Sizzle

By Kat Evans

Sometimes two is company, three is deadly...

It’s the summer of 1981. Miami, the sunny vacation destination known for its sandy white beaches, has just been flooded by another powdery substance: cocaine. When Miami Vice Detective Rachel Moss goes on a routine undercover surveillance operation, she soon finds herself thrust in the midst of the infamous Colombian drug cartel. Surrounded by danger, deception, and greed, she desires the one woman off limits--the Brazilian bombshell who belongs to the man at the center of it all.

Top-notch DEA special agent Monica Vega is deep undercover in Miami’s lucrative drug trade. When a rookie detective unexpectedly arrives on the scene, Monica is certain she’ll get herself killed. In the sultry and sizzling Miami heat, Monica discovers she will risk her cover and her career just to keep Rachel safe.

Bestselling author Kat Evans does it again in the seductive crime drama that explores the city of Miami’s opulent and corrupt past. Get ready to heat things up South Beach style in SIZZLE.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kat Evans
• Release date: Nov 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370466238

Kat Evans

Kat Evans is THE new voice in Lesbian Romance. Kat's stories are characterized by intrigue and witty dialogue with an undercurrent of chemistry that leaps off the page into the heart of the reader. Before gaining success as a writer, Kat worked as an Executive Director in the non-profit arena. She is a children's rights activist, coffee lover, champagne sipper, oyster seeker, and hope-"ful" romantic. When Kat isn't writing, she is chasing after her two young daughters and remodeling their family home. For more information, contact Kat at [e-mail]

Book preview

Miami, 1981

Is it always this hot in here? Detective Rachel Moss shouted over the disco-vibe music. She scanned the crowd. The nightclub was starting to get crowded. For every person the stocky doorman allowed in, it seemed like the temperature in the club rose a degree.

You’ll get used to it, the waitress named Ashley shouted back.

If you say so... She slid the row of freshly made martinis across the bar to the gum-smacking waitress.

The waitress stacked the drinks on a large round tray. Look at it this way. The hotter everyone gets, the more they drink. And the more they drink, the more they tip. She offered a friendly smile of encouragement, balanced the full tray on her shoulder, and disappeared into the crowd.

Rachel fanned her face with her hand. Sheesh, she never imagined a wig would be so hot and uncomfortable. And the fact that she couldn’t scratch the itch on her scalp was driving her crazy. The Miami heat, a crowded nightclub, and a chin length platinum wig didn’t make for good companions.

Bartender, a patron wearing a white polyester suit called her attention. His baby blue shirt with a pointed collar was unbuttoned halfway down his chest to reveal a gold chain nestled in a patch of thick, dark chest hair. Poor guy obviously hadn’t gotten the memo that disco was dead.

Rachel leaned over the bar and flashed a flirty smile. What’ll it be?

A shot of tequila.

You got it, babe. She winked and poured the drink. He placed a crisp twenty dollar bill on the mirrored countertop and told her to keep the change. Thanks! she said. She would have done backflips for a seventy-five percent tip back in college at her old bartending gig. No wonder the other waitresses looked as cool as mojitos in this furnace. They were likely clearing a couple hundred a night.

But unlike the waitresses at the Purple Parrot, Rachel would not keep any of the tips she earned tonight. The money would all be turned in at the end of her graveyard shift and every last cent documented with a two-person-integrity, according to department procedure.

Keeping in character, she arranged the liquor bottles behind the counter and toweled spilled liquid. While she worked, she weaved her body to the blaring tune of Olivia Newton John’s Physical. She caught sight of herself in one of the bar’s mirrored panels. She hardly recognized the happening chic staring back at her.

Never in a million years would she have imagined that her career path to vice squad included a padded bra, go-go boots and frosted pink lipstick. She looked more like an escort than a college-educated officer of the Miami Police Department.

Not that she was complaining. The new detective would do whatever it took to weave her way through the male-dominated ranks to secure her position.

Rachel adjusted her bodice, making sure the audio wire was still hidden and threaded through the underwire of her bra. The uniforms at the Purple Parrot revealed more than they concealed, and she was certain that at any minute either her wire or her nipple would pop out.

