Abducted:Reconnaissance Team (Texas Rangers: Special Ops) (19 page)

A siren screamed and Ben thought his head would split. Pain stabbed bone deep in his ribs. He blinked his surroundings into focus and stared across a sea of asphalt. He managed to lift his head off the pavement and shove to one knee before he faltered. He caught himself with a hand on the asphalt and pushed to his feet. That’s when he saw the Mexican lying on the road near the hood of his truck. And remembered.

Liz
.

Ben spun a three-sixty. His surroundings blurred and he grabbed for the open door of his truck to steady himself.

Gone
. She was gone.

His heart pounded. The SUV sat where it had when he’d crashed into it, but the Hummer was nowhere in sight. Fear rammed through him like thunder. Sanchez’s American goon had Liz.

A skid of tires on asphalt screeched behind him and the wail of police siren penetrated the deafening roar of blood in his ears.

“Put your hands on your head,” an officer shouted.

Ben turned to face a black and white squad car twenty feet away. Two police officers crouched behind the open doors of the car, pistols trained on him.

Ben forced calm. He had to get the cops moving in order to have a chance of saving Liz. “I'm Ben Hunter, Texas Ranger.”

“Hands on your head,” the officer shouted.

Ben complied.

The officer on the left slowly rose, gun steady, and approached. “On the ground,” he ordered.

“Take a look at the badge on my wallet,” Ben said.

He was suddenly thankful he hadn’t worn the badge this morning.  Sanchez’s man would had seen it, would have known he was a Ranger—if they didn’t already know.

“On the ground,” the cop repeated.

Ben lowered himself onto the asphalt, belly first. The officer flicked a glance at the Mexican, then advanced slowly—too slowly—gun pointed at Ben.

“My back pocket,” Ben said when the cop reached him.

“Easy, buddy,” the cop said.

The other cop approached, weapon trained on him, but stopped five feet away as his partner holstered his gun and bent on one knee beside Ben. He reached around for the handcuffs clipped to the back of his belt.

“I'm a Texas Ranger,” Ben said. "Check my wallet for my badge."

"In a minute,” he said.

“Check my damn badge,” Ben said, “or you two will be telling my boss why you let the human traffics dealer Carlos Sanchez's men escape with another kidnapped woman.”

* * *

Liz fought rising panic. This time, she was going to die. The last time she'd been in a high-speed car chase she'd been in too much shock to consider what she would miss by dying. This time she saw the career she loved and the possibility of growing old with a man she loved, both gone. No family would miss her. Mom had died first, then dad five years later, and that had been ten years ago.

There were Alyssa and Mary Ann, two friends who came to replace the family she’d lost. Richard, Brenda Pierce, and her boss, Nina Bruno, would miss her, but their lives only crossed with hers. They would go on. No husband, no kids, no one for whom her death meant a lingering sorrow.

Except Ben.

Liz closed her eyes and swallowed. He was alive. He had to be alive. She hadn't seen any blood. Ben would be all right. Except for the guilt. For him, a man who barely knew her, her death would linger far longer than it would for those who knew and cared for her. He would feel responsible. Her actions last night ensured the guilt. That made her want to cry almost as much as knowing that her life now counted down in hours and minutes.

Liz hugged the door, as far away from the American as she could possibly get. She cast a covert glance at the young driver. Light blond, shoulder-length hair and a medium build. He couldn’t be more than twenty. How in God’s name had this kid gotten involved with Carlos Sanchez? He’d asked about the Mexican, Jorge, but the American hadn’t cared. The American heard the police sirens and ran. Might the kid help her? Liz discounted the idea as quickly as it came. He was aiding a kidnapping. Whatever he felt for the man they’d left behind, he wouldn’t feel for the woman whose testimony would send him to prison.

Tears blurred the stucco houses that passed by like desert scabs. She concentrated on the question that pounded in her head like a jackhammer: how had they known where to find her and Ben? How had they known to intercept them on this street at this early hour? Had Ben told someone or—she swallowed—had the senator or one of his staff disclosed their location?

