Rogue (Phoenix Rising) Page 2

  Chapter Two

  Noah

  “You know what this meeting is about?” I risk a sidelong glance at the impassive face of Ricardo Mendez, first lieutenant of La Frontera drug cartel and the most trusted confidant of its C.E.O. and leader, Victor Sanchez, who’s known on the streets as El Gato. I’d received the summons to the palatial Acapulco home of the drug kingpin yesterday, and he’d arranged for one of his private Learjets to fly me from Miami to Mexico this morning. I’d been surprised to see Mendez waiting in the car outside the airport when I’d stepped out into the arid heat. Usually El Gato sends one of his henchmen to drive me to wherever we’re meeting to discuss an arms deal, and the fact that he had Mendez drive me means this is not going to be a typical business meeting.

  I feel a bead of sweat trickle down my spine. When you work for a drug cartel, you have to be comfortable with the possibility of dying on any given day. I just want to live long enough to avenge the deaths of my wife and daughter.

  Ricardo’s never been one for small talk, which is usually fine by me, but if I’m about to walk into some sort of shit storm, I’d like to know about it, and he’s the best one to tell me. Besides, we have little else to talk about on the thirty-minute drive to the compound of my boss, the world’s most powerful drug trafficker, who is responsible for as much as half of the illegal narcotics imported into the U.S. from Mexico each year.

  “El Gato will tell you the details,” he says, never taking his eyes off the road.

  I give up and stare out the window, watching the Sierra Madre del Sur mountains disappear in the distance. When we arrive at Sanchez’s compound—and it is a compound, albeit one surrounded by lush palm trees and set into the side of a cliff overlooking the ocean and the Golden Zone—we’re waved through the electronic gates by armed security guards. I’m patted down, which is standard practice, even for a trusted contractor like me, and then ushered out onto the terrace where El Gato is sitting, enjoying a cigar.

  “Noah.” He smiles, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his black eyes. “Sit.”

  I take the seat he indicates and wait patiently for him to explain why I’m here. He takes a puff of his cigar and slowly blows out smoke. “Liam Prescott, the Navy SEAL you procured the shipment of weapons from. Have you spoken to him?”

  “Not since the initial deposit of funds into his bank account. He contacted me to confirm he’d gotten the AK-47s you asked for, fresh off the battlefield.” They’d be marked with the Arabic letter that signified they were part of the Iraqi Army arsenal and untraceable to the United States. “He said he’d moved them out of the Middle East pending delivery. But his team was called back before he could get them to me.” As a former Navy SEAL myself, I know that although Customs and Border Patrol officials screen the soldiers, their luggage, gear, and the cargo, the rules are bent a little for special forces. With classified hardware, shorter deployments, and unpredictable schedules, it’s typically just a cursory search for special team forces.

  “Where are they?”

  I shake my head. “He didn’t say. He’s supposed to contact me with a drop point by the end of the month. Maybe earlier, depending on when his mission concludes.”

  “He’s dead.” Sanchez is watching me closely, and I wonder what he’s thinking. It crosses my mind that he might think I’m somehow double-crossing him. Luckily, I don’t have anything to hide. I’m genuinely shocked by the news that the brash and cocky but likeable blond Navy SEAL I’d met with six months ago to broker the arms deal is dead.

  “What? How?” Fuck! This was supposed to be my last job for El Gato, the deal that was going to get me what I’ve been waiting three long years for—revenge on rival drug cartel leader Francisco Dominguez, who killed my wife and daughter. I was part of the SEAL team assigned to curtail the flow of drugs from Mexico to the U.S. by overthrowing the predominant drug cartel, which ultimately meant eliminating its powerful drug lord. After Dominguez found out I was the Navy SEAL sharpshooter tasked with taking him out, he kidnapped my family, tried to blackmail me into working for him, and when I refused, he killed them.

  I’d been devastated. Hell, I’d been more than devastated; I’d been out of my mind with grief. The word on the team was I’d gone off the rails. I don’t deny it. It got to the point I couldn’t even leave my house, because every child I saw reminded me of Maggie. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her sweet face, and Sarah’s. And if the grief ever let up, the guilt was right there, ready to take over. I knew they’d died because of me. But after a while, something grew bigger than the grief and the guilt, something that finally gave me a reason to keep going—retribution.

