Cold as Ice

by Allison Brennan

  “I’m on it,” Megan said. She started typing.

  Lucy put Thompson aside and finished half the sandwich. She would pick up the file again after she studied the victims.

  Gregory Davidson in San Antonio and Councilman Charles Gomez in Houston. Was there a connection between them? Davidson had been dealing drugs at the high school he’d taught at; there didn’t appear to be a motive for Gomez’s murder—no drug connections before his death or discovered during the investigation. What about the other alleged victims of Thompson?

  “Where are the other victims?” she asked as she began flipping through files.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said Thompson was suspected of killing several other men and women, likely murder for hire, but I can’t find them.”

  “Because there was no clear money trail, and they couldn’t make a clear connection using other factors. They’re still looking into those cases, but they didn’t want to give his defense attorney a reason to confuse the jury. These were the two they had proof of payment and physical evidence plus a witness or security camera tying him to the scene of the crime.”

  “I need that list.”

  Megan frowned, but picked up her phone and sent a text message. “Okay, I asked Barnes for it. What are you thinking, Lucy?”

  “I don’t know yet, I’m hoping that more information will help.”

  Megan looked at her phone, then said, “I’m forwarding you the memo.”

  Lucy downloaded the names and started looking at the victims. “How did authorities connect these other victims to Thompson?”

  “Finances, though they weren’t in the big dollar amounts that Davidson and Gomez were, and travel history. Thompson was in the same city as each of those victims when they were killed. All the crimes are unsolved, not all were shootings. Confidence and proof are two different things.”

  Lucy started looking closely into the other victims. A doctor. A teacher. A low-level county employee in Washington State. A twenty-four-year-old grad student? Why would a grad student be the target of a cartel hit man?

  She rubbed her eyes, then picked up the Michael Thompson background file again. She was about to read it again when Megan said, “Here’s the list of everyone in Thompson’s unit when he was overseas.” She turned her computer to face Lucy.

  The name jumped out at her immediately.

  Sergio Russo.

  She jumped up. “I have to talk to Rick. And Kate. Right now. I know why these people were killed, and I know who hired Michael Thompson. It wasn’t Jimmy Hunt.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  SATURDAY EVENING

  MONTGOMERY, TEXAS

  After they left the yacht, Sean was moved to a small bus, but they weren’t on it long. Ten minutes later, in the middle of seemingly nowhere, they left the bus for a twelvepassenger van. One of the guys that Sean thought of as Colton’s right hand was driving. Whoever had brought the van to the location was in the passenger seat. Jimmy and his two guys were in the seat behind them. Sean was tied to the third bench seat in such a way that he could barely move, his back against the van wall. Colton and his other goon were sitting in the last bench seat.

  He was still trying to wrap his head around why Colton Thayer was part of Jimmy Hunt’s escape plan. It wasn’t making any sense, so Sean decided to keep his mouth shut and watch for a while.

  But Colton kept staring at him, and the way that Sean was forced to sit, he couldn’t avoid his glare. The hate that rolled off him was real, it had been festering for two and a half years. Sean felt it that day in the hospital, and it was worse now. Colder. Vicious.

  Too calm.

  “C, what’s going on?” he asked. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Do not call me that. You betrayed me, Sean. Betrayed everything we ever believed in.”

  “I told you—”

  “You put your security ahead of what’s right. I should have seen it from the beginning.”

  “Do you know who this man is? What he’s done? He killed a cop! Shot him in the back of the head! You’re not like him, Colton. You don’t—”

  Jimmy turned around and slapped Sean across the face. “Shut the fuck up, Rogan.”

  Sean swallowed blood.

  “Do not touch him again,” Colton told Jimmy. His voice was … cold. Hard. This wasn’t the man Sean had known, this wasn’t his best friend from college. Something had happened over the last two and a half years that had hardened him.

  Maybe it was you, Sean. You lied to him, betrayed him. Your reasons don’t matter, not to Colton.