Liz shifted her gaze from the window to the American sitting in the back seat with her. Two long scratches ran from his brow to the middle of his cheek. “What do you want?” she demanded.

“You've caused a lot of trouble.” He seized her wrist and yanked her so close she could taste the spearmint gum on his breath. She would never be able to chew spearmint gum again. The idea made her want to laugh. “Tell me who Billings works for or I'll start by ripping that shirt off you.” His gaze dropped to her breasts.

The morbid amusement vanished. Her heart pounded harder. The Hummer took a hard right, throwing her closer to the spearmint.

“The Thompson agency sent him to us,” she said.

“What were you doing with him?” The American viciously twisted her wrist and she cried out.

“I met him five days ago when he auditioned as a model.”

“He’s no model.” He twisted her wrist. “Who is he?”

Aside from the truth, only one answer might convince him.

“My boyfriend.”

“You’re fucking him?” He barked a laugh. “Not anymore.” He grabbed her hair and fisted it. “That just leaves you and me, baby.”

She fought back a sob, but kept her gaze locked with his. “Take your hands off me.”   

“Don’t play tough,” he said. “I don’t like balls on my women.”

“Good thing I'm not your woman.”

“You will be.” He yanked her close and mashed his lips against hers.

Liz blindly swung a fist at his groin, struck his thigh. Her knuckles grazed something hard. A gun? No. Maybe a pocketknife.

He broke the kiss, seized her arms, and jammed her back into the corner. “Now you want to tell me who he works for?”

She stared, breath coming in heavy gasps.

He shifted closer and she blurted, “The Thompson Agency.” 

His gaze dropped to her breasts. “Max and I could be real nice to you.”

Liz glanced in the rearview mirror. The kid’s eyes stared back at her. Gone was the wide-eyed fear she’d seen when the American threatened him. Sexual interest glinted in his eyes. Her stomach roiled.

The fingers in her hair tightened. “Look at me.”

She yanked her eyes back onto the American. 

“Who’s your boyfriend?”

Fear made her heart race. “I never saw him before the Thompson Agency sent him to us two days before the gala. He was supposed to escort Tanya to the party.”

“The bitch with Sanchez?” he demanded.

“She did a shoot with him,” Liz said. “Ask her.” She forced herself to keep eye contact. “None of that matters. I don’t want a damn thing to do with him.”

His eyes narrowed. “You said he was your boyfriend.”

“And look what it got me.”

“Hear that, Max?” he said. “We got us a woman with brains.”

“Why should we believe her?” the kid asked.

The American stared down at her. “That's a good question.”

He grasped one of her breasts and squeezed. Liz clawed at his face. He seized her wrists and shoved them against the passenger window. She willed—prayed—the door would swing open and they would tumble out. She wouldn’t survive the fall, but neither would he.

“Convince me.” He mashed his mouth against hers.

His wet tongue stabbed her lips. Liz wrenched her head aside. He stuck his tongue down her ear.

“Convince me, baby. Just like you did Billings.”

Liz whimpered.

“That’s it.” His hot breath filled her ear.

“Fuck,” Max cursed.

The American's head snapped up. “What?”

Before the kid answered, Liz heard the siren.

“Police,” Max said in unison with the American’s, “Motherfucker.”

He released her and hope surged. If the police drove one of the new Dodge Chargers, the Hummer didn’t stand a chance of outrunning them. 

The American twisted to peer through the back window. She looked past him and through the passenger window. Barred windows and doors marked every dusty house they passed. Lacquered stores advertising porn and check cashing services interspersed auto repair garages, junkyards, tattoo parlors, and discount cigarette marts. Most had lit signs announcing
We Buy Gold
. Where were the police?

“Goddamit,” the American cursed. “Where are they?” He faced forward. “Get a move on, Max.”

“Let me go and they won't chase you,” Liz said.

They slowed and she couldn’t believe her luck. They were going to ditch her. Then Max made a hard right, then a quick left, and another right. The American glanced over his shoulder. The siren grew fainter. The kid made two more turns and she couldn’t hear the siren anymore. The American faced forward and slammed his back against the seat. Liz bit back a sob. They'd lost the cops.

