t seem to be paying the slightest attention to her at all. Jerk.

She smiled—pure sugar. “Tomorrow night?”

“What about tonight?” he demanded.

She leaned forward and whispered, “A girl has to get her beauty sleep.”

“You don’t need it.”

“What a sweet talker. I thought you were going to the concert?”

“You could come along. It’d be a kick.”

“ZZ Top isn’t my bag.” She ran her fingertips up the front of his silky blue shirt. “Think of me tomorrow. I know I’ll be thinking about you and your big bad machine.”

Tito squeezed her thigh. “You’d better make it worth the wait.” He frowned. “Who’s that asshole talking to Marissa? He’s sending you dirty looks.”

“I expect he’s mad I’m taking up all your time. He’s waiting to talk to you.”

While Tito was distracted, she slid from his lap and stood on shaky legs. “Until tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He licked his lips as his eyes devoured her breasts. “Why don’t you pick out something from the demo room?”

“Maybe I will. What do you like?”

“Surprise me.”

As Kenna walked past Drake she refused to meet his hard gaze.

“He’s all yours,” she said and made a dash for the demo room before she lost her nerve.

He was beyond a casual observer when it came to Kenna. The woman had gotten under his skin and was worming her way toward his heart. If this had been a normal situation, he wouldn’t have let her leave the house in that sexy getup, or allowed her within a hundred feet of Tito Cortez.

Marissa tapped his arm. “I’ll introduce you now, then you’re on your own.”

He followed her into the living room setup. Although his expression and posture remained neutral, he was strung as tight as a piano wire. He’d counted four bodyguards—all armed. Didn’t sit well that he’d had to leave his Glock. Also didn’t sit well that he had no idea where Kenna had run off.

“Tito, this is Drake Mayhaven. He wanted to meet you.”

As they shook hands, Tito’s cold black eyes never left his face. “Should I know you?”

Drake was used to paranoid drug dealers. He knew how to play the game. He sprawled in the corner of the couch and glanced around with appreciation. “Nah. I’m nobody. Great party. You throw one like this every year?”

“My cousin does. It’s a business thing.”

“Ahh. Business must be good.”

“Can’t complain. There a reason you’re so interested in our business?”

“Maybe. We’ve got some mutual friends.”

Nothing changed in Tito’s hard expression. “Yeah? Who?”

“Jerry Travis for one.”

“How’d you know Jerry?”

“Here and there. During Daytona he said I ought to check out Sturgis. Evidently he had a wild time last year.”

“Pity he won’t make a return trip.”

“Got that right.” Drake frowned. “Freaked out a lot of people in Miami, his untimely death.”

“And some, not so much.”

Drake lifted his brows. “Funny. That’s exactly what Jesse Vasquez said.”

From a metal tub filled with ice, Tito unearthed two Coronas. Set one on the table in front of Drake. Opened the other. Sipped. “So you know Jesse Vasquez.”

Drake nodded.

“You work for him?”

“In a manner of speaking.” In actuality Jesse Vasquez worked for Drake after he’d turned DEA informant five years ago.

“His wife had her baby yet?” Tito frowned. “What’s his wife’s name again? Caroline?”

“Carmella. And no, she’s got a coupla weeks left.”

Outside, an engine revved, men shouted and rocks plinked against the canvas wall. One of Cortez’s bodyguards went to check it out, gun drawn.

“What’s this, their fourth kid?”

“Seventh. Graciella was number four.” Drake grinned. “Of course Jesse’s hoping for a boy this time. After six girls the poor man is entitled.”

Tito nodded. “Good thing he’s got a big enough house for all those kids. I tried to buy a place like his in South Beach myself. Beautiful area.”

Drake permitted a tiny frown. “Jesse’s never lived in South Beach.”

“I know. Didn’t know if you did.”

After an uncomfortable pause, Tito nudged the extra beer Drake’s direction. He’d passed Tito’s first little test. Adrenaline crashed through his system. This was it. Tito would either talk or dismiss him.

