Reckoning for the Dead (4 page)

Without a word, she left his office.

I
t took all Alexa's strength for her to walk away from Donovan Cross when she wanted to scream. Screaming might wake her up from the living nightmare her life had suddenly become.

This couldn't be happening.

Numb, she shook her head as she closed the door behind her and headed down a hallway toward the elevators in a fog, not knowing where she was going. She wanted a stiff drink to dull her senses and slow the rush of emotions that crowded in on her, but her training and her loyalty to Garrett wouldn't allow it.

In all the operations she'd worked with Garrett, she found it hard to picture him dead . . . until now. He was such a resourcefully strong man who had lived through some amazing missions, many of those with her by his side.

Donovan Cross was another story. She didn't know him or trust him. Her first impressions of him weren't good. He was cagey and had a hard time answering a direct question, the opposite of Garrett.

But the biggest ache she felt was about Garrett and the connection they shared. If he was dead, surely she would know.

Wouldn't she?

W
hen he was alone, Donovan Cross picked up the phone and made a call. On the second ring, his call was answered by a familiar voice. Forgoing any customary greeting, he simply said, “I gave her the news, and she just left.”

“Do you think she believed you?”

Cross leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling before he answered.

“Actually . . . I have no idea.”

“Assign someone to tail her. If she finds out what's going on, she'll interfere, and we can't afford that. Not now.”

“Agreed. And already done.”

He ended the call and stared at the door Alexa had closed after leaving the room. The woman intrigued him. He suspected that she and Garrett had shared a special bond.

And he had no doubt Alexa Marlowe would be trouble.

Downtown Chicago

After Harper had parked his vehicle in underground resident parking, he showed Jessie to an elevator, and they rode up to his floor. His developer friend hadn't missed a trick. He'd built another urban retreat in the trendy heart of downtown Chicago, with a view of Lake Michigan and close to shops, restaurants, and bars.

“I hope you don't mind, but I made us dinner. Nothing fancy.”

“You've never really cooked for me.” She smiled. “You know I'm a sure thing, right?”

When Harper grinned, his face turned red. Blotches colored his cheeks as he ran a hand through his dark hair.

“I hope you like my place,” he said. “I mean, it's not finished, you know. It's a work in progress.”

“I think you've forgotten where I used to live. I'm sure your closet is bigger than my old dump. The trick is, always have low expectations, Harper. You'll never be disappointed.”

Jessie found his shyness completely disarming. Innocent charisma came naturally for Harper. His physical beauty never ceased to amaze her, but he never seemed aware of his looks. And he never had to work at it. Harper was an original, always.

Driving from the airport, he had rambled about lots of stuff. He told her the latest on his dad. And he had funny stories about Tony Salvatore helping him find his new place. She'd never seen him so chatty, except when he talked about RAMs and gigabytes. In Harperworld, she usually needed subtitles, but not tonight.

His nonstop stream of consciousness meant only one thing. Harper was nervous.

When they got to his floor, Seth unlocked his front door. Still looking a little on edge, he let her walk in first. And her jaw dropped when she saw what he'd done.

“Oh, Seth. This is . . . beautiful,” she gasped.

Harper had his place lit with white candles, flickering romance wherever she looked. And she smelled fresh flowers. He'd placed bundles of colorful lilies and roses throughout his loft. Wine had been poured. Music was playing softly in the background. And a silver tray of appetizers was on a bar near the kitchen.

Seth had staged everything.

“That call you made at the airport. Your roommate lit all these candles, didn't he? Either that, or you didn't pay your light bill.”

“Someone else did it. My roommate isn't much of a romantic.” He grinned. “So, you like it?”

“Like it? Harper, I love it.” Jessie walked into the loft with her mouth open. “You did all this . . . for me?”

Everywhere she looked, he'd done something special. He'd enlarged photos of them in New York and placed them on shelves. And he'd framed striking black-and-white images of her favorite spots in Chicago and hung them on the walls, places she'd told him about. Even the music he had playing was more to her taste than his.

“Why not?” He shrugged with a smile. “You came all this way to be with me. I wanted your visit to be special.”

The old Jessie would have beaten herself up with guilt. She hadn't come back to Chicago for Seth alone, not exactly. Even though she had missed Harper terribly since his trip to New York, she had another personal reason for coming, and she dreaded having to tell him. But the new Jessie fought the sting of tears and the lump in her throat, accepting Seth's beautiful gift.

No one had ever done something so thoughtful for her. And before she met Harper, she never thought she deserved to be happy. Her abused past had been a lifetime prison sentence, without the possibility of parole. But seeing herself through Seth's eyes had allowed her to hope things could change. Maybe it was okay to let someone good like him into her life.

