No Good Deed (12 page)

She didn’t know what the plan was, but she trusted Joseph. She had to. She did what he said. When she was done, he was on his hands and knees in front of the heater, the front panel on the floor. She watched him blow out the pilot light.

“I don’t know how long it’ll take for the apartment to fill with gas, but it shouldn’t be too long. The flames from the stove will cause an explosion, and the bedding will keep the fire burning.”

“Shouldn’t we put it on the body?”

He shook his head. “This will work. Even if they recover her body, there won’t be any physical evidence tying her to Tobias.”

“But they’ll know this wasn’t an accident.”

“Tobias swore to Jimmy that no one saw him with the girl. If he lied, that’s on him, not us.”

She nodded. They could only do so much. “Okay. We should go.”

They left. Nicole wished she knew how long this would take, but they couldn’t wait around. Joseph had wisely parked two blocks away. There were no security cameras or anyone around who could identify them leaving the apartment in Van Nuys. By the time they reached the car, Tobias was asleep in the back.

“We should have left him there,” she mumbled.

But of course she couldn’t. Tobias was family.

She had to protect her family.

Two days later, Joseph handed her a copy of the
LA Times
after her chemistry class. She read it and began to shake.

“Joseph—I didn’t think—”

“I did. There was no other choice. It was either let Tobias rot or solve the problem.” He touched her chin, forced her to look at him. “I love you, Niki. I will always protect you.”

For a minute, she wanted to run away. Her and Joseph, leave the family, let Uncle Jimmy move his own damn drugs, let her flaky mother get taken by the next con artist, let Tobias rot in prison for murder, just disappear and never look back. She and Joseph, alone together.

As if he could read her mind, Joseph said, “Just say the word, Niki.”

She wanted to. Desperately.

But they were family. And only the family cared about retribution for her father’s murder.

“I can’t. I love you, Joseph, I love you so much … but they’re my family. I can’t walk away. I have to follow through. It’s my legacy.” Her bottom lip quivered. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He hugged her tight. “You will never lose me. I will be with you always. I will protect you from everyone—from your family, from your enemies, from the government. I am your protector, your lover, your soul mate.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. There was no going back.

VAN NUYS—A six-unit apartment building on Archwood Street near Saticoy and Sepulveda burned to the ground Saturday night. Four people died in the blaze, which started at approximately 2:30 a.m. The fire began in an upstairs unit rented by 19-year-old Maria Lopez, a student at a local community college. Witnesses report that they first heard an explosion. One of the complex renters, 69-year-old Hap Tomas, said the explosion woke him and he immediately ran outside. The upper floors were already on fire. He woke up the residents in the other downstairs units and they all were uninjured, treated for smoke inhalation and minor burns. Four of the six upstairs unit residents were killed. The other two weren’t at home.

The Los Angeles Fire Department released an unconfirmed report that a gas leak contributed to the fire. Arson has not been ruled out. A full investigation is under way.

*   *   *

Joseph watched Niki sleep. He hated that she’d spent three months in prison. They had been apart for much longer than three months over the twenty-three years he’d known her, but prison was different.

For five years he’d worked for Congresswoman Adeline Reyes-Worthington. Five miserable years. And in the end, she’d screwed up everything. It had been a pleasure to break her neck. When Niki finally was transferred to San Antonio, they saw each other when they could, which wasn’t often enough for Joseph. But now … now he wouldn’t leave her side. She needed him, more than she knew.

She may have kept Tobias on a short leash, but her incarceration had broken his chains, and she didn’t know the half of what he’d done. But Joseph knew Niki … she had to learn of his screwups on her own. She had to come to the decision herself to take him out.

He knew she would. He just prayed it wouldn’t be too late.

His phone vibrated. He reached over and looked at the screen.

A photo of their enemy, with a brief message from Dover.

Green light?

“Who is it?” Niki asked with a yawn.

He showed her the message.

“How did you set the trap? He’s never fallen for it before.”

