by Kaylea Cross
“We won’t,” Granger called out.
Back outside, Brock jogged out to meet his two counterparts—both Mexican Federal Police—and climbed into a waiting SUV. The drive gave him time to think more about Tori. How he regretted not telling her he loved her. He hadn’t said it because he’d thought it would hurt her more, but now he wasn’t so sure. At least if he’d told her she would know without a doubt how much she meant to him.
By the time they reached the meeting location an hour away, the sun was setting, the sky ablaze in a wash of orange and blood red, the trees throwing long shadows onto the road.
The driver pulled into an empty gravel parking lot off the road that led to some hiking trails through the hills. Next to him, the other cop was on the phone to someone else, presumably the informant. Brock only caught a word here and there, his Spanish limited and the speed of the conversation too fast.
The guy up front swiveled in his seat to look back at him. “He’ll be here in five minutes,” he said in English.
“You know him?” Brock asked. He only knew what he’d been told in the briefing. Apparently this informant had a tip on one of their HVTs he wanted to give them in exchange for cash.
“Yes. We’ve met him several times for things in the past month.”
All right then. Nothing to do now but wait.
Contain, disrupt, dismantle. That was FAST’s motto, and it was never more appropriate than now, when they were finally down here going after the heart of the cartel they had been battling for years.
The guys up front chattered away in Spanish until a car approached from the east. They waited until the driver exited the car. Brock couldn’t see anyone else in the back. “It’s him,” the driver said, and stepped out.
Brock hopped out and scanned the surrounding area. He didn’t like the feeling of exposure here or the brush in the background where anyone could hide, but the cops didn’t seem concerned and they had built a sort of rapport with the informant.
The driver of the car stepped forward. “Hola.”
“Alejandro,” the older cop said in a jovial tone. “¿Qué pasa?”
Alejandro held up his hands and did a slow circle to show that he had no weapon hidden beneath his shirt. He answered the cop in rapid Spanish and the conversation went back and forth for a bit.
Brock glanced at the informant’s car, still didn’t see anyone in it. He scanned the trees again, picking up the odd word here and there as the cops talked to the guy.
“Hamilton,” the younger one said to Alejandro.
Brock swung around at the mention of his name.
The informant nodded at him, his gaze assessing. “You American?” He had a pronounced accent.
You think? He stuck out here like a freaking sore thumb. “Yeah.”
“There’s a bag in the back,” the younger cop said to Brock, nodding at their SUV. “Can you get it? He’s giving us intel on Nieto.”
Which Brock would have to ask to have translated on the way back to base, because he hadn’t understood a thing they’d been talking about. “Yeah. Gimme a sec.”
He walked back to the SUV, his Glock in its holster on his thigh, and grabbed the small plastic bag of cash from the trunk area. As he eased out of the back seat and straightened beside the vehicle, a car door popped open behind him.
Brock whirled and dropped the bag as he drew his weapon. Something sharp hit him in the ribs. He went down, his body jerked like a marionette as the voltage coursed through him. He hit the gravel hard, spasming like a landed fish, dimly aware of shouting and gunshots in the background.
Finally the voltage stopped.
Before his limp muscles could recover enough for him to move, someone was coming toward him. He pried his eyes open just in time to make out the blurry shape of a man crouching beside him, a hood in his hands.
Adrenaline and rage blasted through him. Fight.
His lax muscles refused to obey.
The hood was coming toward him.
Fight, goddamn you.
Blackness engulfed him as the hood came over his head. A second later his arms were yanked behind him and secured.
Brock gritted his teeth. Managed to lash out with his boot, connected with something hard enough to draw a grunt from his attacker. But it was no use. Something stabbed the side of his neck, a sharp sting spreading under his skin. His head swam, all the sounds around him becoming distorted.
Something bound his ankles. Then he was being dragged backward, the heels of his boots scraping across the gravel. The man grunted as he hoisted Brock up and tossed him onto something hard.
