Dead Heat

by Allison Brennan

  She smiled and crawled out of bed, stretching. He watched her, his head propped up on his hand, grinning. “You look at me like that and I won’t get the breakfast you promised.”

  “You stretch again like that and neither of us will care.” He got up and kissed her again, his hands molding her body like clay. “Go. Now,” he said, his voice rough around the edges.

  She reluctantly pulled away and went to shower. When she stepped back into the bedroom, Sean wasn’t there. She dressed in black slacks and a simple white top with black blazer, pulled her thick hair back into a wide clip, and put on just a touch of makeup. She carried her low-heeled black boots downstairs, her stomach growling again at the aroma coming from the kitchen. “Your cooking skills have improved,” she commented as she walked in.

  Sean was wearing a blue-and-white-checked apron and nothing else.

  “Dear God, Sean.”

  “You like?” He grinned mischievously as he set a plate of scrambled eggs with ham and cheese in front of her.

  “A half-naked man cooking for me in a beautiful house after good morning sex?”

  He frowned. “Just good?”

  She kissed him. “Very good. Extremely good.”

  “Hmm, we’re going to have to work on that. Tonight.”

  He poured her coffee, then helped himself to a plate of eggs. Lucy loved watching Sean. Not just because he looked like the Irish version of a Greek god, but because he enjoyed life. From the little things like cooking for her to the big things, like his work.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, surprised that she’d spoken out loud.

  “Okay about what?”

  “I don’t know—you’ve done everything for me since we’ve moved here, and I haven’t given you anything in return.”

  “You just gave me ‘very good’ morning sex.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Where is this coming from?”

  “I don’t know. Just—last night—you were in your element.”

  He blanched. “I was not in my element. I was surrounded by cops.”

  “But you were helping. Your instincts—they’re right on. And then I was thinking about Patrick, and how good you and he worked together, and then—”

  He put his hands together in a time-out gesture. “I’m happy. I wake up every morning with you. This is exactly what I want.”

  She frowned. “Okay.”

  “You think I’m lying?”

  “No, I just know you miss it.”

  “Miss DC? Definitely not.”

  “Miss the excitement. RCK sent you all over the world fixing problems.”

  “There are plenty of problems to fix right here in the Lone Star State.” He picked up her plate and his and put them on the counter. He took her hands and squeezed. “I don’t know where all these insecurities are coming from, Luce, but I’m telling you now, and I’ll tell you every day if I have to, I love you. My life is where your life is. Hell, I can go back to designing video games again if I want.”

  Her brows dipped in surprise. “You want to design video games?”

  He shrugged. “Not really, but it’s fun. And I’m working out a consulting relationship with RCK. Not working for Duke, but being hired case by case.”

  “Really?”

  “I was serious yesterday about billing them. I’m going to talk to JT later this week. With Nora on bed rest, I don’t want Duke thinking about anything but her and the baby.”

  “Okay.” She kissed him. “I don’t know how late I’ll be, but I’ll call you.”

  “Maybe I’ll make dinner for you.”

  “Breakfast and dinner?” She kissed him again, this time lingering over his lips. “You must want something in return.”

  “Only you.” Sean smiled. “But I’ll think of something very fun we can do that involves you, me, and water. Clothing optional.”

  * * *

  Sunday morning at the FBI office was quiet. Too quiet. She didn’t see anyone but the desk guard, though the sound of a copy machine cut through the silence.

  “You beat me,” Lucy said when she rounded the aisle and saw Ryan.

  “You stayed later with Donnelly.”

  She poured coffee from the pot in their squad room. Violent Crimes had been relegated to the far corner of the FBI offices. With the shifts in FBI priorities to counter-intelligence and white-collar crimes, the agents assigned to the Violent Crimes Squad had been cut 75 percent across the board. They had an eight-agent squad, plus their supervisory agent and an analyst. Juan had an office, but rarely closed the door; Zach Charles, the analyst, had a double-sized work space at the front of their section. The rest of them had small cubicles, personalized against the generic government workroom. Lucy was in the middle, directly across the aisle from Ryan.

