The Agent’s Secret Child Page 11

  Something in his words… A memory dropped into place. A flash of knowledge she didn’t question. As sure as the shots she’d fired from the pistol. “Isn’t that the way you planned it, Frank?”

  JAKE WOKE to an unbearable sense of loss that blunted his physical pain.

  Death, he realized, came in many forms. He felt the crease where the bullet had grazed his head. He was weak from loss of blood. It took all of his strength to crawl into a sitting position. He leaned back against the wall. Blood ran down into his left eye. Images moved across his memory, dark and debilitating. Abby. He swallowed and tasted blood. A trap.

  His, it seemed, was a death of despair.

  Slowly, he shrugged out of his shirt and, balling it up, pressed it to the shallow ditch-like wound that started at his forehead, ending just over his left ear.

  The breeze flapped at the curtains of the broken window. The front door stood open at an odd angle. It had been a trap, all right. And he’d walked right into it.

  He felt too weak to move, too heartsick to know what to do if he did. He knew now that he’d been fighting an uphill battle against a power much stronger and more far-reaching than himself. Even if he knew who’d taken Abby and Elena, even if he could find them, he wasn’t sure he could save them. He wasn’t even sure he could save himself at this point.

  Then in the shaft of moonlight that spilled across the tile floor, he saw something. His heart constricted. He rolled over onto his right elbow and scooted along the floor, still holding the shirt to his head, still unable to stand, barely able to see.

  When he was close enough, he sat back against the wall again, sucked in hard breaths, and slowly pulled the object he’d spotted to him. Sweet Ana. He pressed the worn rag doll to his face. It smelled of lilac bubble bath. It smelled of Elena.

  Emotion choked off his throat. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, wanting to howl like the coyotes in the night. He’d lost so much. He couldn’t lose any more. He crushed the doll in his hands, the way he wanted to crush the people who’d done this.

  With all sensation centered on the pain in his head and heart, at first he didn’t feel the tiny, cold, stabbing pain in the palm of his right hand. Slowly he opened his eyes and focused on the doll and his large sun-browned hands gripping it.

  He opened his fists. The soft fabric was forgiving. He brushed his fingers over the handmade dress. It matched the one Elena had worn just yesterday. He stared down into Sweet Ana’s face, for the first time noticing her stitched eyes. Cantrell green. And with a cold chill, he realized how Julio had planned to get out of Mexico with the money—and his life.

  He tossed aside his bloody shirt and struggled to his feet, moving as quickly as he could before blood blurred his vision again. Stumbling into the kitchen, he set the doll down on the counter and dug in the drawer for a sharp knife. Lifting the hem of the doll’s dress to expose the stitching along the right side of the stuffed body, he carefully cut through the threads until he saw the sharp edge of the key hidden inside.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You know who I am?” Frank Jordan sounded surprised.

  “Just like you know who I am.”

  He raised a brow, the light from the lantern flickering in the warm night breeze. He looked older than she remembered him. His hair grayer. His eyes more anxious.

  “Not Abby Diaz. She’s dead.” His words sent a chill through her.

  “I guess you’d probably know that better than anyone.”

  He frowned and motioned for the men to release her and leave.

  She straightened, willing herself to stand taller in front of him, to show no fear. An impossible task, knowing now the influence a man in his position could wield.

  She recognized the guards as two of Calderone’s men as they left, disappearing down the long, dark hallway toward a faint light, leaving her alone with Frank.

  She looked at him and swallowed, her throat dry, her eyes burning with tears at the memory of Jake lying on the floor and with anger at seeing Frank Jordan here with Calderone’s men. If she’d had a weapon she’d have used it on Jordan without a second thought. If she could have taken him with her bare hands, she’d have tried.

  “I want to see my daughter,” she repeated.

  “She has Jake’s eyes,” he mused. “And your beauty.” His gaze seemed to focus on her and soften. “And you have Abby’s face and her temper.”

  “That’s odd, since the FBI is trying to convince me I’m an imposter.”

  Frank’s gaze narrowed. “Too bad you didn’t listen.”

