Never Surrender (Task Force Eagle)

by Susan Vaughan

“Mrrr,” came a plaintive voice from the kitchen alcove.

  “Yes, yes, Speedy, I know—dinner time.” She kicked off her boots and hurried to do the cat’s bidding.

  From his perch on the kitchenette bar, the raccoon-brown feline replied his assent and twitched his tail.

  Juliana opened a can of liver and mixed it with dry food. “Come on down, sweetie. Din-din’s ready.” She set the meal down beside his water dish. When the cat sniffed, she lifted the blue bowl to the counter. “What was I thinking? Here, your highness.”

  With a murmur she took as thank you, the animal tucked into his meal at a pace appropriate to his name.

  After pouring water and measuring coffee, she started the brewing. And mulling. Jordan’s vow to stand on his own feet and on his own bank account had blown away with the March wind. She withdrew a yellow lined notepad from a drawer and listed places her brother might hide—three or four friends, Uncle Grady, camp.

  His meal completed, Speedy sat up to wash his whiskers. He cast a skeptical amber eye on his mistress.

  “I know. Jordan has gone too far this time. But I practically raised him, and . . .” Oh, where could he be? Was he safe? She swallowed more questions about the danger he’d landed in and dumped the cat’s bowl in the sink.

  The light rap at the door startled her. No, no, go away. Before her drive to and from Portland, she’d spent spring break working five days at five different companies for Temps-R-Us, and her accounting assignment was due next week. She trudged to the door.

  She checked the peephole. Venice Aaron. She adored her neighbor, but Venice had a knack of ferreting out her intimate secrets. She couldn’t hide from her. Juliana pasted on a smile before undoing the locks.

  “I brought you some library printouts. Thought you could use them for that humongous assignment we have.” Venice was six feet tall and the color of coffee ice cream but friendly and warm as melted toffee. She held out a Macy’s shopping bag.

  Juliana accepted the bag. “Thanks. I owe you one. I do need to get my printer fixed.”

  “Finally got that number crunching behind me. Much more of this, and Venice is gonna need glasses on her big browns.”

  Juliana laughed. “You make enough money sewing for the theater department to pay for contact lenses.”

  “Got to look to the future, girlfriend. I want my own costume business.” Venice swept into the living room, the long, knit, rose-colored tube of a dress embracing her statuesque body like shrink-wrap. “I cooked up this number for next week’s one-act.”

  “Gorgeous, as usual.” Juliana followed in her wake. “Coffee should be ready.”

  “Maybe half a cup, hon. I’m headed to campus in a few with some outfits for the kids to try on.” Venice sleeked a hand from Speedy’s head to his fluffy tail. “And how’s my favorite kitty, hmmm?”

  Juliana poured two mugs of coffee. Her mind slipped back to Jordan’s words: “I gotta disappear.” A headache throbbed behind her eyes.

  “You’re worried about something, and I’ll bet it’s not accounting.” Venice blew on the hot brew. “Either your mother or Jordan. What’s one of them done now?”

  “I might as well tell you. You’d worm it out of me anyway.” Juliana recited her truncated phone conversation with her brother and the results of her trip to Portland. She didn’t mention the agent’s warning.

  “The DEA? Whoa, that’s some serious shit.” Venice said. “You got ideas about where Jordan might be hiding his fool self?”

  “One or two. I want to find him first. I want to hear his side of it.” And to make sure he was safe. She couldn’t trust Agent Cruz or any cop. No way she’d trust the DEA to protect her baby brother. Between classes and work, she would find the time. Somehow.

  “Why not let the cops do the dirty work? Seems to me you take on too much responsibility for your family.” Venice clucked her tongue.

  She folded her arms. “And thank heavens one member of the Paris family acts like a grown-up. My naïve brother chases every hare-brained scheme that promises money, and Molly latches onto every paradise-promising, lame-brained man who takes hers.”

  “I understand, hon, but you can’t be everybody’s mom.” Venice slid off the stool and smoothed her knit dress. She glided to the door. “I hope you know what you’re doing, but that boy might be in danger. A big, strong government agent would come in handy.”

