Julio approached the women and smiled. “How was everything?”
Cruz returned his smile. “It was delicious. Thank you very much, Julio.”
He cleared the dishes from Hardy’s table setting. “Was everything to your liking, Miss Dahlia?”
“Of course it was. Thank you for putting this together on such short notice. When you’re ready, I’ll take the check.”
He smiled and shook his head, while he stacked the dishes on the serving tray. “You know the Boss’s rules.” He held up his index finger. “One, you get whatever you want.” He added his middle finger. “Two, you don’t—”
“I don’t pay for anything,” said Dahlia, finishing his sentence, while fumbling with her jacket. She produced a white envelope and handed it to Julio. “Here, this is for you.”
He took and opened the envelope. His eyes widened and he stammered, “Dahlia, I can’t…this is…”
She raised her finger and wagged it at him. “There are no rules against me giving you a Christmas present.” She paused and added, “Take it and treat your wife to something nice.” He struggled to come up with something to say. “That reminds me.” She whipped her head around, leaned over and grabbed a bag off the floor. “This is for Ramon.” She held out a red gift bag. Ramon was Julio’s son.
Taking the bag, he spread the white handles apart and peeked inside. He smiled. “Ramon is going to love this.” Julio stepped closer to the table, gawking at Dahlia. He half lifted his right arm.
Dahlia swung her legs to the right, stood and hugged him. “Merry Christmas, Julio.” Her voice was strained, because her head was cranked backward. Julio was at least six inches taller than she was. “And, give my best to your wife.”
“I will. Merry Christmas, Dahlia.” He released his grip on her and left the room with one of the serving trays.
Once Dahlia had put on her jacket, she arched her back and threw her long hair backward, so it rested on the outside of her jacket. She raised the coat’s zipper halfway before producing a pair of black gloves from the pockets. The long black leather jacket matched her skirt and came to rest at the same height as the hem of the skirt. “Are you ready?” Her voice was curt and she left the table without acknowledging Cruz.
After leaving the restaurant, the women climbed into Dahlia’s navy blue Jeep Renegade, a four-door, four-wheel-drive, subcompact crossover SUV. Dahlia navigated the vehicle into traffic, which was minimal. She pressed her foot down on the accelerator and the Renegade sped forward.
Cruz peered out her window. The women had not said much to each other since Hardy had left them alone. Dahlia had told her the name of the man they were going to see and where he was before walking out of the restaurant with Cruz in tow. Not knowing where to begin, Cruz decided to keep things on a positive note. “That was a nice thing you did back there for Julio.”
“For an assassin, you mean?” Dahlia checked her side view mirror and changed lanes before shooting a quick look at her passenger. “That’s what you meant, right? That was a nice thing to do, for an assassin.”
Turning her head, Cruz observed Dahlia. “That’s not what I said.”
“But, you were thinking it.”
Chuckling and trying to hold back her temper, Cruz glanced out the windshield. “Is this how it’s going to be? Are you going to twist around everything I say? You need to lighten up and not be so defensive.”
Defensive. Dahlia had spent many years playing defense, fighting off false accusations about her actions. She had come to expect the worst from people; however, she was not about to allow this woman to tell her to lighten up. Not attempting to hide her anger, Dahlia shot back at Cruz. “Don’t tell me what to do. I’m not a fool. I see the way you look at me. I hear the condescending tone in your voice. You know my profession, so you think you know everything there is to know about Dahlia St. James, the assassin, the trained killer.” She stuck her finger out toward Cruz. “You don’t know a damn thing about who I really am, or what I’ve gone through. So, just keep your judgments and your pompous looks to yourself and we’ll get along just fine.”
Cruz was not expecting the verbal attack. Pompous. I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.
Several minutes passed, while the women sat in silence. The darkness that surrounded the vehicle and its passengers made the tension inside worse. The Renegade sped through several intersections, never having to stop for red lights.
Cruz thought about her actions and her attitude. She was beginning to think that maybe Dahlia had a point. Hardy had given her a brief synopsis of Dahlia, not getting into any details. Maybe, I’ve been a little too judgmental, she thought, calling to mind her reaction to Dahlia in the OR. She said a short prayer in her mind, asking God for His help in choosing her next words. “Listen, Dahlia, since we’re going to be working together for the foreseeable future, I think we should try to make the best of the circumstances.”