“They know your car,” she said. "You can't get far."

“Far enough,” he muttered.

A harsh ring jangled her nerves.

“Toss me the phone, Max,” the American said.

The kid reached onto the seat beside him and passed the phone as it rang a second time. The American flipped it open and said, “Yeah.” He listened for an instant. “We got her, but Billings is dead.”

Liz bit her lip and strained to hear the caller’s response.

“What do you want from me?” the American snapped. “Did you expect him to hand over his gun and beg us to kill him?”

Another response, then the American said, “Fine, you do that. I’ll take care of her.” He flipped the phone closed and looked at Liz. “You and I are going to party.”

Ben paced the floor in front of Medina’s desk in the Central Regional Command Center, where the police had loaned him a desk. Helpless frustration washed over him in waves. Medina was making phone calls while Jorge Alvarez, the Mexican who took part in the attack, sat in a holding cell. Ben wanted to talk to him, to beat out of him any information that would lead them to Liz.

Hours ago, she’d lain in his arms. For those few hours, the world—Carlos Sanchez—hadn’t existed. He’d known her less than a week and already he couldn’t imagine life without her. Now those animals had her—He broke off the thought. If he gave into fear he would be useless to her.

The captain hung up the phone. “Sit down, Hunter.”

“Captain—”

“Sit,” Medina cut in. Ben did as ordered and the captain said, “We’ve got half the El Paso force, along with Rangers and FBI, scouring the area where the Hummer was last seen. Loyola sent some trustworthy men to watch the Juarez side of the border.”

“It’s been an hour. They’ve left Texas by now,” Ben shot back.

“We’ve issued an interstate APB on the car and the men, as well as Ms. Monahan. Sanchez needs to keep her alive until he gets you. That could mean he’ll keep her nearby.” 

“That won’t stop those animals from harming her.” Ben was working overtime in an effort to keep his mind busy, to prevent his imagination from gaining the upper hand.

“Maybe not,” Medina said. “But his desire to catch you might buy her some time. You won’t be any good to anyone if you lose your cool.”

“Let me see Alvarez.”

Medina shook his head. “I told you. He’s already lawyered up.”

“Sheila can find a way to keep him locked up,” Ben said. “She’s smart.”

Medina regarded him. “You going to shoot him in his cell?”

That’s exactly what Ben wanted to do. But he shook his head.

“Let’s try this again,” the captain said. “Sanchez won’t want him in custody any longer than he has to be. He’ll post bail. That might be another avenue for tracking him.”

“The senator, then,” Ben said. “Either he or someone in his household tipped off Sanchez.”

“Robson and Ogden are working with the FBI to get that sorted out.”

The door opened and Wilt James entered. Wilt’s dark brown eyes and somber expression made it hard to tell what he was thinking, which made him a good undercover man. Ten years Ben’s senior, the giant black man was calm as a mountain lion and just as deadly.

“We got a message from the Juarez DA for Adam Billings to call him.”

Ben jerked his gaze onto the chief. “Gomez is looking for me here? That means Sanchez has an informant here at Central.” He shoved to his feet.

“Keep your cool, little buddy.” Only Wilt, three hundred pounds of muscle standing six foot ten in his bare feet, could call Ben little buddy and mean it. He must have been a large baby for his mother to name him after Wilt Chamberlain. “The bad news is, we now know Sanchez has eyes at Central,” Wilt said. “The good news is, Sanchez called in some big favors to get Gomez involved. That means Sanchez took the bait, which probably means your lady friend is still alive.” 

* * *

Liz hugged herself as the Hummer slowed and a tall wooden fence came into view. Max turned into the driveway and Liz caught sight of a nondescript, single-story house with bars on the windows. Max followed a cement driveway around the house and stopped at the rear.

The tears she had controlled now burned the corners of her eyes. The house blocked all view of the street. There was no chance the police would spot the vehicle if they happened past the house. No lights shone in the two neighboring homes, which meant a neighbor probably wouldn’t see her—if they even cared to know what went on.

