“Sorry you didn’t see her?”
Again, he shook his head. He was nervous. He was lying.
“Sí,” he said.
“She is a photojournalist who’s been working with the Sisters of Mercy.”
His eyes widened in surprise. The Sisters of Mercy were well known and respected in this part of Mexico. “I don’t know. I didn’t see her.”
But he didn’t look at Kane.
“You’re lying, Padre.”
“No, señor. I don’t want trouble. Please. You need to go. Mass is starting.”
One of the altar servers returned and the priest looked torn. He said quietly, “Return after Mass. Please.”
Kane looked out. About a dozen people were in the church; more were coming in.
“One hour,” Kane said and left.
* * *
Two days ago Siobhan had called her half-sister and said she thought she was being followed. Lieutenant Colonel Andrea Walsh immediately called Kane, hoping he was within a hundred miles of Siobhan. He hadn’t been, but he called Andie back immediately.
“What the hell is she up to now?”
“Relax, Kane. Siobhan returned from a three-month trip with the Sisters of Mercy in Oaxaca. Part of her Children of Mexico series. She was taking some R and R in Santiago when she called me.”
“And?”
“And now I can’t reach her. Her phone rings, I get voice mail. She always calls me back right away because she knows I worry. When she didn’t call back by this morning, I contacted the hotel she’s at and they said she didn’t come in last night—she left yesterday morning, Sunday, and hasn’t returned.”
“I’m in Juarez. It’ll take me a few hours to get a team together and get down there.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“You wouldn’t have called me if it was nothing, Andie.”
“She’s the only family I have.”
He wanted to say, Then why do you let her travel to the most dangerous places south of the border? Why didn’t you keep her in DC, which was a damn sight safer than Oaxaca, Mexico? But he didn’t, because he knew the answer: Siobhan would do whatever she damn well pleased.
“I’ll find her. But I’m dragging her sorry ass back to the States and you need to lay down the law with your sister because I don’t have time for this.”
Andie Walsh was career military. She and Kane had been in the same basic training program, but she’d been an officer candidate because she had a four-year degree and wanted to make the marines her career. Her dad had been a marine, her brother had been a marine. It was in her blood. She was now the number-two-ranked officer at the Officer Candidates School at Quantico.
How Siobhan had even half the same blood in her veins as Andie eluded Kane.
Kane rendezvoused with his men at a small bar not far from the hotel. He had three men with him—a standard foursome that he took on most operations. Ranger was following up on a lead about Tobias, something Kane had planned to do himself until Andie called him.
He’d brought in one of his regulars, Blitz, as well as two new recruits, Dyson and Gomez, former marines who’d recently signed on with RCK for a two-year contract. Dyson was quiet with sharp recon skills, and Gomez was a wily chameleon who could fly anything. Kane had been using Sean far too much lately, and while he trusted his brother explicitly, Sean was needed elsewhere. Sean had someone else to live for, and Kane wasn’t going to repeatedly risk his brother’s life. He didn’t want to face Lucy and tell her the man she loved was dead.
Sometimes, Kane was surprised they’d lived as long as they had.
“The priest was lying,” Kane said.
“Fuck,” Gomez muttered. “What’s the world coming to when you can’t trust a fucking priest?”
Kane didn’t know whether he was being sarcastic or serious.
“The target has been missing for thirty-three hours. Stay alert.” He ran through the plan he’d formulated on his way back to the bar. He looked at his watch. “You have twenty minutes downtime, but stay alert. Be outside at twenty hundred hours.”
Kane stepped outside. He couldn’t put his finger on why he felt they were in danger, but the feeling was as thick as the humidity that hung in the air like a hot, wet blanket. He felt eyes on him and walked around to the side, where no one could get a direct hit on him but where he had a good field of vision. Didn’t help his nerves. Someone was watching them. Someone had followed him from the hotel. Was this the same feeling Siobhan had when she called Andie? Siobhan would never ask for help, not unless there was a serious situation. Andie had told her to change her routine, leave early, not tell anyone where she was going.
