Dead Heat

by Allison Brennan

  “This case of yours will keep you busy,” Sean said. “And I hope to be done by Wednesday at the latest.”

  “Still.” She rolled over and looked at him, resting her head on her propped-up hand. “I like sleeping with you next to me.”

  He grinned. “I like sleeping with you, too.”

  “One-track mind.”

  He feigned hurt. “Who invited me into the shower? Hmm?” He nuzzled her neck and tickled her.

  “Uncle!” she exclaimed.

  She scrambled up and grabbed the plates. “Let’s clean up. I’m beat.”

  He took the plates from her and carried them into the kitchen. She sat at the island and picked bites off a crumb cake their elderly neighbor across the street made them. They’d lived in this house for nine weeks and every Saturday morning, Mrs. Ethel Dobbins brought over something she’d baked. “I’m surprised you didn’t finish this,” Lucy said to Sean.

  “It was big enough for ten people.”

  She smiled and took a big bite while Sean loaded the dishwasher.

  “How’s the case going? Any leads on Sanchez’s killer?”

  She shook her head. “Donnelly is all over it. He’s confident it’s an inside job, maybe a guard who was paid to look the other way. But they haven’t narrowed it down yet.” She finished her wine and handed Sean the glass. “But Juan put Ryan and me exclusively on finding Michael Rodriguez, helping Donnelly and the DEA only insofar as helping is leading us to the kid. Separating the agencies, I suppose.”

  “But you think they’re connected.”

  “We all do—and we learned why. Michael’s father lived in the same neighborhood as the Sanchezes. He’s older than Jaime and George, but the time line still works out. I wanted to talk to him in prison, but Donnelly is sending local agents tomorrow morning. The prison is two hours away.”

  “It seems a bit thin,” he said. “Any other connections?”

  She went over everything she knew, and all her theories. Talking it all out with Sean, who asked smart questions and kept her mind working, helped more than stewing over possibilities in the shower. And in the end, it went back to Michael.

  She said, “I don’t understand what he was doing for the year between when he left and when he was held captive by the Sanchezes.”

  “You’re certain he wasn’t imprisoned elsewhere before the girl saw him?”

  “No, I’m not, but the note he left makes it seem that he left of his own free will. Maybe threatened or coerced, but not kidnapped.”

  Sean sat next to her at the kitchen bar. He took her hand. “You care about this kid and you haven’t even met him.”

  “He’s had such a rough life, Sean. Why would he leave foster parents who obviously loved him and wanted to adopt him?”

  “Maybe he didn’t think he deserved to be happy,” Sean said quietly, then kissed her hand.

  She knew how that felt. She hadn’t been happy, truly happy, for years before Sean came into her life. He taught her how to live again. How to smile. How to appreciate the small things that made her happy. “I thought about that, and maybe that’s part of it, but I don’t think that’s all of it. I can’t explain why.”

  “Your instincts. Trust them, Luce.”

  “What would be the only reason you’d leave people you loved?”

  “I’m not going to leave you, Lucy.” He turned her face to look at him. “You know that, right?” He was both fearful and angry, his own doubts of worthiness coming briefly to the surface.

  She held his face. “I know. But that’s not exactly what I meant. Put yourself into the shoes of a twelve-year-old boy who, after years of abuse and betrayal, finds two people who love him for who he is, who feed and clothe him and make sure he goes to school and brushes his teeth. Who gave him his own room with his own toys and put him on a baseball team even though they didn’t have to do it, even though it cost them their own money and not the money they were getting from the foster care system. Two people who never raise their voices or use their fists. Why would you walk away from that?”

  “I wouldn’t.” Then he said, “He was trying to protect them.”

  “That’s the only thing I can see. There’s no indication that he was kidnapped, and he was only locked in the basement for four weeks. Even though the police don’t have a verified connection between Rodriguez and Sanchez, that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. And if Rodriguez knew Sanchez, it goes to reason that Sanchez knew Michael.”

