“We can’t. But it’s a brash, showy move. My guess is he thinks he’ll be able to waltz right in with that new face of his and get to me right in the middle of Houston’s high society, and at my own charity event no less,” Samantha answered frankly from where she stood at the kitchen table, looking over the schematics for the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston that they’d spread out on the kitchen table.
The MFAH was one of the largest art museums in the United States. The sprawling three-hundred-thousand-square-foot campus was located in the heart of the city next to Rice University and a massive acreage housing the wild animals of the Houston Zoo. Alejo stood next to her, reviewing the architecture and the grounds, looking for exploitable vulnerabilities.
Hannah sighed from where she stood. “Sammy, I should cancel the gala. I can’t abide putting you and a thousand other people at risk because of the possibility that a madman is going to crash the party, hankering to deliver what he considers to be your comeuppance.”
“It’s a risk, absolutely,” Sam admitted readily, moving toward her aunt to stand across from her at the counter next to Carey. “But we’ll be more than prepared. The downside is that the museum campus is a lot of ground to cover by tomorrow night. The upside is that we’ve never had more support and manpower. Carey and I met with the heads of the FBI field office and several key personnel from the CIA this afternoon. We’ve discussed it seven ways to Sunday and ultimately, we feel if we cancel the gala, we risk Lightner attacking at a later date in another location we couldn’t begin to guess at. Or worse, he could go into the wind and resurface when we least expect it.” She paused, meeting Jack’s eyes across the counter. “But if we bait him—make a big splash of it with both me and Jack in attendance—we believe Lightner won’t be able to resist reacting.”
Jack nodded in tacit agreement as Carey chimed in, “Mama, you know I’d never ask you and Dad to risk your lives or anyone else’s without cause,” he said, an earnest expression on his face. “But we have our entire team on this. Lennox Chase, Leviathan, and now we’ve got help from the Feds and the Agency. The event couldn’t be better protected if the President himself were coming into town. Lightner has limited resources. Lightner won’t stand a chance against us. We’ll engineer the best damn mousetrap you ever saw. I promise you.”
Hannah chewed on her lip, slicing the vegetables for the barbecue as Jack helped marinate and skewer them for the grill that Uncle Grant was manning outside on the terrace. He squeezed her shoulder gently. “Hannah, if it makes you feel any better, I hosted the charity event for my family’s Foundation at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago last year, and the place was as secure as Fort Knox. I can’t imagine that the MFAH—with one of the largest collections in the U.S.—boasts security that isn’t just as good, if not better. Plus, we’ll be able to lock down and surround the entire campus—something we couldn’t do in Chicago, since the museum sits right on Michigan Avenue and the Loop.”
“Yes, but you didn’t have a terrorist in attendance.”
“That’s not true. Rush was there,” Jack joked, winking at her.
“Lord, the only thing that boy terrorizes is pretty young things at bars on the weekend,” Hannah replied gamely, though Sam could still see the worry lines on her forehead. She looked at Jack straight in the eye. “You’re the only other civilian in here, Jack,” Hannah told him, turning serious again. “Lightner already came after you once. And he shot your partner last time. You would have been dead had it not been for Roxanne. Are you sure you want to chance this?”
Jack nodded gravely, meeting Sam’s gaze across the counter. “What it comes down to is I trust Samantha, Carey, and everyone on their team with my life. I trust their judgement and their rationale,” he added, turning back to Hannah. “If they think this is the best way to either neutralize or capture Lightner, then I’ll follow them into battle. No hesitation; come what may.”
Sam saw right then that Jack meant every word he just said, and God, that validation—though she didn’t need it—meant the world to her. This man was willingly putting himself at tremendous peril to stand with her. He wanted to. After months of questions and doubt and uncertainty, he was going with her into the unknown, and he was trusting her to make sure it’d be alright. This is a damn good man, she thought to herself. A man who, while demanding and flawed, did not doubt her courage or her toughness. A man who compelled her to be both stronger and more vulnerable for him. A man who made her feel fearless.