Dahlia was quiet. She stared through the windshield, occasionally looking into her rear view mirror. For the past few minutes, she had been expecting a verbal retaliation that never came.
A full minute of silence ensued, ending with an apology from Cruz. “I’m sorry. Hardy only gave me the cliff notes on you and…maybe I’ve jumped to some unfair conclusions.”
Dahlia’s mind was spinning. Instead of an attack, she was getting an act of contrition. What’s this woman all about?
Cruz twisted in her seat and extended her right hand toward Dahlia.
Dahlia glanced at the hand and realized its owner was offering the proverbial olive branch. This was going to be a long mission if the two of them did not make peace. Inwardly, she sighed. This is not how I thought this was going to play out. She had envisioned working with Hardy, not his girlfriend. She clasped Cruz’s hand. “I apologize, too. I think I’ve been a little…on edge, lately.” She thought back to Cruz’s words when they had gotten into the Renegade. “Thank you for what you said. I’m not usually on the receiving end of many compliments.”
Cruz waited a few moments before asking Dahlia a question that had been getting the better of her curiosity. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was in the red bag?”
Before she could stop it, Dahlia let a small smile stretch across her face, thinking about the recipient of the gift. “Julio and his wife have a son, Ramon. He has severe disabilities. He absolutely loves anything to do with fire fighters—fire engines, ladders, hoses, hats…you name it.”
Cruz watched the features of Dahlia’s face soften, while she spoke about Ramon.
“Anyway, I bought him a fire fighter outfit online. It has all the accessories—coat, hat, oxygen mask and tank…it was the cutest thing.” She paused, still thinking of Ramon. “I wish I could be there to see his face when he opens it.”
Cruz was seeing a side to Dahlia’s personality she did not expect to see. She had caught a faint glimpse of it at the restaurant, when Dahlia learned the President’s daughter had been kidnapped. “Well, sometimes letting our imaginations picture the moment is good, too.” Following up on the rapport being established, she asked another question. This one, however, was not so benign. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but what actually happened when you were with the FBI? As I said, Hardy didn’t elaborate and, as an agent, I’m curious. Your name has never been mentioned in all the time I’ve worked at the bureau.”
Dahlia’s demeanor changed. Her smile faded and the events that led up to her departure from the FBI flashed across her mind.
Seeing the transformation on Dahlia’s face, Cruz regretted asking the question.
“I’m not surprised. I’m sure the FBI has buried my name along with what actually happened that day.” Out of the corner of her eye, Dahlia saw Cruz staring at her. She did not really want to re-live those events and the days, weeks and months that followed. No, those were the darkest times of her life; however, she could tell Cruz was making an effort to get to know the woman, not the assassin.
Cruz backtracked. “That’s okay. It’s really none of my business.” She changed the subject. “So, what do you know about this man we’re going to see? Do you think he can lead us to Yamadi?” There was more silence, while she waited for Dahlia to reply. When she got her reply, it took her by surprise.
“This creep had already shot and killed two people before taking a family of five hostage; a father, mother and three children. We had the house surrounded. The perp wasn’t going anywhere. We were ready to go in, but the Special Agent in Charge was waiting for a hostage negotiator to arrive. Apparently, killing two people already wasn’t enough for the SAC to realize this guy was not going to be talked down.” Dahlia paused.
“What happened next?”
Dahlia shook her head to break her mindless stare. “I was watching the SAC and a highly respected senior agent argue over procedural protocol. Suddenly, we heard gunshots coming from the house.” She smacked the steering wheel with her palm. “That jackass still wanted to wait for a negotiator.” Dahlia applied steady pressure to the brake pedal and the Renegade came to a halt at a traffic light. She rubbed her face with both hands before running her fingers through the length of her hair. The traffic light turned green and her foot transitioned to the accelerator. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I charged into the house, safety off. Clearing the living room, I moved into the kitchen and that’s where I saw him…he was literally standing in the blood of those people…those kids…one was the same age as Ramon, not more than five-years-old.”
