Danger in Dade
Autor:in
Caridad Piñeiro
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Chapter One
The pit bull nearly yanked Brett Madison’s arm out of its socket as the dog jerked its head back and forth, thrashing forcefully, the pressure on his forearm punishing.
“Pust, Mango. Pust,” Sara Hernandez commanded, and the dog instantly released his arm and sat, staring at him as if ready to attack again.
Sara strolled over and bent to rub Mango’s head affectionately, ruffling her short, glossy white-and-tan fur. “Good girl, Mango. Good girl,” she said and fed Mango a treat as Brett slipped off his baseball cap and wiped sweat from his forehead. Despite the mid-December weather that had brought a cooling breeze through the doors of the training ring building, the dog bite suit was hot thanks to its weight and padding.
“Do you think she’s ready?” he asked Sara, the K-9 trainer who South Beach Security had hired nearly seven months earlier to run their new K-9 training center just outside Miami.
Sara smiled and chuckled. “Mango’s ready. What about you?” she asked and shot him a look from the corner of her eye.
Brett dragged a hand through the short, damp strands of his high-and-tight cut and shook his head. “Possibly. It’s only been three weeks that we’ve been working together.”
“A solid three weeks and you’ve had a K-9 partner before,” Sara said and skimmed a hand down his arm to reassure him.
“I worked with a K-9 during my time in the Marines, but it’s been a while,” he said and rubbed Mango’s head as well to reward the dog for her good behavior. It was while working as a military policeman that he’d met SBS acting chief Trey Gonzalez and then served with him during a second tour in Iraq. A tour that they’d both survived, although the scars remained.
“I think you and Mango will be happy together,” Sara said and slipped the muscular dog another treat.
Brett unzipped the suit and slipped out of it. The cooler air bathed his sweat-drenched clothes, rousing goose bumps on his overheated skin. He rubbed his arms to wipe them away and then accepted Mango’s leash as Sara handed it to him.
“You’re ready,” Sara said, reassuring him yet again.
“I am,” he said and glanced down at Mango, who cocked her head to the side and peered at him with joyful cinnamon-brown eyes and a friendly grin, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.
“You are, too, Mango,” he said, almost as if to convince himself. It had only been three weeks since Sara had paired him up with the pit bull and while the dog had performed amazingly well during their training, it would take more work and time together for him to feel as if he and Mango would be up for anything Trey Gonzalez might assign.
His friend Trey had reached out to him months earlier while he’d been working as a police officer in a sleepy North Carolina town. He’d liked the quiet at first after the trauma from his tour of duty but had been feeling lost and dissatisfied after several years.
When Trey had called with the opportunity to join him in Miami, he’d jumped on it. The fact that Trey now trusted him with one of the coveted positions in their new K-9 training program spoke to the fact that Trey was pleased with what Brett had done so far with South Beach Security.
As Sara and he walked away from the training ring, he noticed Trey’s cousin and Sara’s new fiancé, Jose Gonzalez, leaning against the doorframe of the building, a broad smile erupting on his face as it settled on Sara.
She hurried to Jose’s side and kissed him as he wrapped an arm around her waist.
When Brett approached, he held his hand out and said, “Congratulations on the engagement, Pepe.”
“Gracias. Congrats to you as well on the promotion to the K-9 division,” Jose said as he shook Brett’s hand.
“Thanks. I hope I don’t disappoint. I know Trey is keen on the K-9s taking off for the agency,” Brett said. He owed Trey for believing in him after what had happened in Iraq.
“It was a rocky start what with the serial killer here at the kennels, but I’m sure you and the other agents Sara trains will be up to the challenge,” Jose said and playfully squeezed Sara closer.
“I know Brett and Mango will be up for anything,” Sara said, no indecision in her voice.
Brett smiled and dipped his head in appreciation for her trust in him and his new K-9 partner’s capabilities, which were a testament to her training skills.
As they walked toward the former kennel owner’s home where Sara was living with Jose, Brett bid them goodbye and peeled off to head to his car, Mango loping at his side. He buckled the pittie into the front seat and rubbed her head affectionately. The dog responded with a happy lick of his face and a doggy grin.
