Protector Of Convenience (Rogue Protectors Book 2)

by Victoria Paige

  “Seems to me the Pacific Ocean would be a safer bet to move drugs,” Levi added. “That’s where the majority of the bigger drug shipments come in, second to the San Ysidro crossing.”

  “Unless they’re not heading to Tijuana,” Migs said grimly. “He’s taking her straight to Tamaulipas.”

  Corn crops surrounded the airfield on two sides while a broken chain link fence rimmed the other two. Lenox and his men didn’t even need to cut through the lock on the gate. They found a gaping hole that needed a few snips with their wire cutters to allow the men and their gear through. One unit of agents approached from the fields.

  John, Migs, Bristow, and Levi were with the squad assaulting from the rear of the warehouse/hangar. Benito was outnumbered. There was no sighting of the new cartel kingpin yet, but at this point all Migs wanted to see was Ariana.

  Carillo’s men were transferring sacks into the plane. A sick feeling in his stomach hoped that none of those were Ariana. There was no movement inside the Escalade that was parked at the entrance of the warehouse and the narcos were eerily silent while going about their business.

  Migs covered his mic. Seeing him do this, Garrison did the same. “You get a feeling …”

  “That something smells fishy?” John finished.

  He nodded.

  “It might be a trap.”

  Lenox made a roll call on the three-unit leaders. When everyone was in position, he asked them to standby.

  “Garrison.” It was Lenox. “Any idea from your analyst where Benito is? We’re drawing a blank.”

  John looked at Levi. “Anything from Powell?”

  Their teammate shook his head. “She’s not liking the situation.”

  “My analyst agrees this could be a trap.”

  “We’re picking up two heat signatures from within the Escalade though,” Lenox said. “But they’re unusually faint.”

  Migs couldn’t breathe as a sense of déjà vu hit him. Not nine months ago, Ariana witnessed her brother’s death when his Escalade exploded and landed on him. But it was another cartel responsible. But would it matter? The whole incident was on the news for weeks.

  His breathing came fast and furious. “Ariana,” he whispered harshly, his limbs itching to spring into action. “We need to do something!”

  Bristow was fiddling with one of his toys. “I’m not isolating any signal of a transmitter on the Escalade. Remember the one Nadia picked up when Ortega’s vehicle exploded?”

  Levi interjected. “She thinks the place is clean too.”

  “I’m not risking my men,” Lenox said. “Steer clear of the warehouse. We’ll have to get Explosives out here after we round everyone up. Okay, teams, you know your quadrants. On three, two, one.”

  “Freeze. DEA!”

  All teams swooped in. Carillo’s men who were transporting the sacks into the plane, dumped their loads, and the ones holding weapons threw them away as everyone dropped to the ground.

  “Goddammit,” Migs growled when several DEA agents including Lenox approached the Escalade with weapons drawn.

  “Benito Carillo, we have a warrant for your arrest. Come out of the vehicle with your hands up.”

  Even before the raid commenced, Migs had a sinking feeling that they’d been tricked. Everything was too easy and from what he’d been learning about Benito, he didn’t make many mistakes. Bristow and Nadia’s assessments were good enough for him because the not knowing was killing him and he’d reached his limit. He started for the Escalade.

  “Walker,” Garrison grabbed his arm, but he yanked it away.

  Lenox dipped his head as if giving him permission to check the vehicle. Migs was deaf to anything else, blind to everything except the vehicle that either held his wife captive or would be the beginning of a nightmare.

  Standing by the door behind the passenger one, he clenched his jaw and exhaled what could be his final breath.

  He yanked open the door.

  A despairing howl pierced through the night.

  Migs dropped to his knees and lost it.

  22

  What followed next was a blur. Finding the dead bodies in the Escalade shattered whatever was left of his control.

  The first thought that hit him was that none of those lifeless bodies were Ariana’s. And the second? That Carillo had already taken his wife to Mexico. The proximity of the country club to the border, and not discounting Benito’s resources, sneaking Ariana out of San Diego was not a farfetched conclusion. Or maybe that was what the cartel boss wanted them to think. Did he take Ariana back to Los Angeles? Had Raul hidden something Benito wanted?

