But there would be others. There would be repercussions for the gang members sent to grab her, since they’d botched the job. The cartel would send more artillery next time. Lela had tipped her hand; it was no longer a secret that she could fight.
It had all led to this. After sneaking into the senator’s office and copying his hard drive, Lela had reviewed the data she’d obtained. Added to what she’d already compiled, it could put the nail in his coffin. She’d kept up on news about corruption stemming from the drug culture.
The FBI had a task force in the Houston area to curb the broad range of corrupt practices. The illegal activities involved federal border officers, courthouses, and, much to her dismay, corrupt police units.
Now it seemed the cartel’s evil arm had reached dirty politicians. Senator Ortiz was a prime example. Lela had balked at turning over the evidence, but not for long. There was no way to avoid that coming forward with what she knew would affect her life.
Once she’d known about the crimes Ortiz had committed, there had been no way that Lela could look the other way. It was her duty to see him answer for his acts, and to do otherwise would dishonor her father. Besides, it was all so wrong, and she wouldn’t let him get away with it.
Lela had initiated talks with the task force. A series of secret meetings had ensued. When appropriate, she’d turned over enough documentation to nab the senator, which resulted in his arrest.
It wasn’t a simple matter to prosecute a politician. The senator had money and connections. He was out on bail before his jail cell had clanked shut. The FBI was adamant that Lela’s life was at risk.
It hardly seemed fair that she should suffer for doing the right thing, but she’d had to face reality. How silly she’d been to argue that she wanted to stay at the law firm to keep an eye on the senator. Clearly, she’d underestimated the man’s support from the underworld.
About a mile from the station, Lela ditched the car at Market Street Park. It would be returned to its rightful owner fairly quickly. Driving a stolen vehicle wouldn’t do, since she needed to stay out of sight. Once the car was reported missing, the police would be looking for it.
The park was a serene spot in the middle of downtown. Lela would have liked to stroll around, to let the peaceful surroundings calm her nerves. Her father had once taken her to a wrestling event held there. But this was not a moment to go all sentimental.
Lela needed a safe place, and downtown had a wide variety of hotels. Although it might take the gangsters a while to find her, that wasn’t true of the FBI. And for now, she intended to avoid both. Assessing her choices, Lela figured the Hotel ICON around the block on Congress was her best pick.
They’d assume that a woman on the run with little resources would get a cheap room, or find a friend to stay with for a night. Since using a credit card would make her easy to track, she’d have to pay cash, making an expensive hotel out of the question.
So that was precisely where she intended to stay. It wasn’t the first place that her pursuers would look. So by the time they discovered that she’d stayed at the ICON, she’d be long gone. What she shouldn’t do was stay out in the open and run the chance of being spotted.
At a brisk pace, Lela headed for the hotel. It was busy, so she could meld with the throng of guests. But one of the staff looked her over, which reminded her that she was dressed like a kitchen worker. That wouldn’t go over well in a fancy hotel, so she went directly to the lobby gift shop.
Lela selected vacation wear that suited her, plus a jacket and a hat. She paid for the items and went to the women’s restroom to change. Instead of tossing the old outfit in the trash, she rolled it up and carried it under her arm. If the woman reported that her clothes had been taken, the authorities would have another clue on how to find Lela. Ditching the garments would be like marking the trail, signaling that she’d been at the hotel.
Dressed like a tourist, Lela went to registration and paid for a room. She told a believable story about losing her wallet, but she had cash. That was acceptable, and since it was only an overnight stay, the clerk waived the necessity for a credit card.
Using the new identification supplied by the FBI would be foolhardy. The agency would track her if she used it. She needed to get rid of the photo ID and credit card, but that would have to wait. She took her room key and caught the elevator to her floor.
Lela found the room, went inside, then flipped the deadbolt. Light streamed through the windows, so she closed the drapes for privacy. After dumping her wad of clothes and her bag on the floor, she flopped onto the bed.
It was soft, and well it should be, for what she’d paid for the room. She put her arm across her forehead and closed her eyes. It wasn’t difficult to figure out how the thugs had recognized her at the train station. Ortiz would have gladly provided a photo of his errant paralegal, likely some dorky shot of her at an employee event.
Drugs were big business in the city, and the cartel’s tentacles reached into law enforcement. With police co-operation, the gangsters had a good chance of finding her. But what she found the most disheartening was that she couldn’t go to the FBI for help.
There had been a leak; that much was clear. Only a select few had known that Lela had been assigned to witness protection. And even fewer had known that she’d be at the train station.
That meant there was no one Lela could trust. She couldn’t use her real name or identification. And using the false ID was out of the question now. She was so screwed.
She was tired, disillusioned, and damned hungry. The last item she could do something about. If she ate at this hotel, her cash would go fast. But fancy rooms like hers had amenities. She slid off the bed and went to the built-in refrigerator.
She scored a mini bottle of wine plus two cans of soda, to go with bags of pretzels and peanuts. It would have to do. She hadn’t eaten all day, except for a piece of dry toast, so the snacks tasted better than they had a right to.