Yet she’d stayed.
What did you get yourself into, Siobhan?
Why couldn’t Andie’s little sister just stay in the States—didn’t the US have enough problems to photograph? Why come down here? Why risk her life? This wasn’t the first time he’d been sent to bail the photojournalist out of hot water.
Third time’s a charm, sugar. Next time you’re on your own.
Next time? Hell no. He’d get Rick Stockton to flag Siobhan Walsh’s fucking passport to prevent her from ever leaving the United States again. Then she could be Jack Kincaid’s problem instead of his.
Not that lack of a passport would stop the girl from doing whatever she damn well pleased.
Kane wasn’t surprised when Blitz followed him out.
“Someone’s watching us,” Kane said.
“Yep,” Blitz said.
“Were you followed from the airport?”
“Yep. Couldn’t get eyes on them. They were there, then gone. They’re good.”
“Military?”
Blitz shrugged. “Experienced.”
“How many?”
“Pair.”
“Same here.”
Again, it was a feeling, not because Kane had seen two people tracking him. But he trusted his gut.
“Four—same as us,” Blitz said.
“Odds in our favor.” Kane would put his men up against twice the number and be confident they’d come away unscathed.
Siobhan, of course, was the wild card. Anytime there was a hostage, that changed the game.
“Santiago is pretty tame,” Blitz said.
“She was targeted,” Kane said. “Siobhan and her damn camera.”
Because what else could it be? Criminals, particularly the cartels and the corrupt cops, were nervous around journalists.
And having her targeted because she was a photojournalist was much better than having Siobhan targeted because she was a woman.
Or because of him.
If anyone had hurt her, they would soon be dead.
Kane pulled out his sat phone and called Jack Kincaid. His partner answered immediately.
“Kincaid.”
“She left everything in her hotel room and hasn’t been seen for thirty-three hours. Disappeared at a church.” He gave him the name and location.
“And?”
“We’re being followed. Two teams of two. I’m going dark. If you don’t hear from me in eight hours, notify Ranger.”
“Nicole Rollins escaped this morning during a transport. Sean, Lucy, and Stockton all want to talk to you.”
Rollins. Well, fuck.
“This morning?”
“Yes.”
“Did she flee the country?”
“Negative. Padre had his ear to the ground in Hidalgo, and I called in some favors in El Paso. She’s definitely in hiding, but we believe—and so does the FBI—that she’s still in Texas. Lucy called me herself—she thinks you’re at the top of her hit list.”
“I’m aware of Lucy’s theories.”
“You disagree?”
“No.” Kane just didn’t think he was the only one on the list. “As soon as I grab Siobhan, I’ll head to San Antonio.” Several thoughts, none of them good, twisted around his head. “Find out who knew Siobhan was in Santiago. According to Andie Walsh, this was an uns
cheduled vacation.”
“You don’t think this was random.”
“No.”
“A trap?”
“She’s bait, Jack. I feel it in my bones. And if I don’t bite, they’ll kill her.”
“I can get you backup by morning.”
“Only if you don’t hear from me. Out.” He hung up. “Blitz,” Kane said, “as soon as we secure the target, get her out. Don’t look back.”
“Someone knows she’s important to you.”
“She’s no more important than anyone else,” Kane snapped. Shit, this is why he didn’t have attachments. He wasn’t attached to Siobhan Walsh in any way, but he’d known her for ten, twelve years now. Longer. And he’d known her sister since he was an eighteen-year-old recruit. It wouldn’t have been difficult to connect Kane to Andie Walsh, then Andie to Siobhan, and Siobhan to her dangerous life.
Blitz cleared his throat. “Meaning, they know she’s connected. That you’ve come for her before.”
That, he could believe. Because Siobhan was bait. If they were dealing with terrorists, Andie was a high-value target. And while Kane viewed every member of every cartel as a terrorist, they wouldn’t give a shit about a lieutenant colonel in the marines stationed at Quantico.
