by Jordan Dane
“Oh? How do you know all this?” Pérez asked, setting down his empty glass. “What proof do you have?”
Before Guerrero could answer, Rosas interrupted with a smirk.
“He doesn’t have any. He is only trying to impress you. The American hasn’t confirmed any of this.”
“He carried a U.S. driver’s license with him. I’ve seen it and so have you. It confirms his name and an address of his home in New York,” Guerrero argued.
“Identification like that can be bought. It means nothing.” Rosas looked at his boss with a dismissive shrug. “And do you think if he is some big spy, that he would have his real information so easily obtained? Like I said, his ID means nothing.”
“Then you are also dismissing the messages I received from my contacts across the border? Wheeler was overheard, trying to buy information about the cartels . . . and you, in particular. He admitted who he was when he thought he was safe on the American side. And my sources in New York have confirmed that Wheeler is missing.”
“That’s the point. Only your sources say this, but I believe in other ways to arrive at the truth.” Rosas narrowed his eyes. “When a man knows he is about to die, he will bargain any way he can to save his miserable life. That is the only source worth believing, forcing a man to tell you everything he knows when he faces death.”
“Ramon, you told me that it was urgent I should be here. Is this all you have? That I should see this American for myself?” Pérez shifted his glare toward Guerrero once again.
“I assure you, sir. I believe the man has vital information that you can help us get from him. I swear on my sainted mother’s head, it’s only a matter of time before we get him to talk.”
“So now you use the words ‘us’ and ‘we.’ ” Rosas chuckled under his breath and leaned against a wall with his arms crossed. “A minute ago, you were running this show, single-handedly. Which is it?”
Guerrero suddenly saw himself between two very dangerous men. He’d gone around Rosas’s back to have a face-to-face meeting with his boss, an encounter that had not gone as well as he had expected. If he didn’t play his cards right, he would end up the big loser.
“You have been extremely resourceful in dealing with the American,” Guerrero said to Rosas. “I’m sure he will tell us everything, in time. And my sources will be confirmed.”
“Very diplomatic, Ramon.” Pérez grinned and stood. “Cowardly, but diplomatic nonetheless.”
Before Guerrero had a chance to redeem himself, Pérez focused all his attention on Miguel Rosas, his trusted death dealer.
“What has the American admitted so far?”
“Nothing of consequence, but he has told both of us that he has come to kill a man,” Rosas admitted.
“Oh?” Pérez smiled. “Depending on who his target is, perhaps we should help him. Eliminating the competition, is that such a bad thing?”
“My thoughts exactly.” Rosas glanced over his shoulder at Guerrero, rubbing in his advantage with the boss and taking credit where none was due.
“Take me to him then”—Pérez smiled—“this man I know.”
Rosas escorted the cartel boss out of the study, toward the makeshift cells where the American was being held, with Guerrero following close behind. Without really trying, Rosas had made him look like a fool, but maybe he still had a way to redeem himself.
When Pérez came face-to-face with the American, perhaps the truth would come out, and his boss would see who he had personally delivered to his door.
1:35
A.M.
“I haven’t told you the truth, but it doesn’t matter now. It’s too late.”
He looked at Estella and saw the questioning look on her battered face. And before she opened her mouth to ask what he meant, he kept talking. He’d run out of time.
“My name is Jackson Kinkaid. I’m not Garrett Wheeler. That was a name I thought would get Pérez here.”
“You mean . . . the man Ramon works for? He is coming here?”
Kinkaid didn’t have to see the fear in the girl’s eyes. He heard it in her voice.
“He’s already here. He came in that helicopter. And he’s probably on his way to this cell right now.”
“He’s a bad man, señor. A very bad man. If he’s here, it will not be good.”
“If I had known you’d be dragged into my fight, I wouldn’t have done this. I would’ve found another way, but now everything is in motion. I can’t stop it.”
“What’s in motion? What are you saying?”