She’d been roughed up, chased by criminals, and come too close to getting bumped off. That sort of stuff worked up an appetite. But a decent meal would have to wait. Her top priority was to come up with a plan—any plan—because right then, she had no idea what to do.
After polishing off the last of the nuts, Lela sat in one of the padded armchairs. In the darkened room, she considered her future. Gangs were known for their brutal methods. So if she was caught and interrogated, her fate was gloomy.
One question came to mind. When the gang had first spotted her, why didn’t they kill her? One shot would have done it. It meant that the cartel had a smart lieutenant in the ranks, one who intended to find out all she knew before ending her life.
Sure, she’d handed over enough evidence to have the senator arrested. But there was a process before the criminal conviction. Her testimony played a key role, so ultimately the cartel would have to snuff her out. But not before questioning her, in a style uniquely theirs.
Lela shuddered. She couldn’t allow that to happen.
The scene at the train station guaranteed that her photo would be splattered all over news and social networking sites, if it wasn’t already. With the media involved, it would make hiding more difficult. And the FBI wouldn’t be able to stop the news release. The senator had connections, and could call in favors. Although he’d make sure the trail didn’t lead back to him. He’d ensure that all eyes were on Lela, so disappearing was impossible…or was it?
Chapter 4
Ripley McConnell rocked back in his chair and stretched. He sniffed the underarm of his t-shirt. Out of consideration for his team, he should probably go home and shower. He tended to work long hours. The office of Stealth Security had a kitchen and a bed, in the event that a particularly intense case required an overnighter.
He’d caught a few hours of sleep there last night, but was a bit ragged. The team at Stealth served as bodyguards to high-profile clients. The VIPs included athletes, movie stars, corporate executives, even a couple of billionaires.
Kidnapping billionaires for ransom was a fad that Rip wasn’t fond of, but it was good the company could provide protection.
The Stealth team was Rip’s family now. The bodyguards who worked there were ex-SEALs, just like he was. But he’d been there the longest. When Travis Hewitt had founded the company, his buddy Rip was the first man he’d called. Being on deployment together had created a bond like no other.
Rip trusted Travis with his life, and his boss felt the same. The two of them had launched the bodyguard business, and it had grown substantially since then. Most of the fieldwork was left to the younger guys, not that either of them weren’t up to the task.
But Travis was in his mid-forties, and Rip wasn’t far behind. His boss had a lovely wife, and was as proud as could be of his twin daughters. He had family responsibilities and commitments, which added balance to his life. It was as it should be.
Rip was married to the job. It was his career and his personal life, too. He rode his Harley when he had the opportunity, and downed a few beers with buddies sometimes. But more often, he was at the office busting his butt. He preferred that to staring at the walls of his empty apartment.
Plus, his position as security analyst gave him a chance to use his talents. He’d joined the Navy right out of high school, and had become adept at reconnaissance and surveillance. Technology intrigued him, so he’d become good with the tools of the trade.
He’d stayed through the night to finish the initial security workup on a new client. The guy was one of the billionaires Travis had contracted with, and it was vital that the protection be airtight. It was with each client, but this dude was high profile. It couldn’t hurt to put in extra effort.
Rip pushed back from the desk, then remembered that Cooper had wanted to talk to him. Cooper Brennan was a real asset to the team. The guy had some college education behind him, plus six years as a SEAL. His computer skills came in handy for investigations.
He was a skilled hacker, although he didn’t admit to it. Rip had an aptitude for hacking, too. But Coop, as his friends called him, was a genius at it. If the team needed to know something, their computer tech would find out one way or the other.
As Rip made his way down the hall, Tessa called out, “Rip, I need to ask you something.” He wheeled around and stepped into her office.
Tessa Pate held the organizational side of the business together. It was a rare woman who could manage a team of SEALs, even in an office environment. But Tessa was kick-ass enough to do it.
Rip stood in the doorway. “What can I do for you?”
Tessa’s blond hair was twisted up in a knot on top of her head, and her brow was furrowed. She didn’t tend to sleep over at the office, like Rip. But she put in lots of hours, and handled some tasks from home. It seemed that she wasn’t far away if any of the guys needed her for something.
“Travis has a meeting with our new client over lunch, but I’m missing the security analysis. You’re on it, right?”
Rip saluted her. “It’s done…just about to hit send. Check your email in a few.” He was rewarded with a smile.
“Okay, well, not a minute too soon.” Tessa’s expression returned to all business.
Then Hunter Davis barged in, disrupting the mood. Hunter was one of the newer bodyguards, but he really wasn’t so new anymore. He’d proven himself on many occasions, and had even rescued Tessa from a kidnapper on his time off.
The team treated Tessa like their sister. She was part of the family, and each man was protective of her. Rip watched Hunter saunter up to the office manager and give her a kiss; these days, he was the most protective of her.
Since the near-death experience, the two had been dating. It did Rip’s heart good to see her with one of the team, trusting that she’d be treated right.
Tessa beamed at Hunter, then gave his shoulder a little shove. “I’m working here, Davis. So state your business or move on.”
