“Have a warrant?”
“No, we just have questions. We’re not here to arrest or detain you.”
She made a point to look around the land. “I can see that, it’s just the two of you.”
“Do you know Mitts Vasquez?”
She scowled, her face darkening. “So what?”
“We know he stole something from you. Two weeks ago. In San Marcos.”
She just glared at them.
“Who was he working for?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?”
“Mitts and his team came in and stole sixteen kilos of coke right out from under your nose. By the looks of things, just delivered, uncut. Probably cost you a ton of money. I don’t give a shit about the drugs. Gunfire was exchanged. Mitts was shot in the leg, needed medical attention, disappeared before the cops arrested him. Now he’s dead—killed by his own people.” They didn’t know that for a fact, but it was a logical guess.
“That’s what I care about,” Nate continued when Rosa didn’t say anything. “I want the killer. You help me there and I’ll pretend I was never here.”
“And if I don’t help you?”
He didn’t say anything. This wasn’t someone who would care about threats. According to Aggie’s research, the Merideses had owned this house for some time under a corporate name. The only thing that tied them to it were utility bills. They might have other property in other names. They hadn’t been killed by their supplier for losing the sixteen kilos, which told Nate they were high up themselves, had the resources to weather the storm, or had the ability to make it up.
“Hypothetically, if someone stole from me, I wouldn’t give a shit about them if they were arrested by the cops. But I’m not going to put a target on my back so you all can come in here and nail me and my boys. I’m not an idiot.”
“No, you’re not. You’ve been in this business too long to be stupid.”
“Why thank you,” she said, almost humored.
“So I’m going to tell you something I shouldn’t, but I really need the name of the people with Mitts that day two weeks ago.” Nate made sure Rosa was looking him in the eye, then said, “I’m suspended. I shouldn’t even be here. Anything you tell me can’t be used against you because technically, I don’t have a badge today. I want those people because Mitts’ isn’t the only life they destroyed.” He didn’t know if they killed anyone else, but if he didn’t figure out what the hell was going on with the planted drugs, if he couldn’t clear his name and find Elise Hunt and save Brad, then yes, more people would die. And Rosa Merides was not party to that. She was a high-level drug supplier. Bad news, and Nate hoped the DEA could eventually make a case against her. But it wasn’t his job, and he wasn’t arresting anyone today.
“Oh, you’re being a bad boy, aren’t you, Agent Dunning?” she said with a smile.
Aggie was tense next to him. The dogs had inched closer to her and Aggie had inched closer to Nate.
“Names, and we’re gone.”
“Mitts is a fucking asshole, he used to work for me, when the Saints got whacked and arrested a couple years back. There were only a few of them around, and Mitts was desperate. And what does he do? Bites the hand that feeds him, that’s what. He’s dead? Good. Deserves worse, the fucking traitor.”
Nate didn’t say anything.
“Not saying what’s what, but if Mitts came over, he doesn’t have a lot of friends. His best friend is Pablo Barrios. Not the sharpest tack in the box, but surprisingly, been off the grid for two weeks,” she emphasized. “No fucking way could Mitts and Pablo have done anything like what you said they might have done, just telling you that straight up. Not on their own.”
“Who do they run with?”
She stared at them, weighing what she should say. Whether she wanted to screw them. Aggie shifted as if she were going to speak, and Nate took a half step in front of her.
Rosa would tell him what she knew, but one misstep and she’d laugh in their faces.
Aggie picked up on his subtle hint and froze.
After a tense ten seconds Rosa said, “Word has it that Pablo is being led around by his dick. Couple months ago, he hooked up with this looker named Clara. What a looker like Clara wants with a buffoon like Pablo, what the shit do I know? And if Pablo and Mitts were to do something stupid like steal from me, they might have brought the looker with them. And she ain’t no dumb bitch, I’ll tell you that right now, because stupid fucks can’t steal from me.”
“I need more.”
“Like her full name and address? Fuck. Don’t have that shit. But let’s just say that if she had a gun on my boys, and if I saw her, I might have seen a colorful skull and snake tat on her wrist.”
Aggie perked up.
“And that’s all the fuck I know,” the woman said. She whistled and the dogs ran to her; Aggie jumped and unconsciously grabbed Nate’s forearm. Rosa laughed. “Don’t like my pups? They won’t hurt you … unless I tell them to. You have thirty seconds to get back in your truck or you’re puppy chow.”
* * *
Aggie was shaking and Nate took her key and drove back to the highway.
“Spill,” he said.
“Nothing.”
Her voice cracked and she wished she could control her panic. This was so stupid! She was twenty-eight years old. She was a trained federal agent. And two dogs—mean, scary dogs—had her completely unhinged.
He pulled her truck over before the on ramp and she frowned.
“I know th-th-that I-I screwed up,” she stuttered. Damn. Her heart would not slow down.
“I know a panic attack when I see one.”
“It’s. Not.”
He didn’t move, just stared at her.
She took a deep breath. Then another. Then another. The thudding in her chest quieted and she could finally think.
She pulled her polo shirt out of the waist of her jeans and turned her back slightly to Nate. He didn’t bat an eye when she pulled up the shirt and exposed her back.