“Patience, Niki. You have to know the enemy to defeat the enemy. I assume you want the plan to move forward?”

“Absolutely. I don’t care what they do to him, as long as they don’t kill him. I need information.”

“Understood.”

Joseph responded.

It’s a go.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

For twenty-six years, Kane Rogan had been a soldier. He’d only spent six years in the marines, but those six years had taught him a lifetime of skills and forged friendships that were stronger than blood.

Twenty years as a freelance soldier/mercenary/hostage negotiator—whatever you wanted to call it—only honed his skills. Kane had a sixth sense that only the most elite special forces units had. Mental muscle, spidey sense, whatever they called it, Kane had it—and as soon as he saw Siobhan’s cell phone on the charger in her hotel room, he knew she was in danger. Or dead.

He searched the room. Her clothes were there—just a few things, but she traveled light. A couple of changes, toiletries, her backpack.

And her camera.

Siobhan Walsh went nowhere without that damn camera, and she certainly wouldn’t leave it in a hotel overnight. He’d tracked down the taxi that had picked her up for breakfast, but instead of a restaurant, it had dropped her outside a church, Our Lady of Light. That made sense—Siobhan was Catholic, and yesterday was Sunday.

But she’d never come back to the hotel.

He grabbed her camera and cell phone and stored them in his jeep.

Kane checked out the church. The evening Mass would be starting in fifteen minutes, and he found the priest in the room behind the altar making preparations. The young priest handed one of the two altar boys the gifts and the other a large, heavy book covered in red leather. He saw Kane in the narrow entry when he looked up. Fear filled his eyes.

Kane didn’t say anything as he stepped aside to let the two boys pass. Then he said, “I’m looking for a woman who was here yesterday,” he said in Spanish. “This high”—he put his hand under his chin—“long curly red hair. Looks Irish. She would stand out.”

The priest shook his head. “Sorry, señor.”

“Sorry you didn’t see her?”

Again, he shook his head. He was nervous. He was lying.

“
Sí
,” he said.

“She is a photojournalist who’s been working with the Sisters of Mercy.”

His eyes widened in surprise. The Sisters of Mercy were well known and respected in this part of Mexico. “I don’t know. I didn’t see her.”

But he didn’t look at Kane.

“You’re lying, Padre.”

“No, señor. I don’t want trouble. Please. You need to go. Mass is starting.”

One of the altar servers returned and the priest looked torn. He said quietly, “Return after Mass. Please.”

Kane looked out. About a dozen people were in the church; more were coming in.

“One hour,” Kane said and left.

*   *   *

Two days ago Siobhan had called her half-sister and said she thought she was being followed. Lieutenant Colonel Andrea Walsh immediately called Kane, hoping he was within a hundred miles of Siobhan. He hadn’t been, but he called Andie back immediately.

“What the hell is she up to now?”

“Relax, Kane. Siobhan returned from a three-month trip with the Sisters of Mercy in Oaxaca. Part of her Children of Mexico series. She was taking some R and R in Santiago when she called me.”

“And?”

“And now I can’t reach her. Her phone rings, I get voice mail. She always calls me back right away because she knows I worry. When she didn’t call back by this morning, I contacted the hotel she’s at and they said she didn’t come in last night—she left yesterday morning, Sunday, and hasn’t returned.”

“I’m in Juarez. It’ll take me a few hours to get a team together and get down there.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“You wouldn’t have called me if it was nothing, Andie.”

“She’s the only family I have.”

He wanted to say,
Then why do you let her travel to the most dangerous places south of the border? Why didn’t you keep her in DC, which was a damn sight safer than Oaxaca, Mexico?
But he didn’t, because he knew the answer: Siobhan would do whatever she damn well pleased.

“I’ll find her. But I’m dragging her sorry ass back to the States and you need to lay down the law with your sister because I don’t have time for this.”

Andie Walsh was career military. She and Kane had been in the same basic training program, but she’d been an officer candidate because she had a four-year degree and wanted to make the marines her career. Her dad had been a marine, her brother had been a marine. It was in her blood. She was now the number-two-ranked officer at the Officer Candidates School at Quantico.

