Our Forever: Miami's Danes - Sexy Suspense Series, #1

Chapter 1

Miami - March 15, 1982

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Adria Farris lifted her hair from her eyes and counted the police cars.  Six!  Police presence was always at a premium in Miami. 

Not that homicides were exactly rare in Miami.  Hardly, Adria sighed.  Last year Miami had hit the all time high.  Over six-hundred - just in 1981.  But six police cars.  Adria was taken aback.

Adria had seen her share of violent murders.  More than she'd care to count.  It was a part of the job.  In Miami, murders came with the territory.  Either you could deal with the grizzly details or you couldn't. 

Getting the story!  She was a Farris.  Farris Publishing was the largest, most powerful publishing organization in the South.  Getting the story was in her blood. 

Adria Farris.  Always the first to a scene.

I do my best, Sergeant.

And we can trust you to respect the tape, he laughed.  So before you start on me with the details, I'll send you right over to Detective Peyton.  He's over there by the Crime Lab van.

Adria stepped carefully through the thick brush.  Virginia Key.  Anyone familiar with Miami knew that Virginia Key was about as remote as you could get.  Especially here at the tip of the island in the brush behind the Sewer Plant.  This one was well planned - by someone who wanted to kill in private, by someone who knew Miami. 

Here comes the press. 

Detective John Peyton turned just as the Crime Lab Technician unceremoniously announced her arrival.  Relax.  It's Adria.  She's the least of your worries.

Least of his worries.  That sounds grim, John.

It is.  I thought we were about done with the Cocaine Cowboys.

You think the Cowboys are still fighting?

It's too soon to tell.  Although this isn't completely their style, he replied.

You mean the remoteness?

Precisely.  Why kill in the wilderness when you can shoot it out in a shopping mall?

Adria could sense the frustration in his voice.  The police had been overwhelmed for the past three years.  No surprise that Miami had been dubbed Paradise Lost.

Weapons the same?

The weapon of choice.  A machine gun.  Peyton lifted the crime scene tape so that she could pass under it.  Here take a look.  But from a distance.  The lab is still working the inner perimeter.

Adria ducked under the tape and followed the detective across the dirt road into the brush.  Those tire marks are related I presume?

They are.  At least we believe so.  Lab has processed them.  Clearly it was a car, not a truck.  Fortunately it rained in the evening, cleared away other traffic evidence.  Just one vehicle.  He pointed to the marks, Coming.  Turning around right here.  And then exiting and back onto the paved road.

So how long has the victim been here?

Since sometime after 10 PM last night and 7 AM when a worker from the plant spotted it.  Which is interesting, don’t you think Adria?  I mean the plant is over there, the main road ends a hundred feet to the east, and you can barely see the guy from the roadway.  The worker claims he comes out here every morning after his night shift.  Just wants to enjoy the beauty of the ocean, Peyton smiled, and his story checks out.

So much for the victim going undetected, Adria sighed.  I agree.  This is not the Cowboys' style.

Very astute Ms. Farris.  Which is why you're the best investigative reporter the Tribune has to offer.  No offense, but a routine homicide is hardly worthy of the famous Adria Farris.  Peyton stopped and directed her attention to the body.  Or then again, perhaps this is not a routine homicide.  Even for Miami.

Adria had to admit, the condition of the body was hardly routine.  While the Cowboys loved machine guns, their M.O. was to shoot in the open and run - even to take innocent victims along the way.  These wounds surpassed a quick hit.  This body was pulverized, decapitated.  Adria stared at it for a few minutes.  She knew her time was limited.  She had to process everything before a higher-up had the opportunity to chew-out John Peyton for giving her special access.

OK, John.  Thanks.  Together they ducked back under the tape back to the outer perimeter. 

Adria, I know you have a story.  But for now, keep the details under wraps.  We don’t want to tip...

Tip the perpetrators.  No, I understand.

