Nate called Kane back less than an hour later. “I have no proof,” Nate said in lieu of hello, “but my friend was very chatty about Vasquez. A lot of fodder for the rumor mill.”
“That’s all I need.”
“He sold himself to the highest bidder. Looked the other way if someone paid him enough.”
“Drugs?”
“Yes—but no specific allegiances. The only thing my buddy was certain about—again, no proof—was that Vasquez once killed a low-level drug dealer for money.”
“A hit man?”
“Likely. It was a bust that went south and Vasquez was hauled up in IA and the investigation tainted his precinct. But there was no proof—he got a demotion, but a year later was back on his old beat, then retired at full pay. Tells me that he’s willing to do just about anything for a buck.”
“Still—his house is damn expensive.”
“I pushed. The guy could still be taking hits, but my buddy says it’s usually one criminal against another. His big deal is falsifying evidence. Rumor has it that a rich fuck who killed his wife paid Vasquez to lose the evidence during the last couple months he was on the job. Evidence disappears. Everyone thinks the prick killed his wife, but can’t prove it.”
“So he’s a sneaky hit man and liar.”
“Pretty much.”
“Thanks.”
“Need backup?”
“I’m good.”
He ended the call. Damn, Nate was good. Very good and very fast.
So Vasquez fronts as a PI, but is actually a hit man? Did he take out Domingo himself? Or did he run a gunman or two?
That didn’t feel right to Kane. Vasquez seemed more like a fixer. If someone needed killing, he’d kill him. But disposing of evidence, that sounded slimy.
Still, the potential to be whacked put a completely different spin on things and made the situation far too dangerous. A good sniper—like the one who took out Domingo last night—could take the shot and be gone in seconds. That put all of them at risk.
Kane sent Jack a message.
Vasquez a fixer. Possible hit man. Know the situation. Spread the word.
Sean was good with security, and there wasn’t a car he couldn’t drive or a computer he couldn’t crack. But Sean had never been military. He’d never had to protect himself against a potential sniper attack. Jack would make sure Sean, Lucy, and Jesse—and now that damn bitch Madison—were safe, as long as everyone listened to him.
Kane should walk away from Vasquez’s joint, but he needed more information, and this was his best chance. Where was this asshole? He was late, and that never boded well.
Five minutes later, he saw Vasquez drive up. Two cars came in behind him, each with two men. Not the men Vasquez had been playing golf with. Vasquez talked to them. One car left, but out of the corner of his eye Kane saw the vehicle go around to the back. The other car parked directly across from Vasquez’s office door.
What did this guy take him for, an idiot?
Vasquez looked around, then went into his office. Kane slipped the cook a twenty and went out through the back. He called Vasquez.
“I’m here,” Vasquez said. “Where are you?”
“I should know never to trust a corrupt cop.”
“I will kill you if you so much as look at my daughter.”
“Just remember: You wanted to play it this way. I’ll see you soon.”
Kane walked half a block away and slipped into his truck. He drove off, not being able to resist driving by the strip mall.
Vasquez was standing in his doorway, looking both angry and worried.
He should be worried.
No one fucked with Kane’s family and got away with it.
Now it was time to find out what was going on with his nephew before the kid got himself hurt, or worse. Because something wasn’t adding up here, and Kane always trusted his instincts.
* * *
Bart sat at his desk and called the man who hired him.
“Guy is a no-show.”
“He spotted your men and bolted. I told you, if it’s Rogan, he’s not going to walk into a trap.”
“Fucking Domingo. I wish I could have him killed again. He gave them my name.”
“And nothing more. If they knew anything, they wouldn’t concern themselves with you. Minor hiccup, but it actually works in my favor.”
“He’s going to be on alert.”
“He was on alert as soon as he was tailed on Wednesday.”
“I told you that was a stupid-ass idea, Robertson.”
“Not my stupid idea, but Carson Spade has no idea what can of worms he’s opened up. As soon as I get his wife and son, he’ll give me everything he’s hiding from the feds. Millions are at stake here.”
“Maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll say kill them both, good riddance.”
“Then the FBI will have the proof that he lied and hid assets, and he goes to prison. My dear old friend Carson would not do well behind bars. And he will know by then that I can get to him anywhere.”
“So what now?”
“My guess is that Madison will be on her way to the airport tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest. We grab her and the kid and make a deal.”
“And Rogan?”
“I was hired to assassinate him as soon as Madison and Jesse are out of San Antonio, after all. Two birds, one stone. Don’t panic, and the payday will be sweet.”
“Not panicked, just pissed.”
“Stay alert, Bart. I have everything under control.”