  He watched the silent exchange between Jimmy and Colton. Jimmy scowled, but turned away under Colton’s glare.

  Colton wasn’t working for Jimmy. He wasn’t a guy for hire. He acted like he was in charge.

  Very odd. Why would Jimmy Hunt be scared of Colton? His old friend was of average size and build, he wasn’t a fighter—maybe he’d learned over the last few years, but Colton’s strength had always been his brain power. His ability to analyze complex systems. He was as good—maybe better—than Sean in computer hacking.

  But clearly, Colton was the top of the pyramid, at least in this vehicle.

  What did that mean? Was this all retribution for what Sean did back in New York nearly three years ago? That didn’t make sense. If Colton wanted to get to Sean, he could have done any number of things. Hell, if Colton had called him up and asked him to meet for drinks, Sean would have gone, no questions asked. Because the one regret he had was that he hadn’t handled the situation with Colton right. He wished he could do it over again.

  But you would have done the same thing, because you needed your crimes to go away. You did it to give yourself a clean slate, you did it for Lucy.

  Did Colton think that Sean had picked Lucy over him? Maybe he had. And yes, he would always choose Lucy first. But this wasn’t really a choice between an old friend and the woman he loved. Colton had been into serious crimes, way over his head. His borderline illegal activities—hacking that did good—had changed focus to blatantly illegal crimes. Breaking into a pharmaceutical company. Stealing information. Helping plan the murder of men who were doing their time in prison.

  His head hurt. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but it was far bigger than Sean could imagine. He leaned back against the van wall and closed his eyes.

  An hour later—maybe longer—the van pulled off the highway. They went over some side streets, then gravel, and finally stopped.

  Colton told everyone to sit tight and left out the back of the van.

  Five minutes later he returned with another man. “Chris, dispose of the van. Take him with you,” he pointed to the guy in the passenger seat. “You two, take Rogan to the vehicle. Hunt, you and your men follow.”

  Sean was untied from the van, jerked up and half dragged, half carried to the third vehicle, his prison shackles making him stumble. It was an actual black stretch limousine. Hunt strutted, not realizing, maybe, that he wasn’t in charge. When Hunt wasn’t looking at him, Sean saw Colton glare at the back of his head.

  Jimmy was a dead man walking. He was in over his head and didn’t realize it.

  They were in the middle of a plowed field. Other than that, Sean had no idea where they were. He didn’t know if they’d gone north or south or west. Not east—that would have been the Gulf. They were still in Texas. It was late afternoon by the look of the sky. It would have been a beautiful day if he wasn’t being held captive and wanted for murder.

  A limo was … odd. Jimmy was impressed, made a comment to his two goons that this was the way he expected to be treated. The three of them talked too much.

  Colton and his two men didn’t talk. Sean couldn’t see the driver, but already that meant Colton had five men working for him.

  Probably more.

  And they knew to keep their mouths shut.

  Colton motioned at one of his men, then gestured toward Sean. The man pulled handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed Sean’s
hands in front of him.

  “In,” Colton told Sean. He awkwardly climbed into the limo.

  Hunt said, “Can’t we just put him in the trunk?”

  Colton didn’t say a word. He got in and sat across from Sean and stared at him.

  Colton acted like the limo wasn’t out of the ordinary, and Sean wished he’d known what his old friend had been up to since he’d last seen him. Maybe he should have kept tabs on him after their confrontation in the hospital. Maybe he should have reached out, when Sean’s betrayal wasn’t so fresh, and apologized again. Explain better why he did what he did, why he had to do what he did.

  They’d been so close at one time, but Sean didn’t know him anymore. He didn’t know how Colton could work with someone like Hunt. Colton wasn’t a violent criminal.

  They weren’t in the limo for long. Hunt and his men wouldn’t stop talking, about nothing in particular, though Sean heard something about the DEA agent being toast. He prayed it wasn’t Brad, but feared it was.

