He made a note in his pad, then said, “You need to see something, outside.”
She wanted to ask what, but instead just followed him, Nate at her side.
He led her to the garage. The doors were visible from the street, even though the house was set nearly a hundred feet from the sidewalk. Painted in red was a T with the second cross and an arrow at the bottom. But this arrow looked more like a dagger, maybe because it dripped blood.
Not blood. Red paint. It’s red paint.
In Spanish was written MUERTE.
She’d been marked for death.
Then she smelled the sickening, familiar scent, and realized she was wrong.
“That’s not paint, it’s blood.”
* * *
“It’s done,” Jaime’s contact told him over a secure phone line.
“Good.”
“I’m getting some heat up here. You need to take care of it.”
“You’re not in a position to give me orders.”
“She’s way too close.”
“She doesn’t know anything.”
“She has spies everywhere. They’re pulling records and making connections. Connections they shouldn’t be making, but they are.”
“That’s not my problem. You should have done a better job getting rid of records.”
“You should have killed that little bastard when you had the chance!”
Jaime didn’t like to be reminded of his failings. Everyone had failed Jaime. The people he worked with, his brother, his sister. He still reeled that Mirabelle had told the feds about Benita. They were all over Alberto’s. Benita was very angry at him.
He was going to have to stay in Mexico for a while. That did not make him happy. He was on the top in southern Texas; he would be climbing up from the bottom if he had to work directly for the general.
But it was better than dying.
His contact continued. “Just remember it was you who set this ball in motion. I had everything under control until you grabbed the kid. If you hadn’t done that, the FBI wouldn’t be in bed with the DEA. They don’t care about guns and drugs, but take a kid and they’re all over that. We have twice the problems because of you.”
Jaime had no reason to explain that snatching Bella was mandatory. There was far more to this deal than moving two tons of coke. He would rather have just dealt with the merchandise, but the general wanted Bella, and therefore the general would get Bella.
And considering Mirabelle had turned on him, he no longer had even an ounce of remorse.
“You’re forgetting the endgame, amigo,” his partner hissed.
“Don’t tell me how to do my job. You find Michael before the feds. That’s on you. Because I’m not going down on anything.”
Jaime slammed down the phone.
Bella cried out from the adjoining room. He unlocked the door and went inside. He didn’t like locking up his niece, but he also didn’t trust her to stay put.
He turned on the light. Bella was huddled in the corner of the small bed, clutching her doll. It was the only thing she’d had with her when he grabbed her.
“I want to go home,” she whispered through her tears.
He sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t come to him. She used to crawl into George’s lap and listen to his stories, or just watch television with him. She didn’t do that with Jaime. Of course, Jaime was the one who had to make the money to feed the family, her and George and Mirabelle and CeCe and his gang. He was in charge. So he was short-tempered with them, so what? What did a kid understand about the pressures and responsibilities of being the head of a family?
“Everything is going to be better tomorrow.”
“I want Mommy.”
“I’m working to make that happen.” That was solely up to Mirabelle. When she found out what she’d have to do to see Bella again, well, she might just stay in San Antonio. That wasn’t his problem.
“Why can’t we go home?”
“Because the federales took that away from us. You can’t trust the police. They took you and CeCe away from your mama. They killed your uncle George. My brother.”
She whimpered. Good. She needed to grow up and realize that she was a Sanchez first.
Better, she had to realize who her father was.
“Tomorrow night, you’ll be with your papa.”
Her eyes got wide. “I’m going to Heaven?” Her voice cracked and her lip quivered.
“No. I’m talking about your real papa. Your mama told you a lie. Your real father lives in a palace in Mexico. He wants to meet you. He wants you to live with him.”
She whimpered. “My daddy’s dead. Mama told me.”
“No, she just told us that so we didn’t know she was a wh—” He hesitated. He needed Bella with him, not fighting him. “Your mama has some secrets. And this was one of them. You’re going to be fine. You know I’d never hurt you, Bella. But you’re going to meet your real papa, and you’re going to live with him, and if your mother wants to join you, that’s up to her.”
“I want to go to sleep.”
“Good, do that, because we’re leaving first thing in the morning.”
He closed the door; locked it. He couldn’t wait to get Bella off his hands.
Mirabelle fucking made her bed, now she had to lie in it.
He stared at the phone for a long time, weighing what he needed to do. It took him all of thirty seconds to make the decision.
His contact at CPS had crossed the line. Now it was time to slit his throat.
He dialed.
The voice answered immediately and hissed, “I told you never—”
“He went too far.” Jaime relayed what he knew, then there was silence.
“Did you give him that order?”
“No,” Jaime lied.
“I knew he was going to be a problem when he started weaseling in on the investigation. Order the hit.”
“How much?”
“I should take it out of your hide.”
He bristled. “You don’t want to make me angry.”
Silence, again. Then, “Hundred K if it’s done before noon.”
“Five hundred.”
“Three. Before dawn. Two before noon. And your people had better make sure he has nothing that will steer Donnelly or Kincaid to us. Nothing. If that fucking FBI agent finds out he’s involved and gets to him first, you know damn well he’ll talk. Then we’ll have a war, and you’ll be first on the casualty list.”
