by Tarah Scott
Jesse shook her head stubbornly. “You could have tried.”
“Really? You mean like when you showed up at the bank then ran out on us? Or when we waited for you at Bogotá International and you got spooked?”
She stared at him.
“That’s right,” Nielson said. “It was a perfect set-up; the rogue agent gone bad. I didn’t like it—too much could go wrong.” He leveled a hard gaze on her. “And it did. Once word got out you had returned to the States, then headed back to Colombia, I lost the ability to say you were innocent. Washington decided you’d try to take your sister back to Colombia.”
Jesse stumbled back a pace. Cole caught her, and eased her onto the bed.
“After that,” Nielson went on, “the best I could do was send you someone I knew you could count on.”
She glanced up at Cole. A gentle smile crossed his face and she wondered if she hadn’t fallen down the rabbit hole.
“After you two met with Lanton in the warehouse,” Nielson went on, “Cole reported how things went down, then headed for Amanda. We already had someone there, and he got her out before Lanton’s man arrived.”
Jesse’s head swam. She had been wrong, right down the line. “Where is she?”
Cole sat down beside her. “Not at Houghton House. We didn’t get the guy who shot at you.”
She nodded.
“You’re lucky,” Nielson said. “Once the committee heard the taped conversation between you and Green Leader, that got you off the hook—barely.”
Jesse startled. “Taped?” She looked at Cole.
He nodded. “You really have to quit running off. And next time, stick with the plan.”
She frowned in confusion.
“We had him pretty good, but we wanted one other thing,” Cole said.
Jesse fought back tears. “Tom?”
“No,” Nielson said with vehemence. “That was a second surprise. If he hadn’t destroyed evidence of a crime, we would simply dismiss him. Now…” Neilson sighed. “Lanton’s dead. His wife killed him.”
Jesse’s head spun.
Cole’s brow knit. “You all right, Jess?”
“Lanton’s wife?” Her voice came out as a croak.
“Right,” he replied. “She’s the one who tipped off Perez about Green Team’s rescue attempt.”
Jesse stared. “Why—Perez spoke only of Lanton.” A sickening feeling settled in her stomach. Perez said the whole affair had been orchestrated. She assumed he meant by Robert Lanton.
Nielson shrugged. “It’s a guess, but we figure she’d had enough of his carousing.”
“How did she know about the operation?”
“We don’t know yet. After Lanton left the warehouse, he went home and confronted Helen. We’ve had his house bugged for months. He accused her of using his email account to tip off Perez.” Nielson raised a brow. “She’s a cool one. She asked how he and his mistress liked their membership in Submissions.”
“Perez didn’t know the email came from Helen Lanton? And Lanton didn’t know who tipped off Perez?” Jesse looked helplessly at Cole. “She really killed him?”
He nodded. “We fished his body from the Potomac. He had a small caliber bullet hole to his head in a faked suicide. The bullet wasn’t the cause of death. Helen Lanton hit him fourteen times in the head.”
“My God,” Jesse breathed, and remembered something her mother once said, Men are violent but, let’s face it, honey, women can be downright cruel. Her stomach roiled. “I fell for it, hook, line and sinker.”
“If it’s any consolation, you are responsible for us getting him,” Nielson said.
She frowned. “You said I nearly botched it.”
“You did. And your cowboy heroics aren’t acceptable. But our timetable established a twelve to twenty-four month operation. We’re a team, Miss Evans. You are not the Lone Ranger. We work together. That way, fewer people die.”
“What about the people dying as a result of the drugs Perez ships over here?” she demanded.
Pity filled his expression. “You haven’t heard? Gilbero seized Perez’s cocoa fields.”
Jesse choked back tears. For every Perez, there were ten more waiting to take his place.
“You want the person responsible for killing Green Team?” Nielson asked.
Jesse’s vision cleared. “Yes, sir.”
He nodded.
She stood. “Wait—”
He appeared surprised.
She faced Cole. “Who are you?”
He grinned. “Cole Smith-Murphy.”