  I asked my commanding officer to send me back to Mexico, but he refused. It was too dangerous. So I quit the SEALs and offered my services to El Gato, the only cartel capable of touching Dominguez. I’ve spent the last three years gaining El Gato’s trust and building his power by procuring arms for his organization. With the hardware from Prescott, we were finally going to be in a position to launch a full-out attack on Dominguez, and El Gato promised me I could take out the drug lord myself. But if Prescott’s dead, there will be no gun shipment, and without the guns, there will be no attack on the Nuevo Leon cartel, which means no chance for me to finally avenge the deaths of Sarah and Maggie.

  El Gato drums his fingers on the scarred table, bringing me back to the present, and the dead Navy SEAL. “He was killed during a raid in Pakistan.”

  Sanchez takes another puff of the cigar, pauses for a long minute, and then exhales slowly before continuing. “Half a million American dollars is a lot to pay for nothing in return.”

  I wait. Known for being as intelligent as he is ruthless, Sanchez has an extensive web of contacts and resources, and I have a feeling there’s more that he’s not saying. He fixes his intense gaze on me. “I intend to get the guns I’ve paid for. Prescott has a sister. Her name is McKenzie. I think she knows where the guns are.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve been watching her and her activities since I found out about his death, just to see if anything popped up. Last week she was in Costa Rica.”

  “So? She’s a traveler.” I shrug. It wouldn’t surprise me. Liam Prescott had struck me as a daring, adventurous guy, the kind who liked to go new places, expand his horizons, and push his limits. He was a Navy SEAL, for fuck’s sake. In another life—before everything I loved was taken from me—we probably would have been friends. His sister is probably no different.

  Sanchez frowns. “Actually, no. Quite the opposite. By all accounts, she’s a homebody, a little ratona who, until last week, had never left the southeastern United States. Not the type who would travel to Costa Rica on a whim, much less jump off a waterfall.”

  “She jumped off a waterfall? Why the hell would she do that?”

  “Indeed.” The short but powerful Hispanic man steeples his fingers. “Apparently, her brother left behind some sort of list of places and experiences. She thinks it’s a… What’s the word…” He taps a blunt finger on the glass table.

  “A bucket list?”

  “Exactly. A bucket list.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You don’t?”

  “You were special forces once. When you went on a mission, did you consider the possibility that you would die?”

  “Every damn time.”

  Sanchez smiles. “Exactly. In this way, the U.S. special forces and the drug cartels are the same. We live on borrowed time. Prescott smuggled the guns out of Iraq and left them somewhere while he returned to the Middle East. He knew he might get killed. It makes sense he would have left some sort of clue for someone—an insurance policy of sorts—in case he didn’t come back alive. I think that list is the clue, a map to where the guns are hidden.”

  I have to admit it makes sense. “Do you think she knows?”

  Sanchez shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked you to come.” His beady eyes bore into me, reminding me that this is someone who once beheaded a man who cheated
him out of a kilo of cocaine and displayed his dismembered body on social media. He’s out half a million dollars on this deal, with the possibility of his name being linked to the shipment that could be God knows where now. “We have an agreement. You brokered a deal, and I expect you to see it through. You get me the guns, I back you up when you take out El Jefe. You fail me…” He shrugs, and the gesture speaks volumes. If I don’t find the guns, El Jefe will be the last of my worries.

  “She’s going to Las Vegas next weekend. I want you to be there.” He pushes a manila folder across the table to me. “There’s everything my sources have gathered on her. Find the girl, figure out what she knows, and get the list.” He grinds the cigar into the ashtray, and the metaphor isn’t lost on me. “I want those guns.”

  Chapter Three

  McKenzie

  Vegas is a blast. From the moment we arrive, it’s everything I imagined it would be—flashy, energetic, exciting, and larger than life, a city of bright lights, big dreams, and constant activity. It’s like one giant, twenty-four-hour celebration, and as the girl who spent her high school and college years watching her mother slowly die while everyone else went to parties, I can’t help but get caught up in it.

