Chapter Sixteen

In the chilly half-light of early dawn, they arranged themselves near the back wall of the compound, weapons at the ready. Luckily the area was semirural, and there were no houses close enough to worry about nosy neighbors or collateral damage.

The sound of the San Diego PD armored SWAT vehicle idling in place at the front gate was audible as a low rumble. Barely detectible was the high-pitched whine Linc knew came from a drone flying over the compound to get a bird’s-eye view. When the signal came, Team One at the front would flatten the gate and rush the house. Linc’s Team Two included Ellie, two FBI agents, and two local LEOs from San Diego PD. Every one of them trained marksmen. In addition to their service pistols, each was armed with AR-15 rifles. He eyed the team members and was satisfied with what he saw. All the weapons in the world wouldn’t help them without mental readiness. Their job was to clear the perimeter and trap cartel members and their security between the two law enforcement teams. Linc didn’t need the drone to confirm the Zecenas would be heavily armed, making a firefight inevitable.

Linc listened to the communication through his earpiece. The signal came, followed almost instantaneously by the crash of the front gate. With Linc in the lead, each team member slung their rifles to their backs, scaled the wall, and dropped to the other side. Gunfire erupted as they moved in pairs through trees and shrubs. Linc took point, with Ellie behind him.

The house came into view. Two men dressed in black were using a low wall around a patio as cover as they fired toward the front.

Linc motioned to Ellie, and at her nod she took position behind the wide trunk of a eucalyptus tree. Once Ellie found her spot, he motioned to indicate which was his target. They both pulled up their rifles and sighted. Linc gave the low command and they fired. Gunfire cracked through the air, and the men behind the low wall collapsed to the concrete patio.

Linc and Ellie moved forward as two others from their team got into position. He radioed they were ready and got the go-ahead. The drone had spotted an armed individual in the room closest to the patio. He motioned to the San Diego cop holding a heavy launcher who braced himself, sighted, and squeezed the trigger. The flash-bang grenade crashed through the sliding door, shattering the plate glass. The concussion from the blast blew out other windows in the room. Officers ran forward, verified it was safe to enter, then an officer used his baton to break off the remaining shards of glass and the rest of the team swarmed the house.

Relieved the flash-bang hadn’t started a fire, Linc scanned the room as the team fanned out. A man lay on the floor, a rifle next to him. Ellie kicked the rifle away and knelt with a knee in his back. She pinned his arm when he tried to reach for a .45 in his waistband, retrieved the weapon, and handed it to Linc. He took the gun, unloaded the clip and the bullet in the chamber, and stuck them in the cargo pocket of his pants. Ellie cuffed the man and left him face down on the floor.

The crash of the front door reverberated through the house as Team One entered the building. They would search the second floor while Linc took Team Two downstairs. The house was built into the contours of the hillside, and when they descended the stairs, they found the bottom floor set up for entertainment with French doors opening onto another deck. His ears pricked at the wump-wump sound of an approaching helicopter.

He pressed a button on his radio. “Seth, chopper incoming.”

“I hear it. I’ll check it out.”

Linc’s team fanned out. Where was Paco Zecena and his hermanos from Mexico? The black SUVs were still parked in the front of the house. The few guards had been dealt with, but there had to be more. Linc studied the house, taking in every detail, anything that could provide a clue as to where the Zecenas had gotten to. He was almost ready to pull his team out when he noticed something. A wet leaf lay on the floor in front of a row of floor-to-ceiling cabinets. He glanced outside the patio doors. The high dew point meant a lot of condensation on the grass. If someone had come in from outside, they could have tracked in a wet leaf. The question was, where had they gone?

The sound of the helicopter grew louder.

He pulled open a cabinet door to reveal an organizer full of CDs. Another door showed a stereo system, complete with an old-school record player. He pulled open the third door. Bingo. A hidden door had been built into the side of the hill. After alerting his team, Linc tried the knob. Locked. He stepped back, then hit the door with a forceful kick.

Linc and his team followed a long hallway. Daylight shone ahead, and they reached an outside door in time to see the chopper landing, sending debris blowing into the sky.

Several men in dark business suits were running toward the chopper even as it landed. “Shit. They’re making a getaway,” Linc spoke through the radio to Seth. “I can take out the pilot before he gets airborne. Am I clear to take the shot?”

Seth’s voice was clipped. “Affirmative, but keep him alive if you can.”

Linc ran for the door and onto the lawn. Squinting against the rotor wash, he swung his rifle into position, bracing it on a stone fence. The runners of the helicopter touched the ground and four men swarmed to get onboard. He had a clear shot at the pilot’s knee through the glass door of the chopper, and Linc went with that. He may not be able to use the knee, but he wouldn’t be dead. Sighting his target, he held his breath and squeezed the trigger. The pilot spun in his seat.

Sporadic gunfire erupted. Linc held his position until he was sure no one would try to take command and fly the helicopter. The injured pilot maneuvered the controls and the rotors began to slow. Team One fanned out from protected positions to surround the helicopter.

