Cold as Ice

by Allison Brennan

  It had been sudden, she realized, thinking about Jesse as her son instead of just Sean’s son. She loved him as her own, and loved him because he was part of Sean. Not being able to have her own children had been a dark spot on her soul, and that would never completely disappear. But it had grown smaller because she had Jesse in her life. Accepting Jesse as her son had opened her heart up more to consider adoption. She and Sean had always planned to at some point—but she’d always envisioned it in the distant future. It had only been recently that she’d wanted to bring a child into their family. She loved babies but she didn’t need a baby. There were so many young children who needed a family to love and care for them.

  But not now. Clearly, they had some huge hurdles to overcome. Getting Sean out of jail was only the beginning.

  As Patrick drove them to Houston, leaving before the sun had even come up, she asked him about the young family that Elle, his longtime girlfriend, had been working to keep together. Patrick and Elle had brought the three kids with them for Thanksgiving, and Lucy had seen another side of Elle, who she had butted heads with over the years. For the first time, she could see what Patrick saw in the criminal defense lawyer. A strength and deep compassion that had her fighting for the underdog.

  Patrick seemed surprised that she’d asked.

  “The kids are doing well, thanks,” he said. “Elle found them a foster family and they’re together. She’s still working with the older girl because of the repeated arrests—that kid is her own worst enemy sometimes. But Elle got her into a community service program instead of doing time in juvie, and as long as she keeps her nose clean, her record will be expunged when she’s eighteen.”

  “You were great with them,” Lucy said. “Both you and Elle.”

  “They drew the short straw with their parents,” he said. “We were lucky, Lucy. Mom and Dad weren’t perfect—Dad was tough on everyone, except maybe you—but they gave us exactly what we needed and they loved us.”

  “Dad was tough on me,” she said quietly. Not while growing up—one of the benefits of being so much younger than her brothers and sisters was that she had been a bit spoiled and she didn’t have the same restrictions they did. But as an adult, she sometimes felt like she’d constantly disappointed her father and worried her mother. It wasn’t because she was a cop—half her family were cops—but because of other choices she’d made. Her dad was still was angry with her for pursuing the cold case into her nephew’s murder. And some of the things he’d said … they still hurt.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah, just thinking.”

  “We’re going to get Sean out of this.”

  At least she could change the subject away from their family. Patrick was right: they had had an amazingly wonderful childhood. They were hardly rich—her dad had a terrific career with the Army, but they lived on a single government salary. Her siblings had been raised as Army brats, but not her. Her dad took a permanent post in San Diego when she was three, so she only remembered that house, not moving around from base to base like her brothers and sisters. Growing up she’d often felt left out when they talked about the different bases and schools, things they did together as a family. But she cherished the relationship she had with them now.

  Especially now when she needed them the most.

  “Elise Hunt set this up,” Lucy said, “but she’s not working alone. I can’t figure out who is helping her. She doesn’t have money to hire people. I might concede that she has contacts here, but they would be her sister’s contacts, not hers. She was only in San Antonio for a few weeks before we arrested her.”

  “But her family has contacts. Her father.”

  “They’ve been out of commission for two years.”

  “I don’t have to tell you that criminals can run their enterprise from prison.”

  True, Lucy thought. Jimmy Hunt could be orchestrating the whole thing from California, using Elise on the ground.

  “That restraining order is serious,” Patrick said. “You’re a federal agent and it could go on your record.”

  “I know. I already have a message from Rachel, my boss, about it. I texted her that I would explain later, but I can’t do it now. I have to focus on Sean.”

  Her phone rang and it was Rick Stockton. “Director,” she answered formally. She was still upset with him from yesterday and the feeling she couldn’t shake that he wasn’t sold on Sean’s innocence.

  “I just got off the phone with Megan. Jimmy Hunt was transferred to the Beaumont prison. He testified against a known cartel hit man, Michael Thompson. The DEA arranged for it, and since they’re the ones prosecuting Thompson, I didn’t hear about it.”

