Page 1 of Shadow Dance

Prologue

Jaime

“How much longer?” Tariq asks, shifting impatiently near the door. He’s supposed to be my watchdog, but he’s more like a nervous terrier, startling at every imagined sound.

I ignore him, squinting as I finish installing a tiny camera into the vintage clock on the shelf. This one’s in the den, facing Guzmán’s desk, but we have them scattered throughout the house.

“Shit,” mutters Tariq, checking his phone a moment later. “Someone’s pulling up. Time to move out.”

“I’m done. Let’s go,” I murmur, tucking my tools into my jacket.

We slip through a rear window as tires crunch over the gravel driveway out front. The sun just went down, and it’s considerably cooler than it was when we entered the residence. Sliding the window shut, I quickly rearm the security system remotely before melting into the shadows. I glance back at the house as Tariq clears the stone wall just in time to see a light blink on in the room we were just standing in. Hopping the wall after him, I disappear into the trees.

Tariq’s already getting into the Escalade idling a street over. I climb in after him, my door barely shut before we start moving.

Leo’s austere gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror. “That was close.”

“Too close,” Tariq agrees, as if he did something other than stand around and sweat while I worked.

I nod slowly, not looking away until he returns his attention to the road. Leo Oliveras comes from a long line of men who consider strong eye contact a sign of trustworthiness. To shrink from his gaze suggests that I’m beneath him or that I have something to hide, and neither is the case.

“Was it Guzmán?” I ask.

“It was.”

I frown, not liking that our intel on the man’s schedule was inaccurate. “He came home early, then.”

“But it’s done,” Leo says, more statement than question.

“It’s done.”

“Good.”

The Oliveras estate sits at the base of the Santa Ynez mountains, tucked behind an expanse of olive trees. It’s protected by a security wall and armed guards who open the gate for Leo when we round the bend. Driving through, we park in front of the family’s hacienda-style mansion, which has been in their family for over a century.

Once inside, Leo dismisses Tariq and motions for me to follow him into the basement. Electric sconces hum quietly as we descend, the air conditioning cranked so high down here that I shiver. It’s like a freezer, which is the point.

Leo stops by the interrogation room, where a couple of his men are making mincemeat out of some poor bastards, but I continue to the bunker at the end of the hall. It’s an office, but everyone calls it the bunker because it’s soundproof, bulletproof, and fireproof. Shit, it’s probably bomb proof. I doubt there’s a more secure place in the state of California.

Sitting at an enormous desktop computer, I bring up the specialized software I use for surveillance. With a few clicks, I’m looking at Guzmán’s office, courtesy of the camera I just placed there. I’m shuffling through the other feeds, double-checking that the cameras are all clear and positioned well, when Leo looks in. “Abuelito wants to see you.”

Setting the software torecord, I return to the main floor where Leo’s grandfather, Cedro, is on the patio watching soccer on TV. “Jaime,” he says, beckoning me closer. “Come, talk to me.”

I join him, accepting the beer he offers.

“How did it go at Guzmán’s?” he asks, cursing lightly at the TV before muting it altogether.

I’m sure Leo has already apprised him of what went on today, but Cedro likes details. “It went well. All of the feeds are up and running, so it’s just a matter of time before something useful comes up. I’ll keep an eye on the footage.”

He dips his chin, satisfied. Cedro suspects that his frenemy Guzmán knows something about the recent execution of his top soldier during a fentanyl delivery in Santa Maria. Fentanyl is cheap enough to produce and acquire, so Cedro was more concerned about the stolen pistol (a custom-made family heirloom, also over a century old) and the loss of life.

The murdered soldier was Cedro’s godson, so revenge is in order: a life for a life. Guzmán’s, maybe, if it turns out he was involved.

I’ve worked with the Oliveras family for two years. When Cedro discovered I had an aptitude for tech and intelligence, he pulled me off his street crew and brought me into his core circle. Guzmán isn’t the first mark I’ve spied on for the family, and it won’t be the last, as evidenced by Cedro’s next words.

“Leo will keep track of the Guzmán situation. I need you to keep an eye on someone else.” Cedro pauses. “A close associate of mine, Dario De Leon, brought his nephew on a few years ago. Smart kid, moved up real quick, but I’m starting to hear things I don’t like.” He hands me a piece of paper with a name.Callum Barry. “The way a man handles family is his business, but when my money is involved, it becomes my business.”

I lean back, resting my ankle over the opposite knee. “I get it. You want to protect your investment.”

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