  They wasted precious time chasing the wrong lead.

  Fuck.

  They were on their way to the hospital to drop Migs off to check on Abbi Mena. No one spoke a word to him once they were on the road because there were no words. No paltry sentiments asking him if he was okay. Because Migs clearly wasn’t. Nobody swore to get Ariana back because at this point, that would be more of a hollow promise than a vow. They had nothing to go on.

  That wasn’t entirely true. The dead bodies in the Escalade belonged to two country club employees. Their vehicles were not in the staff parking, but they were found later in another parking garage.

  Benito had swapped vehicles again.

  What would have been a lead was yet another dead end.

  Their Suburban pulled in front of the emergency room of the San Diego Sacred Heart hospital. Migs was functioning like an automaton, and it wasn’t until he registered Bristow calling his name that he realized he was still in a ballistic vest. He zipped it off and laid it in the back seat.

  “I’m sending Bristow back with a vehicle,” John informed him.

  Migs nodded.

  Garrison hesitated. His colleague wasn’t his usual sarcastic self and somehow that made the situation worse. “We’ll call you when we find out anything.”

  Again, he nodded.

  “Hope your gram is fine.”

  “Thanks.”

  When the Suburban rolled away, Migs stared at the emergency room doors, watching them slide open and slide close. A few hours replaced a beautiful memory with one filled with horror. He swallowed hard and forced his feet to move. One step in front of the other.

  This feeling of helplessness was not him. Ariana wouldn’t want him to mope while his family needed him. And why the hell was he thinking as if she was already dead?

  Self-loathing pumped blood into his veins and quickened his strides. He entered the emergency waiting room and was immediately greeted by the sight of his family sprawled on chairs and couches.

  Most of them rose when he entered the area, but the expressions on their faces were lead in his gut.

  His mother didn’t rise with the others to greet him. Instead, she looked away, but not before he witnessed the anguish on her face. His sisters’ expressions were sad, and none of them could meet his eyes either. Though they wouldn’t look at him, Migs felt their collective condemnation.

  It was Pops and Tessa who stopped him from advancing further.

  Fear made his stomach clench as the possibilities messed with his mind. “Is abuelita okay?” The EMTs said she was fine, but head injuries could be treacherous, especially given his grandmother’s age.

  “She’s fine. They’re doing an MRI,” Drew said, quickly grabbing his arm and leading him back to the exit. “Listen. I don’t think you should be here.”

  “Pops? What the fuck?” His eyes cut to Tessa.

  “Ariana?” she asked, her voice quavering.

  Words lodged in his throat. All he could do was shake his head, but his inability to speak partly stemmed from his growing anger that everyone was blaming his wife again. He cleared his throat. “Thanks, sis.” His voice started rising with each word. “At least someone in my fucking family is concerned that my wife is missing!” He spat the last word in controlled fury.

  “You have some nerve showing up here,” a steely voice said beside them.

  Joa
quín.

  It was his cousin like he’d never seen him before. Fury evident in every line of his face, which had shown nothing but stoicism for as long as Migs had known him.

  “Choose your words carefully, cuz,” he warned. One word against Ariana and Joaquín would be checking himself into this hospital.

  “I don’t need to choose words. Pictures explain everything.”

  Joaquín whipped out his phone and shoved it under his nose.

  Blood drained from Miguel’s face and, having been riled up right before this second, he learned the true meaning of having the rug pulled out from under him. “Where did you get this?”

  His cousin barked a bitter laugh. “Does it even matter, Miguel?” Joaquín jutted out his chin, his eyes doing nothing to hide his disgust. “Why don’t you explain why there’s a picture of you and mi Papá on the day he died, huh?”

  His cousin poked at his chest and all Migs could do was take a step back.

  “He was wearing that shirt when he was killed. Why the fuck were you there?”