“Did Vasquez send you here?”

Be nice to have a bottle opener, Drake thought. He’d been lucky Cortez hadn’t removed the top with his teeth, as protocol demanded he’d do the same as his host.

Drake twisted the non-twist off top until the metal ridges cut into his palm and the bottle hissed. Holding his beer in a mock toast, he drank deeply before answering. “In a roundabout way. While I’m on vacation, I’m checking sources to confirm or refute a rumor that’s been floating around for the past six months.”

“Half a year is a long time to wait to track down information. We both know how quickly things change in this business.”

“Yeah, well, we hadn’t put any stock into this particular rumor until Jerry Travis showed up dead.”

Tito stretched his arm along the back of the leather couch. “What’s the rumor?”

Took every bit of discipline to hide his pleasure that Tito had taken the bait. “It’s about a group calling themselves Diablo.” He paused, chugged. “Ever heard of them?”

“If I had, what’s it to you?”

Drake held up a hand. “Hey man, I’m just doing my job.”

“So you said.” Tito studied Drake, his expression somewhere between belligerent and dismissive. “Why should I tell you anything,
amigo?
”

“Tell me. Don’t tell me. It’s your call. Actually, I don’t give a shit either way.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, then turned back and smirked at Tito. “The sooner I get this conversation over with, the sooner I can check out the demo room.” Sweat trickled down his spine. The blasé attitude was a gamble.

“Maybe I should call Vasquez and see if you’re really who you say you are, Mayhaven.”

“Knock yourself out. He’s probably home.” Drake let his attention wander. A voluptuous brunette collected strands of beads as men flocked to take pictures of her surgically enhanced tits. A lanky Native American man quickly moved away through the crowd. His eyes narrowed. That guy had looked a lot like Trent. Shit. Was he chasing after Kenna?

Tito said, “You got his number?”

Drake returned to the business at hand. “Don’t you?”

“Aren’t you going to offer to call him for me on your cell phone?”

Drake snorted. “I left my damn cell phone at the campsite just so I wouldn’t have to talk to him again. I’m supposed to be on vacation, remember?”

“No rest for the wicked, huh?” And just like that, Tito Cortez relaxed. “To answer your earlier question, I have heard of Diablo. From Jerry Travis. Last year.”

“Anything since?”

Something flashed in his eyes but he asked casually, “No. Why?”

“Just curious. Like I said, Jerry came to Vasquez with this wild rumor that Diablo planned to muscle in on Vasquez’s territory. Some crazy story about Diablo flooding areas with bad meth and then blaming it on Vasquez’s unreliable distributors. Then Diablo would guarantee a cheaper, safer product to the customers and take over all venues.”

Tito drained his beer and set the bottle on the table. Leaning forward, he said, “We heard the same rumor. Except in that version, our distributors were to blame. Know the strange thing?”

Drake shook his head.

“Meth is for amateurs and we ain’t stupid enough to deal with it. Neither is Vasquez.”

“Which is why we initially discounted the rumor,” Drake said. “Same old bullshit story. You know how it goes, so-and-so is gonna break off and start his own network. He’s sick of taking orders, he’s got the start-up money, got the contacts up the ass and he’s gonna be stinking rich, blah blah blah.”

“Never happens though.”

“The thing is, some weird things started happening within Vasquez’s organization and it spooked him. So we’re wondering if there was any truth behind Jerry’s warning.”

Tito paused, snagging another
cerveza.
“Tell me something. Did Vasquez ever get evidence trying to link one of his higher ups to Diablo?”

Bingo. “Why?” Drake waited through Tito’s indecision on whether or not to share information.

Finally Tito said, “Fuck it. The whole fucking thing was just weird. Because my cousin Anson did. Guess who was the supposed defector?” A ghost of a smile played around Tito’s mouth. “Me.”

Drake didn’t have to fake his surprise. “You? How the hell did you know it was Diablo?”

