As she hung up her clothes, she turned the problem of the mole over in her mind, unable to fathom who would betray the Department . . . or was it only a betrayal of her personally? Had a traitor been in their ranks for years, or recruited recently to spy on her?

  A thought hit her, bringing a fresh wave of guilt followed by a groan. She’d forgotten to call her mother. Again. Even if she had remembered, there hadn’t been time for a serious conversation. And her mother wanted a personal visit. When would there be time for that? She glanced at the clock. Too late to call. Mamá rose early to start cooking and usually went to bed soon after sunset. It would have to wait for tomorrow.

  She recalled what her mother said at the party. She had accused Veranda of keeping secrets and telling lies. And hinted that she had done the same.

  Her cell phone’s vibration interrupted her reverie. She pulled it from her pocket and glanced at Sam’s terse message.

  Encanto @ 0630 Tomorrow. I’Ll Pick You up.

  She acknowledged the text and contemplated what to tell Sam. Bartolo’s comments had clearly made her partner suspect there was something she hadn’t told him. And there was.

  How much longer could she keep her secret about why she had targeted the Villalobos organization?

  She thought about Sergeant Diaz poking into her background as he investigated her shooting and sighed. Soon it would all come out anyway. Bartolo had made it clear that he knew why she’d recruited Flaco. He had also hinted that there was more he knew about her.

  Should she confide in Sam before he found out from someone else? It pained her to keep secrets from him. When he learned the truth, he would know that she had kept critical information about her background from the Department for years. Would he understand why she did it, or would he refuse to work with her?

  Chapter 23

  Veranda awoke to her cell phone’s rhythmic buzzing on the nightstand. Disoriented from the unfamiliar environment, she fumbled for the device so long that the call went to voicemail.

  She squinted blearily at the screen. Five in the morning. She touched the voicemail icon and heard her sister Gabby’s frantic voice.

  “Veranda, come to the restaurant right away. The fire department is here. It’s burning to the ground. Mamá is freaking out. Hurry!”

  Dread pierced Veranda’s heart as she sprang into action. Years of midnight callouts had trained her well. She showered, dressed in her tactical gear, and flew out the door in less than ten minutes.

  The Impala’s tires screeched as she careened around curves on deserted streets in the dim light of daybreak. She swerved into the restaurant parking lot and vaulted out of the car.

  Fire engines, ladder trucks, and assorted rescue vehicles jutted at odd angles over the entire area. Red lights flashed as helmeted firefighters in beige turnouts with reflective striping and black boots dragged thick hoses toward the flaming structure. Police patrol cars, blue lights rotating, were parked beside the fire apparatus.

  She had witnessed many fire scenes in her career, but they had never taken her breath away like this one did. She spun, searching for her family, and finally spotted her mother on the other side of the parking lot, speaking to someone.

  One of Lorena’s hands clutched her heavy silver necklace as she spoke to a tall russet-haired man in a black golf shirt and khaki cargo pants. The man took notes on a metal clipboard.

  Veranda called out as she ran to her mother. “Mamá, is everyone okay?”

  Her mother stopped talking and tapped the man on his arm, pointing at Veranda. Captain Cole Anderson turned, concern tightening his features.

  As soon as Veranda was within reach, Lorena flung both arms around her. “We are all safe, mija. We got a call from the alarm company. Tío Rico came out and found—” Lorena gestured toward the flaming building and burst into tears.

  Veranda held her mother and looked up at Cole. “Were you on call?”

  He shook his head. “Got a callout from the Battalion Chief. He knew I already investigated this restaurant.” He looked away, as if considering his next words. “The earlier incident was clearly accidental. I could see that grease had gradually built up in the cooking vent in the attic. All the damage was contained to the inside of the vent, so there was no destruction to the attic itself. Classic grease fire.”

  She stroked her mother’s hair. “Is this one also an accident?”

  He glanced at the firefighters running back and forth, silhouetted by the bright wall of flames. “I won’t know for sure until I determine the cause and origin, but this blaze ripped through the entire building.” He gave her a dark look. “It’s got all the earmarks of a fire fueled by accelerants.”

  It was strange to deal with him in an official capacity after their banter at her mother’s party. He sounded so clinical. Had she spoken like that to victims when she investigated cases? As she continued to hold her mother, an image bubbled up to the surface of her conscious mind. Sam shaking a manila envelope as something tumbled onto her kitchen counter.

  “The matchstick,” she whispered.

  “Pardon?” Cole cupped a hand over his ear and leaned closer to hear her over the shouting firefighters and growling engines.

  “I believe this is arson, and I have information for you.”

  They were joined by her aunt and uncles as well as a growing group of extended family. Gabby had put the word out and everyone responded. Veranda didn’t want them to hear the terrifying details of her burglary.

  She released her mother and turned to address her relatives. “Listen everyone, I need to speak to the arson investigator. I won’t be long. Can you all wait for me over there?”

  She pointed to a far corner of the parking lot next to an adjacent building. They murmured their assent and shuffled in that direction. She watched her tío Rico put an arm around her mother before she turned back to Cole.

  “I need five minutes to make some phone calls, then I’ll join you,” she said.

