El Paso, Texas
Nearly midnight
After he’d sent a text message on his cell phone, twelve-year-old Ruben de los Santos did as he’d been ordered to do. He followed the man from a safe distance as he left the cantina, heading for his car. The parking lot was down two blocks and around a corner if the man stuck to the well-lit streets. If he knew of the shortcut, he would use the alley.
That was what Ruben prayed he would do.
When the stranger looked over his shoulder, Ruben ducked into the shadows of a doorway and waited until it was safe to move. With his heart racing, he counted to five before he emerged from the shadows. By the time he did, the man was gone.
“Ay, Dios mio,” the boy muttered, with his eyes alert.
Ruben looked down the lit street and saw no sign of the man, but when he turned toward the alley, he caught a glimpse of movement. It had to be him.
He ducked into the alley and stepped up his pace to catch the man. When he got to the end of the alleyway, he stopped and held his breath. Slowly he inched closer to the corner and peered into the darkness.
That was when a hand grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him off his feet.
“Please . . . don’t hurt me,” he begged.
Ruben covered his face with his hands and raised his voice higher, sounding more like the boy he was.
“Why are you following me, kid?”
The tall, muscular man kept ahold of him. His body was cast in nothing more than a bluish haze. Ruben couldn’t see his face. And although the boy felt the heat of the man’s breath on his cheek, he tried not to be afraid.
Ruben de los Santos wasn’t alone.
“You will see soon enough, señor.” The boy forced a smile with courage he didn’t feel.
The big man released his grip on Ruben and pulled away. He reached for his weapon, but it was too late. Members of Ruben’s gang emerged from the shadows like ghosts rising from the grave. The stranger was surrounded.
“Who are you? And what do you want?” the man demanded. He aimed his weapon into the crowd, shifting his barrel from face to face. He was outnumbered and outgunned.
“Lower your weapon, pendejo. You will not be asked a second time.” Arturo, one of the older boys, stepped forward and held his gun sideways, aiming between the man’s eyes. Ruben held his breath, unable to take his eyes off the two men. If one of them fired, many would die. And Ruben had no doubt he would get caught in the cross fire.
The standoff continued, neither man backing down, until the one Ruben had trailed into the alley finally lowered his weapon. The boy let out a ragged breath and made a quick sign of the cross, but it wasn’t over.
After they’d taken the man’s weapon, every gang member of Los Chupacabras beat and kicked the stranger until he dropped to the asphalt.
After he was down, lying unconscious and bleeding on the ground, Ruben searched his pockets for his wallet. He pulled out the few hundred dollars he had in cash and gave it to Arturo, the boy in charge. And Ruben got a look at the man’s driver’s license and saw his name and where he lived.
“I’ll need that.” Arturo held out his hand. “Cash is ours, but his ID goes with me.”
One of the other boys pulled a van into the alley. They loaded the wounded man into the back and carried out the rest of their orders. The man was to be taken across the Mexican border and delivered to someone linked to the Pérez cartel in Juárez. Ruben’s gang in El Paso had powerful connections on the other side of the border, men who supplied them with drugs to sell. And in return, Los Chupacabras carried out execution-style killings, acted as drug mules, and bartered for weapons with their brother organization. That was why Ruben had taken the risk to follow an armed man into the alley.
He had passed his initiation. And the unconscious man in the back of the van had been his ticket in, but what the American from New York City had done to piss off the cartel and earn him a one-way trip across the border, Ruben didn’t know.
And didn’t care.
Outside Ciudad Juárez, Mexico
Three hours later
Ramon Guerrero’s footsteps echoed as he walked the shadowy corridors of the rancho, guided by the meager light from flickering torches. The old hacienda belonged to his family, handed down through the generations. Although it had no electricity, and its only source of water was an old well on the property, it served its purpose by sheltering him and his men. It had been a good location to hide the many hostages who were held for ransom as a funding source for his drug operation. And being remote, the ranch enabled him to carry out the unsavory side of cartel business without anyone’s knowing what went on behind its adobe walls.
An armed guard stood at the end of the long passage. The man had been slouched in a chair but now stood at attention as Guerrero approached.
In his native tongue, he asked the guard, “Has he admitted anything of value?”
The man only shook his head.
“Then it is my turn. Unlock the door,” he ordered. The guard did as he was told.