  When her friend left, Juliana picked up Speedy and nuzzled the fur between his ears. The cat rumbled a deep, rolling purr. She carried him to the window and stared out, picturing the DEA agent. Six-foot-plus, lean frame, hair and eyes as black as the starry sky above. “No way. If I never see Ricardo Cruz again, I’ll be safer all around.”

  She released the cat, who muttered what might have been a cynical harrumph.

  Below, a van with no headlights rolled from the street to the parking lot’s edge. If it hadn’t passed beneath a light, she wouldn’t have seen it.

  The agent’s words echoed in her brain: “They could come looking for you too.”

  Juliana sank down beneath the window. Heart pounding like a tom-tom, she hugged her knees.

  Chapter 3

  Two days later, Rick had found no trace of Jordan Paris. He logged off his computer and rubbed his knuckles, still tender from the right he’d given that door jamb. “Dammit!”

  “What’s the matter, Cruz? Can’t decide which babe tonight?” Jake Wescott called across the big office the task force shared.

  “Nah, he’s bummed about the one female he couldn’t rope with his charm,” Holt Donovan added. He thumbed up the brim of his Stetson and leaned back in his swivel chair.

  “You got it, Holt. Can’t find Jordan Paris and can’t get it on with his sister. Finally, for one smart woman, he really is the Invisible Man.” Wescott hooted at his own joke.

  Rick’s stealth on SEAL missions had earned him the nickname. He grinned. “Go ahead and have your fun. How much of this case have you cracked while I’ve been trying to talk to Ms. Paris?”

  Donovan coughed and removed the hat. “You got me there. Her brother has plumb disappeared.”

  “Right.” Rick’s grin faded as he ticked off their progress on his fingers. “Only his fingerprints and the sister’s in his apartment. No leads there. We impounded his car, so he has no wheels. No charges to his two credit cards, no plane tickets reserved, no checks cashed.”

  “If he’s as reckless and gullible as his sister implied, why hasn’t he made a mistake by now?” Wescott asked.

  “Maybe he did. And the gang silenced him. For good.” Rick’s comment silenced the hilarity. Everyone began to pore over files.

  He picked up the one he’d begun on Juliana Paris. Part-time temp worker, part-time student. Jordan was her only close relative except a mother, whereabouts unknown. Father deceased. No police record, no traffic tickets, small bank account. Her silent act looked bad for her and for her brother, but the lady checked out squeaky clean.

  But why did she distrust the DEA enough to endanger herself and her brother? A search of the father came up with no prison record. Not even a traffic ticket. Nada.

  Stymied, he slapped down the folder and considered Sudsy Pettit. How had he gotten away? The task force had kept their presence secret, not to spook the guy. Units had watched the harbor to ensure Pettit didn’t escape in his boat or the refrigerated fish truck. Their pigeon had flown, but not before cleaning out his coop. No fingerprints. No personal items. No computer files. Only a pair of crutches left in a closet.

  Another question oozed greasily in his gut. How had so many busts gone sour and ops blown? It was as if the suspect had been warned.

  He wouldn’t allow the gang to slip the net. Snaring Carlos Olívas and the other assholes running the northeastern smuggling would save a hell of a lot of kids like his brother. If he could nail the head honcho El Águila himself, he might feel whole again. Rick curled his hands into fists. He refused to fail at shutting him down. Leak or no leak.

  Julia
na Paris was his only lead to her brother and the smugglers. He had to persuade her to cooperate.

  *****

  Juliana leaned against her car door, her pen poised over her day planner, a low-tech loose-leaf binder instead of the digital one she couldn’t afford. The same neighborhood of row houses that contained Jordan’s apartment housed a number of his fellow fishermen and buddies. Not dangerous, just neglected in the way of temporary housing for people down on their luck. Or goalless, like Jordan, on the way to nowhere. Smells of fried food and uncollected garbage hung in the air.

  She’d spent the past two days trying to track down anyone her brother might have confided in, anyone who might have a clue to where he had gone to hide. And came up empty.

  He should’ve called her again. Wouldn’t he know she’d worry? As if a lead ball weighed her stomach, a sharp pang tightened her muscles. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly. She had to be strong and keep trying. Jordan’s life might be at stake.

