Cold as Ice

by Allison Brennan

  No one would hurt Lucy again.

  He sat in his small office off his master suite. He’d poured a double Scotch because sleep was always elusive, and a stiff drink before bed helped.

  He hadn’t done what he needed to do. He hadn’t protected his people. He hadn’t made it clear to Sean Rogan what he had planned.

  But Jimmy Hunt was a problem, and problems needed to be solved.

  It was after midnight when a knock on the door disturbed his contemplation.

  “Come in.”

  Colton stepped in. A man who should have been his son.

  Jonathan motioned to the bottle of Glenlivet. “Please.”

  Colton poured himself a single shot, drained it, put the glass down. “Sean attempted to escape. He baited me.”

  “And?”

  “He’s in the cage.”

  “No harm, no foul.”

  “I should never have reacted. You taught me better than that.”

  “Sean Rogan always gets under the skin. You are a much better man, and faltering in the face of betrayal? Understandable.”

  “Are you okay, sir? I spoke to Margery.”

  “We may not be able to stay under the radar, but we’ll be okay. We need to collect Rogan’s prints, hair, DNA, everything. Preserve it. Photos. You know what to do. Then tomorrow we’ll head for Cape Verde.”

  “You may never be able to return.”

  Colton sounded worried, and Jonathan appreciated his loyalty. “I have already liquidated most of my assets. If the government comes after them, they won’t find much. Eventually, we’ll be able to come and go as we please. But Colton, I need you to listen to me: if anything happens, you and Sergio go to the safe house in Canada. You will have enough resources there for the rest of your lives.”

  “Don’t talk that way. Please.”

  Jonathan rose, put his hands on Colton’s shoulders. “Son, you have made me proud. I would never have been able to accomplish everything I have without you and Sergio by my side. If anything happens to you—my heart will be broken. If I know you’re safe, I know you will continue my legacy.”

  “I’m not leaving without you.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  Chapter Forty-eight

  HOUSTON, TEXAS

  Elise was angry.

  She ditched the van quickly—she wasn’t an idiot—and walked half a mile to where she’d stashed her backup car. She headed south; she had a passport under the name Elizabeth Hansen. She was young and cute and figured no one would give her shit.

  But she didn’t want to go to Mexico. She wanted to go back to Los Angeles. But now she couldn’t. Now she had to go to Mexico and listen to her dad and his stupid mistress Portia go at it day and night because they were horny dweebs. And she didn’t like Mexico. She liked California. Or Texas. Or Washington. Or anywhere else in the United States where there was fun and money and people to give both to her. Where people had the money to buy the drugs that her family brought in.

  Used to bring in, she reminded herself.

  She liked life a lot better when she could do anything she wanted.

  How dare those cops come in and kill Donny. She’d liked him. He worshipped her. She remembered how Joseph had worshipped Nicole. Of course, Joseph was a lot smarter and meaner than Donny, but Elise would rather have a cute dumb guy do her bidding than a smart ugly guy.

  One of her phones rang. It took her a second to fish it out—she had three burn phones. One she should probably toss because it was how Clara and Donny called her. That wasn’t ringing; she threw it out the window.

  It was the pink phone and she smiled. Daddy!

  He wasn’t going to be happy … but she didn’t have to tell him everything. Yet.

  “Hi, Daddy!” She sounded as cheerful as she could be.

  “It’s Travis.”

  “Oh.”

  Travis was okay. He’d been around a long time.

  “I just texted you our location. This job has gone south real quick. Jimmy was supposed to meet us two hours ago.”

  “What happened? Where is he?”

  “He went for a meeting with this guy named Colton and his partner, the moneybags. He didn’t come back and I can’t reach him on his phone.”

  “What about getting paid?”

  “Don’t know.”

  She looked at the text message. “Where’s Montgomery?”

  “Texas.”

  “No shit, how far from San Antonio?” She was nearly to Austin.

  “Couple hours. Maybe three.”

