Guiding Kinley (NCIS Series Book 3)

by Zoe Dawson

  He headed to his room and undid the clasp of the garment bag and hung it in the closet. The suits would identify them immediately as cops. He decided it was best to go casual; he had already loosened his tie, undoing the top button. As this was a tropical island, his heavier weight suits weren’t cutting it.

  He took off his suit jacket and shrugged out of the shoulder holster. Setting it on the bed, he pulled the tie completely off and unbuttoned his sweat-soaked shirt. He went into the bathroom and washed his face and the back of his neck, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes. He needed a haircut. Chris was going to get on his ass when he got back to DC.

  He tried not to examine the unsettling feeling that continued to plague him. He had every intention of getting the details out Kinley. It had nothing to do with him being jealous. He just wanted Kinley to be forthcoming, so he wasn’t caught off-guard in this situation. It was about the information, not about his feelings in the matter. He didn’t like going into situations blindly. Collecting data was second nature to him. Knowledge was power. That’s all it was.

  He ran a towel over his hair and smoothed it with his fingers. Heading back into the room, he rummaged around in his garment bag and came up with a blue T-shirt that went with the gray suit he was wearing. Pulling it over his head, he resituated the holster and slipped back into the jacket. A little Miami Vice, but it would do until he could get something more appropriate.

  Exiting the room, he found Kinley just coming out of hers. She was dressed in the same outfit as before, but he noticed that she kept her weapon in a holster in the small of her back.

  When he came abreast of her, her delicate scent ambushed him. Feeling proprietary, he wanted to slide his hand down to the small of her back and usher her into the elevator.

  But he was out to prove that he could resist her and stay completely professional in public, even though that wasn’t what he wanted in private.

  Back in the lobby, Daniel and his partner waited. They rose when they stepped out of the elevator.

  “We can drive,” Daniel said.

  As soon as Kinley moved forward, Daniel cut Beau off by stepping into his path. When they reached the car, Daniel opened the front door for her.

  Beau seethed, not understanding why this guy was getting to him. Beau didn’t chase women. He didn’t worry about who else they might be involved with. He and Ken were relegated to the backseat as Kinley took shotgun.

  Pulling out into traffic, Daniel struck up a conversation with Kinley in low tones. Beau could barely hear them.

  Ken said, “Is that an accent I detect? Cajun?”

  “Mais yeah. I’m from Louisiana.”

  You were a Navy SEAL, right?”

  He turned to him, surprised. “You know me?”

  “You gave us support, oh, about three years ago. Colombia. Pulled three agents out of a Colombian stronghold. Hair was a bit less pretty boy and you were in full body armor, but I’m pretty sure it was you.”

  “I don’t normally talk about missions,” Beau said. Classified meant classified in his book.

  “Yeah, I hear that. But since we were both there and one of the guys you pulled out of there was me, I guess I can finally say thanks.”

  Beau nodded and met Kinley’s eyes as she turned to look at him.

  “I saw you take down three guys. All without any of them knowing you were even there. Man, never saw anything like it. Right in the open, as confident and as slick as hell. Knew it was SEALs the minute the first guy dropped. Knew my ass was getting rescued.”

  Beau didn’t say anything. He met Daniel’s sourpuss face in the mirror, as Kinley’s focus was now totally on the conversation in the backseat.

  “I remember that mission,” Beau said, bending his rule just a little to get Daniel’s goat. “In and out in one minute forty-five. Black Hawk standing by and you guys were out of there. No casualties. It was a win.”

  “Yeah, except for the cartel. Heard you guys took down Jose later on.”

  Beau searched his memory, then it came to him. Tall, dark, Colombian Jose Carberra spraying machine-gun fire out into an open lawn where he thought Beau and his team were hidden. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t check behind him. By the time he was alerted, they had already scaled over the wall and breached the compound.

  “Heard Jose wasn’t in the surrendering mood. Can’t say I felt too bad about that. Bastard tortured me and killed my partner outright. Guess I can thank you for that, too.”

  “Doing my job.”