  Another memory came out of nowhere just like the last one had. Frank calling her into his office the morning of the explosion. Acting upset with her and threatening to suspend her from duty. The realization made her heart pound. But why? She couldn’t remember why.

  “Let’s go out here where we can talk in private,” he said and motioned to an opening in the wall that led to an old courtyard. In the lantern’s glow, she could see the courtyard had fallen into ruin, just as it appeared the rest of the building had over the years.

  He indicated a rock bench near a crumbling fountain and she gladly sat down, still weak from the drug they’d used on her and a little disoriented. She realized the building reminded her of the ones they’d driven by in Study Butte. She sniffed the breeze and smelled creosote. Was it possible they were still in the ghost town?

  He put the lantern down on the edge of the fountain and sat down next to it. No one would have ever guessed he was FBI, dressed as he was now in a T-shirt, lightweight jacket, jeans and hiking boots. Except for the bulge of his service revolver under his jacket.

  “Your men killed Jake,” she said, her voice no more than a whisper. She remembered enough about Frank to know he wouldn’t have done it himself. And surprisingly found it a flaw in his character. But she knew from the way Calderone’s men were taking orders from him that he was responsible.

  “If Jake had done as he was supposed to…” His voice broke. “He was never good at following orders.”

  “Who do you take your orders from, Frank?” she asked. “Tomaso Calderone?”

  He raised his gaze to meet hers, his jaw tightening, but said nothing as he studied her, as if he really wasn’t sure who she was. Or maybe, he was just worried about how much she’d remembered.

  “Why did you try to suspend me that day? Because you knew the team was walking into a trap?”

  He seemed surprised that she’d remembered their last meeting. His face flushed. “I thought you had amnesia. Julio said—”

  “I thought you said Abby Diaz was dead.” The anger bubbled up, hot as liquid lava. “You knew I was alive in Mexico. Maybe you were even the one who ordered me captured and held prisoner all those years.”

  He flinched at the words. “Do you really think I’d have left you there if I’d known?”

  “You’re doing your best to make people think I’m dead,” she snapped. “I wouldn’t put anything past you.”

  He met her gaze in the lantern light, his eyes hard. “You were always so smart, one hell of an FBI agent. Too bad you’ve forgotten your training.”

  She stared at him. “Don’t worry, it’s coming back. I know Julio was working for you.” Was Frank the man Elena said Julio used to call in the States? “Are you going to stand there and tell me you didn’t know I was his prisoner for the last six years?”

  “I only found out you might be alive a few days ago when Julio Montenegro told me,” he said evenly. “I didn’t believe him.”

  “Then why did you send Jake? Why not come yourself?”

  He got to his feet and moved away, never completely turning his back on her. The man was no fool. She listened for Elena and sounds beyond the thick adobe walls, but heard nothing that would indicate where Elena was being held or if her daughter was even here. She watched Frank and waited for an opportunity.

  “Why did I send Jake?” He turned to meet her gaze. “Because I couldn’t face doing it myself.”

/>   She saw something in his eyes. A weakness that ran bone-deep. And guilt. “You were in charge of that routine investigation that night. How did it turn out to be one of Calderone’s warehouses? You had to have set us up. But why? Why would you get involved with Calderone? Didn’t you have enough power, enough money, enough influence over enough lives? Or is there just no limit for you?”

  His eyes darkened in the lantern light as if her words cut him to the quick. “You’re wrong, Abby.”

  It was the first time he’d called her by name and something in his tone stilled her. She watched him glance up at the sky that had just begun to lighten over the tile roof top.

  “We don’t have much time,” he said quietly. “You need to tell me where Julio hid the money. It’s the only hope you and your daughter have of staying alive.”

  “YOU NEED a doctor,” the elderly Mexican woman said as she pressed the wet cloth to Jake’s head and turned a worried eye on what the attackers had done to his house.

  He held on to the chair waiting for the dizziness and darkness to subside. “No doctor.” He’d called the Mexican couple who took care of his house because he knew if anyone could patch him up and get him on his feet it would be Guadalupe.