How Siobhan had even half the same blood in her veins as Andie eluded Kane.

Kane rendezvoused with his men at a small bar not far from the hotel. He had three men with him—a standard foursome that he took on most operations. Ranger was following up on a lead about Tobias, something Kane had planned to do himself until Andie called him.

He’d brought in one of his regulars, Blitz, as well as two new recruits, Dyson and Gomez, former marines who’d recently signed on with RCK for a two-year contract. Dyson was quiet with sharp recon skills, and Gomez was a wily chameleon who could fly anything. Kane had been using Sean far too much lately, and while he trusted his brother explicitly, Sean was needed elsewhere. Sean had someone else to live for, and Kane wasn’t going to repeatedly risk his brother’s life. He didn’t want to face Lucy and tell her the man she loved was dead.

Sometimes, Kane was surprised they’d lived as long as they had.

“The priest was lying,” Kane said.

“Fuck,” Gomez muttered. “What’s the world coming to when you can’t trust a fucking priest?”

Kane didn’t know whether he was being sarcastic or serious.

“The target has been missing for thirty-three hours. Stay alert.” He ran through the plan he’d formulated on his way back to the bar. He looked at his watch. “You have twenty minutes downtime, but stay alert. Be outside at twenty hundred hours.”

Kane stepped outside. He couldn’t put his finger on
why
he felt they were in danger, but the feeling was as thick as the humidity that hung in the air like a hot, wet blanket. He felt eyes on him and walked around to the side, where no one could get a direct hit on him but where he had a good field of vision. Didn’t help his nerves. Someone was watching them. Someone had followed him from the hotel. Was this the same feeling Siobhan had when she called Andie? Siobhan would never ask for help, not unless there was a serious situation. Andie had told her to change her routine, leave early, not tell anyone where she was going.

Yet she’d stayed.

What did you get yourself into, Siobhan?

Why couldn’t Andie’s little sister just stay in the States—didn’t the US have enough problems to photograph? Why come down here? Why risk her life? This wasn’t the first time he’d been sent to bail the photojournalist out of hot water.

Third time’s a charm, sugar. Next time you’re on your own.

Next time? Hell no. He’d get Rick Stockton to flag Siobhan Walsh’s fucking passport to prevent her from ever leaving the United States again. Then she could be Jack Kincaid’s problem instead of his.

Not that lack of a passport would stop the girl from doing whatever she damn well pleased.

Kane wasn’t surprised when Blitz followed him out.

“Someone’s watching us,” Kane said.

“Yep,” Blitz said.

“Were you followed from the airport?”

“Yep. Couldn’t get eyes on them. They were there, then gone. They’re good.”

“Military?”

Blitz shrugged. “Experienced.”

“How many?”

“Pair.”

“Same here.”

Again, it was a feeling, not because Kane had seen two people tracking him. But he trusted his gut.

“Four—same as us,” Blitz said.

“Odds in our favor.” Kane would put his men up against twice the number and be confident they’d come away unscathed.

Siobhan, of course, was the wild card. Anytime there was a hostage, that changed the game.

“Santiago is pretty tame,” Blitz said.

“She was targeted,” Kane said. “Siobhan and her damn camera.”

Because what else could it be? Criminals, particularly the cartels and the corrupt cops, were nervous around journalists.

And having her targeted because she was a photojournalist was much better than having Siobhan targeted because she was a woman.

Or because of him.

If anyone had hurt her, they would soon be dead.

Kane pulled out his sat phone and called Jack Kincaid. His partner answered immediately.

“Kincaid.”

“She left everything in her hotel room and hasn’t been seen for thirty-three hours. Disappeared at a church.” He gave him the name and location.

“And?”

“We’re being followed. Two teams of two. I’m going dark. If you don’t hear from me in eight hours, notify Ranger.”

“Nicole Rollins escaped this morning during a transport. Sean, Lucy, and Stockton all want to talk to you.”