“What?”
“My mother gave me her name as well as my father’s.”
“But I found nothing in your dossiers about the name Murphy.”
“Nope,” he replied. “Smith throws ‘em off every time.”
He lifted a brow and she felt as if he’d been inside her mind the day her cell phone rang in that Newark hotel and she saw the name Cole Smith. She’d laughed when she saw his caller ID pop up. She wasn’t laughing now.
“If you’d bothered to ask…” Cole shrugged.
Jesse took a deep breath and looked at her boss. “Harris, how is he?
“Took a bullet to the shoulder. Lost some blood, but nothing serious. He’s a tough man.”
A trickle of relief loosened the knot constricting her stomach. She didn’t expect it to last.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Jesse glanced down at the standard OIA navy blue suit coat, skirt, and heels she wore, still unable to believe she rode in a Hummer with Cole on the way to arrest Helen Lanton. Jesse cast a covert glance at Cole, whose attention remained fixed straight ahead. He wore a pinstripe suit, black tie and black wingtips. Wingtips. The only similarities in their outfits were the badges affixed to their jackets’ breast pockets, his, with the name Cole Smith.
Followed by two black Crown Victoria sedans, Cole pulled into the driveway of a two million dollar, white Federal-style home in Georgetown. A round front porch adorned the façade, with the same shaped balcony above, supported by four columns. Green shutters, and landscaped flower borders outlining a manicured lawn completed the picture-perfect disguise. Cole cut the engine. He flashed an encouraging smile, then reached for the door handle.
The FBI agents in the black sedans had been instructed to give Jesse and Cole the opportunity to get Helen Lanton to the door, then they would leave their cars and make the arrest. Jess followed Cole along a brickwork sidewalk to the front porch. She noticed the perfectly trimmed dwarf English Boxwoods. Just like the ones she and Amanda would have had outside their Paris chalet. Cole stepped up to the massive forest-green door with its shiny brass kick plate and rang the bell.
A maid opened the door.
“Ma’am,” Cole said. “We’re agents Smith and Evans, here to see Helen Lanton.”
The woman’s gaze flicked to his badge. “One moment.”
She turned and, before the door shut, Jesse caught sight of an antique, colonial-period mirror and Oriental rug.
A moment later, the door reopened. A petite brunette with high cheekbones and pouty lips stood in the doorway. Tops, she weighed a hundred pounds. A chill grazed Jesse’s shoulders. And all along, she’d thought Lanton was the bad ass. Jesse met her gaze. “Helen Lanton?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“I’m agent Evans, this is agent Smith.” A look of recognition flickered in Helen Lanton’s eyes.
Her gaze flicked past Jesse as car doors slammed shut, then returned to Jess. “What’s this about?”
Jesse wanted to shout, For murdering six men! but only moved aside for the men who stepped onto the porch. Helen Lanton’s eyes shifted to the older man, who reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a palm-sized, black leather case. He flipped open the case to reveal an FBI badge and ID card.
“Helen Lanton, I’m agent Brooks. You’re under arrest for conspiracy and the murder of your husband, Robert Lanton, a Federal Agent.”
Brooks brushed past Jesse and Cole, follow
ed by the other three men. “Helen Lanton,” he said as he carefully spun her around and reached back to pull handcuffs from his belt, “you have the right to remain silent.” He clamped them on her wrists, then turned her to facing him. “Anything you say and do…”
Jesse’s blood cooled another notch when Helen Lanton met and held her gaze. No denial, no tears…no emotion. Brooks directed her down the sidewalk toward the waiting cars, reciting the rest of her Miranda Rights. Another agent opened the back door of their black Crown Vic and Brooks pressed her head down as they placed her in the backseat.
Jesse looked at Cole.
“You ready?” he asked.
She nodded. As ready as she’d ever be.
