Reckoning for the Dead (18 page)

But before he pushed too hard on coming up with more from the Millstone files, he decided to talk to Sam Cooper. They both loved Jessie. And he knew Jess had asked them to work different angles of the case.

“Maybe face time wouldn't hurt,” he muttered as he pulled out his cell phone.

Seth hit his speed dial for Sam. Flying solo had gotten him nowhere. It was time to join resources and make a better run at helping Jessie. Maybe kicking around ideas—with the only other person who knew Jessie's story better than he did—would make a difference.

Guadalajara, Mexico

Jackson had asked Garrett to drop Estella off at a local church. On the drive over, the girl had argued that the Church would not want her once they knew what she'd done. The girl was obviously embarrassed and had censored what she told Jackson in English, until he spoke to her in Spanish. Whatever Kinkaid said, he must have convinced her to keep an open mind about the Church. Alexa got the sense that he was telling her something private between them, and it must have worked.

When they got to the church, Alexa spoke to a priest and made a donation to care for the girl, at least until she got on her feet. When she headed for the car, Alexa saw Jackson with Estella near the front entrance. She didn't mean to eavesdrop, but their voices carried like an echo through the chapel.

Estella hugged him, crying. “I can't believe I am free of Ramon . . . because of you. God answered my prayers when he sent you to help me.”

“Believe me, I'm not anyone's answer to a prayer. And God and me parted ways for good reason, but if it makes you feel better, put in a good word for me.” He turned to go, but stopped and looked over his shoulder. “You have a chance to reinvent yourself and start over. Not everyone is capable of that, but you're a survivor, Estella. I think if anyone can do it, you can.”

Alexa wasn't sure he was talking about the girl's future anymore, but he'd made starting over sound easy, for her sake.

“Put what Ramon did behind you, if you can,” he told her. “He committed an act of violence against you. His sin is not yours.”

Fresh tears ran down Estella's face. And when it took her a long, awkward moment to find the courage to speak again, she avoided looking at him.

“But what man will . . . have me now?”

Jackson didn't hesitate. He stepped closer, reached for her chin, and made her look him in the eye when he said, “A damned lucky one.”

Kinkaid never said much. He was a man of few words, but Alexa knew he'd said enough to make the girl a believer in second chances. And he darned near convinced her, too.

An hour later

They had followed the GPS signal of Guerrero's cell phone until the signal had stopped in one location. Garrett had parked down the street from the home of a local doctor and was setting up his thermal imager. According to his handler, the home was the personal address of Dr. Carlos Hernandez, a physician who got paid on the side by the drug cartels.

Alexa liked the setup. The doctor's modest ranch-style home was at the end of a long block, with most of the surrounding land belonging to him. The grounds were gated, but no guards stood watch. With the house relatively isolated from any neighboring residence, the situation was perfect for minimal collateral damage. If they executed their plan with precision, they had a good chance of not firing a shot.

“Don't see a car or that van Estella told us about,” she said.

“With Pérez wounded, they wouldn't have parked on another street and walked over,” Jackson said. “They probably have their vehicle in that garage.”

“Yeah, I agree.” Garrett looked up from his surveillance gear. Even if he didn't have his high-tech thermal imager, Alexa would still know someone was inside. Drapes near the front door moved with regularity—a dead giveaway that someone was home . . . and downright nervous.

“Curtain moved again.” Sitting in the front seat, Alexa had binoculars and got a closer look. “I can't be sure. That could be the guy I saw in the hall, the one who helped Pérez escape.”

“Let me see.” Kinkaid poked her shoulder from the backseat, where he had changed into BDUs Garrett had given him. She handed him her binoculars, and it didn't take long for Jackson to catch a glimpse of a face at the window. “Yeah, that's Guerrero. Looks like he's waiting for someone. How many are inside?”

Garrett had the thermal imager working in the front seat.

“Two in that front room. And someone is in back,” Garrett said, not taking his eyes off the imager's display. “One in the front is stationary and hasn't moved much. He's alive, and that could be Pérez.”

