Committed (36 page)

The warehouse in question had changed hands four times since they took Valdez down and kicked over the domino that began this situation. Emilio wouldn’t be there, either.

“What about getting our hands on the money?” Damien asked.

“PD has denied our request for funds,” Cooper replied. The man spoke as if it were a minor inconvenience. They needed that money, and they needed it now.

“How much do we have?” Damien paced out of the apartment, ignoring people peering out of their doors at him.

“Only a couple thousand in impound. We’ll get something together.”

“By tomorrow?”

“We’ll see,” Cooper replied and hung up.

Damien knew how this worked. It was hard enough to get the cash together for a large-scale buy and bust when taking down the supplier was a sure bet. Money for a hostage would be hard to come by, especially given the circumstances. Cooper wouldn’t say it to his face, but they weren’t going to pay Emilio for Poppy.

His feet took him to the same door he’d visited last time, with scrolls and a good luck cat waving at him.

Xiaojian pulled the door open a hair. “What do you want?”

Damien pulled out the surveillance picture he’d been using and showed it to Xiaojian. “Have you seen this man recently? Did he have a blond woman with him?”

He never once glanced at the picture. The old man was wise enough to read between the lines and figure out what Damien was asking.

Xiaojian’s voice softened, as if he actually gave a damn. “I haven’t seen him, and I wouldn’t. Not with someone like her. I’m sorry, Agent.”

The door closed with a soft click and slide of bolts. The last place the medicine man would want to be seen was with Damien in uniform.

He needed to get out. The smell, the press of people, it was driving him crazy.

Damien took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the officers and agents going about their duty.

He stalked out to the street, where cruisers and an armored truck sat on the curb, lights on. The usual loiterers were being held back while they continued to scour the building.

His phone rang and he jumped, but it was a number he recognized.

“Yeah?” Damien said.

“Hello to you, too,” Yamamoto replied.

“Sorry, I’ve got a situation.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“No.” Except … Damien knew Yamamoto had connections. He’d never asked. “Do you have any contacts that would deal with Emilio Molina? Anything? Pick up his trash, wash his car?”

Yamamoto didn’t reply.

“It’s important, man. He … he kidnapped Poppy.”

“Let me look into it. Damien, just so you know, if I find anything, it can’t link back to me.” Yamamoto’s tone changed, and maybe it was the inflection, or just Damien wanting to read
more into what his friend said than what was there, but he felt a surge of hope.

“I got it. Thanks, man.”

There was always hope. Without it, what was the point of going on?

Emilio paced the living room.

This was not good. Not good at all.

The house was silent and dark, just the way he liked it. The girl had learned her lesson. She wasn’t making a peep in the closet. Which was good. He needed to think.

The bodies he’d left hadn’t sent the message he wanted them to, and now he didn’t just have the DEA on his case, he had small-time crooks wanting to make a name for themselves.

Emilio wouldn’t be the feather in their cap, but he didn’t have the resources to stay hidden for long.

His shoes clicked on the tiles Valentina had picked out, a constant reminder of everything he’d lost. He could rebuild. Find another supplier, another wife.

He needed more money, though. His emergency fund was swiftly drying up, and his accounts were frozen, thanks to the fucking feds.

The girl.

She had to have cash, or a debit card. Something.

Where had he left her purse?

He had to go outside to enter the garage. Her things were tossed on the ground, the contents of her purse spilled out. But there was a clutch-like wallet in the mix. He opened it and flipped through what she had. A few small bills—and debit cards.

The cards were even in their little sleeves, and written on the outside were four digits in a looping, graceful script.

“Stupid cunt.” He snorted.

Everyone knew you weren’t supposed to do that, and yet here was his prize.

Emilio pocketed the card, took a deep breath, and got in his latest acquisition, a blue Honda with heated and cooled seats. He’d need to lose the car after this, which was a shame. It was a nice ride.

He didn’t want to leave the house for long. The girl, Poppy, was spirited and smart. If he wasn’t careful, she’d try to get away again. It had been fun to let her think she might escape once, but twice was too much. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. He couldn’t go to the banks close to the house. The feds would be monitoring her accounts, and the moment he
used them it would give away his position. It was a stupid move.