From across the cell, Kinkaid saw Estella’s eyes glistening with fresh tears. If this girl died because of him, he was no better than Pérez.
Grief and his urgency for revenge had blinded him. He had tunnel vision when it came to settling the score. There had to be a reckoning, where the dead got their due. That was all that had weighed on his mind and heart and soul since his family had been killed. The murder of his wife and his precious little girl had haunted him beyond reason.
Revenge was the air that he breathed.
Garrett Wheeler and his team were waiting for a signal—only it wouldn’t be what they were expecting. Kinkaid’s own men had confirmed that Pérez had been inside the aircraft at takeoff. And now that the helicopter had touched down at the compound outside Guadalajara, it had tipped the first domino, which toppled the rest to the point of no return.
And Estella would pay a price for his indulgence. But there was nothing he could do about it.
“Open the door,” a man’s voice bellowed from the corridor.
After a key slid into the lock, the door creaked open. And a torch nearly blinded him. Kinkaid squinted and turned his head with a grimace. He braced himself for more abuse, his body taut and seething with adrenaline.
He had lived for this moment. Despite his regret for what this meant for Estella, he couldn’t do anything about that, not now. And his need to see this through to the end outweighed his good conscience.
Hidden behind the bright flame of the torch, the shadows of several men entered his cell, but the big man stood out. His face emerged from the dark, as in the many nightmares Kinkaid had had over the years. Manolo Quintanilla Pérez stood in front of him with a despicable smirk on his face. After all these years, it was really him.
The man who had murdered his wife and child.
The man who had taken everything.
Chapter 12
Sweat trickled down Kinkaid’s face and stung his eyes. And it took all his determination to lift his head and stare down the man who had killed his family.
It had taken him years to uncover the truth. And he had worked with other despicable men to find out who had given the order on the hit, an assault intended to kill him instead of his wife and baby girl. But after he’d learned the truth, that Pérez had put a price on his head, it was all he could think about and all he had lived for.
And it would be the reason he would die here.
“So you are Garrett Wheeler, a big man with the CIA.” Pérez sneered and walked slowly, not taking his eyes off him. “I only want to know one thing.”
The men standing behind Pérez shuffled and moved closer. They listened to every word the fat man said. They were waiting for the American spook to back down in front of their fearless leader.
“Why did you feel you had to lie to my men?” Pérez leaned in and whispered, “You are worth more to me than Garrett Wheeler.”
“What?” The voices of his men echoed in the cell. “What do you mean? Who is this man?”
“His name is Jackson Kinkaid. He blames me for the death of his wife and child, but who is really at fault?” The man shrugged and shifted his focus back on Kinkaid. “You were the one who destroyed my first cartel. It took me years to rebuild. And what kind of man would I be if I didn’t punish the one who nearly got me killed?”
Pérez grabbed Kinkaid by the throat and squeezed. “You are to blame for the death of your family. You brought that on yourself. I warned you what wo
uld happen.”
After he let go, Kinkaid choked and gasped for air.
“Your beef was . . . with m-me, not them. You’re a c-coward who murders innocent women and ch-children.”
“So what did you hope to gain by getting hauled here to me, like this? You are a stupid man, Kinkaid. A bullheaded one.” Pérez grimaced. “And all this, for a mere woman? You are a young man. You could have had more children, no?”
“I missed killing you the first time. But now I’m here to finish the job.”
“So the man you came to kill is Pérez?” Ramon Guerrero looked shocked, but it didn’t take him long to make excuses to his boss. “I swear, I did not know.”
“Unbelievable,” Pérez said as he scowled at his man, but when it finally sank in what Kinkaid had intended to do, he laughed aloud. His men joined him, with each one looking at the other to make sure it was all right. In Pérez’s eyes, he had the high ground—the advantage. Kinkaid was nothing, less than nothing.
“You turn me loose, and we’ll see how un-fuckin’-believable it is.” Kinkaid mustered all his strength. He lurched at the man, rattling his chains. “You don’t have the guts to face me like a real man. You’re soft, Pérez. You’ve grown too fat and too old.”
