by Jordan Dane
Becca had lost Danielle once. She wasn't going to let it happen again.
A wedge of moon lit the night sky on a clear night. Bluish haze settled on everything like a fine powder glowing in the dark.
Mike Draper, outfitted in his Kevlar vest and FBI windbreaker, raised night-vision binoculars to his face and watched the warehouse at the end of the deserted street. The hot and muggy air clung to his skin like a second layer. Sweat trickled down his temple and from his armpits under his clothes. His gear was a necessity of the job, and he'd grown used to the weight and the heat it generated.
Earlier, he had received a report on the truck connected to the alleged kidnapping of Rebecca Montgomery. It had been spotted driving into the underground parking beneath the warehouse. The driver had either keyed a code or punched an automated opener to lift the heavy door to the delivery bay. He hadn't witnessed the event himself, but the SAPD cops tailing the truck had.
Draper scanned the perimeter once more, listening to the muted crackle of radio chatter. He had his own FBI Hostage Rescue Team in place and working with the SAPD's tactical team. The HRT officers had been briefed on the mission and provided the available intelligence on their target. Draper would oversee the tactical plan as the commander. He gave his officers their assignments and their respective areas of responsibility within the op. No man would leave his AOR unless Draper ordered it.
His men were geared up with ten-millimeter Heckler &C Koch MP5s, night-vision goggles, explosive charges to blow obstacles, and plenty of flashbangs for the element of surprise on entry. Draper had plenty of probable cause to enter the premises with weapons drawn. He believed the men inside were armed and dangerous, with one or more hostages. Probable cause wasn't an issue, and no warrant would be required given this scenario.
The stage was set for "Breach, Bang, and Clear." Now, he waited. This was his jurisdiction. His case. His responsibility. And his ass was on the line if it blew up in his face.
The warehouse under surveillance looked no different from any of the other dilapidated shit holes in this section of town. Anyone driving by wouldn't notice it. But one thing really chapped his skinny white ass. He'd been in the area before, weeks ago, on a lead from Diego. That time, it had been a deserted factory only blocks away. Sources reported activity in the old textile district regarding young girls. Repeat appearances of the same girls, all in the company of older men, clued the tipsters. In this dump of a neighborhood, such activity would stand out. The tips fit what Diego had fed to Draper. So close, but so very wrong.
"Fuck me over once," he muttered under his breath, vowing tonight would be different. "But not twice."
"SAPD Tactical is waiting for the word, sir." Murphy walked up behind him, with Lieutenant Arturo Santiago at his side. The ranking officer for the SAPD looked like the calm before the storm.
Draper caught the look of anxiety on Murphy's face. Guilt can eat a man alive if he let it undermine him. Draper didn't believe in guilt. Santiago, on the other hand, glared at him like a man with something to say. After Murphy left, and he was alone with the lieutenant, Draper was the first to speak.
"I expected to see your chief. Where is he?"
"He's on his way. ETA seven minutes. And he's not a happy man."
"Whether your chief is here or not, this is my op. I'm not jumping the gun. Rebecca's a trained police officer. She knows how this'll play out." He turned his back on Santiago.
"Then maybe she should clue me in, 'cause I didn't get the memo." Santiago stepped in front of him with eyes narrowed and voice raised. "If there's a chance in hell she's in there, Rebecca's being held against her will. I believe a crime has been committed on one of my detectives, Draper. Hell, we've even got probable cause with the suspicious activity in and out of condemned property this time of night. I might even be convinced I smell a meth lab from here. And if those missing girls are in there, the tactical units can treat this like a hostage rescue and do their jobs. That should be enough for you."
"Except Cavanaugh is the focus of my investigation, and because of those girls, it's my jurisdiction. I'm calling the shots here. And I say we wait to get him." Draper matched Santiago's tone. "The bastard left the restaurant in his limo. He's coming here."
Draper lied ... or rather overstated his argument. His men were still tailing the limousine, and the warehouse seemed an unlikely destination given the direction in which it headed. But it was still too early to make the call, not with a man as cagey as Cavanaugh.
