As she drove along, she continued to ponder what The Alliance was up to as well as how they were so connected. They murdered Kate Jolly with relative ease, and there was likely to be no investigation. In the minds of the investigators at Metro PD, the case might as well have been closed already.
I’m gonna fight for you, Kate. Your killers will be brought to justice.
Morgan applied the brakes as she approached a traffic light that had turned red. In her rearview mirror, she noticed a motorcycle weaving in and out of traffic. When the light turned green, Morgan eased onto the accelerator and continued along her route to the airport. The motorcycle disappeared and her thoughts returned to Kate.
Then a light flashed in her side mirror, jarring her for a moment. She jumped as she looked out the window and saw the motorcyclist in the lane next to her with his gun drawn.
Morgan stomped on the brakes, sending the motorcycle flying past her. He fired a shot that ricocheted off the hood of her rental.
That’ll be fun to explain.
She resorted to evasive maneuvers, staying a healthy distance behind him before whipping onto the Beltway and opting for another route to the restaurant.
After Morgan veered off the highway, she stopped at a traffic light at the bottom of the exit. She exhaled, her knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. She panted, trying to catch her breath as she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
The Alliance had found Kate Jolly—and they’d found Morgan, too.
CHAPTER 10
Dallas, Texas
REAPER PARKED AT THE curb across from Kayla’s brick bungalow and turned off the engine. He didn’t move for a few minutes, staring at the house bustling with activity. Balloons affixed to the mailbox signaled that it was the location for a birthday party—Charlie’s birthday party.
The front door swung open and half a dozen boys poured out and congregated in the front yard. All of the boys looked big, kids on the verge of leaving their childhood behind. But not quite yet. They wore belts, all adorned with two flags hanging generously from their waists. Brandon, Kayla’s buff boyfriend, strode outside clutching a football. The boys split into teams with Brandon designating himself as the all-time quarterback.
Reaper ignored Brandon, who was a former collegiate swimmer with a burgeoning investment business. Anyone willing to put up with Kayla’s insanity lessened the load for Reaper. A likely enemy felt more like an ally to him. Besides, Reaper knew any such confrontation wouldn’t last long.
It’d be two hits—I’d hit him and then he’d hit the ground.
Instead, Reaper focused on Charlie. He was ten years old now, a near spitting image of what Reaper looked like at that age. Strong and average height. The growth spurt would come, though Reaper wasn’t sure Charlie would be six-foot-four like his old man, tall by any measure.
Reaper smiled as he watched Charlie grab a pass before hurdling a would-be tackler. Charlie hustled backward into the end zone and then spiked the ball. His celebration needed some work, but it didn’t matter to him or any of the other kids playing. They all mimicked their favorite NFL player’s touchdown dance, which were all embarrassingly bad.
As the sun sank behind the pine trees scattered around the neighborhood, the boys retreated inside where the festivities continued.
Reaper pulled out his binoculars and watched through the window. Charlie leaned over the table and blew out the candles. Everyone clapped before the boys started clamoring for cake and ice cream. Kayla tried to meet the unreasonable demands of the party-goers, who’d transformed into something akin to a pack of wolves circling its prey. Reaper was impressed that Kayla managed to deliver each dessert plate without dropping one.
Reaper used his directional microphone—the same one he used to eavesdrop on targets—to listen in. Charlie was telling a story about how he won a recent rock climbing competition at a local gym. After that, the boys retreated to the living room to play more games.
Now’s my chance.
Reaper snatched the bag off the passenger seat and used the cover of darkness to deliver the gift. Kayla had sent Reaper a video of Charlie’s victorious climb where moments later he complained about his shoes being too tight. That prompted Reaper to buy what he hoped was a size larger, but left the receipt in the box just in case he was wrong.
He set the gift on the front porch and had already turned back toward his car when the front door opened. Reaper swallowed hard and turned around. He wasn’t sure how Charlie would react to him, which is why he didn’t tell Kayla he was coming. With the way she tried to poison their son against his father, Reaper didn’t want to ruin the party with a disastrous confrontation.
Kayla stood in front of him, licking the ice cream spoon. She sported a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, showing off her fit figure. But she opened her mouth and he forgot all about how attractive she was.
“You have a lot of nerve showing up here today,” Kayla said, her eyes narrowing. “But then this is you doing what you do best—you’re only halfway here, thinking you can buy your way back into people’s good graces.”
“Kayla, I didn’t want to disrupt the party. I just wanted to—”
“You just wanted to be relevant in his life today? Is that it? You show up now and it becomes all about you.”
“Exactly,” Reaper said. “It’s why I just wanted to drop this off. I want Charlie to know I was thinking about him today, but I didn’t want to spoil his time with his friends.”
“You would’ve definitely done that if he’d seen you,” she said in a hushed tone before glancing over her shoulder and pulling the door shut. “Do you have any idea how many nights I’ve put him to bed sobbing over the fact that you’re not here? More than I care to recall.”
Reaper shrugged. “What do you want me to say, Kayla? I know you don’t want me to be a part of his life. Your phone calls are only to guilt me about my absence, but that’s how my life is.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” she said. “It never had to be that way. But it’s what you’ve chosen to do—and we’ve all suffered for it.”