He’d have to take a chance and leave her.

Emilio drove for half an hour, the windows down, humming to the music. There was something calming about driving with no specific destination in mind. If he hadn’t fallen in with a gang at a young age he might have become a truck driver. The moving around and the constant change of scenery would have given him a large pool of potential victims. It wouldn’t have been a bad life, but it wasn’t the one he’d chosen.

No, he liked the power and the money, and he wanted it back.

The clock was already into the early morning hours before he found a bank far enough away that he wanted to stop at.

The street was empty, lined with businesses with their windows darkened, the occasional neon sign left on through the night. There wasn’t another car on the street, just Emilio.

He dumped the car in an alley before walking a block to the ATM. He walked up to the machine and used the mirrorlike glass to smooth back his close-cropped hair. Let the good agents suck on that.

The machine accepted his card and the pin number cleared. Her bank account had a decent five figures, enough to give him some change to work off for a few weeks. He clicked the withdraw button, and the screen went black.

“What the—?”

Fuck
.

He turned his back and strode away. There was only one explanation for that: The feds had her accounts locked down. Her bank might be closed to him, but he still had an ace to play. He still had her, and she was better than any debit card.

Emilio pulled out a phone he’d stolen and dialed the special agent’s phone.

“Hello?” a gruff voice said over the line.

“One ring. You must have been waiting on me.” Emilio could hear the man’s teeth grinding over the phone.

“What do you want?” Damien spat out.

“My money.”

“And what do I get?”

“Time, Agent. Your girl gets more time to live.” And he got more time to toy with her.

“When and where?”

This might actually work out after all. But the man had to know he wouldn’t ever see his
precious “sweetness” with all her parts intact again. And he knew what to send the agent first.

He’d pay. They’d all pay.

“You’re just giving him the briefcase and getting Poppy. That’s all you’re doing.” Gio dusted off Damien’s shoulders in case there was any lint sticking to him. His clothes were a little worse for wear. He hadn’t been home to change; he’d just haunted the office since this nightmare began. With the noise of seagulls and cars in the background, they waited by the beach to approach the location.

He glanced at the silver case. Would Emilio stop to count the money? If he did, he’d get past the real money on top of each bundle to the paper they’d sliced and stacked to fill out the case.

Damien’s only hope was that Emilio came ready to trade Poppy. If not, he might as well be signing her death warrant.

“Is your comm in?”

“Yeah. I can hear Cooper in my ear.” Damien ignored his director. It was the only way to get through this ordeal.

Damien’s phone rang. He quickly dug it out of his pocket, expecting it to be Emilio.

Carney’s name flashed across the screen.

“Hey, man. Not a good time,” Damien said.

“It’s important,” Carney replied, determination in his voice.

“What’s up?”

“Sidon wants to talk to you. Here.”

There was some rustling on the line before a younger, thug-like voice said, “Hello?”

“Sidon, what do you want?” Damien had no time for these juvenile games.

“I want to make a deal,” the kid replied.

There wasn’t time for this. None at all. “For what?”

“I want my juvie record cleared. I got something you want to know.” Convenient time for the kid to turn over a new leaf.

“Talk to Carney about it,” Damien replied. His mind wasn’t on the conversation. Not by a long shot.

“No, I need to talk to you.”

“Fine, what?”

“I want my juvie record cleared first. My mamma’s going to kill me if I don’t do something.”

“Well you should have thought about that before you decided to deal to your classmates.”

“Man, I had no choice. This dog made me.”

Sidon’s mother couldn’t make him walk the straight and narrow. Damien had serious doubts it was all that hard to get him to make the wrong choices.

“It’s about Emilio Molina.”

Damien froze. “What did you say?”

“Emilio Molina.”

“What do you know?” They needed every tip. Even from a juvenile delinquent like Sidon.

“I want my juvie record cleared.”

