Sky's Lark (6 page)

Shark waved a paper in the air, pointing at what appeared to be a picture.

Bryce's heart sped as he attempted to see if the photo resembled the one he had confiscated the day before. The odds were that it would. In that case, trouble brewed for the petite woman with the bright blue eyes.

"You in?" one of the group asked as he dealt another hand of cards.

"Nah. No dinero." Bryce shrugged as if his declaration was simply a part of everyday life.

As the others tossed in money, Bryce sat back, keeping an eye on the two men only to see Shark leave out the back door as quickly as he'd arrived.

Rodriguez strode over. "Shipment be here in two hours. Boss wants it on the streets immediately."

All eyes flicked up to Rodriguez before returning to the cards in their hands. They murmured understanding.

The leader stared at Bryce. "You want more work? Bigger pay?"

Nodding, Bryce sat forward in his seat.

"Come with me."

Standing, Bryce followed Rodriguez, heading back toward the office portion of the warehouse. Maybe, finally, he'd broken the ice enough to get in on the actual workings of the operation. With increasing responsibility came more information and opportunity. Risk quickly followed, but he would eagerly trade any danger for the chance to lay his hands on enough evidence to point out traitors and send them to prison. For that, he would sacrifice just about anything.

Shutting the door behind them, Bryce stood while Rodriguez plopped down in a leather chair on the back side of a worn and scuffed desk. He tossed down a picture, the force propelling it to stop just in front of Bryce.

"Boss wants her."

Bryce picked up the picture, a duplicate of the one he passed on yesterday. "What did she do? Take money and run?"

"Lured him into an ambush by the cops. Word directly from the boss is to find her, bring her alive to the compound," Rodriguez answered, leaning back in the seat until it squeaked.

"Does she have a name? Where does she live?" Bryce inquired softly, steeling his features to mask any recognition, showing piqued interest, but nothing more.

"That's where you come in. She vanished into thin air and no one can find her. Santora thinks you might be able to track her down." His jaw clenched as he puffed out a breath.

Bryce watched the anger build on the other man's face, recognizing jealousy and fury. Management had overlooked him and gone straight to Bryce for a job that would probably net more financial reward than any of the men would ever see in a lifetime of crime. More than likely another test, to determine his abilities, his worth. Perhaps they considered him leadership material but needed more proof. He had to keep an eye on Rodriguez, not just for the man's reputation for absolute control and respect, but because he now saw Bryce as a threat to his position. More than one man died with a knife embedded in his back when someone started climbing the ladder faster than others. Rodriguez would do just that in a heartbeat.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced at the picture once more. "I might. What's in it for me?"

"A million dollars if she's brought in unhurt." A tic started in his right cheek.

Bryce whistled low. "He's damn serious." Pausing a second, he fired out another question. "If he's in jail, where am I supposed to deliver her?"

"He got out an hour ago. And she goes straight to his compound. If you catch her, call Shark and he'll give you the location." After jotting down a phone number on scrap paper, Rodriguez handed it over and stood up. "Why he thinks you can find her, I don't know. But you have three days. After that, it's my turn." He rounded the desk to face Bryce. "I guarantee I will deliver."

With an abrupt nod, Bryce slipped from the room, heading directly out the back door and into the night air, his mind already spinning with possibilities. Three days. Santora just upped the ante with a strict time limit. Not only did he have to find the mole in a limited amount of time, he also needed to find a way to deal with the woman before Rodriguez landed on her trail.

He had no doubts the gang's leader would prove successful and he shuddered to consider the nightmare she'd face once Rodriguez captured her. Alive left some room for interpretation, and Rodriguez's view surely included a bit of rough play beforehand. After that, she would face Santora. Talk about going from the frying pan to the fire.

How was he going to track down that damn shadow in such a short time? And what about the pretty little DEA agent? A sudden thought hit, causing the corners of his lips to lift upward.

She just might prove to be his ace in the hole after all.