A dark silhouette of a man was backlit by moonlight from the only barred window, with eerie shadows, cast from a single torch, undulating against the wall. The hostage had been stripped of his clothes. Completely naked, hanging from a metal bar, his body sagged from its own weight. Ropes cut into his wrists, and blood had run down his arms. Deep contusions were visible on his taut belly and rib cage, an aftermath of the beatings he had endured before and after he’d been delivered to the hacienda.
In the corner of the cell was a wooden bucket. Guerrero picked it up and threw dirty water at his prisoner.
“Ah.” The man groaned and tried lifting his head, without much success.
“My name is Ramon,” the drug lord said in English. “Your fate is in my hands.”
“Go to . . . h-hell.”
Guerrero grimaced at the prisoner’s lack of respect.
“You will make it there well before me. I can assure you.”
When Guerrero got close, he held his breath. The stench of blood and other distasteful smells made it hard to breathe. He grabbed the man’s dark hair and yanked his head back. The prisoner’s face was battered and bleeding. And one eye was swollen shut. Guerrero had allowed his men first crack at the hostage.
The man had brought unwanted interest. He’d been asking too many questions across the U.S. border in El Paso, calling attention to Guerrero’s Juárez operation. After receiving reliable intel from a number of sources, Guerrero figured he had an edge to exploit that could expand his reach. He gave the order to take the man alive and deliver him, and any identification he had on him, to the rancho’s gate. Perhaps the hostage would be Guerrero’s way of gaining more power within the cartel.
Like many, Guerrero had ambitions. The hostage had crossed his path for a reason. His appearance could not merely be chalked up to good fortune. He preferred to think of the opportunity as his fate, his much-deserved due.
“I am surprised you took such a risk. Did you not think we would find out what you were doing in Texas? Did you think being across the border would protect you?” Guerrero walked around the naked man, taking in every old scar that marred his body. One scar in particular had caught his eye. No doubt, the man had seen his share of fights, but the prominent burn scar on his back had betrayed him. And, given what Guerrero already knew, he had enough to get what he wanted without the man’s cooperation. It was one thing to have the man’s ID but quite another to truly know who he was and what he did for a living.
“Surely someone of”—he paused for effect—“your stature would have others to take such risk.”
The hostage flinched only for a second, but Guerrero was certain he’d seen a reaction.
“I don’t know . . . w-what you’re t-talking about.”
“That doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” He leaned closer, and whispered, “You see, I know who you are . . . who you really are. And that will be enough to get me what I want.”
“You don’t know shit, Raymond.”
“The name is Ramon.” He gritted his teeth at the man’s insolence. “And if you wanted your real identity to remain a secret, you should have removed that scar from your back.”
The hostage glared at him but didn’t say a word. Even beaten as he was, he mustered enough contempt to provoke Guerrero.
“Why are you pissing on my turf?” he pressed. “What did you hope to gain?”
The man did not hesitate. “I’m looking for a man . . . to kill him.”
Guerrero stared at the hostage in disbelief at his gall before he burst into laughter. The sound echoed off the walls of the cell—a foreign noise in a place where screams were more common.
“And how is that going for you?” Without waiting for an answer, he shook his head, and said, “You Americans have such arrogance, but we shall see how long that lasts.”
Under his belt at the small of his back, Guerrero pulled out a black hood and covered his prisoner’s head. The hostage jerked and fought it, but he didn’t say anything. The American didn’t have the good sense to cower. He held his head up, and the black cloth moved with every breath of his defiance. When Guerrero pictured the smug look on his face under the hood, he balled his fists to make his point about who was in charge.
In the stifling heat, he punched the hostage in the gut. Once. Twice. The prisoner clenched his stomach muscles and took the blows without uttering a sound, withstanding the abuse in silence.
“We shall s-see”—Ramon panted—“h-how strong . . . you are.”
It took all his willpower to lower his hands. He stopped the beating only because he had a call to make. “Th-there are far worse . . . things to endure.”
When he had first communicated his part in the capture of such an influential American, his cartel boss had sent word promptly. He had ordered him to make a journey to a rendezvous point, bringing the prisoner with him. Guerrero would make a gift of the American and, hopefully, reap rewards for his efforts.
