Fast Justice

by Kaylea Cross

  She didn’t dare let go with one arm to try and wave them down. Clinging to the metal, she locked her eyes on it, urging them to see her. Save her.

  Then a voice called out over the noise as the boat began to slow. “Rowan!”

  Her focus sharpened, a flare of hope igniting. Malcolm?

  “Rowan!” He was at the bow now. She could see him waving his arms at her.

  A rush of tears blinded her. “Malcolm…”

  “Hold on. Just keep holding on,” he shouted.

  She nodded, barely able to make her head move. It was like her body was shutting down, the surge of relief sapping what little strength she had left.

  The boat slowed and maneuvered into place directly beneath her. A few of Malcolm’s teammates were with him but she didn’t look at anyone but him. Couldn’t. “I c-can’t get down,” she called down. “C-can’t hang on much l-longer…”

  He was standing at the very point of the bow, his gaze locked on her, the sight of him so incredible she wanted to cry. “It’s too risky for me to climb up to you, the crane could shift at any moment and throw you off.”

  A crane? That’s what she was on?

  “I don’t want to bring in the helo, because the downdraft might make you slip.” His expression was concerned, yet calm. “You’re gonna have to jump.”

  Jump? Rowan measured the distance between her and the boat. It was too far. “I c-can’t.”

  “Yes you can. We’re right underneath you. Unwrap your legs one at a time. I’m gonna get in the water. Then you’re gonna jump and I’ll grab you. It’s the only way.”

  She shook her head, the motion involuntary.

  “Rowan, look at me.”

  She did, stared down at him through a blur of tears. “I…”

  His eyes stayed locked on hers. “Rowan, you can do this. I’m going to grab you as soon as you hit the water. I swear it, baby.” With that he climbed onto the front of the boat and jumped in, never breaking eye contact while he treaded water beneath her. “Jump, Ro. I’ll catch you, I swear.”

  She believed him. Trusted his word and his ability to do as he said. But she was still so afraid. You have to. Have to.

  It took everything she had to unwind her uncooperative legs from the bars she’d been clinging to.

  “That’s right,” Malcolm coaxed, looking up at her. “Now let go and jump to me.”

  She swallowed once, unhooked her left arm. Let her right slide slowly around the metal she could no longer feel.

  Taking a deep breath and holding it, she forced herself to let go.

  A scream echoed in her ears as she plummeted down and plunged beneath the surface. The icy embrace of the water engulfed her, dark and terrifying.

  Before she could even try to kick to the surface, hard, powerful arms locked around her upper body and shot her upward. Her head broke the surface inches from Malcolm’s. And he smiled as he pulled her into him. “I’ve got you, sweetness,” he choked out.

  She turned toward him, her leaden arms coming around his neck as she clung to him. A minute later she was being hauled out of the water.

  Someone set her down inside the boat and whipped a blanket around her. Then Malcolm was beside her, water sluicing off him as he hauled her into his lap with a deep groan and crushed her to him.

  Rowan shuddered, buried her face in his neck. “Don’t let go,” she whispered brokenly, her body shaking apart.

  “I won’t,” he promised against her ear, his voice as fierce as his embrace. “I won’t let you go.”

  MAL’S THROAT WAS thick with tears as he held Rowan in his arms while Rodriguez raced them back to shore. She was freezing and in shock and might have serious injuries, but hell, she was alive. Thank you, God, he said silently, his body wrapped around her for warmth.

  “When we reach shore you stay with her,” Hamilton said to him over the roar of the engine.

  Mal nodded, relieved, because there was no way in hell he was leaving her side until she was ready and he knew for certain she was okay.

  Medics were waiting for them as soon as Rodriguez pulled up to the dock. Khan and Colebrook carried the other female survivors off. Mal cradled the back of Rowan’s wet head, kept her face firmly tucked into his shoulder so she wouldn’t see the blanket-covered body they passed. He carried her directly over to a waiting ambulance and climbed inside with her, sitting down on the gurney to settle her in his lap.

