Strong hands jerked her back to safety and against a rock-hard chest as the car flew by and into the intersection, narrowly avoiding a collision with two other cars before speeding away.

  Trey’s powerful arms wrapped around her and held her steady in the protective gap between two parked cars. Her body trembled as adrenaline poured through her, igniting her nerve endings.

  “Are you okay?” Trey whispered against her ear. His warm, fresh breath spilled against the side of her face, and his reassuring squeeze calmed her.

  “I’m okay.” She turned in his embrace to meet his concerned gaze and cupped his cheek. “Gracias.”

  “Idiot kids racing,” he said and shook his head.

  Only, Roni was certain it hadn’t been an idiot kid. “It was intentional, Trey.”

  LOST IN LITTLE HAVANA

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  Caridad Piñeiro

  New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Caridad Piñeiro is a Jersey girl who just wants to write and is the author of nearly fifty novels and novellas. She loves romance novels, superheroes, TV and cooking. For more information on Caridad and her dark, sexy romantic suspense and paranormal romances, please visit www.caridad.com.

  Books by Caridad Piñeiro

  Harlequin Intrigue

  South Beach Security

  Lost in Little Havana

  Cold Case Reopened

  Trapping a Terrorist

  Decoy Training

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Ramon Gonzalez, III (Trey)—Marine Trey Gonzalez serves Miami Beach as an undercover detective. The son of two well-known police officers, Trey has to deal with the legacy of his family and their agency, South Beach Security. Determined to solve the murder of his partner, Trey turns to his family’s agency for help.

  Roni Lopez—Undercover police detective Roni Lopez has known the Gonzalez family all her life. Best friend to Trey’s sister, Mia, she’s had a crush on Trey forever. When Trey asks her to help investigate his partner’s murder, Roni hopes she can help him get justice for his partner...but she also hopes Trey can think of her as more than his little sister’s annoying friend.

  Mia and Carolina Gonzalez—Trey’s younger sister, Mia, and cousin Carolina run a successful lifestyle and gossip blog and are invited to every important event in Miami. That lets “the twins” gather a lot of information about what is happening in Miami to help Trey with his current investigation.

  Josefina (Sophie) and Robert Whitaker, Jr.—Trey’s cousins are genius tech gurus who work at South Beach Security and help with various investigations.

  Thank you to my lovely daughter, Samantha, for being my best friend and such an inspiration. I am so proud of all that you’ve accomplished with your writing and can’t wait to see what you do next.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Excerpt from Wyoming Christmas Stalker by Juno Rushdan

  Chapter One

  Music pounded out of speakers while a DJ positioned on a stage above the crowded dance floor, like a high priest at the altar, orchestrated the electronic beats. Tourists dressed in bright tropical hues danced and gyrated beside top model wannabes and disinterested locals. Overhead lights and strobes bathed them in a wash of neon color.

  The South Beach nightclub was lit but danger lurked beneath all that glitter and glamour.

  Miami Beach Detective Trey Gonzalez stood at one side of the packed club, searching for the confidential informant who had called to say he had info that might be of interest. His partner, Doug Adams, had gone off on his own earlier to meet his own CI and hadn’t returned. As Trey scanned the area, he caught sight of his sister Mia and cousin Carolina jockeying for spots at the bar. The two women had been born on the same day and were almost inseparable, which was why everyone teasingly called them the Twins. As they were two of Miami’s top influencers, he wasn’t surprised to see them there since they regularly covered the club scene for their popular lifestyle blog. But he was worried that they might get caught up in the nasty things going on at the club.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket, dragging his attention from the Twins. When he had time, he’d have to warn his sister and cousin away from this location. He pulled out his phone. His CI was calling.

  “¿Donde estas, Eddie?” he asked, wondering where the man was since Trey hadn’t spotted him in the club.

  “Mano, I can’t show my face tonight,” Eddie said in hushed tones, making it hard for Trey to hear over the almost deafening music.

  To combat the noise, Trey hurried outside into a Miami night that was so steamy it was like he had walked into a sauna. “¿Que pasa?”

  “There’s too much going down at the club, Trey,” his CI said nervously and slightly out of breath, as if he was running from something. Was it personal Eddie issues or something bigger that might be dangerous to the Twins and other innocent bystanders?

  “Caray, Eddie. What’s happening?” Trey said, worried. Plus, his partner would be wondering where he had gone since they might be missing some of the drug dealing that he and his partner were undercover to prevent.

  In a rapid-fire burst of words, Eddie spilled his sketchy story. “Looking for me there. I know about the women in a shipping container on Terminal Island. Sending them overseas to a human trafficking ring. Soon.”

  Trey would normally turn over that kind of case to other detectives in his precinct, but before he did, he wanted to confirm Eddie’s information for himself. If Eddie was right, those women might not have much time left before being sold into slavery.

  “Are you sure, Eddie?” he asked, since his CI was being a little too squirrelly, which sometimes meant his info was less than reliable.