Maybe she had a chance at being normal if she let it happen. Harper was a heaping helping of normal compared to
her
crazy standards.

“I want you to be happy.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck, as if he'd read her mind. “Actually . . . I was hoping that if you liked it, you might want to . . . move back to Chicago and live here with me. I've missed you, Jess.”

She turned and looked him in the eye. Now his nervousness made sense. Seth had more on his mind than spending a few days with her.

“I've missed you, too, Harper.” She heard the catch in her voice. “But I need to tell you—”

She wanted to explain the main reason why she'd come, but Harper stopped her. He touched a finger to her lips and pulled her close.

“You don't need to tell me anything. Not tonight. I just want us to be together. Keep things simple, you know?” He kissed her forehead. “I'm not pressuring you. Just promise me you'll think about it.”

“I will. I promise.” She nestled into his arms and breathed him in.

The truth was that she had thought a lot about moving back. She'd never gotten used to living in New York City. She was a Midwest girl, and Chicago felt more like home.

Until Harper came along, she'd never thought about putting down any real roots. Her old South Chicago apartment had been more of a self-inflicted wound. She never thought she deserved better, but Harper made her want . . .
more.

“But if I move in, what will your roommate say?”

“Absolutely nothing. Beggars can't be choosers.”

“So where is he?” she asked.

“I banished him for tonight. I wanted you all to myself.” When he grinned, his cheeks colored pink. “You can meet him tomorrow.”

Jess didn't have the heart to tell him she wanted to be on the road early. The trip to La Pointe, Wisconsin, would take most of the day. The police chief would be expecting her, but after seeing everything Seth had done, she kept that information to herself for a while longer. He'd asked to keep things simple, and she knew what he meant.

For one sweet night, no drama.

When morning came, she'd find a way to tell him. Harper would want to go with her, but this was one trip she had to take alone.

Mexico

Last night, Ramon Guerrero had awakened fifteen-year-old Estella Calderone in the middle of the night, the way he usually did lately. He took what he wanted like an animal, without saying a word.

When he was done, he forced her to get dressed and come with him, ignoring her questions. When they got outside his hacienda near Juárez, two cars were waiting in front with headlights blazing. And his men were nothing more than dark silhouettes, without faces.

“You ride with them.” He waved a hand, barely looking at her. “Watch over the American in the back. He's your responsibility.”

Guerrero gave his order and told her to ride in the van. That was the first time she had seen the wounded man.

“What's happening? Who is he?” she asked, but no one answered, not even Guerrero.

Estella was shoved inside the van and did as she was told. She would not be traveling with Guerrero. His car would follow at a safe distance behind the van. And she would be alone with two men she didn't know.

Now that it was hours later and nearly dusk, Estella had had plenty of time to think. She realized she was as much a prisoner as the American who lay unconscious at her feet in the back of the moving van. She stared down at the man with his hands tied behind his back, experiencing a strange envy.

One way or another, his incarceration would one day end. She could not say the same.

Her thoughts turned to Ramon Guerrero, the man who had owned her for the last two years. He'd traded drugs for her. And her mother had been too strung out to say no.

At first, she had been glad to have a roof over her head and food in her belly. Guerrero had her clean his house, do his laundry, and cook for him and his men at his hacienda near Juárez.

But all that changed two weeks ago.

One night, Guerrero had staggered into her room without putting on the lights. He'd been drinking. She'd smelled it on his breath. He forced her to take off her clothes, and he hurt her, covering her mouth as she cried. After that, he didn't ask her to clean or cook for him.

She'd become his whore.

What she had done with him had been a sin. And now she was no more than a common criminal, too. If she got caught with the American, she'd spend the rest of her life in prison, blamed for what Guerrero had done. It would not matter to the authorities that she'd been ordered to take care of the wounded man and keep him quiet if he got delirious.

She'd been given a canteen of water and an old rag. Not knowing what else to do, she kept his lips moist and dabbed the wet rag on his forehead and neck to keep him cool in the sweltering heat. If the man died while in her care, she'd be accused of far worse than kidnapping.

Hot air swept into the open windows of the van and sucked in suffocating billows of dust, forcing her to squint and hold her breath. Every now and then, she gazed through the windshield and caught a glimpse of road signs, the only way she knew they were heading south, deeper into Mexico.

Estella made the sign of the cross and shut her eyes tight as her lips moved in prayer. She had her doubts that God listened to a whore, but it gave her comfort even if it was only for a moment.