  “Ro, are you hurt anywhere?” he asked, rubbing a hand up and down her spine.

  Her teeth were chattering so loud he could hear it. “N-not bad,” she managed, burrowing closer.

  They’d see about that.

  A paramedic climbed aboard and shut the doors to give them privacy. Mal got her soaked clothes off her, checked her over for bleeding and broken bones while the paramedic did his own exam.

  Not finding any, he allowed himself another measure of relief and laid her back on the gurney. She had bruises on her back and sides, down her arms and legs. But nothing seemed to be broken and she didn’t show signs of significant head or internal injury.

  Another relief.

  Wrapping her up with a couple of blankets, he leaned over her to brush back the strands of wet hair that clung to her pale, blue-tinged face. “We’re gonna get you warmed up,” he promised, running his hands gently over the blanket, trying to get her circulation going.

  Her gorgeous, deep blue eyes gazed up at him, clear and alert despite borderline hypothermia and the horrors she’d just survived. God, he loved her. Couldn’t imagine his life without her. “You caught m-me,” she whispered.

  His heart turned over. As long as he lived he’d never forget the moment he’d thought he’d lost her forever, and the moment when she’d trusted him enough to take that literal leap of faith when he’d asked her to. “I’ll always catch you, sweetness.”

  Her lips quivered. She drew in a shaky breath and reached for him. Mal groaned and reached his arms all the way around her, gathering her close. He couldn’t shield her from the trauma she’d just been through. But he could be there for her through whatever came next.

  As soon as he got her settled, he wanted to know how the fuck this had happened in the first place. Starting with how that bastard Montoya had found her this morning.

  ****

  Oceane’s head spun as she struggled to take everything in. When Rowan’s detail had been attacked this morning, her own detail had whisked her straight back to the WITSEC facility. Now she sat with Victoria Gomez in a private room while various agents came and went. Some peppering her with questions.

  How did Montoya find you again? Have you been communicating with him somehow? How do you know him? When did you last see him?

  She didn’t know anything, was as confused and stunned as everyone else was, though no one seemed to believe her.

  “They think I’m lying,” she murmured in Spanish to Victoria, who held her hand.

  “They don’t like not being able to figure out what happened,” she said, squeezing Oceane’s hand in support. Things had shifted between them yesterday at the hospital. It helped to know someone cared about her. To have someone else who understood what it was like to have your life shattered in an instant.

  “I don’t know how else to tell them that I can’t help them.”

  “Then don’t. You’ve made your position clear, and you’ve been watched constantly for the past few days, so they have to know there’s no way you were involved with any of this. You’re not the problem. Maybe the leak is somewhere inside WITSEC,” she finished in a hard tone.

  Oceane sighed and leaned her head back against the wall. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.” Her eyes hurt. In the privacy of her room here at the orientation center, she’d cried herself to sleep, soaking her pillow as she thought of her mother lying so cold in the hospital morgue. Her whole body ached and she felt…empty inside. Almost as though she didn’t care what happened to her anymore.

  They could interrogate her all they wanted. T
hrow her in a dark cell and toss away the key. She didn’t care. Everything and everyone she’d ever loved had been taken from her. There was nothing left now but the hunger for justice.

  A soft knock came at the door. Commander Taggart stepped inside with a couple of FBI agents and Special Agent Hamilton, a device about the size of a cell phone in his hand. “Found a couple of these on Montoya’s men at the port,” he said, crossing toward Oceane.

  Hamilton moved to one side of the door and crossed his arms, giving Oceane a wink that helped ease her anxiety. She must not be in trouble.

  “What is it?” she asked Taggart.

  “Homing device. Military grade, although pretty outdated now. Extremely expensive.”

  Oceane didn’t see what that had to do with her.