  “Like hell. I’m sure that’s your canned response. I’m here today because of you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Daniel slowed down for a quaint, white horse-drawn carriage. Beau was used to those as they traversed the city streets of the French Quarter in New Orleans, where he’d been sent fresh from NCIS training.

  As pink and light blue colonial-style buildings and architecture flew by, Ken said, “So you gave up the teams for a NCIS badge.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What do you remember most about Hell Week?”

  This guy was a SEAL lover, one who enjoyed meeting and talking to SEALs. He understood why. He’d been saved by Beau’s team. “Sand,” he said.

  “Sand?”

  “Yeah. We ran everywhere, tired, wet and cold. There was sand in my shoes, crotch and ears, even between my buttocks. That junk itches, especially when you’re constantly wet from sea water. They didn’t let us sleep. When we were allowed to lie down, a few short minutes later the instructors ran in beating trash-can lids with clubs, blowing whistles, throwing M-80s—cherry-bomb-size explosives.”

  “DEA training is a bit less intensive,” he said with a chuckle.

  “We found pure coke on the hijacked cutter,” Kinley said after a few moments of silence.

  “That cocaine could be part of a big shipment we heard got transported out of Cuba headed for the Bahamas,” Ken said.

  “How much of a threat is Cuba in drug trafficking?” Beau asked.

  “Mexican drug traffickers’ control much of the movement of drugs. So, they are the go-to guys,” Ken said.

  “Maybe this was a smaller operation, a way to bypass the Mexicans? Keep the profits to themselves?” Daniel said.

  “It’s possible,” Ken replied.

  “This seems too involved and elaborate for a drug run to me,” Kinley said. “There is a definite presence of drugs on the cutter, but at this point we don’t know how much. What I don’t get is why the whole hijacking and CG impersonation bit. Most drug runners just launch go-fast boats and try to outrun us. This was a staged and deliberate subterfuge. I say something else is at work here.”

  “You always did have a unique perspective in looking at situations, Kinley,” Daniel said.

  Kinley stiffened at the regret in Daniel’s tone, and Beau found himself jealous all over again with the way Daniel seemed to be trying to make amends for something from their past.

  They pulled up to a pink rectangular building with what looked like a hand-lettered sign saying “McKenzie’s.”

  “Are the reports of the Cubans cracking down on drugs exaggerated?” Kinley asked.

  Ken responded as Daniel parked. “Even with the indication that drugs are being stamped out in Cuba, we’re not buying it. A number of major drug trafficking figures from Colombia, Mexico and Peru were reported to be holding meetings or living in Cuba. Given the repressive nature of the society, it is unlikely that these visits went unnoticed or were unapproved by the Cuban government.”

  “It’s more a pipeline, then,” Beau said.

  “Correct, with the exception of the Las Espadas Cruzadas Cartel. We estimate two tons of cocaine per year was flowing through Cuba to other destinations. That’s what pissed Jose off three years ago when we seized a shipment of more than ten tons of cocaine in Cartagena, Colombia, just days before it left for Cuba. From Cuba, the cargo was supposed to be re-shipped to Spain. Large shipments like this are never made without the ‘pipeline�
� already having been tested. The company shipping this cocaine had previously made four other container shipments to Cuba that went on to Spain.”

  As they exited the car, Ken said, “This is a great place to eat. One of our favorites, right Wescott?”

  “Yeah, it’s great.” Daniel replied. “Conch is a Bahamian staple, brought in fresh each day and really good. You should try the conch salad made with mangos and pineapple. Totally different taste for seafood.”

  They entered the stall-like building with four columns painted the same pink as that stomach relief medicine. As they entered, he could see the harbor and the long span of the bridge over to Paradise Island.

  They ordered from a young girl with Beau getting the salad. He didn’t want to be jealous, tried to keep himself neutral, but he just didn’t like the way Daniel crowded Kinley. He wanted to shove the guy away from her.