The thermal imager picked up on the heat signatures of people in the house, but it didn't give a layout of the rooms except for ghost images of walls that gave off heat. Although the imager gave them good information, without a schematic of the house, they'd be at a disadvantage.

“And I'd bet money the person in the back is a housekeeper or the doc's wife or kid. I can't tell, but that looks like an odd-shaped room, too. No telling where they're at until we get in there.” Kinkaid had handed back her binoculars and was looking over Garrett's shoulder at the thermal screen. “Someone had to let them in. Guerrero probably has them locked up until the doc arrives. Where's Hernandez?”

“My guy tells me he works at a local clinic, but he's not there now. The receptionist didn't know where he went. He got a call and headed out. If that's true, he should be here soon.”

“Got a car at six o'clock, moving fast.” Garrett had his eyes on the rearview mirror. “Get down.”

They all ducked and waited for the car to pass before Garrett slowly raised his head.

“If that's the doc, we give him twenty minutes inside before we move in. You gonna hold up your end?” Garrett looked over his shoulder at Kinkaid. When Alexa saw that, she turned and waited for Jackson to answer.

“I've waited years for this, Garrett. And I let those bastards beat the crap out of me to get Pérez to think he had the upper hand.” Kinkaid rummaged through weapons and gear that Garrett had stowed in the back, but he stopped long enough to say, “You're damned straight I'm gonna hold up my end.”

Kinkaid looked like a different man than he had a few hours ago. Despite his shoulder wound, he had a new spark in his eyes that almost scared her until he caught her still looking at him. Kinkaid ran a hand through her hair and trailed a finger down her cheek. And he stopped long enough to smile.

“And thanks to both of you, I get the chance to keep a promise I made a long time ago.”

Alexa had never known Kinkaid had a wife and child until their recent hostage-rescue mission in Cuba. Hearing about them had shocked her, mostly because he'd been so willing to entrust her with his life on any mission, but he hadn't trusted her enough to share his family. With something so important, Kinkaid didn't have faith in
anyone,
except Garrett, when he had no choice. And considering how
that
had turned out, she could understand how withdrawn he'd become.

The whole point to keeping his personal life secret was to keep his family safe. And when that didn't happen, he had lashed out at Garrett and anyone he thought had been responsible—but no one had taken the heat more than what he'd heaped on himself.

Finally, his vendetta would be over, one way or another. His act of revenge wouldn't bring back his wife and child, and she had no doubt that he knew that. He could kill Pérez a thousand times over and even the score, but that wouldn't fill the void in his life where his beloved wife and child used to be. And living with that cruel reality had to leave him feeling damned empty inside, no matter what happened in the next few minutes.

Her gut instinct told her Kinkaid might think that dying there would be easier than living with the aftermath of what had happened, when he had no one else left to blame.

She prayed she was wrong.

Chapter 17

Guadalajara, Mexico

Afternoon

G
arrett had tried to assign Kinkaid the back of the house since he was wounded and not in the best of shape, but Jackson refused. He wanted to be first one through the door and nearest Pérez.

With Dr. Hernandez inside, Garrett had monitored his thermal imager to check his movements within the walls of his residence. The person in the back of the house had moved but was still there. Whoever was there was either hiding or had been confined to a room. Either way, no one could be ignored. And after the doctor entered the house, he went straight for the front room. The movements on the imager gave them more intel to plan their strategy.

“You cover the back. When you're in place, we'll make our move,” Garrett told her. “With the doctor working on Pérez, Guerrero will be distracted. Since we don't know the layout, picking the lock might buy us time to get in tight and take them by surprise.”

“When you get inside, let me know,” Alexa said as she put on her com unit. “I'll secure the rear of the house after I hear from you.”

“Kinkaid and I will focus on the three in the front. Guerrero is the one to watch. He'll be armed and nervous. If we hit them hard, this could be over fast.”

“Guerrero doesn't strike me as someone who'd risk his life for Pérez,” Kinkaid said. “If it comes down to him or his boss, I'd bet money he'd give Pérez up once he knows they're not getting out of this. We just have to convince him that he's not important to us. We're not cops. We won't arrest him or turn him over.”