Max got out of the car and started around the hood. The American reached across her and she jumped as he yanked on the door handle. He pushed her out the door and followed. She drew a breath to scream, but he clamped a hand over her mouth and her back struck his chest.

He pressed his mouth to her ear. “We’re way past teaching you a lesson, bitch. I am going to hurt you. But keep up this shit and I’ll choke you with my cock while Max fucks you right here in broad daylight—and no one will help you.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, but dragged her toward the half a dozen steps that led down to a basement door. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Once they were inside she would never escape. She twisted with a burst of terror-driven strength that wrenched her arm. Her captor released her mouth, grabbed her right breast and twisted. Liz screamed.

“Scream louder,” he urged. “It gets me hot.” He pumped his erection against her butt muscle.

“Come on,” he said, his voice hoarse, “scream.”

Lines and details of the house melted into a watery blur as he started forward again. They hadn’t killed or raped her yet. She could escape if she keep her head. If Ben was alive, he would find her. Tears dripped off her chin. 

They neared the basement. Max charged down the steps, unlocked the door, and shoved it open. He started down stairs that descended into darkness. The American followed, holding her so tight that she struggled to breathe past the vice lock of his grip. His erection rubbed her butt with every step he took.

Liz’s insides began to tremble. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he intended to rape her in the basement. They reached the bottom. A moldy smell underlay the stench of urine. The American propelled her forward into darker shadows. Liz cried out as she struck a concrete floor, skinning her hands and knees. Her head reeled, but she scrambled to her knees, then shoved to her feet. She spun, stumbled toward the stairs, seized the railing, and started up. Halfway to freedom, the door banged shut and the lock engaged with a loud click.

Hands trembling, she felt her way up the wood railing, reached the door, and groped for the knob, but found none.

“Help!” She pounded on the door. “Help, someone! Anyone.”  

She ran her hands all around the door, but found no knob. In a frenzy, she threw her shoulder against the metal, then recalled that the door opened inward. She wasn’t strong enough to push the door past the jamb. Tears burned her eyes. Liz clawed at the junction between door and frame. The crack was only wide enough for her fingernails and she could gain no purchase. She pounded harder and screamed until her breath came in gasps.

At last, she slumped onto the top step with her back against the door, heart pounding and ears ringing. She could see nothing. The room could be as big as the house or as small as a closet. Would there be obstacles? Boxes, tools, chairs?

Minutes later, the ringing in her ears began to quiet and she was certain she heard breathing.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Ben waited with Wilt in the chief’s office as Medina talked on the phone with the El Paso surveillance team.

Medina hung up and looked at Ben. “The boys in ESAT said the location of the phone number is camped on a cell tower on the border west of town.” 

“Is ESAT set up?” Ben asked.

Medina nodded. “The boys are ready to go. You just keep the line open so they can triangulate Gomez’s cell phone location.”

Ben hit the speakerphone button on the cell phone the Feds had registered to Adam Billings then dialed Gomez’s number and set the phone on the desk.

The phone rang twice before a man answered, “Hello.”  

“This is Adam Billings. I have message to call here.” 

“Mr. Billings, this is Bryan Gomez. Do you know who I am?” 

“You’re the Juarez District Attorney,” Ben replied.

“Yes. According to the El Paso Police Department, you agreed to cooperate with the warrant for your arrest here in Juarez. If you will come willingly into custody now, you will have the opportunity to prove your innocence and put this matter behind you. Are you willing to enter custody?” 

“I want to speak to Sanchez,” Ben said.

“I am sorry, but I do not know Mr. Sanchez personally.” 

“Find him. I’ll call back in one hour. I want an exchange. Both women for me.” 

There was a moment of hesitation, then Gomez said, “It is best if you do as I say, Mr. Billings. I know you are a law enforcement officer. I have already requested confirmation of your identity from the El Paso District Attorney. By law, the El Paso DA must comply with our request to verify your identity. Once my office has that information, we will pursue this case to the highest authority within your department, or higher, if necessary. We take very seriously when law enforcement officers murder our citizens. I assure you, I will see to it you are given a fair trial.”