Chapter Seventy
An hour later, Jesse stood beside Cole as they rode the elevator to the eighth floor of the Humphrey Building in Langley. The car stopped and the doors opened. Jesse led the way down the hall. Two agents emerged from the third office on the right and fell in behind them. The agents wore their FBI badges on chains around their necks. She and Cole wore their badges. Hers displayed her picture and agent number over a prominent blue letter B. Cole’s badge had a green letter C behind a far too handsome mug shot.
At Tom’s closed office door, Jesse held up a hand to the three men behind her. “I need a sec.”
She gave the door a perfunctory knock, then entered. Tom looked up from a semi-circle of monitors. He never went home before nine. Why would he, living alone in an ultramodern, sterile townhouse overlooking the Potomac?
His face lit in genuine delight, and he stood. “Jesse. Nielson finally released you. And you look none the worse for wear. I knew you’d come to your senses.” Arms outstretched, he started around his massive desk toward her.
“Actually, I have come to my senses. Only, you’re not going to like the results.”
Tom stopped, confusion chiseled on his expression. His arms fell to his sides. “What do you mean?”
Jesse regarded him. “In the final hour, I was willing to chance it all for you. I couldn’t have been more wrong about everything if I’d planned it. But being wrong about you was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.” Maybe that wasn’t true, but she wasn’t sure about much of anything. “You never really know a person.”
She stepped aside and Cole slid into the doorway.
Tom looked at him. “What’s going on?”
“I was wearing a wire, Tom.”
He paled. “What do you mean?”
The two FBI agents brushed past Cole. “Tom Montague,” the man in the lead began, “your employment has been terminated. We are escorting you out of the building. You will accompany us to our offices where you will answer our questions.” Tom didn’t move, and the agent said, “Now.”
Jesse watched them lead Tom from the office. She had told Blue Leader about the disc in Lanton’s possession. They hadn’t located it yet, but would. A list of OIA’s operatives was dangerous information to have floating around. Nielson was keen to learn how one of their top analysts came to be in possession of the list in the first place. Jesse hadn’t considered that. She wasn’t an analyst. She was recon. She made sure her team had a safe entrance path. Jesse turned and headed out the door toward the elevators. A finality settled into the pit of her stomach. Strong fingers closed around her shoulder. She turned to face Cole.
He leaned close. “We’re finished with business. Are you ready to see your sister?”
“Amanda?” Jesse said, as if the name were foreign.
He gave her that gentle smile, and she wished mightily they were back in the Colombian cantina and she could do it all over again.
Chapter Seventy-One
On a Maryland road, city gave way to country almost as quickly as the lights in Colombia had turned into jungle. Jesse had spent time in the DC/Maryland area, but this place was unfamiliar. For twenty miles, empty, rolling hills surrounded the two lane highway. The dormers of a house peaked above a distant hill off to the right, then fell from sight behind the next hill.
Cole had refused to tell her where they were going, and Jesse decided the ride would be less painful without an argument. Autumn sun snapped in the crisp air and streamed into the truck cab like liquid gold. She stared out the window, spirited away by the fantasy of walking alone on a quiet path through those green hills. Her heart skipped a beat. No more lying. She didn’t have to look at the man sitting beside her to know she had grown tired of being alone.
The truck slowed and Jesse jolted with the realization Cole had turned up the drive angling toward the house—not house, she corrected, the three-story plantation mansion—she’d spotted earlier.
She looked at him. “This is a private residence.”
He kept his gaze straight ahead. “Uh huh.”
Jesse narrowed her eyes. “Whose residence?”
Cole remained silent.
She felt her temper mount and took a deep breath.
The truck started up the hill, and a moment later, two Australian Shepherds, one blue merle, one tri-colored, crested the hill and raced toward them. A tremor shook her belly. Something wasn’t right. The dogs neared, and Cole slowed. They leaped into the back of the truck. She shot him a questioning look, but he ignored her. At the top of the hill, the house came into view.
“Amanda and I won’t be staying long,” Jesse said. Maybe being alone had its merits.
“Uh huh,” he grunted and brought the truck to a stop in front of a covered porch.
