Yours In Black Lace

“Sorry, man. I had to take your wheels to get out of town.”

Alex’s tone instantly became serious. “Talk to me.”

“The Dominican cartel sent a message. It came through the office, but somehow Stevie is involved.” Emelio was well aware she was openly listening to his end of the conversation.

“Shit. How bad is it?”

He debated less than a second about how much to say. “How soon can you get back?”

His friend blew out a breath. “I’ll be on the next plane from Baltimore.”

“We’re heading for Josе’s place. You can reach me there. And Alex…”

“You’re welcome. Just watch your back, since I can’t be there to do it.”

Stevie settled her sunglasses on her nose to hide the fire she knew was blazing in her eyes. Her temper idled between annoyed and aggravated while she waited for Emelio to finish the call. How was she supposed to solve her first case, her own case, if he kept withholding information?

“Now that you’ve let Alex in on what’s happening—”

“Alex is my partner. While I keep you safe in Naples, he’s going to be digging around in Miami. And not without considerable risk, since he testified against the cartel, too.” He reached up to turn the visor down over the windshield, his sunglasses apparently not enough defense against the glare.

Alex wasn’t his only partner from now on. She was damned sick of being patted on the head as if she couldn’t be trusted. She was smart and strong and determined to be included.

“Then let me tell you what I know, Emelio. A hundred million dollars is a lot of money, but to a drug trafficking organization, it’s a drop in a very big bucket. That means the cartel’s message can only be personal. And I’m betting it has something to do with the man you tried to get me to recognize in that one photo.”

With his eyes hidden, there was no way to gauge his expression, but she saw his lips thin and noticed his hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

“Information is knowledge, Emelio, and knowledge—”

“—will often get you killed. You’re too smart for your own good, Stevie.” His tone suggested a reluctant admiration.

She immediately latched on to his words. “I heard Alex say once that Overtown was the end of your career with Justice. Who got killed?”

He drew in a deep breath and very slowly exhaled through pursed lips. Then he surprised her by giving a direct answer. “The man in the photo is Rogelio Braga, Frankie Ramos’s replacement.”

“What happened in Overtown?”

For a long while he didn’t reply. He gingerly rubbed the bruise on his jaw, concentrating on the road. “An informant I’d used to get evidence against the cartel double-crossed our team during a bogus drug buy. When the bullets started flying, she was killed in the gunfire.”

Stevie wondered if he realized how much was given away by the undercurrent in his voice. However things had gone wrong, Emelio obviously blamed himself. And her instincts told her he was still holding something back, so she hit him with the question that was uppermost on her mind.

“Why is Braga threatening me?”

He was quiet for a few seconds and she could almost feel his withdrawal. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know yet.”

Her voice hardened as she stared at him. “Take a wild guess.”

“Like you said, information is knowledge.” Emelio’s eyebrows drew together. “The question is, what does he think you know?”

ROGELIO BRAGA SLAMMED his fist against the oak surface of his desk. Bloody useless fools!

Frustration mingled with disgust and had him moving to the wet bar to pour a tumbler of dark rum. One of his first tasks when his takeover was complete would be to reorganize. He would eliminate anyone who dared substandard performance. Incompetence could not, and would not, be tolerated under the new regime.

The thug he’d hired from outside the cartel to take care of the Madison woman had failed him. He managed to deliver the messages, but had stupidly taken it upon himself to ravage her apartment, thereby alerting her to the extent of her peril before he’d planned. Then, not only had he lost them in traffic, he’d ended up in hospital. Braga would see to it he never left.

He swallowed a mouthful of the rum, hissing through his teeth as its fire trickled down his throat. He had bigger problems than the messenger.

His former boss, Frankie Ramos, had been offered the chance to make a deal in exchange for information about the cartel. Ramos was going to spill his guts in the courtroom unless Braga spilled them first. But so far none of his people had been able to find out where Ramos was being held.

