by Jordan Dane
And how far would they go to keep him there?
“Cross doesn’t strike me as someone’s puppet.” She couldn’t let it go. “And he’s got to be working with people who have the balls to seize an opportunity when they see it, with you missing. I’m just . . . worried, Garrett.”
“I know you are,” he began as he stared into her eyes, “but I’ve got to handle this my way. I don’t want you getting stuck in any cross fire. That would . . . kill me.”
For the first time in a long while, Garrett looked into her eyes like he used to. She’d ended their relationship and moved on after she’d caught him with someone else, but the intimacy between them had never truly been severed. And that had never been more apparent. Alexa blinked and cleared her throat, breaking his connection with her.
“Just remember that you’ve got friends, too. Don’t go it alone, tough guy.”
Garrett smiled, a quick fleeting curve of his lips.
“Good to know. Thanks.”
“What was that? That sound, did you hear it?” Estella’s voice cracked.
She turned her head toward the only window in the cell and squinted into a piercing light that vanished as quickly as it had come. A powerful engine roared across the night sky as the sudden brightness stabbed the dark and left its phantom image in her mind.
Something was happening outside.
And after the engine noise faded, she heard the distant voices of Ramon’s men and hoisted herself high enough to see out. But her sudden moves started the aching pain again. Her shoulders were on fire, caused by the weight of her body. And her wrists were raw from the ropes.
When her question about the noise went unanswered, she looked over to the dark part of the cell, where only a thin stream of moonlight doused the stone walls. Estella saw the silhouette of the American. He had not moved in over two hours. And she barely heard his breathing.
“Please . . . don’t be dead,” she whispered.
Saying the words aloud didn’t make her feel so alone, even if the wounded man couldn’t hear her.
“No such luck,” he mumbled.
“Oh, I’m . . . sorry. I did not mean . . .”
“Helicopter.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard a h-helicopter. That was . . . the n-noise.”
It took all her concentration to hear him. Yet even though the man sounded weak, there was something in his voice that calmed her. And since he had answered her first question, she ventured another.
“What are they doing? Ramon’s men. I hear them outside.”
Her whisper hissed across the cell and echoed off stone, sounding garbled. When he didn’t answer right away, she almost repeated her question, thinking he had not understood her.
“This is almost over. I’m sorry for how it turned out.” Even though he choked out words plainly enough, she didn’t understand what he meant.
“This isn’t your fault, señor.”
“I wish you were right about that.” When he spoke, she saw the glint in his eyes, a reflection of the moonlight . . . and something else.
Estella didn’t understand the strange man, but for the first time, she was afraid of what she saw in his eyes.
La Pointe, Wisconsin
After Jessie lost her footrace with the guy who had taken an interest in her, she had given up on her appetite. She’d stopped in at the motel office and scored enough snacks to satisfy her if she changed her mind. Byron McGivens wasn’t behind the desk when she stopped in, even though his nameplate was still hanging on the wall as if he were on duty.
“Does Byron have the night off?” she asked. The minute she’d instigated the conversation, Jessie knew it had been a mistake. It only gave the guy behind the counter a reason to chat her up.
“Yeah, he had something to do. I fill in sometimes.” The older man grinned back at her. “So . . . you new in town?”
Jessie fought the urge to roll her eyes. The clerk rang up the sale, between his attempts at making one-way small talk, and forced Jessie to smile as she headed out the door. When she got to her room, she set the brown bag with her snacks on the sidewalk near her door—and as a precaution—she reached for her Colt Python. After she unlocked her door, she flipped on the lights and aimed her gun from corner to corner.
Her room was empty. And her things were as she’d left them, except where the maid had touched. Jessie smelled the scent of pine cleaner, saw that the bed had been made, and noticed the maid had left her fresh towels. After she saw the room was clear, she went back for her bag of goodies and locked the door behind her, tossing her new stash of Fritos, Twinkies, and Red Bull onto the extra double bed.
She pulled out the newspaper articles from the waistband of her jeans and tried to straighten them, without much luck. Since the pages had gotten squashed and manhandled in her chase with the local yokel, she slipped them under her mattress to flatten them out while she got cleaned up.
Jessie took a quick shower and changed into the gym shorts and tank top she normally slept in if she wasn’t spending the night with Seth. After she got in bed, she propped herself up on her pillows and spread out the articles she wanted to read as she ate a Twinkie.
Most of the articles about the killing were textbook journalism, but some were more dramatic, like an intriguing mystery. And some reporter even speculated on rumors. Anything was news in a small town.
Folks had wondered why Angela DeSalvo had kept to herself, not socializing much with the rest of the town. Someone had her pegged as a woman on the run from an abusive husband. And another local woman swore she saw her with kids and speculated that she was running an illegal adoption scam.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she whispered.
Reading that, Jessie felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. If Angela DeSalvo had been on the wrong side of the law, that could explain how she had ended up in the hands of a serial pedophile. The thought of Angela contributing to what had happened to her made Jessie sick.
“What were you up to? And did it get you killed?”
