She gestured in the direction of the refrigerator and cabinets. “Everything is fully stocked.”

  He nodded. “They always have it ready for guests and family members.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “It’s quite an organization that your family has here.”

  “It is,” he said and hoped she wouldn’t take the discussion to where it usually went when his family was involved, namely, that he should leave the force and join South Beach Security.

  Luckily she didn’t say anything more as she handed him a plate with the buttered toast and a large mug with the coffee, then set out a plate and mug for herself.

  He sat on a stool at the breakfast bar, and she took a spot a few feet away on another stool. “I knew it was successful, but I guess I never realized how successful,” she admitted.

  He shrugged, uncomfortable with where their chat was going and hating the bite in his words as he said, “You mean the huge home on Palm Island, private schools and fancy cars wasn’t a clue?”

  Her lips thinned into a tight line. “Clueless, right, but to me, all I saw was this amazing loving family. And Carolina and Mia never had their noses up in the air, even after they found out I was a scholarship student. Your abuelos and parents either.”

  He couldn’t deny what she said. Despite the wealth and fame the family had achieved, they’d never acted uppity like some nouveau riche, maybe because they knew how hard it was to earn that success.

  “We never let it get to our heads,” he said as he dunked his toast into the coffee and then brought the sopping mess to his mouth. “Mmm, delicious. Gracias for prepping it.”

  “Had to do something while you were playing Sleeping Beauty,” she teased and dunked her own bread.

  “The pain pills knock me out, but you could have woken me up,” he said and couldn’t resist adding, “A kiss would do it, verdad?”

  A bright stain of color flooded across her cheeks and her hand shook as she picked up her coffee cup to drink the café con leche.

  Grinning, he raised his own cup, filled with the delicious mix of coffee, milk, sugar and the buttery remnants from the toast. As he did so, he noticed the laptop sitting on the dining room table and inclined his head in its direction. “I guess you were doing more than making breakfast.”

  She nodded and sipped her coffee. “I wanted to know more about this Wilson guy. Also, about the history of MCP and its owners.”

  “Find out anything interesting?” he asked.

  A hesitant shrug came as she dipped her toast into the coffee again. “Wilson is known as a player. He owns a home in the Indian Creek section, but regularly has his parties at the Del Sol.”

  “I guess he doesn’t want to leave trash in his own backyard,” he said, thinking that it made it easier to hide evidence when you had the hotel cleaning crew coming in to cover up any mess that you’d made.

  “That’s very possible. Hopefully Carolina and Mia can fill us in on what happens at those parties, although there are lots of photos online. News reports. Social media posts with photos tagging him.”

  “I’m sure they all paint a rosy picture, but we both know that can hide real evil,” he said, recalling the many photos of celebrities and politicians who had eventually been revealed as serial predators.

  “We do, but my gut is telling me we should be looking toward Walsh and MCP more,” she said, as she retrieved her laptop and placed it on the counter between them.

  She scrolled to the company’s website and said, “MCP has been family-owned for generations. The latest CEO is Aaron Santana, the grandson of the founder. Ivy League graduate. MBA. His father passed the reins to him about five years ago, but things haven’t been going all that well since he took over.”

  “Why is that?” Trey asked.

  Roni tapped a few keys and pulled up an article on a business site with the glaring headline “MCP Suffers from Loss of Mom and Pop Businesses.” “They’d been supplying predominantly small grocery stores and bodegas but with the advent of big-box stores and larger grocery chains, they lost more and more of their customers. Santana began a pivot to overcome that, but the business is struggling.”

  “What’s that old saying? The first generation sows it, the second generation grows it and the third generation blows it,” Trey said and grimaced, obviously seeing how the saying could eventually apply to his own family.

  She nodded. “Not in every family, but in this case, Santana might need other ways to make up for the loss of that income. Could be money laundering. Drugs or human trafficking.”

  “Especially if they have a bunch of warehouses sitting around empty. Easy enough to hide all kinds of things there,” he said, considering all the research that Roni had done.

  “Hopefully Sophie and Rob can find out more about who owns that Terminal Island property,” she said.

  He gobbled down the last of his toast and jerked a thumb in the direction of his bedroom. “I’m going to take a shower and get dressed.”

  Roni nodded. “Hopefully your cousins can give us some more info on Walsh so we can decide what to do. I’m going to call Heath and see what he’s got for us.”

  He arched a brow at her mention of her new partner. She immediately reacted with, “I’ll be careful with what I tell him.”

  He nodded. “I called Eddie. His voice mail is still working, which I hope is a good thing. Maybe we can get someone at the station to triangulate Eddie’s cell phone signal because we can’t keep on waiting on him to get back to us.”

  “I’m going to try and find out more about Santana and MCP.”

  “I appreciate that, Roni. Working with you... You’re a good cop, but then again, I think I always knew that,” he said and hurried from the room, not wanting to give away more of what he was feeling about her.

  Pride, but worry as well. When Carolina and Mia had told him that Roni was joining the force, that had been his first reaction. Silly, because there were a number of women on the force.

