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Prologue
Nine Years Ago
Though Kane Rogan was no longer active military, he was still a soldier and a commander. He expected everyone to obey his orders because he knew how to keep people alive.
And his gut told him Siobhan Walsh had done something stupid. Something really, really stupid.
He and Blitz, his partner in this rescue operation in Tamaulipas, Mexico, sat in the courtyard of the Sisters of Mercy girls’ home. Only girls were allowed inside, and Siobhan had nearly taken his head off when he said he didn’t trust her.
“Half these girls have been trafficked and abused. The other half are nuns and missionaries. I will not have you terrifying them with your attitude and your arsenal. Wait here. I’ll be ten minutes!”
She’d turned and walked into the building without looking at him.
Siobhan Walsh was Trouble with a capital T. Why had he let Andie talk him into this? He should have said no. He should have sent Ranger in with Blitz. He could have tapped someone else at Rogan-Caruso to lead the rescue. But because Andie had once been his commanding officer and he respected her, he’d promised to bring her younger half sister back to the US alive.
Damn bleeding heart. Know who you can save and who you can’t, that’s the only way you stay alive.
It had been five minutes.
“I should never have let her out of my sight,” Kane mumbled.
Blitz glanced at him. “You think she’s running.”
“She didn’t listen to a damn word I said.”
Kane had a good relationship with the Sisters of Mercy because he’d helped them in the past, but he was still an outsider, and Siobhan’s mother had been a missionary with the group. That gave the fiery redhead the upper hand.
“Wait here,” Kane told Blitz, and followed the path Siobhan had taken into the mission.
The building was cooler than outside, the stone structure providing reprieve from the heat.
He listened. Silence.
He walked toward the front. He didn’t want to scare any of the young women seeking refuge here, but Siobhan had used that against him, and she would pay for her deception.
He’d met Siobhan years ago through Andie, when Siobhan was still a teenager and he was still in the Marines. Though he was enlisted and Andie was an officer, they had become friends, largely because Kane had once served under her father’s command and respected him tremendously. Andie had the same leadership skills as her dad. On base, he was the subordinate; here, he was a friend.
Siobhan had certainly grown up since he’d last seen her a decade ago. Why Andie couldn’t keep tighter reins on her sister, Kane would never know.
Like you could keep tight reins on your family?
At least they did what he said, and if he said don’t go to Tamaulipas because it was too dangerous, they would listen to him. This was his world. If he said stop, they would stop. If he said run, they would run.
And Siobhan Walsh had ignored the advice of her wise sister and walked right into the danger zone anyway. It took him two days to track her down, right outside Felipe Juarez’s house, where she nearly got herself spotted by his patrol.
Juarez ran a criminal gang, mostly kidnappings for ransom or thugs for hire to transport drugs from point A to point B. Because he never ventured into the States, he wasn’t on Kane’s radar. He stayed in Tamaulipas and didn’t traffic in humans. Kane focused on the battles that would have the most impact on the drug trade (which didn’t pay much) or the jobs for hire that earned him enough money to go back to the low-paying battles.
Kane understood Siobhan’s position. He’d seen far too many child brides over the years. But there was nothing they could do about it, and why she couldn’t see that, he didn’t understand.
You can’t save everyone, Red.
Kane spotted one of the nuns that he fortunately knew by name. She was surprised to see him inside the mission. “Sister Jeanette, where is she?”
The sister didn’t answer.
“Siobhan!” he said, louder than he intended. He lowered his voice. “She’s going to get herself killed. Tell me where she is now.”
Sister Bernadette came into view. “Mr. Rogan, you will not yell at my girls.”
Kane wasn’t Catholic, but Sister Bernadette scared the bejeezus out of him.
“Siobhan,” he said, keeping his voice so low it was almost a whisper.
“I told her to tell you.”
“Tell. Me. What.”
“But she said you were making her leave. I don’t think you understand the situation.”
It took all his self-control not to lose it. “Getting involved in the personal lives of a criminal is never the smart move,” Kane said. “Juarez runs a criminal gang and he stays local. We can’t go in and dictate morality and justice in how they treat their family. I’m sorry, Sister, but kidnapping his daughter is not an option.”
“She’s thirteen years old and being forced to marry a man three times her age.”
“Not my problem. If Juarez finds out you were helping her, he could cause you and your girls untold trouble. Worse, Siobhan is going to get hurt. Do you want her blood on your hands?”
He didn’t mean to speak so forcefully with the nun, but he had to make her see the truth: that Siobhan was in way over her head and Felipe Juarez would kill her in cold blood.
“I will tell you where she went if you promise me you will save Hestia.”
Well, fuck.
“She put you up to this.” It was now as clear as day. He’d been played.
“Mr. Rogan, sometimes we need to do the right thing even when there is great risk.”