  This was no coincidence. Jimmy was in Texas; Elise was in Texas.

  “When?”

  “He was transferred two weeks ago from Victorville. The trial was this week, and he’s being transported back to Victorville on Monday. Megan is on her way to Texas to interview him. I’m telling you for your information, but do not try to talk to him. I heard about the restraining order.”

  “News travels fast,” she snapped.

  “I understand what you’re going through, but you have to play by the rules.”

  “I was. She followed me, Director. There’s a corrections officer from her juvenile detention facility who is missing. Erica Anderson. She canceled the last three visits with her kids. Her ex-husband is worried, and she was last seen three days ago by her neighbor. She’s acting out of character according to her neighbors and her family. I think she knows something and is hiding from Elise, or she’s working for Elise.”

  “You have nothing to back up that accusation.”

  “And no one else is looking! Houston PD has no idea that Elise Hunt is behind this, aren’t even looking for evidence because they’re convinced that Sean is guilty. Because of that, she’s walking around doing whatever the hell she wants with no consequences! You don’t know her like I do. We need to track her down and keep her under surveillance. She’ll lead us to the heart of this conspiracy, and until you and the powers that be recognize that, we’re all screwed. We’ll find Brad Donnelly’s dead body and Sean will be in prison for the rest of his life!”

  She stopped, her heart racing, her face heated. She had never talked to a superior like that before in her life. A superior and a friend.

  “There’re some choices I can’t protect you from, Agent Kincaid. I’ll call you once Megan has a report.”

  He ended the call.

  Lucy could barely contain her frustrated scream. Who was investigating Elise? Maybe if they followed her they’d find Brad, or find the people who took them.

  This was all just too much. Rick was right—he couldn’t protect her. But she didn’t care. Saving Sean was more important than her career.

  “Lucy,” Patrick said.

  “Don’t say it.”

  She sent Nate a text message.

  Someone needs to find and covertly track Elise Hunt. She’s the key, she’ll lead us to answers.

  “I know what’s going on here, Patrick. Elise followed me, set up the confrontation, and got the restraining order. I was firm in court, and Elise played the ‘woe is me, I’m an abused kid’ card. That kid was never abused. She was born bad, into a bad family, and she enjoys hurting people.”

  “I’m not the enemy here. But if you’re not careful, you’ll lose your badge.”

  “I don’t care!”

  She looked out the window. They were not even halfway to Houston. She willed Patrick to drive faster, though he was already exceeding the speed limit.

  Several minutes later, Nate called her. “I talked to Leo. He’s going to spend today here with Jesse. Aggie has a lead on the Merides brothers. And as soon as I find Elise Hunt, I’ll follow her.”

  “Thank you. If you find Erica Anderson, you might find Elise.”

  “Aggie has been doing some work on that angle. Brad kept detailed records of every one of Nicole’s contacts. Most are dead, in jail, or un
derground. But there are a few who slipped away on technicalities, and a few who are affiliated with some of her old contacts. Aggie wrote a probability program that ranked them as to most likely to be working with Elise Hunt.”

  “I knew she was good.”

  “She is,” Nate concurred. “The way she processes information and remembers details is a lot like Sean, actually.”

  “Thank you for everything, Nate. I don’t know what Sean and I would do without you.”

  “No thanks necessary, Lucy. I’ll keep you updated.”

  Lucy ended the call and closed her eyes. Considered her options, which were becoming fewer by the minute.

  She called Megan. Her sister-in-law answered immediately.

  “I’m at the airport. I’ll be in Houston in a few hours,” Megan said.

  “Have you heard from Jack?”

  “Last night, briefly. He and Ranger are secure, tracking Kane.”

  “Tracking Kane? How? Who has him?”

  “Jack didn’t share details, just wanted me to know he was safe and tracking Kane. I honestly try not to think too much about what Jack and Kane do. Are you okay?”