"But you don't know that, not for sure," the lieutenant replied. "He could be heading home or grabbing a nice wedge of pie at Denny's for all you know. I think you got a bad dose of wishful thinking, and no amount of penicillin will make it go away. In fact, this whole investigation has got you messed up. You're obsessed with this guy."
"And your men are so filled with guilt over what happened to Rebecca, you'd rather blow my case to cover up your department's embarrassment. Admit it. Your guys blew her surveillance. Now back off, Lieutenant."
Santiago pulled back and began to pace, his jaw tense. He wasn't done. The man wiped his brow and adjusted his SAPD ball cap. Turning on Draper for round two, he stepped in close and lowered his voice so the other men wouldn't hear.
"Let's examine this situation with some objectivity, if you can muster it." Santiago exercised his right to sarcasm. "In actuality, you have no idea who these men are, the ones that took Rebecca. They may not even be linked to Hunter Cavanaugh. But for the sake of argument, let's make that wild ass leap in logic." The police lieutenant adjusted his Kevlar vest, hoisting it at the collar. "You know what Cavanaugh does with these young women. What do you think is going on right now with Rebecca? You think after those bastards gang-rape her, she'll really give a rat's ass about your letter-perfect bust of Cavanaugh?"
The lieutenant seethed with anger and sarcasm, a side of Santiago Draper hadn't seen before tonight. Despite the man having a legitimate point, Draper stared him down out of habit. But he couldn't allow himself to think about what he said. Plenty of times he ordered good men to do their duty only to see some carried away in body bags. And he delivered the bad news to their families. Being a lieutenant, Santiago must have had his share of the same.
Any skirmish worth fighting had its casualties. Someone had to weigh the good with the bad and make the hard decisions. This time, it was his call. Next time, it might be someone else at the helm with him fitted for a body bag. Either way, he wouldn't shirk his duty.
"I don't know what's happening in there any more than you do." Draper refused to justify his judgment call. '
He had said all he intended to say, but Arturo Santiago hadn't.
"That's the point, Draper. You're satisfied with that answer. I'm not." The lieutenant gritted his teeth and took a step back. "How do you live with that ego? You're a user, Draper. And I figured something else out, too. You and Cavanaugh have a lot in common."
Staring at the lieutenant's back as he walked away, Draper swallowed and clenched his jaw. Santiago's words resonated deep in his craw. He would have thought more about the lieutenant's take on the situation, except a dark sedan rolled down the street. A Mercedes, from what he saw. It turned onto the warehouse property. He shifted focus and dismissed Santiago from his mind.
"Who the hell is this?" he muttered under his breath, holding the binoculars to his eyes. Barking into his com switch, he ordered, "I want to know who that is. Anybody catch a good look, report in."
Draper wanted it to be Cavanaugh, but the man had left the restaurant in a limousine, not a Mercedes. His men still followed the luxury vehicle. He didn't like surprises.
"Damn it."
With men waiting on his order, Draper reminded himself of two vital things. He didn't do guilt, and he had made his decision. He hit the switch to his com set.
"Tac team leaders? No one moves without my order. I repeat. Wait for my order."
CHAPTER16
Becca strained against the duct tape that bound her ha
nds and body to the metal railing. Her heart hammered in her chest as she worked the tape with her weight.
Matt Brogan kept an eye on her, but his real focus was Danielle. Under the stark light overhead, Dani looked washed-out. And so afraid. She lay sprawled on the cement floor, too scared to move. Brogan knelt over her with a knife in his hand.
In the stillness, Danielle's fear echoed off the walls. Every gasp, every shiver made a sound. If others stood in the shadows, Becca couldn't hear them. They watched in cruel silence, witnessing the atrocity without lifting a finger. She had to do something to distract him from her sister.
"Tell me. How did a classy guy like Hunter Cavanaugh get into trafficking and prostitution?" she prompted. "I mean, he's got the money to invest in anything he wants. Why pick something so vile and despicable? It seems like such a bonehead move."
"He saw an opportunity to make real good money, that's why. That damned Mex Galvan acts so high-and-mighty, but do you think some lame merger with Global Enterprises has made the old man what he is today?" Brogan raised his voice. "No. I'm the one who asked him to step up into something better. I had the connections. He just took my advice. It was all me."
