Heaven sent, p.1
Heaven Sent, page 1
Heaven Sent
Delaney Diamond
Garden Avenue Press
Contents
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Also by Delaney Diamond
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About the Author
Blurb
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Friends become lovers as they uncover the heinous actions of an evil empire’s plans.
Camila Hughes, a digital magazine columnist, spends her free time working with the homeless in Las Vegas. When one of them turns up dead in what police dismiss as a suicide, Camila suspects something darker at play.
Alejandro Sanchez, a skilled explosives expert and Camila’s childhood friend, has always kept his feelings for her in check. When intruders invade her home, his protective instincts turn lethal, and he vows to stay by her side to help her unravel the mystery surrounding the break-in, and her friend’s death.
Sparks fly between them, igniting feelings they’ve both kept hidden for years. And when the enemy comes for Camila, Alejandro has to teach them a lesson: Never threaten the woman he loves.
Heaven Sent by Delaney Diamond
* * *
Copyright © October 2024, Delaney Diamond
Garden Avenue Press
Atlanta, Georgia
* * *
978-1-946302-07-6 (Ebook edition)
978-1-946302-85-4 (Paperback edition)
* * *
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-mail, without prior written permission from Delaney Diamond.
www.delaneydiamond.com
1
Alejandro Sanchez crept through the dark room wearing boots, black clothes, and a black backpack on his back. Rain poured down in heavy sheets and lightning flashed outside the nearby window in a jagged line that illuminated the interior of the room. The rolling growl of thunder followed right after, so loud it rattled the windows and shook the foundation of the stone building.
He attached the last C-4 charge to the base of a load-bearing column. He had already placed explosives at key structural points in the stairwell, the basement, and specific areas of the foundation—all with the intent of destabilizing the massive structure and causing a collapse of the traffickers’ lair. The extra internal placements would ensure nothing but rubble remained when he detonated the explosives. Fitting for a group of men who had destroyed so many lives, preying on young women in the nearby village and terrorizing their families to keep them in line.
Now to get the hell out of there.
He opened the door and moved swiftly but quietly through the dark hall. Most of the men were asleep, but one or two wandered the halls and might see him if he wasn’t careful.
As the thought crossed his mind, someone called to him from behind.
“Hey! Who are you?” the man demanded in Spanish.
These weren’t the kind of men you talked to and reasoned with, so Alejandro didn’t bother turning to face him. He took off and raced around a corner. Gunshots followed, splintering the wall near his head.
Mierda. That was way too close.
He stopped and removed the pistol from his holster. Flattening his back against the wall as much as he could with the backpack, he crouched low and lay in wait. When the man came into view, he shot up and into his face. The trafficker hit the far wall and crumbled to the floor, leaving a trail of blood in the paint.
The door at the end of the corridor flew open, and Alejandro sprang to his feet and ran in the opposite direction.
He tapped his earpiece. “This is Eagle One. Eagle Two, do you read me? Over.”
The electronic device in his ear crackled, and then the Caribbean-accented voice of his colleague came through loud and clear.
“Eagle Two is here. Over.” The voice belonged to Alissa.
“On my way. Over,” Alejandro said, ducking down another hallway as automatic rounds splintered the wall.
Then the clanging sound of an alarm filled the air around him, and lights flashed like the strobe lights in a nightclub. He had to get out of there now. More men would be awake soon, and then he’d be in worse trouble.
“En route. Over,” Alissa replied.
He could barely hear her because of the loud alarm.
He raced toward the large window at the end of the corridor and pointed his weapon at the glass. He pressed the trigger multiple times, and the glass shattered into pieces. Running full speed, he made a flying leap through the gaping hole and landed feet first on top of a truck cabin below.
The surface was wet and slick. He skidded and slipped off the top but landed on his feet, boots sinking into the muddy earth beneath him.
He made a quick turn toward the building, and as soon as the man appeared in the window, he discharged his weapon, hitting the man squarely in the chest. The round sliced through the guy’s body, and he fell forward on top of the truck’s cabin before rolling like a toppled log to the ground. Another man appeared in the opening, and Alejandro fired and missed. The guy shot back and missed before he rushed backward to hide in the shadowy darkness.
Alejandro fired two more times into the opening for good measure, breaking a piece of glass that fell in fragments to the ground. The extra shots should buy him time as the man continued to seek cover.
He sprinted across the property toward the trees. The dark and the rain made seeing difficult, but he plowed across the open field and into the brush, putting distance between him and the building. Crouching behind a large tree, he removed the remote detonator and pressed down with his thumb.
