Bound to Danger: A Deadly Ops Novel (8 page)

Following after her on quiet feet, he paused outside the open door, where dim light streamed out. His weapon was drawn, but he immediately sheathed it in his shoulder holster when he saw her sitting on the edge of her king-sized bed with her back facing him. Other than the bed she had a giant vintage armoire and another large dresser situated to make the room seem as big as possible. The floor-to-ceiling curtains had been pulled back, which probably let in a lot of light during the day. He hadn’t touched them before because he hadn’t wanted to disturb her things, but with her light on and windows open, anyone could see in her room. He didn’t like that.

On instinct and overcome by a deep-seated need to protect her, he drew them closed before turning to find her watching him with an annoyed expression.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I feel as if my freaking brain hurts. Every time I close my eyes I see fire and I’m consumed with the need to just run.” The mix of frustration and fear in her voice was palpable. “I feel completely useless right now. Other than Leah, my mom is one of the few people I would normally call about something like this.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Cade sat next to her on the bed and nearly jerked back at the sight of the amber-gold scarf he’d given her eight years ago. It was wrapped around the lamp on her dresser, crisscrossed up the base and back down, making it look as if it was part of it. He hadn’t noticed it when he swept her room earlier. She’d kept it?
Fuck.
He didn’t know what to think of that.

Turning, he stared at a painting of the ocean during what looked like raging hurricane weather. Dark, stormy, and out of control. “My mom was killed when I was twelve. Murdered.” The words were out before he could stop himself. He never spoke of her, so he wasn’t sure why he did now. Years ago he’d told Maria that his mom died, but he’d never given specifics. “She could never find a decent boyfriend, but she was always looking for one. The last one she had killed her in a jealous rage.” And he’d seen it happen. He left that part out, already having told Maria more than he’d told his closest friends.

Maria sucked in a deep breath and laid her hand over his where it rested on his knee. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, not wanting her sympathy. Especially not now when she was dealing with so much grief. “I’m just saying it gets easier. Or . . . at least you’ll eventually be able to compartmentalize the pain.” Something she already knew from the loss of her brother, but Cade just wanted to give her some comfort.

“Just not today,” she said softly.

“No.” Definitely not.

She was silent for a while and even though he wanted to rush her out of there, he refrained. “When did you get all these tattoos?”

He was surprised by the change in subject and the
question. Staring at her, he could feel himself being sucked into this tidal wave of . . . fuck if he knew what it was. But it made him feel as if he were drowning. She confused and scared the hell out of him and he knew she wasn’t even trying. He wasn’t going to answer her. Nope . . . “After Riel died.”

She sucked in a sharp breath at the mention of her brother but didn’t respond. She simply watched him for a long moment, then gently squeezed his hand before standing. “Thank you for telling me about your mom. I feel like I’m so alone with all this, and I know that’s not the case. People lose loved ones every day. It just sucks right now.”

He nodded. It did suck. And it would for a long time. But Maria was strong and would deal with it. Cade missed the warmth of her hand over his, but he stood and withdrew his weapon again out of habit. He picked up her bag, then motioned toward the door. “If you’ve got everything, I want to get you to your father’s. You’ll have a small team of agents monitoring the property and I’ll stay either inside or outside tonight. Whichever you prefer.” He could have pushed it, but he wanted to give her the options. She needed some control in her life right now, and he understood that. Hell, he wanted to give it to her. Anything to help her cope.

She blinked in surprise as she picked up her purse. “Inside is fine. Their home is large, but don’t you need clothes and other stuff?”

“I have a bag in the SUV.” He was always prepared on missions. Everyone was. Wherever he went, he had at least three sets of clothes and toiletries.

“Oh.” Her surprised expression didn’t change, but she just nodded and headed down the stairs.

He followed after her, trying not to focus on the smooth sway of her hips. She moved so gracefully, everything about her calling to him on the most primal level. But she was dealing with so much shit and he was on the job. Something he’d never had to remind himself of before. Not to mention he’d forfeited the right to even look at her like this after he shut her out all those years ago.

Most of the lights in her house were still off, but he made a motion for her to remain by the foot of the stairs. “I’m going to check out the front window, make sure everything is clear.”

She nodded and that fearful look he hated bled back into her expression. There was nothing he could do about it, though. After he turned off the light in the foyer and her outside porch light, the house was plunged into relative darkness. The half-open blinds in her living room allowed enough illumination for him to move around easily.

After letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, he moved toward the front windows but kept to the shadows. For a full minute, he peered through the slat blinds, watching any movement from the street. It was late enough that most people in the neighborhood would already be in for the night, but he’d seen two vehicles drive by. One red two-door car, and an extended-cab truck. It was either black or blue. Even with the bright streetlights he couldn’t distinguish.

As he started to step back, the truck slowly drove by again. Could be nothing, but he waited, watching as it pulled under an overhanging oak tree across the street from Maria’s house. Not directly across, but to the right.

Without waiting to see who got out, he hurried toward
the hallway, motioning for Maria. “We’re going out the back door.”

“Is someone out there?” Her voice shook.

“Maybe. I don’t want to take a chance.” He didn’t want to get put in a situation where he and Maria were trapped in a house. Not when he didn’t know how many men he was up against. If any. The truck could be a neighbor, or someone visiting a neighbor, but he wasn’t taking the chance.

As they hurried down the hallway to the kitchen, he handed Maria her bag so he had full mobility. She didn’t have any blinds in her kitchen, just sheer curtains that were pulled back, so he had complete visibility of the backyard. It was large, filled with trees and lush foliage, which could be hell if someone was waiting to ambush them, but he had to make a split-second decision and go with his gut.

Once in the backyard, he motioned toward the privacy fence she shared with one of her neighbors. Understanding, she nodded as he silently pulled the back door shut. Without him having to explain, she tossed her bag over the fence and started climbing, her movements nimble and fast. After another visual sweep of the yard, he followed after her.

Crouching low, he held a finger to his lips, then pointed to the back of the neighbor’s yard. They had big floodlights on each corner of the house and he didn’t want to trip a sensor if they had them.

From the back corner, they raced along the back of the fence to the opposite side, then climbed it into another neighbor’s yard. He was thankful this neighbor had a chain-link as opposed to a wooden one.

“What’s going on?” Maria whispered as they crept along the edge of the fence toward the back of the house.

“Maybe nothing. Someone drove by your house twice and then parked. I need to be sure they’re no danger to you.”

“This is insane,” she muttered.

Cade didn’t know if she meant him or the situation, so he didn’t respond. The fence gate squeaked as he opened it, so he didn’t bother closing it. Once they neared the edge of the front of the house, he held up his hand in the signal to stop. “Stay here. I’m gonna check it out.” Cade didn’t bother looking at her before he slipped over to the neighbor’s house they’d just crept behind. Using the SUV in the driveway as cover, he looked around it and focused on the truck. It was dark and with the tinted windows, it was difficult to see much inside. It didn’t look as though anyone was in the driver’s or front passenger seat.

But one of the back windows of the extended cab was rolled down and every few seconds he’d see the bright red glow of someone taking a drag on a cigarette through the window opening. He couldn’t see the individual, but he knew someone was there. When he looked at Maria’s house, ice chilled his veins.

There was a dim light moving around in the living room. Like someone using a flashlight. Someone was inside, and the person in the truck was likely the lookout.

Cade weighed his options. He could head back the way they’d escaped and make an attack using her back door as a point of entry. But he didn’t know how many people were inside. There wasn’t time to call in a backup team. Whoever was in her house was likely looking for her or trying to find a way to locate her. Or, hell, maybe
they were setting up a trap for when she came home. He’d have to call in a bomb squad to check her house out.

But first, he was going to plant a tracker on that truck, then get Maria to safety. Under other circumstances he would have handled things much differently, but he didn’t like leaving Maria exposed and unprotected. So instead of infiltrating her house and taking the intruders on, one-on-one, he took the less risky path. Right now she was his priority, and if something happened to him, she’d be left unprotected. He’d been tasked with guarding her, and he was damn sure going to.

Sticking to the shadows, he headed back the way he’d come but bypassed Maria’s hiding spot and raced down the street until he could cross over without being noticed. From there, getting to the truck unseen wasn’t a problem. Even with the streetlights, Cade was used to hiding when necessary. There were plenty of vehicles and trees along the street, all providing the perfect cover.

Once he’d reached the yard next to where the vehicle was parked, he hid behind a tree and watched Maria’s house across the street. Now he could see a faint light in the upstairs room. Her bedroom. The knowledge that some strangers were in her home, invading her privacy, made a surprising pop of anger surge through him.

Taking a calming breath, he focused on the truck. Now that he was closer and from his angle, he could see into the backseat through the windshield. There was just one shadow, wide enough shoulders to be male, and he could see the same red glow of the cigarette. From the way the shadow was angled, it was clear the man was watching the house. Which was good for Cade.