I know you do.  Peyton glanced around and surveyed the area.  Look, he said quietly, I think this is a bad sign.  I think we have some new players.  I need you on my side.  I know damn well that if you're on the case, there can only be more information coming.

You have an entire Organized Crime squad.  I doubt I can match that, John.

That's part of the problem, he said cautiously.

The chatter on the police radios interrupted before she could respond to John Peyton's most unusual remarks.  QSL.  Victim identified as Cuban Male, Diego Leanos.  40 over past.  Outstanding warrant.  Contact Federal authorities.

What in the hell is she doing here Peyton? 

Give it a rest Bronson.  You know damn well that Adria can be trusted.

The press can never be trusted.  Which is why you're off the case.

On whose authority?  John Peyton was clearly miffed.

Chief of Detectives.  Organized Crime is taking over for Homicide.  And you, Ms. Adria Farris, are hereby on notice to clear this scene.

She's behind the tape, Bronson.

Do I need to get the Major on this? 

Adria had experienced Detective Michael Bronson's temper briefly on several occasions.  But today surpassed all.  To say he was behaving irrationally was an understatement.  So irrationally that Adria was having a hard time ignoring the alarm bells that were chiming in her head.

There's no need for that Detective Bronson.  I have no intention of releasing any information that would prove harmful to your investigation.

Damn straight you won't!

Adria chose not to react to his threat.  You know full well we're interested only in the basics at this time.  Victim's name, approximate time of death, anything else you can release.

I'm not releasing a damn thing.  How does that sound?

By now a few other reporters had gathered around detective Bronson.  Adria took the lead.  To anyone?  You're not sharing any of the details to the press?

You got it, he replied angrily.

May I remind you that the scanners have been transmitting this shooting and the location for about an hour now?  It's not like your body is exactly a secret.

Then that's all you can report now isn't it Ms. Farris?  Bronson turned and headed back towards the Crime Scene van.  Same for the rest of you fools from the press.

Adria had enough to file the story of the homicide.  She could get part one out by deadline.  What really bothered her was that there was little doubt that there were new players in town.  But Bronson's behavior?  That changed the dynamics entirely.  She knew full well he was a hot head.  But this?  Something huge was going on here, and the Organized Crime Unit was on full alert to keep it under wraps.  Which was precisely why Adria Farris would be on it like a Pit Bull.

~

Adria grasped the wheel of the company car as if her grip could somehow settle her anxiety.  Bronson was covering for the obvious - gang war. 

The death was brutal.  It was intended to send a message.  Remote as the location was, the killers knew full well that someone would discover the body.  They weren't as bold or as arrogant as the Cowboys ... but they were equally as brutal.  There was no mistaking it - this was a signal of a new wave of killings.

Adria's frustration was reaching a slow boil.  Damn traffic, she hollered.  Miami don't you understand!  She slammed on the brakes and simmered as the Rickenbacker Causeway traffic came to its usual stop.

This can't happen again!  She yelled to herself in frustration.  Not when everything pointed to settlement.  A hostile settlement, perhaps.  But a settlement.  We just can't go through this again!

She collapsed behind the wheel and watched helplessly as the light on US 1 continued to back up traffic exiting Key Biscayne.  Adria was Miami born and raised.  Third generation.  Miami was family.  All of it.  From the magnificence of its beaches to the repulsiveness of its seedy underbelly, Adria lived and breathed Miami.  No, she moaned, not again.

Adria leaned forward and searched for a break in the traffic.  OK, so I need to get a grip on this.  Instead of losing it Adria, how about you approach it logically. 

She lowered the visor and waited.  Now would be a good time, she whispered to herself.  It's not like you have anything else to do right at this moment.  As her frustration seethed, the facts raced through her mind, seemingly oblivious to the full stop that was dominating her immediate predicament.

What was perplexing was that this victim was a Cuban.  The Cuban gangs had largely given in to the Colombians when the Cowboys had started killing their families.  Some of the more violent Cuban gangs - particular the felons who had hit the streets following the Mariel Boatlift - had resisted more violently than others, at least at first.  For the most part, the Cubans had moved on to other criminal enterprises, or so it seemed.