  “Not really. I just talked to Rick.”

  “There are things going on at headquarters that have nothing to do with you or Sean or any of us. Rick has a lot to juggle.”

  She knew that, and it was hard to put aside her anxiety and worry to remember that national headquarters was going through a major reorganization. “I don’t think he’s confident in Sean’s innocence. But that’s not why I called you. When you talk to Jimmy Hunt—tread very carefully.”

  “I didn’t know you were involved in his original investigation.”

  “I wasn’t directly, but I know the family. Hunt was in charge, but he was removed from the day-to-day management because he was hiding out in Mexico after the state indicted him. He lost control, and he knows it deep down, but I doubt he has acknowledged it to himself or to people who work for him. Remember—according to what we learned about Nicole Rollins, Hunt orchestrated every move in her early life so she could infiltrate the DEA for the purposes of building their family drug operation. He’s not stupid, he thinks multiple steps ahead. Family is very important to him, use your maiden name. Don’t let him know you’re a Kincaid—you won’t get anything out of him, and you’ll put yourself on his radar.”

  “Point taken. I still use Elliott at work and it’s on my business cards.”

  “Good. While he’s smart—cunning, methodical, a detailed planner—he’s also a narcissist. He’s blind to his faults. His primary fault is that he’s a coward. Not in the traditional sense—I don’t think he would shy away from violence or from making bold moves—but remember that he fled the country to avoid prosecution, leaving his family to pick up the pieces. No one knew about Nicole, but his wife was left having to deal with the FBI, the local cops, the IRS, a whole host of issues. And he was in Mexico having fun and running his drug empire from afar. I think he prefers that than to running the business day to day. And we destroyed it.”

  “He’s angry.”

  “Very. He’s in prison, which makes him bitter. The agreement with the DEA to testify against this hit man? He’s not doing it out of the kindness of his heart. He’s not even doing it for a reduced plea—I looked at his record, he’s serving life in California because he was convicted of conspiracy to kill a peace officer. He didn’t pull the trigger, but he ordered it done. There’s another reason for him to testify, but I don’t know enough about the case to know what it is. Revenge? Maybe. But it makes me very nervous that he’s in Texas right now, even if he’s behind bars.”

  “I have all the files from the recent trial, I’ll look for something. I’m meeting with the AUSA when I get to Houston, he seemed cooperative when I talked to him. My flight’s boarding, I need to go.”

  “Be careful, Megan.”

  “You too, Lucy. For what it’s worth, I’m confident that we’ll prove Sean innocent.”

  “Thank you. I needed that.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  CHAMBERS COUNTY, TEXAS

  Beaumont was ninety miles from Houston, but they were stuck in traffic getting out of the city. Once they reached the city limits, they cruised comfortably.

  If being shackled and chained in a prison bus could be considered comfortable.

  Sean had gone through every possible scenario as to why he was being transferred and nothing made sense. His lawyer would have told him if it was a possibility. If there had been a threat against him, someone would have said something, right?

  He didn’t know. He could barely think. He hadn’t slept. He was tired and scared.

  He hated being scared.

  Sean stared out the window. There was minimal traffic on I-10. A narrow frontage road—probably the old highway—ran parallel. Lots of open space, farmland. Green. Freedom.

  Sean didn’t know how he would survive prison. The idea of being behind bars for days … months … years. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do it. Even if he survived his enemies … and Kane’s enemies … he would die inside. His freedom meant more to him than anything. How could he raise his son, love his wife, if he was locked up?

  You’ll get out of this. You have to believe it.

  He didn’t believe because he didn’t know. He’d never lacked confidence. Sean had always been the one who was convinced he could get out of any trouble, because he’d proven he could. Most of the time. Even when he was expelled from Stanford after hacking into his professor’s computer and exposing him as a pedophile, he didn’t spend more than a night in jail. Of course, his brother Duke had banished him to MIT and he’d been angry and resentful, but he had still managed to make something of his life.

