He felt around. Everything he touched had a gooey, slick residue. His hand brushed against metal blinds. They would make a racket if he tried to remove them. Shit. He found the strings and prayed he could pull the blinds up without noise. He held the bottom with his left hand and slowly pulled at the string with his right. At first they didn’t budge, and he yanked firmly. They rattled and he winced, but he couldn’t stop now.
When the string locked, Sean felt the edge. The blinds were slanted, the right side all the way up, the left side still down because the string had broken. The window was a simple aluminum frame, and there was a safety bar to prevent the window from being opened.
He yanked it out, metal grating on metal, and if those bastards outside were listening at all, they would certainly hear that.
But now he had a weapon. It wouldn’t stop a bullet, but he could use it to fight.
He forced the window open, then heard one of the men shout, “Hey, quiet! I heard something.”
At least that’s what Sean thought the rapid Spanish meant.
As he climbed out the window, the entire sill crumbled under his weight. He tried to hold on and control his landing, but he fell hard on his ass. The metal blinds came crashing down.
Sean jumped up and ran as fast as he could across the field. The night was nearly black, no street lights out here, the moon was a tiny sliver high in the sky, and the stars gave the faintest of illumination, but it was better than nothing. His eyes were already adjusted to the dark, and it was amazing what the senses could do, especially when fear coursed through your veins. One of the trailers to the south had lights, but his captors would go there first, likely thinking that’s where he would seek help.
Instead, he ran, praying he didn’t step in a hole and break his ankle.
He had to find a phone and call in the cavalry.
Then they could search for Kane.
* * *
Kane had been tortured before. He’d been well trained, thank you to the United States Marine Corps, and he endured.
Didn’t mean he wasn’t in pain, but he separated his mind from his bruised body.
And honestly, Juarez’s men didn’t know how to torture anyone effectively. They beat on him, and he would pay for it later. His body was getting old and worn. But right now they were just bruises. Nothing was broken, though one of his molars was a goner—he’d spit it out.
They had quickly grown tired. These were Juarez’s men, but Juarez was the one with the grudge, not them. They did what they were told, but it was primarily to keep Kane here—too hurt and slow to mount an escape.
At least, in their minds.
What he was most concerned about was the call that Juarez placed to Siobhan earlier in the evening.
He had never known that Siobhan was in contact with Hestia. Had he, he would have put an end to it. It was foolish and emotional. And while he loved Siobhan for her compassion, that same compassion was going to get her killed.
How had Siobhan found her? Sonia Knight was the only person who knew who had adopted Hestia. Kane had introduced Sonia to Siobhan at Sean’s wedding, but in no world could Kane imagine that Sonia would tell Siobhan anything about Hestia.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Sonia hadn’t realized how serious the threat from Juarez was.
Don’t be ridiculous. Sonia more than anyone would have protected Hestia from her father, and that meant keeping well-meaning Siobhan away from her.
Dammit.
There was no way that anyone would bring Hestia into this situation, even if they could locate her. Yet . . . if Hestia were anything like Siobhan, if she knew that someone would die if she didn’t act, she would act.
He hoped that she couldn’t be found. They had risked everything to save her from the arranged marriage, a marriage that would likely have resulted in an early death, or at minimum sexual servitude in a criminal organization. If what Juarez told Siobhan on the phone was true, then by now Hestia was back home with her adopted family and Juarez hadn’t been able to find her—hence this plan to force Siobhan to talk.
Kane’s binds were too tight to slip off, and Juarez wouldn’t fall for a standard trick that might fool his minions.
Kane would have to keep his eyes and ears open—and think of an uncommon ploy. A way he could escape—trick Juarez—that he wouldn’t be expecting.
He wished Sean were here. His little brother could be annoying as hell, but he was the smartest guy Kane knew, and he always seemed to have a trick up his sleeve.
I hope you’re not dead, Sean. If anyone hurts you, they’ll pay for it with their blood.