Sister Bernadette didn’t need to lecture him, and she knew it. He risked himself on a daily basis to do the right thing, but he always did a cost-benefit analysis. Not financial—he didn’t give a shit what it cost. It was up to his business partner JT Caruso to manage the money. But the risk versus the odds of success. Half the girls here at the mission, Kane and his team had rescued, and the Sisters were in the process of returning them to their families where possible. That was a justifiable risk.
Going after Juarez’s only daughter was not.
There was no way this was going to end well. Even if they did save the girl, what could they do with her? She couldn’t stay with the Sisters; Juarez would find her. She couldn’t stay in Mexico, because she had no one to protect her. She was a kid, for chrissakes. That meant smuggling her into the US, getting her papers, putting her somewhere safe. Violating the law didn’t bother Kane, but he didn’t need another enemy in Mexico. He had plenty of those to go around.
Juarez was low-level in the grand scheme of things, but if Kane did what Siobhan wanted, it would cause untold problems for Kane and Rogan-Caruso, now and in the future.
Sister Bernadette stared at him and Kane felt increasingly uncomfortable. Guilty. How did she fucking do that? He had to weigh the risks versus the rewards in every operation, and the risks here were too great.
But there was no way
he could face Andie and tell her he turned his back on her sister. If saving Siobhan meant getting Hestia Juarez out of this arranged marriage, then he’d have to do it, consequences be damned.
Fuck fuck fuck!
He hated being manipulated like this, and when he saved Siobhan and brought her and the kid back to the US, he would deliver her on Andie’s doorstep in handcuffs and tell his long-time friend to keep her sister under lock and key because he wasn’t going to rescue her again.
Then he’d have to let shit settle down or he’d never be able to set foot in Tamaulipas again. Hell, shit may never settle. If Kane had a kid, and someone took her, he wouldn’t forgive or forget. He’d hunt them down to the ends of the earth and make them pay.
“I’ll get them both,” Kane said through clenched teeth. “Tell me where.”
“Our Lady of Guadalupe. Felipe Juarez moved up the wedding. It’s today.”
* * *
Siobhan Walsh didn’t have much time. She had to grab Hestia before she started down the aisle. She’d only have a small window of time where Hestia wasn’t under her father’s watchful eye.
Kane didn’t understand. She’d had everything under control until her sister figured out what she was doing. Why had Andie sent a soldier down here in the first place? Sure, Kane was no longer a Marine, officially, but once a Marine, always a Marine. Siobhan knew that from her family. She loved her family, respected them more than they could know, but when it came to individual human lives, sometimes they had tunnel vision.
Siobhan had tried to explain the situation to Kane when he caught up with her, but it was a lost cause. He was a big-picture guy: burn a cocaine crop, shut down a trafficking organization, rescue the kid of a billionaire in order to pay the bills. Siobhan respected his vision, his path—why couldn’t he respect hers? Why couldn’t he see what she saw? Why didn’t he care about a thirteen-year-old girl in a low-level crime syndicate being married off to a forty-year-old pervert? Because she wasn’t an American hostage? Because Juarez didn’t move enough drugs for Kane to care?
She would never forget what he said this morning.
“The risk isn’t worth it.”
How he could think that way, she’d never understand. One girl—a child—wasn’t worth the risk? The risk to what? To whom? Kane Rogan risked his life every day, but he wouldn’t risk it for a young girl? How could Andie be friends with a guy like that?
Siobhan had thought Kane Rogan was different. She’d heard stories of his heroics from her sister as well as the Sisters of Mercy. He’d saved two POWs under Andie’s command. He’d saved a group of international scientists after a major earthquake south of Mexico City caused a mudslide and cut them off from civilization. He’d helped Sister Bernadette relocate one of their orphanages after they’d been unknowingly caught in the middle of two warring drug cartels in Guatemala. All those operations had been extremely dangerous. Was it the numbers? Eight nuns and twenty children were worth the risk, but one girl was not?
She might never understand how he thought. At this point, she didn’t care anymore. She pushed aside her feelings—she’d been half in love with Kane Rogan since the day she met him when she was fifteen, but none of that mattered. She had a plan, and while it was dangerous, it could work. It had to work. She didn’t yet know how she was going to cross the border with Hestia, but she’d worry about that later. She had friends who would help.
Not if they find out you kidnapped Felipe Juarez’s daughter.
They wouldn’t. Siobhan would be swift, so word wouldn’t carry faster than she could travel.
Though it was the priest, Father Paulo Rodriguez, who initially alerted Sister Bernadette about the impending wedding, he couldn’t be trusted. He lived in fear of the Juarez family and aided and abetted them in their criminal enterprise. He would perform the ceremony, unless Siobhan succeeded.
How he could balance the two lives, Siobhan didn’t know, but now she was on her own.
Siobhan parked her truck as close to the church as she dared. She could see the people walking in, dressed in their Sunday best.
She looked at her watch. She had fifteen minutes. She said a prayer, slowed her racing heart, and hoped that Gino the altar boy did what he was supposed to do.