  “I’m sure, Trey. This is not good, mano,” Eddie said, his tone urgent and choppy, as if he was at a full-out run. A millisecond later, the call ended.

  Trey stared at his cell phone, puzzled. He tried to call Eddie back, but he didn’t answer.

  Both annoyed and worried, Trey rushed back into the club to look for his partner.

  * * *

  MIAMI BEACH DETECTIVE Roni Lopez worked her way through the club, her walk one that any fashion model on a catwalk would envy. She was there to draw the attention of the man they suspected of having abducted a number of women in the South Beach area. Roni had only the barest information on the alleged kidnapper and a police sketch from a woman who had luckily managed to avoid a similar fate. The man might also be responsible for the disappearance days earlier of two college students.

  As Roni neared the bar, she caught sight of her best friends, Mia and her cousin Carolina. They were dressed to the nines in dresses that had to be designer and Louboutins with their distinctive red soles. Mia’s almost seal-black hair was cut short in a stylish bob while Carolina’s hair hung in soft waves to her shoulders. Men scrambled around them, eager to buy them drinks, but her friends politely refused the offers.

  She sauntered over for a quick hello and to warn them about the club—that it was a possible hunting ground for a kidnapper, although her friends were unlikely targets. As well-known influencers, their disappearance would bring too much attention. It was much easier to grab women who would not be missed as quickly, like sex workers. That was why she had been surprised to find that the college students had been taken while on a school trip. Their absence had been noted within 48 hours.

  Roni slipped an arm around her friends’ waists and dropped quick kisses on their cheeks. She wiped away a red lipstick stain she left behind on Mia’s cheek.

  Mia smiled and said, “Hola, mi amiga. What brings you here tonight?”

  In a whisper so that only her friends could hear, she said, “Work, unfortunately.”

  “You and Trey. You just missed him,” Carolina said and tossed her head toward the far side of the club.

  Roni looked that way, but Trey was nowhere to be found.

  “Disappointed?” Mia teased, well aware that Roni had once had a massive crush on her older brother. That crush had dimmed but not totally disappeared, given the way her heart had jumped at the mention of Trey’s name. But he was Mia’s brother as well as a fellow Miami Beach police detective and therefore definitely off-limits.

  “Been there, done that,” Roni lied and shot a quick look around again, searching for the handsome detective. She didn’t see Trey, but she suddenly spied Trey’s partner, Doug Adams, speaking to a man who looked way too much like the police sketch of her possible suspect. She was about to walk over when Doug’s gaze locked with hers.

  Doug’s eyes widened i
n surprise, and he quickly leaned toward the other man to say something. The man looked her way, his blue eyes as flat as a shark’s, rousing a chill in her center. Dangerous eyes. Maybe even the eyes of a kidnapper.

  She took a step toward them, but they separated and raced off in different directions.

  Roni muttered a curse under her breath and murmured a hasty goodbye to her friends. “Gotta run. Stay safe, okay.”

  “You, too,” they said in unison as Roni hurried after the man with the cold dead eyes.

  * * *

  TREY SEARCHED THE club for his partner. If Eddie was right, women’s lives were at stake, and they had to get moving to investigate what was happening on Terminal Island.

  A second later, Doug dashed out of the back room, his head hunched down into his shoulders, like he was trying to hide from someone. Doug peered around the room, clearly uneasy. Concerned, Trey hustled over to him, but Doug jerked his head in the direction of the exit.

  On the street, Doug continued to scan the area, but as they blended into the pedestrians strolling along Ocean Drive, his partner relaxed. Doug’s earlier nervousness was out of character for the man he’d been working with for the last five years. Doug was normally laid-back even in the most difficult of situations.

  “What’s up, mano?” Trey asked, but his friend only shrugged and said, “Nothing, dude.”

  Trey scrutinized his partner, not satisfied by his curt reply. “You seem spooked.”

  “It’s nothing, Trey,” he insisted. “What did Eddie have to say?”

  With each step that they got away from the club his partner’s tension eased, so Trey left it alone and reported on his CI’s information. “Eddie says there’s something going down on Terminal Island. Women waiting to be trafficked.”

  At his words, Doug’s shoulders tightened up again and Trey’s gut warned him something was totally wrong with his partner.

  Doug tossed him a nervous look. “Do you believe him?”

  With a shrug, Trey said, “There’s a reason they call him ‘Eddie la Rata.’” Despite that, there had been an urgency in Eddie’s voice that warned there was a lot of truth to his story.

  “But when you see him, you’ll still gave the rat a Benjamin for the info,” Doug said, doubt obvious in his tone.

  With another shrug, Trey said, “Have to keep the info flowing. Besides, it’s a slow night. We might as well check it out.”

  “Might as well,” Doug echoed, but Trey detected conflict in his partner. Apprehension snaked through his gut that Doug was keeping something from him.

