by Jordan Dane
In one fluid motion, he yanked up his pant leg and pulled the Glock 43 that he had in an ankle holster and racked the slide. With his other hand he slid his SIG Sauer from its holster, chambered a round, and took aim. With his gaze darting between both points of entry, he took a deep breath and aimed his guns.
When he heard a creaky floorboard near the front entry, a shadow eclipsed the daylight coming through the base of the door. At the side of the house, the doorknob moved slowly without making a sound. If he hadn’t been watching, he would’ve missed it.
He braced for the men to attack.
Both doors swung open with a loud crack and two hulking shadows burst through. Mercer pulled the triggers. The blasts were deafening. He kept firing until two bodies hit the floor with a thud. With his ears ringing, he only caught muffled sounds. When he was sure the men were dead, he picked up his phone.
“We’re good. Everything’s secure. Send a team. We have two bodies.”
Mercer ended the call. He didn’t have time for questions. He gripped his weapons and glared out the doors that hung off their hinges, to make sure the two men had been alone. The U. S. Marshals Service would arrive soon and he would hand off Ziffle.
“All clear?” Keiko yelled from the bedroom.
“Yeah. Get him ready to go.”
“Go where?” Ziffle asked. “A safer house?”
“U.S. Marshals are coming to take you into custody,” Mercer said. “Your immunity deal came through.”
When the man smiled, Mercer had no appreciation for his smugness.
“Get used to the safe houses. You’ll have more in your future until you testify in court. This is far from over for you.”
Ziffle would be someone else’s headache. Mercer would have to settle for that.
***
El Paso Police
Central Regional Command
Minutes later
Santiago slumped into his chair after hearing the harrowing call from Mercer. He tried calling the man back, but Mercer didn’t answer. The detective gave him the benefit of the doubt he had his hands full, but he hated being kept in the dark.
He picked up his phone and called one of his crime scene techs.
“We have bodies, another crime scene to investigate.” He gave the address of the safe house that had been compromised. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Yes, sir.”
After he hung up the phone, Santiago sprawled in his desk chair with his mind spinning over who could have known the address of the safe house and had the stones to send the Galvez crew to aerate the place.
Could he afford to trust anyone?
***
In the Laramie Mountains
Zion
Saxon searched for Nilah when he hadn’t seen her at breakfast. He’d looked everywhere—including her bedroom—but he couldn’t locate her. After Victor Rangel and another man died at the meeting they had set up online at NovaREAL, she had taken it hard. Stetson, Ciara, and Maddix tried to comfort her after it happened, but Nilah wouldn’t allow anyone to help her feel better. He couldn’t blame her.
No one could’ve consoled him if he were bent on kicking his own ass.
When Saxon heard noise coming from the gym, in a wing Stetson had shown him, he wandered toward the open door and found Nilah in boxing gloves and punching a seventy-pound bag. She wore spandex leggings and a black sports bra with her blonde hair in a ponytail. He stood on the threshold and watched her work with sweat glistening off her toned body.
Saxon grabbed a nearby towel, tossed it over his shoulder, and headed toward her. He pressed his weight against the heavy bag that she pummeled to steady it and give her a better workout. She didn’t stop. Nilah kept her feet moving as she punched and jabbed with solid technique. The intensity of her focus turned him on.
She beat the bag without a break until she collapsed against it, her body only inches from his. Saxon didn’t wait for her idea of small talk.
“Rangel was no boy scout,” he said. “And if something has the cartel playing ‘whack a mole’ with bullets, that isn’t on you.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” she panted. “But men died because I had a hand in it.”
He helped her take off her gloves and tossed her the towel he had draped over his shoulder. As she wiped off her face and arms, he found her a bottle of water and she drank.
“If you keep working with Mercer and his team, it’ll happen again,” he said. “You have to find a way to deal with bad days, Nilah. You have to decide whether Mercer, and the dangerous work he does, is worth it. If you don’t believe in what he’s doing, this isn’t the place for you.”
“It’s not that simple.” She pulled at the white tape that bound her hands and knuckles and unwound the protection.
“It is today. You have a family here. I can see it. I feel the same way about my outfit, the Equalizers. Families stick together. You’re not alone, okay? Open up. Talk to someone, but find a way to deal or it will rip you up.”
“I know what I do can have real world impact.” She stepped closer to him until he felt the heat off her body. “I see that when Mercer runs an op and I have to ramp up my game to give my team support.” She smiled. “I mean, my family, but seeing Rangel’s body, even just a glimpse, it stuck with me.”
“I’m guessing that I’ve seen more bodies than you have, but the day seeing death comes easy, that’s when it’s time to quit. What you’re feeling is normal. It should be hard.” Saxon ran a finger down her cheek. “Sometimes I see a dead body and picture it’s me. It’s a reality that helps me cope, an understanding that any day could be my last. It reminds me what I have to lose. I want to be the one going home after a mission.”
“Wow. That’s—”
“Morbid. Demented.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Look, the point is that we all deal with death and taking risks in different ways. You have to find your own path. Have this conversation with your team, one on one. You’ll see.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t start with Keiko.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.” She draped the damp towel around her neck and turned to leave. “I need a shower.”