Gasping and winded, he walked across the cell and spoke to the guard on the other side of the door. In minutes, his man returned and, between the bars, handed him a loaded syringe. With a smirk on his face, Guerrero shoved the hostage’s head to one side and injected the needle into his neck. The man struggled, making a futile attempt to fight back. As his prisoner fought the drug, Guerrero hit speed dial on his cell phone and contacted the man he hoped would be very grateful . . . and generous.
As he listened to the phone ring in his ear—waiting to report he’d confirmed ID and give the details of how he would transport the prisoner—Guerrero wasn’t done tormenting his hostage. Before the man drifted into a merciful oblivion, he leaned closer and whispered in his ear.
“Your name is Garrett Wheeler.” He spat on the man’s bare chest. “And I know who you work for, cabrón.”
“I’m picking up a cell-phone signal from inside the walls of the residence outside Juárez. No ID on the caller, but I can track the GPS signal. If the guy with the cell moves, I’ll know it.” The handler for the mission had made contact with the man who had ultimate control over the op. From an encrypted international phone, he spoke to him now, nothing more than a voice on the other end of the line.
“Did we get a visual? Do they have the hostage inside?”
“Yes. We got a visual confirmation from team two.”
After the hostage had been taken by a group of young thugs known as Los Chupacabras in El Paso, surveillance tracked the movement of the van the gang had used to cross the border into Mexico. Once they left U.S. soil, the handler rotated surveillance teams, so they wouldn’t lose their target.
“Your order, sir?” the handler asked.
“Make contact with team one in Juárez. Tell them you have a signal you’re following. It’s their backup plan, in case something goes wrong on their end. If that GPS signal moves, I want eyes on it. Keep me informed.”
“Copy that.”
Short and sweet, the man taking the lead on the operation gave his orders and ended the call. The handler’s part in the mission had ramped up. He made his call to team one and followed orders.
New York City
Before dawn
Dressed in gray slacks and black cashmere sweater, Alexa Marlowe stared out her apartment window, located on the third floor of a brownstone on the Upper East Side. For the last week, she’d been restless, and sleep hadn’t come easy. In her line of work, that was a hazard of the trade, but she had another reason to worry. And after getting a call from Tanya Spencer yesterday, arranging for an early-morning meet at Alexa’s place, she wondered if the Sentinels’ analyst had been losing sleep for the same reason.
When she heard the soft knock on her door, she rushed to answer it.
“Good morning, Tanya.” She forced a smile. “Please . . . come in.”
“Thanks for accommodating my crazy schedule.”
Even before dawn, the woman was impeccably dressed, in a navy Burberry blazer and a pencil skirt. Her black skin looked radiant, with only a hint of the flawless makeup she wore. And her Southern drawl could melt butter. That voice had calmed Alexa on many covert-ops missions when she had needed analytical support . . . and a friend.
“Sorry to get you up this early, but I thought we should talk somewhere away from headquarters. And your place was on my way to work.”
“No trouble. Can I get you coffee?” Alexa asked.
“Yes, please.”
Alexa already had a pot made and served Tanya a cup before they sat in the living room.
Being a covert agent, Alexa viewed the world differently from most people. She looked for ulterior motives and conspiracies under every rock. It was how her brain worked, out of necessity. Her survival sometimes depended on it. And since Tanya Spencer had a similar background—having worked many years with the privately funded Sentinels and served as Garrett Wheeler’s right hand for the last decade—Alexa figured the woman’s cryptic words meant she was only playing it safe.
“So tell me what’s on your mind, Tanya?”
“I’m not sure if I should be saying this, but . . .” the woman began. “ . . . I haven’t heard from Garrett in almost ten days. And that’s not like him.” When Alexa didn’t act surprised, Tanya said, “What’s going on? Do you know anything about this?”
“No, I don’t.” Alexa shook her head and heaved a sigh. “But I’ve noticed the same thing. I thought it was me. After I broke it off with him, our relationship changed. It had to, but I haven’t heard from him either. And that’s got me losing sleep.”
Tanya was one of the few people within the Sentinels who knew about Alexa’s personal relationship with her boss, Garrett. She considered the woman a trusted friend.
“Isn’t anyone else concerned about this?” Alexa narrowed her eyes. “He’s head of our organization. What’s he been working on?”
Tanya had been Garrett’s senior analyst and advisor for the last ten years. She usually kept close tabs on him. And he trusted her with every aspect of what he did. They were a team.