After a few tense minutes, the men on board exited with their hands in the air. Linc made sure he was the one to nab Paco Zecena and couldn’t help a stab of satisfaction when he snapped the cuffs in place. They’d gotten the bastard. He recited the Miranda warning by rote. Holding him by the elbow, Linc nudged Zecena in the direction of the waiting vehicle that would transport him to a holding cell. “Let’s go.”

An FBI agent approached. “Team Two leader?”

“That’s me.”

“The building is secure. Team One leader wants you to wait here for him.”

Linc nodded to the man. “Thanks.”

Zecena narrowed his gaze at him. “You’re making a mistake to arrest me, hombre.” Zecena’s voice was gravelly, the smell of cigarette smoke on his clothing.

“Don’t think so.”

“The pretty señorita with the long red-brown hair, auburn I think you call it. She wasn’t so hard to find.”

Linc spun Zecena around and pushed him against a tree. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“What do you think I’m talking about? A pretty woman with casteño hair. You think she’s safe in that little house?”

Linc grabbed the collar of Zecena’s shirt and twisted it around the thick neck. “Tell me what you know.”

“Cuidado, hombre. I got a problem with a Jameson. That would be you, Marshal. You got in the way of an associate. An associate sent to do a job. The lady won’t testify against me. That’s being taken care of as we speak.”

Linc felt the blood in his veins turn to ice and buzzing sounded in his ears. He shoved his forearm under Zecena’s jaw and had the satisfaction of seeing the man’s eyes bulge and his face begin turning purple. “Anything happens to that woman and I’ll tear your heart out and feed it to you, you bastard.”

“Utah is far from here, hombre,” Zecena squeezed out roughly. “What are you going to do about it?”

Linc shoved harder and had Zecena gasping for air.

“That’s enough, Linc.” Seth grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved back.

“He threatened…her.”

Zecena wheezed, then laughed. “He’s got a thing for the pretty señorita, who will be dead within the day.” All levity left his face as he focused on Linc. “You may take me into custody, hombre, but I’ll be out again in a matter of hours. And you will be looking over your shoulder because I will be coming for you.”

Zecena reeled back when Linc broke free from Seth’s hold. This time Ellie, with the help of an FBI agent, pulled him back. Seth thrust his face into Linc’s. “Back off,” he snarled. “You’re not jeopardizing this arrest by beating a cuffed man. Use your head.”

The buzzing in his brain quieted and Linc sucked in a steadying breath.

Seth didn’t move. “You under control?”

Linc shoved his brother back. “Yeah.”

“Good. Then get on your phone and call into the local office and tell him what Zecena said. He’ll check in with his marshals.”

As Ellie took Zecena to the waiting vehicle, Linc pulled out his phone, hesitated, then swiped through screens. He wouldn’t rest easy until her heard directly from Mikayla. The phone rang on her end, then the mechanical voice of the default voicemail gave him the option to leave a message. “Mikayla, call me as soon as you get this.” Shit. Double-fucking shit.

He tapped out Sanford’s direct number. He didn’t care that it was still early on a Saturday morning.

“This better be damned good.”

“Call your deputies at the safe house.”

“What the hell?”

“Call them. Zecena knows where Mikayla is, said she’ll be dead before the day is done.”

“Okay, okay. Let me grab my other phone.”

Linc waited, patience stretched to the limit, mind filled with images of all that could go wrong. Mikayla was seven hundred miles away. Linc swore viciously, pacing, the phone plastered to his ear.

Sanford came back on the line. “Robles picked up, said everything is fine. Untwist your panties, Jameson. Zecena’s messing with you. I’ll assign a couple more marshals to guard your girl. She’ll be fine.”

Linc reported the conversation to Seth and Ellie. He paced, trying to determine how Zecena had known of Linc’s involvement in the case. He stopped, head bent in thought as he considered what seemed like the obvious conclusion. Hector Lopez. Linc had identified himself when he’d questioned Mikayla’s attacker. There were a dozen different ways Lopez could get information out of the jail. Hector was the source.

Linc’s phone vibrated in his hand. Caller ID said “Mikayla.” He swiped a finger across the screen and held it to his ear.

“Mikayla.”

“Linc, you’re safe.” Hearing her voice loosened everything that was coiled tight inside him. Her obvious relief made it even sweeter. “I got your message to call. I was in the shower. How did it go? Did you get Zecena?”

“Yeah, we got him.” Her voice washed over him, making him wish she was here beside him so he could touch her.

“Anything wrong?”

“Not sure. Zecena threatened you. He knows you’re in a safe house in Utah. He might know more than that.”

“How could he?”

“I don’t know. He could have been bluffing that he knows exactly where you are, but I don’t like it.” His mind spun with the possibilities. “I want you to stay away from windows, don’t let yourself be visible to anyone outside. Don’t go outside.”

“Okay.”

“Sanford is going to send more marshals to add to your detail.”

“Then I’ll be safe, Linc. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll stop worrying when I’m with you.”

