The Lost Girls

by Allison Brennan

  Where had Dobleman taken her? She squeezed her eyes closed, tried to remember … she’d been groggy when he opened the trunk. Had he drugged her? Was she sick from the exhaust? All she remembered was he carried her into a house. It was dark. The middle of the night. And silence.

  Flashes returned, of the big man, of him touching her. Tying her up. She didn’t remember much. Her stomach was empty, her head spun, and she knew, right then, that she would be dead very soon. If not by the big man then out of thirst or hunger or the sick she felt.

  Heavy footsteps crossed the ceiling above her and she whimpered.

  Then they stopped.

  Hope didn’t last long.

  They crossed the floor again and she heard a lock turn.

  No. No!

  The creak of the stairs. Then blinding light.

  She closed her eyes and turned her head.

  “I knew you were awake. I’m so lucky they gave you to me to punish. I’m going to have so much fun.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Sean didn’t dare contact Lucy, though he desperately wanted to.

  His confidence level was usually high on ops like this, but tonight he wasn’t certain he would survive. He didn’t generally get involved this deep in the cartel battles—that was the domain of Jack and Kane and their teams of highly trained former military soldiers. Sean was the guy behind the curtain, the geek, the computer wiz, the pilot. He could shoot and fight if he had to, but he did much better using his brains instead of his brawn.

  Instead, he wrote Lucy a letter, addressed it, and put it in his laptop case. He hid the laptop on the plane. If anything happened, he could only hope someone would find the plane, find the laptop, and send her the letter.

  “Do you have any questions?” Jack asked him.

  Sean had a million questions, but he knew the answer to all of them.

  He glared at Jack. “You should never have let Kane do this.”

  Jack didn’t smile, but his eyebrow rose just a bit. “Have you ever successfully talked Kane out of a plan?”

  Good point.

  “And if Dante betrays us?”

  Jack stared at him with dark eyes that reminded Sean of Lucy.

  “I’ll kill him.”

  Jack was deadly serious.

  Dante sent Sean a text message.

  Meet is on. No weapons.

  Sean showed the message to Jack. He nodded and disappeared into the dark.

  Sean had the bag of money and bearer bonds. He put the backpack over his shoulders and took the ATV that he’d procured earlier. Being silent no longer mattered; they were expecting him.

  He hit the dirt road two miles from where the plane was hidden, and turned toward the compound. He feared someone would take a shot at him, that Flores—who knew Sean had the money—would take him out en route, take the money, and then kill Kane. But none of that happened.

  Sean hid the ATV a mile from the compound. If they had to foot it back to the plane, it was a fifteen-mile hike through unfamiliar terrain. He hid the duffel bag with the bearer bonds a good hundred yards from his ATV, then walked the rest of the way up the road. The night was hot and humid. His T-shirt stuck to his skin under the jacket he wore.

  He already knew where the security cameras were, but he had rigged his tablet to give him information as he walked through. Wireless intel that he could use to hack into the system. Information was power, and Sean wasn’t going to go in completely blind.

  Movement to his right and left stopped Sean in his tracks. He reached for his gun, then remembered he’d hid it in the bottom of the money bag—and slowly put his hands up.

  “Smart move, Mr. Rogan,” an accented voice said.

  Four men came into view, all with guns pointed at Sean. He twitched. Any one of them could have nervous fingers. The guns were crap, but that didn’t mean the bullets were faulty. And the closer they were, the more likely they’d hit their target.

  “Where’s the money?”

  “Hidden.”

  “That wasn’t your orders.”

  “I’ll tell your boss where to find the money when I know that Kane is alive and well.”

  The guard hit Sean across the cheek with the back of his hand. Sean barely resisted hitting him back. He spit bloody saliva on the dirt road.

  “Search him,” the leader ordered.

  The other three men patted him down, turned out his pockets, took his burn phone and his small tablet, which were the only things on him.

  “Walk.”

  Sean complied.