Which meant that Siobhan, a civilian, was bait for Kane.
He didn’t have to think about why. He knew damn well why. The only thing he’d been working on for three months was finding Tobias. His only attachments were his family, but his family was protected—Sean and Lucy could watch out for each other; Duke was well trained to protect his wife and baby daughter (and Kane had already talked to Jack about keeping an eye on them); and Liam and Eden were in Europe, far from his enemies’ reach.
Two weeks ago he’d lost a source of information, and that’s when he realized that he was a specific target. It had been a trap; he’d survived, his snitch had not. And until Siobhan’s disappearance yesterday, he’d kept a very low profile.
Shit, shit, shit.
Gomez and Dyson stepped out of the bar. “Sarge?” Gomez said.
Kane hated being called Sarge, which was his last rank before he left the marines, but marines were creatures of order, and it would take a few jobs before Gomez and Dyson changed.
“She’s bait,” Kane said.
“Tobias,” Blitz said, his face dark. He’d been there when they rescued the boys who ran drugs for Trejo, who worked for Tobias.
“Nicole Rollins escaped from custody today. She’s still in Texas. I’ve created a shitstorm for them, and they need to use me as an example. No matter what, get Siobhan out.”
“Safe house in Arteaga?” Blitz asked. That had been the original plan. Regroup in Arteaga, accessible on foot in a day, an hour by vehicle, or twenty minutes by plane. Kane had contacts there. But he didn’t know who had been compromised.
“Last resort. Get her to the safe house in Hidalgo, across the border, and contact Jack.”
“What about you?”
He didn’t respond, because Blitz and the others couldn’t be distracted from getting Siobhan to safety.
These bastards thought they could use a friend of his to bait him? They didn’t know who they were fucking with. He would turn the tables and find out exactly where Tobias was hiding. He’d get every piece of information from these scumbags. And if any of them so much as touched a hair on Siobhan …
Blitz cleared his throat. “Boss, we’ll get Tobias another day.”
“This ends now,” Kane said.
He didn’t need to acknowledge Blitz’s loyalty. Blitz would die for Kane, or any one of their team. He and Ranger were the most loyal men Kane could have hoped for. Dyson and Gomez had potential, but they didn’t have the experience.
“Understood.”
They made their way separately to the church, Dyson pairing off with Kane, Gomez with Blitz. It didn’t take long; Santiago wasn’t a big town. He nodded to his men, and they split up. They had his back while Kane tracked down the priest.
Kane walked into the back of the church. As soon as the door closed, the priest saw him. His eyes were scared, but he didn’t falter from his closing prayer.
Kane scanned the room. Three dozen parishioners. He didn’t know if that was good or bad for a weeknight. Most of them were older women. He didn’t see anyone who looked suspicious, and he didn’t see Siobhan.
He didn’t expect to.
He was acutely aware of his surroundings. The church wasn’t large, a long narrow hall with about thirty rows of pews and an aisle down the middle. A small room to the right was probably for prayers or baptisms or whatever. Kane respected the churches, but he didn’t believe or disbelieve. What was the point? Some on his team, like Ranger, were true believers. Others, like Blitz, were nonbelievers. But when push came to shove, he trusted both of them with his life.
The two altar boys followed the priest down the aisle when Mass was over. The priest was looking at Kane, his young face a hard line. How old was this guy? Certainly no older than Sean. And he was scared.
Someone had threatened him. It took a lot of balls to threaten a man of God.
The priest turned to him. “I am truly sorry. I had no choice.”
The priest had set him up, but Kane had expected it. So he waited where he stood, ready to shoot or fight.
He said into his com, “Stay sharp. Sound off.”
“Beta here.” Blitz.
“Charlie here.” Gomez.
“Delta here.” Dyson.
He kept his com open because his men needed to know what was happening. People filed out, glancing at him, scurrying. Did they suspect violence was about to break out? Or did he just have that effect on people?