Although it was skimpy, her outfit was sexy, trendy and edgy. Only the best at Miami’s premier nightspot. The black-and-white striped spandex mini hugged her slim figure in all the right places, showed off her South Beach tan, and exposed her trim thighs sculpted from daily runs. The platform white go-go boots made her 5’9 frame appear model tall. A bright green glow stick hung from a silver chain around her neck and drew just the right amount of attention to her bronzed cleavage. But her favorite part of the uniform—albeit the most uncomfortable part—was the platinum chin length wig with its fringe bangs. It added a hot Marilyn Monroe meets futuristic Judy Jetson flare to the ensemble.

She’d never worn anything like this in her life. Her sexy persona tonight was a complete one hundred eighty degree turn from her usual somber appearance at the precinct. There, her work attire consisted of boring dark slacks and collared shirts. She kept her tawny hair pulled back in a bun according to the policy that a female’s hair must be off of her collar. That was pretty much the norm for her, and unless it was a special occasion, ChapStick was the closest thing to makeup she wore.

But luckily for the lieutenant, she cleaned up well and had previous bartending experience. Because of that, she had been the perfect solution for the remaining spot on the vice squad’s surveillance detail, despite the fact that she’d yet to complete all of her training. Although, Lieutenant Thomas had balked about sending a rookie detective in undercover, he hadn’t had much of a choice.

Rachel, however, wasn’t sweating it. This wasn’t exactly her first rodeo. She’d worked as a patrol officer in Tallahassee for four years. She was motivated and ambitious. Hell, she was born ready for an opportunity like this. After all, it was why she moved to Miami almost six months ago. Well, that and to get away from her ex-girlfriend Samantha’s crazy ass once and for all.

So far that night, she hadn’t seen anything more than a few tourists making a clumsy attempt to score a bag of blow from a waitress. From her vantage point behind the bar, she had a straight shot of the main door and a side view of the VIP section. If any of Miami’s prominent street dealers came in, they couldn’t slip by her unnoticed.

The plan was that once she was able to make a visual verification, she would then issue a verbal alert via the hidden wire beneath her shirt, at which time her team staked out in the service van outside the club, would snap a picture of the persons of interest as they exited the club. If her team could identify a frequent pattern in a dealer’s selling habits at the Purple Parrot, this could very well be the sight of a future sting.

For Rachel, that not only secured her position on the squad, but also positioned her for selection for future complex case assignments.

While humming along to Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin,’ she walked to the other end of the bar. A small group caught her attention when they walked in and headed straight for the VIP section. They were all ridiculously gorgeous. Well dressed and Latin, they were clearly members of Miami’s elite.

The two girls and three guys appeared to be in their late-twenties to early-thirties. The air around them exuded confidence, and Rachel’s instincts told her to keep an eye on them. She watched as one of the guys pulled a chair out for one of the girls to be seated, while another man leaned forward to light his date’s cigarette.

Out of the three men, the man without a date was the most handsome in the group. In fact, he was probably the best looking man she’d seen in…forever. He sat casually in the chair with his ankle crossed over his knee. His legs were long, his shoulders broad and muscular. His dark skin contrasted against his white shirt, and his sleek black hair was slightly gelled. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

She squinted her eyes for a closer look. Hmm…He was probably an actor working on location. That would explain his good looks and the entourage.

Lana, got another order for you. A waitress started calling off from the list she held in front of her a few inches from her face, Two Tom Collins, a margarita on the rocks, a shot of Patron, and one mojito heavy on the mint, light on the rum.

Coming right up, Rachel said. Shit, she hoped she could remember how to make all that. Tom Collins has gin, right?

Rachel never heard the answer. The moment she walked in, her hand paused with the ice scoop in mid-air. Rachel forgot all about the drink orders. Hell, she even forgot to breathe.

Time stopped and the only thing she was aware of was that the sexiest woman she’d ever seen was making her way straight to her. And if the crowd continued to magically part, the raven haired goddess would be standing right in front of her in 2.5 seconds.

Actually, magic didn’t have all that much to do with it. She was so freakishly stunning that she demanded everyone’s attention, and they all moved out of the way for her. And then there she was.

Gulp.