  She sat in her chair and swiveled to face him. “With George dead, the only lead we have on Jaime Sanchez is this missing boy, Michael. I have a call into Bella’s CPS caseworker in the hope that she knows more.”

  “What about the guy who came by yesterday? DeSantos? Can he help push things along?”

  She shrugged. “He might be able to help, but I think Bella would be more comfortable talking to me at this point. She’s seven, her life has been turned upside down.” Lucy knew exactly how she felt. When she was seven, her nephew and best friend had been murdered. They were born only weeks apart, but Justin’s death had had a permanent impact on the Kincaid family. “She’s small and quiet and hears everything,” Lucy said, remembering that her family hadn’t talked to her about what happened to Justin, but she had figured it out by being, essentially, invisible and listening. All the grief from her family pouring out, suffocating her. “It’s a matter of asking the right questions. I’ve interviewed children before. It’s a touchy area because if the court gets involved, they’ll screw everything up.”

  “It’s the process.”

  “Yes and no. There are ways around it. But picture being seven, your mother in jail, your uncle dead, your other uncle wanted by the police, and you’re being brought into a giant marble building to face an old man or woman in a long black robe in an intimidating room filled with adults and huge, dark furniture? She’ll be even more scared. I want to talk to her where she feels safe. If her CPS counselor doesn’t call me back, I’ll talk to Donnelly, see if I can read in DeSantos.” Switching gears, she said, “Did you get the time line I emailed you? Did I miss anything?”

  “I reviewed it, added a couple of details, and emailed it back to you and Donnelly, right before you walked in. It’s tight. He was never alone, until he was put in his cell. Donnelly is interviewing the defense attorney first thing this morning; she was the last person, other than the guard, who saw him. But she has a squeaky-clean record.” He glanced at his watch. “We should head over there,” he said. “Donnelly wants to debrief at oh-nine-hundred. He’s sending someone to babysit the coroner so he knows exactly when there’s something to know.”

  Juan Casilla stepped into the narrow lane between cubicles. “Agent Donnelly can wait. Fill me in first.”

  Ryan leaned back and gave Juan a rundown of what had happened since they’d filed their own reports yesterday afternoon.

  Lucy greatly respected her boss. He was calm, reasoned, and disciplined. He was also a family man, with five children and a sixth on the way. She and Sean had been over to his house shortly after she arrived in San Antonio for Sunday dinner. It reminded her of growing up in a large family. She’d said as much to Sean, because he also came from a large family, but he shook his head. “Every family’s different, Luce. The Rogans were never as close as the Kincaids.”

  Sean fit in with her family. Not only was her brother Patrick his best friend, but her parents loved him and treated him like one of their own, and Dillon and Jack respected Sean’s unique skills. Carina hadn’t been quite as enamored with Sean, but they hadn’t met under the best of circumstances. She’d come
around. Everyone eventually did.

  But it pained Lucy that Sean’s childhood hadn’t been as idyllic as hers. Sean’s family had far more money than the Kincaids ever did, but his parents traveled extensively for business and pleasure, and Sean was essentially raised by his siblings. He was fourteen when his parents were killed in a small-plane crash, and his older brother Duke became his guardian. Sean loved his brother, especially because he had stuck around when his other siblings had done their own thing, but there had been a lot of friction between them as well. They seemed to have developed a truce, and she hoped it lasted.

  Family was complicated. It didn’t matter who you were. The Sanchezes were family, albeit on the wrong side of the law, but they still behaved as family, warts and all.

