“I want to be a part of her rescue.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Dreyer said. “You’re too emotionally invested for a matter this delicate.”
Aaron sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. “She threw herself at the cartel so I could escape.” And she’s the love of my life. “I need to help get her back. Please.”
Dreyer was silent for a beat. “We can’t take a chance of this line being tapped or you being followed, so I’ll have someone pick you up in four hours and bring you to ICE’s secure location within the city.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He rattled off the first location that came to mind for a rendezvous point, then ended the call and looked at the bed he’d shared with Camille and the bathroom where he’d cut her hair. This would be the last time he saw the Happily Ever After. No matter what happened tonight with the rescue, he wouldn’t be back.
He grabbed a backpack and tossed in the binder of ICE intel and the rest of the cash and weapons. He dumped the contents of the dresser drawers on the bed, checking for anything he might need or any incriminating evidence of their time there. Out tumbled the box of condoms.
With a huff, he picked it up and sat on the bed.
Funny how life was. In the past few weeks, he’d done and experienced terrible things. And yet, in Camille’s arms, he’d found his life’s purpose—to be accountable to and cherished by a woman. This one particular woman. All his years in pursuit of amusement—years of fast women, fast cars and fast sports—had been ineffective attempts to stave off the emptiness that came with a lack of purpose. Camille had given his life substance. She made him invincible.
And she was gone.
He set the box aside. The possibility of having a baby with the woman he loved was wonderful and terrifying, but hardly pertinent. Camille’s life was in danger, if she wasn’t dead already.
Please, God, don’t let her be dead.
He flipped on the tracking device locator and watched a red blip on the map a good ten miles or more southeast of La Paz. The delivery truck had reached its destination. The only question was, had Camille been taken to the same place? Only one way to find out.
He slung the backpack over his shoulder and strode from the room. Knowing he’d go insane if he stayed stationary until the rendezvous, he decided to perform some preliminary surveillance.
Following the GPS coordinates from the tracking device along the road southeast of La Paz, he drove past the ferry terminal. The dirt roads became crude, the homes more dilapidated and sparse until there were no homes at all but endless miles of shrub and cacti-covered foothills.
Over a half hour southeast of the city, twenty estates rose up from the desolation and lined the mouth of the bay. Thick, barbed wire-topped walls of brick and plaster standing ten feet tall separated the properties from each other and the road. In case the cartel stronghold was located here, Aaron kept his distance. No need to tip off any guards to his presence.
The tracking device transmitted from within the fourth property to the right. Set far back from the gate was a massive two-story mansion. He doubted Rodrigo Perez could afford such luxury. This place had to belong to Alejandro Milán.
The entrance gate was a solid sheet of dark iron topped by as much barbed wire as the fence line. At least from the front and sides, the estate was impenetrable. Hopefully Milán wasn’t as meticulous about the security of his backyard.
In a text to Dreyer, he entered the GPS coordinates and requested satellite photos. After using the phone to snap pictures of the entrance gate, he watched for signs of activity until the rendezvous time approached, but all was quiet. As he waited and watched, his thoughts slid to his last moments with Camille and the expression of courage and resolve on her face as she shoved him from the cab.
She was incomparable to any person he’d ever known—and he’d destroy any man who hurt her.
With a final glare at Milán’s entrance gate, he retraced his route to the city, through the cobblestone side streets of downtown and up a steep grade into a suburban neighborhood, past the Gigante Market. A glance at his watch told him he had thirty minutes to spare. On a whim, he made a right turn on to Ana’s street.
Her car was parked curbside. He idled the bike half a block down and observed the quiet street. He might be connecting dots that weren’t there, but his instincts kept niggling at him that somehow Ana was involved with the cartel. He and Camille had too many run-ins with them while in contact with her. On the other hand, if she had an allegiance to Alejandro Milán or Rodrigo Perez, she could have killed them the night they stayed at her house.
A hand touched his shoulder. Drawing his 9 mm, he twisted toward it.
Ana stood next to him, flanked by three huge men holding firearms inside the flaps of their jackets.