Standing so close that Rachel could reach out and run her fingers through all that luscious black hair that was so shiny even Cher would be envious.

Get a grip, Rachel told herself. She straightened her shoulders and ignored the tingle of excitement that surged through her veins. What’s your poison? she asked her. The other drinks could wait.

I’ll take a Corona with a lime.

Beer. Ahhh, a woman after her own heart. Rachel loved beer—and the woman’s husky accent that sent a shiver dancing down her spine. It was definitely Latin, but it didn’t quite sound Spanish to her. Portuguese, perhaps.

Rachel retrieved a beer from the icy beer bin. She used a short metal bottle opener to pop the cap and plopped the bottle on the bar. She inserted a lime slice. Here you go. Enjoy. She played it cool.

You can put this on my boyfriend’s tab.

Rachel cocked her eyebrow. His name?

Ramon LaMendola. The woman winked at her before she turned and made her way to the VIP section.

It hadn’t been a flirty wink, merely a sexy form of dismissal. Rachel watched her walk away, loving the way her tight pants fit her petite, round tush. Who is that? Rachel asked the cocktail waitress. She said she was with some guy named Ramon LaMen-something?

That’s Selena Sanchez. They don’t grow them like that in Orlando, do they? The waitress gave a knowing laugh. She’s dating Miami’s most eligible bachelor. They’re the hottest couple in South Beach.

Well boo, Rachel pouted. She wanted to cry out to her, NO! Stop walking toward him. Come back to me. But despite all her silent protests, the gorgeous woman walked right over to the hot guy who Rachel had thought was an actor sitting in the VIP section, bent down, and planted an unnecessarily passionate kiss on his lips.

Gross!

Rachel wanted to hurl a shot glass at them. When Selena pulled away from the embrace, Rachel’s eyes accidentally locked with Ramon’s. Embarrassed to be caught staring from across the club at their intimate embrace, Rachel blushed and quickly looked away.

She turned her attention back to the bar and her pile of drink orders. She pushed the drinks to the waitress and continued to scan the crowd for activity, every so often glancing over at the VIP section.

It wasn’t long before she was running low on short glasses, so she subconsciously shielded her wire and ducked below the bar to grab another crate. When she popped back up and saw who was now standing between two barstools, she almost dropped the crate of glasses.

Yikes. It was her future lover’s current lover. She recovered quickly. Hi. What can I get you?

Why do you keep staring? His accent was rich, and there was an attractive timbre to his deep voice.

Excuse me? She didn’t quite know how to respond. Somehow oh, I was eyeballing your girlfriend didn’t seem like the appropriate response.

Do I know you? he pressed.

No, I don’t think so.

"I didn’t think so either. You’re a very beautiful woman. I would have remembered you. Perhaps we should get to know each other, no?"

Keeping in character as the hot bartender who liked big tips, Rachel leaned forward at the waist and propped her elbows on the bar. She smiled a seductive half smile. Her suggestive pose deliberately exposed a good deal of her bronzed cleavage. She boldly reached over and lifted a woman’s long stray hair from his shoulder. I don’t get to know guys with girlfriends.

Ramon laughed. What is your name?

I’m Lana.

Ramon. How long have you been in Miami, Lana?

I moved here from Orlando a couple months ago.

What is your number?

Should she give him her number? Rachel only hesitated a second. Since moving to Miami, she didn’t really have a social circle outside of work and her volleyball network. Although Ramon wasn’t her type, his girlfriend damn sure was. She picked up a napkin from the bar and grabbed a pen from behind the cash register. She jotted down her number and handed it to him. I only give my number out once, so don’t lose it. She looked over his shoulder and saw his entourage approaching, with his girlfriend Selena in the lead.

When Selena reached Ramon’s side, her arm snaked possessively around his waist. Rachel heard her whisper in his hear. "Come on, gato. Let’s get out of here. This place is boring and crawling with unattractive Anglos."

Rachel’s mouth almost dropped. Although Selena hadn’t even glanced in Rachel’s direction when she said that, Rachel had a sneaking suspicion she’d intended for her to hear her comment. Wow, had she just been insulted?

She heard Ramon whisper something in Spanish in Selena’s ear which apparently appeased her, because her eyes gave Rachel a brief, dismissive once over.