She'd struck a chord. Under the heading of good news, Brogan was talking. But under the header for bad, she could list the same thing. Flexing his jowls the way he was, and admitting to criminal acts, the man had no intention of letting them go. He had too much to lose. But Becca had no choice. She kept working the duct tape, keeping him engaged in conversation.
"Does Cavanaugh come down here often? I mean, who's he gonna trust with an operation this size?"
"Boss man leaves it all up to me. He trusts me to take care of . . . things." As he spoke, Brogan tugged at her sister's grimy T-shirt, a taunting move. "'Cause I know what to do."
"Please... no." Danielle trembled, eyes wide in terror. "I'll do whatever you want, but don't hurt me."
"It's not that simple anymore, sweet meat."
In a steady and measured move, Brogan made his first cut.
His knife ripped through her shirt, from the collar down the middle. It hissed—a high-pitched and abrasive sound—like fingernails on a chalkboard. Becca's mind raced with what to say next. Her breath caught in her throat when Brogan trailed the blade down Dani's breasts. She forced herself to think and remain calm, when all she wanted to do was scream.
"Sounds like Cavanaugh has been playing this whole thing real smart." Her voice cracked.
Brogan looked up and smiled at her. "Yeah, that's what I said before. He's a real smart man. Knows a good thing when he sees it."
"Knows to steer clear of a disaster you mean." Becca set her jaw, watching the look of surprise on his face.
"What are you talking about?" Brogan let Dani go.
"Sounds like Cavanaugh is playing both ends against the middle. He's keeping this thriving enterprise going with you, but washing his hands of it in case the cops knock at his door. I'd say that's a real smart move." She took a gamble Cavanaugh hadn't set foot in this dump. And by the look on Brogan's face, she'd guessed right.
"It's not like that," he argued. "I'm runnin' the show here, but he wouldn't leave me hangin'. I know too much."
"Exactly." She nodded. She had planted the seed of Cavanaugh's betrayal. Now she would test the waters with another approach. "Earlier, you told me an old friend gave you the connection between me and Danielle. I got a pretty good idea who told you. Only she's not much of a friend."
Brogan snapped his head in Becca's direction, seething but curious. "Humor me. Tell me what you think you know."
"More like who I know, Sonja Garza," she said. Recognition flashed across Brogan's face. "In fact, I've met with her on more than one occasion. And she loves talking about you."
"You're lying. Sonja told me she saw you once. And she came to me right after. We met at some roach coach motel off Guadalupe Street. And we did a hell of a lot more than talk. That bitch knows better than to lie to me."
"Maybe she hasn't told you about our little meeting tonight." Becca definitely had his attention now. "She told me about you raping her at the pool house years ago. And about you buying your girlfriend Isabel Marquez an expensive gold necklace back then."
Brogan grimaced, then started to laugh. His intense curiosity vanished. What the hell had just happened?
"You don't know jack shit. Sonja always wanted a piece of me. I never had to rape her to get it neither. And I don't know nothin' 'bout that other girl . . . what's her name. Sonja knew her, not me."
"But you got Isabel the necklace, the heart with diamonds on it. Sonja said so." Becca tried to recapture the moment, but she'd lost Brogan. She tugged harder at the duct tape, panic setting in. She couldn't budge it. "I met with her tonight in the Cielo Vista cinema parking lot. She said you might've killed Isabel seven years ago."
"You got some imagination, lady. But you don't have all the facts. One of my guys tailed you to that theater, but he got spooked and took off when you turned the tables on him. So that much might be true." His voice low and threatening; Brogan was ready to blow. "But Sonja knows I'd kill her if she told lies about me. Hell, I'm not taking credit for that dead bitch. Sonja knows what happened. And buying some bimbo an expensive necklace is not my thing. I get plenty of the Big O right here. And what my bitches don't gimme, I take. I don't need to pay for it with jewelry. Shit."