  “How did he reach him? How did he find out where he lived?”

  “I don’t know. Michael was placed as far as you can get from his old neighborhood. He wasn’t sent to the same school—in fact the Popes put him in Catholic school.”

  “Chance?”

  “Or someone on the inside.”

  “The inside of where?”

  “DeSantos, his CPS counselor, said that Michael’s father was fighting the adoption. What if his lawyer gave him information? All he’d need is a name. It would then be easy to track down the Popes.”

  “That’s a good place to start.”

  “Or it could be Michael kept in touch with old friends, maybe told someone where he lived, and it got back to Sanchez.” She rubbed her eyes. This was getting her nowhere.

  “I interviewed Bella this morning, with CPS.”

  “This DeSantos?”

  “No, Bella’s caseworker. Jennifer Mendez. She’s difficult, but good with kids.”

  Lucy got up and went to her briefcase to pull out a copy of the crude drawing. She showed it to Sean. “Bella drew this. Said it was a scar on Michael’s arm. Or it could be a homemade tattoo.”

  Sean looked, turned it around, shook his head. “I’ve never seen it.”

  “Neither has anyone on Donnelly’s team. He sent it to Washington, hoping they’ll have something more. Donnelly thinks it’s drug-related.”

  “You should send this to Jack. RCK has a database of drug cartel symbols.”

  “DEA would have a similar system.”

  “They do. It doesn’t hurt to cross-check. And RCK is faster than the government.”

  “True,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “Thank your brother.” He paused. “Or I can call Kane. I can’t guarantee he’ll respond or be able to help, but if anyone knows what’s going on with drug issues along the border, it’s Kane.”

  Sean didn’t particularly want to call his brother. He hadn’t spoken to him in months. Kane called when he needed something, never just to talk or say hi. Sean was used to it, but it didn’t make brotherly bonding easy. The last time he’d actually seen Kane was before he met Lucy, and it was for a short and dangerous flight in Mexico. Duke, who’d raised Sean after their parents were killed, didn’t like when Sean did jobs for Kane, even though Kane was one of the founders of RCK and their initial focus was hostage rescue in Mexico and Central America. People around Kane tended to die.

  Lucy didn’t know Kane. Sean admired him in many ways, but didn’t always understand him. He was blunt, he could be cruel, and if he didn’t have the time or inclination to help, he wouldn’t. He had his own agenda, and it didn’t always coincide with what the feds wanted. Kane helped the military in many off-book operations, and fed a substantial amount of information to the DEA and ICE, but he also had some choice words to say about the government. Sean didn’t think his brother had stepped foot in the U.S. more than a dozen times in the last fifteen years.

  But for Sean, Kane would help. For Jack’s sister, Kane would help.

  At least, Sean hoped he wasn’t wrong about his oldest brother.

  “Sean?” Lucy asked, rubbing his arm up and down. “You don’t have to talk to Kane. I’ll call Jack.”

  “No, it’s fine. If Kane can help, he’ll call me. I’ll send him a message tonight. And a copy of this, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course.”

  “He’ll probably call you directly, cut out the middleman. Just remember—he can be difficult.”

  “Like all the Rogans?
” she said with a smile.

  “Me?” He reached over and tickled her again. “I’m the easiest one of all.”

  She snorted and Sean laughed. He picked her up and, over her protests, carried her up to bed.

  An hour later, while Lucy slept, Sean tried to reach Kane.

  * * *

  Jaime had the address and drove around twice to make sure no one was watching the house. His contact told him there were increased patrols, but no one sitting outside the house. Experience told Jaime to always verify the information.

  His contact was right. This time. The federal sweep had made everyone in Jaime’s business antsy or stupid. They either holed up and Jaime couldn’t find them, or they did something stupid, like the five who’d been arrested at the hardware store and lost the ledger.

  The feds didn’t know what they had; if they did, the names and faces of everyone on the general’s payroll would have been plastered all over the news. The general was far bigger and more powerful than anyone knew. Even Jaime was surprised at his reach sometimes.