Chapter Eight
The Hidalgo County Sheriff, Eddie Consuelo, had been elected when Jack still lived at the ranch, and reelected two years ago. He had a good working relationship with the FBI and the DEA, and he knew Kane personally. He quickly pulled the registration records for the two trucks Sean had identified and offered to interview the owners, but Lucy wanted to do it herself.
Consuelo sent a deputy to sit on the ranch to keep an eye on the property, and Lucy asked Padre to join her in the interviews. Padre knew half the town, the benefit of being the pastor of the lone Catholic church in a small town.
The devout had a very hard time lying to a priest.
Andie promised to keep an eye on Siobhan. Siobhan didn’t want to sit out, but Lucy and Andie convinced her that if she was easy to grab, Juarez would grab her.
However, Lucy realized that if Juarez wanted Siobhan, he could have gotten to her. They had been shopping today, their guard down until Lucy spotted the two men outside of the café and became suspicious. She wondered if Juarez simply wanted to keep tabs on Siobhan but planned on grabbing Kane from the beginning. Siobhan was more likely to cave in to Juarez’s demands if he had her boyfriend tied up, and Kane wouldn’t cave. Not only that, but Kane had resources that Siobhan might not easily be able to access. If Siobhan’s life was threatened, she might still keep her mouth shut about Hestia’s location. Using Kane made Siobhan more pliable.
Even though Lucy had no doubt that Juarez fully intended to kill both of them when he found his daughter.
The first truck was registered to Morris Jergens, an elderly man who didn’t know his truck was missing. He lived in a small house on a large piece of property. His truck was supposed to be in his barn, but he rarely drove anymore because of his poor eyesight. He spoke loudly, as if he was hard of hearing. Lucy made sure she kept her voice clear and spoke a fraction louder than normal, but not too loud to embarrass the man. He had on one hearing aid, but it looked worn and old, and she wondered if it even worked.
Lucy asked about family who had visited him recently, and he kept shaking his head. He didn’t have family in the area. She asked about neighbors, or anyone who came to help him on the property. It didn’t look like the property was well maintained, though the house itself was clean, if cluttered.
“I have two boys come by every week to do chores. Brothers, Laredo is their name. Michael . . . Michael and I think Juan, but I don’t remember. Michael was the older brother. Good boys, they’ve been helping me out for the last couple of years, since they were in high school.”
“When was the last time you saw them?” Padre asked. It was clear that he knew who the man was talking about.
“I call Michael when I need help. I think they were here Tuesday—no, Wednesday. I had the big trash pickup, and they cleaned out my storage shed.”
“Have you used your truck since Wednesday?” Lucy asked.
“I—um, no, I haven’t driven since Sunday, when I went to church. Lifepoint Christian, up in McAllen.” He looked at Padre. “Sorry, Father, I left the church long ago.”
“No apologies necessary,” Padre said with a kind smile.
“Would you mind if we looked in the barn?” Lucy asked.
“Go right ahead, but there are no lights in there,” he said.
“I have a flashlight,” Lucy said.
She and Padre walked to the barn and wen
t inside. The truck, a ten-year-old Ford F-150, wasn’t there. The barn was clean, with containers for recycling, a few lockboxes, some old, broken equipment, and a relatively new tractor. Tools were lined up along one wall, and from the look of things the Laredos primarily did gardening and cleanup work.
“Smart enough not to use their own vehicle, but not smart enough to use a truck that can’t be traced back to them,” Lucy mused.
Padre said, “There’s no evidence that it’s the Laredos.”
“You know the family?”
“I do.”
“We need to talk to them.”
“Their parents are hardworking people,” Padre said. “Good people.”
“I’m not saying they aren’t.”
“Let me talk to them, okay? I doubt these boys knew what they were getting into.”
“Maybe not, but they still had a choice.”
“And I might be able to convince them to make a different choice, if they see that they have options.”
“Not if Kane or Sean are dead,” Lucy snapped.
