by DiAnn Mills
Mrs. Rios stomped across the room and held a gun to Silvia’s head. Dylan attempted to rise from the sofa but fell back.
“Where are the drugs? Tell me or this time she bleeds.”
“Stop,” Rachel said. “How much money do you need?”
Mrs. Rios jutted her chin at Rachel. “More than you have.”
“My husband left me wealthy. If you’ll give me a phone, I’ll make a transfer now.”
Warren towered over Rachel. “It’s the principle of the thing. You steal from me and the doc here, we recoup. Dylan either spills his guts, or he watches us kill all of you, one at a time. Slowly. Trust me, I know how it’s done.”
“Warren, why?” Silvia stood, the only person not tied. “You have plenty of money. The FBI and the police must know we’re missing. Leave before you’re caught.”
“Is sweet Silvia looking out for me?” Warren sneered. “I put up with you for one reason: keeping Dylan in line after he decided to get your pills from one of my dealers. I admit I didn’t expect him to escape my men when he got shot.” He glared at her. “Do you think I’d choose a woman like you? A dumpy, cross-carrying fool?”
Silvia rushed him from the sofa and hammered her fists into his chest until he grabbed her hands. She spat in his face. “You worthless piece of trash. You’ll rot in hell for what you’ve done.”
He grabbed her by the throat and pushed her onto the floor. He tied her hands and feet. “Don’t say another word, or you’ll die first.”
Warren wasn’t bluffing. “Silvia, easy,” Leah said. “The FBI and Chief Everson are looking for us.”
“We’ll be long gone before they find you.” Warren laughed again, the same guttural sound Leah had heard a few moments before. “Hey, Agent Riesel, what did you think of the reconquista slogan? That kept you guessing, I bet. As well as the time I reported being threatened and had a rock tossed through my window. Did you enjoy the box of roses?”
If Leah could stall him, Jon might be able to locate her. “Who killed Brad Dixon?”
Warren ignored the question. He seemed to be interested only in continuing to outline his accomplishments. “Using the real Venenos to mask our actions was my idea. Helped us recruit guys into our little gang. Kept the law scrambling,” Warren said. “The rattler venom is a nice touch. No weapons. No bullet casings. Pure genius.”
“We’ve put the pieces together, Warren. We will stop you.”
“You’re out of time, Agent Riesel. We’re heading out of the country. Dylan, I’ll be back in ten minutes. If you have something to confess then, I just might spare Silvia’s life.”
71
JON PHONED EVERSON AND relayed what he’d found at the dental office.
“Sounds like that’s the evidence we’ve been looking for. I’m sending out a BOLO and media alert for Livingston and the Rioses,” Everson said. “Father Gabriel told me Pablo Rios and his wife have recently joined St. Peter’s. They’d been guests of Silvia Ortega and Warren Livingston.”
No surprise there. “He’s there, right? Let me talk to him.”
“Hang on.”
Father Gabriel greeted him. “Just learned about the drugs found at the dental office. Hard for me to believe it’s true.”
“What can you tell me about the couple?”
“Dr. Rios has been my dentist for years. Gracious, kind. This makes me feel like a fool. Warren Livingston is a part of this? Poor Silvia, to think I endorsed her and Warren seeing each other. Do you think she’s involved? Coaxed Dylan to join them?”
“Right now, we don’t have those answers,” Jon said.
“I played right into the whole mess. About three years ago, Dr. Rios and his wife talked to me about changing membership to St. Peter’s. Said they’d found a church they’d decided to call home. I welcomed them.”
“You aren’t the first person to be used in illegal activities.”
“Jon, I received exactly what I prayed for—criminals to find peace and forgiveness within the walls of St. Peter’s. Ironic. I could still have a positive impact.”
Jon wasn’t sure how to comment, when his idea of a positive impact was a lengthy prison sentence. “Were they friends of Rachel and Judge Mendez?”
“You’d have to ask Rachel. The family used the dental practice.”
“Thanks. Can I talk to Everson again?” When Everson responded, Jon continued. “Do you know if Ian Greer and Marcia Trevelle were Rios’s patients?”
