Tenderloin (Abby Kane FBI Thriller) (24 page)

“There’s some redness, but it suits you.”

I smiled. “That’s the look I was going for.”

I looked down the street to where I had parked my car. “Let’s check on Elan.” We found him still inside, shaking. I explained to him what had happened.

It didn’t take much longer for SWAT to hunt down the remainder of Zapata’s army and deem the warehouse clear. As soon we heard the word, the three of us headed right back in.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to go in there?” Elan asked nervously.

“It’s safe,” I said.

“There are bodies in there,” Cabrera added, “but I’m assuming you’ve seen stuff like that before, considering your work.”

Though harsh, Cabrera’s remark wasn’t exactly uncalled for. It’s not like Elan was the innocent one in this mess.

Malcolm’s body had not been covered. It was a bit alarming, even for me, to see him on the floor.

“That’s Malcolm.” Elan bent down near his body and looked at his face.

“How does he look?”

Elan looked up at me. “Aside from dead, he looks like I remember him. Nothing about his physicality has changed. It would have helped if he were alive and I could speak to him.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. He was trying to kill Abby, so we didn’t have a lot of options.”

Elan stood and walked over to another body, studying it.

“Come on, Elan. You can look at them later. We need to know if Zapata is here.”

As we walked down the corridor, we quickly realized the place was a fully operational lab. There were observation rooms and even lodgings for the staff that worked there—except the staff members were all dead.

“It appears that Señor Zapata had others continuing my work.”

“It looks like the workers were attacked by Malcolm and his men. Any ideas, Elan?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know why they would attack them unless they were ordered to.”

We checked every single body we found. So far, Elan had pegged none of them as our guy. Toward the rear of the building, where the majority of the staff quarters were, one stood out. It had been filled with amenities the others had lacked and was much larger, plus this one had a headless body lying in the bed.

“Is that Zapata?” I asked.

“Hard to tell,” Elan said. “The body seems to look about right, but without the head…”

I looked around me. “Well, it’s got to be around here some—”

“Found it.”

We turned and saw Cabrera looking inside a small fridge.

Elan peeked around him and nodded. “Yeah, that’s him.”

“Great,” I said with a sigh. “The two people we most needed alive are dead.”

“Does it matter?” Cabrera asked. “We’ve shut down his operation here. Everyone’s dead and for reasons that will most likely remain unknown.”

“You’re right, except we don’t know if he’s shared the MZ-1 recipe with someone else. My gut tells me he has.”

“Look, a safe.” We turned to see Cabrera walked toward a dim corner of the room “I bet the recipe is in there.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Elan said.

“What do you mean?” Cabrera asked as he kneeled next to the metal container and checked the handle.

“Señor Zapata doesn’t have the correct recipe. He never did.”

Cabrera stood. His hands were out in front of him, palms up. “How did he keep Malcolm and his men going?”

“He had to be using the leftover product we created back in Mitú.”

“How can you be sure?” I asked.

“Because he’s missing the one ingredient my brother and I memorized.”

Chapter 60

“Stop!”

I held my hand up in an effort to silence Elan. He had been a second away from casually telling us that missing ingredient. Thankfully, it was enough to get him to keep his mouth shut. Plan B would have been a slap to the face.

“So you’re telling me you never wrote down the entire recipe?” Cabrera inquired.

“No. We had to have a built-in safety precaution in the event things got out of control.”

“Weren’t you worried what might happen if Zapata found out you gave him a bogus list?”

“They only way he would discover that was if something went wrong—which it did. In that case, the security measure would kick in—which it did.”

“Well, I, for one, am glad you had the foresight. But why didn’t you tell us?” I said shifting my weight to one leg.

Elan smiled and tilted his head. “That would have defeated the purpose.”

I looked at Cabrera who looked slighted by the whole revelation. “There’s no reason to tell. Zapata’s dead. So are the technicians here and even the ones back in Mitú. Think about it. Anyone who had contact with it is dead. And if they’re not, they saw an incomplete list.”

“Yeah.” Cabrera nodded as he mulled over what I had said.

I looked back at Elan. “Does anybody know what you and your brother did?”