“Yeah, good point. Talking him down will be your job,” Garrett said. “Anything else?”

Kinkaid and Garrett looked ready to go, but Alexa had something on her mind and she had to bring it up now, for Kinkaid's sake.

“Once we get Pérez, what then?” she asked. She shifted her gaze between the two men, but when neither of them said anything, she pressed. “I mean, if he doesn't put up a fight, is this an execution . . . or do we have another plan?”

Given what she did for a living, Alexa found it more than a little ironic that she'd suddenly become the voice of reason when it came to morality. The Sentinels were a covert vigilante organization. Their operations were about doling out justice without the red tape of the court system and jurisdictions. When they went after a target, they had proof of the crime to justify their actions, and they usually confronted criminal organizations who were clearly in the wrong, but working for the Sentinels required her to have an adaptable moral code.

She believed in what they did, or she never would have joined the group and sacrificed having a normal life for one mired in secrecy. But this operation had been Kinkaid's vendetta. And even though she completely understood Jackson's motivation, if he murdered Pérez in cold blood, would that trigger an even deeper slide into desolation for Kinkaid?

She didn't care about a man like Pérez. The man was a total waste of skin. He was a known drug dealer and head of a brutal cartel. Assaulting his hacienda outside Guadalajara had been easier because they knew the man had Kinkaid as a hostage, and they had proof of that. And Pérez's men had fought back, but here, that might not be the case. If the cartel boss gave himself up, would they still execute him?

When Kinkaid was the first to speak, she thought she knew what he would say, but she would've been wrong. Jackson surprised her.

“I have to see this through, but I can take it from here if you can't stomach what'll happen in there.” Kinkaid gave them a way out if they wanted it.

“And as far as I'm concerned, Garrett, the slate is clean,” Jackson said. “You don't owe me anything anymore . . . if you ever did. What happened wasn't your fault. It's taken me years to see that. And killing Pérez won't bring my wife and little girl back, but I have to see this through. I destroyed Pérez's cartel before, and he only rebuilt it. He'll do it again, and I can't let that happen. I can't stomach the thought of that man thriving from all this, but I won't blame either of you if you decide this isn't for you.”

“If Pérez gives himself up, what do you see happening?” This time Garrett asked the question. And only Kinkaid could answer it.

It took Jackson a long moment to think about what he would say, but eventually he did. And he did it as he looked Garrett square in the eye.

“I trust you. Both of you. I just want Pérez brought to justice. Whatever happens, you make the call, Garrett. I can live with that.”

Kinkaid sounded as if he wanted to play nice. And Alexa hoped he meant it. If he did, there was hope for him yet. He might have a future if he lived through this. But a part of her remembered the ruthlessness in his beautiful fierce eyes that she'd seen in Cuba and how haunted he'd been when he finally told her about his wife and baby girl. Pain like that didn't just fade away. It lasted a lifetime.

People change. And she wanted to believe Jackson had, too, but the paranoid part of her wasn't so sure.

She could also see why Kinkaid would trust Garrett to finish this. Leaving the decision up to him didn't mean Pérez would walk. Garrett was the head of the Sentinels for a reason. He knew how to make the tough calls, and he'd killed plenty in the name of justice, but maybe Kinkaid would say anything to stay on the team and face Pérez one last time to play judge, jury, and executioner.

Without knowing what was in Kinkaid's head, Alexa had to make one last-ditch effort to reach him.

“I hear what you're saying,” she told Jackson, looking him in the eye. “And I want to believe you can put this behind you when this is all over, Jackson. But revenge never lives up to its hype. Obsessing over it like you've been doing can make you an addict who never knows when to quit.”

When he had a hard time meeting her gaze, she reached for his arm. “Will you know when it's time to let go?”

Jackson never answered her. He stared back with his battered face, a reminder how much he'd already been through, but he never said another word. She tried reading something into his silence but came up empty. It was time to go. And whatever would happen between Kinkaid and Pérez lay ahead of them.

