Dead Heat

by Allison Brennan

  “Or it’s a diversion. Sacrificing four men when your a-team is engaged here, and the real deal is miles away.”

  Sam shot her a glare that was full of venom and Lucy realized she’d completely overstepped. She’d stated the obvious, and it sounded too much like an I told you so. Considering that Kane had warned that any intel they learned could have been a trap or a diversion, and it now most likely was, Sam didn’t need Lucy, the rookie, to make the observation.

  Lucy looked away first.

  There were five known shooters—four outside and one in the second story of the warehouse. They couldn’t survive against sixteen federal agents.

  A spurt of gunfire in the junkyard jolted Lucy. Voices shouting on the com. Lucy couldn’t make out who was talking, but something big had happened.

  A single rifle shot from the roof hit the second-story shooter. His rifle fell from the opening to the ground below. They couldn’t see anyone else coming in or out, and had lost visual on the attackers who were in the junkyard.

  Tom’s voice said, “We’re out. Two down. One at large, but Clark and I made it to the van.”

  “Where’s the team?”

  “Everyone’s here, except Donnelly.”

  “Donnelly, report!”

  Silence.

  Sam said, “Did he lose communication? Anyone have eyes on him?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She pounded her fist on the dashboard. “Dammit, Donnelly! Answer me!”

  “We have to get Clark out now. He’s critical.”

  “Back to staging. The ambulance is on its way there.”

  Lucy said, “I have medical training.”

  “We’re not leaving without Donnelly. Regan!” she said into the com. “Do you have eyes on the junkyard?”

  “Visibility is low, Director. I don’t see any movement, but I only have about forty yards’ sight.”

  Sirens pierced the air. The police had arrived, and Sam ordered Ryan and Regan to hold their position while she ordered her driver to back up the van and meet up with the police at the industrial park entrance.

  She issued orders for the police to block off the street and her team to clear the warehouse and start a search in the junkyard for Donnelly. “We have to assume he’s down and lost communication. There’s one subject known to be at large, but there could be more. We clear the warehouse first. Regan, can you cover?”

  “You’re covered, Director.”

  Sam turned to Lucy. “You’re cleared to go to the staging area. See if you can help Clark. Take the van.”

  Lucy didn’t have to be told twice. She’d been listening to the transmissions, knew that Clark had been shot at least twice and was critical. She didn’t know if she could help, but she had to try.

  She arrived at the same time as team one’s van. They unloaded Clark and put him on a blanket in the dirt. Nicole found an umbrella and held it over them.

  Clark was unconscious but alive. Tom stayed while the others went back to the junkyard to look for Donnelly.

  “What happened?” Nicole asked. “I heard on the com, where’s Brad?”

  “They’re looking for him,” Lucy said. She didn’t have to tell Nicole that he might have been shot and unconscious. Or worse. She focused on Clark. “Brian,” she said to the agent who’d been manning the staging area with Nicole, “get the first-aid kit out of the tactical van.”

  “Is there one?”

  “If it’s like the FBI’s unit, it’s under the passenger seat or the—”

  Tom interrupted. “It’s under the passenger seat.” He had stripped off his shirt and was applying pressure to Clark’s gut wound. There was a graze on Clark’s head and a serious wound in his upper thigh. He was losing too much blood.

  “I need a tourniquet,” Lucy demanded. “Now!”

  Brian rushed back with the first-aid kit. There was no tourniquet, so Lucy told him to grab Sam’s SWAT pack in the front seat.

  Lucy took off her jacket, then her blouse and tied it tight around Clark’s right leg, above the wound. “Do you know what blood type he is?”

  “A-positive.”

  “Make sure the ambulance knows that. They’ll need to get him to the hospital ASAP and get some blood in him. He’s already lost too much.”

  “I know. Fuck, it was an ambush. They were waiting for us.”

  Brian came back with the SWAT kit and Lucy tore through it until she found the tourniquet. She tied it tight around his leg. He groaned and came to consciousness.