“Yes. Me too. It’s no coincidence the three victims went to the same dentist. They figured it out.”
“You could be next on the list. Seriously, watch your back,” Jon said. “We need to cross-check Rios’s patients with St. Peter’s members. In the meantime, is Ross Kempler still with you?”
“Yes. Leah wanted both men to stay here. Why? Wait, hold on a minute. Looks like a call has come in regarding the BOLO.”
Jon waited while his mind shoved pieces into place. An established dental practice laundering drugs into Mexico. Silvia taking stolen OxyContin. How had the victims put it together? Or had they simply gotten close enough to make the killers nervous? What role did Silvia play? Everson came back online. “An officer from the Jamaica Beach Police Department spotted Rios’s vehicle turning onto a dirt road on the west side of the island. He must think law enforcement has seawater for brains. GPD officers are on their way.”
Jon texted Leah to join him, then headed out to the intersection Everson gave him.
Leah glanced around the room to see if there was anything they could use to get free. She scooted toward Silvia until they were back-to-back. “Untie me,” she whispered. “And tell me how you ended up here.”
Silvia fumbled with the knots. “Warren’s men picked up Dylan in the water. Somehow he got away.” Silvia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Dylan called me this morning. He needed help—he was hurt badly. I tried to call Rachel, but there was no answer. So I called Warren and he promised to pick up medical supplies. He met me at the dental office and we snuck out the side door. I’m sorry, Agent Riesel. After the shooting on the ferry, I knew I was being watched and I couldn’t take the chance that I might lead the FBI to Dylan.” Silvia sobbed. “But when I got into Warren’s car, he pulled a gun and drove me here. He forced me to call you.”
Leah felt the knots begin to loosen a bit.
“Dylan, Elena, and Rachel had already been abducted.”
“Mom, I didn’t steal his drugs.” Dylan’s weak voice indicated his body was losing the battle to survive. “I bought OxyContin from Aaron.” He sucked in a breath. “He’s the one who told me about Warren.”
“He blackmailed you,” Silvia said.
“I’m sorry. Never killed anyone.”
“Don’t worry. God will save us.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to be possible,” he whispered. “If I don’t make it, know that I love you.”
Warren and the Rioses came back into the room before Silvia could untie Leah. Warren’s phone rang. He listened and swore, then texted someone. “We have to get out of here. Cops are headed this way.”
“We’re way ahead of them.” Dr. Rios reached for a gun in his waistband.
“Hold off,” Warren said. “I have a better idea.”
72
AS JON DROVE WEST ON THE ISLAND, a billowing cloud of gray rose in the distance. Fire? He wove in and out of traffic to where Rios’s vehicle had been seen. Sirens blared. Red and blue lights flashed.
He swerved left around a motorcycle.
An ambulance passed him at breakneck speed on the opposite side of the road, a white cargo van close behind. Everyone was in a hurry to save a life.
Jon swung onto a dirt-and-sand road leading straight toward the burning beach house. Flames leaped through the structure mounted on twelve-foot-high beams. He sprinted from the car with his gun drawn. Screams of help rose above the crackling fire.
The old fear jolted his senses.
If he waited for firefighters to arrive, it could
be too late. Heat from the mounting inferno caused a window to explode.
He heard Leah’s voice scream for help above the others.
“Leah!”
Coward. You’d rather watch them die in the fickle beast.
Jon stared at the blue sky being colored by choking gray smoke. The pungent smell of burning timber brought back a surge of vivid memories—his demons, ones he desperately wanted to overcome. The cries inside the house contrasted with watching Hanson and Chip suffer. He refused to let history repeat itself.
He raced to the stairway that led inside and up to the central area of the house. “Leah, I’m on my way.”
Was he telling her or himself?
He doused himself with a nearby hose and ripped off his shirt, using it to cover his mouth while moving toward the cries for help. Each step increased the heat. Dread seared his gut.
