Diego found himself pacing his father’s office, an agitated habit he’d begun as a young boy.
“This is not about Carmen. We have an issue requiring your attention.” Reaching into the inside pocket of his inordinately expensive suit, he drew out an envelope. “You must read this. I will destroy it afterward.”
“Sit down, Diego. You’re making me edgy.” A wary look passed between them as Armando took the missive. Reading it with his usual speed, he looked up, a slow, angry burn rising within him. “How did you get this information?”
“We monitor all the correspondence of our associates.” Diego used the same derisive tone when he spoke of any of their American associates. He wished his father would cut all ties with them, knowing it was impossible.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like Americans. He’d made good friends with several while attending Stanford for his MBA. The people from the United States his father associated with were a different breed, untrustworthy and careless.
“Emails, texts, phone calls. Ellison is playing us and getting reckless. Did you read the transcript from the phone call last night?”
Armando gave Diego an impatient grunt. “Victor is making stupid decisions.”
“Taking a child from a school playground is more than stupid. It’s suicidal. We have a process for our business, Father. Ignoring it for his own personal reasons is not acceptable.”
Pushing up, Armando walked to the door, opening it to see his two bodyguards positioned a few feet away.
“Do not let anyone enter until Diego leaves.”
The taller of the two nodded. “Sí, Señior Quintero.”
Closing the door, Armando chuckled. All the men who protected him spoke flawless English, which he required inside his spacious mansion. None of the household staff did, providing another layer of security if one of his men slipped. He walked back to his desk, leaning against it while crossing his arms.
“What do you know about the child taken?”
“A boy of nine. The son of one of the Eternal Brethren.”
Armando’s somewhat calm disposition disappeared. “Whose son?”
“His name is Wrangler. The boy’s mother is Rebecca North. She was Ellison’s last woman. They parted suddenly. She moved from Phoenix, taking her son to Liberty Lake. Last night’s conversations between Ellison and Rawlins make it clear she’s disappeared.”
“The purpose for taking the boy?”
“We don’t know.”
“Your best guess, Diego.”
“The woman took something belonging to Ellison. He wants it back and is holding her son until she cooperates. I don’t care what she took. It is not a reason to take a child.”
“There is never a reason to take a child from his mama,” Armando ground out, returning to his chair.
Neither realized the ridiculous turn of their conversation. They funneled homeless and runaway children through the cartel for transport to Asia, making huge profits without a care for the grieving families.
“Where is Ellison holding the child?” Armando asked.
“Outside of Nogales. I do not have the exact location. Perhaps an empty building.”
“Nogales…” Armando repeated. One of the border cities where the Quintero Cartel held people before moving them across the border. “One of our buildings?”
“No. Our men checked this morning. Ellison has the boy hidden somewhere else.”
Drumming fingers on his desk, Armando stared down at the paper. Picking it up, he tore the paper down the middle, repeating the process until dropping the tiny pieces into the shredder to finish the job.
“You will find the boy and return him to his father.”
“And Ellison?”
“His usefulness seems to have run out.”
Diego’s lips twitched, but he didn’t allow them to develop into a smile. “Understood. I’m flying to Nogales on another matter. I’ll see to it personally.” Striding to the door, he stopped at his father’s voice.
“How is our…friend?”
Turning to face Armando, Diego took a few steps closer. “Has Juliana asked about him?”
“No. She never mentions him.”
“Then why the curiosity after all this time, Father? The man betrayed her and tried to put us in jail. You made the decision not to seek retribution for his actions.”
“Which you agreed to, Diego.”
“A rare case of bad judgment on my part.”
“He fooled all of us. The two of you had become as close as brothers during the time he and Juliana were together.”
“We should’ve eliminated him for what he did, Father.”
Armando steepled his fingers below his chin, closing his eyes. A moment later, he pinned Diego with a narrowed gaze. “Find out where he is, Diego. I want to know everything there is to know about Nathan Kincaid since he left the Navy.”
Liberty Lake
Wrangler finished dressing in his fatigues, black t-shirt, and boots, fitting a backward ball cap over his head. The remainder of his tactical gear was already stowed in his assault pack inside one of two vans.
It had taken three hours to hear back from Ethan’s DEA contact in Rio Rico. He’d discovered the backpack in the passenger seat of a locked van in the parking lot of an abandoned building.
At one time, it was an exclusive hotel with three stories. The bottom floor had been built partway below ground, the other two above. The agent found no sign of Jamie, or anyone else, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t hidden somewhere inside the building.
Wrath had planned to go on the mission until Grayson ordered him to stay behind. He was needed as the liaison to the admiral. A flimsy argument, but an order he couldn’t ignore.
Reluctantly, Wrath had split them into two teams. Ghost would lead one, Rock the second. Wrangler would be under Rock’s command. He hadn’t cared which team, as long as Wrath allowed him to go.
It would take six hours to reach their destination to a spot the agent suggested north of Nogales. A secure staging ground on private property was what the agent had told Ethan. After some discreet inquiries, Grayson and Wrath approved the meeting place.
