No Good Deed (21 page)

“I wasn’t talking about the boys.”

She bit her lip. “I had a problem with nightmares for a while, but it’s over. And I have Sean.”

“And he has you.”

Spontaneously, she said, “Stay at our house. Sean is out of town and we have plenty of room. More than enough.”

“Sean left you alone? With Rollins on the loose?”

“No, sir,” Nate said, “Sean left her with me.”

“Nate—Dunning, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I read your file.”

“Sir?”

Hans laughed. “I was the assistant director at Quantico when you went through the academy.”

Nate almost blushed. “I didn’t make the connection. I apologize.”

“Now they’ve stuck me in headquarters. I wish I could go back to Quantico.”

“If you really wanted to, you’d make it happen,” Lucy said.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Where is Sean? It’s not like him to leave during a situation like this.”

“There may be some trouble with Kane. It could be nothing—communications failure. Or he might be in real trouble.”

“Rollins,” Hans said.

“She won’t kill him quietly. She’ll be bold about it. She’ll want everyone to know that she took him out.” But Lucy’s gut churned. What was Sean getting himself into?

“You already have a profile on her.”

“A beginning. That’s why I want to talk to Elise, then to Chris, Nicole’s brother.”

Nate said, “On that, I spoke to my former commanding officer at Fort Hood. Chris Rollins is deployed in Afghanistan. He’s a lieutenant, has a spotless service record. Career military—he was ROTC in college, and has been an active service member for sixteen years. He volunteered to do another tour in Afghanistan. It’s a hard life, but for some people it’s exactly what they need.”

“Can we talk to him?”

“Not a problem. His commander is already aware we want to speak to him. They’re ten hours ahead of us where he’s stationed.”

“Anytime he can talk, I’ll make myself available.”

“Good call, Lucy,” Hans said. “You’re trying to figure out what their childhood was like.”

“I want to know why she lied to me.”

“Excuse me?”

“She told me—this was during Operation Heatwave, when she had no reason to lie—that she lived in Kansas until she was fourteen with her brothers. It was a nothing conversation, about tornadoes or something innocuous. Yet she has only one brother, and she lived in Kansas for only fourteen
months
, when she was much younger. So there was some truth, but it was twisted.”

“That’s interesting. Is she a pathological liar?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“It was more like … a game. Just like Elise. And if the truth came out, she could say she misspoke, or that I misheard, or that the conversation never took place. It wasn’t anything I would need or care to verify.”

“That kind of lying suggests a compulsion.”

“In hindsight, I think that she was trying to build a rapport with me of some sort. She knew I came from a large family, but she didn’t realize that—except for me—my brothers and sisters were raised like she was, in a military family moving base-to-base. Had she known that, it might have changed what she said. Her father left the military when she was still young, became a cop. He was killed in the line of duty when she was fifteen. I’ve sent a request to the LA field office to find out more about his death.”

“Hmm,” Hans said. Lucy didn’t know what he meant by that, and he didn’t elaborate.

Nate showed his badge to the security guard outside the jail, and was directed to the opposite end of the facility. He parked, they went through security and relinquished their weapons, then were escorted to a holding room. The guard told them it would be at least ten minutes while they moved the prisoner to an interview room.

Hans turned to Nate. “Agent Dunning, would you mind giving Lucy and me a minute?”

“Of course.” He stepped outside.

“Is something wrong?” Lucy asked.

“No. You trust him.”

“Yes. Nate is Sean’s closest friend here.”

“I didn’t know that, but I suppose it’s obvious.”

“Obvious?”

“Sean would never have left town if he didn’t think you were safe.”

“Nate was special forces.”

“I know. I wasn’t lying when I said I read his file.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “Hans—why do I think you’re trying to tell me something? Can you just spill it?”

“I read your report last night, the one you sent to Abigail Durant. It was good. Brief, to the point, and like I said earlier, you shared some of your opinion—I want more.”

“It’s nothing I can prove.”

“In profiling, proving something is an art, not a science. We’re talking about human beings. No humans can be put into a neat box.”

She didn’t know what he wanted from her.