The door leading into the kitchen was flung wide. Not good. Oxygen was feeding the blazing monster, helping it grow faster. Thick smoke met him. He dropped to his knees and crawled toward the voices he heard. Rachel Mendez and Elena James were tied on the floor nearest the doorway. They coughed as the beast stole their oxygen. He untied Rachel, nearest him. “Free Elena and get out of here.”
He hurried to Leah in the fog of smoke, untying her, then Silvia, and handed them his wet shirt. “Go, now. Use this to cover your mouth.”
“Not without Dylan,” Silvia said.
If Dylan were alive, he wouldn’t survive much longer in the smoke and flames, but neither would the women. “I’ll carry him out. You won’t do him any good if you collapse.”
“He’s hurt.” Silvia gasped for breath.
Elena and Rachel coughed their pleas for Jon to help Dylan. He swung to Leah. “Get these women out of here. I have Dylan.”
Leah shouted above the fire’s roar for the women to hurry, but Silvia refused to leave until Jon lifted Dylan into his arms. The three women shadowed Leah through mounting flames and a blinding fog of smoke. Jon believed the kid had passed out or was dead.
Jon’s eyes stung, blinding him. He stumbled toward the flame-ringed doorway, the impressive heat sending him staggering backward. Was this how his life was going to end? Like Hanson and Chip in the mouth of the fire?
Sparks rained from above them, and a creak sounded. The roof was collapsing. He searched for another way out, but the smoke blinded him. He hoped the women had made it down the stairs and clear of the burning structure.
The ceiling crashed on and around him.
Jon stumbled, regained his balance, and held his breath. He steadied Dylan in his arms before plowing through the flames to the stairway. His body ached. Fire scorched his bare back and shoulders. Smoke filled his lungs. His mind focused on one thing—getting Dylan and himself to safety.
At the stairway, he hoisted Dylan into his arms and started the descent. Flames lapped at his head and trailed down his back. For certain, the steps wouldn’t hold his weight. He placed a foot on brittle wood and stepped through it and on through another and another while holding on to Dylan.
Hands reached for him. “We got you, sir.” A firefighter took Dylan.
Jon coughed and sputtered. He thought his lungs would burst. On safe ground, another firefighter and Everson escorted him to an awaiting paramedic. Leah rushed forward, yanking off her oxygen mask. Her gaze examined every inch of him.
“I’m all right,” he said between burning breaths. Silvia, Rachel, and Elena breathed through oxygen masks while staring at the paramedics treating Dylan. Their faces were streaked black with soot.
“Dr. Rios, his wife, and Warren responsible for this?” Jon bent to his knees to breathe.
Leah nodded. “They left a few minutes before you showed up.”
“I passed a white cargo van on the road.” Jon coughed hard again. He straightened and shrugged off a paramedic’s attempt to give him oxygen while another wanted to examine his burns. Instead, Jon grabbed a bottle of water and his dirty shirt from Leah. “Where were they headed?” His voice held the raspy hoarseness of smoke inhalation.
Everson had pulled out his phone. “I’ll check to see if a van’s been reported missing.” Within moments, Everson had a hit.
“It’s heading north on I-45,” Everson said. He gave orders for his officers to pursue the vehicle.
Jon moved toward the car. He gulped more water. “Are you coming with me?”
She raced ahead of him with two more bottles of water in her hands. “I’m driving. Got the keys?”
He patted his pocket and tossed them to her.
“I’m behind you,” Everson called.
Jon’s raw skin stung as though the flames still licked at his flesh.
“You look awful,” she said while opening the car door. “Sure you want to do this?”
“Don’t even go there.”
She roared the engine to life and whipped the car around, throwing sand and dirt in their wake. Within seconds, they were on Seawall, heading toward the Galveston bridge. “Thank God you’re okay.”
“Be careful what you say, or I might think you really believe that.” He coughed, his lungs threatening to explode.
“I think I do.” She pressed the gas pedal. “Thought I’d lost you.”
“Disappointed?”
“I’d like to punch you.” She coughed and reached for water. “But you’re in bad shape.”
“Take a look in the mirror.”