“God, you’re a broken record. Look, how about this? If you don’t tell me what you know, I’ll charge you with aiding and abetting a federal criminal and then you can share a cell with Emilio when I bag his ass. So you tell me, what do you want to do, Sidon? You want to play an adult’s game, I’ll treat your ass like an adult.”

The kid’s voice rose in pitch. “Man, man, man, I ain’t trying to aid no one. I’m trying to help you.”

Damien clenched his free hand into a fist. “Then tell me what you know.”

“Fine. Fine. I was hanging with my boys and I saw Emilio lurking around my school. I know he’s a bad dog, but he’s also on a bunch of people’s hit list, so I followed his car. Looked to me like he was following Miss, ah, Miss Library.”

Damien closed his eyes. Hours ago this might have helped, but not anymore. “Give the phone back to Carney.”

“What about my record?” Sidon whined.

“Give the phone back to Carney.”

The line rustled again.

“Hey,” Carney said.

“I’m about to meet with Emilio. Take that kid and do what you can. I might want to wring his neck later, though.”

“I’ll handle Sidon. Be safe,” Carney replied.

Damien ended the call, squeezing the phone so hard his knuckles popped. Gio watched him, her arms crossed over her chest. The morning breeze rustled her curls, but her face was
unmoved.

“High school kid knew Emilio was following Poppy and never told us.”

“Don’t worry about that right now. Do you want anything to eat? I have the food your mom dropped off in the car.” Gio continued to hover. She’d been strong through this, but the strain was starting to crack even her.

Lots of cases were tough, but nothing could prepare you for becoming the case. There weren’t a lot of rules and regulations for what to do when an agent’s loved ones became the target.

“No. I’m going.” He stepped past her and headed toward the street.

He crossed North Shore Drive on foot, practically a suicide mission even using the crosswalk, and entered Millennium Park. Two weeks ago he’d had one of the best dates of his life here with Poppy. Now he hoped to save her.

Damien reached up and turned the volume on his comm down as far as it would go. He didn’t need their voices telling him what to do.

Emilio had said to meet him in the shadow of the Bean, a large, metallic sculpture shaped like its namesake. People flocked from all around to stare at its curved surface and see their altered reflection. Even at this early hour, it would be a busy place. They had agents and officers all over the park, but there was still no way they could have eyes on every approach or exit.

Damien strode along with the rest of the foot traffic, another man in a suit on his way someplace important.

Was Poppy alive? What had Emilio done to her? The toxic circle of thoughts swirled around in his head, but he silenced them out of necessity. He needed a clear head to go into this situation.

As he neared the Bean, he began scanning the crowds, looking for blond hair. He caught a glimpse of gold, but she was too short, and another was too tall.

“Looking for me, friend?” a voice said behind him.

Damien turned and came face-to-face with the ghost he’d spent so long chasing. “Emilio.”

There was no blond woman with him.

Emilio stared at him. There was no soul in those eyes, no light. Just a bone-deep evil that resonated, making Damien’s skin crawl. And Poppy had been alone with this creep.

“Where is she?” Damien asked.

“Safe.” Emilio’s smile was not reassuring.

“How we doing this? I get her, you get the money.” They began strolling away from the Bean, toward less-traveled paths.

Emilio clasped his hands behind him. He wore gloves and carried a folded newspaper, like many businessmen. “No, Agent, it doesn’t work that way. You give me the money and she gets to keep breathing.”

“Not without something to show me she’s alive,” Damien replied.
Alive and well
, he prayed.

Emilio pulled out a cell phone and clicked the screen before offering it to Damien. “Taken a few hours ago.”

Poppy stared back at him with one eye. The other was swollen almost shut, the skin purple and puffy. Damien’s vision hazed red. He could kill this man, right now. But then he might never find her.

“You killed my wife. Did you know that?” Emilio said.

Damien’s blood went cold. He knew he’d shot Valentina, but she hadn’t died of the shots. She’d died of blood loss. If the shootout had been shorter, they’d have saved her, but Emilio’s escape meant they lost those precious seconds. Still the blood was on Damien’s hands.