“We'll stop for gas.” One of the men turned and spoke to her in Spanish. “You stay put. If you have to pee, squat in the corner. And don't let anyone see you. Understand?”

The man's eyes trailed down to her breasts. She hated how he looked at her.

“What is your name?” he asked.

She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath before she answered him.

“Estella.”

By the way the man stared, she wondered if there was another reason she'd been told to go with them—and taking care of the American had only been an excuse to distract her. She had a bad feeling that Guerrero had grown tired of her, and that meant only one thing. She was no longer just
his
whore. Maybe he'd promised her to these men.

“This one, she has a pretty mouth,” the man said to the driver. When they both laughed, Estella crossed her arms and looked away.

That was when she saw that the American was awake.

One of his eyes was swollen shut, but with the other, he stared straight through to her soul.

Estella gasped.

Although she wanted to talk to him, she didn't dare. She waited until Guerrero's men stopped the car and got out at the gas station.

When she was alone with the injured man, she whispered in English, “Who are you?”

The man blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She reached for the damp rag and held it out to him.

“This may hurt.”

With a trembling hand, she dabbed his forehead with the rag and water trickled down the man's swollen cheek. The American winced as he stared at her, accusing her with the unrelenting glare from his good eye.

“I did not do this. I swear. I am a prisoner, like you.”

Estella didn't know if he believed her. He let her touch him and cool his brow before he slowly closed his eyes again. Before he drifted to sleep, she leaned closer and brushed his damp hair off his face.

“If I can, I will stay with you,
señor,
” she whispered, only loud enough for him to hear.

Estella didn't know why she had felt such a strong urge to comfort the man with a lie. If Guerrero was involved, the American was as good as dead, especially if he was being taken to Guerrero's powerful boss.

The American didn't stand a chance. And she knew exactly how that felt.

Chapter 3

Downtown Chicago

The next morning

B
efore she opened her eyes, Jessie couldn't help but nudge the corner of her lips into a faint smile as she remembered making sweet love to Seth Harper into the wee hours of the morning. Images of Harper in the shower, running his soapy hands over her body, melded into flashes of memory when they'd made love by candlelight in his bed under white sheets.

Harper had always been beautiful to her, but by candlelight, he was unforgettable. And her skin flushed hot with the thought of him inside her, the urgency of his body filling her need for him. He made her feel wanted and loved and . . . beautiful. In the dim glow of candles and seeing herself in his eyes, she could forget the scars on her body and the deeper wounds she carried in her heart.

Even now, with eyes shut, she sensed the gray of morning and moaned with pleasure as she rolled toward Harper, wrapped in his comforter. But when something wet and cold nudged her chin, she flinched and opened her eyes with a start.

“What the hell . . . ?” she blurted out, running a hand over her face to clear the cob webs.

“You know, in some states, you could get arrested for that.” Harper's voice came from across the room.

If he was over there, then who was in the bed with her?

With eyes wide, Jess sat up and pulled the sheets over her naked body. And she found herself staring into the face of the ugliest dog she'd ever seen—a brown-and-black-striped, brindle-colored pit bull with a large square head marred with scars. Its muzzle and paws were white, and the tip of one bent ear was gone. The dog sprawled on her lap and cocked its head, whimpering. Its tiny dark eyes were dwarfed by the size of its huge, panting grin.

“Meet my roommate, Floyd.” Harper grinned. “I know you're gonna find this hard to believe, but he's not just another pretty face.”

Dressed only in worn jeans, Seth joined her on the bed. His hair was damp from the shower, and he flopped down on the mattress. Not even his enticing aroma of citrus soap cut the smell of warm dog breath.

“Floyd?” she asked.

“Yep, that's it. No last name. Just Floyd.” Harper ran a hand over the dog's head. “He adopted me.”

“Lucky you.”

Jess scratched behind the dog's ear. The pit bull moaned and leaned into her hand until it flopped onto the bed, chest up and legs flailing.

“He's easy,” she said.

“Yeah, he takes after me.” Harper brushed back a strand of hair from her eyes. “Have I mentioned how much I love having you here? I love it even more than my towel warmer.”

“Thanks, I think.” She did a double take. “Wait a minute. You have a towel warmer?”

He grinned. “Come on. I've got breakfast started. Hope you're hungry. I couldn't decide what to make, so I kinda got carried away.”

“Ah, Seth. You didn't have to . . .”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

She opened her mouth to tell him what was on her mind, about the trip she had planned to Wisconsin, but Seth's face was an open book, and he looked like he had something more to say.