His limp body grew even heavier. He started to fade out.
A thud sounded overhead, making his eyes open a fraction, though all he could see was blackness.
A trunk, he realized with a sinking sensation.
An engine roared to life. Gravel sprayed as the tires spun, then hit pavement and the car took off.
Brock fought the inescapable pull toward unconsciousness as long as he could. Struggled to think. To move.
His phone. Did he still have it on him? Maybe his team could track his phone and get a location on him.
It was his last thought before the darkness swallowed him.
Chapter Twelve
Gabe Lockhart jackknifed up in his bunk from a dead sleep when Taggart burst into the barracks, his face and posture tense. “Listen up,” his commander barked, scanning the room. “The meeting with the informant was a setup. Both Mexican cops are dead, and Hamilton’s missing.”
What? Gabe threw his legs over the side of his bunk and reached for his gear as the room exploded into questions and exclamations.
“Who was the informant?” Rodriguez demanded, having just arrived, his duffel still open because he’d been in the process of unpacking.
“Some local they’ve worked with before. We don’t know if he’s the kidnapper, or if he was just the setup man.”
Holy fuck.
Gabe was on his feet with his weapon in hand and heading to the door without even being conscious of moving. The team all rushed to the briefing center to find out what was going on.
They walked into chaos. People were scrambling around the room, talking on top of one another. The police commander was arguing with the SF commander, both of them shouting at the other.
Taggart shouldered his way through to the center of the room. “Somebody tell me what the fuck is going on right now,” he bellowed. Everyone shut up and looked at him. “Rodriguez,” he snapped. “Get over here and get me a damn sitrep on Hamilton.”
The team stayed together near the back of the room while Rodriguez and Taggart battled to find out what the hell was going on. Nobody seemed to know anything, so finally Taggart demanded to be taken to the meeting location, motioning to the others to follow as he headed for the door. The whole team piled into two SUVs and raced for the meeting site while Rodriguez stayed behind to monitor the Mexican search effort.
“Can you fucking believe this shit?” Maka said from the driver’s seat as he tore after the vehicle Taggart was riding in.
“No,” answered Granger, in the back next to Gabe. “Venenos gotta be behind this.”
“One of the HVTs,” Gabe said. “Question is, which one?”
“Nieto or Montoya,” Prentiss said from the shotgun seat. “Has to be.”
It took way too damn long to get to the meeting site. Mexican Federal Police had everything cordoned off by the time they arrived. Two cops lay dead on the gravel parking lot a few yards from their vehicle sprawled on their stomachs, weapons drawn.
From their positioning it looked like they’d been running for cover behind the vehicle when they were shot down. The SUV’s front quarter panel had bullet holes in it and the rear driver’s side door was open.
Gabe’s stomach was tight as a drum. Hamilton was likely still alive. But this was a race against time to find him before he was butchered.
The dinner he’d wolfed down sat like a congealed lump i
n his gut as he thought of the Veneno victims they’d come across before. Including Anya, who was essentially one of their own.
She had been raped and brutally murdered by Montoya’s men. If they could do that to her, what the hell would they do to Hamilton?
“Why take Hamilton and kill both the others?” Gabe said to Freeman as they waited for Taggart to get up to speed with the cop in charge.
“To make a statement to the DEA and the U.S. government.”
Maybe. But Gabe had a feeling there was more to it than that. “So they had to have known one of us was coming to this meeting.”
“Yup. Would have been Taggart if Hamilton hadn’t stepped in.” Freeman’s jaw flexed as he stared at the scene, hands on hips, frustration coming off him in waves. “Motherfuckers.”
The seven of them stood there waiting, precious minutes ticking past until Taggart finally stalked back to them, his face like a thundercloud. “Basically, nobody knows dick all. Obviously there are no CCTVs out here, and they don’t have a satellite feed on the area. Only thing they’ve got so far is the SUV’s dashboard cam video, and that only shows the suspect car approaching the lot, then leaving in the opposite direction. No footage of the attacker.”