Ramon said to Rachel, Come party with us.

I would love to, but I can’t. I have to close tonight, Rachel pouted prettily.

Get someone to cover your shift. I have a house on SoBe, near the marina. You know you wanna… As if to sweeten the pot, he added, "A bottle of champagne and a fresh line of llello await you."

Jackpot! This was the break she’d been waiting for. Rachel’s heart thumped and her pulse raced. The success of her first undercover op was a major adrenaline rush and…kind of a sexual turn on, actually. I wish I could, but we’re too short staffed tonight. There’s no way I’m getting out before closing time. Raincheck?

"Sí. Baby, Ramon noticeably squeezed his arm tighter around the woman in his arms to gain her attention. What day do we get back from Colombia?"

Friday, she informed him. There was a slight, authoritative note to her voice.

He turned to Rachel. "Meet us at the Miami Beach Marina Saturday. My boat is La Viuda Negra."

The Black Widow, Selena interpreted in English for Rachel. Although the gesture seemed friendly, her dark eyes told a different story. Selena looked like she wanted to smack the snot right out of her.

Rachel watched Ramon’s group disappear into the crowd. She pretended to scratch her nose as she said quietly, Three Judy’s and three John’s headed your way, guys.

Chapter Two

Rachel limped down the narrow alley two streets over and behind the Purple Parrot. Sheesh, her feet were killing her. Never had she stood on her feet for that long in three-inch-high boot heels. No doubt her left foot was one entire blister. Thank God, she soon spotted the white van headed toward her. As she waited, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

The van stopped right beside her and the door opened from inside. She grabbed the handle and climbed in. Andy was behind the wheel, and Ron was in the back fidgeting with the bulky recording equipment. Andy turned around. Nicely done, rookie.

She was caught off guard from a stinging high five. Vice Detective Andy Maddox was former military, and his brash intensity took some getting used to. He was on the loud side, but the more she worked with him, the more he grew on her. Thanks. It was fun.

You’re a natural.

As they drove off, Rachel shook some feeling back into her hand. Good stuff, huh? Were you able to get their pictures? Is it a good lead? She reached inside her bag and removed her sweatshirt. She pushed her arms through the sleeves, then pulled it over her head and down her torso to cover her skimpy outfit.

Fuckin’ A, it’s a good lead. Do you have any idea who you were talking to in there?

Rachel tugged off her wig. When her thick, tawny braid plopped down her back, she almost sighed in ecstasy. It felt so good to finally let her scalp breathe again. His name was Ramon LaMendola, but I’ve never heard of him. Is he listed? She reached under her sweatshirt, inside her top, and removed the wire. She passed it to Ron.

"Is he listed?" Ron Samuels echoed in astonishment.

Rachel braced herself against the door frame when Andy swerved off road for a split second as he turned his head to look back at her. Once he regained control of the vehicle, he laughed. It was obvious she was the brunt of some private joke. Annoyed, she demanded, What’s so damn funny?

Honey, you just got up close and personal with Carlos LaMendola’s baby brother.

One, I’m not your honey. Two, who is Carlos LaMendola?

He is the ring leader of Colombia’s Cartagena cartel. It’s long been rumored that his brother Ramon is heading the family’s Miami operation. But nothing can be proven. We haven’t been able to crack the Colombians because everyone in the chain is family. Their bond is more than greed—they are bound by blood. Unlike the Cuban cartels, they don’t turn on each other, and they won’t rat on each other. The two guys that were with Ramon are his cousins—and likely either his lieutenants or his bodyguards.

Wow. Rachel’s eyes rounded. Did you hear where they invited me to go boating with them Saturday? Do you think the Lieutenant will send me?

I would count on it, if I were you. The best way to find the hive is to follow the bees.

Her pulse thumped with nervous excitement. She took a deep breath. Although she didn’t smoke, she might need a cigarette for this. The Colombian cartel was no joke. She didn’t know much about them, but she did know that band of drug traffickers was known for their extreme brutality. What about the woman? Who is she? she asked.

Some Brazilian socialite named Selina Sanchez. She’s been in Miami a couple of years now.

