by Jordan Dane
She cocked her head. “And I’ve invited other regional school administrators to see the programs you’ve generously funded. Some have flown in for the occasion, and if local contributors like what they see, they might make a donation, too. So play nice, will you? Do it for the kids. A few of the children will be attending with their parents. They’re excited about playing dress-up, like real grown-ups.”
Over the years, he’d gotten a bit of a reputation in certain circles. Partly due to his involvement with Sister Kate’s pet project, the media had initially placed the spotlight on him, but when other more influential people took notice, he had to invent a persona that people and the police would buy. One thing led to another, and things got out of control fast. He’d been mistaken that the local media would get tired of covering his story—and now he was stuck with the consequences. No good deed went unpunished.
He’d never told Kate that she’d brought trouble to his door the day she’d found him in Haiti and brought the past colliding with the present for him. She thought she had done him a good turn—drawing attention to what she believed to be his philanthropic nature—and the academy’s kids had benefited from it. The choices he’d made in his life were not their problem.
Sister Kate walked with him toward the main building, but not before she wiped stone dust from the back of his jacket like a nervous mother hen. With her arm in his, the nun explained that since the local papers had circulated the news of the charitable event for the St. Thomas Aquinas Academy, the local police thought it would be wise to add security. She told him that she had little to say about it.
“In truth, the police are here for you, Jackson.”
“That’s not funny, Kate. Armed men in uniform aren’t my idea of a good time,” he protested.
“But an armed man who is well dressed in designer threads is perfectly acceptable?” She reached over and tugged at the lapel of his suit. “I noticed you were packing heat.”
Under his jacket, he wore a .45-caliber Glock 30 in a holster.
“Packing heat?” He laughed. “You’ve been watching too many Bogart flicks.”
“And you’re ignoring my question.” She crossed her arms and stood in front of him. “You’re a man with secrets, Jackson Kinkaid. You always have been. Don’t bother to deny it.”
“Wouldn’t if I could,” he agreed.
“You’ve always struck me as someone I can trust when it really counts, but I have a feeling I’d never know you in a lifetime. Why is that?”
“Why you trust me?” He smirked. “Good question.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” She poked his arm.
“I could say the same about you.” He shrugged. “I trust you, but I haven’t scratched the surface of understanding who you really are. You’re not exactly an open book.”
“I’m a nun. What’s to know?” She brushed off her habit. “Being trustworthy comes with the uniform.”
“Not in my world, Kate.” Kinkaid grinned. “You’re a complicated and uncompromising woman who respects secrets. And I like that.” He looked away and broke the hold she had on him. “Besides, you don’t want to know who I really am. Men like me are the reason you pray.”
“You’re not the only reason I pray, Jackson. Not by a long shot.”
“I remember the day we first met at the hospital. Sometimes that day seems like a lifetime ago.” He stared into the night sky and sighed. “Other times, it feels like only yesterday. Some wounds never heal.”
“I’m surprised you remember that day at all. You weren’t in any condition to recall much of anything.” She stroked his arm. “I do pray for you, Jackson. And I have faith that one day you’ll find peace.”
“Pray for someone who deserves it, Kate. Your odds would be better.”
He caught the glint of her eyes in the moonlight and knew she was staring at him. When she didn’t say anything more, he knew that she understood not to ask questions. If she ever did, he would tell her the truth, about the man he’d become, and that might change everything between them. She had accepted him into her life, and that was good enough for him. And for a reason he didn’t want to think about, it mattered what she thought of him. But that didn’t mean he wanted to risk crossing the line—to tell her the truth about his life.
“Come on. Let’s get this over with…for both our sakes.”
She took his arm again and headed for Dumont Hall, muttering under her breath, “Who invited the likes of you and me anyway?”
“Someone with exceedingly low standards.” He smiled. “But remember. This is all for the children.”
“That it is, my dear.” She patted his arm and grinned at him. “That it is.”
New York City
Lower East Side
9:30 P.M.
Alexa knocked on the apartment door and peeked through the peephole. From the outside looking in, nothing was very clear through the lens, but she spied a light on inside. That was good enough for her to decide that someone was home, although that didn’t ensure her knock would get answered. Straightening her blond hair, she took a step back into the hall so she’d be visible through the peephole—and waited.
Jessie Beckett opened the door without a hint of whether she was pleased to see her. And she didn’t feel the need to break the ice by talking either. Dressed in faded jeans and a black Chicago Bulls tee, the former bounty hunter could play poker with the best, yet she’d never make a good politician since she spoke her mind, short and sweet—one of the reasons the woman had grown on her. And the pronounced scar over her eyebrow hinted at the darkness in her past.
“You don’t call…you don’t write.” Alexa leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb with her arms crossed. “Can I come in?”
Jessie stared at her a moment, then backed away to let her in. Alexa entered the small apartment before Jessie had a chance to change her mind.
“I’ve been busy, that’s all,” she said. “You didn’t tell me what hard work it would be. Garrett’s people have me jumping, but it’s all good…I think.”