  The compound entrance was a hundred yards from where Flores’s goons picked Sean up. It was gated with two guards standing outside. Yesterday, when Kane first reconned the place, there had been only one.

  Jack knows what he’s doing.

  Sean was uncomfortable depending on anyone else for his safety. He’d always gotten himself in and out of jams as needed. But he felt out of his element, and not for the first time over the last forty-eight hours. It wasn’t like he had much choice.

  The Flores compound was really a mansion surrounded by twelve-foot-high chain-link fences topped with barbed wire, interspersed with wide stone columns for strength. As they walked up the long drive, Sean noted that there were two wings to the house and several outbuildings, plus a barn, an eight-car garage, and a four-car garage. Sean loved cars, but a dozen?

  Was Jesse in the main house or was there a guesthouse Sean couldn’t see? He’d guess the main house, where Flores could keep his eye on Carson Spade.

  Anger burned in his veins. That Carson Spade had brought Jesse here, with these criminals—violent thugs who would kill anyone who thwarted their plans. A twelve-year-old boy. Sean had known a lot about the world at twelve. Kane had just left the Marines and was starting Rogan-Caruso with JT. Their first big assignment was a hostage rescue when the sister of one of their friends had been kidnapped along with her professor and three other students during a study-abroad program in Honduras. They’d been held for ransom, and Kane and JT had retrieved four of the five safely. One of the students had been killed, and Sean knew that had bothered both of them greatly. They went through extensive training, both professional and self-taught; expanded the business; brought on Duke to handle computer security after he did his stint in the Army; hired former cops, FBI agents, and soldiers to fill their ranks.

  Sean’s parents had been inventors—his dad had served in the military for ten years before a training exercise left him partially disabled. But he loved the military, and came up with new and innovative equipment designed primarily for troop safety. Long-range night-vision goggles, early drone technology, and a state-of-the-art tracking system—at least twenty years ago—had put Paul and Sheila Rogan at the top of the government contractor list. Who knows what they could have accomplished had they not died in a plane crash that nearly killed Sean as well?

  His parents never shielded him from the evil in the world, or from the heroes who battled the villains. They were blunt, honest, and dedicated. They worked constantly, and that was one of the things Sean would always remember. In some ways he envied Lucy and her family … her dad had been career military, but Lucy said her happiest moments growing up were family outings—to the beach, camping, or holiday dinners at home. When her parents came to watch her swim meets, when her older sister took her to Patrick’s baseball games, when Patrick took her for ice cream “just because.” But the best, she said, were the family dinners. Even after the older Kincaid kids left home, even after tragedy struck and her nephew was murdered, Sunday night was family night. No matter how busy, they made the time. Sean never had that, even when his parents were alive.

  Yet when he was Jesse’s age, he knew what drug cartels were; he knew how to shoot a gun and field-strip it; he could hot-wire a car even though he wasn’t old enough to drive. He could tell almost just by looking whether someone was carrying a weapon under their jacket, and he had a knack for spotting drug deals going down at school.

  What abo
ut Jesse? His mother was Madison McAllister. She’d caved in to the pressure that her father placed on her and didn’t tell Sean that she was pregnant thirteen years ago. She did everything her dad wanted … did she do everything her husband wanted, without question? Without argument? Had she been ignorant of her husband’s criminal behavior? Was Jesse sheltered and blind? Would he get himself into trouble simply by asking the wrong questions? Would Flores keep Jesse to ensure that Carson Spade did what he was supposed to do? Was Carson here voluntarily … or had he been forced to come? Had they grabbed Jesse first to ensure compliance? Was Kane right and would both Carson and Jesse be dead as soon as Carson did his job?

  The guard opened the main doors. Motioning for the other three men to leave, he led Sean straight across the wide, opulent foyer and through one of a dozen sets of ten-foot-tall French doors. The center of the mansion was an atrium, covered from the elements but with a glass roof. It was humid in here as well, likely to keep the many plants thriving. A narrow lap pool had been installed dead center, and a smaller, but more opulent black-bottomed pool with a waterfall and Jacuzzi was off to the right. Four sets of staircases went up to landings north and south.