“You want company? I firmly believe in water conservation and shampoo Mohawks.”
Nilah glanced over her shoulder with a surprised expression on her face that softened into a sexy smile. Saxon followed her with a grin he couldn’t shake.
***
Medical Examiner & Forensics Lab
12:40 a.m.
The medical examiner had started the autopsies for Victor Rangel and Armando Gallo and his CSI techs had gathered trace evidence off the clothes and shoes of the dead men and were analyzing the substances at the crime lab. Owen Purdue asked Santiago Gonzales to stop by for results and the detective hadn’t wasted any time. He’d left the safe house crime scene, made the drive to the forensics lab on Alberta Avenue, and was now looking over Purdue’s shoulder at his computer.
“The ME found trace evidence on both bodies that I analyzed in the GC-MS,” Purdue said.
Santiago left the science to experts like Purdue, but he’d seen the Gas Chromatograph Mass Spectrometer break down trace evidence taken off bodies or from crime scenes. The analysis identified different substances, even within a small test sample. The GC-MS had many applications in forensic science, including toxicology to identify drugs or poison in biological specimens.
“What was the substance?” Santiago asked. “Is this something they could have picked up on the hiking trail where they died?”
“Maybe, but I have another theory. Bear with me.” Purdue hit a few keys and pulled up an image on his computer screen. “We found pollen from the Juniperus Ashei.”
“Bless you.”
Purdue ignored him.
“Juniperus Ashei is a species of cedar tree.”
“Cedars are everywhere, Owen. Cut to the chase.”
“For this particular species, the biggest populatio
n is concentrated in the Franklin Mountain range, right in El Paso’s backyard.”
Santiago opened his mouth to speak, but Owen Purdue stopped him.
“Before you say, ‘big deal, genius,’ I knew we’d need more to narrow down the location. After all, pollen travels by air for miles. So I worked on the cell phones of both victims and triangulated where they’d been via GPS.”
“Sounds promising.”
Purdue smiled and said, “I found both men had visited one place many times and it happens to be in the Franklin range. That can’t be a coincidence. It’s your call, but you’ll probably want to send a team to see what they find.”
A euphoric high surged through Santiago.
“What’s out there?”
“I’ll show you.”
Purdue worked his keyboard and brought up images. Aerial photos taken over mountainous terrain showed a dwelling nestled in trees—a large compound with cleared acreage and outbuildings.
“These are satellite images and it looks like a ranch. It’s situated in a remote area of the Franklin range.” Purdue flashed more digitals on the screen. “But as you can see, it’s not deserted. There’s activity out there. This could be where the Jaguar has been hiding, in plain sight when he’s in the U.S.”
“Good work, Purdue. Send me those coordinates.”
“You got it.”
“Not a word to anyone about this.” Santiago pointed his finger at Purdue. “No one.”
“Yes, sir.”
Santiago headed back to his office, playing out strategies in his mind. His gut, and a large dose of wishful thinking, had him imagining his hunt for the Jaguar had reached the fevered pitch of a showdown. He had to assemble a team he trusted, but he didn’t know if Mercer would make the cut, not after the ambush of Victor Rangel and the attack on the safe house.
If he had good intelligence on where the Jaguar might be, there was too much at stake—and he still had not heard back from his source within the intelligence community about Mercer.
Santiago would have to rely on his cop instincts to take the Jaguar down.
Chapter 9
El Paso Police
Central Regional Command
Afternoon
A block from police headquarters, Mercer parked his SUV with Keiko pulling in beside him on her Harley. He hadn’t heard from Santiago on the identities of the two men killed at the safe house and the detective hadn’t called about any leads from the Victor Rangel autopsy. Facetime might give him an answer to why the detective hadn’t followed through on his promise to share information, but when he stepped out of his vehicle, he noticed Keiko staring down the block.
“Looks like we didn’t get an invitation to the party.” She nudged her chin toward the police garage connected to headquarters, where they maintained their fleet.
Mercer narrowed his eyes when he saw Detective Gonzales and his men scrambling for their vehicles. El Paso’s SWAT unit was busy loading a white armored rescue truck with personnel. Given the manpower, he suspected they were preparing for far more than a drug bust.
“Stay near your Harley and keep your com unit open,” he said to Keiko. “I may need you to do a little recon.”
“You got it.”
Mercer picked up his pace in time to catch Detective Gonzales before he drove away.
“Where are you going, Detective? You’re manned for a big op.”
When Santiago didn’t answer and slid behind the wheel of an unmarked police vehicle, Mercer grabbed the door and stopped him from shutting it.
“What’s happening with Ziffle?” he pressed.
“None of your concern. He’s in Witness Protection now. I couldn’t tell you where he is, even if I wanted to.”
“What? Witness Protection? What if we need him to—?” Mercer stopped and glared at the detective. “You’re shutting me out? Why? You wouldn’t be on the trail of the Jaguar if it wasn’t for me.”
“I’ll send you a fruit basket.”
Santiago slammed the door shut, hit the ignition and stepped on the gas. He didn’t look back as he followed a police cruiser out of the exit. Mercer walked out of the garage and into the bright sunlight. He didn’t turn his head to look for Keiko—not wanting to give her away—and spoke into his com unit as he slipped on his sunglasses.