As the vehicle passed through another intersection, a streetlight illuminated the side of Dahlia’s face. Cruz saw a tear making its way down the woman’s right cheek. The President’s daughter; Julio’s son, Ramon; the children killed in the hostage situation. Cruz put the puzzle pieces together and got a clearer picture of Dahlia. Yes, she had killed people, but she also had a special place in her heart for children. The image of Dahlia that Cruz had created was being torn apart the more she learned about this woman.
“I’m not sure what happened next. All I remember was that he raised and pointed his weapon at me. The next thing I saw through my red dot was his body falling to the floor.”
“You shot him,” said Cruz, flatly.
Dahlia nodded her head and dragged out her words. “I shot him many, many, many times.” Thirty seconds of silence passed. “I know Hardy must have told you about the fallout from the incident and how I was blamed for the deaths of those people, effectively ending my career with the FBI…or any other law enforcement agency in the country for that matter.”
“Yes, he has.” Cruz glanced toward the floor of the SUV. She did not know what to say next. Fortunately, Dahlia spoke first.
“We’re here.” Dahlia piloted the Renegade into a parking spot away from any nearby streetlights. She put the transmission into ‘park’ and turned off the engine. “That’s where he is.” She pointed at the back of a two-story brick house situated on the corner of an intersection in a residential neighborhood in Queens. The inside of the house was dark. Some of the nearby homes had one or two lights on, the homeowners preparing to start their day. The houses across the street had a good view of the front door of the house in question. Dahlia sat still, tapping her finger on the steering wheel, scanning the area. “We have less than ten minutes before sunrise. I want to be in the house before that happens.”
“How many people are in there with him?”
“He has at least two at all times. Three is the most I’ve seen.”
“All right, let me do the talking.” Cruz retrieved her FBI credentials. “I don’t want to have to get a search warrant. We don’t have time for that. Let’s hope he’s in a cooperative mood.”
Dahlia pointed at the FBI credentials. “We’ll be breaking several rules during this operation, so it would be best if you just leave that behind and let me handle this…my way.” She opened her door and got out. Moving around to the rear of the SUV, she opened the rear hatch and rummaged through duffle bags and designer suitcases. When Cruz appeared at the corner of the vehicle, Dahlia quizzed her. “What are you carrying—weapon wise?”
Cruz touched her right hip area. “You mean my pistol? I’ve got a Glock 22.”
“Does it have a threaded barrel?”
“No.”
“Leave it behind.” Dahlia leaned forward and picked up a pistol with one hand and two magazines with the other. She attached a sound suppressor to the threaded barrel of a Walther PPQ M2, chambered in nine millimeter, and gave the weapon and magazines to Cruz. “If you fire your Glock in there, we won’t make it to the front door before the cops show up.”
Taking the pistol, Cruz examined it. “This is the same gun Hardy carries.”
“I know.” Dahlia unzipped her leather coat and grabbed a second Walther PPQ M2 and a holster. “Once I saw his, I had to get one for myself.” She clipped a kydex holster to the waistband on the right side of her mini skirt and slid the silenced Walther into the holster. After attaching a magazine pouch to the other side of her skirt, she put two spare magazines in the pouch and left her coat unzipped for quick access to the firearm.
After swapping out her holster and magazine pouch for ones that matched what Dahlia was wearing, Cruz left her long blazer unbuttoned, too. “So, are you going to give me a hint on what we’re doing?”
Dahlia was bent over with her hand inside the duffle bag. When she stood, she was holding an ergonomic stun gun made by Sabre. “He may not want to let us in, but I can be quite persuasive and,” she raised her eyebrows before adding, “downright electrifying, when necessary.”
Cruz rolled her eyes and shook her head, thinking she had heard a line from a bad movie.
Grabbing a few plastic zip ties and stuffing them into her coat pocket, Dahlia joked with her partner. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to lighten up.” She stepped back and shut the door. Smiling, she patted Cruz’s arm. “Have your gun ready and follow my lead.” Dahlia walked away from the Renegade and headed down the sidewalk. Her head on a swivel, she surveyed the area.