“Jon, you overcame your fear of fire.”
He leaned over, fighting the agony in his chest. “I wasn’t alone. Do I have any hair left?”
“Patches, but it will grow back. Not sure about the condition of your shoulders and back.”
His lungs felt like a torch had ignited them. “Did you get anything from Livingston or the women?”
“I heard all we need,” Leah said. “Dylan was involved with the prescription drugs but no murders. Warren blackmailed him.”
Jon had questions, but he needed to give his throat a break.
“There’s a whole lot more we don’t know,” she said. “If Dylan survives, we’ll have a better understanding of the drug operation and what Ross Kempler found.” She shot him a quick look. “Conversation’s over. Close your eyes until we catch up.”
“Fat chance.”
Six minutes later, a text landed in his phone. Jon snatched his device. He forced strength into his body and read the update with a raspy voice. “The van is surrounded by police in the middle of a parking lot in Seabrook.” He paused. “Shootings reported. I have the address.”
His cough shook the vehicle.
“We need SWAT on this.” She took Jon’s phone and tapped in a number at a traffic light.
His thoughts raced faster. SWAT would take too long to mobilize.
73
JON WAS READY TO JUMP OUT of the car as soon as Leah stopped beside a barricade of Seabrook police cars, all with lights flashing. Everson pulled in and raced toward Jon and Leah. They joined the Seabrook police and learned Warren was still inside the stolen van.
Too many times a showdown caused those holed up to panic and come out shooting. Jon feared Everson might be just as caustic. A potential problem when the chief of police’s emotions veered toward revenge on many levels. Jon quickly asserted the FBI’s authority in the jurisdictional soup.
Jon glanced at Leah and whispered, “We’ve got to keep Everson away from the scene before someone is killed.”
“I’ll handle this,” Everson said.
“You’ll get yourself killed.” Jon coughed, his chest seared raw.
“You’re in no shape to do anything but head to the hospital.” He touched his sidearm. “Livingston and Rios are mine.”
“To gun down?” Leah said. “How would Marcia feel about it?”
“I’d be doing it for her.”
Jon shook his head. “Everson, an angry man can’t reason with a criminal. SWAT is on its way, and we can barricade the area.”
Jon’s words were barely u
ttered before Everson jogged toward the van. He raised his hands. “Warren, let’s end this before anyone else gets hurt. We can talk. No need for any more bloodshed.”
Jon’s shouts were drowned out by the sound of gunfire erupting from a broken window.
Zachary Everson went down, blood spreading across his chest.
Jon and Leah ran toward him, firing into the van. Seabrook police rushed forward, providing cover and shooting out the van’s tires while Jon and Leah pulled Everson back to the line of police cars.
Jon prayed it wasn’t too late.
Leah checked Everson’s pulse. “He’s alive.” She stepped aside for the paramedics, who bent to administer emergency treatment.
“They will never surrender,” Jon said.
“I’m thinking the same thing,” Leah said.
“Can you negotiate?” He broke into a burning cough. “My voice is—”
“Worthless. Sure, I can bullhorn.”
“I have an idea. I’ll retrieve a flash-bang and work my way around the van.” He handed her his phone and looked behind him to an officer who matched his stature and had the same dark hair. Jon bent low and made his way to the man. He explained the need to change clothes and for the officer to appear as though paramedics were treating him.
Leah grabbed a bullhorn and went into action. “Warren, this is Agent Leah Riesel. Everyone in there okay?”
“Leah, good to hear your sweet voice. I see you survived the fire. But let’s spare the chitchat.”
“We have proof of your crimes, Warren. This is going to go one of two ways. If I were you, I’d opt for a peaceful solution.”
He snorted. “I’ll take my chances right here. Got me plenty of ammo and a plan.”
Jon ducked and moved around the cruisers. He needed to get to the passenger side of the van undetected, shoot out a window, and toss in the flash-bang. Guaranteed to deafen and disorient those inside. Between the ringing of their ears and the temporary blindness, Warren and his cohorts could be overpowered.