  Everyone knew that the general had never been in the military, but fashioned himself a military expert. Everyone knew he had a temper, but he was also generous. Money flowed, promises were kept … unless you did something to anger him.

  Jaime shivered. Little scared him. Nothing scared him, except the general.

  And now Jaime was on the hot seat, and unless he got Michael back, he would be dead.

  Except for his ace in the hole.

  Bella.

  The general wanted her now, but Jaime needed a win. He needed Bella, he had to find Michael, and he had a plan to take care of DEA Agent Brad Donnelly and his entire team. His partner wouldn’t like it, so Jaime kept him in the dark.

  Jaime answered only to the general.

  His phone rang.

  “What?”

  “Go. The patrol is fifteen minutes out.”

  He hung up, checked his gun, and left the car around the corner from the house where his nieces were staying. He slipped through the back gate that was now unlocked.

  CeCe had gotten the message. She’d done what was asked of her. This should be a piece of cake.

  He stood in the dark of the backyard. There were motion lights on each corner of the house, but they didn’t go on.

  He smiled.

  Good girl, CeCe.

  He opened the back door. Unlocked, just as CeCe had been told to leave it. The girl had always obeyed well. She was her mother’s daughter.

  He stood in the warm, spice-filled kitchen. This was where it would get dangerous. He didn’t want to go up the stairs, where he could be trapped. And though he would kill the family if he had to, he would rather get away clean and have time to get back to the safe house before the cops started looking for him or the girls.

  A small sound in the foyer made him freeze. He had his gun out.

  “No,” a little voice said. “No, no!” It was Bella, and she was getting louder.

  CeCe hissed at her. “Yes!”

  Jaime acted. He moved silently through the kitchen and grabbed Bella by the arm. “It’s me, Uncle Jaime. Come.”

  She started sobbing and dragging her feet.

  There was a thud upstairs. Jaime picked Bella up and hoisted her over his shoulder.

  CeCe followed, but Jaime made sure she couldn’t keep up with him. He didn’t know what to do with CeCe, but the general only wanted Bella. Jaime feared what he would do to his older niece; she was safer here. And it was safer for him.

  Jaime got to the car and glanced over his shoulder. The lights in the corner house were on, and CeCe was running down the street toward him.

  He didn’t wait.

  He put Bella in the backseat, turned the ignition, and sped off.

  “I don’t want to go, please, Uncle Jaime, please let me out.”

  “Trust me, Bella. You’re going to be treated like a princess.”

  “I want Mommy.”

  “I’m working on it,” he lied. He didn’t know what the general had in store for Mirabelle. All Jaime knew was that he was very angry with the woman who’d betrayed him.

  And Jaime didn’t blame him.

  Family was important, but some family was more important than others.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror.

  Like Bella.

  CHAPTER 12

  Light kisses woke her up before the sun. Lucy stretched and felt Sean next to her. But he was fully dressed.

  She opened one eye. “What time is it?” She sat up and yawned. It wasn’t even five.

  “I want to get to Stinson before the rush.” Stinson Municipal Airport catered mostly to private planes, many commuters or business charters. Sean had a Cessna he housed there. “I emailed you some interesting information about Donnelly.”

  He kissed her again. “Go back to sleep.”

  “No, I’m fine.” Once she had coffee.

  “I wish I could stay, but I can’t. Love you.” He gave her a last, long kiss, then left.

  Lucy got ready for work and drank a cup of coffee while sitting at the desk in her home office. She scanned the information Sean had sent her.

  Brad Donnelly, thirty-nine. Four years in the Marines right out of high school, then went to college, graduated with a degree in criminal justice. Went right into the DEA, was in the first class that graduated from the new facilities that opened in 1999, also located at Quantico next to the FBI training academy. He was initially assigned to the Phoenix Division, where he stayed for five years. He transferred to Houston and received a promotion to Supervisory Special Agent. He had a long list of accomplishments and awards, and though Lucy didn’t know how Sean had found it, he also had a few dings on his record.