“Well, Adrianna knew, but…”

I reached out and gave Elan a comforting squeeze to his arm.

Cabrera stared absently at the floor when he spoke. “There is one other thing: the slaughter of that gang.”

“What are you talking about?” Elan asked, looking back and forth between us.

I quickly brought him up to speed on the massacre in the Mission. “Based on what we know, we have to assume Zapata showcased the drug to them.”

“But as I told you earlier, Señor Zapata didn’t have the correct recipe. Even if he did sell it to them, it won’t work.”

“They could come after you though,” Cabrera added.

“I doubt they know he exists,” I countered.

“We can certainly take that chance if you’re comfortable with that,” Cabrera said, pointedly.

He had a point: we had no idea what discussion they’d had. Seeing what the drug can do could be enough to have them come after Elan, and word would surely spread about what had happened here. “That’s that then. We’ll continue with our plan of moving you into the witness protection program. You’ll disappear and be safe.”

“The sooner the better,” Elan said.

Once outside, Cabrera offered to take Elan back to the hotel. I knew Reilly would want an immediate debriefing, and therefore, I didn’t argue and headed back to the office.

I spent the next hour or so typing the rest of my report before my debriefing with Reilly. We talked for forty minutes, at which time he came to the conclusion I expected: that the FBI had concluded their investigation into the death of Agent Riggs. Any loose ends or further investigation into MZ-1 would be the responsibility of the DEA.

With his blessing, I headed home for some much needed rest. My body hurt, and my mind was exhausted. My jaw still ached. The medics had looked me over at the warehouse and said I had deep bruising. I popped four Advils and called it a day.

By the time I got home, it was a little after lunch. Po Po had recently put Lucy down for a quick nap after her daycare got out at one.

“What happen to your face?” Po Po asked when she saw me walk through the front door.

“I’m fine. It’s only minor bruising.”

She pointed to the couch. “Sit. Sit. I fix you some
jok
.”

“No, no, I’m not hungry. I’m going to lie down for bit.”

On my way up the stairs, I thought briefly about taking a bath, but my body steered me straight to my comfy bed. I had enough energy to strip down before falling flat on my face.

Chapter 61

I awoke to soft mumbling. Sitting on the bed next to me, braiding my hair, was my little girl. When she saw me looking at her, she drew a sharp breath and shook with excitement. “Mommy, you’re up.”

“Yes, I am.” I was still lying on my stomach, my hands tucked under a pillow that swallowed half my face. I slowly stretched and flipped over on my back. A tiny squeak found its way out of my mouth before a long yawn was over. The crinkle of paper near my left arm caught my ear. I plopped my hand around the comforter until I came up with a handful of candy wrappers. Lucy had found my stash of the small Ghirardelli chocolate squares. “What time is it?” I asked.

“It’s o’clock in the ‘ferternoon.”

Lucy meant to say late afternoon, which meant I overslept. The low light coming through my window was also a good indicator. I grabbed my phone off my night table. The clock read 5:18 p.m.
Sheesh.
I also had a text message from Cabrera. He wanted to have dinner later.
Hmmm?

I propped myself up on my elbows and looked around the room. Both my head and my body felt rested, and I didn’t feel any pain in my jaw.

“I’m all finished, Mommy. You look very pretty.”

I reached up and felt my hair. Lucy had braided it into a knot. “Thank you, sweetie. Where’s Po Po?”

“Po Po is watching the TV downstairs.”

I swung my legs off the bed. “Come on. Let’s go see her.”

Po Po sat in the recliner, but she wasn’t watching TV.
The family that naps together stays together.
The glow from the television had begun to take over the room, so I turned on a floor lamp and cleared my throat.

A beat passed before she opened her eyes. “Oh, you up. I’m watching my programs.” She rocked herself up out of the recliner. “I’ll fix dinner now. I making stir fry vegetables with beef in oyster sauce.”

I was about to say that it sounded great, because it did, but then I remembered Cabrera’s text. He would be heading back to Bogotá soon.

“I might have to take a rain check.”

I stepped outside onto the porch and placed a call to Cabrera.

“Hey, how are you doing?” He sounded cheerful.

“I’m doing fine. I napped all afternoon.”