“Aaron, what a wonderful surprise.” She sounded pleasant and not at all rattled to be standing at gunpoint.
Aaron held his aim. “Who are they?”
“This is my brother, Ramón.” She gestured to the most sharply dressed man of the three who looked to be in his early forties. “And these are a couple of our...friends. They are in town on business.”
He tried to play it cool, but the proliferation of firepower made it a tough sell. “Nice to meet you all. How have you been, Ana?”
She indulged in a throaty chuckle, but she was only a facsimile of the sexy teacher who had sheltered them for a night. The inhumanity exuding from her now made Aaron’s mouth go dry. It was either divine intervention or blind luck she hadn’t murdered them when she had the chance. “I’m well. How is Camille?”
Something about the way she asked set Aaron’s teeth on edge. Maybe it was the slight quirk of a smug grin on her lips or the blade-sharp glint in her eyes. But he was certain she knew Camille had been recaptured.
“She’s fine.”
Ana’s eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “I’m sure she is. What are you doing outside my apartment, waving a gun in my face?”
He held the gun steady. “I was in the neighborhood.”
“How convenient for me. Shall we go inside before we’re all arrested for carrying illegal firearms?”
“Sweet of you to offer, but I’m late for a meeting. I’ll see you around.”
Her brother and the other men pulled their guns out of their jackets and aimed at Aaron’s chest. Aaron thought about the arsenal stashed in his backpack, but he’d never have time to even pull the pin on a grenade before the three men shot him.
“I wasn’t offering you a choice,” she said.
One of the men plucked Aaron’s gun from his hand. The other dragged him off the bike and frisked him. Ramón relieved him of the backpack. He was pushed along behind Ana up the stairs to her apartment, with Ramón and the others pulling up the rear of the procession.
“Tell me,” Aaron said as they walked. “Do you work for Rodrigo Perez?”
“Oh, God, no. Ramón works for my father, Antonio Vega.”
Nothing Ana could’ve said would have surprised Aaron more. They reached the apartment and he gaped at her as the hulking men shoved him inside. Ramón entered last and closed the door.
“You’re related to Gael Vega?” Aaron whispered in disbelief. “You’re with the La Mérida Cartel?”
She perched on the arm of the sofa and gestured for Aaron to sit in a chair. “Very good. Gael is my uncle. Since he was arrested, there has been quite a jostling for control. If my brother and I can deliver La Paz to our father, he will gain my uncle’s approval as his replacement and we will become the most powerful family in Mexico.”
“I assumed you were behind the Cortez Cartel’s ambush of Camille at the supermarket. But you’re part of the La Mérida Cartel,” Aaron said.
“La Paz is about to become La Mérida’s most important territory. Why dirty our hands ridding it of nosy American law enforcement when Perez wants you dead, too? I tipped off his men anonymously.”
Aaron pulled his face in surprise. “Why kill us? We
were doing all the dirty work for you.”
“Yes. It is true that Milán’s stronghold in La Paz made it too risky for our family to move in. But you and Camille have been extremely helpful. As soon as I realized that, I sat back and enjoyed the show.”
The mention of the reclusive cartel boss threw Aaron for another loop. “Is Milán here, in La Paz?”
Ramón laughed. “Not for long.”
Ana ignored her brother. “With so many of his men murdered in the past few weeks, Milán’s not happy with Rodrigo Perez. He flew in yesterday to handle the mess and has recalled Perez and his men to his estate, making this the perfect opportunity for us to relieve them all of their power.”
Aaron swallowed hard. The only way he understood cartels to oust each other from power was through vicious, indiscriminate bloodshed. “His estate is southeast of La Paz?”
“Yes. At least until we blow it up tonight.”
Oh, no. “Wait,” he croaked. “I have a counteroffer.”
Ana looked amused. “That’s sweet, Aaron. But like Milán, you have outlived your usefulness.”
Ramón shoved the butt of his gun in Aaron’s ribs and hoisted him onto his feet.