“That’s just it. I don’t know.” The woman shook her head and put down her coffee. “And it’s got me worried sick. He’s never done this, Alexa. He’s always involved me with anything he touched. That’s why I wanted to talk here, at your place. Something’s been going on, and I’ve been cut out of the loop. The people Garrett answers to, they have to know something, but they’re not clueing me in.”
“So who’s in charge with Garrett gone? I’ve never seen him work with anyone in particular who could step into his shoes.”
“Yeah, I haven’t either, not with the secrecy above his level. But this can’t go on forever. If Garrett is AWOL, someone’s got to assume his duties.”
“You have any idea who?”
Tanya only shook her head. She was normally unflappable, but seeing the grimace on her face told Alexa all she needed to know about how concerned the woman was.
“We’d have to be careful looking into this. We could blow his op and put him in danger if we barge in without knowing what’s going on.”
“Does that mean you and Jessie will be looking into this?” Tanya asked. “I’ve tried tracking Garrett, but I’ve got nothing. Maybe if we trace other movements within the organization, we’ll have better luck.”
Tanya was right. If Garrett was involved in a covert op that excluded his top analyst and his most trusted agent, it had to be really big. But that also meant the Sentinels’ resources would be dedicated to the operation. And if Alexa could handpick someone to dig through the veiled secrecy of the Sentinels—an organization of international vigilantes who operated off the global grid to dole out their brand of justice—she would have Tanya Spencer at the top of her list. The woman had connections in and out of the organization. And with her internal-systems knowledge, she could slip through virtual back doors without anyone’s noticing.
“I’m meeting Jessie later for breakfast. She’s pretty new to how things work within the Sentinels, but we’ll see.” Alexa sat back on her sofa and crossed her arms. “If we do this, we’d need your help.”
Tanya nodded, and said, “Count on it.”
Alexa knew that what she was planning on doing—using the organization’s resources to trace a covert operation involving her boss and former lover—would not be a sensible thing to do. It could turn into a career ender, at best. Or a death sentence, at worst. And to involve her new partner, Jessie, would not be wise either—especially for Beckett’s sake.
Relying on her gut instinct, she’d have to make that call when she talked to Jessie. If she read anything in her that raised a red flag, she’d let it slide and go it alone with Tanya. But one way or another, she’d take the risk for Garrett—because he would do the same for her.
New York’s Lower East Side
The ringing of a phone early in the morning was never a good thing.
Jessie Beckett pulled the bedcovers off her face and fumbled for the light switch. And after she flicked on her lamp, she squinted at the alarm clock on her nightstand.
“Six twenty? Who the hell—” She winced and grabbed the cell phone off her nightstand and flipped it open without looking at the caller’s number. “You better have a damned good reason for breaking into my beauty sleep.”
The sun had barely made an appearance. And that meant she didn’t give a rip about winning Miss Congeniality.
“Jessie? It’s Sam.”
She recognized the voice of her best friend. Samantha Cooper was a vice cop in Chicago. And she had better sense than to call her at this hour if it wasn’t important.
“Sam? What’s up? Is Seth all right?”
Her worry barometer worked double time when it came to Seth Harper, a guy who had nestled into her heart and made a home. The whacked-out computer genius had a habit of getting into trouble, and not only because he knew her. The boy had a serious way of attracting it on his own. And with his recent recruitment into the Sentinels for his mad skills with a keyboard—the same organization Jessie worked for—Seth had more than doubled his gift for luring trouble.
“No, Seth is fine, I guess. I haven’t seen him lately, but I was calling you about . . . something else.”
“Oh?”
Her friend cleared her throat and stalled. And that wasn’t like her.
“Spit it out, Sammie.”
“Chicago PD received a bulletin from a police chief in La Pointe, Wisconsin.”
“Where the hell is that?”
“It’s at the northern tip of Wisconsin. On Madeline Island in Lake Superior, to be exact. I looked it up on a map.”
“Thanks for the geography lesson.” Jessie ran a hand through her dark hair. “Explain why I should care about this?”
Sam cleared her throat again. Definitely stalling.
“You should care because the police there are working an old cold case. A pretty gruesome murder that happened over twenty years ago.”
“Twenty years. We were both kids back then. Why are you calling me about this, Sam?”