  The main house had to be, minimum, thirty thousand square feet. The atrium itself was about half a narrow football field with nooks and crannies and lots of places for the bad guys to hide and take a shot at his head when they had a chance.

  A short, trim man of fifty with dark graying hair wearing white pants and a red floral shirt sat at a table next to a fully stocked bar. The bar had its own bartender.

  He smiled when he saw Sean. “Thank you, Romie, you can leave.”

  The guard said, “He hid the bag.”

  “Of course he did. He wants to see his brother first.” He motioned for Sean to take a seat, which he did. There was no good place to sit and see every angle of the atrium. “I’m Dominick Flores. It’s good to finally meet you, Sean Rogan. I’ve heard a few stories about you, never know exactly what to believe and not believe. But since I know most of the stories about your brother are true, I would be impressed if even half of yours are true. What would you like to drink?”

  Jack had already warned him that refusing to drink with Dominick Flores would be insulting.

  “A cold beer would be nice,” he said.

  Dominick laughed. “A beer? Are you a lightweight?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Bernie, two cerveza, por favor. And two shots of the Fortaleza reserve.” He smiled at Sean. “Just one,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”

  Sean raised an eyebrow. “Earned it?”

  “You have balls, I admire that. You must be aware that your brother has a bounty on his head. More than one bounty.”

  “And I’m prepared to pay for him.”

  He dismissed Sean’s comment with a flip of his hand. “We’ll get to that.”

  Bernie brought out two cold bottles of Negra Modelo, two shot glasses, and a bottle of Fortaleza tequila. Dominick poured the shots and slid one over to Sean. “Salute,” he said and held up his shot.

  Sean went along with it, picked up the glass and said, “Salud.”

  They drank together and slammed the shot glasses back down on the table. If Sean wasn’t so tense, he would have enjoyed the drink—he would be hard-pressed to remember a better tequila.

  He opened his bottle of beer and sipped. “Thank you.”

  Dominick smiled then snapped his fingers. “Your brother.”

  Sean looked around. At first he didn’t see anything; then on the landing directly across from the bar, a door opened. Kane was brought out. He was cuffed and his face was swollen. A cut on his cheek would most certainly scar. Sean tensed.

  “He put up a fight, but they’re all superficial wounds,” Dominick said. He waved his hand and Kane was forced back through the door. It closed.

  “The money?”

  Sean said, “Paper and pen.”

  Dominick snapped his fingers again, and Bernie brought over a notepad and pen. Sean drew a line on the top. “This is your gate.” He then drew the road. “Point six mile down the road there’s a fallen oak tree—I think it’s an oak, it’s distinctive because two new growths are coming out of the base.”

  “I know the tree.”

  Sean drew a stick tree, then another line to the west. “There’s an overgrown path here. About one hundred steps there’s a thorny hedge that’s completely overgrown. The bag is in the hedge. It’s black, so they’ll need some lights, but it’s almost dead center.”

  Dominick looked at the bartender, who approached and took the paper from Sean. He left the atrium.

  Dominick leaned back. “How do you know Dante?”

  “Kane.”

  “Friends?”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “Enemy?”

  “I wouldn’t say that, either.”

  “I’ve always wondered why Kane never slit his throat.”

  Sean shrugged. “If you know anything about me, you know I’m just the pilot.”

  Dominick laughed. “Just the pilot. Is that like the Hollywood movie, the one where the guy is just the cook?”

  “I don’t go to the movies much.”

  “Is it true that you escaped under intense gunfire outside Santiago a few months ago?”

  “They were bad shots.”

  “I’m sure they were. But your plane was totaled, was it not?”

  Sean didn’t like how Dominick knew these things about him. If he knew about Sean, he knew about Lucy.

  A man in jeans, a polo shirt, and Nikes ran into the atrium. Dominick looked irritated.

  “Dom, Jasmine is here.”

  Dominick tensed. “At the house?”