Reaper shook his head and looked down. “Classic Kayla.”
She glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If I’ve seen you launch into lecture mode once, I’ve seen it a thousand times. You pour more guilt on a guilt-ridden man, like adding gasoline to a fire.”
“It’s the only way I can get you to wake up.”
“Like you’d know,” he said with a chuckle. “You never tried any other way.”
“You listen here—”
Reaper put his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “Kayla, I’m done. I didn’t come by to fight. I just wanted to do something nice for Charlie. You can twist this up however you want and make it all about you, but I’m not going to fight you anymore. Tell Charlie I dropped the shoes by or don’t. Tell him I was a coward for not coming in, or tell him I’m worthless because I haven’t been by to visit in over a year. Tell him whatever you want because I know you will anyway. Have a good evening and tell Brandon hello for me.”
Reaper spun on his heels and walked away. Kayla squawked at him, but he ignored her and continued his march toward his car. He didn’t stop hearing her voice until he shut the door.
Reaper gripped the steering wheel and exhaled. He dealt with mixed feelings—pain for not getting to see Charlie and talk with him, and relief for not having to hear Kayla yapping anymore.
Reaper glanced at his phone, which buzzed on the seat next to him. The banner across the top of the screen indicated he’d missed several calls.
“Yeah,” Reaper said.
“How are we coming along with the list?” a man asked.
“Almost done. Just one more task and the assignment will be all wrapped up.”
“Get on it,” the man said. “We don’t have much time before someone figures out what’s going on. And when they do, your job will become immeasurably more difficult.”
“Roger that,” Reaper said.
He took one last glance at the house. Charlie was on the front steps saying goodbye to one of his guests. He smiled and waved as the boy trudged back to the car with his mother.
Charlie looked good, maybe even genuinely happy. But Reaper took a deep breath and put it out of his mind.
Travis Taylor was still out there.
CHAPTER 11
Bogotá, Colombia
HAWK AND ALEX PRESSED the button by the gate outside the home of Maria Sanchez and waited for her to answer. According to Brownfield, Sanchez had inherited her money and was a relative recluse. He also explained that the pair met one evening at a tapas bar by chance, sparking a secret affair that had lasted eighteen months. However, it wasn’t an exclusive relationship by any standard, which was how Brownfield liked it. But he appeared shocked that someone on his staff knew about the affair.
The cast iron gate was affixed to pilings on a stuccoed wall that soared ten feet above the ground. Security cameras swept back and forth across the perimeter.
“I wonder what she’s hiding in there,” Alex asked in a hushed tone.
Hawk waited another minute before pressing the call button again.
Another half-minute passed before someone answered. “I don’t believe I have any visitors scheduled for today,” a woman said.
“Maria Sanchez?” Hawk asked.
“Sí?”
“My name is Don Jackson, and I’m here with my colleague Shelly Smith,” Hawk said. “We need to speak with you about a recent incident involving your current love interest, Ambassador Brownfield.”
“I’m sorry, who did you say you were with?” Maria asked.
“We’re with the U.S. State Department.”
“Then I’m afraid I have nothing to say to you. Good day.”
The intercom clicked off, leaving Hawk alone with no other recourse but to threaten her. He pushed the button again.
“Miss Sanchez, I understand your reluctance to speak with us, but if you don’t, I can only assume that you are conspiring with the ambassador, which will put you on our terrorist watch list. And I can assure you that having your name on such a list would be most unpleasant.”
Maria didn’t reply. But after a few seconds, the gate swung open. Hawk eased the vehicle up to the front steps and parked. Maria was standing on the landing to welcome them, though her expression suggested she wasn’t happy to be doing so.
“Right this way,” Maria said, gesturing inside her house.
Hawk and Alex obliged, nodding at Maria as they entered the home. She invited them to have a seat in the parlor just off the entryway. Local art decorated the walls, while Colombian pottery and flowers were displayed on the coffee and end tables.
“What a lovely home you have here, Miss Sanchez,” Alex said.
Maria sighed and sat down. “I know you’re not here to inspect my house, so what is it you want from me?”
Hawk sat down and leaned forward in his seat. “Miss Sanchez, I—”
“Please, call me Maria,” she said as she pulled out a package of cigarettes hidden inside her ample bosom. “And don’t look so surprised. This is South America. Everyone smokes, even inside their own homes.”
She reached for the ashtray and pulled it closer before lighting the cigarette.
“Maria,” Hawk began again, “I need to ask you a few questions regarding your relationship with Ambassador Brownfield.”
“What is there to know?” Maria asked. “You want to know all the lurid details of what we do in private?”
“Not at all,” Alex said. “We have discovered some uncomfortable facts surrounding the ambassador, and we wanted to make sure that we weren’t recklessly jumping to any conclusions.”
Maria blew a plume of smoke out of the corner of her mouth before answering. “I will cooperate.”
“Can we record this conversation?” Hawk asked.