Jessie didn’t like where this was headed. Twenty years ago, she was a kid in the hands of notorious pedophile, Danny Ray Millstone. At least, that was what she believed. She had been too young to really know the truth about how she ended up with him—or maybe she’d blocked it out. And insult to injury, after she was rescued by Detective Max Jenkins of the Chicago PD, no one from her family stepped up to claim her. Not even the national media coverage afterward shed light on what had happened to her. That aspect of her past had remained a black hole. And she’d given up trying to find where she’d come from.
Looking into the details of her childhood nightmare had always been too painful.
“Yeah, well, back then DNA wasn’t used to solve crimes like it is now,” Sam said. “But an old case caught the eye of this local police chief. And he sent in evidence he had stored in archives to the state crime lab. When the lab ran its findings against the CODIS and NCIC databases, the chief told me he got a hit on DNA evidence—and his first new lead in over twenty years.”
Jessie’s mind worked double time, thinking how a DNA test would link to her. The FBI maintained both the Combined DNA Index System and the National Crime Information Center. The first held DNA profiles in a database, while the other was a repository for specific criminal records on known fugitives, missing persons, stolen property, and other details. Such database information was available to state and federal law-enforcement types and was meant to be shared across jurisdictions. Since she’d been a missing person as a child, her gut twisted with the implications of where Sam might be going with this.
“He got a hit . . . on what?”
“Since you were a missing kid, your DNA is on record, Jess. The Wisconsin crime lab got a hit on your DNA. It puts you at that crime scene over twenty years ago.”
“What?” Jessie grimaced. “I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t either. That’s why I put in a request for that DNA report. I could have our crime-lab boys take a look at it, decipher what it means. When I get it, I’ll let you know.”
“That’s great . . . I think.”
“I also called that local LEO in La Pointe. His name is Tobias Cook. I only asked questions and didn’t tell him anything. I wanted to talk to you first,” Sam told her. “According to him, that DNA hit on you was a dead-on match. Unless there’s a serious mistake, it looks like you’re connected to that murder somehow, but that’s not all.”
“Oh, great. The hits keep coming.”
“Chief Cook was asking about your mother. He’s looked into your story, Jess. He knows about Millstone and what happened to you as a kid. He asked why no one ever came forward and claimed you after the rescue.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I didn’t know anything about that. And he’d have to talk to you about it.”
“You did good, Sammie. Thanks.” Jessie swallowed hard. “Did he say why he was asking about my mother?”
Hearing the word “mother” always flashed her back to a haunting memory that had been with her since she was a little girl. She remembered a sunny day with fall colors and a woman’s smiling face. She held those images close to her heart, of a woman playing with her in a park. She must have been someone very special because the memories always made Jessie happy. Although she still couldn’t be sure the woman in her dreams was really her mother, Jessie needed to believe she’d once had someone who loved her like that.
She’d always fantasized that if she saw the woman again, she’d know it. Something in her eyes would give it away. At least, she’d always hoped that would be true.
“The chief only told me that he was running down leads, something about kids being seen at the house where the murder took place.”
“Was the murdered woman . . . my mother? I mean, did my DNA match . . . hers?”
She ached with the thought that her mother might have been dead all these years. And the very thing she’d longed for was never going to happen.
“Sorry. He didn’t tell me anything more about his case. Believe me, I asked, but he got a call and had to jump. That’s why I wanted to see that DNA analysis myself. I swear, Jess. The minute I get that report, I’ll call you. Promise.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“We don’t know if your mother was there at all. Without a peek at the DNA report, there’s no sense buying into more trouble. Even if she was there, she could have been a witness.”
“Or a suspect.”
Jessie had a hard time thinking about her mother after all these years, but she had an even tougher time considering what dark scenarios had put her at that crime scene.
“Don’t go there, Jessie.”
“Either way, I don’t see a family reunion in my future. My luck doesn’t work that way.”
“You’re still breathing, aren’t you? I’d say your luck is better than most.” Sam heaved a sigh. “Besides, if your mother had been connected in some way to a murder, that would explain why she never came forward after you were rescued.”
What Sam said made sense. It had always pained her that no one had claimed her after her ordeal with Millstone, especially with all the national media coverage. Given the scant memories she had of a woman she believed to be her mother—a child’s wishful thinking—Jessie didn’t want to even think about the woman’s being involved in a killing. The life she led before Millstone had been a black hole so far, but maybe this local cop could fill in the gaps. Jessie would have no way of knowing anything for sure unless she contacted him.
