Phoenix Burning Read online

  Copyright Information

  Phoenix Burning: A Veranda Cruz Mystery © 2018 by Isabella Maldonado.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Midnight Ink, except in the form of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  As the purchaser of this ebook, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. The text may not be otherwise reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or recorded on any other storage device in any form or by any means.

  Any unauthorized usage of the text without express written permission of the publisher is a violation of the author’s copyright and is illegal and punishable by law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First e-book edition © 2018

  E-book ISBN: 9780738753935

  Book format by Bob Gaul

  Cover design by Ellen Lawson

  Cover illustration by Dominick Finelle/The July Group

  Editing by Nicole Nugent

  Midnight Ink is an imprint of Llewellyn Worldwide Ltd.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Maldonado, Isabella, author.

  Title: Phoenix burning / Isabella Maldonado.

  Description: First edition. | Woodbury, Minnesota: Midnight Ink, [2018] |

  Series: A Verando Cruz mystery; #2

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017043124 (print) | LCCN 2017046365 (ebook) | ISBN

  9780738753935 | ISBN 9780738751023 (alk. paper)

  Subjects: LCSH: Policewomen—Fiction. | Women detectives—Fiction. | Drug

  traffic—Fiction. | GSAFD: Suspense fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3613.A434 (ebook) | LCC PS3613.A434 P48 2018 (print) |

  DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017043124

  Midnight Ink does not participate in, endorse, or have any authority or responsibility concerning private business arrangements between our authors and the public.

  Any Internet references contained in this work are current at publication time, but the publisher cannot guarantee that a specific reference will continue or be maintained. Please refer to the publisher’s website for links to current author websites.

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  Manufactured in the United States of America

  For Max.

  Each day, you show me the world through your eyes.

  How privileged I am.

  1

  Detective Veranda Cruz sensed the trap but couldn’t see it. She adjusted her visor to block the midday glare and scanned the blighted South Phoenix street as she gave the Chevy Impala some gas. She tightened her seatbelt, crushing her ballistic vest against her body, and glanced at the dash clock. Two minutes until meeting time.

  If Castillo kept his word. If he didn’t, nothing she could do would save him. She’d spent more than two years investigating the Villalobos cartel and had never gotten an opportunity like this. So why were her instincts blaring a warning? She turned to her partner. Sam Stark’s legendary skills were one of the reasons Veranda had been paired with him when she was transferred to the Phoenix Police Homicide Unit six weeks ago. She knew he would read the atmosphere too.

  “Sam, you feel it?”

  “My pucker factor’s at about a nine.” He slid a glance her way. “Yeah, I’m feeling it.”

  Eyes constantly assessing, Veranda continued toward the location where they were supposed to meet Raymond Castillo. Each street bore witness to the unfulfilled promise of regentrification. “This part of the city took it hard when the recession hit,” she said, passing a row of abandoned storefronts.

  “We’re in the badlands.” Sam peered out from under his bushy brows. “Bars in the windows, bail bonds offices, and pawn shops.”

  “You think Castillo’s already there?”

  Sam grunted. “I would be. I’d watch us drive in to be sure we’re alone.”

  “I don’t think he’s that smart.”

  She rounded the corner onto Dalton Street. Castillo stood on a cracked sidewalk at the far end of the block, shoulder against a streetlight, tattooed arms crossed against his chest. Clad in a white tank top and faded jeans, he looked more like a street punk than an aspiring crime boss.

  “Why is he out in the open like this in broad daylight?” Sam said.

  Veranda followed Sam’s gaze. “He’s a sitting—”

  Wham!

  A black Escalade with dark tinted windows had barreled out from a side street and smashed into the Impala’s left front quarter panel. Veranda’s upper body flew to the right, rebounded against the seatbelt, then slammed against the driver’s door. With a deafening metallic crunch, the Cadillac SUV plowed forward until it scraped free of the Chevy sedan’s front bumper. Veranda yanked the steering wheel, struggling to regain control as the car spun in a complete circle, coming to rest on the sidewalk facing Castillo. Locking eyes through the cracked windshield, Veranda returned his shocked expression.

  The Escalade glided toward Castillo.

  She tore off her seatbelt, snatched her Glock from its holster, and shoved at the bent driver’s door. Stuck. She mashed the window’s power button, but it stopped halfway down. She lifted her foot and kicked at her door, denting the inside handle. Cursing, she thrust her gun through the open top half of the car window and took aim with her left hand. She had to try.

  Sam threw his door open, knelt on the sidewalk, and raised his gun over the Impala’s hood, bellowing commands at the Escalade’s driver.

  She yelled at Castillo. “Run!”

  The black SUV slowed next to Castillo, who stood rooted to the spot. The passenger window buzzed down and a rifle barrel poked out.

  Veranda’s pulse thudded in her ears. Time expanded, then contracted. She fired, aware it would do no good. Rounds pinged off the Escalade’s armor plating and bulletproof glass.