Hunter was over six feet tall, and built like a small mountain. Yet in Tessa’s presence he was a pussycat. He had a bad case of it for the sassy blonde. At her admonition, he grinned and put his hand over his heart. “Oh, you’ve wounded me…severely. I was sure you were pining for my affection…that you were holding your breath in here, waiting for me to stop by.”
Tessa laughed. “I’m not complaining about the kiss.” She leaned her head against Hunter’s big arm. “Now that you’re here, is there something I can do for you?”
Rip took that moment to duck out. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.” Then he continued down the hall to Cooper’s office.
The computer tech wanted to get Rip’s input on a couple of things. Although each had their specialty, working together was more productive. In truth, they could do each other’s job, and covered for each other sometimes. In this case, brainstorming a dilemma had led to a possible solution.
“Let me see what I can do,” Rip said. “I’ll get back to you in a few.” So much for heading home to shower…
At his desk, Rip tapped away at his keyboard. It didn’t take long. He’d had an idea about how to get the info Coop needed. He put the data in an email and hit send.
As long as he was still there, he might as well check the sports scores. It was fall, and football season was underway. He’d grown up in Houston, and had family there. He was overdue to see his parents and connect with his younger brother Axel, who worked for the Houston PD. He’d kept in touch, but getting away for a visit just hadn’t seemed to happen.
He was a lifelong Cowboys fan, but also kept tabs on the local team. Football was a way of life; it was in his blood. His younger brother had gone to college at the University of Houston, so he rooted for the Cougars. This season marked the university team as a member of the American Athletic Conference—kind of a big deal.
Living in Los Angeles and working at Stealth was fine. But Rip did miss his hometown. For one thing, any barbecue outside of Texas just wasn’t Texas barbecue, even if the restaurant claimed it was, and no matter how many awards it had won.
His home state was friendly. In LA, everybody seemed busy and stressed out. Back home, there was no such thing as a quick trip to the grocery store, because someone was sure to strike up a conversation in the checkout line. Growing up, he remembered how people waved hello, especially on the back roads.
But Rip’s life had taken him elsewhere. That didn’t mean his attachment was severed. He had folks he cared about there, and that was where his roots were. So he tended to keep an eye on things back home, including the weather, the news…
A press release caught his eye. He scrolled to read it. Two FBI agents dead…a train station security guard injured… What the hell?
Rip devoured the article. The incident involved three gang members linked to the drug cartel. It was assumed that they were after Lela Cabelo, a paralegal in the office of Ortiz and Associates in downtown Houston.
It was bold to attack in broad daylight and gun down federal agents. But the drug gangs in the area had no qualms about killing. Rip was no stranger to that culture. The cartel’s continued terrorizing of the city was something he took personally.
The criminal faction had affected his life, and their activities raised havoc in the area on a daily basis. This new bit of news ticked him off. But that wasn’t all of it.
The murder of government agents was alarming, but what got Rip’s attention was Lela’s story. The woman had been under the feds’ protection. She was scheduled to testify in the upcoming trial of Senator Ortiz.
The article went on to implicate the senator in some pretty serious crimes, including connections with drug lords. He’d been arrested, but was out on bail. That explained a lot.
A dirty politician wouldn’t take it lying down. He’d use everything in his arsenal to keep from going to prison. The arrogant asshole could bully and cheat, but was a coward when it came right down to it. The man wouldn’t last long in prison, and would make every effort to avoid the consequences of his acts.
Rip did so
me quick research. It wasn’t difficult to find background information. Lela Cabelo had been born and raised in Houston. She was of Spanish heritage. She was thirty-six years old, working in the senator’s law firm dedicated to constitutional law.
That would have put her close enough to be aware of any crimes. But what did she have on Ortiz? It had to be significant if her life was in danger. The feds had been escorting her out of the city to put her under witness protection.
But she hadn’t made it that far. At the Amtrak station, the gang had descended and ambushed the feds. According to reports from bystanders, it had been sudden. Certainly the agents hadn’t expected it, or they would have had backup.
As it was, the gangsters got away. And, much to Rip’s amazement, Lela had escaped. Witnesses had seen her run while the gang members had been engaged with the feds. He couldn’t fathom how she’d accomplished that.
Rip stared at a photo of her. The picture shown in the news release didn’t do her justice. He’d found a few recent ones on social media. Lela was gorgeous. Her Spanish blood gave her an exotic look. She had dark, wavy hair and brown eyes. Her skin’s deep tone and her full lips enhanced her beauty.
She was divorced. For some reason, Rip was relieved to read that. She was none of his business, so there was no reason that he should care.
But Lela Cabelo had just become his business. She was a woman alone, and she was in trouble. He wondered if she realized how deep the trouble went, because he certainly did. She was in a world of hurt with no one to help her.
A woman didn’t just run away from the cartel. The evil sons of bitches would find her. It was only a matter of how long it would take for them to get their murderous hands on her.
Rip wasn’t about to let this disaster run its course—no way in hell. Houston was his home turf, and he knew enough about the cartel to have a chance against them. That was more than Lela had.
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