  But those other women weren’t Roni. My Roni, he had to admit, not that he’d ever done anything about his feelings for her. After Doug’s death and his own shooting, it was time to reevaluate what he wanted in life. Where he was going. And although he didn’t want to admit it to his family, his thoughts had gone to his possibly leaving the force for a safer profession and a more normal life.

  The big question was whether that more normal life would include Roni.

  Chapter Nine

  Roni sat at the dining room table as Sophie and Rob provided the information they’d discussed the night before. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much more.

  “Whoever made these bank deposits is a sophisticated hacker. They’ve spoofed their IP addresses quite well,” Sophie said.

  “Would Wilson have been able to do this?” Trey asked as he glanced at the notes his cousins had printed out for them.

  Rob sat back uneasily. “Hacking is not normally his thing. He’s more into AI-based algorithms for learning and predictive behavior modeling, but he might have people working for him who could do this.”

  “Carolina and Mia could give you a better read on Wilson. Maybe even get you invited to one of the parties,” Sophie said.

  Roni mumbled a curse under her breath for passing up the invite from Wilson’s goon, but it would be better to get impressions on the tech millionaire with Trey at her side.

  “We’ll talk to them later,” Trey said.

  Sophie shut down her laptop. “We’ll keep working on the bank accounts and more info on the MCP locations. Also, the ownership of the Terminal Island property.”

  Rob followed suit and stood. “Time for us to go and leave you to your investigation,” he said.

  Once his cousins had left, Trey said, “Have you called Heath yet?”

  She shook her head. “I was waiting to call him and see what he had for me on the hotel staff.”

  “I’m not sure we should share what we know about Walsh yet or bring him in for questioning at the moment,” he said.

  “I agree that we shouldn’t tip our hand that we know who he is. I’d like to see if we can get Walsh’s cell phone records. Financials. Sunpass. All the standard things to see where he’s been and who he’s been talking to,” she said, thinking of all the regular ways at her disposal as a police officer.

  “And get the phone providers to track Eddie’s phone if they can. Hopefully he’s not smart enough to shut off his Wi-Fi and location services,” Trey said and gestured to her phone. “I guess it’s time to call Williams.”

  “It is and if you don’t mind, I’d like to mention our tech millionaire Wilson. See how he reacts and what he does with that information,” she said, hoping that they’d be able to discover more about whether her new partner was trustworthy.

  “I like that idea since up until now, Wilson hasn’t come up during our investigations. Your partner’s response to that could help us.”

  With that, Roni dialed her partner, who immediately answered. “Good morning, Roni.”

  “Morning, Heath. How’s it going?”

  “I have the info you wanted. Hotels sent it over late last night. I’ll email it to you,” Heath said. In the background, she could hear the familiar sounds of activity in the squad room—the chatter of officers, phones ringing.

  A swoosh from her phone alerted her to the new email in her mailbox.

  “Thanks, Heath. I want to ask you for a favor. I came across an interesting guy last night at Del Sol,” she offered, her gaze locking with Trey’s as she spun a tale for her new partner.

  “I thought you were on vacation,” Heath challenged, but she sensed humor in his words and not mistrust.

  “Are you ever really on vacation when you’re a cop?” she teased right back and continued. “I went out for drinks with a friend, and we were invited to a party in the penthouse. Some guy named John Wilson reserves it pretty regularly, from what I gathered.”

  A pause came, but not overly long. “Never heard of the guy. I can ask around for you if you want.”

  She had to make a split-second decision, but nothing about the call so far had raised alarms about her new partner. “That would be helpful but try to keep it low-key. We don’t want to spook him if there’s more to it.”

  “Will do,” he said without hesitation.

  She was about to hang up when Heath said, “Did Ramirez track you down yesterday?”

  She started, surprised by the question. “IAD Ramirez?” she asked, and Trey sat up higher at the mention of the cop.

  “Yeah, that Ramirez. He came by asking for you right after you took a break. I told him you were at Barnacle Bill’s,” he said matter-of-factly, as if he’d done nothing wrong by providing the information.

  “I didn’t talk to him. I guess we missed each other. Thanks for the heads-up,” she said and swiped to end the call.

  * * *

  “RAMIREZ WANTED TO talk to you?” Trey asked, narrowing his gaze to study her as she responded.

  She shrugged, but the action was stilted and tense. “He and Anderson are talking to everybody about what happened that night.”

  Just like they had talked to him, only... His gut was telling him there was more to Ramirez’s visit to see Roni and none of it was good. “Ramirez knew where you were before Walsh tried to run you down. The question is, what did he do with that information?”

  Roni shook her head, clearly distressed by what he was implying, maybe because she was thinking the same thing. “You think Ramirez is the dirty cop? The one who’s pointing the finger at Doug to hide his own criminality?”

  Trey paced the floor as he tossed out the thoughts racing through his head. “Possibly. Now we have another suspect to add to the list. Walsh and Santana. Wilson and his slick sidekick. Your new partner. This case is getting more and more hairy every second.”