  How the tables had turned. At that moment, it was Migs who couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, not even Mamá’s when she gave her full attention to their confrontation.

  Another poke on his chest.

  Another step back.

  “Look at me, Miguel!” Joaquín growled, snapping his gaze back to his cousin’s accusing stare. “But more is the question …” his cousin broke off, mouth pressing into a thin line, face turning red as tears brimmed his eyes. “Where …” he cut off again with a ragged breath and the effort to push the words out.

  Tears stung his own eyes and Miguel’s voice cracked. “Joaquín—”

  “Where were you when they pumped him full of bullets?!” he roared.

  Migs saw the fist coming but refused to dodge, welcoming the pain that cracked on his jaw, and felt not only the physical power behind the punch, but the rage behind it. A shoulder into his gut sent them crashing into the floor. Screaming and mayhem ensued.

  Joaquín punched him again and again, but Migs didn’t fight him back. He deserved this.

  Hospital security and Cesar pulled his cousin away, still sputtering and cursing at Miguel and wanting to have a go at him again.

  Migs picked himself up from the floor and didn’t fight it when Tessa and his father led him out of the emergency room.

  He sniffed and touched his nose, his hand coming away with blood. Somehow his sister magically produced a towel and dabbed at it.

  “Smells like baby powder,” Migs said.

  “Shut up, you idiot,” Tessa said. “Cesar told me who you worked for.”

  He gave her a look.

  Tessa shrugged. “He can’t hide anything from me.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “We’re worried about Ariana,” Drew said.

  “Are you? Really?”

  “Don’t be sarcastic,” Tessa scolded. “And the only reason I’m not punching you is because I know you’re trying to keep it together.”

  “Don’t be all understanding and shit,” Migs hissed. “I fucked this up. I thought I gave Ariana protection, but I ended up offering her up on a silver platter.”

  “See, I don’t get it. She left with Hector,” Pops said then paused. “Where the hell is Hector?”

  “I didn’t see him …” At his expression, her sister broke off. “No!” She shook her head, her hand flying to her chest. “Is he feeling guilty because it was his men who built the structure that fell on abuelita?”

  Migs couldn’t answer her, but it was a good thing his phone buzzed, just as he saw the Suburban pull up beside the emergency room. The windows rolled down, revealing Bristow.

  “I gotta go.”

  Pops grabbed his arm. “Go where?”

  He leveled his father with a determined stare. “Get my wife back.”

  “I don’t care what you do. Get me a damned plane,” Migs growled. He was on the phone with Garrison. The spook and Levi were on their way to Los Angeles to gather resources.

  “I can’t just pull one outta my ass,” Garrison said dryly. “I requisitioned one, but it might take a couple of days.”

  “My wife doesn’t have a couple of days.”

  John fell to silence where Migs could almost hear him thinking. Finally, the other man said, “You’ll have to help Nadia narrow down possible landing sites.”

  His fingers tightened on the phone. “I’ll get you a damned location, you get me that plane ASAP. I don’t care if you have to make a deal with the devil.”

  “Roger that,” Garrison muttered and ended the call.

  He and Bristow arrived at a house near the San Ysidro crossing and pulled into its garage. Migs noticed there was no other vehicle except a motorcycle he recognized as his. He realized he hadn’t thought of his Harley in all that time he’d been with Ariana. He wasn’t into the biker life, but knew enough to use it as a cover, and he loved the freedom of the road. An urge to ride it now hit him hard. The need to clear his thoughts and find perspective in the swirling storm raging inside him.

  Bristow slammed out of the vehicle and rounded it to where Migs was inspecting his former ride. He’d left it in his garage in Los Angeles.

  “John broke into my house?” Why wasn’t he surprised.

  “He thought you would miss it, so he brought it over.”

  He turned to the ex-SEAL. “You and I know John isn’t the sentimental type. He’s hoping I go undercover again in a motorcycle gang, get into Mexico.” He shook his head. “That cover is blown. Benito knows about my role in shutting down the Carillos four years ago.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. And no way am I leaving Ariana again.” But she left him … No, she was taken. “Any news on Hector?”