The last of the parishioners exited. The church was stifling, not air-conditioned, the layers of human sweat and humidity and perfume and incense clogging his senses.
The main door opened and the priest came back in.
“I can’t do this,” he said quietly to Kane. “They took one of my altar boys. They would have killed him, and your friend, if I didn’t tell you to return.”
Leverage. “Leave,” Kane said.
“I need to fix this. I am sorry, so sorry.”
“Where are they?”
“The rectory basement.”
Kane said in his com, “Blitz?”
“We’re on it; Dyson has your six.”
“They took them yesterday, after the morning Mass,” the priest continued. “I was to notify them when someone showed up asking about the redheaded girl. They promised to release both of them if I convinced you to return here.”
“When?”
He paused. “Now.”
“Go, Padre. You’re in danger.”
“You’re the one they want. When I showed them your picture they said there’s a reward for your capture.”
Kane stepped to the side and pushed the priest out the door, then closed it again. During his recon, he’d noticed only one rear entrance to the church. The small rectory was behind it. Best way to keep the priest in line was to threaten one of his own.
Over the com, Blitz said, “Movement in the back. Two shooters, with the boy.”
“Copy.”
Kane took six steps to the right and stood just inside the small sanctuary off the vestibule. These people had threatened a priest, kidnapped a child and a woman. Reward for his capture—they wanted him alive. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t kill everyone else.
Two shooters with the boy, which meant at least two shooters with Siobhan. He said, “Get eyes on her now.”
“Roger.”
He heard a door open in the back before he saw anyone. There was some fumbling, something got knocked over, and he saw movement from the room behind the altar. Kane peered through the slit in the doorway. A boy, not more than eight years of age, still dressed in his black altar boy attire, was gagged and his hands were tied in front of him. His face was dirty and stained with tears. He had a cut on the side of his head.
They
’d hit a child.
The rage pouring through Kane veins calmed him.
One man had a handgun held to the back of the boy’s head. The other had an AK-47 strapped over one shoulder, and a large handgun in his left hand. Looked like a .45-caliber, but Kane couldn’t tell from the angle. Powerful gun. Did he know how to use it? How well trained were these men? Former military? Former Mexican police? Or had they been trained by the cartels? Were they part of Tobias’s gang or freelancers?
Didn’t matter. They knew something, and if they didn’t know, they would still be dead.
The asshole with the AK-47 started walking along the perimeter of the church, looking up and down each pew. “We know you’re in here, Rogan.” He spoke perfect English. This man might live in Mexico, but he was an American. Ten more feet and he’d see Kane.
“Throw out your weapons, come peacefully, and we’ll let the boy go.”
Siobhan. They wouldn’t let her go. Her imprisonment was the only thing that would keep Kane compliant. They knew that. They’d done this sort of thing before.
But they’d never tried this stunt with Kane.
“If you don’t come out, we’ll kill the boy.”
In his ear, Kane heard Blitz. “Eyes on the target. Two guards. One roaming.”
He tapped his com twice so Blitz would know he’d heard him.
There was noise outside the main doors. It distracted the men just enough for Kane to step out.
The doors opened and the priest ran in.
The left-handed man aimed at the priest, but hesitated just a second. Kane fired two shots, aiming center mass, then one slightly higher.
All three hit and the bad guy went down without getting off a shot.
He turned to the man at the altar who had his gun on the boy. This bad guy wasn’t as confident or cocky. He was shaking, which was problematic.
The priest said, “Let him go, señor. Let the boy go. Don’t shed any more blood in God’s house.”
Kane walked fast toward the altar. He read the gunman’s eyes. He wasn’t a child killer. He was conflicted.
But he still had the gun on the back of the boy’s head with his right hand, and his left hand gripped the gown and the boy’s shoulder.
“Let him go and you live,” Kane said. “Five. Four.”
No Good Deed Page 10