  “See you in three—”

  “Be careful here, this guy has fucking armed soldiers patrolling and I’m getting a real bad vibe.”

  “I’m always careful, sugar.”

  She ended the call. She wasn’t concerned about any of that. She would assess the situation and could play any part she needed. Seductive slut, or sweet innocent schoolgirl. She’d know exactly what to do when she met Mr. Moneybags himself.

  She typed the address into her GPS. Two hours, thirty-one minutes.

  She started cruising, then saw a sign for food. She was starving.

  Everyone could just chill. She needed to eat, she needed to sleep, and then she’d decide whether to go rescue her dad … or maybe just drive down to Mexico, kill the bitch who was screwing her father, and relax by the pool until her daddy got there. She could just say she didn’t know where Portia was, she wasn’t here when she arrived, act all innocent and whatnot.

  Her dad was usually good at getting out of his own messes.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  EBANO, MEXICO

  EARLY SUNDAY MORNING

  Kane and Jack waited until Dyson arrived at the safe house and then he and Ranger escorted Peter Blair to the border. Jack couldn’t wait to get him into the system, and hopefully they’d lose him somewhere in a maximum security facility. He had no guilt that Kane had lied to Blair about letting him go. They had at least enough evidence for the feds to make a run at him, and if they failed to make the case, Kane would follow through on the whisper campaign to discredit him.

  As soon as they left, Kane and Jack headed to Ebano. They didn’t trust Blair, not 100 percent, but they had confirmed through another source that Portia Ortiz owned a club in the small tourist area. Ebano wasn’t even a town—it was a community across the lake from Santiago. Hotels, resorts, restaurants, a few estates. She lived in a spread in the hills with a view of the lake. They couldn’t easily get the property records, but assumed that Hunt owned it under a shell corp or a fake identity.

  The Santiago area, southeast of Monterrey, was relatively safe compared to other areas of Mexico. They prided themselves on their tourist trade, so it benefited them to keep crime low through an active law enforcement presence. That presence might hinder them from grabbing Hunt when he arrived. Jack wanted to do this quick and efficiently.

  They watched the house for an hour early that morning, before the sun came up. No movement, but that wasn’t surprising. According to Kane’s contact, Portia Ortiz worked at the club every night. She was well-liked and had grown the business over the last two years.

  Interesting, Jack thought. Two years ago was when Hunt had been extradited to the U.S. He’d been located in Sayulita, close to Puerto Vallarta, living quite well while in hiding.

  They didn’t have the time to run a full background on Ortiz, but they learned enough—including the fact that she’d been a waitress in Sayulita up until two years ago and was currently thirty-one years of age. So Hunt gave her what? Money? Contacts? Had she moved here on her own … or had Hunt set her up? How loyal was she?

  “I have an idea,” Jack said. “What if we can gain her cooperation?”

  “What incentive?”

  “Hunt is more than twenty years her senior. What if she hooked up with him to get out of a crappy life? She’s been on her own for two years, living well, enjoying her club and her freedom. Let’s approach this differently.”

 
“Or she could play along and shoot us in the back.”

  “I’ll do the talking, you listen.”

  “Don’t get dead.”

  “Not today.”

  They approached the property. There were no external cameras, but the house had a security system. If she called the police, they were screwed—though they could probably disappear faster than the cops could arrive. It was a risk, but between what they’d learned of her past and from their local contact, Jack thought this was the right approach.

  It was early in the morning—six o’clock now, the sun just starting to creep up on the horizon. He left Kane in a closer hiding spot, hid his own weapon, and rang the bell.

  Several minutes later, a sleepy female voice said through a speaker in the door, “It’s the middle of the night! You think I’m stupid enough to open this door to a strange man?”

  “Ms. Ortiz, my name is Jack Kincaid, and I have a proposition for you.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “I’m friends with Raul Gomez.”