He paused, drew in a frustrated breath. “They’ve got roadblocks up in the surrounding area, but who the hell knows how tight they are, and there were no witnesses to give any additional intel.”
This wasn’t good. At all.
“What can we do? We can’t just sit here,” Granger protested.
“We can’t do shit,” Taggart bit out. “They won’t let us assist with the search, say it’s not our jurisdiction.” He thumped a finger into his chest. “Hamilton is one of ours, and that sure as fuck makes this my jurisdiction. I’ve already contacted the CIA to see if they have any satellite feed of the area during the attack.”
“That’s BS,” Maka growled, taking a step forward as if he was going to charge over there to the Mexican cops and start knocking heads together.
Taggart planted a hand in the middle of the big man’s chest. “Stop. Last thing I need is to have you arrested right now.” He scanned the team. “We’re heading back to base. I’ll raise more hell from there.”
Grumbles and protests erupted, but everyone did as they were told.
The drive back to base was tense and silent. As soon as they arrived they went into the command center. By this point more than two hours had passed since Hamilton had been taken.
He could well be dead by now. Although Gabe’s gut said they wouldn’t kill him, at least not yet. It didn’t make sense for the kidnappers to go to the trouble and risk of taking him if all they wanted to do was kill him. They could have done that back in the parking lot.
Rodriguez was over to one side of the room having an intense conversation with two officials. The moment he saw them, he waved Taggart over, his expression urgent. Taggart rushed to him as Gabe and the others hung back and held their breaths.
Gabe watched them closely as they talked, tried to figure out what was going on.
Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead, he prayed silently, thinking of Cap.
They’d been through countless ops together and multiple deployments to one of the most hostile regions on the planet. To lose Cap like this would be a devastating blow to them all.
After what seemed like an eternity, Taggart came back over to them, his eyes cold, jaw tight. “It was someone working for Nieto.”
Gabe hissed out a breath. Knew it. Son of a bitch. And the bastard would do something this fucked-up to try and get Oceane back. “Someone ID’d him?”
“No. A message came in from one of Nieto’s lackeys. Nieto’s holding Hamilton in exchange for his daughter. The lackey left a contact number of a go-between for any further communication.”
“Fucking hell,” Gabe muttered, and spun away. He had to walk it off. Couldn’t stand still one more second with this helpless rage tearing through him. Behind him, the rest of his teammates peppered Taggart with questions but Gabe only half-listened.
“No idea on a location for Hamilton yet,” Taggart said. “No timeline either. The message was sent by text from a burner phone ten minutes ago. They’re trying to find out where the signal originated from but it cut off almost immediately.”
“So basically we still have no freaking idea where Cap is,” Granger said.
“No,” Taggart muttered. Then he sighed. “All right. You guys go back to the barracks for now. I’ll monitor this with Rodriguez and come update you if anything happens. Be ready to move. The second I find a possible location on Cap, we’re going, and I don’t care how much Mexican red tape I have to slash to make it happen.”
Damn right.
With no other option open to them, the team returned to barracks and went over their gear again. Everyone was quiet and pissed off. Scared as hell about what was happening to Cap right now. Because sure as shit, wherever they were holding him, Cap wasn’t going to be treated like Nieto’s guest.
Another eighty minutes passed before Taggart walked in with Rodriguez. Gabe set aside his sidearm and turned on his bunk to face them. “Anything?”
“Nope.” Taggart sat on Cap’s bunk, glanced down at the Captain America Nerf gun sitting on top of the unrolled sleeping bag. “The good news is, he’s probably alive. The bad news is…”
He wouldn’t be for long. Taggart didn’t have to say it, it was clear.
Maka heaved out a heavy breath and scrubbed his hands over his head, his agitation mirroring the mood of the entire team. “So that’s it? Nothing more we can do?”