Chapter 9

Lark tossed her purse on the dining room table as she rubbed her tired and burning eyes. At least today's marathon computer session at the public library narrowed the suspects mightily. Three stuck out in her in-depth investigation on their financial lives, comparing yearly income, spouse income, assets, and bank accounts. Spoon had managed to break through the protective wall on the DEA supervisor's account only to find it led to a dead end, a program intended to divert all curious parties well away from the true source and down a few rabbit trails complete with traps and pitfalls only to find they'd stumbled across a black hole.

That only proved her instincts were right, Thomas was hiding something and she would bet her bottom dollar large quantities of money were transferred between him and someone high up in the criminal world, payments to ensure the DEA and other agencies stayed off the kingpin's back and out of his territory. Drug cartels employed just such tactics in order to protect their lucrative business, ensuring their goods not only reached the dealers' hands on the streets, but the sellers weren't hassled by the local authorities. They had the luxury of peddling their wares whenever and wherever they wanted with little fear of undercover police or a badge-wearing beat cop stumbling across a deal.

The more she considered the situation, the more things felt right. Thomas accepted big bucks from the drug cartel, probably from Mexico, in exchange for keeping them below radar with the very agency he worked for. Anger surged through her at the idea. Agents put their lives on the line each and every day, some dying in the process, in order to try to curtail and stop the flow of drugs into the country. And here, one of their high-paid, butt-kissing supervisors grew rich by trading favors with the very people he'd sworn to capture.

Frustrated and disgusted, she headed to her bedroom intent on a long, hot shower and some much needed rest before she worked another full day on narrowing down her search and collecting evidence of illegal activities. Marching by the dresser, she caught sight of the little jewelry box with the dove peacefully resting on top. Slowly, she reached out, plucking it from its resting place, and eased the lid off like she did each time she returned home from being away.

Sure enough, a small white paper filled the interior.

Intrigued, she quickly pulled it out and unfolded it with nimble fingers before reading the message aloud.

"S set free tonight. One million bounty on you if brought in alive. Three days to find turncoat. Find out who signed release papers then let's make a deal."

Blinking, she read it over once more, her stomach knotting with the offer of a fortune to bring her in. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry would have his nose to the ground searching for her. Sure, she would arrive in one piece, but that didn't mean untouched. A cold tremor raced down her spine.

Three days. Why that amount of time? The note stirred more questions than it answered, while solidifying her belief that her guardian angel worked undercover. Why else would he warn her of the bounty? If he truly worked for Santora, he would have marched into her apartment, bundled her up in an area rug like a mummy, and dropped her at his boss's doorstep, no questions asked. Instead, he'd risked life and limb to warn her of Santora's plans. All the writing on the wall spelled out undercover agent.

Who in their right mind would set Santora free? She needed to discover who signed the papers and organized for a top level drug lord to walk free twenty-four hours after his arrest. Even the best lawyer couldn't get a judge to set bail that quickly, not for such a high-profile criminal. No. Someone with power working on the inside had to be responsible.

Thomas.
He held enough power, being in command of the district DEA office, and his shady finances remained elusive and too vague for her comfort. He couldn't do it without help, but two more names stood out in her search, working at the same branch, and below Thomas in rank. The puzzle pieces clicked together.

Somehow she needed to find evidence to prove the tie, foolproof documentation that would stand up to scrutiny in court.

Sitting down on the bed, she reclined back, staring at the ceiling as she let her mind whirl with ideas. The visitation log would only show that Thomas entered the holding area and spoke with Santora. While helpful, it would only be beneficial in combination with other supporting evidence. However, if she managed to get her hands on the actual signed form that gave Santora his freedom, it could make the majority of the case.