“How would Lightner know that you’re here?” Hannah asked.
“A coordinated media front,” Sam explained. “Jack and I will do a short segment on one of the morning talk shows; we’re giving an interview to the Houston Chronicle tonight that’ll go out on the society pages, and there will be a big social media blitz. Unless Lightner’s hiding under a rock, he’ll know Jack and I are going to be at the event.”
Uncle Grant stepped inside the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. “Those kebabs ready, darlin’?” he asked jovially, catching Hannah’s attention as he came to stand beside her. “Got all these folks to feed. If I’d known we’d have so much company, I would have brought a cooler full of Wyatt Ranch Grade-A beef.”
“Those ribeyes are just fine, and the vegetables are just about ready,” Hannah replied, patting his arm as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Alejandro, when are the others coming back?”
“Rush, Talon, and the rest of the crew are at the MFAH meeting with museum security, getting familiar with the layout. They should be back in about an hour.”
“They think Lightner’s gotten to Texas yet?” Uncle Grant asked his son.
“They’re still running surveillance at airfields and airports for Lightner’s plane, but they think he’s smart enough to either have landed at an unmanned airfield or maybe even flown into Shreveport or somewhere else in Louisiana, so he can just drive in across state lines,” Carey answered, his face grim. “We have another status meeting with the Feds in a couple hours.”
“Honey, I’m worried. I know Sammy and Carey are doing their best, but all those people—” Hannah fretted, looking at her husband. “I’d never forgive myself if something terrible happened.”
“Hannah, darlin’—no one ever benefits from protracted warfare,” Uncle Grant told her, smoothing her hair behind her ear. “They’ve attacked Lightner’s resources, his alliances, and now his plans. He doesn’t have much of a leg to stand on, and he’s angry. This is the ideal time to draw him out. The best way to force his hand and make him approach us on our turf. I know it’s scary, darlin’—I know you’re afraid, and you’ve got a right to be. But we raised Samantha to be a general. We have to trust her now to protect our family.” Uncle Grant looked across the counter at Sam, his blue eyes bright and certain. “Your daddy would be so proud of you. Lord knows, I am, Sammy.”
“Thank you, Uncle Grant,” she said, emotion swelling inside her heart. Never in her life had she been more sure of herself and her team than in that moment. She wouldn’t let her family down. No way in hell.
“Right … well,” Hannah swiped at her eyes swiftly and her husband squeezed her shoulders, picking up the platter of veggie kebabs she and Jack had just finished making. “Sammy, Carey—let’s get you and the team fed properly so you can go about your business.”
Carey smiled at his mother. “Music to my ears.”
“Good.” Hannah nodded. “Let’s set up to eat outside on the terrace so we can enjoy the sunset before ya’ll start burning the midnight oil getting ready for this thing.”
“I’ll get the silverware,” Alejandro offered.
“I’ll get the plates,” Carey added as Jack helped carry the veggie skewers.
As the men shuffled out, Sam stood up and rounded the granite counter. “I’ve been training most of my life for this day,” she told her Aunt in a quiet voice, reaching for her hand. “I won’t fail you, Aunt Hannah,” Samantha promised her. “I swear to you: I will not fail.”
Hanna
h nodded, uncharacteristically overcome, her cornflower blue eyes welling with tears. She lifted her free hand and touched Sam’s cheek, her skin soft and scented with powder. “I’m not afraid for myself.”
“I know you aren’t,” Sam replied, caressing her Aunt’s tears away. “You’re the toughest woman I know. You taught me how to be strong, remember?”
“No, baby. I taught you how to take care of others.” Hannah replied, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm before taking a deep breath. “You’re a good leader, Sammy. You’re good because you take care of everyone else first.” She glanced out at the window overlooking the penthouse terrace. Jack, Carey, and Alejandro stood side by side, helping set the large table for the team while Uncle Grant turned the kebabs on the grill. “Just don’t forget to let them take care of you, too.”