“First, I talk with Sanchez,” Ben said. “One hour, then I’ll turn myself in.” 

“I cannot guarantee anything,” Gomez said. 

“I talk to Sanchez or no deal,” Ben said, and before he could say another word, the line went dead. Ben snapped his gaze onto Medina and Wilt hit the talk button to end the call on their end as Ben said, “Was that long enough to get a fix on his location?”  

“We’ll find out in a minute or two,” Medina said.  

Ben glanced at the phone. “That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” 

The captain nodded. “Dealing with kidnappers is never easy. Just stick to the plan. That’s our best bet for beating them.” 

Two heartbeats later, Ben’s cell phone chimed a text. He snatched the phone from the desk. The ESAT leader had texted a snapshot of a map with a pushpin located south of the border on the busy
Bulevar Oscar Flores
in Juarez. He showed the message to Medina, then Wilt.

“He’ll be lost on that busy street by now,” Wilt said. “Not that it matters. He could be standing on the Juarez side of the Del Norte waving at us, and we couldn’t cross the border to get him.” 

Ben shoved to his feet. Wilt grasped his shoulder and eased him back onto the seat.

“Breathe, little buddy,” Wilt said. “Sanchez wants you as bad as you want your lady friend.”

Ben hoped like hell the big man was right.

* * *

Liz rose, reached for the hand railing and cautiously felt her way down the stairs. After eleven steps, she discerned a hint of light she realized seeped through a small black-painted window. She reached the basement floor, then stopped and cocked an ear, straining to hear past the beating of her heart. The breathing had quickened. Who—or what—was in the room with her?

She took a step forward. “Hello.”  

There came a muffled whimper—female.

Liz froze. Was it possible?

“Christina?” she said.

“Who are you?” The young voice trembled.

Tears sprang to Liz’s eyes, but she blinked them away. “Christina, I’m Liz Monahan. I was kidnapped just like you.” 

“How do you know my name?” the girl demanded.  

“I know your grandparents.” 

“How?”

“I met them at a party three days ago.”

“How’d you end up here?” Christina demanded.

“I’m acquainted with one of the law enforcement officers looking for you.” 

“So they kidnapped you to blackmail him like they’re doing with my grandparents?” 

“That’s right. They think he’ll leave them alone if they threaten to kill me.” 

“They’re going to kill me.” Christina’s voice cracked. “But they’ll do things to me first.” She began sobbing.

“Oh, sweetheart.” 

Hands outstretched, Liz eased toward the girl until she touched a cinderblock wall. The crying came from the right. Liz inched along the wall. Her knee hit a bench. Liz sat down and gently reached out. She struck the girl’s arm. Christina flinched and Liz drew her hand back.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Liz said.

A body unexpectedly collided with Liz and she caught the girl. Liz found her shoulders and drew her close, holding her tight.

Christina wailed and Liz stroked her hair. “Shhh,” Liz whispered. “We’ll be okay.” She rocked the slight frame until her sobs subsided.

“Can you talk a bit?” Liz finally ventured.

Christina nodded against Liz’s chest, then pulled away.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” Liz asked.

“I think we’re in Mexico,” she said. “I was somewhere else, but they moved me here yesterday. I was tied up in the back of a van, but the men stopped somewhere and when the driver got out I heard a man’s voice—like maybe we were at a gas station or something. The guy spoke Spanish and I heard a radio playing Spanish music.” 

“My kidnappers didn’t cross the border when they brought me here,” Liz said. “And a lot of El Paso radio stations play Spanish music. Do you remember anything else?”

“They drove on circles, but we weren’t on a highway for long. They had me blindfolded the whole time.” 

“So you don’t know where you were before this?” Liz asked.

“No, but they brought other people there, girls, mostly. They brought a boy once.” 

“Did they bring many?”  

“Five, maybe six times the last couple weeks.” 

Liz’s heart broke at the thought of those young girls sold into slavery. “Is there a light switch here?” she asked.