  After we check into the lavish suite we splurged on at the Wynn, we get dressed up and hit the casinos, trying everything from the slot machines to poker, which I’m surprisingly good at for having never gambled a day in my life. Unfortunately, Charlotte’s as bad at gambling as I am good at it, and by midnight we’ve lost all our money for the night and head back to our room.

  The next day we visit the Hoover Dam and spend an inordinate amount of time at some of the more bizarre wedding chapels in Vegas. For a wedding dress designer, a wedding photographer, and a wedding planner, it doesn’t get any better than this, and we have to tear ourselves away so we have time to get ready for the Cirque de Soleil show. By Sunday, we’re ready to spend a relaxing day lying out by the pool at our hotel. The pool is gorgeous, with lush gardens surrounding it, luxurious chaise lounges, and some of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen sunbathing, a few of them topless.

  “Thank God Liam was male,” I say as a particularly beautiful and well-endowed woman sashays past us, her perky breasts bouncing as she walks. “It would have been just like him to put sunbathing topless on his list.” I’ve heard enough to know that Liam’s love of living on the edge extended to his sex life, and I shudder at the thought of my breasts on display for everyone to see. Although, I have to admit that the sexual things on Liam’s bucket list are pretty intriguing. A little terrifying and next to impossible to accomplish, but intriguing.

  “You totally have the boobs to pull it off,” Charlotte offers conversationally.

  “You do have great boobs,” Gemma agrees.

  “I love you guys, but there’s something seriously wrong with my life when the only people who appreciate my boobs are girls.”

  Charlotte laughs. “Is getting laid on Liam’s list?”

  “Sort of,” I hedge. I look down, unwilling to meet my best friends’ eyes. There are some things on Liam’s list that are too private, and too unfathomable, to discuss even with Charlotte and Gemma. Like kinky sex. I don’t even fully know what that means. How the hell am I going to pull that off? And with who? It’s not like I can just bring that up on a casual date or put it on a dating app bio. And why is the idea of it becoming more and more exciting to me? The need to check that off the list more and more important to me? They’re waiting for something, so I go with the least risqué. “Apparently, Liam never got the chance to join the mile-high club.”

  Gemma and Charlotte hoot with laughter.

  “Are you going to do it?” Gemma demands.

  “Well,” I say, “I intend to do everything on his list eventually, but I kind of need a partner for that one.” I don’t add that finding someone to join the mile-high club with me is the least of my worries, considering the other boundary-pushing sexual stuff on the list.

  That shuts them up, and we’re all quiet as we ponder my serious lack of available sexual partners.

  “You could ask Bryce, for old times’ sake,” suggests Charlotte.

  I give her my most withering glare. “I will chop Bryce’s dick off before I let it anywhere near me again.”

  “You’re right. Bad idea,” Charlotte says quickly. Ever since I walked in on Bryce in bed with my marathon-running next-door neighbor, whose sense of humor was about as nonexistent as her body fat, he’s been a forbidden topic of conversation.

  “You could ask one of the guys from Liam’s Navy SEAL team to help you.” Gemma waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “They’re all pretty hot!” She fans herself.

  I think about the guys on his team, and then shake my head. “They all think of me as their little sister. Besides, most of them are in Afghanistan for the next two months.” I look up in alarm. “I can’t believe I actually considered that for a second! You guys are terrible.”

  “You know, I think it’s great that you’re finishing Liam’s bucket list,” Gemma says seriously. “I know you, and I know how hard it’s got to be doing the crazy things on his list. I can’t even imagine jumping off a waterfall!”

  “It makes me feel closer to him,” I say quietly. “Even if they’re all way outside my comfort zone. I want to be like Liam—reckless and bold and fearless.” I look at my two friends, who have been there for me through thick and thin since I met them both at college—Charlotte when we were thrown together as freshman roommates and Gemma a year later. “I still miss him.” I can’t help the catch in my voice.