  “Montoya’s men,” Victoria said, interrupting her thoughts. “Did you capture them alive?”

  “One. The other two thought they could make a getaway in a semi loaded down with a full cargo container on it. They crashed into one of the huge forklifts instead, and both vehicles slammed into the base of one of the shipping cranes. Snapped it in two, sent it crashing into the water. The counterweight came off and crushed the cab of the semi.”

  Victoria’s hand tightened on hers. “Good. Just too bad it was a quick death for them.”

  Taggart’s eyes gleamed in agreement, then sobered. “Montoya’s gone.”

  Oceane sucked in a breath. She didn’t understand what her godfather’s goal had been, but she was pretty sure it was to find her and bring her back to her father. Oceane never wanted to see either of them ever again.

  “Gone?” Victoria asked.

  Taggart nodded. “Video footage at the port shows someone resembling him walking away dressed in a cop uniform. He was right near the base of the crane when the crane crashed. If it was him, he couldn’t have lucked out more in terms of a diversion, because he slipped through the perimeter without any trouble in the confusion.”

  “You have to find him,” Oceane said harshly.

  The DEA commander nodded. “We will.”

  She wasn’t sure if she believed him. If Montoya and her father had hidden everything from her all her life, if they had both evaded authorities this long, then who was to say they couldn’t evade them forever?

  “And now, if you’ll humor me…” He stepped closer to her, hit a button on the device he held. A high-pitched beeping sounded immediately, stayed steady as he moved it through the air, following the line of her body from head to toe. The FBI agents stepped forward to check the screen along with Taggart, then all three of them looked at her.

  Oceane frowned. “What?” Whatever that thing was, whatever it was picking up, the signal couldn’t be coming from her. They’d checked her again for electronic bugs right after the phone incident the other day and hadn’t found anything.

  Taggart glanced at the device, hit another button and did another sweep, this time beginning at her feet. The high-pitched beeping was still there but muted, in the background almost. Nothing else happened as he raised it higher, up her legs, her torso. But when he reached her head, a rapid clicking sound started.

  Oceane blinked, surprised, and the men all looked at each other. She reached up to touch her earlobes. “I’m not even wearing any earrings,” she protested, thoroughly annoyed. They’d let her keep her mother’s favorite diamond earrings and necklace, but they were currently being analyzed in some lab somewhere and she wasn’t sure when or if she’d get them back.

  One of the FBI agents moved even closer, peering at Oceane’s face intently. “You have any dental work done recently?”

  What? She scowled at him. “I don’t have braces or a retainer, if that’s what you mean.”

  “What about fillings?”

  “Well, yeah, I’ve got a few fillings.”

  “When was the most recent one?”

  She had to think about that. “A couple years ago.” She put a hand to the left side of her jaw, concerned.

  Taggart moved the device from her left to right, and back again. The clicking sound was way faster on the left.

  Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You think there’s a tracking device in my filling?” she cried, unable to believe it.

  “It would explain how Montoya found the safehouse yesterday.”

  No. She’d been seeing that dentist forever, since she was a child. Her mother was a longtime patient of his too, and her father as well whenever he—

  She sucked in a breath, the blood draining from her face.

  Taggart lowered his hand, switched off the device. “What?”

  “My father,” she whispered, shock detonating inside her. Could this be real? “He saw my dentist that one time when he came to stay with us a couple years ago. My appointment was two hours after his…” She trailed off, too horrified to say the rest aloud. What if her father had paid the man to implant a tracking device in her filling without her ever realizing?

  The taller FBI agent looked at the shorter one and snapped, “Get a dental x-ray set up for her now.”

  If it was the last thing she did, Oceane would make sure Montoya and her father both rotted in hell.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Manny Nieto stood out on the back patio beside the custom-built pool he’d had installed when he and Elena had moved into the place two years ago. Normally the rhythmic splash of the waterfall at one side of the deep end soothed him, and he often came out here to mull over business ideas. At the moment nothing could soothe him, however.