“Don’t threaten me.”
But the phone went dead.
CHAPTER 21
Three hours after Sean had been alerted that his home had been broken into, he was driving down his street, a bundle of nerves and anger that the woman he loved had been threatened.
It was still dark, just after five in the morning, but there was a police car and two unmarked federal cars, as well as Nate’s four-wheel-drive truck. No ambulance, no coroner. He knew she was okay—he’d talked to her on the phone—but that wasn’t the same as seeing her, touching her, holding her.
He stared at the garage door, frozen. His fists clenched and unclenched and he felt physically ill.
Lucy hadn’t told him about the death threat.
He strode up the front walk and a uniformed officer stopped him at the door.
“I live here,” he said through clenched teeth.
Nate was standing at the edge of the living room, his back against the wall, and saw Sean. “Officer, let him in,” Nate said.
Sean put his hand on Nate’s shoulder as he scanned the room. Nate, Juan, Ryan, Kenzie, Brad Donnelly from the DEA.
And Lucy. Sitting in a chair, pale with dark circles under her eyes.
He walked right over to her. He wanted to carry her upstairs and make her sleep, but knew she wouldn’t go.
When she saw him, her entire body relaxed, and there was a hint of a smile under the layers of worry. That made the night flight worth it. It made coming home worth it.
“Lucy sai
d you were in Dallas,” Juan said.
“I flew in.”
“You caught a plane in the middle of the night?” Ryan asked.
“It’s my plane,” Sean said, not taking his eyes off Lucy. He sat on the edge of the chair and took her hand. She squeezed, and he didn’t let go. He looked around the room, but his eyes settled on Donnelly. “Who did it?”
“You saw the door,” Brad said. “It’s connected to Sanchez.”
“No shit,” Sean said before he could stop himself. “How’d they find out where we live?”
“They must have followed Lucy home,” Ryan began.
“No,” Sean and Lucy said simultaneously. Lucy added, “I wasn’t followed home. I would have known.”
It was clear no one believed her, except Sean. He knew.
Lucy said, “Someone followed me from Saint Catherine’s on Monday, but I lost them. I put it in my report.”
“But you didn’t get a description of the car or a license plate,” Juan said. “How do you know?”
“I just … it was a feeling. I trust my instincts.”
Juan said, “We’re going to keep a patrol out front, and if you want an agent inside, you can have it.”
“I’m here,” Sean said.
“Of course, no offense meant.”
“None taken.” He was still watching Donnelly. This was his case, his responsibility. “Have you seen this before?” he asked the DEA agent.
“Years ago,” he said. “They went after my team at their homes.”
“Sanchez?”
He nodded. “They were threats only, no one was hurt, but one of my rookies resigned. And I’m sorry, Lucy, I should have warned you. I didn’t think they’d target you because you’re not DEA.”
Nate said, “It’s standard drug cartel intimidation tactics. Go after whoever they think is the weakest link. Lucy is FBI, she’s not trained with the DEA, she doesn’t have the background with the cartels, they figure she’s the weak link.”
“They went after the wrong agent,” Sean said.
“Sean,” Juan said, “I can’t have you going off the reservation.”
Lucy squeezed his hand and said, “What he means is, Sean’s family and my brother are well versed in fighting the drug cartels. They may think I’m the weak link, but they definitely disturbed the hornets’ nest.”
Donnelly slowly stood up. “I can’t have your brother in the middle of my operation,” he said to Sean. “I know Kane, by reputation. I’m not passing judgment on his methods. But this is Texas, not the Mexican backcountry, and I’m responsible for my people. He interferes and many could be exposed. My informants, my team.”
“Then you don’t know Kane,” Sean said, not breaking eye contact.
Juan cleared his throat. “It’s clear they’re trying to scare us, and it’s not going to work.”
Sean glanced at Lucy. She’d been terrified, but now she had stubborn determination on her face. He wanted to take her away until this was over, but he knew better than to suggest it. This was her career, her vocation. If she ran away she would never forgive herself.
It was one of the many reasons he loved her.
“If you want out,” Donnelly said to Lucy, “just say it.”
She shook her head. “They don’t know me.”
Sean’s heart twisted. Lucy was in that body, he knew it, but she’d put up her shields, her cold exterior that helped her survive the past. He’d spent a year helping her ease out of that hard shell, and there it was, as if she’d never smiled or laughed or relaxed. A defense mechanism. It made Sean ache, even though he understood.
“I’m going to McAllen,” she said.
No one contradicted her. But she wasn’t going without him. Sean simply didn’t feel the need to share that fact just yet.
“I want to know how they found me,” she said. “Anyone have an idea that isn’t them following me home?”
“Hand me your phone, Luce,” Sean said.
She reached into her pocket and handed it to him. He went through all the settings. “No, not hacked.” He handed it back to her.
Juan frowned. “There’s GPS on all federal phones. For security. Someone could have found our codes.”
“I disabled them on Lucy’s phone,” Sean said.
“What?” Juan was obviously surprised and not happy.