  She shook her head, her lips pursed in disapproval. “You are lucky you are not dead.”

  “I thought I was.” He closed his eyes as she applied the alcohol, gritting his teeth.

  “There is much blood, but the bullet only grazed your hard head,” she said. “You have the lives of a cat.”

  He’d gotten himself to the bathroom mirror and had almost passed out at the sight of the blood and the wound. That’s when he’d called her. She was right. He was damned lucky to be alive. But it meant nothing without Abby and Elena.

  While Guadalupe bandaged his head and gave him three extra-strength pain relievers, her husband boarded up the windows and door of the house. When she’d finished, he thanked her.

  “If you bleed to death, you don’t thank me,” she said.

  He smiled at her. “You and Alejandro are good friends.” He walked her to the door. Alejandro had finished his temporary repairs to the house and now stood looking back down the road toward Study Butte.

  “What is it?” Jake asked, joining the elderly man.

  “Lights,” he said. “In the old mining building.”

  Jake looked to where he pointed. “You’re sure no one is living there? Squatters?”

  Alejandro shook his head. “It is uninhabitable.”

  “Take the back way home to Teringua,” he told his friend. “Be careful.”

  “Vaya con Dios,” Guadalupe said as they left. Go with God.

  Jake went back inside and picked up the key he’d found in the doll from the table. Stamped on the metal were the words El Paso Central, locker No. 19. He pocketed it and tucked Sweet Ana into Abby’s bag along with the rest of their clothing, the cell phone and the manila envelope about Abby, then zipped the bag shut.

  How had someone known about Study Butte? Known he would come here? No one could have.

  “I’M NOT TELLING you anything until I see my daughter,” Abby said, assuring herself Frank Jordan didn’t have the stomach for torture.

  He rubbed his hand over his face, then studied her as if she were a problem he didn’t have an answer for. “Fine. But you’re wasting valuable time.”

  “Does Elena know—”

  “About Jake?” He shook his head.

  She nodded, thankful for that, and rose to her feet to be led through the abandoned adobe building. It didn’t appear to be a house; it was too large for that and arranged all wrong.

  At one point she caught sight of a mountainside through a hole in the wall. They were still in Study Butte! She felt her heart soar with hope. If she could reach Elena and get away, she could find a place for them to hide. But those were some pretty big ifs.

  Elena was sitting on a wooden stool at an old desk, picking at a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich when Abby came into the room. She recognized the large Mexican man who stood over the child and the two others sitting in the glass-less windowsill appearing to watch the road below. All three were armed. All three were Calderone’s men.

  Elena’s face lit up when she saw her. She jumped down from the wooden stool to run into her mother’s arms.

  “Mommy,” she cried and hugged her tightly. “Sweet Ana is lost and I’m scared and you know I don’t like peanut butter.”

  She smiled down at her daughter. “Don’t worry about Ana. We’ll find her.” She eyed the large man still standing guard near the table and could feel Frank’s presence behind her. She ignored the others. “She doesn’t like peanut butter. Do you have anything else she could eat?”

  The large man looked put upon. “What kind of kid doesn’t like peanut butter?”

  “A kid raised on tortillas and goat cheese,” Ramon said, and laughed as he got up and walked toward Abby.

  She recognized his voice. He greeted her in Spanish as if they were old friends. In fact, now that she could put his voice with his face, she realized she had seen him at the villa with Julio on more than one occasion.

  “Did she tell you where the money is?” Ramon asked Frank.

  “Not in front of the child,” Frank said under his breath. “Carlos, get the girl something decent to eat from the store. Bring us all something.”

  The large man seemed to hesitate, his gaze going to Ramon for approval. “The store won’t even be open this time of the morning.”

  “Then break in,” Frank snapped.

  Ramon moved, just inches from Frank’s face. His voice dropped, a warning in his look, in his words. “I don’t like being here. We should have taken the woman and kid and gotten away from here. But I agreed to do it your way. Now I want to know what the holdup is. Let’s get what we need from the woman and get out of here. If you can’t persuade her to talk, I can.”