  “On her way. She landed thirty minutes ago with a fake passport. She has a girl and baby with her.”

  Dominick spoke in rapid Spanish. He was not happy, but Sean’s Spanish wasn’t good enough to translate, especially not so fast. But Sean caught the end. “When will she arrive?”

  “Ten minutes.”

  “Is this Alberto’s kid?”

  “I guess so. Jasmine hasn’t been chatty lately, she’s really pissed off.”

  “Fuck.”

  Dominick looked at Sean. He wished he could read the crime lord’s mind, but he couldn’t. He had no idea who Jasmine was, or why Dominick would be scared of her—which he clearly was.

  “What do you want to do about her?” the guy asked. He was taller than Dominick but had the same basic facial structure—a brother? Very possible.

  “Greet her at the gate. She likes you the best, Jose. Keep her away from Samuel. Oh—and tell your girlfriend to disappear for a while. Jasmine hates the Romeros.”

  “Why?” Jose asked.

  Dominick looked at Sean pointedly, then said, “No need to air family business in front of our guest.”

  Jose was so young that for a minute Sean thought he might be Dominick’s son, but he didn’t call him Dad and was more likely the youngest brother.

  “She’ll understand,” Jose said. “Where do you want me to put Jasmine?”

  “She’ll want to see me first, but try and convince her to rest. I don’t need to have her interfering with tonight’s business arrangement.” He paused a moment, looked around the atrium, then said to Jose, “Tell Flora to prepare the Rose Suite.”

  “And the girl and baby?”

  “Alberto’s whore and kid, he can put them in his rooms.” Dominick swore again, profusely, then said, “Have Alberto go to the gate with you. I don’t want to see the girl. I told Jasmine not to bring her and her bastard here.”

  “Alberto wanted her.”

  “Alberto can’t fucking keep his dick in his pants, he wants every damn whore he sees.”

  Dominick was deeply angry. In fact, Sean suspected that Dominick was doing his best to keep his temper in check. Just what Sean needed—an angry crime lord who might decide to keep the money and kill them all because he was pissed off at family drama.

  “I’ll take ca
re of it, Dom.” Jose left. Typical younger brother, wanting to keep his older brothers happy.

  Sean could relate.

  But now he had more information, which was always good. Jose was the brother Gabriella had seduced in order to get into the Flores operation. Jose actually seemed like a genuine guy—but he was still in a crime family, and one thing Sean knew better than anything, blood won.

  “Once you have confirmation that the money is where I said it was, perhaps you can let Kane and I slip out,” Sean said. “We don’t need to interrupt whatever it is that’s going on here.”

  “You have more family than Kane, do you not?”

  Of course Dominick would know, so Sean nodded.

  “Yes, your brother and sister in Europe. Interesting fellow, that Liam. And the other one, I don’t remember his name. He doesn’t come down here.”

  Sean didn’t tell him.

  “Family is complicated,” Dom said.

  “But you love them anyway.”

  Dominick relaxed, just a bit. “Yes. We understand each other. Which is why it’s difficult for me to simply let you and Kane slip out of here.”

  “I’ve heard you are a man of your word. I wouldn’t have made this deal if I didn’t believe that.”

  “I am, true, but Kane has been a thorn in the side of me and my allies for years. I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

  “Like I said, I’m just the pilot.”

  “We had a vote. It was split. As it generally is when it’s an even number of voters.”

  “Yet you agreed to take my money.”

  “Kane is no longer welcome south of the border.”

  “He never was.”

  “But this time, I have you.” Dominick stared at Sean, his face hard. The killer beneath the suave businessman showed himself, and if Sean were alone in this plan, he would have been terrified. As it was, it took all his control to bury the fear and hope Dominick couldn’t see his nerves. “If Kane interferes with my business again—any of my businesses, including the business of my allies—not only will the bounty on his head increase, but I will put a bounty on the head of every Rogan. Including you. Including your fiancée.”

  Sean saw red. The fear turned to rage. He wanted to strangle Dominick where he sat.