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“All right,” Austin said as he loosened his tie. “Since we’re all here, let’s get this show on the road. Larissa, you want to give us the rundown?”

She nodded, and then tapped a command into her computer. The large-screen television mounted on the wall switched on, and the face of a heavyset man with light-brown hair and blue eyes filled the screen.

“Brett Salazar, age forty-two. Divorced twice, no kids. He’s the sole heir to his father’s auto auction empire, which, from what I can tell, is worth upwards to a hundred million dollars. He’s worked there since graduating from UF with his masters in finance. On the surface, everything looks legit. He draws a decent salary from the business, invests in the company 401K. Lives in a nice house in a nice neighborhood, and drives a really sweet Mercedes. Considering what kind of work he does, nothing flags as out of the ordinary.”

“I’m sensing a but,” Nate said.

Larissa nodded, her mouth curving up on one side. “About six years ago, Salazar opened a numbered account in Singapore. Soon afterward, the account began receiving monthly deposits to the tune of a hundred grand. Those deposits gradually increased over time and are now up to a quarter million. It took some effort, but I traced the deposits to an account that’s linked to Jimmy Carfano.”

“Jimmy the Hook?” Nate said, and everyone at the table gave him a look. “What? I watch the news. They call him the Hook because he owns a meat packing business. He got indicted a few years ago for racketeering, but the charges were dropped when the star witness turned up dead.”

“In Florida?” Austin asked.

“No, New York, but according to the feds, his empire stretches along the entire East Coast.” He looked to Larissa. “Sorry, go on.”

She coughed to clear her throat. “All indications point to a smuggling operation that goes from Miami to Atlanta. They pack the drugs in vehicles being transported from one auction to another.”

“How does Aranza fit into this?” Wade asked, his voice a low, deep growl.

“Aranza’s new to the mix. His people contacted Brett about a year ago, and he started moving drugs for them a few months after that. It appears his drugs aren’t going any farther north than the Orlando auction location.”

Nate straightened in his seat. “My contacts mentioned a new dealer in town. Maybe it’s related.”

“Could be,” Austin said as he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Does Carfano know about Aranza?”

“Not that I can tell. Salazar maintains separate numbered accounts for each of them. And when he messages one, he never includes the other in the correspondence.”

“He’ll be pissed when he finds out,” Wade said. “The mafia’s big on control. They don’t like their people freelancing for other organizations without getting permission first. Too much risk, especially if the freelancer gets popped doing work for the other guy.”

“What would happen if Carfano found out?” Rita asked.

Wade opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by the ring of a phone.

Dorcas cringed. Of all the times for her mother to call. She sent it to voicemail, but her mother called right back, and a sense of unease rippled through her. That wasn’t like Mamá. Normally, she just left a message, which made Dorcas wonder whether something was wrong.

“I’m sorry.” She stood and started for the door. “I need to answer this.”

“Is everything all right?” Nate asked, concern in his voice.

“I don’t know. It’s my mother.”

Rita’s eyes widened with understanding. She pushed back her seat and followed her sister into the hall.

Dorcas swiped right and put the phone to her ear. “Hey, Mamá. Qué pasa?”

There was a second or two of complete silence, and when her mother finally spoke, her words tumbled out in a panicked rush of rapid-fire Spanish. “Dorcas, don’t do what they tell—”

Dorcas heard what sounded an awful lot like a slap, and then her mother cried out.

“Mamá? Mamá, what’s going on?” Her gaze darted through the open doorway to where Nate sat. The panic she felt must have reflected in her eyes, because he shot up from his seat and rushed toward her.

“Is she okay?” Rita asked, and Dorcas held up a finger to tell her to hold on for a minute.

A man’s rough voice came over the phone. “If you want your mother to continue breathing, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

Dorcas’s heart kicked against her ribcage. “Who is this?”

“Shut up and pay attention. Your sister stole from me. I want my shit back. If I don’t get it, your mother dies. If you go to the police—and I’ll know if you do—your mother dies. Do you understand?”