  When they each got their dishes and headed for the table, Beau inserted himself by pretending to bump Daniel. “Sorry about that, buddy.” But it put him in the perfect position to sit next to her. Since it was a booth-like set up with a narrow wooden table between them, Daniel and Ken had to sit across from them. Daniel wasn’t happy about the arrangement. Too bad.

  “So, we tracked down Umprey Thompson’s widow. She lives here. The Defense Force is willing to back off until you have a crack at her. She hasn’t been told about her husband,” Ken said.

  The subject of Paradise Island came up and Ken launched into all the fun stuff to do there. Once the meal was over and they headed back to the car, Beau pulled up a picture on his phone.

  “Was this guy on your radar?” he asked as he settled in the back seat. Kinley got in next to him.

  “Yeah, we know him. Dudley Martin. American. He’s a two-bit drug-dealing scum,” Ken said with a frown. “Bad news if he’s involved.”

  “Local authorities have been searching for him to question him. We’ve been looking for him, too. He looks dead,” Daniel said.

  “He is. We found him on that drifting cutter,” Beau said.

  Ken shook his head. “Predatory bastard. He probably lured those poor tourists with a lot of cash to pose as CG. Too bad your petty officer wasn’t savvier in port.”

  Beau nodded and growled, “He was just a kid, looking to hook his parents up for their anniversary with a trip to Paris.”

  “Ah, that’s tough. Glad the bastard’s dead,” Ken said.

  Daniel pulled into traffic and said, “Looks like Dudley’s lifestyle finally did him in. A lot of palms were greased to keep him out of lockup. He was the front guy for the Las Espadas Cruzadas Cartel. In English, that’s—”

  “The Crossed Swords,” Beau said.

  Daniel nodded. “They operate out of Cuba and are connected with Kaamil ‘The Assassin’ el Ajeer.”

  Beau sat up straighter. He’d been on that hunt when he was still on the teams, but they’d never found him. “The leader of Sons of the Republic. The CIA has been trying to take that bastard down for some time. Elusive as all get out.

  “Yeah, and he loves the Caribbean.”

  “Sure. The white sand beaches, the turquoise water and tons of coke.” Beau nodded.

  “It has long been a paradise for smugglers who take advantage of the many islands, crowded waters and weak law enforcement.

  “That is a fact and why we formed Operation Bahamas, Turks, and Caicos. We estimate that as much as twenty percent of the cocaine that reaches the United States moves through the Caribbean, although that figure has varied over time.”

  “Do you have Mrs. Thompson’s address?”

  “Sure. Ken?” Daniel asked.

  Ken pulled out a notebook and ripped off a piece of paper. “Here you go.”

  Beau accepted the paper and tucked it into his suit jacket.

  “So, any insights on what Martin might be doing on that cutter?

  “Martin is a known associate of a fugitive we’re currently seeking. That’s why we want to talk to him.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Diego Montoya. He’s the logistics guy for the Las Espadas. He was supposed to testify for us but pulled a fast one and disappeared. We believe Martin was involved in helping him to escape.”

  “Montoya and Martin were tight?”

  “Very. Diego trusted him with his life. Spent some time together in lockup. It’s rumored that Martin protected him on the inside and he was re-paid in kind.”

  “Let Kinley and I check out Mrs. Thompson and see what she knows.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Daniel agreed.

  Thirty minutes later Beau and Kinley pulled up to a faded mint green house that looked recently repaired and restored. At the door, they knocked, and a woman answered dressed in a simple white dress and a colorful scarf used as a belt around her waist. With her cloud of dark, kinky hair, her light, amber eyes and dark skin, she was quite striking. A little girl with the same color eyes hung on her skirts dressed in a light blue shirt and khaki shorts. When the woman saw them, her face went blank and impassive. “Can I help you?” she asked, the soft, husky tone of her voice wary, apprehension in every line of her body.

  Beau showed her his badge and Kinley followed suit. “We’re from NCIS and CGIS.”

  “CG? As in Coast Guard?”

  Kinley nodded.

  Mrs. Thompson’s eyes started to fill with tears. “Umprey is dead, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry, but he is,” Kinley said softly.