  “Hey, buddy, you’re going to be fine,” Tom told his partner, still putting pressure on Clark’s stomach.

  The ambulance pulled up and two paramedics came out. Lucy said, “He’s A-positive, he’s lost at least two pints, probably more. He needs a transfusion immediately. The head wound is superficial, I put a tourniquet on his leg, it’s slowed but not stopped the bleeding.”

  “I’m going with him,” Tom said as the paramedics put Clark on the gurney.

  Lucy watched as the paramedics got to work on Clark while they wheeled him into the ambulance. Speed would save him. She prayed they’d get him to the hospital in time.

  The rain stopped as fast as it had started. Lucy found a towel and wiped as much blood off her hands as she could. Her tank top was covered with it, but there was nothing she could do. She turned to Nicole. “What have you heard?”

  “The warehouse is empty. One suspect down.” That would have been Ryan and Regan. Lucy didn’t know who’d taken the shot.

  “Have they found Brad?”

  “Negative. They’re still looking.”

  Lucy jumped back into the tactical van and put on the headphones. She listened, her heart sinking as each search team reported negative findings. Three more suspects were dead in the junkyard, and they were chasing the fourth.

  Archer said in her ear, “Kincaid, report on Clark.”

  “He’s en route to the hospital.”

  “Prognosis?”

  “I don’t know. Three GSWs. The most serious was to his upper right thigh. He regained consciousness temporarily.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  Lucy didn’t say anything. It was far too early to know.

  A commotion on the com had Lucy hopeful. She listened as the agents apprehended the surviving suspect. He’d been shot, a superficial wound to his hand, and was now cuffed and in custody.

  But Brad Donnelly was nowhere.

  “Search the entire junkyard again!” Sam Archer ordered. “Every fucking inch, he couldn’t have disappeared into thin air.”

  Then Sam said, “Shit.”

  Lucy leaned forward and listened, her eyes closed. Something was very wrong.

  Sam said, “There’s another damn tunnel. What are these guys, fucking gophers?”

  There was some scrambling, then nothing, and Sam said, “I need a direct line to the director in DC. Donnelly’s been taken hostage. His captors have made demands.”

  CHAPTER 28

  There was a crowd and commotion with practically every cop in the city and county combing the area in and around the warehouses and junkyard. And even with all the people, Lucy knew when Sean arrived.

  Lucy cleared him to cross the line. He immediately pulled her into his arms. “Tell me none of that is your blood.”

  His voice was strained, and she’d almost forgotten about Clark’s blood on her tank top.

  “None of it,” she said.

  He squeezed her harder, then let her go. Pools of emotion filled his blue eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she whispered.

  “I’m okay. Touching you helps. What happened?”

  “Sanchez’s people kidnapped Donnelly. No one saw Sanchez; he may not have even been here. They had a damn tunnel that went from the warehouse to the junkyard. We don’t know how they got out, exactly, but they must have grabbed him, taken him under, and gotten out along the periphery. Cops are searching everywhere. Another agent is in critical condition at the hospital, two more
wounded. Four of the five shooters are dead. The last is in custody.”

  He rubbed her arms. “You’re freezing.”

  “It’s the rain, on and off all afternoon. I wish it would make up its mind.”

  “Did they make demands?”

  “They want the two gangbangers Donnelly arrested Saturday who are still in custody. Release them in twenty-four hours, or Donnelly dies.”

  “The government isn’t going to release prisoners. They know that.”

  “They want an excuse to kill him.”

  “They don’t need an excuse.”

  “I have to go after him.”

  “Hell, no.” He waved his arms toward the dozen SWAT members securing the area. “There will be three times that many looking for him.”

  “Not across the border. Ask Kane. Border issues are complex as it is, they’re not going to send a team of United States feds into Mexico without going through the diplomatic channels, and that’s going to take longer than twenty-four hours!”

  She didn’t want to yell at Sean, but she couldn’t help it. She felt helpless and angry.