  They entered the house. It had no clutter and the bare minimum of furniture. He imagined the bedrooms were the same, just enough to use for a transient stop.

  “BOLO is out on him as a person of interest in the bombing at the country club,” Bristow said, slinging his backpack on the table and extracting his laptop.

  “He wouldn’t go back to Vegas,” Migs said. “Think he hightailed it to Mexico?”

  “Possible,” Bristow said. “But given his connections, he could be anywhere, in any vehicle, which is why Garrison wants us to concentrate on Carillo’s strongholds in Tamaulipas.” He fired up his computer. “Nadia gathered intel from combined DEA and CIA databases. She needs your help finding a lab.”

  “A lab?” Migs brows furrowed. “That’s Nadia’s assessment? Carillo has taken Ariana to a lab?”

  “There’s recent chatter on the dark web that a cartel has a virus and is putting out feelers in the arms dealing circuit,” Bristow said, instead of confirming. “We’re not talking about small time dealers. We’re talking Russian and North Korean. The meet is not happening in the US, it’s happening south of the border.”

  Bristow turned the screen to him, showing him a map of southeast Mexico, with red markers. “Garrison didn’t say much. After we dropped you off, he got a call and instead of heading here, he had us drop him at a private hangar at San Diego airport. You want to find Ariana? We need to figure out what Benito has, what he wants with her. Oh, by the way, it’s our belief it was Benito who tipped off the DEA.”

  “I thought we’d already established that,” Migs frowned.

  “Not tonight. The raid on your avocado warehouse, the one where you and your brother-in-law got arrested.”

  “But why would he sacrifice three million dollars in cocaine?”

  “Once it reached your warehouse, it was Hector’s problem.”

  Fuck. Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. Hector had more than just a small gambling problem. “My cousin was using our trucks to move coke into LA and Vegas?”

  “It’s millions of dollars in business, but you probably already know of your cousin’s other vices.”

  Gambling, expensive cars, high society parties. Migs shook his head. Joaquín was innocent in
this after all. “That means Benito has someone working inside their Michoacán plantation.”

  “Sure looks that way,” the ginger-haired operator replied, then nodded to the screen.

  They went to work, pouring over satellite images of the area, planning a recon route of possible locations.

  “Does John have informants on the ground?” Migs asked. “These satellite images tell us nothing. It’s better to have local assets get close and inform on activities. That’s a sure way to tell if people are coming or going.”

  “He does.” Bristow enlarged the area of Tampico. “How about here?”

  “This was shut down a long time ago.” It was the location of the compound where the cartel kept the young girls they kidnapped and held special auctions to the sick fucks who bought them. Another location came to mind. “They had a backup compound in Venustiano Carranza.”

  “That sounds familiar.” The other man cross-referenced a separate file. “Yes, there’s increased activity. Satellite images are showing trucks heading into the area.”

  “I have contacts there,” Migs said.

  Before Bristow could reply, Migs’ phone pinged with a message. It was from Tessa. He rose from the seat.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Got something I need to do. Give Nadia this info.” He scrolled through his contacts. “He’s my asset closest to Venustiano. Money is not a problem. Tell Nadia I’m willing to pay them anything they want. Got me?”

  Bristow eyed him solemnly. “Roger that.”

  Migs took the Harley to see Abbi Mena. The text he got from Tessa said most of their relatives had left, and the hospital was keeping their grandmother overnight. Lettie and Delia were staying in the suite. There was a San Diego PD officer posted outside the door, and Migs recognized some of Pop’s and Joaquín’s men loitering in the hallway. His family wasn’t taking any chances. He could explain that the threat was over, that all Carillo wanted was Ariana, but he was having trouble trusting his judgment these days.

  The men merely nodded when they saw him. No one was keeping him from his grandmother anyway. He probably shouldn’t have left earlier, but he didn’t want to waste time in the waiting room while he was able to do something productive to find the people responsible for this clusterfuck.