Ducking down, he crouched and moved out from his hiding place. Staying low, he half crawled his way across the sidewalk and then rolled onto his back when he was directly next to the truck. Slowly, he pulled one of the standard trackers he always carried with him out of his pants pocket. He slid the small switch on, removed the adhesive backing, and reached under the chrome running board. As he did, the hushed sound of two male voices drifted closer.

His heart raced against his chest, his adrenaline pumping overtime as he pressed the tracker into place. When he was sure it would stick, he rolled away and made his way to the closest tree. The moment he ducked behind it, he barely heard the sound of multiple vehicle doors opening, then closing almost simultaneously. He didn’t dare move from his spot, though he drew his weapon in case he’d been spotted.

When the engine roared to life and he heard the truck pull away from the curb, only then did he fish out his cell phone. It was time to track these bastards.

•   •   •

Date: October 10, 2006

To: Maria Cervantes

From: Cade O’Reilly

Subject: re: Picture

The scarf looks beautiful. I’m glad you like it. I’m not surprised about your mom, especially not after the stories your brother tells about her. You guys are lucky to have someone who cares so much about you.

If Riel can put up with my ass, you know I’ll be there. Wish we’d be stateside for Christmas too. Things here are
the same. At least it’s not balls hot right now. You don’t have to send anything else. What you’ve done is already more than enough. If I haven’t said it enough, thank you. Your packages and letters mean a lot. More than you know. But tell your group that if they do send stuff to others to make sure it’s not really perishable items. And if they do send food, make sure it’s secured in plastic bags. Also, books are so appreciated. It’s hard to get anything like that here.

How are your classes going? Did you tell your parents your plans for after graduation yet or are you still holding off?

Cade

P.S. I wouldn’t say no to those cinnamon sugar cookies your mom makes.

Off the reservation: unofficial term for when agents of clandestine agencies take on unsanctioned missions or leave the fold.

W
esley Burkhart stared at the carnage in front of him, the floodlights set up in the residential front yard highlighting a gory scene fit for a horror movie. Scott Mullen, former U.S. diplomat who’d once been stationed in various North African countries, had been tortured to death. Though torture didn’t seem a strong enough word for the partially dismembered, bloody corpse that had been nailed to a cross and left in the middle of his expansive front yard. The hedges and privacy wall blocked the grisly scene, but a gardener who had forgotten something at the house had alerted the authorities when he found Mr. Mullen.

For some reason, the men who had killed him had left his wife alive and relatively unharmed. She’d been bound and gagged and left in their master bathroom. One of her attackers had broken a few of her fingers in the initial struggle, but her survival was something Wesley found very interesting.

Though not as interesting as the message painted in blood across the man’s front door and carved into his chest.
Westwood is just the beginning.

As his phone rang, Wesley tapped his earpiece
without bothering to look at the caller ID. Every call was important right now. “Burkhart.”

“Got Mullen’s file,” Karen Stafford, one of his senior analysts, said in her standard clipped tone. “It’s interesting. I’m sending everything to your e-mail, but some key points—he was forced to retire early from the Foreign Service, had a fairly distinguished career, a lot of unaccompanied assignments.”

Unaccompanied meaning he was stationed without his family. From personal experience, Wesley knew those types of assignments were hard on anyone. Knowing better than to interrupt her, he listened as Karen continued.

“Spoke seven languages, really diplomatic, a dream for the Foreign Service, but about five years ago there were rumors that he was involved with the sex slave trade. It was when he was in Yemen. Less than a month after the accusations started flying, he was moved to D.C., then retired six months later. In my opinion, they didn’t investigate like they should have because they didn’t want the scandal. As soon as he retired he and his wife packed up and moved to Miami. No criminal record there, no issues at all. His wife comes from old money and they’ve been living comfortably in retirement since moving.”

“What were his connections at the Westwood party?”

“There were at least half a dozen men there that he played golf with, but I’m sure there are more. I’ve got the names of the solid leads and have two junior analysts running the links between them.”

“Thanks. You find out anything more on Karklinski?” Oskars Karklinski. The dead terrorist from the hospital.

“Yeah, I’ve narrowed down his potential ties to only half a dozen operators who are possibly in the U.S. now.”

Wesley rubbed a hand over his face. Six was better than the original twenty terrorist cells they’d suspected Karklinski of working for. The man had done a lot of operations for hire. so narrowing down who he’d been working for was time-consuming. Since his arrival in the United States, he’d been like a ghost. No paper trail whatsoever. Except for the phone they’d found on him. “What about the phone?”