  Four years ago, Donnelly was transferred to the San Antonio regional office in a lateral move. He was also tasked with being the interagency liaison, which made sense since he had led the recent sweep.

  But it was a headline from Arizona, shortly before the transfer to Houston, that told Lucy all she needed to know.

  TWO FEDERAL AGENTS KILLED DURING DRUG BUST

  TUCSON, AZ. Two agents with the Drug Enforcement Administration were killed last night during a sting operation outside Sierra Valley, twenty miles north of the Mexican border.

  A spokesperson for the DEA, Special Agent Margaret Neilson, said a team of agents raided a warehouse where more than a thousand pounds of heroin were recovered.

  “After the drugs were seized, a well-armed gang of criminals attacked the officers who were stationed outside. Two agents were killed. After a standoff, reinforcements arrived and three members of the gang were shot and killed. Two were arrested. We suspect that two escaped and a manhunt is currently under way.”

  There was nothing in the article that mentioned Brad Donnelly, but Sean had found other information that put him at the scene.

  Lucy looked at the two deceased agents. Both were rookies with less than one year experience. One male, one female.

  Tucson was a far cry from San Antonio, but could Sanchez, or his people, have been responsible for those deaths? Was that why Donnelly was so obsessed with him? Or was it simply the situation itself, bad guys getting away with crimes over and over, and young cops dying in the process? Was there another case that impacted Donnelly? Something closer to home?

  She wanted to talk to him about it, but then Donnelly would know she’d been researching him. Sean had written a note that said his contacts told him Donnelly was respected but feared within the office.

  There had to be more to the Tucson case than what was in the press. Operational details, names, what really happened. A well-planned operation shouldn’t have ended up with the team being ambushed. Drug dealers didn’t just leave a thousand pounds of heroin unprotected.

  She considered going into the office early, before going to the Popes, but decided to drive through the Popes’ neighborhood to get a sense of the community.

  It was an older, established neighborhood on the outskirts of S
an Antonio, nowhere near the Rodriquez/Sanchez area. It wasn’t far from the Groves’ house, maybe two miles on the other side of the loop. The small bungalows were generally clean and tidy with 1950s charm. The Popes were on the corner with a deck and a cheerful yellow coat of paint, windows trimmed in white and gray, and a multitude of flowers in the ground, hanging from the porch roof, or overflowing from pots. It was a warm house, a place a kid like Michael from the bad side of town would never expect to live.

  She’d left a message for the Popes yesterday, but they hadn’t returned her call. She hoped they would talk to her.

  The old Chevy truck that was registered to Hector Pope wasn’t in the driveway, and on her second turn around the block, a woman of about fifty was watering the flowers on the front porch from an oversized watering pot. She wore a long multicolored skirt and loose white blouse. She was a plumper, shorter version of Lucy’s mother and for a minute, Lucy was homesick.

  You’re being ridiculous, Luce. You haven’t lived at home for eight years.

  It was that she’d spent so much time over Christmas with her family that she was nostalgic for what she used to have, before her life was turned inside out by a monster.

  She took a deep breath and got out of the car. She approached Mrs. Pope with a smile. “Hello, Mrs. Pope? I’m Agent Lucy Kincaid with the San Antonio FBI. I’m hoping you have a moment to talk about Michael.”

  The woman stared at her with a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

  “I need to call my husband,” she said as Lucy walked up the stairs.

  “I only have a few questions—he’s not in trouble.”

  “Why would the FBI be here? What do the federales want with my boy?”

  “I’m trying to help him.”

  She frowned, confused.

  “Did Mr. DeSantos talk to you yesterday?”

  She relaxed, just a bit. “I called Mr. DeSantos about the note Michael left me. He said he would look into it, find out what he could.”

  “And you haven’t talked to him since?”

  “No, why? Is something wrong?”

  DeSantos might not have wanted to get their hopes up. Lucy appreciated that concern, but right now she needed information.