Page 1 of Desperate Justice
Prologue
It had been a good day to be alive, until the moment a bullet zinged through the air and sliced his neck.
Another bullet pierced his abdomen. Blood, so much blood.
Rafael Jones Rodriguez struggled to hold a hand over the crimson seeping between his trembling fingers. Nearby, two FBI agents lay dead. They’d been caught in a nighttime ambush by local crime lord Hector Hernandez.
Sirens blared in the distance.Have to live. So much to live for.But he knew the odds. Knew he was bleeding out.
Rafe rolled over to his back, staring at the endless stars in the black night sky. He tried not to think of the dead agents and their families lost in grief. Or his family, and how they would weep and wail. Or Sofia. He promised to attend her quinceañera next year. His goddaughter would be crushed.
Cold, he was so damn cold. Pain faded as he shivered. Damn it, he was too young to die, but those sirens were far off. Each breath rasped out in short, jagged bursts as he thought of how precious and wonderful life was...and how he was going to lose it.
“Stay still. It’s okay,” a sweet voice murmured. “I’m going to take care of you. You have to stay still.”
An angel hovered over him, her features blurred.Guess this is it. At least I get an angel to escort me to Heaven, instead of a demonic chaperone to Hell.
Rafe closed his eyes to surrender to the inevitable.
“Don’t you dare die on me, you bastard. Not after everything I’m doing to save you. Damn it, stay awake!”
An angel with a foul mouth. Rafe’s lips edged into a slight smile.
“Diablo,”he murmured, fighting to stay awake.
As he felt himself slipping into the darkness, he heard more swear words, and the firm touch of an angel who knew what the hell she was doing.
Maybe, just for today, he would live after all...
CHAPTER 1
Today was a good day for a haircut, unless you happened to get your hair styled at the salon the FBI and DEA planned to raid.
A line of black SUVs were parked on the busy main street of Bistro Road. A tide of warm air and the brilliant yellow sunshine greeted him as FBI Supervisory Special Agent Rafael Jones Rodriguez opened the door of his vehicle. Miami in October was ripe with car exhaust, rapid Spanish in several dialects, people living their lives in a tropical paradise.
Movers and shakers, hot celebrities, bikini-clad models.
Drug dealers hiding their stash and laundering money through shell companies.
The Eleganza Salon was sandwiched between an insurance storefront (empty) and a small hardware store (closed). Glock in hand, Rafe opened the door. The pungent stench of ammonia, nail polish and hair products hit his nostrils, despite the N95 respirator mask he wore.
“FBI. Everyone remain where you are. No one move. We have a warrant to search the premises,” he barked out in Spanish and English.
Five women, some under hair dryers, some seated in chairs before large mirrors, turned and stared at him, eyes wide like frightened deer. Rafe’s expert gaze took in each one.
Agents in white biohazard suits streamed past him, several heading to the back rooms before employees had a chance to dispose of incriminating evidence.
Rafe holstered his weapon. “Who’s in charge?”
A thin middle-aged woman, graying hair cut short, expression sour, left her station. “I’m Catrina, the manager. Where’s your warrant?”
He showed her the federal warrant obtained in court. The woman examined it, then glared at Rafe. She tossed the paper aside, but not before spitting at Rafe’s feet and calling him foul names in Spanish.
Ignoring her, Rafe instructed the agents to search thoroughly. Bottles of shampoo, conditioner, everything. As lead on this joint task force between the DEA, FBI and local law enforcement, he wasn’t letting anything slip by. This salon, owned by a dummy corporation Rafe suspected was connected to Hector Hernandez, had been under surveillance for a while.
Anything they could use to nail Hernandez, head of a Miami cartel, was useful.
For more than three years he’d hunted the man to put him away on federal RICO charges. Hernandez had shot him and killed two of his men last year. Nailing the bastard was his main focus.