“Look,” she said.
He did, then frowned.
She pulled her shirt back over the nasty scar that took up her left side. “Got more on my leg. I just—dammit.”
“Tell me about it.”
She didn’t like talking about it, because she felt stupid. It was nearly twenty years ago! But hearing the dogs—hearing them more than seeing them—brought back all those fears.
“It was the summer I turned ten. My brother Teddy—he’s a year old than me, he’s a firefighter now—he and I were responsible for walking the dogs every morning. We had three—two golden Labs and this little dust mop named Frisky who thought he was a Lab. I usually carried Frisky half the way because he would get tired, but we couldn’t leave him—he would cry if we walked the Labs without him.
“Anyway, we lived in this development in Dallas. When Dad was deployed, we lived on base wherever he was—I was born on the base in Stuttgart, lived there the first eight years of my life. But when I was eight, he was permanently stationed in Dallas, and my mom was glad. She wanted her own house, you know, not military housing. And my oldest brother was starting high school. He became a cop—did a stint in the military, was an MP, now is with Dallas PD. Anyway…” She stopped, realizing she was rambling because she didn’t want to talk about it.
Nate didn’t comment. He just waited.
“So. Well. We were walking, and there’s a park about six blocks away. We went there to throw Frisbees with the Labs. Frisky wanted to play, but he couldn’t even carry a Frisbee without tripping over it. We got him this cute little mini Frisbee … well, he got tired and so I took him to the fountain for water and these two dogs ran up from out of nowhere. One bit my leg and pulled me down and Frisky was barking and the other dog … just … grabbed him. And I screamed and kicked the dog that bit me, got him off me, I don’t know how, and I went after Frisky. Teddy and the Labs were running to me, I’ll never forgot the horror on my brother’s face … and the do
g that bit me, jumped on me, got me down on the ground, bit my side, I was protecting my face and … I…” She took a deep breath and wiped tears off her cheeks that she hadn’t realized were falling until they dropped onto her shirt.
“Anyway, there were lots of people in the park and they got the dog off me. And, umm, Frisky didn’t make it.” She almost died, but she didn’t say that. She didn’t die, but her dog did, and though she knew deep down she couldn’t have done anything to save him, the guilt hung over her head for years. “So. I don’t really like dogs. I mean, dogs like that. And I’m sorry I panicked. It was a surprise, and I know that’s bad, to be a trained agent and get surprised by stupid dogs, I’m usually better about it.”
Nate started driving again. “You know, partner, I’ve always got your back.”
He couldn’t have said anything else that would have made her feel better.
* * *
“Bingo!” Aggie nearly jumped up and down for joy, except that she was sitting at her desk in the DEA and trying to keep a low profile, since she wasn’t really supposed to be doing this.
Nate sat next to her. Martin wasn’t in the office, and no one seemed to bat an eye that Aggie had brought Nate in.
She’d needed her computer and access to DEA data. It didn’t take long to find an example of the skull and snake tattoo that Rosa Merides described, and then to learn that it was affiliated with a gang in Los Angeles. Aggie cross-referenced known gang affiliations with the name “Clara” and up popped Clara Anne Valeria. She had a sheet, but no active warrants. No arrests since she was a minor. She was currently twenty-five and her address was listed in Topanga Canyon.
Nate said, “I know that address. That’s Elise Hunt’s house in Los Angeles.”
“Really?”
Aggie dug deeper. She got a photo of Clara—it was older, but Merides was right, she was a looker. Naturally tan skin, long dark hair, dark eyes under long lashes. Perfect cheekbones. She could have been a model. Except her eyes … they were cold.
Clara had a younger brother, Donald “Donny” Valeria, no known gang affiliation, but he’d been arrested three years ago for possession with intent, pled, and been given six months’ probation. He was now twenty-three, no known address, had an expired California driver’s license. Aggie printed out his photo as well, and sent both to Lucy on the off chance that Lucy had seen them.
Next she ran Pablo Barrios. He had no recent record, a couple of dings when he ran with the Saints years ago.
She should have found him yesterday when she ran Mitts. But there was no Barrios as a known associate in his file. If she’d had time, she would have thought to run all the Saints and then cross-reference them to Mitts.
Stop.
Aggie knew she had a bad habit of second-guessing herself, especially when something seemed obvious to her now. She knew that it wasn’t obvious to most people, and that the connections she made were based on intuition as much as evidence.
“I have an address for Barrios and two known associates. If Merides is right, he’ll lead us to Clara and hopefully she’ll lead us to Elise.” Aggie frowned.
“This is a solid lead, what’s wrong?”
“It’s a lot of what-ifs. What if she was lying?”
“She wasn’t.”
“How do you know?”
Nate gave her a half smile. He was really cute when he smiled. “My guess is that she tried to find him, couldn’t, and now wants us to destroy him. I can live with that.”
Suddenly, he grabbed the DMV photo of Donny Valeria off Aggie’s desk. “Who is this?”
“If I’m right, Clara Valeria is the ‘looker’ Merides told us about. Donny is her brother.”
“This is the guy who killed Mitts Vasquez.”
“Are you sure?”