Padre hardened. “I understand what’s at stake.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did. And I understand your position. Your brother Jack has been my best friend for more than twenty years. I love him like a brother, and I love Kane like a brother. I know that you’re running on fear and training. And if this goes south, I will be at your side. But let me help prevent tragedy. These are good people, in their heart, and I can convince them to do right.”
Lucy nodded. “We’ll do it your way, Father.” For now.
“Drop me off at the Laredos’ house, and you look into the second address.”
Lucy and Padre thanked Mr. Jergens and Lucy let Padre navigate to the Laredos’, in the heart of Hidalgo. She looked at her phone and realized the second identified truck was registered to Regina Quezada, only a mile away. “I’ll pick you up here,” Lucy said, and drove off.
Regina Quezada was a large woman in her fifties with a cherub face. There was no garage and no truck—according to the registration a fifteen-year-old blue Chevrolet—under the carport.
Lucy identified herself, and Ms. Quezada wasn’t intimidated by a federal agent, which relieved Lucy. In fact, she seemed pleased to have company and invited Lucy in. The house smelled amazing, of a rich Spanish stew, and Lucy realized she hadn’t eaten anything since the fruit and cheese that afternoon.
“May I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Lucy said. “I don’t want to trouble you, but your Chevrolet truck was possibly used in a crime. A witness wrote down the license number and I’m following up.”
She sat down heavily. “Oh, no.”
“Do you know where your truck is now?”
“My baby—my youngest son. He knows better. He’s a good boy.”
“I’m sure he is.” Lucy made a leap. “Is he friends with the Laredos?”
“Yes, Juan. They are both seventeen, both good boys. They help me, help others, they’re going to college next year.”
“We believe that someone may have offered a substantial amount of money for these boys to help them.”
She looked torn about talking. “Dangerous?”
“Unfortunately, it could be. We believe they were hired by a criminal organization run out of the Tamaulipas region of Mexico.” She didn’t want to say kidnapping. Not yet. “I want to help them, but there are some lines they can’t come back from. Right now, if they cooperate, I can put in a good word. But if they don’t, I can’t make any promises.”
The woman blinked back tears. “Peter is the youngest of five boys. All my boys have done so well. Two went to college—I never went to college. One is a police officer like yourself, in McAllen. He’s a good man, has a family, I love his wife like a daughter. My oldest is a soldier, in the Army. Serves our country. I—I can’t have anything happen to my baby. He wouldn’t do anything wrong.”
“Is there a reason he might want money? Money that he might think is easy to earn?”
“I don’t know. He’s a smart boy, he wants to go to college. College is expensive, but he can get a scholarship, like his brothers. He—sometimes he thinks there are easier ways, but I say no cutting corners.”
“Is there any way you can reach him?”
She still looked like she didn’t know what to do. “What do you think my boy did?”
“I don’t know that your son is involved, but we have reason to believe that he joined with the criminal group to kidnap two men. Possibly for ransom.” She didn’t want to go into the full story about why Kane was a target, but she needed to explain the severity of the situation with Ms. Quezada.
“I need to talk to Joseph,” she said. “Joseph will know what to do.”
She didn’t want to lose this lead. “I can call Joseph for you.”
“No, no, no, I will call him. Please. My son—he’s seventeen. He’s never been in trouble. He has straight As. He’s in honors classes. He’s a smart boy. Please leave.”
Dammit! Lucy should have had Padre with her. They were going to lose valuable time.
She handed Ms. Quezada her business card after writing her cell phone number on the back. “Call me, or have Joseph call me,” she said. “But I will tell you this: the kidnappers spoke to the fiancée of one of the victims and said that he would kill him if she didn’t do what he wanted. We’re on a time clock here. I can help Peter—he’s a minor. But if someone dies, he’ll be an accessory to murder, and I can’t do anything for him then.”