Any smart mole would have signed the paper then made sure it vanished forever just in case nosey investigators rummaged through stacks of paperwork at a later date. For all she knew, he had already disposed of it. This meant she needed to get into the office and talk with the person who knew everything—his secretary. More than likely she knew nothing about Thomas's activities, but she handled all the routine paperwork, filing each document, scanning it into the computer. She would be the one who could point her to the exact location of the paper she sought. On the flip side, Thomas obviously would recognize her and wouldn't turn down an extra million to cuff her and drive her personally to Santora. Thus, showing up in person could put a major dent in her longevity.

Sighing, she left that train of thought, turning to the man who stood between her and Santora. He would certainly be bilingual and have dark hair and skin tone. Everyone in that particular drug cartel fit the same genetic trademarks. Otherwise they would stand out like an elephant wandering down the middle of Times Square. Not something their leader would appreciate as drug lords preferred to blend in and stay low-key until they controlled everyone and everything in their world. Only then did they step out into the sunshine, flaunting their wealth and power for all to see.

For Thomas to not know an undercover agent existed in the fold, the order had to have come from above him or from a federal oversight agency. The guy could be anything from a federal agent to a local cop with the abilities needed to camouflage himself with those around him. Insanely courageous, he had to work well under pressure, keeping his cool at all times, while being constantly on guard for threats to his cover.

She found those qualities more than attractive in a man. Handsomeness only carried a man so far in her opinion, the rest came from inside, the attitude, the bravery, the willingness to go above and beyond, to meet risk head-on and prevail. A pretty face could mask unwanted qualities. Partying frat boys never caught her eye; instead, she turned to the hardcore military types time and again, yet still never found one that quite matched with her wants and needs.

She wanted to meet this one, was eager to put a face with his endeavors.

Hope springs eternal.

Lark sighed, rolling onto her side. As much as she turned her nose up at the idea of a traditional life for a woman—getting married, having a couple of kids, and baking cookies for school holiday parties—she also longed for the opportunity to choose her own life. Hard to meet a goal of finding her other half and living happily ever after if every man she met backed away from verbal spars or she could kick his rear in a friendly martial arts match. She was an "in-your-face" girl and wanted a man who would not only stand up to the task, but give as well as he got. In her experience, they didn't exist. Much like the fabled Loch Ness Monster, many people claimed to have seen the elusive animal, but no one could drag one in for proof.

Glancing at the small jewelry box, she pulled her thoughts away from self-pity and on to more important matters such as staying alive with a powerful enemy determined to not only catch her, but make her pay dearly for her part in his capture. She had to move fast, pulling whatever strings necessary to get her hands on the log listing each and every person coming into contact with the jailed Santora, and release form along with any other tiny scrap of evidence she could find to link Thomas and Santora. Without it, the three-day time limit would expire, sending an avalanche of greedy headhunters crashing down on her head.

Ideas and plans dried up like rain in the Sahara desert. She quickly discarded each possibility because it either involved too much risk of discovery or would take far too long. Nothing short of breaking into the DEA office would solve her dilemma and that would not only strip her of her access, but land her butt in jail. Although, lock up might just keep her out of Santora's hands, at least for the time being. With a snort, she sat up, grabbing her cell phone. It was time to call in some favors.

Chapter 10

Thomas reclined back in his black leather office chair, folding his hands behind his head, impatiently waiting while his slower-than-snail-mail computer ran a new software program, checking all his accounts and following any signs of meddling, too much interest, or hacking.

Once again he patted himself on the back, congratulating himself on a job well done. Under the guise of moving Santora to a smaller jail where he would be less likely to end up dead from a rival gang member's homemade weapon, Thomas signed him out, delivering him into the hands of his employees, both in on the plan and partaking of a small portion of the drug lord's vast wealth. They transported him to an isolated location where Santora's driver waited before dashing off toward freedom and the safety provided by their fortress-like base of operations. The two men would return with stories of how they were ambushed, knocked out, and woke up to find their charge long gone. He would use his powerful influence to make sure they received no more than a slap on the wrist, ensuring their future presence in case something came up at a later date.