“Of course,” Maria said. “I have nothing to hide. I am not involved in some conspiracy against the U.S. government.”
Hawk tapped the record button on his device. “Miss Sanchez, are you suggesting that Ambassador Brownfield is involved in a conspiracy against the United States government?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” she said with a shrug. “I’ve been uncomfortable being around him lately. He’s been acting strangely. He’s distracted and unable to focus, even when we’re all alone.”
“But you don’t have specifics that might prove his involvement in a nefarious plot?” Alex asked.
“No, not really. Just a feeling.”
Hawk sighed. “Well, that’s probably all the questions we have for you right now.”
“Then there might be more?” Maria asked.
“It’s possible,” Hawk said as he held out his device. “I just need your thumbprint to verify that this was you on the recording. Please.”
She glanced at the screen, hesitant to touch it.
“It’s like a cell phone,” Hawk explained. “It’s not going to shock you. It’s just our way of confirming your identity.”
“Fine,” she said before depressing her thumb on the screen.
Hawk’s lie was smooth. The moment she touched the screen, her thumbprint was uploaded to an international database connected with the Magnum Group servers. He needed a few minutes to confirm a match and sought to stall by asking to use the restroom.
Upon receiving directions to the bathroom, he found it and wasted as much time as possible. The status bar inched closer to the end, the percentage of IDs searched climbing every few seconds or so. Eventually, Alex came to check on him.
“Is everything okay in there, Don?” she asked after knocking on the door.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” he said.
Hawk washed his hands and dried them off just before he heard a ping on his phone. The program found a match.
Would you look at that.
An old photo of Maria Sanchez appeared on his screen, but her name was entirely different. Maria Sanchez was actually Diana Lorado, born and raised in El Paso, Texas. She was arrested several times as a young adult for petty theft. Not long after a stint in jail for a few weeks, she moved to Los Angeles to pursue a career in acting. According to the file on her, she’d landed a few bit parts in a handful of films, but never anything substantial. However, the story got far more interesting when he noticed that the FBI had a file on her.
The bureau listed her deep ties to several Colombian cartels, including the Vargas family. She was suspected of being the one who helped deliver cash to the U.S., making more than a dozen flights in the last year alone.
That explains why she didn’t want to be on our terrorist watch list.
But she also had a curious notation in the file, one about her being apprehended and detained by Border Patrol. She remained in their custody for six months before quietly being released without any charges brought against her.
That’s very curious.
Hawk shoved the phone in his pocket and returned to the parlor, where Sanchez was working on a new cigarette and making small talk with Alex.
“Can I speak with you for a moment?” Hawk asked Alex.
“Sure.”
The pair stepped aside.
“What is it?” Alex asked.
“Her name is not Maria Sanchez. She’s Diana Lorado—and the FBI has been watching her for quite a while now. She has stronger ties to the cartel than we believed.”
“So, what do you want to do?”
“There’s still an outstanding warrant for her arrest on failure to pay a speeding ticket,” Hawk said.
“That’s weak, but it might hold up.”
Hawk nodded. “We won’t be able to get her deported over it, but maybe something else will turn up as we investigate.”
“Roger that,” she said.
As they walked back toward Maria, she offered a weak smile. “Is everything all right?”
Hawk cocked his head to one side. “I�
�m afraid we’re going to need more information from you.”
Maria drew back and placed her right hand over her chest. “Didn’t we just go over everything?”
“Some new information has come to light and we need to get a more comprehensive statement from you,” Alex said.
“Well, I guess I can visit the embassy tomorrow and give a—”
“No, we need you to come with us right now,” Hawk said.
“Right now?” she asked, her eyes bulging. “You mean, as in this very instant?”
Hawk nodded. “It won’t take long, but this is imperative to proving your innocence.”
“Okay. Just show me where to go.”
“Perhaps you don’t understand,” Alex said. “You’re to come with us.”
The trio got into Hawk and Alex’s rental and headed downtown to the U.S. embassy.
“Can you at least tell me what this is all about?” Maria asked.
“Well, Diana,” Hawk said, studying her eyes as he dropped the truth on her, “why don’t you tell me why you don’t go by your birth name any more?”
Maria’s eyes fell as they passed through the gates.
“Diana,” Hawk pressed. “Are you going to answer me?”
“No one has called me that in years,” she said. “And to be honest, it feels good that you now know. But don’t hold it against the ambassador. He doesn’t know either.”
“We’ll handle the ambassador fairly,” Alex said. “But you have things you need to answer for back home.”
“Like a parking ticket? Seriously?” Maria asked.
“No, but it’s serious and you should handle it as such,” Hawk said.
Maria paused before responding. “I will—”
Glass sprayed throughout the car’s cabin as a bullet pierced the window. Two more bullets zipped inside, both hitting Maria. Hawk looked down at his hands on the steering wheel, which were spattered with blood.
“Get down!” he yelled as he sank lower in the vehicle. Alex mimicked his precautionary response. He could barely see over the dashboard as he tried to keep moving along the road. Other cars honked at him as he swerved over the middle of the road several times.
The Reaper (The Phoenix Chronicles Book 2) Page 6