There was a long pause. “Listen, Linc, I—”

Seth signaled for him to join the team. “Damn, I can’t talk now. I’ve got to go. Keep your phone with you at all times. I’ll call later to check on you.”

“Okay.”

He couldn’t bring himself to disconnect. He said in a low voice, “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Mikayla.” Lame-ass words when he wanted to say so much more.

“I know. I’ll talk to you later.”

The connection ended and Linc shoved the phone in his pocket, frustration simmering. Why couldn’t he have told her straight out that he cared about her? That maybe, just maybe, care had gone up a couple of notches and was teetering toward something more.

“Everything good?”

Linc faced Seth. “No, everything is not good. Can you call your office and have them get me on the earliest flight to Salt Lake City?”

“Sanford said he’d send additional marshals, Linc, and he will. They’ll keep Mikayla safe.” He held up both hands in a placating gesture when Linc scowled. “But I’ll get you on a flight.”

The vans transporting the cartel members rolled away in a motorcade sandwiched between official vehicles. Seth pulled his phone out and motioned Linc over. He shoved the phone in his pocket and grabbed his brother’s elbow. “Let’s go. You’re booked on a flight leaving in thirty-five minutes. You can bypass security and they’ll hold the plane if they have to.” His brother’s steadiness helped calm his nerves. “This flight only had a seat for you. Ellie and I will be coming right behind you on the next available flight.”

“Thanks, brother.”

“We got your back.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Within minutes Linc was seated in a police car next to the San Diego cop who’d launched the flash-bang, racing toward the airport with lights flashing and siren screaming, while a sense of foreboding ate at his gut.

***

Mikayla skimmed through the titles on the bookshelf. She needed something to occupy her time or she’d go stir crazy. Thrillers, mysteries, romance—which somehow got her to wondering about the logistics of WITSEC setting up a safe house. Part of their job must be to keep their witnesses safe and sane, so supplying reading material was a smart move. She paused, the sound of car tires crunching gravel coming from the front of the house. Clutching the romance she’d chosen, she slipped into a bedroom that would have a front-facing view, approaching the second-story window from an angle.

A large sedan was parked behind Linc’s Jeep, and a man got out to approach the porch. She couldn’t see his face, or whether he was armed. Maybe he was one of the marshals Linc said Sanford was sending. The man stepped onto the porch and disappeared from view. She crept along a wall of the second-floor landing near the banister as a knock sounded at the front door. As unobtrusively as possible, Mikayla peered down the stairs. Marshal Tran, dressed in chinos and button-down shirt, his sidearm in a shoulder holster, opened the door. The newcomer stood outside the entryway, a marshal’s star on his belt, a pistol in its holster strapped to his belt. Tran stepped back to let the new marshal in.

Mikayla frowned. He was maybe six feet tall, dark hair parted on the side, a beard covering most of his face. A sudden chill crept like icy fingers down her spine.

He spoke to Tran in a low voice and she strained to make out the words. She heard “location’s compromised” and “need to relocate.” Tran’s response was clearer. “Sanford has to follow protocol, just like everyone else. I’ll call him to verify so you sit tight, Deputy.”

An expression crossed the new man’s face that was hard to read. Possibly anger. Or maybe irritation at having his directive questioned. He looked toward the kitchen and when he turned in profile to scan the living room, Mikayla saw the mole and knew for certain. She ducked back, paused to take a shaky breath to steady herself, then ran lightly into the room where she’d slept.

That profile was indelibly etched into her consciousness. That man had stood quietly by the night Paco Zecena had argued with Peter. If he hadn’t committed the murder himself, he was an accomplice to murder. He’d shot Linc. Now Donny Bertola had come for her. Fighting fear that wanted to freeze her into paralysis, she forced herself to take the valuable seconds to send a hasty text to Tran and Robles. With shaking hands, she tapped: “Imposter! Get out!”

That was all she had time for. They would have to defend themselves. As quickly as she could and with her heartbeat thundering in her ears, she shoved her feet into her shoes, yanked on a sweatshirt, and a coat over that. Her cell went in her jeans pocket and her wallet into an inner pocket of her coat. She grabbed the keys Linc had left her, then pushed open the bedroom window to eased out onto the roof, a cold wind chilling her face.

A muffled yell sounded from inside and Mikayla’s stomach sank. She should have called 9-1-1. She would as soon as she had a second, but her first priority was getting to safety. Ears straining for any sound that would indicate what was happening inside the house, she crept across the dark shingles of the roof.

She scrambled around to the front side of the house. She’d seen a trellis with a climbing vine attached to a post. Without giving herself time to talk herself out of it, she lay on her belly and scooted over the edge of the roof until she could gain a toehold. The biting wind tugged at her hair and she wished she’d had a chance to braid it. She reached the ground, then darted across the lawn toward Linc’s Jeep, just as the front door burst open.

“Stop right there.”

She kept going, skidding around the end of the vehicle. She reached the door handle on the driver’s side and jerked to a stop. Bertola stood squarely in front of her, arms raised in a shooting stance, the ugly muzzle of his gun pointed at her head.