  “We do this my way,” Frank said, his voice low, threatening.

  The men tensed visibly. Abby stepped back, pulling Elena with her. Ramon touched the butt of the gun sticking out of the waistband of his pants, his eyes never leaving Frank’s face.

  “Your way will get us all killed,” Frank said quietly.

  Ramon stared at him for a long moment, his face motionless, then suddenly he smiled and shook his head. “Then I will go to the store myself. I’ll bring food, and some beer and tequila. I need a drink.” He ordered his men to stay and not let Frank and the woman and child out of their sights.

  As Ramon left, Frank offered Abby the stool and turned to the men. “You’re scaring the little girl,” he said in Spanish. “Go outside. You can guard just as well from there.”

  With obvious reluctance, they moved out into a smaller courtyard than the one Frank had taken her to earlier. It looked as if someone had been camping in it. There was a fire pit in the center and some boxes that might have been pulled up for seats. Through the crumbling wall, Abby saw them sit down on the boxes, and watch sullenly from the darkness at the edge of the lantern light as the sky over Big Bend began to lighten.

  Abby sat down on the stool, pulling Elena up into her arms, hugging her, wondering how Frank had gotten involved with these men and just who was in charge. Elena sucked on her thumb, something she still did when she was tired. Or scared. Or without Sweet Ana.

  She thought she heard a noise in the distance. A faint buzzing sound. It seemed to be coming from behind the house. She looked at Frank and realized he was listening, too. She could almost feel him tense. Hadn’t he said they didn’t have much time?

  “Do you know where the money is?” he whispered, still watching the men.

  “No,” she admitted quietly, suddenly on guard.

  “I was afraid of that,” he said, sounding genuinely sorry. There was no doubt; he’d been waiting for something. He now looked spring-loaded, like a diamondback rattler getting ready to strike.

  Fear sent a shudder through her. “Frank, what—”

  The sound o
f a helicopter suddenly filled the air. It rose up from the backside of the mountain and dropped down on them. Whoop. Whoop. Whoop. Then, suddenly, there was a blast of artillery fire.

  Abby dove with Elena to the floor. She saw Frank draw his weapon. She scrambled to her feet and, shielding Elena, ran hunched-over down the hall, looking for a way out as bullets exploded behind her.

  She heard Frank call out, his voice lost in the crack of gunfire and the steady whoop of helicopter blades hovering overhead.

  JAKE HEARD the helicopter just as he reached the left side of the old mining building. The adobe structure sat against the mountainside overlooking Study Butte, the walls deteriorating, part of the roof gone, a dim light glowing from its center.

  He thought he could make out two vehicles parked in some scrub brush off to the right and wondered how many men he’d find inside. He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle many in his condition. His only hope was getting in the first shots, and that was mighty optimistic.

  Then he heard the chopper. It rose up out of the darkness over the rough edge of the mountains silhouetted against the dawn sky. The large military helicopter crested the mountain and swooped down on the mining building like a giant wasp.

  He ducked behind a wall as the big bird hovered over the center of what was left of the structure and started firing. Weapon drawn, he worked his way toward the rat-a-tat-tat of firearms, praying Abby and Elena weren’t in there.

  ABBY COULD HEAR footfalls on the broken tile floor behind her, but she didn’t turn. She ran harder, seeing an opening ahead, the faint light of day bleeding through a pale gray. She hit the opening and burst through with Elena in her arms. Daybreak washed the rough mountains of Big Bend in quicksilver, but night’s shadows still pooled, dark and cool, at the edges of the buildings hidden from daylight.

  She didn’t see the helicopter until it was almost on her. It came in a deafening roar of whirling dust and noise. Suddenly it was in front of her, hovering just above the ground. A dark figure leapt out. Before she could turn and run, strong arms grabbed Elena from her and swung the child up into the dark cavity of the chopper. Abby screamed, the sound lost in the whoop of the blades as she rushed the chopper. The dark figure jumped back inside, the helicopter started to rise.