  He acknowledged her with a brief nod and went to stand by one of the massive fire engines.

  Veranda pulled her phone out and called Sam first. She quickly outlined what happened and what her suspicions were. “Sam, I think this is what that match in the manila envelope meant. It was a message, but we couldn’t understand it until after the fact.”

  “It’s also interesting that Bartolo specifically mentioned matches when we spoke to him. I’ll make all the necessary departmental notifications. Sounds like you’re pretty busy at the scene.”

  “Thanks. I guess it doesn’t matter what you say because it’ll probably be all over the news anyway. The camera crews are here.” She glanced over at Cole. “By the way, Sam, there’s an arson investigator from the Fire Department here. I’m going to bring him in the loop.”

  “Do you think he’ll help us?”

  “There’s no time to explain why, but I trust him.” She gave Sam a moment to digest this.

  “Actually, the arson guy could come in handy,” Sam said after a brief pause. “The mole won’t have access to his investigative files, and he may find some evidence we can use against Bartolo or the rest of the organization. Just don’t mention the mole. No one is supposed to know about that.”

  “Got it.” She glanced at her watch. “Sam, there’s no way I’m going to be finished here in time for our meeting with Commander Murphy at Encanto Park.”

  “I’ll go. You can give him the deciphered text message printout later if he needs to see it.”

  She disconnected and stared at her phone for a long moment. She sighed, pulled a business card out of her pocket, and tapped in the number printed at the bottom.

  A groggy male voice answered. “Sergeant Diaz.”

  She did not apologize for waking him. “This is Detective Cruz. My family’s restaurant is burning down and I’m at the scene with an arson investigator from the Fire Department. He believes the fire was deliberately set, and I agree.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Diaz asked, sounding fully awake.

  Veranda paused, surprised by the concern in his voice. “No one was inside,” she said. “Everyone’s okay. The restaurant is a total loss, though.”

  Her voice caught on the last words as her gaze landed on the bright orange flames and smoke billowing into the morning sky.

  “I’m so sorry, Veranda. I’ll be right there.”

  He had never called her by her first name before, and spoke as if he genuinely cared. Of course, it could be an act if he was the mole.

  “It’s Casa Cruz Cocina in South Phoenix, but there’s no need for you to come out, I just called to notify you as requested.”

  Demanded, more like.

  His tone became more businesslike. “If it turns out to be arson, and targets your family, Bartolo could be behind it. It’ll have a direct bearing on my investigation. I’ll be there shortly.” He disconnected.

  Baffled by Diaz’s abrupt change but too preoccupied to give it much thought, she found Cole waiting for her where she’d left him.

  “I had to notify my chain of command,” she said. “This fire probably involves an ongoing police investigation that I’m part of.”

  He began scribbling on a notebook clamped to a metal clipboard. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

  She explained about the Villalobos family, Flaco, Pablo, and the burglary of her home. She wasn’t sure how much he may have already seen on the news, so she gave him a broad overview.

  Cole’s auburn brows drew closer together as she spoke. Finally, he looked up from his note pad. “You believe this asshole Bartolo set the fire as some sort of warning to you?”

  “More like retribution. I think he’s paying me back for interfering with his family’s business by destroying my family’s business.”

  Cole stared at her for a beat. “So you’re at war with an international crime syndicate?”

  “I used to think so . . . but the burglary and the fire are not standard operating procedure this side of the border. This is far more personal and targeted toward me. Makes me wonder if Bartolo is acting on his own.”

  He lowered the clipboard and took a step toward her. “I think you’re in just as much danger whether it’s an entire organization or one lunatic drug lord.” He was so close she could see faint stubble along his jawline. “Is your department taking care of you? I mean, do you have a security detail or anything?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “They stuck me in a safe house.”

  He waited until she tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “Is that enough? Your life is at risk.”

  “I’m a cop. It’s a risky profession.”

  At that point, the rest of her team began to arrive and Veranda spent the next hour going over every detail of her morning. Commander Webster, Lieutenant Aldridge, Sergeant Jackson, and her entire Homicide squad all responded to the scene after Sam had notified them about the fire. Sam arrived last, no doubt late because he’d been with Commander Murphy.

  She briefed her team about her assumption that the match left in her kitchen during the burglary was a message about torching the family restaurant.

  “Either way, someone’s playing mind games with you now,” Sam said.

  “I think it’s Bartolo acting on his own, and he’s coming unglued,” Aldridge said.

  Veranda addressed Commander Webster, “Boss, I’d like some time with my family. They’ve been through a lot.”

  “Go.” Webster waved a hand. “Take the rest of the day off. We’ll hit your cell if we need you.”

  She found her family clustered by the corner of the building next door. Their number had swelled past twenty as more relatives arrived.

  She called out to get their attention, waiting until they all faced her. “The fire is out now, but it’s unclear how much damage there is. We can’t go inside until after the building is inspected. The worst-case scenario is that the restaurant is a total loss.” She heard several gasps. “We have insurance. We can rebuild if we have to.”

  Her words rang out like a death knell for the family business. Her relatives exchanged anxious glances. Veranda could guess their thoughts. Closing down for the time it would take to rebuild could spell financial disaster. Her heart ached as she watched them cross themselves, clasp hands, and pray.