  And Colton didn’t act like anything was out of the ordinary, his face set, never taking his eyes off Sean.

  Fifteen minutes after they got into the limo, it turned toward a gate that opened automatically. The property they drove through was expansive, acres upon acres of lush vegetation and mature trees. Based on the glimpses he’d seen, he only had a vague sense that they were somewhere in the middle of Texas.

  Texas was a big state.

  Logically, based on the drive from the coast and a sign he’d seen shortly after they got into the limo that said DALLAS 226 MILES, he figured somewhere north or northeast of Houston. They’d practically made a circle. But he saw the wisdom of the route—the police would be looking south, not north. They might eventually find the boat, or know which direction they’d gone, but they wouldn’t naturally assume Hunt would circle back to Houston.

  Escaped prisoners were almost always caught. Law enforcement wasn’t going to give up looking for them. Sean wanted to be found, but he didn’t want to be shot on sight—and he didn’t trust that he wouldn’t be. Not if they thought he killed a cop. But since he had a general idea about where he was, he could conceivably find help.

  If he wasn’t shackled or in prison orange.

  The limo drove to the house, but instead of stopping at the wide veranda, drove past it and to a secondary gate that was attached to the massive stone and wood house. An armed guard stood there and waved them through as the gate opened.

  An eight-car garage straight ahead with what appeared to be rooms above it—four wide dormer windows sticking out. A water fountain claimed the middle of the circular drive; to the left was a smaller building, and to the right the main house.

  The limo stopped and the driver—also armed—opened the back door. Hunt, Colton, and the others climbed out.

  “We’re here, Sean,” Colton said. “Don’t make this more difficult that it needs to be.”

  Sean awkwardly moved over to the door since he was still cuffed and shackled. He put his feet outside, and Hunt’s two goons hoisted him up.

  They all went in through the side door—which looked like the main door of any mansion. This place had to be ten thousand square feet, minimum. And if all the land they’d driven through was part of the estate, it had to be at least a hundred acres.

  They didn’t put a hood or blindfold on him.

  He’d been expecting to die since being locked in his cell last night. The constant fear had him in a heightened state of alert and panic. He began to shake and the more he tried to stop, the worse it became.

  A large, heavily muscled armed guard silently approached. How many of these guys did Colton have on the property?

  Colton turned to Hunt’s two goons. “Reggie will assign you quarters.”

  “We stick with our boss,” one of them said.

  “Mr. Hunt is not paying you,” Colton said.

  So Sean was right. This wasn’t Jimmy’s operation. He was just one cog in the wheel. An important cog, perhaps, but not in charge.

  “It’s fine,” Hunt said, waving them off. “Go with Reggie, good work, both of you—you deserve a break.”

  They left, and Sean wondered if he would see them again. There was something surreal about this entire situation. If he wasn’t a prisoner, he might have been amused.

  “Colton, if you’d just—”

  “Stop, Sean,” Colton said. “Nothing you can say or do is going to change what will happen.”

  He motioned for Sean to move. They walked through the side entry room, a large game room, a butler’s pantry, then turned down a hall with multiple closed doors, and finally ended in the main foyer. A beautiful carved staircase went upstairs, but they headed across the foyer to double doors.

  Hunt stepped in front of Colton and was about to open the library doors. Colton put his hand up. “Wait here,” he said.

  Hunt glared at him. “You wouldn’t even be here without me.”

  Colton didn’t rise to the bait. He motioned to someone Sean couldn’t see, and suddenly two armed guards—tall, broad-shouldered men who looked like former military just like everyone else that worked here—appeared. They flanked Hunt. He looked both angry and fearful.

  Whoever Colton was working for had extensive resources. This remote, vast estate. The resources for the prison break. Bribing guards. A minimum of four trained security men here, not to mention those who drove him here. Colton also didn’t come cheap, unless he was doing this for a cause.

  What cause? What cause would have him breaking Sean out of prison?

  Or setting you up to go to prison in the first place?