Pérez stopped laughing. And from the shadows, Kinkaid saw the man glaring at him in the darkness. He didn’t know if the cartel boss would take him up on his offer, but he had nothing to lose.
Outside the Pérez Compound
2:05
A.M.
“What are you waiting for?” Alexa crowded Garrett’s space, grabbing the sleeve of his BDUs to plead her case. “What if there’s no signal? What if he can’t . . . ?”
She didn’t have to finish. From the look on Garrett’s face, he knew what she was about to say. Jackson Kinkaid could already be dead. And if Pérez got into that helicopter again, he’d fly off and get away with murder . . . again. Kinkaid might not care what happened to him, but Alexa did.
“I’m telling you, Alexa, I have a gut feeling Kinkaid has got more up his sleeve than us. If we go in hot, it might get him killed or put my team at greater risk.” Garrett’s commonsense advice contradicted the concern on his face.
Alexa knew he was right. Garrett had more to consider than one man. Being in charge of the mission, he carried a great weight on his shoulders. And heaped on top of that, his guilt over what had happened to Jackson’s wife and little girl had been eating at him for years. Now this.
His training and his instincts were at war with the regret he had over the brutal annihilation of Kinkaid’s family. And from the pained expression on his face, she knew none of this would be easy. Before this day was over—no matter how it turned out—Garrett would pay a steep price for any mistake he might have made years ago, when he thought he had protected Kinkaid’s family and hadn’t.
“We got a read off the burst transmitter,” Hank emerged from the shadows and huddled next to Garrett. “Our boy’s in trouble again. His heart rate is up. Something is happening in there, but at least we know he’s still alive.”
Alexa breathed a sigh of relief. Even though the whole situation reeked, knowing Kinkaid was alive had taken the pressure off Garrett; but she still had no idea what he would do. Waiting was not Garrett’s strong suit either.
“Kinkaid had asked us to stay in the foothills and keep watch.” Garrett took another look through his night-vision binoculars. “But if anything happens to him, and Pérez leaves his estate in a hurry, we won’t be able to stop him in time, not from here.”
“What do you want us to do, boss?” Hank stared at Garrett, with half his face cast in shadows and the other half in moonlight. “My men are ready.”
“We move closer. I want us within striking distance.”
Garrett gave his order and pointed where he wanted his men positioned. They’d split up, with Hank and Alexa taking one team and Garrett taking command of the other.
Alexa waited for Hank to leave. When she was alone with Garrett, she took off her camo boonie hat and looked him in the eye.
“You watch your sweet backside. I don’t want to lose you twice.”
Before he came up with his usual smart-ass macho comeback, she kissed him on the cheek for old time’s sake. Feeling the warmth of his skin on her lips opened a floodgate of emotion that she hadn’t expected. She’d moved on, and she knew that, but a part of her would always love him.
“I wish you hadn’t followed me to Mexico, but now that you’re here . . .” His lips curled into a lazy grin. “ . . . I’m glad you did. Guess that makes me a selfish bastard.”
“One of your better qualities,” she said.
Giving her one of his devilish smiles made more seductive under the moon, Garrett left her and vanished into the darkness. This mission could cost her both of the men she loved. And no amount of training and experience would ever make her ready for that.
“Damn,” she whispered to no one.
2:20
A.M.
Pérez glared at Kinkaid as he clenched his jaw in silence, leaving Ramon Guerrero dumbfounded at the stupidity of the man he worked for.
“Surely you are not considering this.” Miguel Rosas stepped between his boss and Kinkaid, putting a hand on the man’s chest. “He’s simply goading you into letting him out of those chains. You have the advantage here. Give the order, and I will kill him for you. And I will take my time. He will regret his insults to you.”
