No Good Deed (13 page)

Rollins. Well, fuck.

“This morning?”

“Yes.”

“Did she flee the country?”

“Negative. Padre had his ear to the ground in Hidalgo, and I called in some favors in El Paso. She’s definitely in hiding, but we believe—and so does the FBI—that she’s still in Texas. Lucy called me herself—she thinks you’re at the top of her hit list.”

“I’m aware of Lucy’s theories.”

“You disagree?”

“No.” Kane just didn’t think he was the only one on the list. “As soon as I grab Siobhan, I’ll head to San Antonio.” Several thoughts, none of them good, twisted around his head. “Find out who knew Siobhan was in Santiago. According to Andie Walsh, this was an unscheduled vacation.”

“You don’t think this was random.”

“No.”

“A trap?”

“She’s bait, Jack. I feel it in my bones. And if I don’t bite, they’ll kill her.”

“I can get you backup by morning.”

“Only if you don’t hear from me. Out.” He hung up. “Blitz,” Kane said, “as soon as we secure the target, get her out. Don’t look back.”

“Someone knows she’s important to you.”

“She’s no more important than anyone else,” Kane snapped. Shit, this is why he didn’t have attachments. He wasn’t attached to Siobhan Walsh in any way, but he’d known her for ten, twelve years now. Longer. And he’d known her sister since he was an eighteen-year-old recruit. It wouldn’t have been difficult to connect Kane to Andie Walsh, then Andie to Siobhan, and Siobhan to her dangerous life.

Blitz cleared his throat. “Meaning, they know she’s connected. That you’ve come for her before.”

That, he could believe. Because Siobhan was bait. If they were dealing with terrorists, Andie was a high-value target. And while Kane viewed every member of every cartel as a terrorist, they wouldn’t give a shit about a lieutenant colonel in the marines stationed at Quantico.

Which meant that Siobhan, a civilian, was bait for Kane.

He didn’t have to think about why. He knew damn well
why
. The only thing he’d been working on for three months was finding Tobias. His only attachments were his family, but his family was protected—Sean and Lucy could watch out for each other; Duke was well trained to protect his wife and baby daughter (and Kane had already talked to Jack about keeping an eye on them); and Liam and Eden were in Europe, far from his enemies’ reach.

Two weeks ago he’d lost a source of information, and that’s when he realized that he was a specific target. It had been a trap; he’d survived, his snitch had not. And until Siobhan’s disappearance yesterday, he’d kept a very low profile.

Shit, shit, shit.

Gomez and Dyson stepped out of the bar. “Sarge?” Gomez said.

Kane hated being called Sarge, which was his last rank before he left the marines, but marines were creatures of order, and it would take a few jobs before Gomez and Dyson changed.

“She’s bait,” Kane said.

“Tobias,” Blitz said, his face dark. He’d been there when they rescued the boys who ran drugs for Trejo, who worked for Tobias.

“Nicole Rollins escaped from custody today. She’s still in Texas. I’ve created a shitstorm for them, and they need to use me as an example. No matter what, get Siobhan out.”

“Safe house in Arteaga?” Blitz asked. That had been the original plan. Regroup in Arteaga, accessible on foot in a day, an hour by vehicle, or twenty minutes by plane. Kane had contacts there. But he didn’t know who had been compromised.

“Last resort. Get her to the safe house in Hidalgo, across the border, and contact Jack.”

“What about you?”

He didn’t respond, because Blitz and the others couldn’t be distracted from getting Siobhan to safety.

These bastards thought they could use a friend of his to bait him? They didn’t know who they were fucking with. He would turn the tables and find out exactly where Tobias was hiding. He’d get every piece of information from these scumbags. And if any of them so much as touched a hair on Siobhan …

Blitz cleared his throat. “Boss, we’ll get Tobias another day.”

“This ends now,” Kane said.

He didn’t need to acknowledge Blitz’s loyalty. Blitz would die for Kane, or any one of their team. He and Ranger were the most loyal men Kane could have hoped for. Dyson and Gomez had potential, but they didn’t have the experience.

“Understood.”

They made their way separately to the church, Dyson pairing off with Kane, Gomez with Blitz. It didn’t take long; Santiago wasn’t a big town. He nodded to his men, and they split up. They had his back while Kane tracked down the priest.