He wasn't buying any of her story. Brogan's face knotted in a sneer. "You're playing me for some kinda fool. But I got a better idea. From here on out, every time you open your fuckin' mouth, I'm gonna cut off a piece of your sister and feed it to you. Now let me see what kind of a rise I can get out of you."
Brogan fondled Danielle's breasts and squeezed too tight. She cried out in pain, but the sound of her cry only fueled his lust. He lowered his lips to her nipple, sucking and biting until her sister couldn't stand it any more.
"Please . . . don't," Dani wailed.
Seconds bled into hours for Becca as she struggled against her restraints, helpless and unable to speak. But when she looked up, something caught her eye. Danielle had turned her head toward Becca, even as Brogan fed on her fear. New tears streaked her rawboned face, but Becca saw something more. In a show of submission, Dani collapsed under Brogan's weight, submitting to his degradation one final time. And with her surrender, she fixed her precious eyes on Becca—eyes brimming with all the love she held in her heart.
Her baby sister mouthed the words—I love you— in silence. Danielle knew she would die. And Becca could only watch it happen.
Diego recognized the seedy neighborhood, making him more anxious. Sometime back, he and Draper had raided an old textile factory nearby, thinking Cavanaugh had his girls stashed in it. At the time, he believed it to be another waste of energy and manpower. Not so much now.
As their Mercedes pulled up to a loading ramp and a subterranean parking garage entrance, the driver hit a code into a keypad. The heavy door rattled as it lifted. With the noise and Cavanaugh's distraction, Diego peered out the rear window. He searched for any signs of Draper but saw nothing. If the fed had gotten his message, he should have stormed the garage with the door open like this.
Why hadn't Draper gotten his message, damn it? There should have been enough time, but now things were looking bleak. It was probably too late. Cavanaugh had screwed him over with the FBI surveillance. The man switched cars, sending the higher-profile stretch limo on its way with two other passengers on board, no doubt with the FBI on its tail. And Cavanaugh had taken the less conspicuous Mercedes of Brogan's. They had planned it from the beginning.
When Diego saw the switch going down, he pretended it didn't matter. But inside, his brain struggled for another way to alert Draper.
As he slid into the backseat of the Mercedes, with Cavanaugh giving last-minute instructions to one of Brogan's men, Diego had palmed his small cell phone out of his pocket. He shot a quick glance to its display as he held it close to his thigh, away from Cavanaugh's sight. With th
e cell muted, Diego thumbed 9—1—1 and hit send without a sound. But as the call went through, he slid the phone into the seat pocket next to him. No time for him to pass on a direct message—too dangerous.
A dispatcher would get the call and have to respond, whether he remained on the line or not. And with the GPS feature the FBI had installed on the phone, someone would eventually contact Draper and track his exact location. It wasn't much of a plan, but he had run out of options, especially after one of Cavanaugh's men held him at gunpoint from the front seat at the switch site, demanding his .45-caliber Colt.
Now with no gun, the sheath of knives strapped to his leg was all he had left. Diego stared into the dismal shadows of the garage up ahead. He was about to enter one of Cavanaugh's strongholds.
"You surprise me, Diego." Cavanaugh's voice caught him off guard. He hadn't spoken since the switch. "You didn't ask one question about the switch in cars. Why is that?"
Before he answered, Diego remembered another phone call not so long ago. The recollection came to him not out of nostalgia, but from the harsh reality of his present situation. His "death wish" conversation with Cavanaugh. He didn't really know why he thought of it. Or perhaps he did. One of these days, I might surprise you and grant your death wish, Diego, the man had said. How prophetic, he thought.
Diego hadn't resisted at the switch site for one reason only. If he had a chance to discover the location of the missing girls, he had to take his shot—despite the odds. He knew he'd be outnumbered. And if this was his day to die, he would refuse to go quietly . . . or alone. He'd have his sights set on the man sitting next to him. Diego stared at Cavanaugh now, anger not part of the equation.
"Weren't we just talking about trust, Hunter?" In a deliberate move, he used the man's first name. After all, death made all men equal. "It seems one of us was listening . . . and the other scheming."
"I will miss our little chats, Diego." Cavanaugh smiled, a genuine show of humor in his eyes.