At ten minutes before departure, Wrangler headed down the hall to Becca’s bedroom. He’d seen her and Cara coming out of the den an hour after the men had begun planning the mission. She hadn’t said a word to him before going to her room and shutting the door.
A little after midnight, he’d checked on her, finding Becca staring out the sliding glass doors. She’d been distant, withdrawn in a way he hadn’t seen since coming back into his life. When he’d walked to her, she’d shied away, ignoring his attempt to draw her into his arms. Accepting her need for privacy, he’d left her alone.
He no longer could. Knocking, he turned the knob, not surprised to find it unlocked. Stepping inside, he saw her lying on top of the covers.
“Are you awake, Bec?”
She rolled over and sat up, an expectant look on her face. “Did you find him?”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he swiped a strand of hair from her face. “Not yet, sweetheart. We have an idea where he was taken.”
Jumping off the bed, she grabbed her purse. “When do we leave?”
“You can’t go with us, Bec.”
“Of course I can, Quinn. Jamie’s my son and I want to be with you when he’s found.” She tried to step around him, stopping when he gripped her arm.
“You have to stay here. Cara went home to get her computer and clothes. She’ll be back before the teams leave. Plus, Dani will be here in a couple hours to stay with you.”
“No!” She tried and failed to pull from his grasp. “I don’t need babysitters, Quinn. I need our son.”
“Bec, listen to me. We have two trained teams. Men who’ve been through hostage rescues dozens of times.”
“I won’t interrupt your work.”
“We don’t know what we’re heading into, other than it will be dangerous. I can’t divide my time between finding
Jamie and protecting you, Bec.”
“I’ll follow in your truck.”
“Not happening.” He grabbed both shoulders, turning her to face him. “Listen to me. Cara and Dani know how to work the radios and security system. Four of our men are staying behind to make sure you’re all safe. I need to know you’re in a secure location, Bec. They’ve taken my son and attacked you. I won’t put you in any more danger. It simply isn’t going to happen. Can you understand that?”
Shoulders slumping, she closed her eyes, doing all she could to ease the thunderstorm of emotions. Becca seldom overreacted, not allowing herself to succumb to the drama so many of her girlfriends exhibited in moments of stress. She was ruled by logic and reason. And damn if what Wrangler said didn’t make sense.
Wrapping her hands around his arms, her nails bit into his skin. “Promise me you’ll stay in touch? Keep me informed about what’s going on and when you find Jamie?”
He stared down into eyes filled with hope and so much love it physically hurt. “I’ll do what I can.”
Digging her nails deeper, her eyes pleaded with him. “Promise me, Quinn.”
He didn’t feel the pain of her breaking his skin. The only pain he felt was in his heart. “I’ll let you know when we find him, Bec. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but that’s all I can promise.”
Becca recalled Cara’s words about finding a way to accept what he could and couldn’t tell her. If impossible, she’d advised her to walk away.
She dropped her hands from his arms and stepped away. “All right.”
Leaning down, he kissed her, continuing even when she didn’t respond at first. Wrapping his arms around her, he let his tongue trace over her full lips before she opened, allowing him inside. Feeling her arms circle his neck, he crushed her against him before lifting his head.
“I love you, Becca. Don’t ever forget that.” Stepping away, he turned toward the door when her words stopped him.
“I love you, too, Quinn. I’ll be waiting for you and Jamie to come home.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Private Airstrip
Outside Rio Rico, Arizona
Before noon, the teams piled out of the two vans, each member scanning the area, becoming familiar with their surroundings. They didn’t know the full extent of Ellison’s reach beyond Phoenix, or how much he knew about the Eternal Brethren, but they wouldn’t take chances.
Grayson’s intel couldn’t confirm with certainty, but he believed Victor lumped them into the same category as the Night Devils and Demons Blood. An outlaw motorcycle gang, nothing more.
The admiral had found no evidence he’d tried digging deeper, which was good news. Nevertheless, Wrath refused to let his teams rely on unconfirmed data, cautioning his men to proceed as if Ellison expected the Brethren to come after him. As for his reach, Grayson had worked through the Secretary of the Navy, FBI Director, and their contacts to learn a DEA agent had been inserted into Grupo Quintero over a year earlier.
Since then, he’d worked his way up until being assigned as one of Diego’s bodyguards. The eldest son held an executive position in Grupo Quintero. Over time, the agent learned most of Diego’s work concerned the cartel.
Although within feet of him almost twenty-four/seven, the agent hadn’t been able to gather enough evidence to attain an arrest warrant during one of Diego’s many trips to the United States. In an attempt to build an unshakable case against the Quintero family, each new bit of intel provided had been met with requests for more.
What the agent had been able to provide was a confirmed connection between the cartel, Night Devils, and Victor Ellison.
Ignoring misgivings from both his brothers, Ethan had insisted on being included. He knew the agent and had become familiar with the area during a short stint as a deputy sheriff in Santa Cruz County.
Neither Wrath nor Wrangler had been able to come up with a good reason why he should stay behind, other than fear for his safety. All Ethan had to do was roll up a sleeve to display his ink as a member of Special Forces. Well, former member, but no one quibbled about semantics. The same as Marines and SEALs, once Special Forces, always Special Forces.