“So now what?” Sam asked. “People here at CPD know we have a connection. They’re letting me handle this bulletin request for information, but I can’t stall them.”
“No, and I don’t expect you to.” Jessie chewed the inside corner of her lip. “Give me the 4-1-1 on this chief dude.”
Sam gave her the man’s name and phone number.
“Chief Cook asked you to call him. He thinks he can clear things up over the phone.”
“Not good enough. Not for me.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m flying to Chicago as soon as I can arrange a flight, Sam. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“You want me to pick you up at O’Hare?”
“No . . . I’ll get Harper to do that. But I’ll call when I get a chance, okay?”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m driving to La Pointe. You can tell Chief Cook that I’ll see him face-to-face late tomorrow. I gotta know what evidence he’s got on that case. And if there’s a connection to my mother, or a reason why I ended up with Millstone, I have to know.”
“Look, Jess. I know this is hard for you, but if you need to talk, call me.”
“Thanks, I will.”
Her past never went away. For the first time in her life, Jessie had a future and prospects, working for the Sentinels. She wasn’t just a bounty hunter drifting from case to case, living in a crappy apartment on the fringe of society in Chicago. And since Seth Harper had nudged his way into her life, she also felt good about herself. He had known about her past and accepted her. The scars she carried on her body and on her soul weren’t an issue with a guy like Harper.
So why now? Why did this damned cold case in Wisconsin have to bite her in the ass now?
It scared her to think that her only memory of someone who could be her mother might have been wrong. Was she ready to kill the only good thing she remembered of her past?
“I can never catch a damned break,” she muttered as she got out of bed.
Dressed in a tank top and boxers, Jessie trudged into her living room and logged onto her laptop to look for a flight to Chicago. She had breakfast plans with Alexa Marlowe that she could still make on her way to LaGuardia. Her new partner would need to know that she was leaving town, but Alexa didn’t need to know everything.
Very few people knew the details about the nightmare of her childhood ordeal, and she preferred to keep it that way.
Two hours later
Norma’s Restaurant in Midtown West was packed. Bright and bustling, the place had high ceilings, wood paneling, and faux-silver-edged tables that gave a modern yet comfortable feel. It was a popular café for breakfast and lunch, located in the Le Parker Meridien Hotel lobby. Norma’s was too expensive and trendy for Jessie’s taste, but Alexa knew her partner had suggested it for her sake. Being a former bounty hunter, Jessie had dealt with the dregs of humanity and would have been satisfied with any hole-in-the-wall greasy spoon.
When Alexa arrived, she noticed that Jessie had gotten there early and scored a table, a small carafe of coffee, and two shot glasses of the restaurant’s complimentary smoothie du jour. After her partner waved her over, it didn’t take Alexa long to notice the carry-on luggage under the table.
“Planning on staying the week? The blueberry pancakes are good, but come on,” she joked to cover up her surprise . . . and disappointment.
“I’m on my way to the airport, heading for Chicago. Something personal has come up.” Dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, Jessie leaned across the table. “I know this is short notice, but I don’t have a choice.”
Alexa narrowed her eyes and dropped her smile. “Anything I can do?”
“No, nothing.” Jessie shook her head. “I’ve got it covered.”
Jessie had hesitated, enough to tell Alexa her trip to Chicago wouldn’t be for pleasure.
“And I’m guessing you probably don’t want to talk about it.”
“Bingo.” Jessie grabbed her coffee cup and hid behind it.
Her partner was a woman with secrets, and Alexa respected her privacy. The scar over Jessie’s eyebrow had a story behind it, one Alexa had never been privileged to hear. Even though not too long ago, Alexa had gotten a glimpse into something Jessie had barely survived as a child, her partner had never confided in her, and she hadn’t pushed.
And Alexa also guessed that Jessie had feelings for the computer genius, Seth Harper. Maybe her trip had something to do with him. The guy was a new recruit for the Sentinels, but he’d opted to stay in Chicago rather than move to New York, so he could stick close to his mentally deteriorating father, who lived in a nursing home. Those had been her first thoughts about Jessie’s trip; but with her partner, she might never know for sure.