  He dialed Montoya’s encrypted phone again for the fifth time. Once again, the fucking little weasel didn’t answer. That had better mean he was dead, because if Montoya was just too chicken shit to face Manny after everything that had happened, then he would be dead soon enough anyway.

  Manny had no time for cowardly shit like that, and now Anya had not only been brutally murdered and raped—something he was still enraged about—Oceane was in the wind once more and Montoya had botched yet another opportunity to find her by targeting the female Assistant U.S. Attorney instead. He knew the whole story. How Montoya had wanted to take a page out of Ruiz’s playbook and make money on the side in the flesh trade.

  Manny had to immediately distance himself and deal with Montoya personally, before El Escorpion came after him.

  He spun around to find his head of security standing a few yards away beneath the shade of some palm trees. “You sure he’s not dead?”

  David snorted and gave a nod. “I’m sure.”

  Manny set his jaw. “Madre de Dios,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Find him and bring him to me. He has to answer for all of this.”

  Manny had to reassert his power now. There were too many signs of weakness going on, and in this business that could prove deadly. Montoya had to face the consequences for his actions—and repeated failures. Retrieving Oceane now was next to impossible. The Americans would bolster security even more. Dammit, he needed to see his daughter. Explain everything. Maybe she could find it in her heart to forgive him one day. But he doubted it now.

  Brimming with impotent rage, he stalked back into the house. He had work waiting for him in his office. Tax issues and forms from his accountants to be signed. New bank accounts to be authorized, assets to be sold. To stay ahead of the authorities both here in Mexico and in the States, Manny had to be fluid, ready to change directions at a moment’s notice. Threatening or paying off people down here would only go so far.

  Pausing at the wet bar outside the butler’s pantry, he caught sight of his reflection in the antique mirror above it and froze in the act of reaching for the crystal decanter of scotch he kept there. He looked like shit, all haggard with dark shadows beneath his eyes. He hadn’t slept much this past week and it was catching up with him. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten a full meal.

  This thing with Oceane was corroding him from the inside out. Until he had her back safe and sound, until he could explain everything and make her understand it a
ll, he couldn’t rest.

  At first he’d assumed Ruiz was behind the attack that had caused them to flee, but none of his contacts had been able to turn up any evidence to support the theory. But who else? Who the hell else would have the balls to do something like this?

  The door leading to the attached garage opened on the other side of the hall. Elena breezed in, more shopping bags in her hands. She stopped when she saw him, gave him a disapproving frown. “A little early for your nightcap, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he answered, a testy edge to his voice. This was his damn house. He was under a lot of stress, not that she seemed to notice or care, and would drink anytime he damn well pleased.

  She shrugged and headed into the kitchen. “I’m starving. Is dinner ready yet?”

  Manny lowered the decanter, something about her lighthearted tone grating on him. He walked to the kitchen entrance, stood watching her as she took her new clothes from the bags, humming as she laid everything out on the marble-topped island in the center of the room and began cutting off the tags. Not a care in the world, secure in her life of luxury. Not a single consideration for his distress, and there was no way she hadn’t noticed it.

  His drinking alone at three in the afternoon wasn’t the only sign that something was wrong. She’d been his wife for more than twenty-five years. She knew damn well he hadn’t been sleeping, had barely been eating lately. Yet she didn’t seem to care, beyond admonishing him that he ate less than she did.

  It wasn’t like her. The total lack of wifely concern was strange. As was her sudden improved mood over the past week or so.

  He rounded the island, placed his hands on it as she worked. He hadn’t told her what was bothering him, because he couldn’t. But normally she wanted to know everything, be involved in his life in whatever way he would allow it. Something was…off.

  Elena stopped to look up at him. “Something wrong?”

  “Yes.”

  Surprise flashed in her eyes and she set the scissors down to give him her full attention. “What is it?”