“Ethan McCord.” A well-built man of medium height jogged up to him, extending his hand.
Gripping his hand, Ethan pulled him into a hug. “Colt Adams. How the hell are you?”
“Can’t complain. More work than any three men could handle, but it’s a paycheck.”
Facing the others, Ethan made quick introductions before Colt led them toward one of two Quonset huts. Once inside, the mood shifted, everyone focused on finding Jamie.
“Have you learned anything more, Colt?”
“Nothing. I called in a couple favors. There’s been a stakeout on the building and van since last night. No one entered or left. Checked the meters to confirm the utilities weren’t being used.” Colt looked around the group. “They aren’t.”
“What does your gut tell you, Colt?” Ghost asked.
“The van with the boy’s backpack is still onsite, which doesn’t make sense.”
“It means the kidnappers are careless, inept, or are still around,” Wrangler said.
Colt nodded. “A lot of abandoned buildings have squatters living inside. They know how to establish a makeshift home without alerting the authorities. I’ve seen as many as fifteen people living in a couple small rooms of an uninhabited building. They’d been there a year without detection. My advice is to move forward as planned.”
Jamie sat with his back against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest, the pressure holding the banner he’d created in place. Help, painted in red on the old blanket, hadn’t alerted anyone of his presence. At least not yet.
He’d been concerned one of the men would hear him breaking the glass to create the opening. No one had appeared.
After a full day of sitting in one position, his entire body cramped and butt ached. When Jamie woke that morning, a bag of food had been left inside the room. Inside, he’d found a bottle of orange juice, cold biscuits filled with rubbery eggs, and a chocolate chip cookie. Not once had he seen the men who’d brought him there. The meager amount of food the only evidence he wasn’t alone.
Stretching out his legs, Jamie told himself Wrangler would come, or someone would see the banner and call the authorities. He’d been telling himself the same for hours.
Jamie had thought of using the blanket as a way to drop to the ground below. If he’d found a way to anchor it, he would’ve taken the chance. The wooden bedframe had been secured to the wall and floor, leaving the mattress and box spring as the two possibilities. Moving them off the frame wouldn’t provide the height needed to secure the blanket so enough material would show outside the room. That left him as the anchor.
Shifting so as not to drop the banner outside, he saw the change in light signaling the sun setting. He’d wait until it disappeared over the horizon before pulling the blanket inside and hiding it in the bathroom cupboard.
Tomorrow, he’d start again. Someone was bound to see it. Jamie was certain of it.
“Comm unit check,” Ghost called. After everyone responded, both teams synchronized the time, the last item on their checklist before rolling out.
They used one van for transport. A magnetic sign had been placed on both sides identifying them as employees of Commercial Maintenance out of Tucson. If anyone called the number, they’d reach Raider, who’d take their information, promising someone would call them back. A total lie.
“Five minutes, gentlemen.” Rock nudged Wrangler, who sat beside him. “You’re certain about going into the building with us? You can stay inside the van, let us look for Jamie.”
Wrangler understood why Rock asked. How would he react if they found Jamie injured? Or dead?
Steeling his resolve, he gave a terse nod. “I’m going in with the team.”
The answer must have satisfied Rock because he looked at Ghost, giving an almost imperceptible lift of his chin.
“Et
han’s with you, Wrangler,” Rock said.
“Roger that.” A quick glance at Ethan confirmed his brother had moved into combat mode, features neutral, breathing slow and controlled. Each man went through their own ritual, clearing their minds to focus on one goal. A successful mission.
Fargo slowed the van as he turned onto a side road and approached the building. They saw no lights or signs of activity. Easing into the parking lot, Fargo drove around to park in the shadows of a hill twenty yards from the back of the building. They’d been blessed with a new moon, providing them with almost total darkness.
Gunner and Tracker slipped outside, crouching low as silent steps took them to the back of the building. Doors to the inside were spaced approximately fifty feet apart. They’d breach the building in both spots, each team taking an entrance.
Moses and Fargo had slipped out behind them, each heading to a different corner. After a moment, both used the comm unit to report finding no activity.
Ghost touched a finger to his earpiece, repeating what the men already knew. “Team A, you’re out the back door with me. Team B, you’re out the side door with Rock. On my go. Three, two, one. Go. Go. Go.”
Repeating movements they’d done a hundred times on missions or in practice, Ghost led his team toward Gunner while Rock and his men ran to join Tracker.
“Stack behind me,” Ghost ordered an instant before Rock gave the same order to Team B.
The men stood behind each other, plastering themselves against the back wall, Colt M4 carbines ready, each fitted with a suppressor.
“Moses and Fargo, report your status,” Ghost said.
“Still clear,” Moses replied, Fargo following a second later with the same.
“Breacher is ready, Ghost,” Rock said into his comm unit.
“Roger that. Tracker and Gunner. On my count. Three, two, one.”
No sooner had the words gone over their comm units than the two breachers used mechanical battering rams and small, lightweight sledgehammers to gain entry. The rams were louder than preferred, but were chosen over charges with a flash that could attract more attention.
Untamed Page 19