Jessie made up her mind to spend the next day talking to some of the locals mentioned in the articles, to see who was still living in La Pointe. And something about Sophia Tanner still bothered her. The woman had appeared edgy, and she had wrung the washrag so tight in her hands, it had made Jessie nervous just watching her. And when she’d mentioned kids, the woman freaked. She had immediately looked to Chief Cook for protection, and the local LEO obliged her, right on cue.
Jessie had no doubt that Cook would arrest her if he found out she had talked to Sophia Tanner one-on-one after he had specifically told her to leave the woman alone. When Jessie thought of how adamant he’d been, she smiled to herself.
Guess what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
Jessie turned out the lights and lay in the dark, her mind still working over all that she’d seen today, but when her cell phone rang, she had to get up to answer it. She had it recharging in the motel bathroom.
“Hey, Sam. What’s up?” She’d recognized the incoming cell number and knew who it was. Her friend didn’t call at this hour unless it was important.
“Hey, Jess. Sorry to wake you.”
“Funny thing. I haven’t been able to sleep lately. Imagine that.”
“Well, don’t kill the messenger.” Detective Samantha Cooper forced a laugh, but since Jessie knew her well, she was familiar with Sam’s strained attempt at humor. “Are you sitting down?”
Jessie looked behind her. The only place to sit in the tight bathroom was the toilet seat, and she had no intention of receiving bad news sitting on the commode. When she got to the bed, she took a corner and sat.
“Yeah, I’m sitting. Shoot.”
“Remember that DNA report that I requested, the one Chief Cook claimed he got a hit with your DNA that tied you to his cold case?”
Jessie didn’t like the sounds of this already.
“Yeah. What about it?”
“Chief Cook told me h
e got one hit on your DNA. Is that what he told you?”
“Yeah, he did. What’s this about, Sammie? ’Cause you’re shaking me up here.”
Jessie’s throat went suddenly dry. Her breathing had escalated, along with her heart rate. She had no idea where Sam was headed with her questions, but Jessie didn’t like it.
“Sorry, Jess. I don’t know why the chief wouldn’t tell you everything. Guess you can ask him when you see him.”
“Sam, spit it out. Please.”
“I had my lab boys analyze that report, so I’d be sure of the findings. That’s why I couldn’t call you sooner, but Jessie, that report had two DNA samples on it. Your DNA wasn’t the only one found at that crime scene.”
“What?”
“The Wisconsin state crime lab found a second unidentified sample of DNA. And that sample showed a 95 percent probability match to yours.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that second sample doesn’t have a match in the databases, so they can’t ID who was there, but the DNA came from someone in your immediate family, Jessie. Your real family.” Sam let that thought settle before she landed a second shocker. “And according to the crime lab and my CSI guys, that DNA has genetic markers that indicate it came from a male.”
“You mean . . . my father?”
“I don’t know, Jess. It could be your father or a brother.” Sam heaved a sigh. “I don’t know if this is good or bad news, but maybe you can ask Chief Cook why he left out that second DNA sample. He didn’t tell me about it. And apparently he never said anything to you either. I’d sure want to know why.”
Terrible thoughts crossed Jessie’s mind. And it left her reeling. She couldn’t sit anymore. She had to stand, but when she caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror, she suddenly got nauseous.
With all the talk about kids being seen at Angela DeSalvo’s place prior to her murder, Jessie had to wonder. She had to have been one of those kids since her DNA was found at the crime scene. And now it appeared her brother had been there, too. The joy of knowing she might have a brother mixed with a flood of dark thoughts.
Had her brother been taken the way she had been? Did Danny Ray Millstone torture her brother, too? Had he been in that house where she was held prisoner, and she hadn’t even known it?
“No, that can’t be.” She swallowed, hard.
“What?”
“Oh, Sammie. Give me a minute here. I gotta process all this before I say anything.” Her voice cracked as she paced the floor. “Just wait a minute.”
Although Sam could check into the Millstone case, looking for names of the survivors or the names of the kids the bastard had killed, that would take time. Sam would have to pull the case files and do legwork to find out what Seth Harper would know in short order. Harper had his father’s old murder book. And he’d been making contact with the Millstone survivors. That was how and why they’d met. Harper would know what she needed.
“I’ve got to talk to Seth,” she muttered.
“What? Slow down, Jess,” Sam urged her. “Take a deep breath.”
“I know. And you’re right, but I gotta think. What did Cook tell me? I gotta remember.” As she ran through everything the chief had said, she paced the floor and searched through her mind.
Chief Cook had told her that he’d looked into the Danny Ray Millstone case and knew about what happened to her as one of his victims. Maybe he knew more than he’d let on. Or maybe he only wanted to spare her feelings. Either way, she hated that he’d kept the truth from her. And what she was thinking was far worse than if he had just told her what he knew.
Besides the possibility of having a brother who might already be dead—or a survivor of abuse like she had been—there was a darker scenario that lurked in the back of her mind, one that made her even more sick.
“Hold on, I gotta . . .” Jessie dropped her cell on the mattress and ran to the bathroom. She emptied her stomach until all she had left were dry heaves. Her face was hot, and beads of sweat clung to the skin of her arms. With trembling hands, she cleaned up. And when she could, she got back on the phone with Sam.