  When they reached the spot where earlier that night they had parked Trey’s restored Camaro SS, they got in and Trey cruised down Ocean Drive. As he drove, Trey searched the nighttime crowds in front of the hotels and restaurants along the street and then skipped his gaze over to Lummus Park. He identified several of the locals he knew to be trouble, before shooting a quick glance at his partner, who had likewise been keeping track of the comings and goings along the strip.

  Doug kept silent as Trey pulled off Ocean Drive and headed to the MacArthur Causeway and Terminal Island. The location was home to a number of cargo and yacht facilities as well as a coast guard station and the Fisher Island Ferry and according to Eddie, the shipping container with the women who would soon be sold into slavery.

  Because there was regular traffic from the ferry and businesses on the island, Trey was a little doubtful about Eddie la Rata’s story. Even if it was true, it had to be a small-time operation if anyone hoped to keep their human trafficking secret. Too much activity was bound to draw attention. But if there was even one woman in trouble, Trey thought, it was worth investigating if they could stop the kind of misery awaiting her.

  “If there is some truth to it, we’ll have to call in our friends in Miami-Dade,” he said. Terminal Island was under the jurisdiction of the Miami-Dade police and not his Miami Beach department.

  “Makes you wonder if they don’t already know about this and we’re wrecking one of their investigations.” Doug drummed his fingers along the edge of the closed window of the car.

  “More reason to call and let them know we’re visiting.” It hit him again that Doug wasn’t keen on checking out Eddie’s story, but Trey wasn’t about to be dissuaded. Too much was at stake.

  He phoned one of their local contacts to give him the heads-up and the man quickly said, “I think you’re barking up the wrong tree, chico.”

  “Probably, but we didn’t want to step on any toes. We’ll let you know if we dig anything up,” Trey replied and hung up after the man thanked him. The Miami-Dade detective also promised to call it into their dispatch center so others would be aware of their location.

  They exited onto Terminal Island and Trey slowed the car to a crawl and shut off the headlights. He wanted to stay undetected in the more deserted parts of the island. Opening the windows, he listened for sounds of anything unusual. The humidity of the Miami night filled the car along with the odors of diesel fuel and rotting fish. In the distance, the whir of car tires from the causeway mingled with the slap of waves against boat hulls in the nearby marina.

  Trey slowly maneuvered the car around the access road past a utility company’s power plant. A number of shipping containers sat nearby in a fairly dark and less-traveled area. He parked the car and he and Doug exited the vehicle and made the rounds in and around the first few containers. Their shoes crunched on the gravel while the bright beams of their flashlights pierced the dark gloom around the hulking shapes.

  Trey was vigilant for signs of anything out of the ordinary. He swiveled his head back and forth, peering into every nook and cranny, but there was nothing. Nada. Eddie’s story was smelling fishier than the stink coming off the nearby waters.

  All was quiet until they reached an area between the entrance to a cargo facility and a storage area for a marina on the island. Ahead of him Trey noticed a trio of shipping containers tucked into a far corner. The muffled sounds of voices and metal scraping on metal, the noise like nails on a chalkboard, drifted into the night from inside the container.

  The hackles on the back of Trey’s neck rose sharply. Despite the heat of the night, a chill clawed into his center and his heart jumped in his chest. This is so not good.

  With a quick glance at Doug, Trey motioned for him to pull back, uneasy. His partner and he were likely outmanned and outgunned. Best to wait for backup. His partner took shelter behind a nearby storage shed and Trey met him there.

  “Looks like Eddie was telling the truth,” Doug said and peered from around the corner of the shed. The grate of metal doors shifting grew loud in the quiet of the night.

  Trey likewise risked a look. The door on one of the shipping containers opened and the spill of light allowed a glimpse of at least one man sitting at a table inside as another stepped out.

  “We need to call Miami-Dade for backup,” Trey said, and Doug nodded.

  But then a piercing woman’s scream and the loud sound of a slap escaped through the open door before the man could close it. Doug charged ahead, fully exposed in the bright moonlight. The man who had exited the container spotted him, drew his weapon and fired. Round after round spit from his submachine gun and chased Doug as he raced for protection.

  Trey shot at the man, trying to provide cover for Doug, drawing the man’s fire in his direction. Sparks flew as the bullets hit the shed, driving him back. But as the shooting turned back toward Doug, he peered out.

  Two other men raced out of the container, guns drawn. They opened fire on Doug’s position. His partner stumbled and fell back.

  Trey cursed, grabbed his cell phone and quickly phoned for backup. “Officer down. Officer down,” he said and spit out a location to the dispatcher.

  Shadows raced out from around the shipping container, armed men heading toward his partner. Too many. A cold sweat erupted across Trey’s body. He tightened his grip on his weapon and sucked in a rough breath, preparing himself.

  He couldn’t wait for backup if he was going to save Doug.

  “Police! Drop your weapons!” he shouted, well aware they wouldn’t comply. As more gunshots rang out, he rushed forward, shooting at the men to draw their attention. His heart pounded in his chest as fear and adrenaline raced through his veins.