  What would you have done yesterday if you’d known the police were coming for you?

  He wouldn’t have made it easy for them. Would he have run?

  Running makes you look guilty.

  But this was a frame job. If he had just gone to his plane, he would have found the planted gun. If he hadn’t gone to see Mona in the first place …

  He remembered what she said on the phone.

  “If you’re not going to come here, I’ll fucking knock down your front door. We have to talk, Rogan. This is serious!”

  He hadn’t wanted her to come to San Antonio. Not because he planned on keeping the information from Lucy, but because he didn’t want her anywhere near his family. Not Lucy, not Jesse. So he went there.

  What if he’d told her to come to him? Would it have changed anything? If the people who killed her wanted him to be framed for her murder, where she was killed was irrelevant—it was simply that she was killed immediately after he talked to her.

  His head pounded and he wished he could have slept last night, because he needed to think. To plan. To figure out what he was going to do if he couldn’t get out on bail.

  The only thing he knew was that he couldn’t spend the rest of his life in prison. He would rather be dead.

  He closed his eyes.

  You can’t think that way. What about Lucy? What about Jesse?

  He couldn’t kill himself. But he could escape. It might take a while, but he could escape.

  And then he’d be on the run for the rest of his life. Without his family, without his wife and son. Without anyone to help him.

  All this speculation was only going to make him sick. He had to take it day by day. Get through the weekend. He’d have more information on Monday.

  The problem was he couldn’t see the end. He didn’t have important information now. He didn’t know what anyone was doing, or how they would prove he hadn’t killed Mona Hill.

  He regretted very little in his life, but he regretted with all his heart and soul not telling Lucy about his meeting with Mona. Lucy thought that he was trying to protect her, and in some ways he was. He knew how Elise had gotten under her skin two years ago, and how upset she was when Elise was released from juvie. He also knew she despised Mona. That Mona had
done the right thing in sharing information when she had it—when he pressed her—was lost on Lucy, because in the end she saw them on opposite sides.

  He’d wanted to make sure he had facts, not Mona’s paranoia, before he went to his wife. In hindsight, he was wrong.

  And his mistake could end up hurting him more than anyone.

  The bus jerked violently and he opened his eyes. They were still in the middle of nowhere on the road to Beaumont, but they passed a sign that said WINNIE 3 MILES. He had no idea where they were. They’d been driving maybe an hour.

  The driver swore, and the guard next to him—Sheffield—said, “Did we blow a tire?”

  The driver was doing everything he could to control the bus, but said, “I gotta get off here. Call it in.”

  Smoke surrounded the bus, heavier in the rear. Out the window Sean saw a sign that said EXIT 822. There was nothing here, it merged onto the frontage road. As they pulled off, Sean noticed a clearing ahead to the right—an old slab foundation and weathered piles of wood and concrete off to the far side.

  Sheffield picked up the radio, but as he did the bus swayed wildly. The driver wasn’t slowing down as he exited.

  “Fuck!” he said.

  Sheffield clicked the radio. “It’s out, Dave.”

  “Shit! Shit! Hold on!”

  They were going too fast, and the bus veered toward the slab as the driver downshifted and braked and tried to slow the out-of-control bus.

  They bumped violently over the foundation and into thick vegetation, then hit a low wall. The back of the bus came up and Sean hit his head on the seat in front of him. The bus teetered and Sean thought they were going to completely flip. He held his breath, trying to relax his tense body in case they rolled, but then the bus righted itself. The engine smoked, then the sound of sparks and Sean saw flames. The fire would only get worse and spread to the dry grass around them.

  He glanced at the other prisoner; he had hit his head like Sean. He was bleeding but alert.

  Almost immediately, Sean heard something odd … then realized they were shouts. At first he thought civilians had come to help them, but then he heard a gunshot. Two, three, four shots fired. The door was forced open.