“Listen, Jess. Tanya Spencer assigned me a new project. Sounds pretty important to her, something below the radar. I'm expecting her call. I wanted to spend the day with you, just the two of us, but I may have to work, so I'm officially apologizing now.”

“Well, get in line, Harper, 'cause when it comes to official apologies, I owe you a big one.”

Seth ran a hand through his wavy damp hair and shrugged.

“Not before coffee. House rules.” He got off the bed and headed toward the door, with Floyd close on his heels. “Come on. Get dressed, Jess. Sounds like we've got talking to do.”

Before he left the room, she called out, “Hey, Harper. Have I told you how much I love you?”

When he turned, he flashed a crooked grin, and his cheeks blushed pink. “Not today, but feel free to make that up to me.”

Jessie knew Seth would be disappointed that she couldn't stay, especially after he surprised her with his new place—a home he wanted to make with her. She wished things could have been different, too, but she couldn't stop thinking about the mother she never knew and a dark past that still haunted her.

Harper would want to help, but she knew that he'd respect her wishes. This trip was something she needed to do alone.

New York City

Alexa had stayed up all night, working her own contacts. She'd made countless phone calls and even worked local sources by hitting the streets and visiting old haunts of Garrett's. No one knew what he'd been working on before he vanished.

“Damn it, Garrett,” she muttered as she checked her cell for messages.

She resisted the urge to stay angry at him. The bastard had always been secretive. It was his nature, but that made it hard for her to feel the intimacy she had always craved with him—a closeness he probably had never shared with anyone—not even with lovers.

Sipping Starbucks coffee that she'd grabbed on the go, she navigated the Upper East Side on foot, heading back to her home. It would be the first time since yesterday afternoon that she would cross her own threshold, but not before she talked to Tanya to see if the analyst had had any better luck in tracking Garrett.

After she hit speed dial, Tanya picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Tanya, it's me. I suppose you heard?”

“Yeah, I heard what that man is sayin'.”

Alexa heard the contempt in Tanya's voice, contempt meant for Donovan Cross. The Sentinels had replaced Garrett without causing a ripple on still water. It was business as usual, but not for her or Tanya, maybe others. Replacing Garrett would be hard, but she didn't trust Cross. Something about him left her wary. Call it gut instinct. And she had to admit, trusting anyone after the tight connection she had with Garrett would be next to impossible.

“Do you believe his story . . . about Garrett being dead?” she asked Tanya, resenting the doubt she heard in her own voice.

“Do you?” the woman shot back.

Before Alexa answered, her friend softened her tone.

“Look, I don't know what to believe, except that I want all this to go away. All I know is that if he's dead, I need proof. That's all I'm sayin'. Guess I don't trust that wannabe, Cross. Garrett Wheeler he ain't, honey.”

Tanya's Southern drawl always intensified whenever her attitude flared.

“Yeah, guess I'm not willing to give up hope either. Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Anytime, sugar. Now what have you been up to? Talk to me.”

Alexa tossed her empty Starbucks cup into a trash bin on the street, happy to get back to business.

“I've covered all my contacts, locals and otherwise. I've come up dry so far. If anyone knows anything, they're not talking. Something's up. I can feel it.” As the traffic light changed ahead, she found a quieter spot away from the crowd. “How about you? You got anything?”

“Yeah, maybe. I've got a lead, but you're not gonna like it.”

“Why?” Her voice edged with worry. “What did you find out?”

“A guy in Logistics told me Garrett had taken a small team on a mission, but he can't find any record of it. Whatever he had seen is gone now. And there's no trace of the cover-up either. He's working from memory.”

“And how good is that? Can we trust this guy?”

“I trust him, but I'm also looking for confirmation. Give me a little time. If there's something out there, I'll find it,” Tanya said. “My contact thinks Garrett was working off book, something I haven't seen him do before. And according to my guy, no one knows anything about it, not even those who should. It's really strange, Alexa. It's like he's dropped off the planet, and no one is talking.”

“So did your contact have the names, the guys he took on his team?”

“Not yet, but he's working up a list of operatives who are AWOL without a specific assignment. A process of elimination. He'll call me later with that intel. It's the best we can do without more to go on. What are you thinking?”

“Garrett is too cagey to leave a trail, but maybe someone on his team wasn't so careful.” Before Tanya could respond, Alexa heaved a sigh. “The thing is, why would he do anything without you knowing about it, Tanya? What could be so damned important to break protocol?”

“Good question, honey. I wish I knew.” Tanya commiserated with her in silence before she said, “There's something else I have to tell you. I got a call five minutes ago. And you're not gonna like this either.”

