Hunted (FBI Heat Book 1) (16 page)

Amber wandered aimlessly through the apartment, each step tightening the knots in her stomach. Today, she had so many they would’ve made a Boy Scout proud.

The largest and most complex knot was fear for Ben’s safety. The rest included despair at having to leave him, anxiety over Jeremy’s proximity, and hope for Maria’s rescue.
Oh my God, I need chocolate.

A search of Ben’s kitchen cabinets uncovered not a speck of chocolate. How could a person live without a supply of the candy? She had an entire shelf devoted to various incarnations of the healing confection.

She glanced toward the front door. A life-saving mission to retrieve a few bars would take no more than five minutes.

What could happen in such a short time?

* * *

“We’re airborne. Will check in when we’re approaching the area,” an agent reported from Chopper One.

“Chopper Two airborne,” came another voice.

“Copy that,” Rex answered. He turned to Ben. “All teams ready?”

Adrenaline zinged through his veins. God, he loved his job. “Yes, sir. Let’s do this.”

All four teams fanned out across San Diego County in the dark. Ben had choreographed the op down to the last detail. He rode shotgun in one of the Hostage Rescue Team vehicles heading toward the dormitory in Imperial Beach. Conrad’s team was en route to the halfway house in Alpine where they would relieve the agents who’d staked out the property last night and set up to capture the male immigrants and armed guards later. Since they didn’t know the location of the female immigrants’ apartment, Staci’s team would take a position near an Interstate 8 on-ramp east of Alpine. Once a chopper identified the women’s van, it would follow the vehicle to pass it off to the ground agents at that point. Dillon had the shortest trip. His team was assigned to surround the Dream Makers clinic.

The black SUVs of the dormitory team barreled through the predawn darkness. Ben rolled his shoulders to loosen them and swore under his breath. The chopper agents were going to have a hell of a time finding the transfer location in the middle of nowhere. At least there was a workable plan B.

He twisted his head to the left and then to the right and exhaled. This was the most complicated op he’d planned in his career. Rex had placed a great deal of confidence in him; he couldn’t disappoint his boss. Even more important, he couldn’t let down Maria and all the other women forced into modern-day slavery as surrogate mothers. And poor Pedro.

Failure was not an option.

“Choppers beginning search grid,” Rex said in his ear.

“Copy.” Ben blew out an anxious breath.

The SUVs shot off the freeway and turned west onto Palm Avenue.

“Spread out,” Ben ordered. “Find your spots. Wait for the overnight update.”

With so little traffic, a caravan of black SUVs would stand out like a parade. Each vehicle had been assigned a different route and an area in which to park. The agents would reconnoiter the targets and then wait for the command to move in. Everyone had a specific assignment.

Ben’s vehicle reached its parking spot. “Number One in place.”

The other vehicles responded in kind.

“Overnight team?”

“Four armed guards watching TV in the lobby. No unusual activity overnight. Night shift arrived at nine last night. Day shift should return at nine this morning. The women are locked in the second-story rooms. The gates at both ends of the upstairs hallway are also locked, blocking access to the stairs and elevators from the rooms. They’re trapped, sure as shit.”

“Copy. Overnight team relieved,” Ben said.

“Copy that. Good luck. Bring these fuckers down, guys.”

“All teams start recon.”

* * *

It’ll just take a minute, and you need chocolate
, a little voice said.
Don’t do it
, another tiny voice answered.

Amber removed her hand from the doorknob. She glanced at her right shoulder and then her left. She pictured a miniature red devil on one and a small white angel on the other. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath.
I promised Ben. I can’t break my promise.

She stepped away from the door and groaned. Acid burned in her stomach, and she fought the urge to vomit. If she didn’t find a way to de-stress soon, she’d really be sick.

A bath.
A long, hot bubble bath. Just the thought seemed to ease her anxiety.

She hurried to the bathroom and searched the cabinets. With little hope of finding actual bubble bath in a macho man’s home, she prayed bath oil or bath salts weren’t out of the question.

After ten minutes, she’d found nothing.
Crap.

She refused to abandon the idea altogether. Just the hot water would be soothing. After turning on the faucet, she shed her clothes and slipped into the tub. The warmth relaxed her muscles but not her mind.

Where’s Ben?
Was he still at the office or already at the dormitory? Would Dr. Garcia be at the clinic when they raided it? What if he wasn’t?