Still ... they have to be pissed, she moaned.

So do the Colombians fit into this?  Did the Medellin kill this guy for some reason?  Adria pondered the various scenarios that raced through her mind.  The worst of the Cowboy wars had ended after the Colombian Medellin Cartel rose to power not that long ago.  Sure, the Cubans had attempted to battle factions of lesser groups in the past.  But they lost.  Surely they wouldn’t take on the Medellin.

Colombians vs. Cubans?  That seemed highly unlikely ... not to mention predictably deadly.

Nonetheless, this M.O. was hardly consistent with the Cuban gangs.  Machine guns?  And judging by the devastation of the body, 45 caliber machine guns no less.  In all her time on the street beat, Adria had never known the Cuban gangs to be violent to that extreme - even the Marieletos.  Not to mention, the Marieletos had moved on to different crimes.  They had enough savvy to stay clear of the Medellin.

Her mind raced.  The Colombians killed out in the open - as if they could defy whomever they wanted.  This was a genuine turnabout if the Colombians were involved.  Remote locations were simply not their style.  No, this was something new. 

Adria gritted her teeth and moaned.  It can't be?  Or can it?  What about the Mexicans? 

The Mexicans had no obvious presence in Miami, but they could still blend in.  When the Medellin took over, the Cubans had taken over much of the cocaine distribution in Miami.  But her sources had reported that the Mexicans were dueling with the Cubans for those distribution rights.  Was there something to this?  Could the Mexicans actually be moving in?  No.  That had to be ridiculous.  The Mexicans would never stand a chance against the Cubans.  Not in Miami.

Adria hated what she was thinking.  Nonetheless, she knew one thing for sure.  Miami was falling victim again.  This was war.  The question was - who was fighting this war?

Adria took a deep breath as if the fresh air could cancel out the racing of her pulse.  No such luck.  She hit the accelerator and headed north towards the Tribune.

~

You look like a woman on a mission!

Adria stopped mid stride and approached her editor.  You could say that.  You got a minute?

Scott Turner waved his arm in the direction of his office.  Absolutely.  How about in here?

Adria adored Scott, as did her father.  He'd been trying to convince Scott to join the Senior Editorial Board for years.  Crusty old guy, she laughed, he loves the action in the newsroom.  Scott would never trade the grit for the boardroom.  She loved him for it - she was just like him.  Only problem, as daughter of the Publisher, she would have no choice one day. 

Adria sat down in front of Scott and smiled.  That day hadn’t come yet.  So you won’t believe my morning!

Rarely do I Adria, my dear, he laughed.  Pray tell what have you gotten this newspaper into now?"

Adria filled Scott in on the grizzly details and saved Detective Bronson's reaction for last.  As she had expected, Scott was as curious as she was. 

OK.  So you don’t release the name.  But you have it.  So start with our files.

Absolutely.  And if I need to, I can make an off the record call to Michael Logan at DEA.  Whatever the warrant was, it was a Federal warrant.

Yes.  We can trust Logan.

I have enough for the basic crime story.  Adria paused, thinking of the endless possibilities that followed.  And then I have my sources.

Scott chuckled.  So go for it.  Just keep me posted.

I always do!

Adria was invigorated.  Reporting was her life.  For as long as she could remember, all she wanted was to break stories.  It didn’t hurt that she had been raised by a family of journalists.  Still, she reasoned, breaking stories was what made her.  In the six years since she had graduated from the top of her class at the University of Miami, she had immersed herself in her work.

Adria's success hadn’t come easily.  When she first stepped foot in the newsroom as a legitimate, paid beat reporter, Adria knew she had mission to accomplish.  No doubt the rest of the staff would judge her simply because she was the Publisher's daughter.  What they didn’t understand was that her father was harder on her than he would have ever been with other reporters.  As much as he admired her for her ambition, he would never allow her any special privileges.  But then, no one else knew that.