“I’ve got half of headquarters back home working on it, in addition to every asset we have down here,” Taggart replied in a tired voice. “But for now…no.”
“There’s gotta be something,” Granger protested. “Something those guys aren’t doing that we can,” he said, pointing toward the command building.
Taggart nodded slowly. “Yeah, there is.”
Everyone went still, the room becoming eerily silent as they stared at their commander. Gabe’s pulse picked up, something warning him that whatever Taggart was about to say, Gabe wouldn’t like it.
“There’s one sure way to guarantee we can draw Nieto out of hiding,” Taggart said, his cool aqua gaze landing on Gabe.
Gabe’s heart stopped beating. Oceane. Taggart didn’t say it, but that’s what he meant. That they could basically dangle her as bait in front of Nieto to try and get Hamilton back. A human bartering chip.
“No,” he rasped out, shaking his head, hating even the thought of it. He wanted Cap back as bad as anyone, but not at her expense. She’d been through way to fucking much already.
“At this point it might be our only option to get him back alive.” Taggart stood and skirted the end of Cap’s bunk, heading for the door. “I’ll update you all when I hear something.”
As soon as he left, everyone looked at Gabe. “You think she’d do it? Come down here and do a staged exchange for Cap or whatever?” Freeman asked.
Gabe clenched his jaw, fighting to keep his emotions in check. It was crazy and he fucking loathed the mere idea of her coming down here and exposing herself to further danger in the middle of cartel country. But would she do it if they asked her?
“Yeah. Yeah, she would.” Because she wanted to put her father away. Get justice for her and her mother. For Victoria. And she would want to save Hamilton as well.
The rest of the guys all started talking at once. Gabe’s chest was too tight, he couldn’t breathe in here. He pushed past them to fish his phone from his gear, then walked outside, pissed as hell that his commander would even ask this of her.
He dialed Oceane’s number, needing to talk to her. To warn her.
It rang and rang and rang, but no one picked up, not even voicemail. He hung up, his mind racing.
Victoria. She deserved to know what had happened to Cap, and maybe she could talk to Oceane about this. No doubt Taggart already had the WITSEC people meeting with DEA of
ficials to propose a plan to get Hamilton back.
Gabe wanted his team leader back alive, of course he did. But Cap was trained and knew the risks of the job. Oceane was an innocent civilian. Putting her life on the line to do it made it feel like someone had dropped an anvil on his heart.
His mind was made up. He was probably breaking a dozen agency rules by doing this, but he didn’t give a fuck at the moment.
He dialed Victoria’s number, his heart thudding as it rang in his ear. Come on, pick up. Pick up…
“Hello?”
“Victoria, it’s Gabe.”
“Gabe? What’s… Is everything okay?”
By her tone she already knew it wasn’t, and he wouldn’t lie to her. Oceane had been right the other day; there was definitely something going on between Cap and Victoria. “No. Listen, I don’t have much time, but I wanted you to hear this from me before the news breaks. Cap’s been taken prisoner by Nieto.”
Her sharp gasp hissed in his ear. “What?”
He closed his eyes at the horror and shock in her voice. “A few hours ago, during a routine meeting with an informant.”
“Oh my God, is he—”
“We don’t know where he is. But we think he’s still alive. Nieto has claimed responsibility. And there’s one more thing.”
“What?” she asked urgently.
“The agency and WITSEC are going to want to meet with Oceane about this. I need you to talk to her before that happens. In person, if you can. Tell her…” That I don’t want her risking herself for this. That I would do anything to protect her and spare her any more pain. “Just tell her she’s not obligated to do anything they ask.”
“All right. I’ll go find her right now. Will you let me know if there’s any word about Brock?”
“If I can.”
Gabe ended the call and closed his eyes, feeling like he was being torn in two. He already knew how this was going to play out. They were going to ask Oceane to come down here and involve her in some way, as a front to an operation that would hopefully save Hamilton.
Coming down here would mean risking her life. Period.