  Would one of his own kin kill George Sanchez? The thought made Lucy wonder—George had made a sacrifice for his nieces, thinking he was protecting them. What if Jaime or even Mirabelle didn’t think that sacrifice was warranted? Both of them were far more jaded and knew how to manipulate the system. They would believe that their lawyer could get them out of the mess, find a loophole, or get them out with a low bail. Mirabelle might think it best that CeCe and Bella cool their heels in juvenile detention for a few days, no problem. But George was about family, and he couldn’t bear the thought of the girls being in a potentially dangerous environment. If he cared that much, he learned it from someone. His parents? His brother? Maybe Mirabelle could still be brought around to help.

  If someone else, someone associated with the Sanchezes, had ordered the hit on George, Jaime might want revenge. He was already violent; given a cause he could be ruthless. And from his rap sheet, it would fit his personality, give him a justifiable reason, in his head, to start a war.

  And then there was the original reason that George and Jaime were wanted—attempted murder on a rival gang member. Maybe George’s murder wasn’t related to his turning state’s evidence at all, but retaliation by the other gang.

  “Kincaid,” she heard in the back of her head.

  “Yes, sorry?”

  “Where did we lose you?” Juan said.

  She blushed. “I was thinking about family. I’m sorry, really. I was thinking that Jaime and Mirabelle didn’t kill their brother. Family’s too important to them.”

  “Family kills each other all the time.”

  “It doesn’t feel right to me. I think Jaime is going to get revenge on his brother’s killer, or whoever he thinks is responsible. Either who they work for—if whoever’s in charge believed George was a threat—or someone in the gang that the Sanchez brothers hit two months ago. Ryan—were any of the gang Donnelly arrested at the hardware store in jail with Sanchez?”

  “Donnelly already ran them. They’re all there, but they were in a different holding wing.”

  “But they could have spread the word. If they thought that Sanchez had ratted on them, they could have gotten the word out to the rest of the prisoners. Or if there was another gang at play, slip them the information.”

  “For what it’s worth,” Ryan said, “I think you’re right to wait until the autopsy comes back. If we know what killed him, it’ll help narrow the window. But we should definitely talk to Donnelly about other gang affiliations. The prison system does a damn near impossible job of keeping rival gangs separated, but mistakes happen.”

  Juan said, “We need to shift focus. You two, work with Agent Donnelly, but your priority is finding the missing boy. He’s a child at risk, under fourteen, and a witness. I talked to Donnelly this morning, and he’s okay with it. I read your report, Lucy—you have a possible identification on the child?”

  “A CPS officer approached with a file, and the basics match. I want to take the photo to the minor girl, Bella Borez, but I reached out to her CPS caseworker and haven’t heard back.”

  “What do you need, an address? Donnelly would have it.”

  “I’ll talk to him. If we get a hard ID, we can narrow the search, go back to his foster parents, his old neighborhood, family, and friends. He could be hiding out with someone he trusts.”

  “Good angle. Work it.”

  “I think I should stick with Donnelly,” Ryan said. “Lucy can handle the interviews on her own, Donnelly is spread thin right now.”

  Juan considered for a moment. “Donnelly wanted you both assigned to him for the duration but I didn’t feel comfortable with that. Donnelly is a good agent, has an outstanding reputation, but he’s a maverick, and you both have maverick tendencies. Donnelly can take care of himself, but Lucy, you’re still a rookie, and there are many eyes on rookies.” He turned to Ryan. “You stick to Donnelly’s team for now, but back up Kincaid.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “When we find the boy, we’ll reassess. And Lucy, if you need help, tag Ryan. He’s your partner in this, and the senior agent. Keep him in the loop.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Donnelly’s unit may be spread thin, but so are we. I asked Zach to come in this afternoon to get debriefed and pull records or whatever you need. Copy him into all future reports. Are we good?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ryan said.

  Juan nodded. “If you have time, Nita will have dinner on the table at six thirty tonight. You’re both invited. And Sean, of course,” he added. He glanced at his watch. “Nita’s going to have my hide. I’m going to be late to Mass.” He nodded good-bye and left.

  “Dinner with the boss,” Ryan said. “Always makes me nervous.”

  “I love his family. Reminds me of my own.”