Hans continued, “I don’t see the connection between Nicole Rollins and Elise Hansen, and why you believe you’ll gain anything from this conversation.”

“It’s a theory.”

“I want your theory.”

“I think…” She hesitated. For years she’d hedged and second-guessed herself, not trusting her own instincts, always deferring to those with more experience. And she still did that. But when it came to predators—of any kind—she had a sixth sense that she couldn’t ignore.

She said, “Nicole Rollins is in charge. I wrote that she was working with Tobias and was possibly his lover, someone he trusted. But after watching the video of her killing a low-life drug dealer, I think she’s too arrogant and too smart to take orders. At the
minimum
, she and Tobias are equal partners. He must have orchestrated her escape—or implemented a plan she came up with as a contingency. She couldn’t do it on her own, and the marshals haven’t found any record that her lawyer was passing information—though I think he certainly was the go-between, whether or not he knew it.”

“Go on,” Hans said when she paused for a minute.

“Kane called us last night, said a man named Joseph put a bounty on Kane’s head. Joseph must be Joseph Contreras, the man we suspect of killing Congresswoman Reyes-Worthington, the man we suspect was working for Tobias to keep her in line. There’s almost
nothing
on him. Maybe he falsified his records, or used a different name and Social, or
something
, but it’s like he doesn’t exist except as a tax record. We’re looking out of state, but it’s going to take time.”

“Nicole moved to LA when she was young.”

“Yes.”

“Look there. You’re already looking into her father’s murder, we should look deeper—broader—than that.”

She should have seen that. Dammit, she’d missed the background. “Of course.”

“I have a contact in LA, she used to work out of BSU until budget cuts. Now she’s one of the two SSAs of Violent Crimes out of the main LA headquarters.”

“That would be very helpful.” One thing Lucy detested about working for the federal government was the bureaucracy. She could request all the information and help she wanted, but getting people to act on it quickly was hit or miss. Having an internal contact in the right office could save them days of waiting.

“How does Elise Hansen fit in?” Hans asked.

“That’s the question I’ve been asking myself for two weeks. Tobias is no younger than forty. Elise is sixteen. Brother and sister? Possible, but unlikely. Father and daughter? Maybe. But that doesn’t feel right to me. How Elise talked about him as a brother fits better. Could be they’re cousins or related in another way, or perhaps Elise is the daughter of someone Tobias is close to. Elise has prostituted herself, but she’s not a traditional hooker. For her, sex is a tool, a means to an end. Elise didn’t talk about Tobias in a sexual way. It could be that Tobias took Elise under his wing, in some sort of crude protective brotherly way, honing her already psychopathic tendencies to serve his needs. Elise has no respect for men, and I can’t exclude Tobias from that assessment. Yet … she has a nonsexual affection for him, even though I don’t see her bonding with anyone. If we shut down Tobias, found Nicole and took out their entire operation, Elise would survive without any sense of loss.” She rubbed her temples, feeling a headache building. “I need to figure it out. This doesn’t make sense yet. I’m missing information, but it’s critical information.”

“And we have no information about where Elise was prior to DC?”

Lucy shook her head. “She had several identification cards from Nevada and the Las Vegas office determined that they were all fake. And after her story of being in foster care, we pulled her name and all her aliases—nothing matches.”

Lucy feared that Elise would win in the end. There was little evidence that refuted her statement that she was terrified and threatened and thought she had no choice. Just because there was no record of her in Nevada or elsewhere wasn’t proof that she was lying. Lucy didn’t know much of what Elise had said to the shrinks, but her hearing was tomorrow and if she played the psychiatrist like Lucy thought she would, Dr. Oakley would say anything that Elise wanted her to.

Because of the circumstances, Elise would never be released without some sort of monitoring, but she wouldn’t be hindered by rules or threats. She was used to disappearing, and she would walk away without hesitation. If Tobias was truly involved—if he was her family, blood or not—then he had the money to help her disappear.

“She refuses to tell us her real name and where she was born. There should be a record of her in foster care, but we can’t check if she keeps lying.”

“Refuses out of fear?”