Braga slumped into his wing chair, splashing rum against the side of the tumbler. He refused to settle for less than total control. He would find the woman and he would find Ramos. It was time to call in an old and very valuable debt. There had been small favors over the years—recanting witnesses, “lost” evidence—but now something more was required.

EMELIO GUIDED the Jeep along the main street through the Old Naples section of the city. The picturesque Fifth Avenue South was crowded with people strolling along the landscaped promenades or lunching in one of the many open-air cafеs. He felt the tension ease from his shoulders. Only his family and best friend knew he stayed here, so he and Stevie should be safe from Braga’s spies.

He loved vacationing here, loved the escape from everyday life the quaint Gulf Coast town offered. Stevie’s head swiveled from side to side, her gaze trying to take in everything at once. Emelio knew how she felt. No matter how often he came here, the city’s charm and grace still affected him.

Old Naples boasted a low skyline of pastel-painted stucco-and-glass buildings tucked among palm trees and lush foliage. Upscale boutiques nestled beside jewelry stores and antique shops. Each structure was uniquely designed with columns or archways, recessed plazas with murmuring fountains and flower-draped balconies.

Stevie pointed to a series of six-foot fiberglass reptiles decorating the sand-colored brick sidewalks. “I can’t get away from the alligators.”

Emelio chuckled. “Those are part of the ‘Gators Galore’ public art project. It’s to raise money for the Boys and Girls Club. Kind of like the ‘Fish Out of Water’ project in Baltimore and the ‘Cows on Parade’ in Chicago.”

“They dress better than the gators back in the swamp. I like that one over there, with the sparkly purple evening gown, pink shoes and gold eyelashes.”

As he breathed in the scent of warm sea air and tropical flowers, he made a right turn onto Gulf Shore Boulevard. He immediately felt the cool breeze coming off the greenish-blue water. Glancing to his left as he drove, he could catch glimpses of the sugar-white sandy beach. Only a few more minutes and he’d be home.

Funny that he thought of it that way. Mamа, Pаpi and his sisters lived within walking distance of his house in Coral Gables. His parents’ house was always full of relatives and friends, music and raised voices and his family was the most important thing in the world to him.

And yet… All of that love and togetherness could be stifling at times.

As the firstborn and the only son of Cuban immigrants, he carried the burden of responsibility and parental expectation. From the earliest age, Mamа and Pаpi instilled in him a strong sense of family, honor and duty. How could he face his family if they ever found out that his informant, a woman he was responsible for, had been killed? He’d never allow that to happen ever again.

Still, he looked over at Stevie and wondered if he’d made the best decision by bringing her to Naples. Of course, he knew it was right—he had to protect her—but his chest tightened with more than a little resentment over having to take her to the beachside cottage. It was his solace, his sanctuary, and in taking her there he’d have to reveal his secret perhaps.

Then he remembered the mess in her apartment, and the look of devastation in her eyes when she saw it. He’d made the only decision he could. Keeping Stevie safe from harm was his chance to regain his honor, a belated attempt to make things right again, to find some peace.

Stevie’s belly rumbled and she turned her attention from the scenery to the matter at hand. “I’m starving. Can we stop somewhere for burgers and onion rings?”

“Sorry. There are a lot of cafеs and restaurants in Old Naples, but no fast-food places.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “No golden arches, no yellow bells, no red-and-white buckets? How am I supposed to survive?”

“That stuff is poison. We’ll stop by the grocers and I’ll make us an early dinner.”

Half an hour later, Emelio guided the Jeep through the security gates of an exclusive resort community. Stevie’s eyebrows shot up and she yanked her sunglasses off. Not many private detectives traveled in the kind of circles that allowed them to stay in a place like this.

After passing several streets, he turned onto a circular driveway shaded by a canopy of palm trees. Behind a wrought-iron gate, the butter-beige stucco walls and white tile roof of the Bermuda-style house gleamed in the late afternoon sun. The front formed a U-shape with tall mullioned windows overlooking the central courtyard.

Stevie looked from the house to Emelio and back. “I thought you said your friend had a ‘cottage’?”