Adria had worked her tail off.  She took stories that others' wanted no part of.  She labored when others were off.  She gathered sources.  She rarely took a day off.  She attained a name for herself - a name that was synonymous with honesty and fair reporting.  Adria Farris had set out to earn respect in the newsroom and in the community... and she had succeeded.

Her six years of hard work had paid off.  Adria had moved up the ladder from a beat reporter to the senior investigative reporter for the Miami Tribune.  And best she knew, no one begrudged her for it.  She was completely dedicated to her craft.  Her dream had come true.

Now she had to get to the microfiche, known fondly as the Tomb.  Within moments she was face to face with its curator.  Hi Brad!  How's everything down here in the Tomb?

You love the Tomb and you know it Adria.  If it weren't for this bastion of information, you wouldn't be where you are today.

You're right Brad.  But let's keep that our little secret.

Agreed super reporter.  So can I point you in the right direction?

It's quite easy at this point.  I have a name.  Just a name.

Then I'll leave you alone in your misery.  Holler if you need coffee.

Adria opened her reporter notebook.  Diego Leanos.  In a city the size of Miami, how many Diego Leanos could there be?  Too many, she thought.  She knew there was some type of a Federal warrant outstanding.  Best to start there.  Adria slid the microfiche records into the reader and set out for a long search.

To her relief, it didn’t take long for Adria to hit the jackpot.  Well, well, Mr. Leanos.  This has to be you.

Adria stared at the mug shot.  There was no way to connect it to the body on Virginia Key.  The victim's face had been blown away by the gunfire.  But this has to be you.  A Federal warrant for human smuggling and extorting Cuban immigrants.  Indicted four months ago.

Adria worked feverishly through the records.  So it seemed that Leanos had been a lanchero, a smuggler. 

Who in Miami would want to kill a lanchero? 

Adria took pride in her familiarity with the Cuban community of Miami.  There were no doubt tens of thousands of people who had been brought out of Cuba by the lancheros.  

A lanchero, she said out loud.  The lancheros are no secret.  The lancheros are regarded as heroes. 

Adria took a deep breath.  It was right in front of her.  It had to be.  Just keep looking, she assured herself.  Her fingers trembled as she inserted one piece of microfiche after another into the reader.

But of course!  Adria searched the remaining records with a vengeance.  Diego Leanos was a lanchero for el Padrino, the self-described Godfather of the Mexican Vallarta Cartel.  That's what got you killed Mr. Leanos.

Adria sat back in her chair and sighed, proud of herself.  And then it dawned on her.  Why on this green Earth would a Cuban lanchero sign up with a Mexican cartel?  Since when did the Cubans need the Mexicans to get Cubans out of Cuba?

Well now that sounds stupid, doesn’t it Adria?

What sounds stupid?

Adria felt her heart skip a beat.  Scott, are you trying to startle me to death.

Sorry.  Note please that you have your back to the door.  Anyway, thought I'd check in.  See if you were making any progress on the homicide.

He's a smuggler, a lanchero.  For the Mexican Vallarta Cartel.  None other than for the Godfather himself - el Padrino.

Adria watched as Scott's face turned a pale shade of white.  My thoughts exactly.

And you think what Adria?

I think that this is no secret.  On the streets of Little Havana, they know their lanchero is dead.  The question is - who knows he was an associate of el Padrino?

Then we hold off on that.  But we report the name.  If Bronson wants to lose his temper, he can take it out on me. 

Adria nodded in agreement.  I'll go file the story.  With the name.  In the meantime, I need to meet with a source.  If the Mexicans are moving in on the Cuban smugglers, things are about to get much bloodier.

Scott shook his head as if in disbelief.  Vertodo?

Si Señor.  Vertodo.  To the all-seeing.  And you will be the second to know precisely what he has to say.