“No. She’s not scared, Hans. She’s sixteen years old and a cold-blooded killer. I
know
it.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sean landed his Cessna on the small, rough airstrip at Jack Kincaid’s expansive property outside Hidalgo, Texas. It was a nearly four-hour drive from San Antonio, but only fifty-three minutes from takeoff to landing in Sean’s plane. By the time he’d taxied into the barn that was used primarily as hangar, Blitz had driven out to meet him. The airstrip was nearly a mile from Jack’s house, which sat in the middle of two hundred acres of flat desert.

Sean shook Blitz’s hand, then jumped into the truck. “Any word?”

Blitz shook his head. “I shouldn’t have left him.”

“You followed orders. I know Kane; he didn’t give you an option.”

“I was about to go back to Santiago when Jack called and said you were on your way. I’m going with you.”

“Good. I don’t know that area well.”

“None of us does. We don’t have any contacts there, our closest safe house is an hour away, outside Saltillo. That’s where Kane would go if he was injured or lost communication.”

If he was able
, Sean thought.

“Jack said you lost a man.”

“Gomez. New guy. Didn’t see the knife. None of us did before it was too late.” He paused. “First we’ve lost in four years.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Jack and I have been working it out.” He stopped under the carport next to Jack’s small ranch house. “Jack’s on his way to San Antonio, told me to tell you.”

“I didn’t leave Lucy without backup.”

“I know, but, well, you know.”

Lucy was Jack’s little sister. Of course Sean understood. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, either. And while he trusted Nate, he was relieved Jack was coming down.

“What’s the plan?”

“Fly to the closest safe house. Its cover is legit—Sisters of Mercy. They’ll know what we’re dealing with, give us a direction to start.”

“I know how to find him. I’m not going to waste time going an hour out of our way.” Blitz looked at him, skeptical, so Sean explained. “After we took out Trejo’s compound three months ago, I reprogrammed Kane’s watch as a quasi-GPS.”

“How the hell? He never takes it off.”

“He didn’t have to. Once I got the serial number, I was able to hack in remotely. There’s a downside—the watch synchronizes automatically every twelve hours, midnight and noon Central Time. I won’t know where he is until noon. And it’ll just give me a snapshot; if he moves after that, I won’t be able to track him on the fly.” Yet. He was working on it, but it meant hacking a satellite instead of a simple computerized watch. Extremely illegal, and while within his skill set, there was a greater chance of being caught. He was working on the not getting caught part.

Blitz said, “We have ninety-six minutes.”

“It’ll take us an hour to get to Santiago, maybe a little longer depending on if I have to elude radar. The Nicole Rollins escape increased border patrols, both surface and air.”

“Then let’s go. I’ll just grab my equipment.”

Sean followed Blitz into the house. The last time he’d been here had been with the boys they’d rescued—he still ached inside. Though he’d hired private security to watch the boys’ home, he wished he could be there himself. He wished he could be at Lucy’s side. Too many things were happening all at once.

But now, finding Kane was the priority.

Siobhan Walsh was sitting on the couch drinking tea. She wore a tank top, and bruises covered her fair skin. An ugly bruise blackened one eye. They’d beaten her. No wonder Kane stayed to track the survivor. Not only for information, but for retribution.

“Oh my God, it’s Sean!” She jumped up, then winced.

“Sit down,” a familiar voice said.

Father Frances Cardenas—known as Padre—was Jack Kincaid’s closest friend and former army buddy. He crossed the room and eased Siobhan back onto the couch.

“Two cracked ribs,” Padre said. “I had a doctor in to tape her up, but she doesn’t sit still.” He gave her a stern but affectionate look.

Sean walked over and kissed Siobhan on her good cheek. “It’s good to see you again, Sunshine.”

She rolled her eyes. “You and your damn nicknames.”

“It fits you.”

Last time Sean had seen Siobhan had been three years ago. Kane had picked her up when she got mixed up with a violent human trafficking organization. She’d been doing a piece tracking a family who’d lost everything when the cartels seized their land and pressed the men of the family into working for them. The women had been sold to human traffickers, but the Sisters of Mercy, a group Siobhan worked with, had rescued them. One of the rescued women trusted the wrong person, however, and they were all imprisoned—including Siobhan.