“Yeah, I caught a few winks myself. So, you up for dinner?”

We agreed to a time and place—Fanelli’s Deli near Washington Square. They have great takeout meatballs and pasta. I told him we could dine
al fresco
in the park. The weather was mild out, and the sun didn’t set until almost nine.

When I walked back inside, Lucy had commandeered the TV, and Po Po was in the kitchen. I poked my head inside. “I’ll be having dinner with a friend tonight, but I’ll eat leftovers tomorrow for sure.”

The small woman stopped chopping veggies and gave me a familiar look. “Don’t tell me. Tell your daughter.”

“It’s dinner. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“She miss you. You home, but you not home.”

Oh, that hurt. How dare she guilt me? I already felt bad for being out of town. Of course I want to spend time with my daughter but aren’t I allowed to have a life, too? Don’t I deserve some me time? “Fine. I’ll cancel.”

“I didn’t say to cancel.”

“Then what are you saying?”

She stopped again. This time she put the large cleaver down and turned to face me. I’d always admired how a woman at her age could easily manhandle such a large instrument. She cocked her head to one side and wiped her hands on her apron. “What would you do if I weren’t here?”

Did she just say I take advantage of her?
“Look, I appreciate all you do. There are times I would be screwed if you weren’t here, and I’m thankful for—”

“Abby!” She held up her hand. “I know you try. I know you love these two kids more than anything. But you are their mother. Not me.”

I thought about what she said. Maybe I’d had it all wrong. Maybe there really wasn’t any competition between Po Po and me regarding who was the better parent to the children. Maybe I wasn’t as good as I thought I was, and she was stepping in to fill in the gaps.
So not what I wanted to hear.
But she’s right. I was their mom, and if I wanted to continue in that role, I needed to be their mom 24/7—not just when it was convenient. I hated that I had to admit there were times that I did take advantage of Po Po. Suddenly I felt like the most selfish woman in the world. I mistook Po Po’s mothering as a sign of competition, when in reality it was a sign that I wasn’t doing enough. I was so caught up in my own insecurities that I failed to see what was really happening.

I smiled at the fragile woman with the heavy eyelids. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I—”

Once again she held out her hand. “Don’t apologize. Do the right thing.”

Here was a woman who had more mothering experience in her left pinky than I had all together, and I had chosen to ignore it right from the start. My inclination to think I would be successful at the role of supermom simply because I had success in my career was about as arrogant as it could get. I walked over to Po Po and gave her hug. I like to think of it as our first breakthrough.

Later, I surprised Cabrera with little Lucy in tow. He took it in stride and was happy to meet her, though she had a terrible time understanding his last name. She kept saying, “Crab Bra.” He loved it and encouraged her.

We bought dinner at the deli, and while we were there, I introduced Cabrera to the neighborhood dogs: Sala, Fino, and Sata. We then planted our butts down on a blanket in the park. We had a perfect view of St. Peter and Paul Church with a gorgeous sun setting behind it. The North Beach area was always lively at night, and the park was filled with families and couples enjoying the slow sunsets. All along Columbus Avenue, restaurants were awash with hungry patrons. I’d take park dining over sidewalk dining any day.

We stuffed ourselves with spaghetti and meatballs, a little antipasto and fresh mozzarella with chopped basil and olive oil drizzled over it. A bottle of red helped to wash it all down. Lucy opted for her usual: cheesy lasagna and grape juice.

After dinner, I let her play with some nearby kids while Cabrera and I enjoyed each other’s company.

“So I guess you’ll be heading home soon, huh?”

He smiled at me. “Too soon, but I am still thinking about a move back to the States.”

I’ll admit, it was comforting to hear him say that again. You know how it is with men; they say all sorts of things. He already had my interest, and he knew it—no need to keep it up if he really wasn’t thinking about doing it. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. I was content watching his broad chest rise.

“I forgot how nice it is here. It’s peaceful. Idyllic.” He watched Lucy play for a bit before looking back at me.

I leaned my head into his shoulder. Together, we watched her run around. He seemed to genuinely like her. Another box checked. I know it sounds crazy to think this far down the road, but one has to. A single woman with two kids—we’re a package deal.