Tanya had mastered the art of the understatement. If she was concerned, that meant things were usually far worse.

“What's up, Tanya? Spill it.”

Alexa shut her eyes, feeling a headache coming on. Her brownstone apartment was a few blocks away. She'd be home soon and could use the second wind that a long hot shower could deliver.

“Donovan Cross is looking for you. He wouldn't tell me what it was about, but I don't like it.”

“Why didn't he call my cell?”

“He strikes me as someone who'd rather come at you sideways rather than head-on, like one of those sidewinder snakes.” Tanya was spot-on with her analogy. “What do you want me to tell him?”

“If I was a suspicious person, I'd say he's working you to get to me. I don't trust him.”

“You got that right. As far as I'm concerned, the jury is still out on Cross. I don't trust him either,” Tanya said. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Stall him for now. Tell him you can't reach me. That'll give me time to get really lost, but I'll need you to be my eyes and ears. And when you find a lead on Garrett's last-known location, I'll need a way to get there. I'll call you when it's safe.”

“You got it.”

When Tanya ended the call, Alexa made up her mind to avoid her apartment and rely on her instincts to work off the grid. No one could know what she was doing. No one, not even Tanya. She didn't make such a decision lightly. There was risk in what she planned to do, but she'd already set up for such a contingency. Most covert operatives had a similar backup plan, out of necessity.

Heading west, she walked across the street, tossed her cell into a trash bin, and took the first step to sever ties to her life. An operative always had a fallback plan if all hell broke loose. Cash was stashed away with prepaid cell phones, fake IDs, and passports stowed in safe-deposit boxes. It was time to utilize what she'd set up long ago.

And it was time to find out what had happened to Garrett, even if the news wasn't what she wanted to hear.

Outside Guadalajara, Mexico

Estella crept down the murky corridor but ducked behind a stone wall when she noticed the guard outside one of the jail cells. If she got caught, Guerrero would punish her, whipping her for disobeying his order to stay in her room. She had no doubt that she wouldn't have been alone for long. Guerrero's men would finally come for what their boss might have promised, and Estella would rather die than sit and wait for that to happen.

But why she had come to find the American, she had no idea. The man had one foot in the grave. He wasn't strong enough to help her escape her fate, yet she followed her instincts to find him. She'd come to see where they had him. And even from where she stood, cowering in the shadows, she heard what they were doing to him. And it made her sick.

One voice stood out from the rest. And the sound of his cruelty raised the hair on her neck.

“D
o it. Now!”

With the help of another man, Ramon Guerrero followed orders and grabbed the head of the naked prisoner. He shoved the man's face into a tub of filthy water. With his hands in shackles, Garrett Wheeler bucked to break free, sloshing water to the stone floor. When he stopped struggling, and the last bubbles erupted to break the surface of the water, Guerrero looked over his shoulder at the man who had given the order.

Miguel Rosas, number two man to the head of the Pérez cartel, had a reputation for brutality, with the body count to prove it. The Pérez cartel was a splinter group making a name and expanding its reach. And Rosas had played a big part in the Pérez family's growing reign of terror in the country. Guerrero had no appreciation for the politics within the organization. He was only a soldier within its ranks, only wanting to carve out his piece of the pie. A manageable piece.

Guerrero had transported the drugged American to a heavily guarded villa outside Guadalajara, Mexico. Being allowed to remain with Wheeler had been a good sign that powerful men had taken notice and trusted him to get the job done. Participating in the interrogation was another good sign. He didn't care if Wheeler died, but it made no sense to kill him before they got him to talk.

Finally, Rosas nodded, and the prisoner was yanked from the water. A loud, guttural gasp reverberated off the walls, but when Wheeler said nothing, his reprieve was short-lived.

“Again,” Rosas demanded.

“No,” the bound man gagged as his head was shoved back under the murky water. This time, when he was brought up, Rosas stepped closer and looked down at the gasping man.

“You make this harder than it needs to be. Who have you come to kill? And why are you here, in my country?” When Rosas spoke, his voice echoed. “Tell us what we need to know, and your misery will be over. Are you not hungry? Would it not feel good to sleep?”

Wheeler had not been allowed to rest after the drug had worn off. He'd been forced to stand naked in his cell and had been drenched with water every time he could no longer open his eyes. And he'd not been given food or drink. A local doctor had been on call to keep the American alive as the torture escalated.

And still, Wheeler had not told them anything.

Guerrero grabbed the American's hair and yanked his head back. The man's jaw fell slack as he panted for air, his chest heaving.