  “It is but we will solve it. And for the record, after chatting with Heath, I’m not sure he should be on our list,” Roni said, then rose and walked over to stop his nervous pacing by laying a hand on his arm.

  He met her hazel gaze. It was clear and filled with conviction. Because she was a good cop with great instincts, he trusted her assessment. “Okay, one down. Let’s see what your partner can find out about Wilson. In the meantime, I want to check out the address my cousins gave us for Walsh’s residence before we head to the MCP offices.”

  Roni nodded. “That sounds like a good plan.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  WALSH’S HOME WAS in Coral Gables, one of the nicer Miami neighborhoods.

  “A security guard maybe makes $40-or $50K, right?” Trey said as they parked up the block from their suspect’s home. “Makes you wonder how he can afford a house like this.”

  Roni swiped her phone screen and pulled up data on the home. “According to this real estate website, this house is worth about $695,000. Not the kind of digs for your typical security guard.”

  Trey started the car and they drove past the home slowly. Roni inspected it for signs of anything unusual, but other than some well-placed security cameras, there was nothing to set it apart from the other homes on the block.

  “Time to head to the MCP offices,” she said and within twenty minutes they were pulling into a parking lot for the MCP building on Brickell Avenue. One of the more modern structures along the avenue, it was over twenty stories sheathed in white marble, with pale green glass windows and stainless-steel trim. All along the base of the building were lushly landscaped areas that broke up the sterility of the marble, glass and steel. Near the front door an oculus window provided a view into the gleaming marble lobby.

  Roni paused there, peering inside the lobby to gauge where the security guards might be, but the reception desk was at the farthest end of a long lobby. “Can’t see anything,” she said and risked a quick look at him.

  He nodded. “Time to go in, but first...” He reached over and tucked a loose strand of her hair underneath the baseball cap she was wearing. Earlier that morning, they had run back by the precinct where a fellow officer had supplied fake courier jackets and caps in order for them to go undercover and hopefully keep Walsh from identifying her.

  Together they entered the lobby and walked over to the reception area, all the time scanning the interior for any sign of their unsub.

  Roni saw no signs of Walsh on the main level.

  At the desk, the guard looked them up and down and held his hand out for the delivery, clearly intending to not let them enter the building.

  “Sorry, but I’ve got to get a signature for this,” Trey said and tapped to the spot on a fake delivery form that said, “Signature Required.”

  “No can do. No one goes up without an appointment,” he said and shook his head. He was a large Latino man with a clean-shaven head and bulging muscles that stretched the fabric of his light blue shirt. A patch on his elbow identified the local security guard company that employed him.

  Trey leaned close to the guard and jerked his head in her direction. In low pleading tones, he said, “Mira, mano. Don’t make me look bad in front of my trainee. Por favor.”

  The security guard looked from him to her, and then reluctantly dipped his head and unlocked the gate for them to pass through. “Twenty-sixth floor.”

  They walked to the elevator bank, but the whole time Roni was scanning the lobby, memorizing as much as she could about the area. The elevator arrived quickly and after they entered, it rose speedily into another reception area where a large stainless-steel sign on one wall declared MCP Enterprises.

  A receptionist sat at a large desk made of white lacquer and more stainless steel. On either side of the lobby were two security guards, but unlike the blue-shirted man in the lobby, these men were in well-tailored suits with pressed white shirts, and red-and-white striped ties.

  One of them was Miguel Walsh.

  It took all her willpower to not go over and cuff him. But if they wanted to find her two missing college students and who was behind the human trafficking ring, they couldn’t rush. Even if she only had two more days away from the precinct before her absence was going to raise questions about what was happening with the investigation.

  At the desk, Trey handed over the fake delivery envelope and the young woman said, “Turn right past the glass doors and go straight to the very end. Mr. Santana’s administrative assistant will sign for it.”

  “Thank you,” he said and gestured for her to follow him through the doors the receptionist unlocked.

  They turned as the young woman had instructed and as they did so, Roni looked around, getting a feel for MCP Enterprises.

  The employees walking in and around the cubicles and offices were well-dressed in business casual clothes, but there were a number of empty cubicles, making her wonder if there had been a reduction in staff due to their financial problems.

  At the corner, an attractive African American woman sat at a large and imposing desk, almost as if she was standing guard, in front of a corner office where a man lounged in a chair, his back to them as he spoke on the phone. The interior and exterior walls were all glass, providing breathtaking views of the skyscrapers along Brickell and beyond them the waters of the Miami River and Biscayne Bay.

  When the man turned and hung up, she was able to identify that it was Aaron Santana, the current CEO of MCP Enterprises. She had seen pictures of him as they’d done their research, but the man sprawled in the chair looked aged, troubled, given the deep furrows in his brow and along the tight lines at the edges of his lips.

  He shot a quick glance in their direction, but then picked up the phone again and turned away from them.

  “Busy man,” she said without thinking.

  In a sympathetic tone the administrative assistant said, “He’s got a lot on his plate.”