Chapter 1 - Hart of Redemption
Fallyn
The fishy odor from Boston Harbor wafted on the cold November wind as I lay on top of a shipping container, my focus resolute as I looked through the scope of my rifle. My heart was punching my ribs left and right. I swore that anyone within a five-mile radius could hear it.
As many times as I’d been part of a raid with the ATF, my adrenaline was always off the charts. I never had any expectations that I would like this type of job, but it was in my blood.
My dad was a retired FBI director, and my brother, Jason, had been an FBI agent—a good one until he’d gone undercover to bring down Brian McCauley, a front man running drugs for the Colombian cartel, and been killed. At least I believed he was. There wasn’t enough evidence to convict McCauley or any of his associates. According to Jason’s autopsy, he died from a drug overdose, and though he might’ve succumbed to drugs while inside, he would have never taken his own life.
I’d made it my mission to uncover the truth behind his death, but I took a different route and joined the ATF instead of the FBI. I believed it would be the quicker path to finding answers. Unfortunately, by the time I was out in the field, McCauley had already shifted his focus solely to the drug trade and left the work of illegal arms dealing to his longtime friend and associate, Duke Hart.
Sadly, the truth about my brother’s death may never come to light. But I refused to give up. Over the last four years, I’d spent countless hours examining the evidence we had, but there was nothing to indicate he was murdered. The only way I would ever have closure would be if the person responsible for Jason's death confessed or was caught, and that felt like an impossible task. McCauley’s world was not one where people sought redemption or admitted their guilt easily.
“Fallyn, report,” Special Agent Howard said through my comm.
“All quiet for about twelve hundred meters.”
Special Agent in Charge Kyle Howard was leading the raid based on information from his informant, who worked around a few of the Colombian cartel soldiers in Boston.
I wished Brian McCauley were the target for tonight’s operation, but the tip we received pointed at Duke Hart, front man for Rosario Mendoza, head of the Colombian cartel.
Apparently, Duke was meeting with Rosario’s lieutenant, Gustavo Gutierrez, to transfer the weapons—the first step in the chain of custody—before Duke sold them to multiple buyers.
“Stay alert,” Howard said through his comm to the rest of our team, scattered throughout the container yard.
In the dead of night, with only the crescent moon providing a smidge of light, we were essentially ghosts, hidden by shipping containers.
I inhaled and exhaled, regulating my breathing and trying to steady my hand around the rifle. I was the newbie on the team but not new to long-range rifles. I’d recently transferred from LA to Boston’s ATF field office. So I had something to prove.
Agent Bruce Griffin, one of my colleagues, had issues with me. I believed he felt threatened because I was the daughter of a retired FBI director, and he thought I got special compensation and privileges because of my dad. Bruce was off his rocker if he thought my dad’s status would open doors for me. I had to bust my freaking ass through ATF training and do everything by the book.
Lights bounced in the distance, catching my eye.
I swiveled the rifle in that direction. “We got company.”
“We don’t move unless we see the guns. Fallyn will give us the signal,” Special Agent Howard said.
We were assuming the parties would meet inside the warehouse, where I had a bird’s-eye view from my scope into a large window carved into the building.
A moving-style truck rolled to a stop sign about a thousand yards away. Behind it, a cargo van pulled up. In seconds, two masked men jumped out of the passenger side of the cargo van, guns in hand, ran up to the moving truck, and pumped bullets into both of the men inside.
No loud boom, indicating the perps were using suppressors to silence the sound.
“We have a problem,” I said into my comm as the masked perps yanked out the limp bodies and threw them to the ground. “I think it’s an ambush.”
Both masked perps hopped in the moving truck and sped off, with the cargo van on the tail.
I turned the dial one click to my right. “Two bodies are on the ground, not moving. Truck with possible gun shipment is gone.”
“Son of a bitch,” Agent Howard growled out. “Any other activity, as in Duke Hart, his men? The cartel?”
“Negative,” I said as headlights bounced on the cross street. “Wait. Another vehicle is approaching.”
The SUV pulled up to the four-way stop.
The passenger—a beefy guy with a gut—jumped out, jogged over to the bodies, felt for a pulse on both of them, then shook his head at the driver.
I swung my scope to the man behind the wheel.
“Fallyn, what’s going on?” Agent Howard asked, sounding perturbed and antsy.
I dialed in the focus even more. My long-range scope had the means to see close to a mile.
The driver climbed out and lingered close to the SUV, searching the industrial neighborhood.
“I got eyes on Duke Hart and Vince Russo,” I said in a low voice.