“A guess. In the last year they sent three different packages. One to me, one to Anson at his liquor store, another one to Anson at his repair shop. First was a picture of me with Hector Valero’s right-hand man, Duey Barnes, on his yacht off the Florida Keys. The date on the photo matched the weekend I’d been in Miami, so whoever sent the pictures had done their homework. The second package, delivered two months later, contained a taped phone conversation I’d supposedly had with Duey about moving some money we’d ‘liberated’ to an account in the Caymans. Again, the dates matched. The voice on the tape sounded like mine and coordinated with the dates I’d been in Denver.”

“And the third?”

“About six months ago Anson received a copy of a rental contract for a warehouse in goat-fuck Kansas. Paid a year in advance with my signature on the lease.”

Drake whistled. “Your cousin didn’t get suspicious?”

“At first I thought he was playing a joke, especially when I showed him the cheesy-ass picture of me and that fucking weasel, Duey. But Anson didn’t know nothin’ about it. Laughed our asses off, figurin’ if someone had gone to all the trouble to superimpose me in a picture with Duey, they’d probably contact me for some cash to keep quiet about my secret ‘connection’. Anson and I waited, wondering who the hell would be that stupid.”

No shit. Who had big enough balls to tangle with the Compadres?

“Who delivered the packages?”

“The second time, Anson got the package. No threats, just the tape and a letter inside suggesting he pay more attention to my activities.”

“The last time, with the rental agreement, we hired an investigator to find the start of the paper trail, but she didn’t have any luck. And we never could find the courier who delivered the packages, either. Although we’re assuming it was a local.”

The three packages were news to Drake. “What’s happened since?”

“Nada.” Tito sucked down his beer. “Business as usual in our territory. What’s going on the Vasquez end? Still have weird shit going on?”

“Just Jerry’s execution. We’re wondering who ordered it.”

“Not us.”

“Then who?”

“Easy. Hector Valero.”

“Jerry’s boss? You sure on that?” They were getting into conjecture here, but Drake couldn’t resist taking a peek into the criminal mind. Tito Cortez was a lot shrewder than he’d first imagined and a lot more dangerous.

Fury briefly distorted his vision when he thought about this lowlife putting his dirty hands on Kenna. If Cortez ever touched Kenna again, he’d break every one of his fingers, job or no job.

“No. But my theory is Jerry Travis made up Diablo to cause problems. He’d never been the most reliable source anyway. I’d bet part of what he’d been telling us was true. Maybe
he
was looking to start his own operation by causing dissention among the big players. When Valero caught wind of it, he took care of him before Jerry became a bigger problem for everyone.”

“That does make sense. I’ll pass it on.”

“Good.” Tito glanced at his Rolex and stood. “Tell Vasquez I’ll be in touch.”

“Will do. Thanks for the info. Now I can really enjoy my vacation.”

Tito departed without a backward glance.

Drake took a minute to collect his thoughts. So far, it sounded like Diablo had a personal vendetta against the Compadres, and Tito Cortez in particular. He felt like he was running in circles. Maybe Tito was right. Had this whole thing begun (and ended) with Jerry? Had Jerry been purposely feeding the DEA bogus information? Who had delivered the three mysterious packages? And why?

Hell. He was no closer to finding answers than he’d been for the last two weeks. As soon as he reported the lack of information to his supervisor, she’d advise him to drop it and return home.

Like he didn’t have fifteen cases waiting for him in Miami. He wouldn’t get a moment’s peace. He probably wouldn’t get a decent night’s sleep for the next six months. When he’d slept last night, he’d slept well.

His thoughts drifted to Kenna. She’d taken off the minute Cortez had released her, not that Drake blamed her, but where had she gone?

He looked around. Marissa had caught Cortez on the way out. His eyes narrowed as Cortez peeled off some bills from a wad of cash in his pocket and handed them over.

Their eyes met. Drake stalked toward her. “Where’s Kenna?”

“What do you care? You got what you wanted from her.”