  “We should get to SAPD for the debriefing.”

  “I need to send Zach what we have, and I have some records I’d like him to access,” she said. “I’ll meet you there.”

  After Ryan left, she sent Zach a long email about Michael, asking him to run statistics on missing children in foster care, breaking it down by race and comparing San Antonio with the rest of Texas. Maybe Michael was an anomaly, or maybe there was something bigger and more horrific than drug running. At-risk youth were called at-risk for a reason. Not just because they might turn to a life of crime, but because others used and abused them.

  She also asked him to pull the records of all foster parents and CPS staff assigned to any boys who’d gone missing within the last two years and fell into the target demographic: male, ten to fourteen years of age, Hispanic, one or both parents incarcerated.

  Her cell phone rang. It was Donnelly. “Where the hell are you?”

  She bristled. “I’m at my desk. Ryan is on his way to the briefing now. What’s your problem?” She winced at her tone. She needed to remember that she wasn’t in her old world anymore, with people who knew her and had worked with her.

  He let out a long breath. “Not enough sleep. Sorry. I need you here. I want your help interviewing Mirabelle Borez. We need something to shake loose, and we made a good team yesterday with George. I have another tactic we can take with Borez.”

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. I also need to talk to Bella Borez about Michael. I have a photo that might be the kid.”

  “I’ll get her file copied and have it ready for you. But let’s nail Mirabelle down now. I have an idea, and maybe we can get what we both want.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Lucy missed the debriefing, but Ryan filled her in on the highlights as soon as she arrived. Essentially, they had nothing. The autopsy was being performed on George Sanchez, but tox screens could take days or weeks to get back, even with the rush. Jaime Sanchez’s gangbangers were still in custody and a team was going over their records and backgrounds, but no one was talking and all had requested lawyers. They were certainly more scared of whoever they worked for—either Jaime or someone higher up the food chain—than they were of prison.

  “I told Donnelly,” Ryan said, “that the hit on George might have been a way to keep the others in line. Talk, you’re dead. It’s classic.”

  “No sighting of Jaime?”

  “Nada. He’s deep down the rabbit hole. May hav
e left town, but Donnelly seems to think he’s close. Did he tell you about Mirabelle?”

  “He wants to tag-team her, see if we can break her.”

  “They’re bringing her in from holding now.”

  Donnelly walked into the room with Nicole Rollins on his heels. “Kincaid, come with me. Quiroz, where are we with the known associates?”

  He held up a sheet. “I have the list, last address of each of Jaime’s people. Half are in prison.”

  “Take the other half and you and Rollins shake them down. Find out what they know, if anything. Listen to what they don’t say as much as what they say. Watch your back. Pull anyone you need, Rollins will make it happen.”

  “Yes, sir. I cleared it with my boss to pull in someone from my squad for today, since you have Lucy.”

  “Who?”

  “Dunning.”

  Donnelly swore under his breath. “Another rookie?”

  “Ten years in the Marines, Special Forces, on SWAT with me, I’d rather have him cover my ass than anyone.”

  “Fine,” Donnelly said, but he didn’t look happy. Lucy considered what Nicole had said yesterday about losing a rookie in the line of duty. She wanted to ask him, but now was not the time. While Donnelly was working out details with Ryan, she sent Sean a text message.

  If you’re not busy, can you look up something for me? Donnelly lost a fellow agent in the line of duty, a rookie DEA agent. I don’t know when or where. I’d like to know what happened.

  Only a few seconds later, Sean responded.

  I’m at the gym. Will do when I get back.

  She smiled. He always answered his messages, even at the gym. Might as well have his phone implanted in his palm.

  Thanks. Love you.

  “Ready?” Donnelly asked.

  She followed him down the hall, out the back, and into the adjoining building, which housed the county jail. They signed in, turned over their weapons, and were escorted to a room generally reserved for lawyers and their clients.

  “Can you give me a heads-up about what you want from Mirabelle?”