The doctor was such an asshole. And a player. She shuddered at the memory of him hitting on her in Houston. At least she hadn’t fallen for his act like so many women at the conference. Even her boss—soon-to-be former boss—had been taken in by his movie-star looks and Latino charm. Maybe she should call Laura tomorrow and tell her about Dr. Garcia’s fate. They’d share a good laugh.

She gulped.

There would be no laughing tomorrow unless today was a success.

* * *

Ben studied the four guards watching television in the lobby. They looked sleepy and totally unaware of the dozen pairs of eyes watching them. No sign that there was any expectation of trouble. Except maybe the automatic weapons lying on the counter across the room.

He detected the odor of weed emanating from the facility.
Smoke another joint, boys. You’ll be even easier to take down.
He expected the “move” command from Rex sometime between eight and eight thirty so they’d be dealing with these suckers instead of the fresh day shift. By the time the new crew arrived, the place would be secured and crawling with agents. The recent arrivals would scatter. If it wasn’t for the large number of hostages, he would’ve included a plan to catch the next shift, but forty women’s safety was more important than four more goons. He’d be happy with capturing these four guards, Loco, and whoever came with him.

“All four teams in place,” Rex said in his ear.

“Copy. Chopper update?” Ben asked.

“Negative.”

He exhaled in frustration.
Please make a mistake like leaving your headlights on.

After finishing his recon, he returned to the vehicle. The other agents joined him within a few minutes. Once the other groups were back, everyone exchanged information.

Nothing posed any particular problem except the locked hallway gates. The HRT agents raised a major concern with the women being trapped if a fire erupted, either accidentally or intentionally. The silver lining was that the barricade might keep them out of harm’s way during a gunfight. He really didn’t want Loco or the guards near the women.

Ben sent two agents to keep a closer eye on the dormitory. Everyone else settled down in the vehicles. No one spoke. He figured they were all mentally preparing for the upcoming raid. Like he was.

At seven a.m., Rex announced the bad news. “The white van just showed up at the Alpine halfway house. No sign of the blue van.”

“Damn! We missed the transfer.”

“Yeah. I set plan B in motion. Staci’s team will be on call to help at the Alpine house if needed. Otherwise, they’ll wait for directions to the apartment from your team after the raid.”

“Copy.” He buried his disappointment. Now was not the time for distractions.

“Finding the dorm without Loco was great work, Ben.”

“Thanks. Then we’re still good to go if Loco doesn’t show up?”

“Absolutely. It’s your backup plan. How long do you want to wait?”

“No later than eight thirty. I don’t want the day shift here, and I don’t want too many innocent clients at Dream Makers.”

“All right. I’ll update the other teams.”

Ben passed the word to his teammates. He refused to be disheartened. They would find the apartment somehow and bag those bastards too.

But for now, all he could do was wait.

* * *

Amber climbed out of the tub at seven a.m. The knots in her stomach had loosened only slightly, but her skin had puckered like a prune. She dressed in shorts and a tank top before heading to the kitchen to fix more coffee and breakfast. Choking down a bowl of cereal, more to protect her stomach than to satisfy her hunger, she battled a growing sense of foreboding.

She kept telling herself that everything was going to be okay. Unfortunately, all her Jeremy-Spidey-senses declared otherwise.

After cleaning up her dishes, she curled up in the corner of the couch with a book. But her mind refused to stay focused on the words. She had to reread every other page. Finally, she gave up and tossed the paperback on the coffee table.

Maybe I should call Mom.
No, her mother would be able to tell something was wrong just from Amber’s voice.

Maybe I should call Laura.
No, she’d never be able to have a conversation with her boss without spilling the beans about the Dream Makers raid. She was bursting to share the good news that the unfair competitor would no longer be a threat to SDSA.

Damn, she just couldn’t handle this worrying. She held her hands out in front of her.

They trembled. Her whole body felt twitchy with apprehension.

Finally, she found her earbuds and lay down on the bed with her iPhone. Hopefully, one of her playlists would be soothing, because she definitely wasn’t coping well. Helplessness didn’t suit her. She wished with all her heart that she could do
something
.

But for now, all she could do was wait.

“White Mercedes sedan pulling into the parking lot,” the voice said through his earpiece.

White Mercedes? What the hell?
Ben glanced at his watch: seven forty-five a.m. “Occupants?”

“One male.”

“Can you ID him?”

“Negative.”

“Everyone on alert.”