No. He couldn’t die now, not when he was so close to saving Camille, not when his death would destroy her chance of rescue tonight by the ICE unit. Pulling his arm from Ramón’s grip, he squared his shoulders. “I disagree. Why not let me finish the job by taking down Milán and Perez? It’s no risk to your family to let me try. If the Cortez Cartel kills me in the process, your hands are still clean.”
“I’m not sure I see how that would be worthwhile for me and my family.”
“Look, if you blow up Milán’s estate tonight, you’ll kill Camille—a decorated law enforcement officer—and Rodrigo Perez’s kidnapped daughter who’s an American citizen. I’ve already notified my bosses about Camille’s recapture at Milán’s property. And I’ve already notified them about you, Ana. If you kill me, Camille and Perez’s daughter, you’ll bring the wrath of the entire Unites States law enforcement down on the La Mérida Cartel. You know I’m right. Do you think your uncle will allow your father to lead the family after that?”
Judging by the clench of her jaw and the white of her knuckles, she heard his message loud and clear.
She placed a hand on Ramón’s wrist and he lowered his weapon. Crossing her arms over her chest, she studied Aaron. “How long do you need?”
Aaron’s heart pounded as his hope blossomed. “One day, that’s all. Give me one day and I’ll hand you the keys to the city.”
With a nod, she opened her front door and held his backpack out to him. “One day. And if you fail, you and your precious Camille won’t live to see day two.” She ran her tongue over her lower lip. “Get out of here before I change my mind.”
Chapter 16
Aaron did a quick roll call with the three firearms he’d concealed on his person for his meeting with Santero. No doubt about it, he trusted the guy, but stalking through the alleyways of La Paz at dusk carried its own inherent risks. And the confrontation with Ana had rattled him to the core. He would not be caught off guard again.
Unlike the last time he’d come to this abandoned, half-constructed building, tonight he wheeled the dirt bike inside and propped it along the wall, out of sight from the road. Santero hadn’t arrived, which gave Aaron too much time to think. Too much time to remember. But, then, what had he expected, choosing this building as a rendezvous point?
He crouched along the far wall and smoothed a hand over the smear of dry blood. First time he’d ever stripped Camille of her clothes had been in this very spot, when he’d thought the blood saturating her jacket and shirt had been hers.
“Jesus Christ,” came a harsh whisper from the alley. Aaron whirled, drawing his gun. “You better be in there, Montgomery, because a rat the size of a freakin’ dog just ran over my foot.”
“I’m here.”
Through the doorway walked a lean-muscled, scowling Latino man about Aaron’s age.
“Diego Santero?” Aaron asked.
“In the flesh. You gonna shoot me?”
Aaron tucked the gun in his waistband. “Sorry. I’m a little on edge.”
“Maybe it’s this creepy place you picked for a meeting. Is that blood on the wall?”
“You said to choose somewhere quiet, and I know firsthand a person could spend hours here without drawing notice.”
Santero held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. The ambience sucks.”
“My partner’s been kidnapped, so excuse me if I don’t give a damn about ambience.”
Santero sniffed and stalked to the window, sinking his weight into his arms on the ledge as he stared at the alley outside. “Here’s the deal. When those federal stiffs asked me to share my operation with Mr. Desert ICE himself, I nearly peed my pants laughing. I never share control of my jobs. You got that?” He pushed from the window and glared at Aaron.
“Absolutely.” He got it, all right, but was having trouble syncing the image he’d formed in his head about a Latin-American agent named Diego Santero and the hostile, Jersey-accent-sporting jerk who’d shown up. “By federal stiffs, you mean Dreyer?”
“Freakin’ Dreyer. He has the personality of drywall. The man talks like he’s got his butt cheeks clenched all the time. What a piece of work.”
“He’s your boss.” Probably the wrong thing to say because Santero got up in his face real quick.
“You got a problem with my opinion already, Montgomery? You want to get into it right here in the middle of this rathole?”
Yikes. Aaron flexed his fingers, squelching the urge to punch Santero in the jaw. “Nope.”