Alexa wasn't sure why Jackson had handed Pérez's fate over to Garrett and had used the word “trust” to do it, but given the expression on her boss's face, he hadn't missed that point either.

Garrett only nodded, and said, “Let's move out.”

I
n the study near the front door, Ramon Guerrero looked out the front curtain one last time as he aimed his weapon at Dr. Hernandez. The neighborhood was quiet this time of day, but Ramon knew the importance of being careful. He'd picked the doctor's library to hide his boss because it had two entrances. One door was off the foyer, and the other led to a vacant guest bedroom in another wing of the house. The study was a pass-through. After the doctor had come into the house, he'd accosted him in the foyer and escorted him to where Pérez was. He'd locked both doors and secured the room.

Now Ramon had his weapon pointed at the doctor's head as he told him what would happen.

“We have your wife locked in a room. If this man lives, you'll see her again. You understand?”

“Yes. Just don't hurt her. I'm here. I'll do what I can.” The doctor reached for the leather bag he'd brought with him before Ramon stopped him.

“Hold it.”

Guerrero grabbed the bag while he kept his gun on the man. He searched the contents to make sure the doctor didn't have a weapon hidden in his medical supplies. When he didn't find anything suspicious, he threw the leather case onto a coffee table.

“Get to work. He's lost a lot of blood.”

“He needs a hospital. I brought a couple of bags of O-negative, but he'll need more.”

“Just shut up and do what you can. We'll talk about that later.”

His boss had collapsed on a sofa in the doctor's library and was bleeding all over the man's expensive furniture. His chest was heaving, and he had panic in his eyes.

“Ramon, don't let me die. When this is over, I promise you. Anything you want.”

Pérez was making promises out of his delirium and fear. Earlier today, the man had accused him of betrayal when he brought the American to his hacienda. Now that his life was in Ramon's hands, the man promised him anything he wanted.

He'd helped Pérez escape his fate once today. A second time might ensure him a higher rank within the cartel. As he saw it, Ramon had nothing to lose by letting the doctor do his job, no matter which way things turned out.

“Get to work. And he'd better live, Doctor, for your wife's sake.”

Pérez heaved a sigh and shut his eyes as the doctor hovered over him, checking his condition and preparing to remove the bullet from his chest. Ramon knew the doctor had been right about his boss needing a hospital, but they couldn't afford to take the chance. If the police got word he was wounded, they would arrest him while he was vulnerable.

But while the doctor was filling a syringe with medicine, Ramon thought he heard something.

“Shush.” He aimed his weapon at the doctor and whispered, “Don't make a sound.”

“What's happening?” Pérez lifted his head and shifted his gaze around the room.

Guerrero handed his boss a weapon and forced the doctor to his feet, putting a gun to his head. He moved toward the door near the foyer, clenching his hostage by his collar.

Was he being paranoid, or had he heard something? Guerrero held his breath and tensed his body as the hair on his neck stood on end. Instinct had sent him a message.

Someone was in the house, and he was no longer in control.

G
arrett had used shrubs and hedges in the front of the private residence to get closer to the front door, with Kinkaid close on his heels. Without a nearby neighbor, they had a good shot at not being seen.

Once they got to the front entry, he'd picked the lock in seconds. Before he went inside, he whispered into his com unit to Alexa.

“We're going inside . . . now. When you hear us, make your move.”

“Copy that,” she said.

Garrett used a hand signal to give the order to Kinkaid to enter the premises of Dr. Hernandez and follow his lead. The front door was the closest point to where the thermal imager had shown activity. And when Garrett found double doors to the right of the foyer, he knew Guerrero and Pérez were only steps away.

He put his back to the nearest wall—with Kinkaid taking the other side—and listened at the door. When he heard nothing, he gave a nod. No words were necessary. Jackson reached a hand across and tested the lock.

When Kinkaid shook his head, Garrett knew the door was locked. This time stealth wouldn't do it. They'd have to break through clean in order to get the drop on Guerrero and his boss. Garrett gripped his assault rifle, the muscles in his body growing taut as he stared at Kinkaid.

In seconds, this would all be over, one way or another.