Still, Pérez didn’t speak or take his eyes off the prisoner. Guerrero had a bad feeling this would not end well. The American—Wheeler or Kinkaid or whoever he was—had been tortured and was weak. But Guerrero had learned long ago not to count a man out who had just cause on his side. He slipped behind Rosas and moved closer to Estella, but not so close that it would draw attention. The girl hung from ropes and looked more frightened than ever. He could do nothing for her, not anymore, but he felt less like a bastard if he pretended he cared what happened to her.
“You should listen to him, coward,” the American taunted. “You wouldn’t want to ruin a good manicure, lard ass.”
Guerrero was close enough to see the spark of anger in his boss’s eyes. He knew the prisoner had hit the mark. He’d pushed as much as he needed to. Pérez would either order his men to kill the hostage—a long, slow death—or he would remove his restraints and free him to fight one last time. Neither of those options looked as if it scared the prisoner. The man was beyond caring.
Dead was dead.
“Don’t do this, boss.” Guerrero made his case, not wanting to be one-upped by Rosas. “Leave him to us. We will take care of this dog.”
“Us? You brought this man to my door, Ramon. Don’t think I will forget that.” The cartel boss scowled at him. “But I will handle him myself. Uncuff him.”
Guerrero was shocked by the man’s order. And so were the other men. No one moved. Each of them looked at the other until Pérez broke the stalemate.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you deaf?” he yelled. “I said free this man. And someone give me a knife.”
His boss shrugged out of his suit jacket, unbuttoned his collar, and rolled up his sleeves. Miguel Rosas was the only man who moved. He handed his boss a knife and stepped back, glaring at the American, who would remain unarmed. Even in the shadows, Guerrero saw the faint smile on the face of Miguel Rosas. The man didn’t care what happened or who died.
Like the sick psychopath he was, Rosas only wanted blood.
2:30
A.M.
Garrett’s team was positioned outside the front gates of the Pérez estate. When his men got into place, he found a spot behind a boulder and lay flat on his belly atop a slight rise near the main entrance. He communicated to the rest of his team, and each one checked in. When their voices came over his com unit, it sounded like he was beside them. Hank and Alexa were last to move into position.
“We have two lone wolves, taking high ground. They’re mine.” Hank’s cryptic message meant he had spott
ed a two-man sniper team in a tower overlooking the main residence. They had clear sight of the perimeter and the grounds.
“Two watchdogs every fifteen, front and back. Clockwork.” Alexa had been monitoring the guards walking the grounds. Two-man teams walked their territory front and back of the property every fifteen minutes, without deviation.
“On my mark. In three.” Garrett took one final look through his night-vision binoculars before he gave his order to launch their assault on the drug cartel’s stronghold. RPG rounds would take out the front gate and cause a diversion for Hank and Alexa to launch their simultaneous assault from the rear.
But something made Garrett stop. He lowered his night-vision gear and listened with eyes closed so he could focus. A distant sound droned in the background. Something familiar made him hesitate. And when he recognized the noise, he had no choice but to call off their assault.
“Stand down. I repeat, stand down.”
“What’s happening?” Alexa was the first to speak over the com, but Garrett didn’t have time to answer. Within minutes, they all heard it, and Garrett was the first to break silence.
“Fall back. I repeat, fall back,” he ordered. “And take cover. Now!”
If what he suspected was right, they’d have to find cover fast. From the sound of the turboprop engine and the brief glimpse he got of its sleek distinctive design, an MQ-9 Reaper UAV had targeted the drug cartel stronghold. The unmanned aerial drone had hunter-killer capabilities. With its sophisticated surveillance, it could hunt a specific target. And with its payload, it could definitely kill. It was loaded with up to fourteen Hellfire missiles and GPS-laser-guided bombs. In seconds, the UAV drone would be over the estate and dropping its payload.
“Damn, Kinkaid. That’s what you call a signal?” Garrett fell back with the rest of his team, praying that Alexa and Hank had gotten away clean. “You sure know how to send up one helluva flare.”