  “You don’t know that they even went across the border. It would be difficult with the heightened security.” But his tone matched Lucy’s fears: These people were far more organized with far better planning than anyone had expected. Except for maybe Kane.

  “I had a feeling this was personal,” Lucy said. “Between Sanchez and Donnelly. There’s something more going on between them. Like Sanchez has been taunting him. Pushing him. I think that’s why they threatened me, to get to Brad. But when Trejo was identified as behind this—I think that goes deeper. Both Brad and the director knew exactly who Trejo was. There’s history there as well.”

  “Kane,” Sean whispered. He glanced around. “Kane will find him.”

  Lucy wanted to trust Sean and his brother, but Donnelly had been her partner in this operation; she had an obligation to do something. Still, her hands were tied. She could look from here to Mexico, but couldn’t cross the Rio Grande.

  “Luce? Did you hear me?”

  She nodded.

  “Does Donnelly have a phone on him? Anything I can track?”

  “All his equipment was dumped in the tunnel.”

  There was going to be nothing easy about finding Donnelly, that much Lucy was certain. Her phone rang. It was a private number.

  “Kincaid,” she answered.

  “Lucia Kincaid?”

  “Yes.” No one called her Lucia except her mom. When her mom was mad.

  “This is Francis Cardenas, a friend of Jack’s. He calls me Padre.”

  “Padre. Yes, Kane said he was going to call you. Sean’s here with me.”

  “Aw, yes, the Little Rogan. I need to see you both, right now, with no other police.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “We have a situation—”

  “Yes, I know. One of your agents was taken hostage. It’s all the buzz right now. But Kane called me because of the boy. I know where he is, but we do not have much time. And if the federal police come with you, he will die.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m right on the other side of the barricade. I’m the only one here with a cleric’s collar.”

  “Five minutes, Padre.”

  “No more. Time is critical.”

  She hung up and said to Sean, “That was Padre. He has a lead on Michael.”

  “That was fast. I left him only thirty minutes ago and we had nothing.”

  “I need an excuse to get out of here.” She looked around for Ryan and spotted him with two other SWAT. “I can’t just disappear, Ryan will worry.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “What? I can’t lie—”

  “You can’t. I said I’ll take care of it”

  Before she could stop him, Sean approached Ryan. “Hey, can I take Lucy to the hotel? I have a room, she needs to shower and change.” He gestured to her bloody clothes. “Her shirt is with the guy who got shot.”

  “That was good work, Kincaid,” one of the DEA agents said. “Clark’s still in surgery, but he’s alive.”

  Ryan nodded. “Go. You can’t do anything else here. It’s going to be dark in a couple of hours, and negotiations are completely out of our hands. Call me later.”

  “Have you talked to Casilla?” she asked.

  “Briefly. He wants me to stick with you, but I’ll tell him Sean’s here and you’re at the hotel.”

  Lucy didn’t feel good about deceiving Ryan, but Sean didn’t give her a chance to talk. “Let us know if anything breaks,” he said.

  “Of course. And I’ll text you when we debrief in the morning,” Ryan said. “It’s been a long fucking day.”

  She couldn’t disagree.

  Because they were on the outskirts of town, most of the bystanders were support staff, medics, and police. A few people milled around, people who used these back roads to get to and from work. A pair of sheriff’s deputies were stopping every car and asking to search, which created a line.

  She and Sean went under the barricade and immediately spotted Padre. He wasn’t tall, under six feet, and had a gnarled scar that twisted his left cheek. His eyes were dark and focused, and he smiled when he saw her. “Lucia,” he said, touching her arm. “We need to go.”

  They wound around through the people and vehicles, Padre focused on his destination. Some of the people knew him, or maybe they didn’t and simply deferred to him because he was a priest. She must have heard a dozen Hello, Fathers as they passed. Padre would smile and nod and keep moving. If he knew the person, he said hello by name.

  They walked to the far edge of a makeshift lot where cars were parked, and Padre told them to get into a jeep that had no roof. He pulled the key from his pocket and turned the ignition. “Sorry about the wet seats,” he said.