  Too late, the sound of gunfire spurred Castillo to action. He reached for his waistband as the staccato burst of four rapid-fire shots cracked the air.

  Castillo jerked when bullets from the rifle drilled into his chest. A spray of blood exploded across his white tank top as the high-powered rounds tore straight through his upper body. Arms flung wide, he crumpled to the ground.

  The Escalade peeled out, dark smoke billowing up from its shrieking tires.

  Sam stood and took a step toward Castillo’s inert form.

  She shoved her gun back in its holster. “Get in the car, Sam!”

  Sam swiveled and angled his head through the open car window. “What about Castillo?”

  “Four shots center mass with a rifle.” She shook her head. “I’m not letting those bastards get away when Castillo’s got zero chance. Advise rescue and let’s go.”

  Sam bristled. “We’ve got a victim over there who—”

  She cut him off. Sam was the most senior Homicide detective on the department, but he didn’t have her background in drug enforcement, or her knowledge of the enemy. “That’s a Villalobos cartel battle cruiser lined with steel plating. The windows and rear tire flaps are bulletproof. It’s got enough fire power to dest
roy downtown Phoenix. And that’s where it’s heading.”

  “Shit.” Sam hooked a hand on the door frame and swung into the passenger’s seat. He grabbed the mic from the radio mounted in front of the center console.

  Sam delivered instructions to the dispatcher and responding police personnel while she mentally ran through options. The PPD had a BearCat equipped to stop an armored vehicle, but she had to keep the Escalade in sight in order to make that happen. She took her foot off the brake and pinned the accelerator to the floor.

  Sam clutched the dashboard as they lurched forward. “Rescue’s direct on Castillo. ETA four minutes.”

  “Mark us in pursuit, and tell dispatch to make sure everyone knows the Escalade is armored.”

  Sam advised the dispatcher of a 9-0-6 and she refocused on her quarry. The Impala was faster and more maneuverable than the top-heavy SUV, allowing her to whip around corners as Sam gave rapid-fire updates into the mic.

  They headed out of the low-end district with abandoned storefronts and into the busy downtown area. Lunchtime on a Thursday, the streets would be crowded with pedestrians and cars. Her stomach knotted with apprehension.

  After crossing the bridge into the business district, the Escalade screeched to a stop. Close on their tail, Veranda stomped on the brakes, forcing the car into a sideways skid that left her partially exposed. A figure leaned out of the front passenger window and glared at her.

  “Roberto Bernal,” she breathed. A low-level enforcer with the Villalobos cartel, Roberto had obviously been sent to silence Castillo.

  She barely had time to register his identity before Roberto pointed a rifle directly at her. Automatic weapon fire strafed the Impala. She ducked under the dashboard, seeking cover behind the engine block. Crouched beneath the steering wheel, she jammed the car into reverse and pushed the gas pedal with her knee. Steering blindly, she yanked the wheel in a circle to spin the Impala around, popped up into the driver’s seat, and fishtailed around a corner.

  Maneuvering through parallel streets, shef swerved back in behind the SUV, this time at a safer distance. A marked patrol car, lights flashing and siren blaring, pulled up next to her. Another cruiser slid in from the opposite side, flanking the Impala. The cavalry had arrived. Still, she couldn’t break off her pursuit. She let the road dogs take the lead but stayed close. When this ended, she would be there to arrest and interrogate Roberto and whoever was driving him in the Escalade.

  As the bizarre cavalcade sped down Mariposa Avenue, two muzzles jutted from the Cadillac SUV and a barrage of gunfire spewed in every direction, the suspects firing wildly. Motorists drove up onto sidewalks, pedestrians dove for cover, and bullets ricocheted off building fronts.

  Veranda careened the Impala around a corner onto Camelback Road. They arrived at a high-end business district, heading toward the Arcadia Fashion Center, an upscale shopping mall renowned for its lush palm trees and posh retail stores.

  Her pulse beat faster as they drew closer to the mall. “We can’t let them get to the shopping center. It’ll be packed in there.”

  A patrol supervisor came on their radio frequency, took command of the pursuit, and directed responding units to set up bull’s-eye perimeters. The police helicopter announced its arrival and began a hover pattern over the area.

  She slapped a palm against the steering wheel in frustration. “The supervisor’s trying to box them in. But Roberto will get to the mall first.”

  The black Escalade veered to the far-left lane, the driver lining up for a sharp turn into the shopping center’s multilevel parking deck.

  “That Caddy’s a tank with all the extra weight from the armor plating,” Sam said. “Can’t maneuver in tight spaces. What the hell is Roberto thinking?”

  She jerked the steering wheel, trailing the Escalade and patrol cars into the shopping center parking lot. The SUV driver attempted a hard left into the garage next to one of the main entrances, lost control, and slammed head-on into a concrete pylon.

  Veranda jammed on the brakes and the hood of the Impala dipped down as the car skidded on the cement. Smoke billowed from the tires of the patrol cars in front of her as they screeched to a halt, momentarily obscuring her view.

  The Escalade burst into flames.