  “Whooee, what a hunk!” said a girlish voice.

  Juliana glanced up at the teenage girls sunning on the row-house step before her. This warm blue March day must’ve tempted a boy to hang out on the other side of the street. Oh, for life to be that simple.

  “Arlene, let’s take a little walk. I want a closer look at Tall, Dark, and Devastating.” The girl, in low-hanging jeans and a clingy aqua belly shirt, sashayed down the steps.

  “After that last dork, Missy, you said you were through with men,” Arlene teased. “Besides he’s too old for you.”

  “A hottie like him would tempt a nun, and window shopping doesn’t mean you’re gonna buy. Mm-mmm! Look at those broad shoulders in that fine leather jacket.”

  Reflecting on how to contact Jordan’s old girlfriend, Juliana didn’t search out the target of their admiration. Finally their words sparked a brain synapse.

  Broad shoulders. Tall, Dark, and Devastating. Her pulse flip-flopped, and heat invaded her cheeks. Before she turned, she knew who the hunk was and who he waited for.

  “Ms. Paris.” With fluid masculine grace, Ricardo Cruz unfolded his long frame from the small stoop and doffed his mirrored sunglasses. His dark eyes skimmed her with warm appreciation as he crossed the narrow street.

  “Agent Cruz. What are you doing here?” She dropped her planner beside her backpack on the passenger seat. She dug her fingernails into her palms against the power of his smile.

  To one side, the two teenagers waited, mesmerized. They gaped at the agent as though he were handing out free concert tickets.

  Observing the bulge of what was probably a pistol beneath his left arm, Juliana stiffened. She cast a glare at the two girls. They huffed in defeat and flounced away.

  Agent Cruz slipped his sunglasses in an inner pocket. His intense regard threaded heat through her. The full impact of his attention made her the only woman in existence.

  A deliberate male tactic. She gave herself a mental shake. “What do you want?”

  “Merely to talk. How about lunch?”

  “Sorry, I’m busy.”

  Cruz made a slight bow. The image of Zorro flashed in her mind. “A good detective takes care of herself. If you’re hungry or cold, you can’t do your job.”

  “Detective? Hardly.” She shook her head. “I’m fine and I don’t want to talk to you.”

  He examined a page in his pocket notepad. “This morning you’ve looped all over the city. Talked to four of Jordan’s buddies before this one. Palmieri, is it? You need a break.”

  She zipped the planner in her backpack and slung the pack on with so much force she nearly lost her balance. “You’ve been following me. How dare you—”

  “Protecting you, Ms. Paris. Protecting you.” He shrugged. “Better me following you than El Águila’s goons.”

  “El Águila? Who’s that? No one’s following me but you.”

  His dark eyes glimmered with suspicion. “Did they already contact you? Have you seen a tail?”

  Her stomach prickled. The van in the parking lot. Then this morning . . . “Certainly not.” She managed to keep her gaze steady, but she’d paused a second too long.

  “I see.” Perception glinted in his eyes. “Lunch and I’ll give you the scoop on El Águila.”

  She shouldn’t trust him but she had to know. “All right. There’s a small sandwich shop a few blocks over on Congress Street. We can walk.”

  *****

  Ten minutes later, Rick sat across from Juliana and facing the entrance in a back booth at Sammy’s Subs Plus. He could observe every table and booth. College pennants papered the walls. Tables, chairs, and booths gleamed with the USM blue and white. Except for them and a gray-haired couple, only fresh-faced students filled the seats.

  Boys with shaved heads and torn jeans. Others in preppy collars and khakis. Girls in mere scraps of cloth or skirts that swept their ankles. International students—one in Middle Eastern headgear and a few Asians. No Hispanics. Not that El Águila’s flunkies had to be Mexican or even look Hispanic. But no one here paid Juliana and him any undue attention.

  “Order first.” He picked up a menu from the table. “Then we’ll talk.”

  “You’re not buying me lunch. I’ll pay for my own food.” She speared him with a glare. “I came with you only because I want to know about this El Águila.”

  “Up to you.” Rick observed her while she pretended to study the menu. She’d bound that glorious hair into a ponytail. He’d like to see it free around her shoulders.