“Are you okay, Jessie? I’m so sorry.”
It took her a moment to catch her breath and calm her racing heart.
“Can you do me . . . a favor?”
“Yeah, anything.”
“Do you know if they have a sample of Millstone’s DNA on file? I mean, maybe after he was caught red-handed and killed, no one bothered to collect it.”
“That’s hard to say. Back then, digital DNA records were hit-and-miss, and not every case got consistent treatment. Why are you asking about this, Jessie?”
“I need to know if Millstone was . . . my father.”
It took everything she had to say those words.
She had no other explanation for how she ended up with the serial pedophile. Being related to that scumbag would be the worst she could imagine, and that was saying something. She knew it was a leap, one she didn’t want to take, but if this trip had been about uncovering her past, she had to go the distance. She had to keep an open mind about the possibilities, or she’d never find the truth.
“Oh, my God, Jessie. I never thought . . . If Millstone’s DNA wasn’t on digital file that could explain why Cook didn’t get a hit on that second sample. And if we can confirm that second sample is Millstone’s, then odds are that Chief Cook can solve his old murder case.” Sam rambled on for what felt like an eternity, trying to console her, but finally she said, “Yeah, I’ll look to see what I can find. And I’ll call you the minute I know something.”
“Thanks, Sam.”
Jessie ended the call, knowing she’d never get to sleep. She had too much to try to remember—and way too much she’d never forget.
She’d contact Seth in the morning, first thing, but confronting Chief Cook face-to-face weighed heavy on her mind. She had to know why he’d lied to her about the DNA analysis. Did he already know what Sam had promised to find out, about her possible connection to her childhood abuser?
According to Cook, his men had missed getting an interview with Sophia Tanner. The interview had been missing from the murder book, but what if that original document had been taken from the evidence on purpose, to cover up the truth?
And if Cook had been behind that cover-up, why would he have gone through the motions of interviewing the woman again? He could have blown Jessie off and made excuses. There was plenty for her to be suspicious about and not enough cold hard facts, but the chief of police in La Pointe would be the man to see.
Had he held back the truth to spare her feelings, or was he protecting someone? Either way, Jessie wanted to look Cook in the eye and dare him to lie to her again.
Chapter 11
Outside the Pérez Compound
After midnight
Waiting had never been Alexa’s thing. It gave her too much time to dwell on Kinkaid’s predicament, but something else was eating at her. And she had to say something to Garrett. When she found him hunkered down next to Hank, she moved closer and spoke in a hushed tone.
“What happens when Pérez sees Kinkaid?” She didn’t wait for Garrett to say anything. “If it’s true that bastard killed Jackson’s wife and kid, then he’d know Kinkaid on sight. Once he sets eyes on him, he’ll know he’s not you. The masquerade would be over. All Pérez has to do is pull the trigger, or order it done.”
Garrett didn’t act surprised to hear what she’d said. He only heaved a sigh as he turned his back on Hank.
“I’m sure Kinkaid knew that going in,” he told her. “I tried to warn you. He’s not planning on walking away from this.”
Until now, Alexa had thought of this as a rescue mission, but nothing could be farther from the truth. She turned away and didn’t say anything more. She didn’t want the moonlight to out her to Garrett as her eyes filled with tears. Whatever Kinkaid had planned, he was going out in a big way. And the odds were against him, even with Garrett’s team being outside t
he stone walls of the Pérez estate.
Jackson Kinkaid was beyond saving.
1:10
A.M.
“What was so important that couldn’t wait?” Manolo Quintanilla Pérez said in his native tongue.
Ramon Guerrero clenched his jaw as the drug-cartel boss stared at him and Miguel Rosas, his number two man. Pérez hadn’t offered them a seat. He’d made them wait to see him while he relaxed. And now they stood in front of him as the big man sat behind a massive cherrywood desk in the study of his estate. He leaned back in his leather chair as he sipped a fine Cognac from a crystal snifter.
Rosas was about to open his mouth to speak first, but Guerrero couldn’t let that happen. The American had been his to find, and he wasn’t about to let Rosas take credit for his diligence or downplay his part, not after he’d made the call to Pérez that had brought him there.
“My men took a hostage in Juárez, a very influential American. His name is Garrett Wheeler and he claims that you know him.”
“Oh? That name is not familiar to me.” Pérez narrowed his eyes at Guerrero. “Tell me. How do I know him?”
When Pérez crooked his lip into a humorless sneer, Guerrero cleared his throat before he went on.
“He did not say, but I believe that if you see him for yourself, you can get him to admit what he’s up to.”
“So now, you want me to do your work for you?” The cartel boss cut a sideways glance at Rosas, who only shrugged with boredom.
“No, sir. That’s not what I’m saying, but someone of your reputation has no doubt made an impression on this man. You have said that you fear this American is probably CIA, and my sources back this up, too. This man has probably been sent to assassinate the heads of the drug cartels for the U.S. government.”
In an effort to make a big impression and beat out Rosas, Guerrero had blurted out a theory Rosas had told him about, something that had come from Pérez himself, but his boss’s questions had rattled him. And now that his words hung in the air, without evidence to back him up, Guerrero had sounded like an idiot.