A loud boom filled the night air, followed by other thunderous booms in quick succession that rattled the trees and made the ground shudder. A black cloud of dust and debris reached toward the sky and was visible above the trees.
“Adiós, pendejos,” he said with satisfaction.
Alejandro darted deeper into the jungle. He had to get to the clearing on the other side, the extraction point where Alissa would pick him up.
Then he heard gunshots.
Goddamnit.
He figured once the alarm went off the men would be on the alert, but he’d hoped he’d been able to kill them all. Wishful thinking. Some had managed to escape the building before the explosion.
Several rounds whizzed past him and cut holes in nearby trees. They were sweeping the brush with their automatic weapons in the hope of hitting him.
His heart galloped at a heightened rate as he zigzagged through the dense foliage, racing through the darkness across the slippery, treacherous terrain. He jumped over fallen tree trunks and tree roots and roughly brushed away branches that whipped toward his face. Raindrops pummeled the dense canopy of trees, and the nonstop downpour blurred his vision with a curtain of water.
He could hear his pursuers, so he couldn’t slow down. They shouted at each other in Spanish as they came after him.
Alejandro ran harder, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. Determination gave him the energy he needed to keep moving.
Finally, he broke through the trees into the clearing. Straight ahead was the edge of a cliff, the dramatic drop below hidden by the dense fog hovering over the clearing.
“Eagle Two, where are you? Over.”
“Thirty seconds out. Over.”
“I need you here. Now.”
The men’s voices were coming closer. They were almost on top of him, and he was a sitting duck with nowhere to hide.
Alejandro swung toward the trees and lifted out his second weapon and pointed—feet planted in the muddy ground, his eyes swept the trees to anticipate where the men were coming from.
When the first criminal breached the trees, Alejandro fired, hitting him square in the chest and knocking him off his feet. Then he heard the beautiful sound of a helicopter’s blades, and a rush of relief swamped him.
A black helicopter rose through the fog and darkness.
“Get down!” Alissa yelled in his ear.
Alejandro flung himself to the dirt and watched as the youngest member of their team sprayed the men breaking into the clearing. Mouse—tiny, light-skinned, with short-cropped hair—was in the back of the copter with an AK-47. The damn gun was almost as big as she was.
The distinctive crack of the powerful weapon filled the air, the bullets immediately piercing his pursuers’ bodies. Three, four, then five men fell to the ground while another fel l backward into the rain-soaked underbrush.
Alejandro shoved to his feet, but he was not out of danger yet. A truck was fast approaching. He made a split-second decision to pull a grenade off his tool belt.
“Come on! What are you doing?” Alissa demanded.
“Stay back,” he replied.
The truck broke through the trees, and Alejandro faded left. He yanked the pin from the grenade and tossed it into the truck.
He heard the panicked cries of the men as he dropped to the mud again and covered the back of his head with his hands. The deafening roar of the explosion filled his ears. Metal, glass, and body parts shot into the air and landed all around him.
Alejandro lifted his head in time to see the shattered, inflamed truck careen over the edge of the cliff with a completely decimated truck bed.
Seconds later, Alissa landed the bird, and Alejandro hopped in. Brown-skinned, with her hair in cornrows, she shook her head.
“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?” she asked.
Alejandro chuckled. “You know I like to blow things up.”
He settled on the floor of the helicopter and removed a cigar from his pocket. It was soaking wet, so he simply stuck it in the corner of his mouth.
“Did you get them all?” Mouse asked.
“Hell yeah. They won’t be bothering anyone else. We wiped them out.” He grinned, and she gave him a high five.
Closing his eyes, Alejandro rested the back of his head against the helicopter and settled in for the ride to the airport. The waiting plane would take them out of the country—thanks to the local government that had hired them to eliminate the traffickers.
Another mission accomplished. And no one even knew they were in the country.
2
Camila Hughes strolled up to the register with a bag of Oreo cookies, cotton swabs, purple nail polish, and nail polish remover. Her toes were currently a mess, and she didn’t have time for a pedicure before her brother’s wedding tomorrow.
“How’s it going, Julie?” she asked the cashier, placing her items on the counter.
“Same old, same old.” Julie had frizzy-looking curly blonde hair braided into a big plait.
“I’ll take this too.” Camila tossed a pack of Tic Tacs on the counter.
Julie rang up the cookies. “Are you going to see Doug today?” she asked.
“How’d you guess—the cookies?”
“Yeah. I bet he loves you.”