“This is my extraction job,” Santero continued, backing off. “I call the shots. You want to play like you’re a real ICE agent, fine. But you’d better keep a cool head because if your bleeding heart interferes with me doing my job, you’re out. Understood?”
Aaron wasn’t the one blowing his top at the moment, but he wasn’t going to point that out. “I’m good. Let’s roll.”
As if he had his mood on some sort of switch, Santero’s face softened. He slapped Aaron on the back. Maybe the anger had been an act to test Aaron’s ability to keep his emotions in check. “We’ll ditch your bike, take my van.”
Aaron nodded and started for the door.
“One more thing, Montgomery.” He waited for Aaron to stop and look at him. “We’re going to get her back. That’s my job. And I’m really, really good at it.”
* * *
Diego pulled into the garage of a ramshackle house on the western edge of the city. The place didn’t look much like a covert ops war room, but while in Mexico, Aaron had learned the hard way that nothing—and no one, for that matter—could be taken at face value.
They entered the house through a door in the garage. The front room was full of dusty furniture, the curtain wide open to the street out front. Behind the wall separating the front room from the kitchen, out of view from the exposed window, Thomas Dreyer stood in front of a room full of high-tech computer equipment.
Aaron recovered from the shock of seeing his boss and shook Dreyer’s hand. “Didn’t realize you were going to be here, sir.”
Dreyer afforded him a terse nod. “ICE agents always have each other’s backs. That’s the first rule you’ll need to know now that you’re on the job, Agent Montgomery.”
Wait...did that mean... “You’re bringing me on to the ICE unit?”
“Welcome to the Department of Homeland Security. Glad to have you aboard.”
Santero coughed. “I think I threw up a little in my mouth, watching you two kiss each other’s butts. Real freakin’ heartwarming. How about we get on with the mission?” He stalked down a hallway.
Aaron followed. He’d suddenly been hired for his dream job, something he’d worked himself to the bone for the past year to achieve, and he felt nothing. Job titles, Santero’s belligerence—none of it mattered until
Camille was safe in his arms again. Then maybe, just maybe, he’d sock Santero in the jaw like he wanted to and celebrate his new career.
In the middle of the back bedroom, four men and a woman leaned over a table covered in satellite photographs. A familiar face popped up, smiling. “Aaron!” Nicholas Wells strode over and shook his hand. “Good to see you alive and well, man.”
“That would be thanks to Camille. She saved my hide more than once down here.”
“Sounds like it’s time to turn the tables and do a little saving of our own.”
“Got that right. How’d you and Dreyer get down here so fast?”
Wells shrugged. “ICE sprung for the private jet, seeing as how we’re going to bring down two cartel kingpins and rescue a missing child and a kidnapped police officer.”
“Yeah, they’re good like that.”
Santero commanded the attention of the room. “Montgomery, you already know Wells. Here’s the rest of my crew—Ryan Reitano, John Witter, Rory Alderman and Alicia Troy. We’ve got two choppers standing by on a Navy vessel on the Pacific side of Baja. You’ve already been to the target property, but check out these satellite images we pulled about an hour ago. Sorriest security system I’ve ever seen.”
From an aerial view, the Milán estate wasn’t so much a fortress as an opulent mansion set close to the water and padded with thick tropical landscape. With its multiple balconies, brickwork and innumerable windows, the house would be simple enough to breach once they got past the gates and the guards. The backyard boasted a white sand beach and a private dock with three impressive boats tied to it—a yacht larger than the Happily Ever After, a motorboat built for speed and a midsize fishing boat.
Troy tapped her finger on the photograph near the image of a huge, turquoise swimming pool. “Two armed guards are all we can pick out in the back. Two more in the front.”
The white delivery truck sat in the circular driveway on the property’s west side. “There’s enough space on the front driveway to chopper down,” Aaron said.
Santero shook off the idea. “Not the right call for a hostage situation. If the tangos get wind of us, they could slit the hostages’ throats before we cross the property line.”
Seduction Under Fire Page 17
