Ep. 19, Shadows in the Sun: Tasha in Miami

The humid air of Miami was a stark contrast to the chilly Gulf Coast winters Tasha Alexander had left behind. As she stepped out of the airport, the vibrant city buzzed with life—music spilling out from cafes, the scent of the ocean mingling with street food, and a skyline that glittered against the setting sun. But Tasha wasn’t here for the beaches or nightlife.


Her focus was on Elliot Vasquez, a hitman tied to Victor Kline’s network who had disappeared three years earlier. The files she’d recovered in D.C. suggested that Vasquez had handled high-profile eliminations for Kline’s associates. His trail had gone cold in Miami, but now, thanks to a tip from a federal agent, she had a lead.



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A Dangerous Introduction


Tasha’s first stop was Little Havana, where her contact, a local PI named Raul Mendez, had agreed to meet her at a small café. Raul, a wiry man in his 40s with sharp eyes and a quick wit, greeted her with a cautious smile.


“You’re a long way from home,” Raul said, sipping his espresso.


“And I’m not here for the scenery,” Tasha replied, sliding a photo of Vasquez across the table.


Raul examined the image. “This guy… Yeah, I’ve heard of him. Used to run with a crew that operated out of Hialeah. Word is, he went quiet after a job went south. People say he’s working solo now, keeping low.”


“Any idea where I can find him?”


Raul leaned back, considering. “There’s a club in Brickell, Sol y Sombra. Vasquez’s old crew used to hang out there. If he’s still in town, someone there might know.”



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The Club


That night, Tasha donned a sleek outfit and headed to Sol y Sombra. The club was packed, a mix of tourists and locals dancing under pulsating lights. Tasha worked her way through the crowd, her eyes scanning for anyone who fit Vasquez’s description.


At the bar, she struck up a conversation with a bartender, slipping him some cash for information.


“Vasquez?” the bartender said, lowering his voice. “Haven’t seen him in a while, but his friend Miguel comes in here sometimes. He’s the one with the scar on his neck. Might be worth talking to him.”


Tasha spotted Miguel near the back of the club, laughing with a group of men. She approached him, playing the part of a casual patron.


“Excuse me,” she said, her tone disarming. “I’m looking for someone—a mutual friend. Elliot Vasquez.”


Miguel’s smile faded. “Never heard of him.”


“Come on,” Tasha said, lowering her voice. “I know you two go way back. I just want to talk to him.”


Miguel shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around. “Even if I knew where he was, I wouldn’t tell you. Vasquez doesn’t like being found.”


Before Tasha could press further, Miguel’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his expression tightening.


“Excuse me,” he said, pushing past her.


Tasha followed him at a distance, watching as he slipped out a side door and into a dark alley.



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The Chase


As Miguel walked briskly down the alley, Tasha trailed him, careful to stay in the shadows. When he turned a corner, she quickened her pace, peering around the edge of the building.


Miguel was on the phone, speaking in rapid Spanish. Tasha caught enough to understand he was warning someone—likely Vasquez.


She stepped forward, her voice firm. “Who are you talking to, Miguel?”


Startled, he spun around, his hand reaching for something under his jacket.


“Don’t,” Tasha said, her own hand hovering near her concealed weapon. “I don’t want this to get messy. Just tell me where Vasquez is.”


Miguel hesitated, his eyes flicking to the alley’s exit. Then, with a resigned sigh, he said, “He works at a boatyard near Key Biscayne. But if you go looking for him, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Vasquez doesn’t leave loose ends.”



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The Boatyard


The next morning, Tasha drove to Key Biscayne, the sun rising over the water as she approached the boatyard. The place was quiet, the smell of salt and diesel heavy in the air.


Tasha parked a distance away and approached on foot, her instincts sharp. She spotted Vasquez near a docked boat, talking to another man. He looked older than in his photos, but there was no mistaking the hardened edge in his demeanor.


As she moved closer, the man with Vasquez walked away, leaving him alone. Tasha stepped out from behind a stack of crates, her voice steady.


“Elliot Vasquez.”


He turned, his eyes narrowing as he sized her up. “Who’s asking?”


“Tasha Alexander. I need to talk to you about Victor Kline.”


Vasquez laughed, a humorless sound. “You’re wasting your time. Kline’s finished, and I’m not looking to get dragged into his mess.”


“But you’re already in it,” Tasha said, stepping closer. “I have files linking you to at least three of his hits. The feds are building a case, and it’s only a matter of time before they find you.”


Vasquez’s expression darkened. “And what do you want? To turn me in?”


“Not yet,” Tasha said. “I need information. Who else was in Kline’s network? Who’s still out there?”


Vasquez hesitated, his gaze flicking to the water. “You don’t understand what you’re asking. These people… They don’t just kill you. They erase you.”


“I’m not afraid of them,” Tasha said. “But if you don’t talk, they’ll find you before the feds do.”



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A Fragile Alliance


After a long silence, Vasquez nodded. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know. But once this is over, you and I are done.”


Tasha agreed, and Vasquez led her to a secluded spot where they could talk. Over the next hour, he detailed a list of names, locations, and operations tied to Kline’s network.


“You didn’t hear this from me,” Vasquez said as they parted ways. “And if you’re smart, you’ll forget we ever met.”



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Closing the Chapter


Tasha returned to Gulfport armed with new intel, ready to pass it on to the federal task force. The Miami trip had been risky, but it had paid off.


Back home, as she sat with Marcus and Camille, holding her niece in her arms, Tasha felt a rare sense of peace. The fight wasn’t over, but for now, she could rest.


The shadows would always be there, but Tasha Alexander was ready for whatever came next.