Chapter 2

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Adria would have preferred to spend a quiet evening at home in her penthouse.  When she wasn't working, there was nothing more soothing than the water.  She could sit for hours taking in the scent and the sounds of Biscayne Bay.  The water was her tonic, her energizer.  When she was a child, she took it for granted.  Didn’t everyone have an ocean?  But now - as an adult - there was no taking anything for granted.  This was Miami.  How lucky she was.

It was nearly 7 PM.  She was due at the Biltmore in a half an hour.  Ordinarily she would be thrilled to attend an event at the Biltmore.  The hotel was an architectural monument - not to mention it had been recently been remodeled to the tune of fifty-million dollars.  And the artwork ... Adria had to catch herself.  Her father would be irate if she missed this all-important annual Tribune-sponsored Business Leadership Reception.  Adria sighed.  It could be worse.  If she was on the Editorial Board she'd have to attend the entire two day event.

Adria slid open the patio doors and took a deep breath.  Truly there was nothing more invigorating than the smell of the ocean.  Not now.  Maybe later.  Assuming you can stay awake long enough.

Within fifteen minutes she had changed from her business suit to a cocktail dress.  She had decided on black.  Who could go wrong with the basic black cocktail dress, right?  Just a slight dip to her more than ample bust line, a subtle black lace, and a conservative touch of black beading.  She slipped the form fitting dress over her head and pulled it over her thin body.  The perfect blend of elegant, sexy, and ladylike.  Her father would be proud.

~

Adria pulled her beloved Mercedes into the circular driveway at the Biltmore.  As she exited the car, she laughed to herself when the young parking attendant struggled to keep his eyes off of her.  Adria had to admit - it was nice to have a man admire her - even if he was barely twenty years old.

Men!  Aren't they all alike?  Not that she didn’t love them.  She did.  She just had no time in her life for a full time man as she thought of it.  A boyfriend here and there.  Perhaps.  But only on a short term basis.  Her life was her work.  And she intended on keeping it that way.

As soon as she entered the Grande Ballroom she spotted her father.  His eyes lit up as she approached.

Adria.  My beautiful Adria.  Her father put his arm around her, kissed her on the cheek, and whispered in her ear, I hear you're involved in another major story.

You've spoken to Scott?

I have, he whispered.  He's loving it.

And you, Daddy?

Meet my idea.  Her father took her by the arm and escorted her towards the bar.  Conrad.  Conrad Dane.

The moment the man turned, their eyes met.  For a brief moment Adria could not take a breath.  This was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen.

I'd like you to meet my daughter Adria.

Conrad took her hand in his.  My pleasure Ms. Farris.  Actually it is an honor to meet the famous Adria Farris.

Famous!  Not as famous as you are.  Adria struggled to take a breath.  At that exact moment in time, there was little doubt why Conrad Dane was famous for being Miami's most notorious lady's man.  He was absolutely spectacular.  No, actually spectacular didn’t do him justice.  He was breathtaking.

It took her a few moments to recognize that she was acting like a fool.  Unfortunately she couldn’t move past staring at him.  He towered over her like some sort of a God.  His impeccable designer suit jacket accentuated his broad athletic shoulders and offered a subtle glimpse of his muscular chest.  And the gold kissed hair.  Not that his dark hair wasn't sexy enough the way it dipped down the back of his neck and curled ever so slightly.  No that wasn't enough ... it was the subtle kiss of sunlight that took him over the top.  And his face... in a word ... beautiful.  Manly beautiful ... but beautiful.

My pleasure, Mr. Dane.

Mr. Dane, he laughed.  That's my father.  Please, call me Conrad.

He squeezed her hand gently as his eyes roamed her body. 

Oh my God.  Can you believe the steel blue eyes!  Not just the color.  But the sparkle.  Adria felt she would explode with lust.

Conrad.  She took a breath. 

Mercifully, her father interrupted her thoughts.  You know the Danes, Adria.  Long line of lawyers.  Miami's best.  You remember Carson.

Ah, yes, Adria laughed.  Your long time golf partner. 