I’d read through both of their files until I had just about everything memorized. Vince Russo, second-in-command for Duke, had been joined at Duke’s hip since they were teenagers. No family to speak of, except a brother in prison. The same age as Duke—thirty-three. And, like Duke, had yet to do any jail time.
“Everyone, hold your positions,” Agent Howard ordered. “They might come into the warehouse.”
If they did, we had no evidence to arrest them unless Duke had guns in his SUV. Even then, he wouldn’t have the mother lode we’d been hoping for.
Duke focused in my direction, lifting his cell to his ear.
My freaking heart was pumping blood at warp speed as I held steady. Surely, he couldn’t see me. I was far enough away, and it was dark.
I steadied my breathing, sizing up the imposing criminal I’d seen in a slew of pictures in his file. He was hot as fuck—angular jaw, patrician nose, cold reddish-brown eyes that were more mahogany-colored, close-shaven beard, and thick sandy-brown hair, shorn over the ears.
Duke straightened the beanie on his head as he continued to scan the area, like an expert soldier looking for the enemy in a war-torn city in Iraq. The only thing he didn’t have was a weapon.
“Are you sure it’s Duke Hart?” Agent Howard asked.
The streetlight at the corner provided ample light, and I had no doubt I was looking at Duke Hart.
“Affirmative,” I responded.
Duke lowered his cell, shaking his head furiously as he banged on the hood of his SUV.
“They’re getting in their vehicle. Hold tight,” I said.
From my vantage point, Vince and Duke appeared to be arguing. A beat passed, then Duke made a U-turn and drove back in the direction he’d come.
I blew out the breath I’d been holding. “They’re gone.”
“Everyone, hold your positions in case the cartel shows up,” Agent Howard ordered harshly.
After five minutes, I gave the all clear, muttering several expletives. I thought this was our shot. My teammate and friend, Agent Gwen Holiday, had been attached to the Boston field office for five years, and in that time, she’d said that anything involving Duke Hart was like playing a cat and mouse game. But the cat never won.
A dirty agent came to mind. How could Duke or even McCauley skirt the Feds on every turn? But no one within the federal government—DEA, FBI, or ATF had been investigated. According to my dad, if anyone within the government agencies was corrupt, they were covering their tracks really well.
I doubted a dirty agent was involved tonight. I speculated someone who wanted to fuck Duke or the cartel was responsible for this ambush.
By the time I packed up my gear, most of my team had been deployed to scour the area for anyone suspicious, as in Duke Hart or members of the cartel, who might be idling nearby.
I threw my gear in the van not far from the dead bodies and joined Gwen, Agent Howard, and Bruce by a stop sign.
Gwen, a striking blue-eyed brunette and a badass agent, said to our boss, “Sir, an ambulance is on its way.”
Agent Howard lifted his ATF hat, swiped a hand over his flat brown hair, and shoved his blue ball cap back on. “My informant got it right, but something went wrong.”
Bruce, who was in his late thirties with blond hair and a muscled body, handed our boss the driver’s licenses of the dead. “I believe they’re cartel.”
“Fallyn, did you get a good look at the ones who killed them?” Howard asked.
I shook my head. “They had masks on, but both were lean. I didn’t see the driver of the cargo van either.”
“It seems either Duke or the cartel have an enemy in play here.” Bruce latched on to the collar of his bulletproof vest.
“We don’t know that Hart is innocent here,” Gwen said. “He could’ve staged this to screw with the cartel.”
“Hart seemed pissed when he drove up and found the bodies,” I said.
Agent Howard read both licenses. “Hart is Rosario’s front man. He works for her, and he would never fuck with her.
Whoever did, I pity them. Rosario is one mean bitch and takes no prisoners, especially when she loses good soldiers.”
“And guns,” Bruce mumbled. “A lot of money is gone.”
“The Mexican cartel has been trying to get a foothold in the gun market,” Gwen said. “You think they’re involved?”
Agent Howard rubbed his jaw. “If Arturo Rodriguez is involved, we might be seeing a cartel war play out on the streets of Boston. Motherfucker. When are we going to catch a break? Bruce, I need you to start pulling all the files on Arturo. So far he’s stuck to drugs, which is the DEA’s department.” Agent Howard addressed Gwen. “I need you to poll your contacts on the streets. See if there’s any scuttle on Arturo. Also, we need to take the temperature of the gangs. Gwen, take Fallyn with you.”
I hadn’t been with the team long enough to have any contacts or informants, but I had an idea. “Maybe it’s time to send someone undercover. Either in the cartel or Duke’s organization.”
Everyone stared at me like I’d said I was a dirty agent.
Gwen gnawed on her lip. “Not a bad idea, although if I had to choose one, I would say Duke’s camp. But I’m not volunteering. I’ve had friends who went inside and never came out the same.”