  Mrs. Thompson backed up and tears spilled from her eyes. She called, “Momma!” A woman bustled out of the kitchen and Mrs. Thompson picked up the small girl and spoke rapidly. “Please take her to the park.”

  The mother eyed them, her lips thinning as she gave them a hostile look. Apparently, Americans were not much welcome in this house.

  “Please.” She swallowed hard. “Come in.”

  They sat in a small sitting room and Mrs. Thompson grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and blotted her eyes. “How?” she asked, her voice clogged with tears.

  “He was found on the cutter he was transporting back to the Bahamas.”

  “I knew this was a bad idea. That weaselly white man was nothing but trouble.”

  “Is this the man?”

  She looked at his phone with a look of disgust on his face. “He is the one. He looks dead. Tell me he is dead.”

  “He is.”

  Her face contorted into anger and sorrow. “He double-crossed my husband then.”

  “Can you tell us what you know?”

  Mrs. Thompson looked out the window and shifted. “This is very dangerous for me and for my child. There have already been drug men here looking for the white man. They say that I should call them when my husband comes home.”

  “Do you know what drug men?”

  “Something with ‘Swords’ in the name, but I don’t know the full name. They each had a tattoo on their neck.” She pointed to the right side of her neck, just below her jaw. “Two crossed swords.”

  Beau nodded and leaned forward. “There were four Americans, one of them a Navy petty officer found on the ship. Do you know anything about them?”

  She closed her eyes and covered them. “I told him this would not end well. What they forced him to do. They threatened us and left him no choice.”

  “What did he agree to?”

  “That white man, Martin, he was to recruit four men to pose as Coast Guard to trick anyone who might spy the ship. Offer them a lot of money. The uniforms were black market. I know because I got them for him. They forced me to.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “They were transporting someone into the country—”

  Suddenly gunfire cracked across the quiet street. Mrs. Thompson’s windows shattered. Beau dove forward and pulled his weapon.

  “Get down,” Kinley shouted, lunging for Mrs. Thompson and dragging her out of her seat with a fierce tug and pushing her face down into the floor. “Stay here,” Beau said.

  Kinley
pulled her weapon from the small of her back and nodded, pressing her hand into the middle of Mrs. Thompson’s back.

  Beau stayed low, heading to the back. As he reached the kitchen, two men with submachine guns came through the back door. He shot each twice in the forehead before they could even react. Bastards thought they would have an easy task, killing two defenseless women and a small child. Once outside, he listened and heard someone approaching. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his KA-BAR and flipped it open. As soon as another gun-toting goon came around the corner of the house, he caught him around the neck and with one slice silenced him. Letting the body drop, he made his way around the house just as two more men were going through the front door.

  “Kinley!” he shouted.

  Two more men materialized in the street and shot at him, and there was no way for him to get back into the house. He heard automatic gunfire, then return fire from a handgun. One just like his.

  He squeezed off a couple of rounds and dropped one of the guys. The other backed up, returning fire, but Beau was already behind cover.

  Staying low, he ran for the front door, his heart pumping. As he breached the front door, Kinley was obscured behind the couch. All he could see were her feet sticking out. His heart climbed into his throat.

  He rushed forward, calling her name in an agonized voice. As he rounded the couch, he stopped dead.

  Kinley was on all fours, her hands pressed against a huge bloodstain on Mrs. Thompson’s chest. The red was a grim contrast to the stark white dress. The woman’s eyes were open and staring up at the ceiling.

  She turned to look at him with a stricken look on her face. He could see she was trembling. The two men who had come into the house were lying on the floor not far from her. They’d never expected Kinley to take them out. Her weapon was in easy reach.

  Beau knelt down.

  “Call an ambulance,” Kinley said, concern thick in her voice.

  Beau felt for a pulse, but it was too late for Mrs. Thompson.

  “She’s dead,” Beau said.

  “No,” she said softly, looking shell-shocked. “Oh, no. Beau! The park! Her mother and daughter!”

  “On it.” After a fast run to the park, Beau found Mrs. Thompson’s mother and daughter safe.