Page 92 of Fast Vengeance

“Nope. Guards found him dead in his cell this morning. Looks like a heart attack, but we won’t know until we get the coroner’s report after the autopsy.”

Brock looked at Lockhart. “No way it was a heart attack.” He looked back at Taggart. “So then…they’re all gone.” The threat to Tori was over. “Does Victoria know?”

“I imagine she’ll be told soon.”

God, with Ruiz gone, she was no longer under any serious threat that Brock could think of. The chances of anyone trying to hunt her down and going after her to avenge Ruiz’s memory were nil. Her demons had all been sent back to hell where they belonged. Now she could move on. Because she was finally safe. Free.

Damn, he wished he could be the one to tell her that. To tell her so many things he—

“And two,” Taggart said, bringing Brock out of his thoughts, “is we’ve got a big fucking problem on our hands.”

“Why?” Lockhart said, frowning.

“The cartel’s still functioning as if nothing’s happened.”

“What, you mean financially? That’s not so weird, it could just be the accountants or whatever moving money around. It’ll take a few more days for us to see the disruptions kick in,” Brock said.

Taggart shook his head. “Under normal circumstances I would agree with you. But the reason I couldn’t pick you up this morning is because I was called into an emergency meeting.”

Brock went to lean forward and brace his elbows on his knees, winced and sat up, putting his left hand to his healing ribs. God, he was glad the bastard who had done this to him was dead. “And?”

“El Escorpion is still active.”

Brock shook his head. “That’s impossible. Nieto gave Oceane Diaz’s name, and he checked out with the DEA as being the head. Now he’s dead.”

“Nope. There’s been new activity within the cartel over their network in the past few hours. Chatter about new operations, issued in exactly the same way that el Escorpion always has.” He paused a moment, letting the gravity of it hit home. “El Escorpion is still active, and it’s too soon for anyone to have replaced Diaz yet, which means he was never the head of the cartel.”

Brock stared at him in stunned silence. If Diaz wasn’t el Escorpion, then who the hell was?

****

Maria Diaz splashed more cold water on her face, then patted it with a towel and straightened to look in the mirror over the sink as the train swayed from side to side. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, swollen as her heart was swollen.

Her son was dead. The government had somehow identified Fernando and tracked him to the village where they’d shot him down like a dog in the street.

Through the wall of the connecting stateroom, the sound of muffled sobbing reached her. Maria sighed and closed her eyes a moment. Poor Sophia.

Quietly she eased the door open and stepped inside. Sophia was lying on her side on the bed, curled up in the fetal position, the heartbreaking sounds of her grief making more tears prick Maria’s eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed and set a gentle hand on her daughter-in-law’s shuddering back. “I know, cariña. I know it hurts.”

Sophia didn’t move, only began to cry harder.

Maria drew in a bracing breath. “He was a good man, and you were a good wife to him. He loved you and the children more than anything.” She sat there stroking Sophia’s back for long minutes. “It’s going to be hard, but we must be strong. For the children. We don’t want to upset them. As far as they’re concerned, their father is only away on business. They’ll learn the truth soon enough.”

“My heart is b-broken,” Sophia sobbed.

“I know, dear one. Mine too.” But she still had work to do, and it couldn’t wait, even for a broken heart.

She waited another minute, and when Sophia continued to weep inconsolably, lost her patience. “I’ll go to the children,” she said as she stood and headed for the door. “You can come join us when you’ve composed yourself again.”

She found her grandchildren in the car where she’d left them with their books. Putting on a smile, she sat between them on the luxuriously padded bench as the Panamanian scenery flashed past out the window and put an arm around each of them. “Should we play a card game?”

“Oh, yes,” Isa cried, setting down her book and reaching for the deck of cards on the table in front of her.

Everyone thought Fernando had been the head of the cartel. She mentally snorted at the thought. The men in charge of the investigation were all so fucking stupid. No one would ever suspect a seventy-two-year-old woman of being capable of running such a formidable organization.

She hadn’t survived, risked and sacrificed so much all these years—sacrifices that now included her only child—just to surrender now. No. Fernando’s death had to mean something. Had to be worth it for his children, or Maria couldn’t live with it.

“All right, seven cards each. No peeking,” she said as she dealt the deck for a game of rummy. “We’ll play for the gummy bears I put in my purse.”

---