Sam looked at each of the men who had such pivotal roles in her life. They’d walk through fire for her—they each had in their own way already. And indeed, they’d do it again tomorrow night if it came to that.
“They’re good men,” she murmured, echoing her earlier thoughts.
“Yes, they are,” Hannah agreed, patting her cheek. “And they’d all do anything for you. Never forget that, honey. That’s the best gift a man can give you—devotion. No matter how hard the path or uncertain the outcome.”
*
April—Late Afternoon
Houston Police Department, Houston, Texas
W E S L E Y
Wes looked closely at the gruesome photos of the decomposed Asian John Doe who’d been found in the woods by a jogger more than fifteen years ago. He sat across from Captain Bill Spears, head of homicide in the Criminal Investigation Division. He’d stayed late to meet with Wes when he’d called asking after a cold case that Spears worked himself, back when he’d been a detective in 2000.
“That poor bastard was shot in the back,” Spears told him, shaking his head in sympathy. “My guess is that he took the shot to his back first. It tore through his left lung, and when he didn’t die fast enough, the killer finished him off by kicking him over and shooting him once in the face. Made a goddamn mess of him.”
“What kind of weapon did the killer use?” Wes asked.
“Ballistics tells us it was a 9mm, but that’s not what’s most telling,” Spears told him. “The bullets were fired through a silencer. Take a look at the striations,” he said, pointing at a close-up shot of the bullets. “It was an assassination, sure enough. The killer planned it. That far outside the city in that park? Could have happened at night. No one would have been the wiser,” he remarked. “If it hadn’t been for the smell, he probably wouldn’t have been found. He only surfaced because of a strong breeze and some dumb luck.”
“What about fingerprints?” Wes asked. “Dental records?”
“Body was too decomposed for fingerprints—and the critters that live in those woods had gotten to him. Big pieces were missing from his body, and the shot to the face took out most of his jaw,” the captain answered, shaking his head.
Wes struggled not to cringe as he looked at the dozens of photos of the corpse. He’d seen atrocities in his lifetime. Genocide. Dismembered body parts. But looking at what was left of this John Doe still turned his stomach. Wes couldn’t prove it, but his instincts were telling him that this rotted carcass of a man had once been the austerely regal Toma Sakurai. Sam’s uncle may have been a bastard, but what the hell could he have done to deserve a death like this?
“Were there any clothes or shoes left?” Wes asked. “Any clues as to who this man might have been?”
Captain Spears sat back, thinking. He flipped through his case notes, kept neatly and meticulously in an ancient black Moleskine held together by a black rubber band. He flipped pages, frowned, and flipped backward.
“One thing stands out,” Spears told Wes, frowning as he ran his finger down a dog-eared page. “There was a handkerchief tucked into his jacket pocket. Dainty. Like it belonged to his girl.”
Spears stood up and went to the evidence box he’d pulled on the John Doe case at Wes’s request. He rifled through it until he found the handkerchief tucked in a plastic evidence bag. It was filthy—covered in dirt and blood, but as he held it up, it was obvious it belonged to a woman. Spears handed Wes the evidence bag, and he examined it carefully.
It had been a lovely little thing once, made of once-white, fine gauzy material with delicately embroidered edges. On it was a hand-painted picture of a small brown bird perched on a branch, resplendent with pink Sakura blossoms. There was a tiny kanji character in the right hand corner.
“What does this mean?” Wes asked, pointing to the character.
“We had a Japanese cop on the force look at it. He said it was a name,” Spears told him. He flipped through his little Moleskine notebook again, tracking down the page with a blunt-tipped finger, tapping on a highlighted passage when he found what he was looking for. “He said it meant ‘Suzume,’” Spears said, looking up. “Japanese for ‘sparrow.’”
Wes’s eyes widened. It meant more than ‘sparrow.’
It had also been Samantha’s mother’s name.
*
April—Late Night
Wyatt Towers, Houston, Texas
R O X A N N E
She looked out over the deep indigo skyline of Houston stretching out before her, breathing deep. The night air was warm and sultry, just the right amount of humidity to feel languid. It was the first time she’d been alone in days, and though a part of her longed for the respite of sleep, her internal body clock was so messed up, she didn’t think she could rest right now if her life depended on it.