  Gomez was Kane’s contact. He owned a resort and was one of the wealthiest people in town. Plus, his brother was a priest at the local church and between the two of them, they did what they could to keep the cartels out of the area.

  “You have thirty seconds. I’m not opening the door. I have a gun.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Your friend Jimmy Hunt has claimed that this is his safe house. He hired a man by the name of Peter Blair to kidnap my partner and bring him here, and Jimmy is supposed to arrive later today. He broke out of prison, so we have every reason to believe he’s telling the truth. Blair failed in his mission and is currently in the custody of U.S. Border Control and will be turned over to the proper authorities.”

  “What’s all this to me?”

  “The question to you is this: do you want this house and your club all to yourself, or do you want Jimmy Hunt to share in the fruits of your labor? Because we can take him off your hands the easy way or the hard way. Easy? You help us, we don’t care how you got this house or the club. Hard? We take him anyway when he arrives, and notify the authorities that his illegally gotten gains bought this place and your club, in an effort to hide his money from the U.S. government.”

  There was a long pause and for a moment Jack thought she might be calling the police. Then two locks clicked, and the door opened. Portia Ortiz was a stunningly beautiful woman.

  She smiled. “I always like to do things the easy way. I have one request.”

  “Of course.”

  “You take Jimmy, you take his insane daughter, too.”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Kane and Jack were having coffee in Portia’s kitchen. She put out fruit and pastries as well.

  “You don’t have to feed us,” Jack said.

  “Nonsense,” Kane said. “I’m starving.”

  Portia laughed. “I don’t work Sundays; it is my day to sleep. But this is more interesting.”

  “When was the last time you talked to Jimmy?”

  “He sent me a message yesterday. After he escaped. I know he’s still in Texas, said he had to be paid the rest of his money, then he would be down later today.” She sat down and poured herself fresh-squeezed orange juice. “I do not know why Jimmy has not returned my message. He always does.”

  Jack had asked her to send him a message—something that wouldn’t arouse his suspicion.

  “Will this put you in a difficult situation?”

  “No. Jimmy is a … what do you say, a buffoon. I would have left him, but he had his moments. And he was very generous.” She smiled slightly. “So, he liked sex a lot, who doesn’t? With sex came…” She waved her hands to indicate the house. A house that was spacious and well-appointed. “When he was arrested, he told me he’d bought this place, gave me the codes and banking information. I never expected him to get out of prison—I knew he had done many crimes. I helped myself to some of his money, bought my club—it is my club, not Jimmy’s—and it is doing very well. He doesn’t need to know that I don’t need him, it’s better this way.”

  Sly woman.

  “I don’t know why he doesn’t respond. He said he would send a message when he was leaving. He is very particular about these things.”

  Kane asked, “Do you know who helped him escape? He had to have someone funding him, unless he had a stockpile of money that wasn’t seized by the U.S. government.”

  “All his money is here, with me. And it is small compared to what he had before. But I don’t need much.”

  “So you don’t know who helped him?

  “Oh, yes, of course I do. Jimmy, he likes to talk, but he can’t tell his daughter anything. She has no, what do you say, control. He only has me. He says he loves me, but he said he loved me when he still had a wife. It’s the way he is. Last year he was approached by someone who works for a very important man, a senator.”

  “A United States senator?” Jack said.

  “Sí. He asked for a favor, Jimmy says yes, asks for a favor back. An advance, I believe. Money to help him get revenge.” She looked at Kane. “You killed his son.”

  Kane tensed next to Jack. “I did,” he said.

  “Thank you. Tobias was evil and stupid. I was fearful. I made sure I was never alone with him, the way he looked at me…” She shivered. “He hurt a lot of people.”

  Jack went back to the senator comment. “Do you know the senator’s name?”

  “No, I’m sorry. Jimmy only called him the senator. But his employee, the man who met with Jimmy in prison, his name is Colton. I never was told his last name.”

  “Colton Thayer?” Jack asked.