Ms. Quezada was shaking, but Lucy steeled herself against feeling any guilt. There was no doubt in her mind that Juarez would kill Kane as soon as he had his daughter—and if he thought he couldn’t get his daughter, he would kill him sooner. Time was not on their side.
She drove back to where she’d left Padre. He was standing out on the street. “How did it go?” she asked, as he climbed into her car.
“They don’t know where their boys are. Didn’t seem concerned, and said that Mr. Jergens lets them borrow the truck all the time. They were very certain that they weren’t up to anything illegal. Michael is in his twenties, has a good job. Juan is a senior in high school.”
“And friends with Peter Quezada, who is driving the other truck.”
“Ms. Quezada. I know her. I know the whole family.”
Lucy turned onto the main road, heading to Padre’s rectory because she didn’t know what else to do, where else to go. “She was very helpful, then kicked me out. Said she’s calling her son, I assume the son who is a cop in McAllen.”
“Joseph. I married him and his wife. They’re good people, Lucy. This is going to be difficult on them.”
“Those boys are seventeen. I will do everything in my power to get them off if they haven’t done anything other than driving for Juarez. But if Sean and Kane are dead—”
“Don’t say it. We’ll find them, alive.”
Lucy was at her wits’ end. She wanted to go back and pressure Ms. Quezada—she was pretty certain she could get more information out of her. Instead, she said, “I’m calling the sheriff and telling him what we’ve learned. Maybe he can help, put a deputy on both houses, tell us when the boys return home.”
“Do that, and in the meantime, I have one more idea.”
“What?” She pulled up to the curb around the corner from the rectory.
“Trust me, Lucy. I’ll call you if I learn anything.”
He got out of her car. She rolled down the window. “Where are you going?”
He waved at her and repeated, “I’ll call you.” Then he walked down the street, away from the church, and out of view.
Chapter Nine
Sean didn’t regret escaping, but he was now stuck.
Two of the men had followed him on foot, and one went back to get a truck. Sean didn’t know where the fourth guy was, but he had one big advantage—these guys weren’t experienced. The two older men—older in that they were in their twentie
s and not teenagers—were locals. They easily moved from Spanish to English and didn’t have heavy accents. They might know the area, but they wouldn’t be skilled in tracking, especially in the dark.
When Sean realized one of the three had gone back for a truck, he knew he had to find a hiding space. The dark helped hide him; headlights would expose him if he was in the open. He circled around and slipped behind one of the other trailers, the one that was directly across from where he’d been held captive—though directly across was relative, as there was at least half a football field separating them. He was partly shielded by a large, handmade garden toolbox. It was locked, and he didn’t have any tools with him to pick the lock. He’d lost the metal rod when he fell out the window, and he needed a weapon to defend himself.
A stick wasn’t going to defend against a gun.
He didn’t know if all four men were armed, or only the one he’d seen with a handgun. He didn’t trust they wouldn’t shoot him, especially since they were amateurs and might fire out of fear. They had clearly been waiting for something or someone—orders, perhaps, to bring him to Kane, or to kill him.
Sean didn’t think you could tell a killer by their eyes, but if you could—none of these four had ever killed anyone. Maybe that’s why they were sent to watch Sean instead of stay with the men holding Kane.
He could hide here indefinitely, but if those searching for him called in reinforcements, he would be stuck. If Juarez sent someone smarter, someone who had a history of tracking prey, they might realize he’d circled back.
He considered breaking into the trailer. There was no one inside; no car in the carport, no sounds he could hear. He didn’t even know if anyone lived here, though there was some garbage and broken furniture lying between the house and the small drive.
He looked around the vast space. There were only a dozen manufactured houses out here, and he didn’t know if they were employee housing or individually owned. All around this small development were fields—sorghum, melons—Sean didn’t remember what kind, maybe cantaloupe—and cotton. People often thought that because Texas was hot and dry that the entire state was a desert, but in truth, there were a lot of thriving agriculture crops. Not Sean’s area of expertise, but he knew enough to get by in conversation.
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