He was grateful for the dog’s love since he knew the pit bull’s powerful jaws and muscular body could inflict quite a lot of punishment if necessary. His forearm still ached from the earlier bite, and he was sure he’d have a bruise by the next day even with the padding in the suit. In a real-world situation, extensive thrashing combined with the bite could cause considerable damage.
“You’re my girl, Mango,” he said and massaged her head and shoulders again to reinforce the relationship with his partner so that when the time came on assignment, he could trust her to do as commanded.
He just hoped he would have a little more opportunity to train with Mango before that time came. More than anyone, he understood the dangers of not being prepared and what the cost would be, he thought as he rubbed a spot by his collarbone. Beneath his fingers, the ridges of scars were a painful reminder of the price of failure.
But not now. He would be ready when the time came.
THE NIGHT HAD been a killer.
Two of her line chefs had called in sick and a delivery of her porterhouse steaks had gone missing, prompting a last-minute menu change.
Her sous-chef, Melinda, pressed a glass of wine into her hand. “Here, Chef. You need it.”
Anita Reyes accepted the glass and peered around her restaurant’s kitchen.
All the dinner tickets had been cleared off the rail, and despite being down the two chefs, the others had still been able to clean as they cooked, leaving the kitchen relatively in order.
“Things look pretty good, Chef,” she said.
Melinda nodded and gestured toward the back door. “They do, and the butcher promised to get us those porterhouse steaks for tomorrow. Why don’t you get some air and enjoy that wine while we finish up.”
Anita had been running around all night filling in for the missing line chefs while still doing her own job of making sure that the orders were perfect and ready to go out to diners. Her feet and back ached and sweat dripped down between her shoulder blades from the heat in the kitchen.
A breath of fresh air and sip of a fine wine sounded like heaven.
She pushed through the back door and onto the small landing in the narrow alley between her restaurant and the hotel behind her.
The late-fall night wrapped her in nippy air, making her shiver as it chased away the warmth of the kitchen. The street noises from busy Ocean Drive and Collins Avenue were almost nonexistent in the alley thanks to the buildings sheltering it on either side.
She sat on the stoop, leaned against the brick of the building and sipped the wine, a tasty cabernet franc they’d been lucky to find at a local distributor. The floral vintage pleasantly slipped down her throat, and she breathed a sigh of relief that her killer night was almost over.
Long minutes passed as she relaxed but soon responsibility called her to return to her kitchen and make sure everything was in order so they could start all over again for tomorrow’s lunch and dinner crowds. As tired as she was, she reminded herself how lucky she was to have attained her dream of owning her own restaurant, and a successful one at that.
Varadero, her Cubano-Latino fusion restaurant, rarely had an empty seat and dinner reservations were fully booked for the rest of December and into the new year, pulling a smile from her.
But that meant lots of arduous work, and as she slowly rose to return to the kitchen, the door of the hotel across the way burst open as a man flew out and tumbled onto the rough ground in the alley. The man scrambled to his feet, as if ready to run, but a second later a masked man rushed through the door, grabbed him and wrapped an arm around the man’s neck.
She recognized the unmasked man as one of the hotel’s owners, Manny Ramirez.
Anita froze in place, shocked by the scene playing out before her as the two men grappled in the darkness of the alley. She had no doubt it was a fight to the death as light suddenly gleamed on a knife blade in the masked man’s hand.
He punched the knife into Manny’s side and, in a growly voice, said, “You know what we want.”
Manny grunted and abruptly bent over from the pain of the knifing. That seemed to break his attacker’s hold for a hot second.
A mistake, since Manny was able to take a swipe at his attacker’s head. His hand connected and ripped off the mask. Exposed and clearly annoyed, the man tossed Manny away, pulled a gun from beneath his black denim jacket and fired.
A perfect circle marked Manny’s forehead as he stood there for a shaky second, surprised by death before he collapsed.
Shock stole Anita’s breath, and the sharp sound drew the killer’s attention.
He whipped around to stare straight at her, as shocked as she was.
A heartbeat later, he pointed the gun and fired.
She ducked as the bullet whizzed by her head and bit into the brick. A chip flew off and grazed her cheek, propelling her to flee as the warmth of blood trickled down her face.
The man aimed at her again and she tossed her glass of wine at his head.
A perfect strike.
It stunned him long enough for her to dash into her kitchen.
Locking the door behind her, she screamed, “Call 911!”
