Page 49 of Loving Smoke

“Okay.” I shrugged. “So she changed her name.”

“She didn’t change her name, she’s just not telling you her real name.”

“Geez, fuck.” Blood gulped at his drink. “I can’t stand the suspense, just spit it out.”

“Her real name is Marisol Sandoval, she’s?—”

My heart skipped, pounded hard, then slowed. “Rico Sandoval’s daughter.”

“What?” Blood leaned in and snatched the phone away from Ricky. He stared at the screen. “Where the fuck did you find this?”

“When you first hired her I knew she looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out from where. Then a buddy of mine was in the club the other night and he said he knew who she was and sent me this picture.”

I grabbed the phone from Blood. Marisol was draped in black from head to toe standing at a gravesite next to a guy who appeared to be older than her. They shared the same features so I guessed them to be related. I scrolled down to the caption under the picture.

“Angeline Sandoval was gunned down by an alleged motorcycle gang in retaliation for Rico Sandoval’s suspected alliances with the Mexican cartel.”

“Holy, shit.” My brain stalled on the photo, then spun trying to make sense of the last few days. “She must be here getting intel for her father. Son of a bitch!”

“Sandoval does a good job of keeping his family under the radar. Most people don’t even know he has kids, but my friend works for the funeral home that handled the burial and he remembered her. She’s kinda hard to forget.”

Blood slammed his hand on the table. “I don’t fuckin’ believe it.”

My brain twisted and turned trying to remember things I said to her, things she said to me. Another bitch scammed me.

“What are you gonna do?” Ricky asked. “Fire her?”

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth, then shook my head. “Nah.”

Blood leaned across the table. “Whaddya mean, no?”

“Business as usual.” I kept my voice ice cold as a heat creeped up my spine.

“Did you hear what he said, she’s?—”

“Sandoval’s daughter, yeah, I got it. Like I said, everything stays the same. You don’t say anything, do anything, or act any different to her. As far as she knows we still think she’s Marisol Marquez. Got it?”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“No buts, from here on we’re gonna work her. Feed her false information, give her just enough rope to hang herself . . . and then—” I spit out a vicious laugh.

I turned to Ricky. “And you keep this to yourself, understand? You don’t tell nobody. Not your family or your friends and tell your friend at the funeral home to keep his mouth shut too, or he’ll have to answer to me.”

Ricky nodded. “Sure, boss.”

“You’re wearing the Bastard’s cut now, so this will be your first test of loyalty.”

“I got it.”

I pushed away from the table suddenly drained and wanting to be alone. I had to process this, then figure out a plan. This revelation could explain why she ran out of here earlier. Maybe it all got too real for her. Maybe she wouldn’t even show up tomorrow for work. Or, maybe she would, and if she did I was going to be all ready for Miss Marisol Sandoval.

Alone in my room I did a few Google searches and came up with nothing. Jameson gave me the intel on Sandoval before we left for Tijuana, but nothing mentioned him having a family other than the murdered wife. We never dug any deeper since we were targeting Rico.

I put a call in to a tech guy we used in San Diego and told him to concentrate on Marisol Sandoval/Marquez. I gave him the information I had, and what I wanted. A few hours later, I had quite a bit of interesting information, plus a picture of my mystery woman.

Seems Rico sent her to some fancy boarding school in California for high school. Then a picture a few years later of her in a cap and gown graduating with honors from Stanford with another caption.

Daughter of Alleged Mexican Cartel Enjoying Campus Life in California

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