My brother’s plight certainly spoke volumes to her last statement. While a dangerous assignment had more cons than pros, it was a chance for me to maybe learn if Jason’s death had been murder or suicide. After all, I could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Duke was friends with Brian McCauley. Maybe Duke knew of Jason or the details behind his death. Plus, if a cartel war was on the horizon, maybe I could help prevent that from happening.
“It can’t be you, Fallyn,” Bruce scoffed. “You’re a newbie.”
I clenched my teeth. “The fuck I’m not. I’ve been with the ATF for two years. Granted, the majority of that time was in LA. So what if I’ve only been on this team for six months? I still have the experience.”
My boss studied me, his dark gaze in thinking mode. “No one has real-world experience in undercover work. Not even you, Bruce. However, I do think it’s time to take things to the next step. But not in the cartel. Rosario has a team in Boston, but it would be easier to focus on Duke Hart, since he also has legal businesses that we could blend in well. But, Fallyn, your father would never agree. Not after what happened to Jason.”
“My father isn’t ATF, and he’s retired,” I argued, even though Agent Howard was right.
Agent Howard chuckled. “Your father still carries weight within the agencies.”
“Fallyn.” Gwen’s voice was soft and sorrowful. “Your brother, Jason, lost his life inside. Are you willing to risk yours?”
A sharp pain stabbed my chest, as if she’d rammed a dagger into me. “I appreciate your concern. but we risk our lives every day on this job.”
As if a light bulb brightened for Agent Howard, he said, “If you’re volunteering because you think you’ll find answers about Jason, then you might not be the right person, Fallyn. Our attention needs to be solely on the issue we are facing and the potential war that could happen.”
“Which is why I should go in,” Bruce said, his shoulders tense.
I pressed my lips into a thin line. “I’m not going to lie. I want answers on Jason, but I understand what we’re facing. I will do my job, and if the stars align and I find what I’m looking for, then it’s icing on the cake. Besides, I am the perfect candidate because no one on the streets knows me since I am a newbie.” I darted my gaze to Bruce.
Gwen hooked her thumbs in the sleeves of her bulletproof vest. “I’ll check with my sources, but the recent scuttlebutt among the gangs is Mateo Alvarez is looking to make a name for himself since he was forced out of the Southside Creepers. Let’s not forget his brother, Tito, who was pinched four years ago because Hart’s brother, Denim, was trying to break into the gun trade then.”
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Agent Howard chewed on his bottom lip. “I’ll run the undercover op by my superiors.”
Bruce snarled. “Fallyn is wet around the gills.”
I rolled my eyes, wanting to strangle the man. “Is it my newbie status, the fact that I’m a woman, or you dislike that I’m the daughter of the former FBI director?”
“Careful how you answer that, dude,” Gwen said to Bruce.
Bruce shook his head. “All I know is Hart is cunning and lethal and can sniff out a cop before you even realize it. He’ll chew you up and spit you out, and you won’t even know what happened.”
“That applies to you too,” I said between clenched teeth.
“Enough. Sending anyone undercover is not my decision or yours.” Agent Howard flicked his head at the dead bodies. “Gwen and Bruce, help the paramedics. Fallyn, over here.” He stabbed a thumb at a spot by a fence that surrounded another shipping company.
I pushed out a long breath when we were alone. “I can do this.”
He tightened his mouth. “You’ll lose your soul. No one comes out as the same person they were before they went undercover. Are you prepared for that?”
“I’m prepared to do my job.” That was the only answer I had. “And before you say anything, I’m not my brother. Drugs are not my thing.” Jason had experimented with drugs in high school but nothing serious—or so I thought.
A beat of silence bounced between us.
“About two weeks ago, there was an opening for a bartending position at the Monarch nightclub that Hart owns,” Agent Howard said. “I don’t know if it’s still open, but you were a bartender in college, right?”
I nodded. “I also did some moonlighting as a bartender for a friend in LA.”
He sighed. “You should talk to your father. I’ll work my end.”
My stomach churned with excitement and apprehension. “Thank you. If this happens, I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will. I think you’re a great agent. Your superiors and colleagues in LA speak highly of you. I also agree that you’re not Jason. You have fire in you to seek the answers you’re looking for. That alone should help you to stay focused. It’s Hart I’m worried about. Bruce was right. Hart has a nose for cops. So if this op happens, then you need to become a chameleon and adapt to the profile we put together for you.”
I’d taken acting in high school—not that the starring role in Romeo and Juliet deemed me worthy of playing someone I wasn’t on the world stage of criminals and illegal firearms.
But I would do whatever it took to stop a war, and maybe in the end, I would finally get closure on Jason’s death.
