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I grabbed his box of crap I’d put together, slapped the paperwork on the top, and took determined strides back in his direction. When I shoved the box against his chest, he was forced back a couple of feet.

“I would say it’s been fun, but I’d be lying. Have a lovely wedding.” I slammed the door in his face, immediately clicking the lock in place. Then I spun around and resisted beating my head on the wooden surface. What had I seen in the man all those years ago?

This time, I heard an incoming text on my phone. Snarling, I stormed toward it, snagging the iPhone and glaring at the screen.

Brian the Toad: You’ll always be a bitch.

“Ooohh!”

I was ready to toss it against the wall. Before I was really tempted, another text came in.

My finger was ready to blast a reply to the asshole when I realized Brian hadn’t sent a second text.

This time, it was from an unknown sender. How the hell had the person gotten my number? I’d ordinarily delete any scam or unwanted message immediately, but instead, I sat down—the words were intriguing.

Unknown: Do you want to help catch the most notorious cartel leader on Earth?

Every inch of my skin prickled, and suddenly, the ebb and flow of thoughts and ideas came like a tidal wave. Maybe I was out of my mind, but what the hell.

Me: Yes, I’d love to do that. Tell me how.

Unknown: Meet me at Tony’s coffee shop in thirty minutes. Alone. Order your usual latte and sit at the corner table with your back to the window. If you do not comply, no information will be provided.

This was interesting. Maybe karma was looking up for me.

Me: Who are you and why should I consider talking with you?

The unknown sender obviously had an iPhone. I knew that by the three blips that pulsed across the screen. Then they stopped.

I stood back, allowing the eerie sensations to engage my mind with various nefarious possibilities. Whoever it was knew that Tony’s was a favorite coffee shop—one slight indulgence in a sea of practicality.

That meant whoever was texting me had been watching. He knew what I drank.

I should be terrified. Instead, my curiosity was piqued to the point I knew I wouldn’t let this go, at least not without a good reason.

But the waiting continued.

Finally, the three dots began to pulse again.

Unknown: Because you crave the truth.

Tony’s was crowded, but given the hour, not nearly as much as when I arrived almost every morning.

I scanned the perimeter of the small coffee shop in my attempt to ascertain if the unknown person had already arrived.

No one stood out to me, not in their clothing or actions.

I was forced to wait in line for almost five minutes before ordering my usual coffee.

While the barista bantered as usual, I felt awkward and said very little.

I’d been lured into clandestine locations during my career, people refusing to provide their real identities so they couldn’t be implicated in a crime or unveiling of some atrocity, but this felt different. At least it was in the middle of the day.

I headed for the table he’d mentioned, thankful no one was occupying the space. As I sat down, I realized my hands were shaking, enough so when I brought the cup to my lips, several beads of scalding liquid dripped on my hand. The slight pain forced me to wince.

Everything about this was disturbing, my instincts telling me to back away.

Yet I remained seated.

Two minutes passed.

Another two.

I was already antsy. Maybe the person wasn’t going to show.

The latte was delicious, but my stomach was doing flip-flops. As I pushed the cup aside, I had the sudden urge to leave. The moment I started to stand, a deep voice from behind me sent another wave of apprehension to my core.

“Charmaine Douglas.” It wasn’t really a question, but a statement confirming what the man obviously already knew. His voice was being disguised, little more than a throaty whisper. That made me suspicious.

“Who are you?”

“Someone who can provide you with a story.”

“Why do I need a story?” I asked and as soon as I started to turn my head, the mystery man snarled.

“Do not turn around. If you do, this meeting is over. You need a story because your career is tanking.”

I started to argue with him, but taking anything he said personally wouldn’t garner me privilege of the details he’d alluded to. “Okay. What does this pertain to?”

“Fernando Alfaro.”

A cold shiver tumbled through me. The last decent article that had created both rave reviews and death threats had been about the notorious El Salvadoran Cartel leader who seemingly had ties to at least a dozen countries and several world leaders.