“I can remotely activate it, but what you call security I’d call a beacon.”
“We need to talk later,” Juan mumbled and rubbed his eyes.
Nate spoke up. “GPS. That has to be it. What about your car, Lucy?”
“I disabled the GPS on that, too,” Sean said.
“Someone could have planted a device,” Donnelly said.
Sean almost said no, but Donnelly was right. It was all too easy. He’d done it himself many times when he worked for RCK.
“I’ll check,” he said and walked through the house toward the garage. Nate followed him.
“She’s okay,” Nate told him when they were alone.
“She’s not. She hides it well.” Sean turned on all the lights and pulled out his own phone. He ran an app he’d written that was essentially a bug-detecting device, but had the added benefit of detecting any system that sent a signal, including GPS.
His phone alarm went off.
“Bingo.”
“That is hot,” Nate said.
“But it can’t tell me where, just that it’s here someplace.”
“You check inside, I’ll check the outside,” Nate said. He pulled on gloves and started feeling around the bumpers and undercarriage.
Sean sat sideways in Lucy’s driver’s seat and inspected the dashboard, the controls, searched under the seats and the glove compartment. Nothing.
“Sean,” Nate said. “I found it. In the wheel well, and it’s a good one.”
* * *
Sean was partly wrong: the device under Lucy’s car wasn’t a simple GPS tracker.
He itched to dismantle it himself, but Juan called in SWAT to make sure it wasn’t something more dangerous. No one wanted to say bomb. Sean was certain it wasn’t a bomb, and so was Nate, and so was Donnelly—the other two people in the room who had experience with bombs. But Juan wasn’t taking chances.
It was after dawn by the time the bomb squad determined that the device wouldn’t detonate if removed. They secured and analyzed it in their van. Sean finagled his way into the periphery of observation, but he figured out before the bomb tech exactly what the device was.
“That’s a boosted GPS tracker,” Sean said. “It has a small detonation to take out the electrical system, which could cause a serious accident but isn’t designed to blow up the vehicle.”
Juan didn’t take Sean’s word for it, and though Sean couldn’t blame him he was irritated. “Leo?”
The SWAT team leader, Leo Proctor, was also the FBI’s leading bomb tech. He’d served three tours in Afghanistan with the Marines. “Rogan’s right. But that doesn’t make this any less dangerous. It’s designed to take out a single target on command—it has a cell phone trigger. It’s trackable twenty-four seven, but you have to call the device to ignite it. It would spark and send a surge into the car’s electrical system, cause it to completely shut down. Just stop. If the target was on a freeway going sixty-five, for example, the shutdown could cause a serious accident. The device also has a self-destruct mechanism, so once it does its job, the plastic melts.”
“But it would be detectible,” Juan said, “in an investigation.”
“Yes, if you know what you’re looking for. It’s not that big—essentially the size of a small cell phone. The car diagnostics would be fried, and it would take smart techs to see that it was something other than a massive and unexpected electrical failure.”
“We track the device, we’ll know who planted it.”
Leo considered. “Possibly. It’s homemade. I haven’t seen anything like it, but I’ll send the specs out to law enforcement, make some calls.” He glanced at Sean but didn�
��t say what Sean knew he was thinking.
Does RCK have a lead on this?
Sean didn’t regret quitting his brother’s private security company, but now for the first time he wondered if he should have found a way to make it work. RCK’s access to information was unparalleled.
Of course, he could get anything he wanted. Lucy was a Kincaid, Jack and Patrick were both principals in the business, and they would do anything to find out who had threatened their sister.
“Do what you need to,” Juan told Leo. He glanced at his watch. “I need everyone at headquarters for a briefing at oh-eight-hundred. Wrap this up, I want a pair of agents on Kincaid at all times.”
Sean followed Juan out of the tactical van. “Juan, I’ll protect Lucy.”
“I’m aware of your background, and therefore I won’t post agents in your house. But when she leaves this property, she’s under my protection.”
Sean wasn’t going to argue with Juan, but there was no way in hell he was letting Lucy out of his sight now that the drug cartels had threatened her.
They only had an hour before Lucy needed to leave. Juan told Lucy he would have Nate bring her to the office for the debriefing, and then he left.
“This is fucked,” Sean muttered to Nate as they watched everyone leave. “Where’s Donnelly?”
“Inside,” Nate said.
“I dug around.”
Nate raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment, and Sean didn’t elaborate. Nate knew what RCK did, and what Sean had done for them.
“He hasn’t been completely honest with us,” Sean said. “He will be now.”
* * *
Twelve miles away, in a quiet, middle-class neighborhood filled with quiet, middle-class houses, the man’s screams could not be heard because he had duct tape over his mouth. He could not move because his torso was tied to a chair.
He stared at the walls as the flames roared higher and higher, bright and violent, fueled by the gasoline. They surrounded him, his skin reddened, blistered. The stumps where his hands had been dripped blood. He wished he’d bled to death first. He was living in Hell, and he would die in Hell.
But he’d known, as soon as he hung up the phone, that he was a dead man.
He would get his vengeance from the grave.
Dead Heat Page 21