“I chased him. Got a good look at him, gave a description to SAPD. But I didn’t have a photo, and they haven’t recovered the car he stole.”
“How do you know?”
“I still have friends in SAPD.”
“We need to tell them.”
Nate hesitated.
“We have to,” Aggie said clearly. “Nate, he killed a man. This will put pressure on him.”
“You’re right. Damn. That makes this an official investigation, and my suspension could fuck it all up.”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” Aggie said. “I’m not suspended, and Merides was my contact. I did the research, I found her house, I got the information.” She looked at him. “Thank you, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For realizing I was frozen because of those dogs and handling the interrogation like I’d suggested. You had more clout with her because you are suspended. She could very likely get any confession thrown out because of it.”
“She didn’t confess, not outright, and I don’t care about her. She and her kids will screw up down the road and find themselves dead or behind bars. Either is fine with me. Right now, this is our best lead to finding Brad.”
“Let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-one
OUTSIDE MONTEMORELOS, MEXICO
Two hours after they captured Peter Blair, Kane pulled up to an RCK safe house high in the mountains west of Montemorelos. It was remote and private, though Jack had never been to this particular property.
Ranger jumped out of the truck and inspected the property before he cleared it for Kane and Jack to bring in their prisoner. It was getting hot, though it wasn’t yet noon. The adobe structure kept the building cool, at least for now.
Kane secured Blair to the stone wall, then Jack pulled off his hood. The hood had two primary benefits: first, it would make finding the RCK safe house more difficult for Blair, and second, it disorientated a captive, instilling a deeper sense of fear and panic, which helped to make them talk.
Kane did his own recon, then said to Jack, “No one’s been here since me last year.”
Jack didn’t even ask how he could tell. The place was filthy from dust, storms, animals; mud had caked and dried in the corners from where a storm had blown through a broken door in the back.
Though the place was remote and would seem like nowhere to Peter Blair, they were only an hour from the city limits of Monterrey. But they were in the mountains, and going in virtually every direction, except east, would land their captive deeper into the jungle.
Kane had been particularly moody, and Jack realized that they weren’t far from where his brother Liam had been killed—and where Liam had nearly killed Kane. Kane didn’t talk about it, but Jack knew those events had nearly broken him.
Jack didn’t have the same feelings, though he understood what Kane was going through. Jack hated Liam. He’d put Lucy in grave danger all because of money. Jack didn’t have any remorse for his death.
But Liam had been Kane’s family, even if estranged, and family was complicated. There was a time when Jack didn’t talk to anyone in his family. His father had virtually disowned him and Jack couldn’t forgive him for the circumstances surrounding those events. Jack still didn’t have a good relationship with his dad—they couldn’t quite get beyond those old hurts—but at least he had his family back. He was closest to Lucy and his twin brother Dillon, and had tried to rebuild relationships with his other brothers and sisters. It was, at least, better. He was married, and having Megan in his life gave him a peace he had never known before he’d met her. No matter what he did, how dangerous the job, Jack had a home and someone who loved him as much as he loved her.
He’d hoped after Kane married Siobhan four months ago that he’d realize there were more important things than fighting other people’s battles. But Kane had been in the business longer than Jack; he’d taken longer to find the right woman; and leaving it behind was hard.
Especially when you were Kane Rogan, who thought he was the only one who could save the world.
Fucking jerk. Jack loved him.
And hoped this situation wasn’t going to be his undoing.
P
eter Blair stared at them, trying to look tough, but his fear betrayed him. “My men will come for me.”
His voice was strong, but his body trembled, his eyes darted back and forth, looking for an escape that would not come.
Ranger was patrolling. Jack stayed with Kane to make sure he didn’t go too far with Blair.
Jack squatted in front of their prisoner. His hands were zip-tied behind him. Jack tied his ankles together. Rats and rodents scurried, heard but unseen.
“I’d suggest you talk,” Jack said, his voice low and deep. “Neither of us are in the mood for grandstanding or games.”
“You got the girls, what’s the problem? You want more?”
Jack punched him in the stomach. It took the wind out of Blair, even though Jack checked his punch to avoid doing serious damage to both Blair and his own hand.
He stood, walked to the only piece of furniture in the room, a table in the opposite corner. Jack pulled a water bottle out of his pack. Drained half of it in front of Blair, who watched, eyes wide. One thing Jack knew from his training, the hood made you thirsty.
He capped his bottle and put it back in his pack. Psychological torture was more effective than physical torture, but a combination of both usually broke most men.
Especially a soft asshole like Peter Blair.
Kane leaned against the wall, only feet from Blair, and didn’t say anything.
Blair started talking. Not anything important. Empty threats. Then pleaded for his life. Then more threats against friends and family. The usual.
Kane ignored everything.
Jack had patience, but Kane had always impressed him with his ability to remain still and silent.
Finally, Blair said, “What the fuck do you want? If you wanted to kill me, you would have killed me. You have the girls. You killed two of my best men, what do you want from me?”
“Sean,” Kane said. “Talk.”
Blair looked confused. “What? Who?”
Kane didn’t say anything.
Blair shook his head. “I don’t know what you want from me!”
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