“I’ve dumped it and I’m still cross-referencing with all the numbers he dialed or received. There are a lot of them, but I found one call to a pawnshop that’s a front for a low-level gunrunner. Small-time but thought it was worth checking out. We’re stretched thin, so I let the only available team know and they’re on their way to talk to the owner. It’s Long’s team. Didn’t think you wanted me to hand this over to the locals.” Her voice held a note of hesitation, likely because she’d made a decision without consulting him. He liked that Karen stepped up; it saved him time and energy and eliminated the need for him to micromanage.

Wesley snorted. Everyone on the ground was working together now to bring down these terrorists, but some things he wanted to handle himself. Especially a lead like this. The owner of the pawnshop would be talking all right. Wesley didn’t give a shit about some low-level gunrunner, but if the guy was even remotely involved in the bombing, his life as he knew it was over. “Good work.
Text me the updates.” Not bothering with social niceties, he disconnected and had started to call O’Reilly when the man’s name appeared on his caller ID.

“Yeah,” Wesley said.

“Spotted two unknowns breaking into Maria’s house. They left a lookout in their vehicle, but I placed a tracker on it without being seen. No visual ID on any of them. I just texted Stafford the tracker ID and license plate number. We need a team following them ASAP.”

Wesley wondered if O’Reilly even realized he’d called the Cervantes woman by her first name. It wasn’t like his agent to get personal with any of his jobs, but Wesley knew of the history between O’Reilly and the woman’s dead brother. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have allowed his man to volunteer for the position of guarding her with such a connection, but O’Reilly never asked for anything. He worked like a damn machine, never taking vacations, and he was one of his best men. “We don’t have anyone to spare in the vicinity. You have to track them.”

“Maria’s with me,” he said after a slight pause.

“Take her but don’t engage unless necessary. Call Stafford to help you pursue them. We need to see where they go. Has she remembered anything?”

“No, but she’s trying.” Wesley could hear the sound of an engine starting as O’Reilly spoke.

“Good. Ask her if she knows anything about a man who lives in the Gable Estates neighborhood.” It was a long shot, but Wesley was looking at any angle he could. He rattled off the address and told him about the tortured body, then said, “Keep me updated with your progress.”

His phone rang yet again as he strode toward the front of the house. One of the police techs was motioning him and his own captain over, his arms waving excitedly.

Wesley nodded at Jarvis Nieto, the local Miami PD captain he’d been working with the past few hours, as they headed for the front door, but he tapped his earpiece. It was an unknown number. “Burkhart here.”

“The two men behind the Westwood attack are Mihails Balodis and Oto Ozols. They’re in the city.” The sound of Levi Lazaro’s familiar voice jarred Wesley straight to his core to the point he almost stumbled.

His blood chilled at hearing from Lazaro after so long. At one time the man had been one of his best agents. He’d been solid, dependable, a fucking patriot. Then his wife had been murdered and he’d gone off the reservation in search of revenge. Now he was working for only God knew who. This wasn’t the time to dredge up any of that, though. Not if his information was accurate. “How good is your intel?”

“Impeccable. And they’re not done killing.” There was a soft warning note in his voice.

No shit.
“Why are you telling me this?”

Lazaro paused so long Wesley glanced at his phone, but the connection was still open. “It’s the right thing to do. Killing so many civilians like that . . .” He trailed off, then continued again, his voice harder. “Don’t get any ideas. This isn’t because I owe you shit. Track those bastards down before more innocent people die.” Then he hung up, just like that.

Wesley started to contact one of his analysts to have them trace the number, but he knew it was pointless.
Lazaro had learned from the best. Hell, he’d been the first man Wesley had recruited. After Lazaro’s wife had been murdered, though, something inside him had cracked. It was the only reason Wesley hadn’t tried very hard to hunt him down—or at all. The man deserved his revenge. And Wesley had been trying his damnedest to find out who’d orchestrated the killing of Lazaro’s wife too.

He shelved the knowledge of the two names he’d just been given—though he planned to follow up with Karen in less than five minutes. First he needed to see whatever this tech was so excited about. Tuning out all the background noise of the men and women in various uniforms canvassing the house, he strode up next to Nieto. The dark-haired man was about the same age as Wesley and also had former military experience. Navy too. Which automatically gave him points. So far, Wesley liked working with him. He just cared about finding the truth, not posturing for the media.

“You know what he found?” he asked.

Nieto shook his head, his expression grim. “No, but I’m guessing it’s not good.”

Nothing about this night was good. Their shoes were silent along the marble floor of the entryway, then along the many polished hardwood floors until the tech, wearing a blue windbreaker type of jacket, stopped in front of an open door.

Looking inside, they found another similarly dressed tech with gloves and shoe covers standing next to a queen-sized bed covered in Polaroid photos. There were hundreds of them. On the wall behind the bed the word “Guilty” was written in crisp black letters. Probably done with a marker.