Do you think she’s involved in his operations?

For sure. Rumor has it she’s his right hand.

Rachel’s eyes rounded. Oh, shit. She probably needed to rethink her new girl crush. Fast.

***

The birds chirped and the sun was just coming up over the ocean as DEA Special Agent Monica Vega pressed the alarm code on the door of her silver Jaguar. Entry successful, she slid across the grey leather seat, clicked her seatbelt into place, and sped off.

A few miles down the road, she glanced in her rearview mirror. She spotted a black sedan a few car lengths behind her, so she signaled and switched lanes. Her shoulders relaxed a notch when the sedan didn’t follow suit.

Monica drove a few more miles to be certain she wasn’t being tailed. Then she pulled into the service station and parked her car beside the payphone booth.

She left the Jag running as she closed herself inside the booth with a handful of loose change. She picked up the receiver, deposited a few quarters, and dialed her partner. He finally answered after several rings. Good morning, Jonathon. Sorry to call this early.

No, no. That is okay. How is everything? he asked in a groggy voice.

Things are on schedule. She propped her hip against the plexiglass panel of the booth. I need you to do me a favor. There was a skirt at the Purple Parrot last night wearing a wire. She was working the bar. Find out who she’s with. If she’s building an angle that has anything to do with LaMendola, we need to get those orders quashed and buried. If the cartel senses any heat, it could destroy everything we’ve been working toward for the past two years. We’re too close to Carlos to have this blow up in our faces now.

You got it. Give me a few days to work on it. Do you think she’s federal? I have confirmation from Richards that we have sole jurisdiction on the Miami operations.

Monica tilted her head. Hmmm… The girl had the look of an agent. She blended well with her surroundings. She had finesse. The way she’d handled Ramon’s advances showed true talent and an ability to think on her feet. But, shielding her wire was a rookie mistake that ultimately blew her cover. Although the girl had instincts, she lacked experience and the benefit of specialized training. Monica shook her head. No, I don’t think Richards went back on his word. I’m betting she’s PD.

Alright, then. I’ll see what I can dig up.

One more thing. Let’s keep our knowledge about her quiet until we know for sure what she’s up to.

Understood. Talk soon.

Monica hung up with Jonathan and deposited six more quarters. Although it was early, she wanted to take advantage of the rare opportunity to call her parents on the East coast. Her smile stretched across her face when she heard her mother’s Brazilian accent. "Ola?"

"Ola, mommy. I’m sorry to wake you, but I wanted to hear your voice."

I’m glad you did! It’s been too long since we heard from you. How are you?

I am well. Did you and Dad get the package my partner mailed for me?

"Sim. Have you been eating? You are too skinny. I can hear it in your voice. You stay too busy with work and never take time to care for yourself."

I am eating well, I promise. How is Dad? Her mother was a native of Brazil, and her father was an American surgeon. Her parents had met in their youth when her father visited South America on a mission trip. Her father had fallen in love at first sight with the Brazilian beauty, married her, and brought her back to California. When the time was right, meaning when Monica had more time available, she hoped she’d meet her soul mate that easily.

Your father is good, but he is ready to see his only daughter. How much longer do you think your assignment will last?

Not much longer. Hopefully I’ll be home for Christmas this year. I have to run, but I’ll try to call in a few days.

Take care of yourself, Monica.

I will. I love you… She was thankful her parents never asked her questions about her work. She’d been doing this long enough that they knew the drill: keep calls short and brief. She hung up the receiver, got back in her car, and drove off.

She sat straight in her seat with her hands at the ten and two position on the leather-stitched steering wheel. At the early hour, there was little traffic along SR A1A. The engine revved as she shifted into fifth gear and sped past the slower cars in the other lane and the sand dunes and palm trees that lined the beach on her right.

She turned up the radio and rolled down the windows. The salty ocean air blew her long, black hair in her face. Although she’d pulled another all-nighter, she was wide awake. Usually when she got away from Ramon after being with him consistently for several days, all she wanted to do was crash.

Some might think she had the easiest job in the world, since she actually got paid to jet set with Miami’s rich and famous. But constantly being on in the presence of Ramon and his Colombian cohorts was exhausting.

She cut the