  “I’m too soaked to care,” Lucy said. “What do you know about Michael?”

  “I’ve been looking for him since Kane called me this morning. But I didn’t learn anything until shortly after Sean left to meet with you.

  “Michael was found this morning,” Padre continued as he pulled out of the parking lot. “He’s being held, but not for long. Now that they have your agent, they’re going to want to move both of them across the border. I don’t know where your agent is now, but I know where the boy is.” He glanced behind them and Lucy followed his gaze. No one was following.

  “A cop named Gregory Floresca put the word out that he has the boy the feds are after,” Padre said. “He plans to sell him to Sanchez’s people. We need to get there first.”

  “Sanchez is going to be there?”

  “No, Sanchez is in Mexico.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Kane is certain.”

  Why hadn’t Kane told her earlier? She could have passed it on to Brad and Sam and maybe stopped what happened today.

  “You have guns?” Padre asked.

  “Yes,” they said.

  “Sean, open the lockbox behind you. The lock code is three-four-five-nine.”

  Sean rolled the numbers into place and popped the lock. Inside the box were several semi-automatic rifles.

  “I hope we won’t need them, but you’re welcome to whatever you need.”

  “How did you hear about Michael?” Lucy asked. “I can bring in a team to extract him.”

  “There’s no time to plan an operation, and the feds never move fast. Not fast enough. He’s not at the police station—Floresca knows most of the previous administration’s bad cops have been axed, the town is being cleaned up. My source tells me Michael is being held in the storeroom of a liquor store. The clerk will be armed. The storeroom is accessible only from inside the store.”

  He parked against a broken sidewalk down the street from a generic liquor store. The neighborhood was depressed and dirty, most of the signs in Spanish, not even a nod to the English language. Though the jeep was old, people looked at them with suspicion.

  Padre turned to
face them. “I need you both to trust me.”

  “If Kane and Jack trust you, I trust you,” Sean said.

  “First, Lucy, you need to put this on.” He handed her a worn and faded flannel shirt. She pulled it over her bloodied tank. She made sure she could still reach her gun, but covered it with the shirt.

  Padre continued. “Lucy and I are going to go into the store. I’m going to do my sales pitch for the church. Lucy, you go to the storeroom and get the boy. You can pick a lock, right?”

  “Not as well as Sean,” she admitted.

  “Almost,” Sean said. “What kind?”

  “A padlock. The kind with a keyhole.”

  Sean slipped her his tool set.

  “We can bring in a team,” she reiterated. She didn’t like the idea of doing this without backup, without Ryan and the others knowing where she was. “They can be here in twenty minutes.”

  “We don’t have twenty minutes. We might already be too late.”

  Padre continued. “The trick is going to be slipping out of the store with the boy. I’m going to insist that the clerk pray with me. If there are any other patrons in the store, I’ll have them join in. When you see that, you need to get the boy out. Walk along the perimeter quickly, but don’t stop for anything. I’ll make sure the clerk won’t be looking.”

  He glanced at Sean, and Sean said, “I got it, you want me to watch and drive up when I see Lucy and the kid.”

  “Yes. But you must be quick. If I don’t get out, leave me there and I’ll meet you at the church in an hour.”

  “Unless they take you hostage.”

  Padre smiled, though it was very sad. “They won’t be able to. I may be getting old—I’m five years older than Jack—but I still train. I’ll just pay for it in the morning.”

  * * *

  Padre and Lucy walked in. “Keep your head down, don’t make eye contact,” he whispered as they entered.

  Lucy did what he said, though it was against all her instincts not to see and assess her surroundings.

  “Hola, Padre,” the clerk said. For a brief moment Lucy thought the clerk knew Padre, but of course padre was the Spanish word for ‘father.’

  “¿Cómo estás, hijo?”

  “Bueno.” From her veiled eyes, Lucy noticed that the clerk was looking out the door. He said, “Vuelve después, el padre.”