“From what I hear, you’re a star,” Alexa replied, unbuttoning her light tweed jacket and putting her hands into the pockets of her khaki pants.
She glanced around the tiny living room, sparse with cheap rental furniture and worn cardboard boxes stacked in a corner. The mundane room was colored in varying degrees of brown and looked like something anyone would scrape off their shoe. And it smelled a little musty, with the faint scent of pine and ammonia.
Although it was clear that Jessie had made an attempt to clean, she barely looked like she lived there. No personal effects could be seen, only the essentials for her to eat and sleep in the apartment that Garrett Wheeler—the liaison to the Sentinels—had leased for her after she’d picked it. The woman definitely gravitated toward the simpler life, having no tolerance for the more-upscale lifestyle he would have provided.
But that only made Garrett peeved that he hadn’t gotten her total buy-in. Lavish gifts and posh living quarters were more his style. Yet she had refused his usual ploys to make her feel obligated to him—and to add insult to injury—the woman could pick up and go in a heartbeat. Garrett didn’t like that. So knowing Jessie had worked late, Alexa had been sent to check on her even at this hour, a task she would have done on her own without his prompting.
She had something personal on her mind, and she had to get it off her chest.
Alexa turned to face her and get a closer look at her new partner. Jessie looked tired, and the spark of her usual defiance had been dulled. Alexa knew about going stir-crazy until that first assignment came along. Living in luxury had made the wait tolerable for her, but Jessie didn’t have such a distraction. Plus, the Sentinels’ instruction program for its operatives was consuming, a twenty-four/seven schedule that had kept them apart until this week, when she’d be officially assigned her new partner.
Jessie was ready, and they both knew it.
“Rumor has it that you’re the one to be
at. You had top honors,” Jessie reminded her. “I’m just trying to make a good first impression.”
“Spoken like a true overachiever who’s been smacked by the humility stick.” She chose a chair across from the small sofa and sat.
“Can I get you a beer?” Jessie asked.
Beer was not Alexa’s drink of choice, but for Jessie’s sake, she said, “Sure, as long as you don’t take me to a monster-truck rally after.”
“And here I thought you were a Monster Jam groupie.”
“Just hearing you say that scares the hell out of me.”
Alexa had gotten various reports from Jessie’s trainers as her instruction progressed. Top marks on all levels except when it came to a consistent concern. Her instructors had agreed that Jessie was both physically and mentally tough and would make a gifted operative, but she was a definite loner. In the world of the Sentinels, this was not a bad thing, but not everyone was convinced she’d make a good partner until Alexa spoke up for her.
That helped Garrett make up his mind. He needed to test her with the real deal. Soon they’d be assigned a case, another reason for Alexa to make contact with Jessie.
“Garrett told me we’d get one of the next assignments. You up for it?”
“Hell, yeah.” Jessie handed her a beer without a glass. “I’d take my urine test over just to feel I’m making progress.”
“I’ll mention that to the HR Department.”
Jessie plopped onto a sofa across from Alexa and took a long pull from her bottle before she spoke again. “I mean, it’s not that I’m ungrateful for all Garrett’s done for me. The training has been interesting. And I’ve never been in such good shape physically. The first few weeks were killer. But lately I’ve been pulling longer hours to stay…focused. Just hanging out like this is driving me crazier than usual. Without a bail-jumping scumbag in sight, I’m going through arrest withdrawals.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
Alexa knew that Jessie hadn’t been back to Chicago since her training started nearly six months ago except to pack a few personal belongings. Garrett was maintaining her Chicago apartment in case she changed her mind. Plus he’d given her the option of flying back on a few occasions—at his expense—but she’d never taken him up on the offer. She hadn’t even gone back to see her cop friend, Sam Cooper. Although Alexa didn’t know her well, that behavior smacked of avoidance and seemed out of character, even for someone as detached as Jessie.
That left Alexa with questions. And before they worked together, she had to clear the air by testing a theory she had for the reason Jessie had severed her link to Chicago.
“What are you doing tomorrow morning?”
“Not much. Why?”
“I thought you might want to ride with me to the airport. I invited your friend Seth Harper to town for the weekend.”
The alarmed look on Jessie’s face told her everything she wanted to know. Alexa knew her plans with Seth and her playful weekend of seduction had gotten complicated.
Port de Paix, Haiti
10:00 P.M.
“And are you single, Mr. Kinkaid?” In a coy gesture, the older woman stroked the stem of her wineglass, not taking her eyes off him. Before Kinkaid replied, she added, “My daughter is studying finance back in the States. I’m sure she’d love to meet you…to discuss your…assets.”
He forced a polite smile and downed a full martini, wishing he had a second one on deck. He took a deep breath and gazed across the room to catch Sister Kate smirking. She stood with a small group of guests, holding the hand of a little Haitian boy. And whenever she could, Kate glanced his way, watching over him. Kinkaid could tell that the nun took devilish delight in his uneasiness, mostly because she shared it with him. Misery did indeed love company. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head at her, but Kate had supplied him with all the excuse he’d need.