At least it was daylight now. If this person was a known commodity, from either a drawing or photo, the agent would identify him. If not, if this was some unlucky guy who showed up at the wrong time at the wrong place, they’d do their best to avoid harm, but the op would go forward as planned.

The answer didn’t take long.

“Exiting the car. Hell, it’s Dr. Garcia. Does he approve the… merchandise?”

“No intel on that, but it would mean Loco’s delivering. Garcia said there are fully equipped medical rooms here, so he could also be doing exams.”

“Should we take positions?” another agent asked.

“No. We don’t want to be exposed when the van arrives. Johnson, you go help keep an eye on Garcia. Tell me where he goes and what he does.”

“Copy, boss.”

“He just unlocked the door and entered the building. Talking to the guards. They remain in place,” the first agent said.

Ben narrowed his eyes.
Don’t get in our way, Garcia. We’ll take you out with the rest of them to protect those girls.

Five minutes passed.

“Garcia heading toward the elevator,” Johnson reported.

“Shit,” Ben muttered.

Why was he going upstairs? Wouldn’t he send one of the minions to bring down the women he needed to examine? According to Ms. Rodriguez, only two were pregnant. He knew, vaguely, that pregnant women had frequent medical exams and tests, but what kind of exams would the other thirty-eight women need?

A dark thought slithered through his mind. Perhaps Raul Garcia considered the dormitory his private whorehouse. As long as he didn’t impregnate the women, his carnal activities wouldn’t affect the surrogate business. He could screw them to his heart’s content. Who would stop him?

His jaw clenched.
Damn.
If Garcia was on his way to rape one of the kidnap victims, could Ben stand by and let it happen?

“Gear up. Prepare to move,” he ordered the team, then switched to his boss. “Rex, we have a situation.”

* * *

A ringtone interrupted the music.

Amber jerked upright and stared at the name on the iPhone screen:
Cor Beach Apt. The rental office cell phone?
Why would Lisa be calling her? She had no repair requests outstanding. Her rent was paid. She hadn’t done anything to warrant a complaint by another resident. Heck, she wasn’t even living in her own apartment. The office called her about deliveries since she never indicated an apartment number, but she wasn’t expecting anything. Maybe Jeremy had sent her something as a ploy to smoke her out.

Not gonna work.
She lay back down.
Screw it. Lisa can wait.

* * *

Ben had just explained his suspicions to Rex about Garcia’s trip upstairs, when a voice spoke in his ear.

“Blue van entering the parking lot. Two males in front.”

Perfect timing. Thank you, Loco.
Ben exhaled. “Loco just arrived.”

“Garcia is unlocking the upstairs gate,” Johnson said.

“Damn. Team One ready to move?” Rex asked.

“Yeah. As soon as Loco gets inside, the rest of us will take up our positions. After I do a visual assessment, I’ll give the order to move in. And I’ll personally go after Garcia,” Ben vowed.

“Copy. I’ll have the other teams ready to move on your mark.” His boss hesitated. “Get the bastards.”

“Copy that.”

“Loco, armed, another armed male, and two females exiting van.”

“Copy. Prepare to take positions.”

“Four subjects entering building.”

“Team One, take positions.”

Ben and his teammates sprang from the SUVs and proceeded cautiously to the property, staying out of sight of the lobby windows. They split up, each knowing the exact spot where they were choreographed to be. Two were assigned to guard the exterior doors of both stairwells on opposite sides of the building, and the rest were entering through the lobby doors.

“Loco heading for the elevator,” an agent said.

Damn.
“Check in,” Ben said.

After receiving eleven affirmative responses, he said to Rex. “Team One set to move.”

“Copy. Proceed.”

“On my mark. Three, two, one, go.”

An agent popped up from the bushes and fired a flashbang through a lobby window. The shattering of glass was followed by an earsplitting explosion and blinding light. Immediately, Ben and his fellow agents converged on the two entrances into the lobby, breaching their meager locks in seconds.

Ben stormed inside first, his Glock raised in front of him, sweeping the area. “FBI! Drop your weapons! Facedown on the floor! Hands behind your head!”

As soon as he finished, another agent on the opposite side of the lobby repeated the orders.

Instantly, he analyzed the scene. The two new women writhed on the floor, covering their ears. Loco’s man stood a few feet away, alarm plastered on his face, but his eyes closed due to the light from the stun grenade. His right hand, however, was instinctively grasping for the gun in his waistband. Two of the guards still sat on the couches, apparently paralyzed from shock and the flashbang. But the other two stumbled blindly toward the automatic rifles on the counter.