“How long will you be gone?” she asked. “I mean, in case something comes up.”
“Maybe a few days. Not long.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Will you call me if you need anything?”
“Yeah . . . I’ll do that. So what’s good here?” When Jessie flipped open her menu, her eyes grew wide. “Oh, my God! They have a lobster-and-caviar omelet for a thousand smackers. Who the hell are they kidding? That’s just . . . insane.”
As fast as Jessie stuck her nose in the menu and changed the subject, Alexa knew her partner would never take her up on her offer. Jessie had a tough, independent streak. It was one of the things she liked most about her, but sometimes that made it hard for anyone to get inside. As a partner and a friend, Jessie was an acquired taste.
But with Jessie going out of town—completely distracted by her personal agenda—Alexa knew she’d be working with Tanya alone. Once her partner got back and could focus, Alexa might ask for her help, but for now, Jessie was out of it. And there was no sense telling her anything about Garrett. Jessie had enough going on in her life without adding the guilt trip of leaving her in the lurch—because that was exactly how Jessie’s mind worked. She’d feel guilty over something she’d have no control over.
As if she’d read Alexa’s mind, Jessie looked up from her menu, and said, “You look tired. You getting enough z’s?”
Alexa ran a hand through her blond hair and heaved a sigh as she propped her elbows on the table.
“I’d be doing better if you’d dose me up.” She forced a smile as she shoved over her empty cup. “Pour me some coffee, will ya?”
While her partner filled her cup, Alexa turned her thoughts to Garrett. Something was terribly wrong. As an experienced operative, she sensed it in her bones, especially after talking to Tanya and hearing that Garrett’s top analyst hadn’t heard from him either. That clinched it. She had to do something.
When they were together, Garrett had been an attentive and aggressive lover and quickly become her obsession after she’d come off the high of her near miss with fellow operative Jackson Kinkaid. Her one-sided feelings for Jackson had been tough to let go. They had chemistry, no doubt, but she needed more than he had to give. And, after working with him on a hostage-rescue mission in Cuba not too long ago, the emotional roller-coaster ride with him had not changed for her. She still had it bad, especially after Jackson told her why he’d kept her at a distance.
There had been another woman. A dead one.
Jackson was still deeply connected to his murdered wife and the child he had lost. He had nothing to give her, or anyone. He’d changed. He wasn’t the same man she had known years before. It broke her heart to walk away from him after the Cuban op, but she had to. Forcing Jackson to deal with his grief before he was ready to let go wouldn’t have been good. He would always resent her for it. And that was no way to live, for either of them.
After she’d first met Kinkaid years before, Garrett had been a rebound fling for her, but he’d been a distraction she needed at the time. He had unleashed her insatiable need and been a much-needed diversion after the pent-up feelings she had for Jackson. And even though the urgent passion she had with her boss, Garrett Wheeler, had run its course, she still cared for him deeply. She owed him more than her unflinching loyalty.
Where are you, Garrett?
Somewhere in Mexico
“Is it . . .”
“Is it . . .”
“ . . . him?”
A woman’s voice echoed in his head and filtered through the fog in his brain. Her words overlapped like undulating ripples across still water, mixed with the faint distant echo of a child’s laughter. The sounds nudged his faltering consciousness or tapped into a sliver of memory. He didn’t know which, nor did he care. He had to concentrate to hear anything at all. He didn’t know where he was or how he got there. In this place, he had no past, no future, and barely remembered his own name. Yet in his shadowy existence, he felt certain that he was completely deserving of whatever fate had in store.
When he felt a cool velvet touch on his fevered cheek, he heard a moan, unsure if the sound came from him. He forced his eyes open a crack and caught a glimpse of light. Shadows eclipsed a dim glow, but he was too weak to move. With the drug still so strong in his system, he wavered on the razor’s edge of darkness and took the only comfort he could. He imagined the woman’s voice he had heard morphing into a more familiar sultry one and pictured running his fingers through a soft tumble of blond strands as he gazed into pale blue eyes.
His lover’s throaty voice stirred him, and her haunting eyes lingered, along with a trace of her perfume. He felt her kiss and her whisper in his ear as she trailed a finger down the bare skin of his chest and onto his stomach. Her touch made him flinch, and his body reacted.
He wanted her. He needed her. And when he willed the beautiful woman to stay—she did.