Kane walked into the back of the church. As soon as the door closed, the priest saw him. His eyes were scared, but he didn’t falter from his closing prayer.

Kane scanned the room. Three dozen parishioners. He didn’t know if that was good or bad for a weeknight. Most of them were older women. He didn’t see anyone who looked suspicious, and he didn’t see Siobhan.

He didn’t expect to.

He was acutely aware of his surroundings. The church wasn’t large, a long narrow hall with about thirty rows of pews and an aisle down the middle. A small room to the right was probably for prayers or baptisms or whatever. Kane respected the churches, but he didn’t believe or disbelieve. What was the point? Some on his team, like Ranger, were true believers. Others, like Blitz, were nonbelievers. But when push came to shove, he trusted both of them with his life.

The two altar boys followed the priest down the aisle when Mass was over. The priest was looking at Kane, his young face a hard line. How old was this guy? Certainly no older than Sean. And he was scared.

Someone had threatened him. It took a lot of balls to threaten a man of God.

The priest turned to him. “I am truly sorry. I had no choice.”

The priest had set him up, but Kane had expected it. So he waited where he stood, ready to shoot or fight.

He said into his com, “Stay sharp. Sound off.”

“Beta here.” Blitz.

“Charlie here.” Gomez.

“Delta here.” Dyson.

He kept his com open because his men needed to know what was happening. People filed out, glancing at him, scurrying. Did they suspect violence was about to break out? Or did he just have that effect on people?

The last of the parishioners exited. The church was stifling, not air-conditioned, the layers of human sweat and humidity and perfume and incense clogging his senses.

The main door opened and the priest came back in.

“I can’t do this,” he said quietly to Kane. “They took one of my altar boys. They would have killed him, and your friend, if I didn’t tell you to return.”

Leverage. “Leave,” Kane said.

“I need to fix this. I am sorry, so sorry.”

“Where are they?”

“The rectory basement.”

Kane said in his com, “Blitz?”

“We’re on it; Dyson has your six.”

“They took them yesterday, after the morning Mass,” the priest continued. “I was to notify them when someone showed up asking about the redheaded girl. They promised to release both of them if I convinced you to return here.”

“When?”

He paused. “Now.”

“Go, Padre. You’re in danger.”

“You’re the one they want. When I showed them your picture they said there’s a reward for your capture.”

Kane stepped to the side and pushed the priest out the door, then closed it again. During his recon, he’d noticed only one rear entrance to the church. The small rectory was behind it. Best way to keep the priest in line was to threaten one of his own.

Over the com, Blitz said, “Movement in the back. Two shooters, with the boy.”

“Copy.”

Kane took six steps to the right and stood just inside the small sanctuary off the vestibule. These people had threatened a priest, kidnapped a child and a woman. Reward for his capture—they wanted him alive. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t kill everyone else.

Two shooters with the boy, which meant at least two shooters with Siobhan. He said, “Get eyes on her now.”

“Roger.”

He heard a door open in the back before he saw anyone. There was some fumbling, something got knocked over, and he saw movement from the room behind the altar. Kane peered through the slit in the doorway. A boy, not more than eight years of age, still dressed in his black altar boy attire, was gagged and his hands were tied in front of him. His face was dirty and stained with tears. He had a cut on the side of his head.

They’d hit a child.

The rage pouring through Kane veins calmed him.

One man had a handgun held to the back of the boy’s head. The other had an AK-47 strapped over one shoulder, and a large handgun in his left hand. Looked like a .45-caliber, but Kane couldn’t tell from the angle. Powerful gun. Did he know how to use it? How well trained were these men? Former military? Former Mexican police? Or had they been trained by the cartels? Were they part of Tobias’s gang or freelancers?

Didn’t matter. They knew something, and if they didn’t know, they would still be dead.

The asshole with the AK-47 started walking along the perimeter of the church, looking up and down each pew. “We know you’re in here, Rogan.” He spoke perfect English. This man might live in Mexico, but he was an American. Ten more feet and he’d see Kane.

“Throw out your weapons, come peacefully, and we’ll let the boy go.”

Siobhan. They wouldn’t let her go. Her imprisonment was the only thing that would keep Kane compliant. They knew that. They’d done this sort of thing before.