“FBI! Drop your weapon!” he shouted, his gaze swinging back to Loco’s goon.

The idiot ignored the command, lifted the gun from his waistband, and aimed it in the direction of the voice.

Ben fired. The bullet struck the man’s shoulder. The gun flew from his fingers. He screamed and dropped to his knees, his eyes still closed.

“Facedown, hands behind your head,” Ben shouted.

He darted a glance at the four guards.

One reached the counter and grabbed for a weapon. An agent shouted, “FBI. Don’t move.”

The man didn’t stop. His action earned him a warning shot to the arm. He reached for the gun with his other hand. The next bullet hit him in the chest, and he dropped to the floor. The goon behind him froze.

Two agents trained their weapons on the guards who hadn’t moved from the couch.

Three HRT agents were already at the stairwell entrance.

“Carter, secure him,” Ben said to the agent next to him and pointed at Loco’s man.

He sprinted to the stairs and took them two at a time. A shot rang out as he yanked the second-floor door open. Female screaming and pounding emanated from the rooms.

One agent guarded the stair and elevator doors. An agent stood on each side of the hallway entrance, taking frequent peeks around the corners. He darted up beside one and switched places.

Crouching, he peered into the hallway past the locked gate. Loco and Garcia were backing away toward the one at the far end, pulling and hiding behind a woman facing them, using her as a human shield.

“FBI. Stop. Let her go,” he yelled.

Loco fired.

Ben jerked back. The bullet whizzed past, lodging in the wall.

One of the agents took aim.

“Don’t shoot! You could hit the girl.”

The rattle of metal meant they were opening the other gate. He chanced a look.

Loco kept his gun aimed as Garcia yanked the gate shut. He fired off another round at Ben before the threesome disappeared into the stairwell.

“Johnson, three coming your way,” he said. “I’ll be there stat from the other side.”

“Copy.”

Two HRT agents were already moving to breach the nearest gate and guard the women.

Ben launched himself through the stairwell entrance and back down the stairs. He was just noting the absence of gunfire from the lobby when two shots came from outside. “Shit!”

Bursting out the exterior door, he raced past the posted agent and ran around the lobby end of the building. He rounded the far corner at full speed and took in the situation at one glance. Johnson and Loco lay on the ground. Garcia was bending down to grab the coyote’s gun.

“Freeze! Drop the weapon,” Ben yelled and aimed.

The doctor pulled the woman in front of him, facing Ben, and clumsily pushed the muzzle against her head. His hand shook.

Maria. Shit.
“Let her go!”

The young woman’s dark eyes, wild with fear, connected with Ben’s. She blinked. Her mouth dropped open. She must’ve recognized him from the interview at the clinic. Her jaw set, and her eyes gleamed with a new emotion: determination.

“I’ll kill her! Put your gun down,” the doctor growled.

Ben’s aim never wavered. “Don’t do it, Garcia. You won’t get away. Enrique can’t help you.”

The man’s eyes widened at the use of his real name and the mention of his drug lord cousin.

“You’re right, Mr. Moore, or whatever your real name is.”

So Maria wasn’t the only one who’d recognized him.

Several yards away, Johnson groaned. Ben registered the sound, but he couldn’t do a damn thing to help.

“I’m screwed. I don’t have anything to lose.” He shifted more behind his human shield. “Do you want me to blow her brains out?”

Shit.
Nothing more dangerous than a guy with nothing to lose. “Let her go. Don’t add murder to your rap sheet.”

“Why should I care? I’ll never get out anyway.”

“You’re a doctor. What about the ‘do no harm’ thing?”

He barked a cynical laugh. “I gave up that pledge years ago. Last warning, Mr. Moore. Put down the gun.”

Although his hand shook, the coldhearted bastard meant it. He’d kill Maria.

Ben had no shot. And Garcia could turn the gun on him instead of Maria in a nanosecond, but he would just have to take that chance.

“You win, Garcia. I’m putting it down.” Keeping his eyes on the doctor and Maria, he bent and laid the Glock on the ground. “See. Let her go.”

“Kick it this way.”

His gaze darted to Johnson, who groaned again but didn’t move. Then to Maria, her eyes now glistening with hopelessness and tears.

“You won’t get away,” he repeated, a vow to himself as much as a warning to the doctor.

He lifted his right foot and kicked the Glock.

Garcia’s gun swung toward Ben.

The blast and Maria’s scream were simultaneous.