The influx of his cocaine and other illegal drugs into the United States had surpassed every other cartel and crime syndicate.

The man was a horrible piece of scum, and not just based on my opinion and what I’d learned.

The brutal dictator had been linked to numerous murders.

My article had been the first real telling of how he ran his business operations.

I’d done months of research and had talked to numerous sources, some of whom had been ranking members of his organization.

I’d heard after the article had printed that every law enforcement agency in the US and several abroad were using it as a basis for criminal investigations, but that’s where any news had ceased trickling down.

I’d also been privy to the fact there’d been a string of brutal decapitations linked to Alfaro and his soldiers. My suspicion was that the informants had been discovered and slaughtered.

There’d been whispers that several prominent citizens throughout the world had been buddies with Alfaro. That hadn’t been confirmed or denied, only minimal scandal occurring because of the words I’d penned on paper.

Then as with everything else highlighted in the media, the fifteen minutes of fame quickly vanished. So did any further information about the monster.

“What about him?” I asked and shifted in my seat.

“Haven’t you wondered what happened to the man after you wrote your first article and why he’s gone dormant?”

I laughed, doubting my article had stopped his production of cocaine. “He was taking an extended vacation.” My attempt at a joke fell on deaf ears.

“He felt betrayed, determined to eliminate all those who nearly destroyed his lucrative empire. That included several powerful men he once considered allies.”

That I hadn’t heard. “What do I have to do with this?”

“You have a stellar reputation, enough you have been provided with an opportunity to bring the man to his knees.”

“And how would I do that?”

“Alfaro had branched out into sex trafficking.”

My ears were perked. “Who are his victims?”

“Wives, daughters, and nieces of his enemies. They are swept from their homes and kept in his jungle compound, or so it is to be believed although not verified. In addition, he funds several orphanages, taking the cream of the crop of young girls for his special harem. He is a consummate entertainer.”

“For his buddies.”

“Exactly. I will provide you with the beginning of a story including the photographs of several missing women. It’s for you to choose if and how you want to handle the story. I will warn you this will be dangerous.”

“How do I know what you’re about to share with me is the truth?”

His chuckle was dark and ominous. “Because you have the best instincts of anyone I’ve ever known.”

Known. That implied the man knew me personally.

Was that even possible? I racked my brain to try to determine who had the capability of providing such damning information.

There’d been one FBI agent I’d talked to several times long enough ego I couldn’t recall his name.

He’d grilled me on my sources, which I’d refused to provide, and taken my information after I’d received threats.

But as soon as the story had dipped from the limelight, the man had disappeared.

And the threats had stopped with no punitive actions taken against Alfaro.

That had pissed me off.

“There is something else you should know,” he continued.

“That is?”

“Look up Mercury Fulminate.”

“What is that?” Some chemical compound? It had been a long time since I’d taken a chemistry class.

“You’ll figure it out. My time is concluded. If you agree to the opportunity, you’ll be contacted during your trip.”

“By whom?”

“Someone credible who will provide you with a smoking gun.”

The thought was both exciting and terrifying. “How will you know if I’ve accepted it?”

He chuckled. “Trust me, Ms. Douglas. We will know.”

We as in plural.

“After I leave, wait for thirty seconds before turning around. I’ll leave the information for you under your chair.”

The slight scrape of the metal legs against the tile floor behind me indicated he’d moved. I held my breath, aware the moment he slipped something under my chair. Footsteps indicated he was walking away.

My personality was such I wasn’t interested in playing by the rules and mysterious informants annoyed me.

I turned around, furious as a group of people walked in blocking my view.

I stood, moving closer to the window, just catching sight of a man dressed in dark jeans and a dark hoodie about to disappear into the late afternoon crowd.

Another cold shiver drifted down my spine and I had a very bad feeling what I’d find would blow anything I’d written out of the water.

I only hoped I lived long enough to bask in the success.