But they’d never tried this stunt with Kane.

“If you don’t come out, we’ll kill the boy.”

In his ear, Kane heard Blitz. “Eyes on the target. Two guards. One roaming.”

He tapped his com twice so Blitz would know he’d heard him.

There was noise outside the main doors. It distracted the men just enough for Kane to step out.

The doors opened and the priest ran in.

The left-handed man aimed at the priest, but hesitated just a second. Kane fired two shots, aiming center mass, then one slightly higher.

All three hit and the bad guy went down without getting off a shot.

He turned to the man at the altar who had his gun on the boy. This bad guy wasn’t as confident or cocky. He was shaking, which was problematic.

The priest said, “Let him go, señor. Let the boy go. Don’t shed any more blood in God’s house.”

Kane walked fast toward the altar. He read the gunman’s eyes. He wasn’t a child killer. He was conflicted.

But he still had the gun on the back of the boy’s head with his right hand, and his left hand gripped the gown and the boy’s shoulder.

“Let him go and you live,” Kane said. “Five. Four.”

The priest said, “Please, señor. He’s a boy.”

“Three. Two. One.”

The gunman pushed the boy to the ground and aimed his gun at Kane.

He was dead before he could fire.

“Get the boy out of here,” Kane ordered the priest and ran toward the back.

He’d heard nothing from Blitz, and the other shooters must have heard the gunshots.

He stopped, just before he exited. He realized he’d almost made a fatal mistake—never run blind out of a building.

Because this was Siobhan. He’d almost been reckless because of Siobhan.

“Report,” he said.

Silence.

“Dyson,” he said.

“The priest just left with the boy.”

“I’m coming out the back.”

“Roger, I’ll be there in ten.”

Ten beats. Kane counted them, not liking that his patience was slipping. He took a long, deep breath.

On the eleventh beat, he cautiously opened the door, but didn’t step out. Gunfire erupted, right in front of him. Dyson had turned the corner of the church, and the gunman unleashed a modified AK-47. Dyson retreated, but he might have been hit.

Kane jumped out of the doorway and tackled the shooter. The spray of bullets went high. Kane disarmed him and knocked him out with the butt of his own gun.

“Dyson,” he said into his com.

“I’m okay.”

“Hit?”

“Flesh wound.”

Blitz burst out of the rectory half carrying Siobhan.

Time stopped, just for a second.

She was in a long, dirty white sundress, not the jeans she lived in. Blood, both old and fresh, stained the cotton. A bruise, purple and black, enlarged her right cheek.

They’d hurt her. Those fucking bastards had hit her.

Blitz was bleeding from his arm. “Knives. Gomez.” He shook his head. “I got one, one escaped, but he’s seriously hurt.”

“Recon, get Gomez, meet in the church in five.”

Blitz nodded to Dyson and passed Siobhan off to Kane.

Kane picked her up. “I can walk,” she said, her voice scratchy.

Kane carried her into the church and set her down on the pew. He took a bottle of water from his pack and handed it to her. She drank. “Thanks,” she said.

“Where are you injured?”

“It’s fine.”

He glared at her and inspected her dress, looking for bullet holes or knife marks.

“The blood is mostly from your friend,” she said. “Kane—I’m sorry. I knew someone was following me, I should have left town. I planned to leave right after church, and then…” Her voice trailed off.

“This time it wasn’t your fault.”

She tensed. “This time? And the other times were? You’re a piece of work, Rogan.” She tried to stand, then winced.

He pushed her back down. One of her crystal-clear blue eyes was swollen. Her silky red hair was tangled and matted. “Where. Are. You. Injured.”

“Last night I tried to escape with Diego,” she said. “Is he okay?”

“Yes,” Kane said.

“They just … they just hit me. I’m sore.”

He applied pressure on her stomach and she winced. He unbuttoned her dress, tried to ignore her lacy white bra, and looked at the bruising. “Cracked or broken ribs.”

“I don’t think—”

“No, you don’t.”

He buttoned her back up and tried to ignore the tears that welled in her eyes.

This was why he didn’t form attachments. They could be used against him. He didn’t even have an attachment to Siobhan, but he wanted to hunt down and kill the last man left standing.

But he couldn’t. He needed that man alive because he needed information.