  “I do not know. He only called him Colton. He said he was, umm, a geek. I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but I assume unflattering.”

  Jack turned to Kane. “This is confirmation that Paxton is behind this.” Megan had told him of Lucy’s theory, but they had no evidence. “But how in the hell is Colton Thayer working for him?”

  “Colton was Sean’s best friend for years,” Kane said. “The question is, why would Colton work for Paxton against Sean?”

  Jack didn’t like what he was thinking. “Sean infiltrated Colton’s hacker group. The FBI investigation when he went undercover in New York.”

  “Why the hell aren’t both Thayer and Paxton in prison?”

  “Paxton cut a deal, and Thayer—I don’t know.”

  “We have to tell Rick,” Kane said. “Even if he knows, we have to make sure he understands the seriousness of this situation. Friendships like Sean and Colton’s are once in a lifetime—like falling in love. And when someone is betrayed, it can turn dark, real fast.”

  “Umm, Mr. Rogan? Mr. Kincaid?”

  They turned to Portia.

  “I have Colton’s numbers. Would you like them?”

  Chapter Fifty

  HOUSTON, TEXAS

  Lucy was losing her patience.

  The information Kane and Jack got from Hunt’s mistress was invaluable, but it didn’t tell them where Jonathan Paxton was right now. Rick Stockton was working on getting a warrant to trace Colton Thayer’s cell phones—Portia had three numbers for him. Lucy wanted to bypass all the rules because she feared for Sean’s life.

  At the same time, she didn’t want to break the rules in a criminal investigation where Thayer and Paxton might walk free on a technicality.

  Lucy didn’t want to believe everything Dillon had said last night, but after two hours of restless sleep, she woke knowing he was right. Jonathan had a twisted belief that she was his daughter—or should be his daughter. Jack reminded her that Jonathan had called her his daughter when she and Sean were missing in New York. He’d called her Monique to her face on more than one occasion. She’d cut him out of her life three years ago … what had that done to him? Did it twist him further? Allow him to create a fantasy world?

  He was a brilliant man on many levels. Smart, shrewd, educated. He’d been a powerful senator and politician. He had men and wome
n at his beck and call, available to do his bidding. To take the fall for his crimes. To kill for him, like Michael Thompson.

  Did Colton hate Sean so much that he was willing to kill him? They had been best friends … was it a case where love turned to hate? Where respect turned to contempt?

  Sean only told Lucy that his visit with Colton after the shit hit the fan in New York hadn’t gone well.

  “I betrayed him, Lucy. I lied to him. It was the only way to catch Paxton … but he had been my closest friend for so long. My only real friend after everything that happened at Stanford. And he’ll never understand why.”

  Colton must have no idea that it was Sean who kept him out of prison. He pleaded with Rick Stockton not to send him away, and Rick agreed to probation.

  She’d hoped that at some point, Sean could try again with Colton, but when she mentioned it Sean said it was impossible. So she dropped it, then they moved to San Antonio and never talked about it again.

  A loud knock on the hotel door made her jump. She walked into the living area but Patrick was already answering the door, his gun in hand.

  It was John Banner. He held up his badge to Patrick. “Are you Patrick Kincaid?”

  “Yes.”

  “What the hell are you doing interfering with my investigation?”

  “What investigation?”

  Banner tried to step inside, but Patrick blocked him.

  “Can I come in?”

  “No.”

  “You’re obstructing justice.”

  “Arrest me.”

  “Are you all this way?”

  “All who?”

  “Fuck! You talked to one of my witnesses yesterday. You’re interfering with my investigation.”

  “You closed the investigation. You arrested Sean and didn’t follow up with the witness. That’s on you.”

  “He came down to the station yesterday because you talked to him. He said he was afraid we’d tried to talk to him but couldn’t find him on campus and he wanted to do the right thing. Did you pay him off?”

  “You can go.”

  “I’m serious! Because all of the sudden there’s another suspect? He saw someone coming from Hill’s apartment?”