“Hopefully for more than free Oreos,” Camila said with a laugh. “He called me two days ago and said he had something to show me. This is the first chance I’ve had free to talk to him, so I’m taking the Oreos as a peace offering to ask for his forgiveness.”
“You’re a good woman, Camila.” Julie gave her the total and placed all the items in the bag.
“I try to be.”
After Camila paid, she said goodbye and exited the drug store. Slipping a pair of Gucci sunglasses over her eyes, she walked to her custom-painted Volkswagen Beetle. Purple was her favorite color, and she owned way too many items in the color, including her vehicle. The paint job was an expensive splurge, but one that she didn’t regret.
It was her trademark. Whenever people saw it, they knew she was somewhere in the vicinity doing what she did best—gathering local news for articles about everything Las Vegas had to offer—for the digital magazine, Sin City Pulse, often referred to as The Pulse. Some of the locals called her the “Blaxican chick” or the “Blaxican reporter” if they were feeling generous—an affectionate nod to her mixed-race heritage.
Camila slid behind the wheel, which she’d covered with a lavender and rhinestone wheel protector. She scooped her long, dark-brown hair into a ponytail holder and started the car. She’d make a quick trip to see Doug and then head to the airport to pick up Alejandro.
She brushed aside the anxiety the mere thought of his name evoked. He would only be in town for a couple of days to attend her brother’s wedding. She could handle forty-eight hours in his presence.
She drove down Las Vegas Boulevard, famously known as the Las Vegas Strip. The city contained more meeting spaces than any other city in the country and was considered one of the world’s top convention destinations, but Camila barely paid attention to the resorts and casinos lining the four-mile stretch of road. She’d lived there since she was ten years old. The glitz and dazzle that excited visitors no longer fazed her.
She drove into downtown Las Vegas, which most visitors never saw, where the homeless formed makeshift domiciles near malls and in parks. She’d spent a lot of time working with them and had not only earned their trust but considered many of them to be her friends. She was probably closest to Doug, an older white guy who’d been on the streets for over ten years.
His story was heartbreaking. A former veteran in his forties, he served multiple tours as an MP in Afghanistan before getting injured in a roadside bomb explosion. He was honorably discharged, but to this day couldn’t lift his right arm at more than a forty-five-degree angle. They’d become close when Camila wrote a series of articles about the homeless population in Las Vegas and learned about his exploits as an investigator for the army.
She parked her vehicle at a plaza with low foot traffic. Every time she came here, she expected to see all the businesses gone because of the lack of customers and the lack of care the landlord took of the exterior. Trash littered the parking lot, and the building itself needed a new coat of paint—or at the very least, a pressure wash.
Camila removed her sunglasses, picked up the package of Oreo cookies from the car seat, and walked to the back of the building to a small homeless encampment. Men and women were huddled together with all their worldly possessions around them. They sat on worn cardboard mats and blankets as tattered and dingy as their clothes. Plastic bags, totes, and backpacks were stuffed to overflowing with their personal effects, some of which were stacked in shopping carts parked nearby.
Seeing them in these conditions broke her heart and angered her that more wasn’t done to assist the over 600,000 people living on the street in the country. The country with the largest economy in the world should be able to provide shelter for all its citizens.
As she walked by, Camila called each familiar face by name and greeted them with a hand wave.
“Hey, Camila,” they returned, some of their faces shadowed beneath hoodies and beanies, others covered with grime. The lines around their eyes and mouths indicated the hardship of living life on the streets, many of them looking decades older than their actual ages.
She went to the end but didn’t see Doug anywhere. Finally, she retraced her steps and stopped in front of a woman sitting cross-legged on a folded blanket, her head covered with a faded green beanie.
Camila dropped to her haunches. “Hey, Rhonda, how’s it going?”
“Doing okay. How about you, missy?” Rhonda asked in her raspy voice.
“Doing well. I have an article due on Monday, and my brother’s getting married tonight.”
“That’s great news. Congratulations to him.” Rhonda flashed a smile with missing teeth and sparkling eyes. Camila figured she must be close to Doug in age, but if she fixed her teeth and cleaned up, she could be quite attractive and take years off her appearance. Despite encouraging her to take advantage of the local services for people in her condition, Rhonda always declined, preferring to “keep to myself,” as she put it.
But Camila suspected there might be another explanation. People ended up on the street for all kinds of reasons, such as medical bills, job loss, substance abuse, mental health issues. Early on, she noticed that except for Doug, Rhonda didn’t let anyone touch her and suspected the older woman had ended up on the street because of some form of physical abuse.