As he got closer, Wesley’s gut twisted at the images. Each photo had a picture of a naked woman. Some were in cages, others were bruised, bleeding, and splayed out on cement floors, and still others had smiles on their faces—though the smiles didn’t reach their eyes. The pictures were disturbing, but unfortunately Wesley had seen worse. Just what the hell was going on here? What did Westwood have to do with Mullen’s murder? And who did these pictures belong to? And how was Mullen connected to them, if at all? Fuck . . . Wesley scrubbed a hand over his face as he pulled his cell phone out again. He needed to have Karen run the names Lazaro had given him and look for ties to their dead terrorist. Then he needed to make sense of this mess.

•   •   •

Hovering in the dark shadows of her neighbor’s house, Maria couldn’t stop the shivers racking her body. What the hell had happened to her life?

Cade had just dashed off, leaving her here, and every second that ticked by she was starting to freak out. If something had happened to him or he’d been discovered—her heart jumped into her throat as headlights momentarily blinded her. She scrambled back against the side of the wall, ready to sprint for the backyard.

Until she heard his reassuring voice. “Maria, get in.”

Jumping up, she hurried toward the idling SUV, which she now saw was Cade’s. “What happened?” she asked as she slid into the passenger seat and shut the door.

“Two men were in your house, not sure why. We need to send a bomb squad over later. Would anyone just drop by your house unexpectedly?”

Bomb squad? What the hell?
“No.” No one had a key
but her parents. “Do you really think they planted a bomb?”

He shook his head as he steered out onto her street and revved the engine. “No . . . hold on.” He tapped the earpiece that seemed attached to him, then started talking to someone in clipped, incomplete sentences. Then he pulled out a slim device from his center console and held it out to Maria.

“Hold this.”

She did as he said and watched as a map pulled up on the flat computer screen. She’d seen similar handheld devices, and her e-reader was a couple of inches smaller, but this thing was sleek and razor thin. It also didn’t have a brand name on it anywhere. It was simple and black. A few seconds later she realized the map layout was of Miami. She knew Cade had a GPS in his vehicle, so she wasn’t sure why he needed this map.

“Yeah, it’s working. I’ll call you if I have an issue. Yeah . . . yeah, okay. Thanks.” He tapped his earpiece again, then glanced at her as he sped down another street.

“I put a tracker on the truck of the men who were at your house. Everyone is racing around Miami looking for leads on the bombing and there’s not a team to follow these guys, so I’m it. I hate dragging you with me, but it’s the way it is.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” She needed to be with her father and she wanted to know what had happened at her house.

“I’m sorry, Maria.” She was pretty certain there was more behind his apology than for what he was dragging her into right now. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part.

“When will I get to see my father?”

“You won’t be able to stay with your dad tonight, but I’m having a security detail put on him. With Larson protecting him, he should be secure, though. I’ve seen his file,” he said almost grudgingly. “I’m sorry, but without knowing what’s going on, your father’s house will be the next best place for those men to look.” She started to argue, but he cut her off. “Do you want to bring danger to his doorstep?”

That made her shut her mouth but only made her feel even more lost. She couldn’t go to her own home or even her parents’ house. Those were her two safe havens. Staring at the flat-screen, she watched a red dot moving along a street and realized Cade was using this thing to track the truck. “I need to call my dad.”

Cade nodded, his expression grim. “Fine. Make sure he doesn’t come by your house, and tell him there’s a possibility you might not make it to the funeral tomorrow.”

“What?” she shouted. “You’d better lock me up if you think you’re keeping me from my mother’s funeral.” Maria could feel her temper rising with each word, the anger slicing her grief down with an emotion she could easily deal with. There was way too much going on for her to handle and she just wouldn’t miss her mom’s funeral.

“Maria—” he started, his voice soft and soothing, which was ridiculously infuriating. As if he thought a calm voice would make her change her mind.

“Don’t.” She was going to the funeral no matter what. “What do you know about these men we’re following?”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, the
muscles in his arms flexing with his frustration. “Nothing yet. I’m sorry to take you with me, but there’s no other choice. Believe me,” he said through gritted teeth.

She did.

“Do you know a man named Scott Mullen?”

“It’s familiar.” The name rang a bell. She frowned, trying to place it as that nagging alarm sounded in her head. “Why?”

“He was murdered and there might be a connection between his death and what happened last night.”

An icy fist clasped around her chest as numbness settled through her veins. “Does he live—or did he, I guess—in Gable Estates?”