You know my father is quite the golf hustler, Conrad.  If they're still friends, she laughed.

Of course we're still friends, my dear, her father laughed.  And for your information I am not a golf hustler.  I pale in comparison to Carson Dane.

Conrad's already stunning eyes sparked with obvious pride.  No wonder they're lifelong friends.

Conrad, I spoke to your father this afternoon.  He wants to turn a share of the Tribune representation over to you.  Any recommendation from Carson is golden.  He broke into a laugh, Not to mention, he says you're as cutthroat as he is. 

I'll take that as a compliment, sir.

Indeed.  So there's no time like the present.  Adria's working on a story that could ruffle some feathers.

Conrad gazed into her eyes.  Since when is that new?  That's what makes you positively the best.

Agreed.  Nonetheless, I'd like for her to share the details with you.  Just get your take on direction.  Strictly from a legal standpoint.

I would be honored.

Very well, then.  So I'll let you two decide on a time. 

Before Adria could object, her father headed towards a group of businessmen.  She was alone with Conrad Dane.  Now if she could just tune into what he was saying over the pounding of her heart.

Adria, let's find a quiet corner.  You can fill me in briefly.  Just give me the details in a nutshell.

Adria sizzled to her core when Conrad took her by the hand and led her towards an alcove just outside the confines of the ballroom.  This man was absolutely electric.  And, he was a company lawyer.  No matter how tempting, Conrad Dane had to be completely business.  Not to mention, she had no inclination whatsoever of getting involved with such a notorious lady's man.

Conrad stopped and looked into her eyes.  So tell me.  What has your father so concerned?

Adria took a moment to gather her senses.  You're not fourteen anymore, Adria.

Oh, I wouldn’t say he is overly concerned.  He has this ongoing need to look after his two loves - his daughter and his paper, she joked.

And who can blame him for wanting to look over such a beautiful woman.  His steel blue eyes sparked as he spoke.  You are even more beautiful in person.

In person?  I don’t run with a photo.

But you do grace the society pages.

Only occasionally.  And, I might add, only under protest.

Conrad laughed.  You are a reporter.  Not a society lady.  I get it.  But you are known for your devotion to the arts.

Adria was stunned that Conrad knew so much about her.  Although, she had to admit to herself, she was impressed.  I do love the arts.  I want others to share that passion.

That is an honorable goal.

But achievable.  When I'm not working of course.  Which is almost always.

Work was not meant to exclude play, Adria.

Adria took a few moments to recover from that most suggestive remark.  If anything, Conrad Dane was charming ... and very sexy.

You're amusing Conrad, she laughed.  So let's just focus on work.

For now, he whispered.

Are you trying to break my train of thought, she teased.

I am, but then we are here at your father's request.  So tell me, what do you have?

Adria relayed the details of the homicide, the identity of the victim, and her fears that Miami was facing a new wave of violence.  Conrad listened intently.  Finally, she revealed her concerns that the Organized Crime Unit was withholding information.

You know as well as I do that they may have good reason to withhold information.

I do, Conrad, and I respect that.  But this is more than that.  More than just the routine refusal to deny or confirm.  Combine Michael Bronson's attitude with John Peyton's obvious concerns, and you have something very out of the ordinary.  I can't pin point it exactly.  Call it instinct.  Let's just say, my alert system is overactive.

Conrad chuckled.  I think the last thing any of us want is to activate your alert system.  But on a serious note, I agree with you.  Something is not right here and I can appreciate your father's concern.

Conrad thought for a few moments.  Have you approached Detective Peyton since?

No.  And the last thing I want to do is to place him in jeopardy.  Not to mention, after the incident with Bronson yesterday, I doubt he would have much to say.

I agree.  We cannot damage his standing with the department.  And the possibility exists - there is nothing there.  Maybe we have just stumbled into a turf dispute between Homicide and Organized Crime.

Adria pondered Conrad's suggestion.  "Perhaps. But if there is anything to this, I