Siobhan did everything she could not to stand out, though that was difficult. She had a baseball hat so faded that only up close could you see the Washington Nationals insignia, and it did little to hide her curly red hair that she’d braided down her back. Not to mention she was tall, skinny, and pale. She couldn’t tan to save her life. She hadn’t had time to change—she knew Kane would be suspicious as soon as she left the courtyard at the mission—so she still wore jean shorts and a black tank top. All she had was some money, the truck, and her wits.
She hid the truck and crept along the bushes that grew thick along a dry creek bed on the backside of the church. Our Lady of Guadalupe was right off the main road into town, a pretty little stone church that was always full on Sundays, and half-full every other day of the week.
She’d been to the church several times before, and Gino had given her the inside scoop on where everyone would be. The biggest problem, aside from Juarez’s patrols, was Christina Juarez, his sister, who would be with Hestia until her father came for her. Christina was dangerous. Hestia’s nanny might also be there, but she was an old woman and Siobhan hoped she wouldn’t try to stop them.
Too many variables. But what choice did she have? She’d never be able to live with herself if she didn’t even try to save the girl who had begged her to take her away.
Siobhan watched as four armed guards patrolled the church grounds. They were focused on the church, not the rectory behind it, which was closer to the stream and where Siobhan was hiding. She knew from Sister Bernadette that a tunnel went from the rectory to the church. Gino had promised he’d unlock the door on the church side—Siobhan had to believe that he had done it.
Because the guards were focused on the main entrance, the rectory and trees shielded her approach from the south. Siobhan slipped in through the back door, the coolness of the rectory surprising her. The stone floors and adobe walls kept the place comfortable, even on hot days. She hesitated, listened.
“Señorita,” a small voice said.
She turned and saw Gino. He was eight, Hestia’s cousin and best friend and an altar boy. Juarez wouldn’t kill him, but he might punish him if he learned that Gino had helped her.
“I told you just the door—you can’t be involved with this, Gino.”
“I want to help.”
“It’s too dangerous. Go back to the church.”
He shook his head. “My padre left me at home. Said I was too young. I snuck out so I could open the door.”
“Go home.” She didn’t know if both she and Hestia were going to die today, but Hestia at least knew what she was doing. She had told Siobhan she would rather die than marry Francisco. She understood the risks; Gino did not.
He frowned.
“Now, Gino!” she said. “I don’t have time to argue with you. I’ll make sure Sister Bernadette tells you what happened and that Hestia is safe, okay?”
He frowned, but left.
She waited until she saw him hop on an old bike before she relaxed.
The rectory was small—two rooms and a kitchen. She went to the bedroom and opened the closet. The door to the tunnel was in the back of the closet. Gino had left the key in the lock for her, and if he’d done everything he’d promised, the door on the other end would be unlocked.
Dank air drifted out when Siobhan opened the door. The tunnel was dark and narrow. She turned on a small flashlight attached to her keychain.
A ladder went straight down.
“You can do this,” she whispered.
She didn’t like small, dark spaces.
She took a deep breath. Then another. She descended the ladder. At the bottom she listened.
Silence.
She shined her light down the passage. It was
only fifty yards to the church, but the tunnel wasn’t straight. She couldn’t see to the end.
Siobhan looked back up the ladder. The faint light from the closet beckoned her. A powerful urge hit her, to go back up, to avoid the darkness, the unknown; her fear nearly undid her. She could tell herself that she was Hestia’s only hope, that she had to go to the church this way, it was the only way, but telling herself and doing it were two different things.
She bit the inside of her cheek so hard she drew blood.
Then, faintly, she heard organ music.
She didn’t have time to fear. If Hestia was to be saved from an awful fate, Siobhan had to act now.
Battling her urge to run back to the light, Siobhan turned into the dark, her small flashlight faintly illuminating the narrow passage. There was barely room for her. Bugs, spiders, any manner of creepy-crawlies touched her skin and it was all she could do not to scream. Tears burned as she made her way through as fast as she could . . . until she reached a dead end.
Was she lost? Had there been two passages? Had she missed a turn? She didn’t think so. There had been no fork in the tunnel, unless she missed it.
She shined her light up. There was the ladder, a rope ladder that ended just above her head.
She reached up and grabbed the bottom rung. Siobhan was in good shape, but it took all her strength to pull herself up until her feet were able to rest on the bottom rung.
A very faint light shone through a crack above her. That was the door.
The organ music was louder, but it wasn’t the wedding song yet. Voices, people talking and chatting as they waited for the ceremony.
Siobhan climbed quickly now that she could use her feet, held on, and listened.
She heard movement in the room, and then a female voice said, “Hestia, your groom is ready.”
That was her aunt. Christina. Not a woman Siobhan wanted to face, but she might not have a choice.
“I need to use the bathroom,” Hestia said, her voice small. “I just need a few minutes, please, Tia.”
“You should be grateful,” Christina said. “This marriage is going to bring wealth to our family. You will be able to produce an heir, unlike your mother, who produced only you.”
No Way Out Page 1