  Colton said, “Take Mr. Hunt to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Yancey to prepare him a meal. We’ll call for him when we’re ready.”

  “That’s more like it,” Hunt mumbled.

  Colton tensed next to Sean. He didn’t like Jimmy Hunt. Hunt didn’t pick up on the subtle change in Colton, which would be his downfall.

  Sean looked at Colton. Fourteen years ago when Sean first met him, he hadn’t tolerated violence. Even two and a half years ago, Colton wouldn’t have killed anyone. Sean didn’t think he had it in him—then. But today? Today Sean believed that Colton could kill. Coldly, methodically, without remorse.

  He had changed.

  So have you.

  Colton waited until the two guards left with Hunt, then he opened the doors. Sean didn’t move. Colton pushed him in. Sean almost tripped over the shackles.

  Colton followed him, then closed the doors. The library was circular, one half all windows, the other half all built-in bookshelves filled with books and expensive art. A spiral ladder went up to the second level, which had more art and books, and there was a sitting area directly across from the windows. It was a room Sean knew Lucy would love and lose herself in; a room that the Beast would design for Beauty.

  The desk stood directly across from the doors. The tall executive chair was turned away from the door, but Sean could see a man sitting in it, the back of his head—dark brown interspersed with salt-and-pepper—visible.

  “Walk,” Colton told Sean.

  He did, the shackles rattling as he shuffled across the lush carpet. He stopped when he reached the desk.

  The chair turned.

  “I’ve been waiting to see you in an orange jumpsuit and chains for a long, long time, Sean Rogan.”

  Everything clicked. The boldness of this operation. The money and resources. Colton’s involvement. Hunt, not so much, but Sean would figure it out.

  His blood boiled even as his fear grew.

  “Paxton.”

  * * *

  Jimmy Hunt didn’t like being dismissed by Paxton’s computer geek. If Jimmy didn’t need Paxton’s resources, he would have whacked the arrogant asshole as soon as they got off the boat, then hightailed it to his plane and would have already been to his safe house in Ebano by now.

  He really hated anyone who thought they were smarter than him. He had built an empire that lasted for years. He’d infiltr
ated the DEA and created a supply chain that was unprecedented. And for five years he did it from afar because he had family he could trust to take care of business.

  It wasn’t perfect. Tobias had his problems with women. Nicole often acted like she was in charge. And even though his niece had been sharp as a tack, she had been too cautious. On the other hand, his daughter Elise wasn’t cautious enough. She came up with crazy ideas that were either brilliant or off-the-charts stupid. She didn’t take kindly to being told she needed to grow up or calm down. He had Clara keeping her in line, but Clara didn’t like Elise, and his daughter knew it.

  Clara was a smart bitch. But Jimmy always put his money on Elise to come out on top. He’d learned not to underestimate her long ago.

  He accepted the meal Mrs. Yancey—a trim, older woman who apparently ran the household for the former senator—prepared for him. It was delicious, especially after two years of crappy prison food. He asked if she might have a beer; she did and poured it for him in a chilled glass.

  He could get used to this. Even when he had plenty of money and lived well in Mexico, he didn’t have full-time domestic help. Portia cooked and cleaned and satisfied him in bed, but she wasn’t really good at the first two. She did, however, do well in the sack.

  And it wasn’t like he was broke. He had some money hidden away—enough to keep Portia happy and begin to rebuild his network. What he didn’t have were the contacts he needed in the DEA. They’d cleaned house after Nicole was killed, and no one in San Antonio or Houston was on the take—yet. He still had a mole deep in Los Angeles, but that guy was friggin’ paranoid, so Jimmy wasn’t certain he could trust him anymore. It took time—a lot of time, patience, and money—to create a traitor.

  Plan B was to have Elise sell the house in Los Angeles and they could live on the proceeds quite well in Mexico for years. But then he would have to find something for Elise to do, because she got bored very easily. When Elise was bored, she got stupid. Give her a job, though, and she usually did it better than anyone.