“Best wishes to your daughter in her studies. But if you’ll excuse me, Sister Mary Katherine is calling.”
He made what he hoped was a diplomatic exit and went looking for a drink. But as he walked away, he caught the matchmaking woman checking his assets head to toe. She smiled and waved, without any sign of embarrassment. And from a distance, Kinkaid raised his empty glass in reply.
Sorry, lady. For your daughter’s sake, you shouldn’t troll in these waters. You’ve got no idea what lurks deep.
Kinkaid took a detour to the nearest cash bar as he listened to the music and took in the room. The musicians weren’t bad, especially after a few drinks. And the food looked great. Sister Kate and her organizers had put on a fine spread, with everything donated from local businesses, so the full ticket price could be donated to the school. Sister Kate never wasted an opportunity to raise money.
When he crossed the room, dodging partygoers and avoiding eye contact, he shifted his gaze to the exits. At first nothing seemed out of the ordinary. And he would have let the nagging sensation go, except for one thing.
It wasn’t what he saw, but what he didn’t see that bothered him. He stopped and turned. Not one local policeman was at his post. The uniforms were gone.
“What the hell…” He turned toward Sister Kate with a look of concern on his face. She noticed his expression right away and shrugged to convey she didn’t understand.
Neither of them saw what happened next until it was too late.
A blast of automatic gunfire erupted and echoed through the room. A deafening sound. He reached for his Glock as plaster rained down on his head, and he ran for cover. Complete and utter chaos followed. People ran screaming and jammed the exits. Gunmen dressed in black grabbed the guests. Men, women, and children were ordered to the floor, facedown. The assailants wore masks. Only their eyes and mouths were visible, making them appear more sinister.
Kinkaid caught a glimpse of Sister Kate across the room. She herded children toward the door to help them escape. Her black habit was hard to miss. And for the first time, he’d seen terror in her eyes when she stared back—although he knew her fear wasn’t for her own safety.
But the gunmen shut down the mass exodus, and Kinkaid was too far away to help Kate.
“Jackson…Kinkaid. We want the American!”
He heard his name called out. The armed men were looking for him. Damn it! But why? Had he brought this down on Sister Kate? Or were these men just looking to abduct a wealthy American businessman?
“Kinkaid,” a man yelled, and searched the cowering people on the floor. No one looked the man in the eye as he raged and spat at his hostages. “We came for the American…where is he?”
Kinkaid stayed hunched behind a column, considering his limited options. By his estimation, he’d be the only guest with a weapon. If he guessed wrong on what to do next, people could die, and he’d be taken out of the equation, unable to help.
Yet he had to do something.
Slowly he wedged his gun at the small of his back and hid it under his jacket. If one of the men got close enough to search him for a weapon, they’d find an empty holster. And that small diversion might give him time to pull his handgun and get some answers. Risking his neck might be worth the gamble if he found out what the men wanted and stopped the gunplay. He stood and raised his hands, ready to come out and identify himself.
But before he could, more shots rang out. This time the bastards aimed into the frantic crowds who packed the exits—a cruel, sadistic show of power meant to terrorize already helpless victims.
“No, no.” His lips moved, but his voice sounded muffled in his head. His hearing was trashed from the gunfire. And all he could do was watch. Everything happened too fast.
Two bodies fell. A man in a suit got shot in the back. The round hit his body with a meaty thud and sent him sprawling to the floor. And a gray-haired woman in a blue dress snapped her head back and tumbled. A crimson mist hung in the air as her body fell. When she hit the floor, the back of her head slammed hard, and a pool of her blood seeped onto the carpet. Her vacant dead eyes stared accusingly at a
young girl who stood over her. The kid couldn’t have been much more than eight years old.
“Oh, shit,” Kinkaid muttered.
For a split second, everything in the room stopped as he watched the girl. He tuned everything out. Complete tunnel vision. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, but the instant was gone in a flash.
A shrill scream rose above the panicked cries of men and women as they fled. The sound of the pitiable wail triggered a dark memory. He shut his eyes and tried to shake the past, but nothing would break him free until the blond girl screamed again.
His eyes fixed on her and grounded him in the moment. Even from a distance he saw the little girl tremble. And her face had turned a vivid red as tears streaked her cheeks. She stared at the woman’s body in shock, unable to move. One of the attackers turned toward the crying child and yelled something in a language Kinkaid didn’t understand. The masked man raised his weapon and aimed at the little girl.
The bastard was going to shoot.
CHAPTER 3
He had no time to think, only react.
Kinkaid came out from behind cover and yelled, “Over here, asshole.”
He took deadly aim and fired. One shot. Two.
The hooded man staggered back with his chest glistening in streaks of red. With a surprised look, he dropped to his knees and collapsed to the floor, face-first. But the fight was far from over.
In the confusion and gunfire, hostages leapt off the floor and raced for the exits. The gunmen were losing control. Kinkaid ran to grab the little girl, sidestepping the bodies and dodging the panicked crowd. Everything turned into a blur, and the air was thick with the sharp smell of gunfire. Something punched his side. And the skin of his stomach burned.