Rox heard the quiet slide of the terrace door opening. She turned her head just enough to see the outline of a man approaching. He paused and she heard the flick of a cigarette lighter, saw her brother’s face illuminated by the brief flame as he took a deep drag.
“Mom would kick your ass if she knew you were still smoking,” she remarked, turning as her brother approached in the darkness.
“The most minor of my many sins, manita,” Alejo replied, shrugging carelessly as he exhaled. He stepped toward her and Rox held out her hand. Her brother passed her the cigarette, and she took a quick puff, savoring the rare musky, slightly salty taste of tobacco and nicotine.
“I wish this was pot,” she told him honestly, handing him back his cigarette. “Calm my nerves some.”
Alejandro came to stand beside her, leaning against the railing. “You worried?” he asked, taking another drag.
She smiled up at him, shrugging lightly. “Not anymore.”
And in a way, it was true. Just her big brother’s nearness soothed her ragged nerves, made her feel a little more centered after days of riding a wired adrenaline rush that left her jittery and unsatisfied, like coming down from too much coke.
“Aw, you missed me, brat?” he teased her, nudging her shoulder.
“Not even a little bit,” she lied, nudging him back. It was a rare pleasure to be with her older brother, even under these circumstances. The few times Alejandro had leave from Delta Force, they’d try to meet, but it was always difficult coordinating schedules between his missions and her somewhat sub rosa gigs. Despite time and distance, though, her brother remained her best friend, her closest confidante. They hadn’t always been this way, growing up years apart, but what they had now was a cultivated, deep connection that transcended age, distance, and history.
“You doing okay?” he asked her, exhaling smoke over his shoulder.
“Well, there’s a psychotic asshole on the loose with a nuclear weapon, half a dozen people know who I am now, and my brother is killing me with second-hand smoke. What do you think?”
“You sound like you haven’t slept in days, manita,” he chided, tossing what was left of his cigarette and grinding it out with the heel of his boot. “When was the last time you got more than a couple hours?”
Days. It had been days since she’d slept a good night’s sleep.
“Y
ou need to be on your A-game,” he murmured.
She sighed, rubbing her eyes. They felt gritty from staring at the museum schematics for hours with the team, going over all the entry and exit points, discussing vulnerabilities and the clearest lines of sight. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know. When this is over, I’m taking a week off and sleeping for days. What about you?”
“I’d be happy just going home to Chicago, watching a Cubs game, eating a bunch of shit I shouldn’t eat, and chugging it down with ice cold beer.” She saw the glint of her brother’s grin in the moonlight.
“We’re so fucking basic, mano,” Rox laughed. “We’ve got the whole world as our playground, and all we want is a nap and some baseball.”
“I miss home,” Alejo replied with a shrug. “Being around Sam and her family makes me miss what you, me, and Mom had, you know? It wasn’t much, but it was good.”
“Yeah it was,” she murmured, thinking back. They’d lost their father when they were young and had been largely raised by their mother. A strong, proud first-generation Mexican woman who’d run one of the best mariscos restaurants in Little Village back in the day, before she passed of a heart attack right after Rox had graduated from high school. It was a sudden and terrible loss that had hit them hard. Alejandro and Rita were both deployed at the time, and had only been able to return to Chicago for the short funeral. Rox had probably been the most devastated. As much as she and her mother had quarreled, her mother had been her ‘Polaris.’ Rox had spiraled after that, losing her way in a turbulent relationship with Joaquín and the commitment to the Kings. Things had never been the same after that.
“Tell you what: We survive this craziness with Lightner—and I’m taking you to Wrigley Field. My treat,” she promised her brother.
“Beer and hot dogs?”
“¡A huevo!”47
Alejo looped an arm around her neck, squeezing her to him and ruffling her hair. “It’s a date, manita.”
Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three Page 43