Jesse was out the truck before his hand touched the keys. The two Aussies smiled and panted at her from the bed as she stared at Cole through the passenger side window. He paused, hand on the key, and raised a brow.
“If you don’t get your ass out here and show me where my sister is, I’ll ransack the house,” she threatened.
He gave a slow shake of his head as he killed the ignition. “My folks might get the idea you don’t like me.”
Jesse’s stomach did a flip. His parents? She stood motionless as he exited the car, then strode around the hood toward her.
When he neared, she said under her breath, “I’ll get you for this.”
“I’m sure you will,” he replied, “but, right now, let’s go see your sister.”
Before she could stop Cole, he took her hand. Her mind jumbled. If they walked into the house holding hands, his parents would get the wrong idea. If she jerked her hand away, they would think she was a bitch.
To her surprise, Cole didn’t go up the front stairs, but led her around the side of the house with the two dogs trotting behind. They rounded the corner and Jesse halted. Amanda sat on the grass, slowly stroking the belly of a Bassett hound lying beside her, its legs straight up, its floppy ears spread, its eyes closed. A young woman relaxed on a lawn chair a few feet away.
Cole tugged Jesse forward. She walked beside him, feeling like she had stepped into another woman’s shoes. When they reached Amanda, she looked up at Jesse.
Jesse smiled. “Hi, Boozie.”
Amanda’s face lit. She pointed at the dog. “Dog.”
She returned her attention to the hound, closing the door between them, and resumed the same, slow stroke along his belly. Once Jesse’s attention turned elsewhere, Amanda would offer her gesture of unconditional love by approaching her, then allowing Jesse to hug her.
Cole slipped an arm around Jesse’s shoulder. “You okay?”
Jesse looked at him. His eyes shone, and she realized the door between them lay wide open.
###
From the Authors
We hope you enjoyed reading about Jesse and Cole. Please enjoy a preview of Abducted: Texas Rangers: Special Ops Reconnaissance Team.
Tarah and Evan
Abducted: Texas Rangers: Special Ops Reconnaissance Team.
He's too hot, too smart, and too young… and too damn hard to resist.
The El Paso fashion gala was slated to be the hottest event of the year and a must do if Liz Monahan, the creative brains behind Nina Bruno Designs, was t
o vault the company to the big time. Circumstances put Liz at the party in one of her own creations, escorted by a young, handsome model hired to show her off to the well-known and well-established. But Liz didn’t count on her date being an undercover Texas Ranger who is investigating a human trafficking ring. She also didn’t count on being kidnapped and trafficked herself.
When Texas Ranger Ben Hunter slips away from Liz Monahan at the gala and begins his investigation, he couldn’t be more surprised to arrive in Juarez, Mexico to find her held captive by infamous human trafficker Carlos Sanchez. In order to save her, Ben must commit murder. Hers.
He's too hot, too smart, and too young… and too damn hard to resist.
Ranger Ben Hunter discovers Liz Monahan is held captive in Mexico. To save her, Ben must commit murder. Hers.
Chapter One
Nina Bruno Designs caters to the modern woman. The mature woman who knows that life begins after forty.
Liz mentally repeated the litany as she blinked at the strobe of photoflashes illuminating the night outside the limousine. The car slowed behind a line of other limos entering a circular drive and Francis Remmey’s estate came into full view. Spotlights crisscrossed the Edwardian columns and stone façade of the mansion.
Only a few hours ago, she had been giddy at the prospect of getting caught on camera by the reporters that now crowded each approaching vehicle and lined both sides of the walkway leading to the hacienda’s steps. It seemed the entire state of Texas had converged on El Paso for the fashion event of the year, the fifth annual G International Gala hosted by Larissa Remmey, owner of G International fashion magazine.
Now, however, getting noticed was a double-edged sword.
Liz shifted her attention to the two co-workers sitting across from her. Richard Anderson, VP of Marketing of Nina Bruno Designs, and Brenda Pierce, Head Designer.
“This is a bad idea,” Liz said.
“You and your dress are going to be a hit,” Richard said. “Stop worrying.”