“Follow them, Lotus. Don’t let them see you. From the look on Santiago’s face, he has a lead on the Jaguar.”
“Copy that, Wolf.”
He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial for Stetson Debenham. When his man answered, he gave his order.
“It’s time. Pull the plug, like we talked about.”
“No problemo, jefe. Consider it done.”
Mercer hated losing the trust of a good man like Santiago Gonzales, but the stakes were too high for him not to have a backup plan. As he stood on the sidewalk, the face of Keara and Braeden leached from his memory—flashes of their sweet faces were replaced by the bloody crime scene photos. Their dead bodies were seared into his brain and the images flickered back and forth like a horror show to punish him.
He couldn’t stop the self-inflicted torture and he wasn’t sure he deserved to be free of the misery.
For you, and our son, my love.
***
Franklin Mountains
Forty minutes later
On her belly, Keiko peered through binoculars to watch the police raid on a ranch in the mountains, not far from El Paso. The estate was a sprawling Mediterranean-style residence in white stucco and a distinctive, low-pitched red tile roof.
Money. Whoever lived inside had plenty. Her gaze shifted toward the wrought-iron balconies and arched windows with draperies closed. Nothing moved. No one could be seen in the courtyard, except for the police who crept closer in teams.
Santiago had ordered his men to surround the dwelling, preparing for the worst. Mercer had been correct. The detective must have received a lead on where to locate the cartel leader.
“You were right, Wolf,” Keiko spoke into her com unit. “Our local LEO is setting up for a raid on a ranch house. That can only mean one thing.”
“If they get what they came for, I have to know, Lotus.”
“Are you…okay? You sound—”
Mercer’s voice carried a sadness she hadn’t expected. The intimacy of his emotion and the low hush of his voice in her ear had given her chills, as if he were confiding in a lover in the dark. Sex worked with most men to entice them to her bed, but Mercer had always been different.
“I’m fine. Wolf out.”
Keiko sensed their mission had a deeply personal stake for Mercer. The fact that he hadn’t confided in her carried a sting she never expected. She didn’t feel things like most people. Her father had seen to that. She always believed that her lack of sensitivity made her strong, but when it came to the intense love she had for Mercer, he exposed her to vulnerabilities she never knew she could have.
Mercer made her doubt her life’s choices—and she hated him for it.
***
SWAT had set up a command post and deployed men in teams, executing their tactics to raid the compound of what Santiago believed would be the residence of the mysterious Jaguar, the faceless head of the Galvez cartel. With his blood churning, he yanked off his suit jacket and pulled off his tie, leaving him in a white dress shirt. He secured his Kevlar vest and chambered a round in his Glock 21.
Santiago joined a tactical team that deployed a battering ram to breach the main entrance to the estate. The door shattered and sent wood splinters flying into a foyer as the SWAT unit entered the premises with weapons aimed—HK MP5 submachine guns and semi-auto Beneli M1 shotguns.
Inside the residence, shots were fired, but that didn’t slow Santiago down. With a two-handed grip, he aimed his weapon and moved from room to room, heading toward the gunfire.
Santiago crept through a formal dining room with his gun leveled and his eyes alert. He heard shots outside and muffled rounds coming from
somewhere deep within the belly of the residence, but when a shadow moved in the kitchen, he held his weapon tighter and eased toward an archway.
When he swung his body into the room and took aim, a man in a suit opened fire. Santiago felt a tug on his arm, but stood his ground and pulled the trigger. He put three rounds into the man’s chest and watched him drop. Blood blossomed through the man’s dress shirt like red rose buds opening. The dead man’s eyes were open and stared at him as if he could see. Santiago kicked the man’s weapon away from his hand and kept moving.
The gunfire had stopped as his team cleared rooms, but with the adrenaline rushing through him, Santiago maintained his intensity. When he saw uniforms in a large room at the end of a corridor—a massive study—he lowered his weapon and entered the room.
To his left a tactical officer, who’d been shot in the shoulder, had another man helping him staunch the bleeding. Santiago holstered his weapon and used his com unit to order an ambulance and EMTs, but an ominous gathering caught his eye. Several SWAT members and a few of his men stood over a spot behind an ornately carved desk. The men were staring at the floor.
As he drew closer, Santiago narrowed his eyes in shock. What the hell?
A rug had been tossed aside and a trap door lay open. A string of light bulbs burned below ground and cast a glow onto a wooden staircase that led into a rudimentary subterranean tunnel. Dug beneath the residence, the passageway reminded him of the cross-border tunnel used for cocaine and marijuana drug smuggling between Mexico and the U.S., found by authorities in San Diego. With El Paso bordering Mexico, he took interest in such news.
“I sent three of my men into the tunnel to see where it leads. It’s too narrow to send more, but there’s something else you need to see.” The SWAT Lieutenant reached for two bookshelves. They appeared to be built-ins behind the desk, but at his touch, they swung open to reveal a small hidden room. “If the Jaguar was here, he’s gone now. He had an early warning system.”