  Sam unbuckled his seatbelt. “What were they carrying? The thing’s going up like tinder.” He opened his door and slid out in a crouched position.

  Veranda jerked her sidearm from its holster, clambered across the console to Sam’s seat, and rolled out of the Impala. Squinting through the haze, she spotted Roberto jumping from the passenger side a split second before he hoisted an AK-47 with an extended magazine and sprayed bullets all over the garage.

  Rounds pinged on parked cars and cement pillars. Veranda, Sam, and the patrol officers dove behind their vehicles as they returned fire.

  She popped up to get a peek at Roberto’s position so she wouldn’t waste ammunition. She’d already changed her magazine once and only had one more to spare.

  Sam turned to her. “Did you see where Roberto went? Do we have a second gunman in the garage?”

  “The driver never made it out when the Escalade caught fire.”

  “Any chance he’s still alive?”

  She flicked a glance at the blackened chassis through a wall of flames. “He’s extra crispy.”

  Dismissing the driver from her mind, she bobbed her head up over the hood just as Roberto darted to the vestibule in front of the mall entrance and pivoted to face them. He swung the rifle to his shoulder as the wide glass entry doors slid open behind him. He inched backward into the mall, laying down suppressive fire in rapid full-auto bursts in their direction until the doors closed.

  A roiling mix of fear and fury burned her insides. “Shit! He’s inside.”

  2

  Standing from her position of cover behind the Impala, Veranda grabbed her portable radio and rattled off an update.

  A heartbeat of silence followed before the dispatcher announced the radio channel would be split, dedicating their frequency to the critical incident and transmitting a single long tone.

  Veranda’s pulse always quickened at the sound of the emergency signal. From her earliest days as a booter, she stopped whatever she was doing and listened to the next radio traffic. Like an action movie in freeze frame, every officer halted, ears pricked to take in information, then zoomed ahead at high speed, scrambling to respond.

  The dispatcher announced the situation had changed to an active shooter in the mall. A flurry of radio traffic blasted through Veranda’s portable. As more patrol cars sped into the garage, some of them sliding in sideways, Veranda tapped Sam’s elbow and rushed over to the two patrol officers who had joined their pursuit first.

  “Active shooter scenario,” she said, motioning toward the mall entrance. “Let’s go.” Without a word, the two uniforms raced after Veranda and Sam toward the wide glass automatic doors.

  Veranda knew they would follow. All Phoenix Police officers train for active shooters. The first four officers at any scene, regardless of assignment, take immediate action to preserve life. In such a situation, there is no time to stage and wait for a tactical team to respond. Seconds count.

  The ad hoc response team gathered into a tight diamond formation. Both patrol officers had microphones clipped to their uniform shirts. The short blond one pressed the transmit button to inform the dispatcher they were about to enter the mall at the east side food court entrance.

  Another foursome pounded up behind them, all patrol officers. Veranda raised her hand to signal the other group, who were performing a cursory check of their equipment before heading inside.

  She addressed the most senior officer. “We’ll make entry together and split into two teams. Search the second level as soon as you can find a way up. We’ll cover the main floor. Are you direct on the suspect description?” He gave her a curt nod.


  Veranda paused a moment longer for the second team to relay their status to the dispatcher, then she and her group approached the entrance as a single unit. Veranda took point, the two patrol officers secured flank positions, and Sam acted as rear guard, watching their backs, Glock in low-ready position. Crouched in a tactical stance, they covered ground at roughly the speed of a jog with the second team on their heels.

  When the automatic glass doors slid open, utter chaos greeted Veranda. She made a quick assessment of the situation. Hundreds of people scattered in every direction, eyes wild with terror, their shrieks reverberating through the cavernous space. Tables and chairs lay strewn around the food court, overturned or knocked down by fleeing patrons desperate to escape. The heavy scent of overcooked Chinese food, charred pizza, and hamburger grease filled the air. A group of teenagers sprinted past her toward the entrance. Other shoppers ran in the opposite direction, scurrying into stores and vanishing down corridors.

  Veranda searched for the epicenter of the disturbance. If the crowd ran one way, she could assume they were heading away from Roberto, which would help pinpoint his location. Unfortunately, the shoppers were a panicked sea of humanity, surging in multidirectional waves.

  A gunshot rang out over the din, inciting a fresh onslaught of screams from the shoppers. She whirled to see Roberto on the far side of the food court. He raised his weapon and fired into the air a second time. She swung her Glock up to take aim, but couldn’t get a clear shot. More than fifteen yards away, he scurried behind a display of potted palm trees before she could battle her way through the masses to get to him.

  She used her free hand to snatch the portable from her waist. “Charlie thirty-four, advise incident commander the shooter may blend in with the crowd to leave the mall. Separate all exiting shoppers. I can ID the suspect if they detain anyone matching the description.”

  She started toward Roberto’s last position. “Let’s go.” The response team only made it five steps before a horde of shoppers stampeded straight at them. The officers struggled to hold formation as they were buffeted by bodies crashing into them from all sides.