  She bowed her head but stood apart from her family. They prayed for deliverance. She prayed for forgiveness. She’d brought this destruction into their lives. Her relentless pursuit of Bartolo had done this. Oscar Ramirez, Flaco, and Pablo Moreno were all dead. Now her family’s livelihood was at risk.

  She raised her head and surveyed the scene. Firefighters dragged hoses through sooty puddles of water. Enormous red vehicles choked the street. The stench of charred wood and stucco assaulted her nostrils. Police directed traffic around a barricade. Surrounding business owners stood in front of their stores, hands on hips, shaking their heads.

  She spotted the owner of Power Pawn, Marty Dander, in front of his seedy shop. She couldn’t believe his store hadn’t been incinerated years ago. Dander was the shadiest businessman in town. Angry customers threatened to bomb his place on a weekly basis. Her family referred to him as la cucaracha, because he could survive anything—including a nuclear bomb. And also because he was disgusting.

  She froze. Her eyes traveled to his store’s tiled roof. Her heart beat faster. A video surveillance camera pointed downward in the direction of the restaurant. After repeated vandalism, Dander had set up an elaborate system of cameras that covered not only his store and parking lot, but the street as well.

  Veranda turned to her family. “I have to go and talk to the arson investigator. There’s nothing more you can do here. Why don’t you all go to Mamá’s house and I’ll meet you there later.”

  Without waiting for their response, she picked out a group of firefighters on the perimeter of the scene and jogged over to them. “Where is Captain Anderson?” she asked.

  One of them pointed to a tall figure facing away from her, clipboard in hand. She walked up behind him and tapped his shoulder.

  He looked surprised. “Detective Cruz. I thought you’d be tied up with your team.”

  “My commander gave me the day off, but I need to speak to you.” She pointed across the street from the restaurant. “See that pawn shop? The owner, Marty Dander, is crooked as hell. After thousands of dollars in damage from vandalism and constant death threats, he installed a very sophisticated video system. It covers half the block. I wouldn’t be surprised if one or more of the cameras cover this location too.”

  Cole followed her gaze to the short, pudgy man with a thin comb-over pulled back in a scraggly ponytail. “Is that Dander standing in front of the shop?”

  “That’s him.”

  Cole tucked his clipboard under his arm. “I’d like to speak to him now, but I won’t recognize any suspects or vehicles if he’s got video. You’re the expert. Can you come with me?”

  “You couldn’t keep me away.” She gave her head a small shake. “Plus, you’ll need help with Dander. Don’t expect cooperation.”

  They walked across the street to join Dander. Since it was his investigation, she let Cole take the lead.

  The fire captain towered over the squat proprietor, whose three-day growth spread down his double chin and into the neckline of his stained shirt.

  “I’m Captain Cole Anderson with the Phoenix Fire Department Arson Investigation Unit.”

  Dander gave him a curt nod. “So, you guys think this is arson, huh?”

  “We investigate to determine the cause and origin of all suspicious fires.”

  Dander cut his beady eyes to Veranda. “What’s she doing here?”

  Cole’s jaw tightened. “She’s assisting me on my investigation of this morning’s fire.”

  Dander’s eyes narrowed as he took in her black cargo pants and boots. “I remember when you used to wait tables at your mom’s restaurant, but you’re a cop now. I saw you on the news. You’re mixed up with some drug killing.”

  His jaw slackened as he turned widened eyes to Cole. “Holy shit. She messed with drug traffickers and now they’ve torched her family’s business. I want nothing to do with this.”

  He wrenched open the front door of the shop and darted inside.

  Cole and Veranda followed him.

  Cole began, “Mr. Dander—”

  “Didn’t see nothing. Don’t know nothing. Can’t help you.”

  Cole ignored the interruption. “Your security cameras may have recorded something that could be useful to our investigation.”

  Dander looked up as if he could see the cameras perched on his roof. “Surveillance system’s on the fritz. Hasn’t worked for a week.”

  Veranda stepped around Cole. “Bullshit, Dander.” She put her hands on the counter and took in the glittering assortment of Rolex watches, heirloom jewelry, and gold coins. “How about I call the pawn shop detail and get them down here? I’m sure they could carve out some time to go over your books and your inventory.”

  Dander put his hands on his hips, a defiant expression on his pallid face. “It’d take a lot of time to go through that footage. I got eight cameras around this place. Time spent helping you is time away from doing business, and for me . . . time’s money.”

  Cole glared at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Veranda glanced up at him. “He wants us to pay him for his trouble. Classic Dander shakedown.”

  She turned back to the shop owner with a don’t-mess-with-me glare. “You don’t have to spend your precious time. We’ll go through the video files ourselves.” When he made no response, she narrowed her eyes. “If you make me get a warrant, I’ll come back with the entire pawn shop detail.”

  Dander threw up his hands. “The system connects to a laptop in the back room. Follow me.” They trailed him as he stomped back to a cramped office stuffed with notebooks and dusty file cabinets.

  “Enjoy,” he said, slamming the door as he left.