  Charlotte’s arms are around me immediately, and Gemma squeezes my hand.

  “Of course you do, sweetie,” Charlotte says. “I miss him, too,” she adds wistfully.

  Something in her voice makes me look at her more closely. Did she have a thing for Liam? I sigh. Just another thing cut short by the sharp knife of death.

  “What’s left on the list?” Gemma asks.

  I spew off a few of the things on Liam’s list that I know by heart now. I don’t tell them that I keep the actual list that Liam updated just a few weeks before he died tucked in my bra, or that I pull it out and read his messy scrawl every time I start missing him. “I’ve already done the waterfall jump, and this weekend will take care of the all-nighter in Vegas. I’ve taken a salsa dancing class, so I guess I can cross that off. I don’t even know what to do about the mile-high club! There are a few other, um, sexual things. I’ll save those for last, I guess. And start looking for a man!” I laugh. “Let’s see…what else? There’s seeing the northern lights, riding the Pacific Coast highway, swimming with sharks, sailing around the islands of the Philippines, scuba diving in Malaysia, tweeting from the equator, getting a tattoo… Oh, and owning a dog.”

  Charlotte and Gemma are gaping at me. Gemma finds her tongue first. “What sexual things? And a tattoo? Are you insane?”

  Oh God. I am insane. I don’t know what made me think I could do this, but I have to. It’s the only thing that keeps me putting one foot in front of the other every day—this sense of purpose and the connection to Liam. And the belief that there’s more to life, and more to me, just waiting to be discovered.

  “And how are you going to afford sailing around the Philippines and traveling to see the northern lights?” Charlotte chimes in. “Our wedding business is doing good, but not that good.”

  “Liam left me some money. A lot of money,” I admit. “Some of it’s from our parents’ life insurance policy.” I frown. “But there’s a lot more than that. I don’t know where it came from.”

  “Maybe Liam had another job when he was on leave and had been saving?” Gemma suggests.

  I shake my head. “You know that would be almost impossible.” Gemma’s best friend Walker was on Liam’s SEAL team, so she knows as well as I do how impossible living a normal life and having a regular job is for a Navy SEAL. They can get called to leave for a mission at a moment’s notice.

  “Maybe
he invested in the stock market and hit it big. He’s was pretty smart about money,” Charlotte adds.

  “Maybe…” I’m not convinced, but I don’t have a better explanation.

  “I do know he’d be happy that you’re spending it doing the things he wanted to do but never got a chance to,” Gemma assures me, covering my hand with hers.

  This time I can’t stop the tears that fill my eyes.

  “Of course he would,” Charlotte agrees. “And we’re going to help you.” She crosses the room to the bar and pours us each a shot of tequila. “To our first all-nighter in Vegas,” she says, lifting her shot glass.

  “To Vegas,” Gemma and I echo. I throw back the shot, wincing as the alcohol burns a fiery trail down my throat.

  …

  A few hours later, when I emerge from the bedroom dressed for dinner, both Gemma and Charlotte stare at me, their mouths gaping.

  “Oh my God! What happened to the stylish but conservative McKenzie Prescott that I know?” Gemma teases.

  I look down at the sleek, body-hugging black club dress with little triangle cutouts up the sides that I bought on a whim the week before I left for Costa Rica. “This is stylish.” I shrug and slip on a pair of fuck-me-dead, black, spiked heels that lace up the front.

  “Stylish, yes, but definitely not conservative,” Charlotte retorts. “Damn, McKenzie, you rock the sexy siren look! You look phenomenal. I feel downright plain next to you.”

  “No one could ever accuse you of being plain,” I assure her. “You look great, as always.” Charlotte is the most put-together person I know, and with her dark hair piled artfully on her head, her makeup flawless, and her accessories perfectly matched, she looks like she already owns Las Vegas. “I just thought that since I’ve already stepped outside my comfort zone, I might as well go all the way. If I can’t do it in Las Vegas, where can I? What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right?” I shrug. “It’s kind of fun letting go a little. Besides, I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like to be the wild, daring, sexy girl.”