  He had to tread carefully. His cop’s instinct also told him that Olívas posed an imminent threat to her. The idea of her brother caught in El Águila’s talons reminded him of Rudy, but he wouldn’t examine it too closely.

  Removal of her jacket revealed a tiny butterfly tattoo on her neck. She wore layers of silky tops over her slim jeans. Simple but sexy. Damn, he had to curb his attraction. Sister of a suspected drug trafficker, she should interest him only as a lead.

  Once they’d ordered, she said, “I haven’t heard from my brother, if that’s what you want to know. No letter, no phone call, nothing.”

  “You must be very worried, Juliana.”

  The corners of her mouth trembled. “I have every right to be.”

  Since she allowed him to use her first name, he relaxed. Maybe it’d be okay. She’d talk to him. “Tell me about your brother. Jordan must be a special guy to merit such loyalty. I wonder if any of my sisters would stand up for me like that.”

  “Sisters? How many?” She closed her mouth as if regretting the personal question.

  “Four. I’m in the middle, and to hear them tell it, the bane of their existence when we were growing up.” He folded his hands on the table. “But we were talking about Jordan.”

  Her gaze slid to the tabletop, then to the throng around them. He could almost read her thoughts through her animated features and transparent coloring. He imagined her agile mind analyzing the pros and cons of sharing family information with him. Fascinating.

  A quartet with physics texts exited the booth behind Juliana. They had eaten hunched over a laptop and some papers one of them juggled into a folder.

  The waitress returned with their drinks, and Juliana peeled the paper from her straw with undue concentration. When she again regarded him, it was clear she’d answer questions, but would pounce on any misstep.

  “My dad died when I was fifteen and Jordan was five. Molly—my mom—wasn’t home much after that. She had to work two jobs.”

  “So responsibility for your brother fell to you?” She was more a parent to the kid than a sister. That explained her desperate concern.

  She shrugged. “I went to parent conferences and helped him learn to read. Jordan struggled in school. He skipped a lot to hang out at the co-ops and talk to the fishermen. Some took him out on their boats and taught him. And his girlfriend helped him.” The half smile told him she relished the reminiscence.

  “Did he get in trouble?”

  “Not the way you
mean. No cops.” She could’ve lashed out at him for that question, but her expression turned wistful. “Jordan’s basically a good kid. He’s not slow, but he sees things concretely, and he acts on impulse. He trusts the wrong people.”

  She was being too hopeful by far, but he’d see where this led. “So he might have gone along with what Sudsy Pettit told him about the deliveries.”

  “I think that’s it. And when he learned what was really going on, he panicked.”

  Silverware clattered with the clearing of the vacated booth, and Juliana started.

  When the busboy had hustled the dirty dishes off to the kitchen, Rick said, “Your brother’s only part of why I wanted to see you today.” He set down his empty glass.

  “I don’t have much time.”

  “You skipped classes this morning. More investigating this afternoon?”

  Her mouth tightened. She slapped her napkin on her lap. “What is it you want?”

  Their orders arrived. A veggie roll-up for Juliana and a turkey sub for him. Averting her eyes, Juliana bit into her sandwich with an eagerness that betrayed her hunger.

  Cheered by her capitulation, Rick lifted his sub. He stopped dead at the sight of her tongue dabbing at salad dressing on her upper lip. Focus, he told himself. Distance. “Let’s suppose Jordan has hidden somewhere. I assume you know the possibilities. Since you can’t find him, no one can.”

  “Maybe. So tell me about this El Águila.” Her eyes narrowed with skepticism.

  “El Águila is a Mexican cartel and also the soubriquet of its head. The Eagle is a ruthless man, no way noble like the bird of prey he’s named for.” He wouldn’t tell her the U. S. had nada on his real name or description.

  “A Mexican drug lord? In Maine? Please.” Although she scoffed, furrows appeared between her eyes.

  “The border between Mexico and the U.S. is more secure, and the wars among the drug cartels and with the Mexican army are more vicious. El Águila still operates in his native land but he has long arms that have reached into the Northeast, including the coast of Maine.”