Never Surrender (Task Force Eagle) (2 page)

The last thing she’d do. She shot to her feet and
gathered her parka around her. “I wish you luck in catching the drug dealers,
but I have no idea where my brother went.” Slinging her bag onto one shoulder,
she started to the door.

He stepped in front of her. “It’s in his best interest
for you to help me find him.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. Sooty lashes
framed his dark eyes. His warm breath smelled of peppermint. But this man
wanted only to solve his case. He didn’t care about Jordan or his problems.

“I can’t help you, Agent Cruz. I don’t know where
Jordan might be. Please move.”

He handed her a notepad and a pen. “You’re free to go
once you write down your address and phone number.”

She printed her information and handed the items back.
“You’ll contact me if you find Jordan?”

He stepped aside and opened the door. “You can clean
up if you like once we’re finished. I’ll let you know.”

“Fine.” She marched through the open door and down the
narrow stair. Though he made scarcely a sound, she sensed Cruz behind her.
Feathery wings fluttered in her stomach.

Three flights down, they reached the small, dim foyer.
The entry smelled of tobacco and rancid grease and worse. Wherever Jordan hid,
she hoped it was cleaner than this dump.

“Jordan may have cause to thank you for helping
us
find him first,” Cruz said softly.

Whirling, she shot him a glare. “What do you mean?”

“Two thugs who don’t care about Miranda rights or
asking first before shooting were looking for your baby brother last night.
Maybe he came home and found the place tossed. We think that’s why he
high-tailed it. If they want him bad, they could come looking for
you
too.”

Her breath stuttered.

“I know too much, Jules. I’m in over my head.”

If he was in danger, maybe . . . no, if Jordan was
mixed up in this drug trafficking, she had to protect him. From all sides,
including the DEA. She wouldn’t let what happened to their dad happen to
Jordan. Whatever it took. “I’ll encourage my brother to turn himself in, but I
won’t betray him. Now, am I free to go?”

Stiffly, his eyes as hard as obsidian, Cruz bent his
head in a courtly bow rather than a nod. This Zorro knew when to yield and
sheathe his sword.

After the front door closed behind her, Juliana heard
a muffled thud. Had the controlled, charming Agent Cruz slammed his fist into
the wall?

Chapter 2

Rick gripped his throbbing knuckles.
Ay, idiota
,
he blew that one big time. His usual techniques that charmed every other female
failed with the delectable Juliana Paris. Courage and loyalty, even if the
brother didn’t deserve it.

He popped another mint as Jake Wescott entered the
hallway. He tucked his aching fist behind his back. “Hope you had better luck
than I did.”

Wescott thumbed his ball cap higher on his head. “We
have a saying in Maine. Which is better, no luck or bad luck?”

Rick described his visit to the apartment. He slid his
police radio from his windbreaker and advised the Portland agents stationed
behind the building they could return to headquarters.

“Now what?’

“Got a hot date in Boston. Don’t want to be late.”

“Who’s your babe of the week?” Wescott asked.

He grinned. “And have you poach? Forget it, Jake.” His
date was with the case files, but he had a reputation to uphold. No settling
into being a drudge. He’d keep his carefree way of life as long as possible.
How could he choose just one when the menu offered too many luscious flavors
and varieties? Like his suspect’s feisty sister. The notion stopped him cold.

Inhaling the frigid air, he swept a glance down the
street. Even this pleasant small city had run-down sections. The smudgy dusk
lent this one an even seedier appearance. But he saw no suspicious vehicles and
no loiterers. He and Wescott hurried toward their sedan where Donovan awaited
them.

“If only El Águila and his man Olívas had been sitting
in Sudsy Pettit’s kitchen,” Rick said, “we could’ve wound up this whole damn
case.” And put an end to the gang that had killed his brother.

“There’d only be another to take his place. Keeps us
in business.”

“Are we jinxed or what?”

“Maybe voodoo.”

“No fair picking on my Cuban heritage,” Rick said. “Watch
out, or a Santero priest will put a dead chicken in your bed.”

“Who cares, hot shot? I never get to sleep there.”
Wescott sighed. “The landlord did give me detailed descriptions of those two
heavies who were here last night.”

“See? All is not lost. And we have another lead.
Jordan Paris’s sister.” Rick grinned, anticipating the challenge.

“From what you said, she wasn’t impressed with you.
Has the famous Cruz charm met an immovable object?”

“I didn’t grow up with four sisters for nothing. She
won’t be able to resist me a second time.” She was hiding something, for damn
sure. And he needed what she knew.

*****

Juliana tossed her backpack on the sofa. She scrubbed
at her gritty eyes. “Jordan, you poor, gullible kid, what have you gotten mixed
up in?”

The hour was late and she was tired, but she had to
figure out what to do. Dammit, he’d sucked her into his mess, one more
dangerous than his usual tangles. Talons clawed her stomach again. She twisted
a finger in her hair and chewed her bottom lip.

“Mrrr,” came a plaintive voice from the kitchen
alcove.

“Yes, yes, Speedy, I know—dinner time.” She kicked off
her boots and hurried to do the cat’s bidding.

From his perch on the kitchenette bar, the
raccoon-brown feline replied his assent and twitched his tail.

Juliana opened a can of liver and mixed it with dry
food. “Come on down, sweetie. Din-din’s ready.” She set the meal down beside his
water dish. When the cat sniffed, she lifted the blue bowl to the counter. “What
was
I thinking? Here, your highness.”

With a murmur she took as thank you, the animal tucked
into his meal at a pace appropriate to his name.

After pouring water and measuring coffee, she started
the brewing. And mulling. Jordan’s vow to stand on his own feet and on his own
bank account had blown away with the March wind. She withdrew a yellow lined
notepad from a drawer and listed places her brother might hide—three or four friends,
Uncle Grady, camp.

His meal completed, Speedy sat up to wash his
whiskers. He cast a skeptical amber eye on his mistress.

“I know. Jordan has gone too far this time. But I
practically raised him, and . . .” Oh, where could he be? Was he safe? She swallowed
more questions about the danger he’d landed in and dumped the cat’s bowl in the
sink.

The light rap at the door startled her.
No, no, go
away
. Before her drive to and from Portland, she’d spent spring break
working five days at five different companies for Temps-R-Us, and her
accounting assignment was due next week. She trudged to the door.

She checked the peephole. Venice Aaron. She adored her
neighbor, but Venice had a knack of ferreting out her intimate secrets. She
couldn’t hide from her. Juliana pasted on a smile before undoing the locks.

“I brought you some library printouts. Thought you
could use them for that humongous assignment we have.” Venice was six feet tall
and the color of coffee ice cream but friendly and warm as melted toffee. She
held out a Macy’s shopping bag.

Juliana accepted the bag. “Thanks. I owe you one. I do
need to get my printer fixed.”

“Finally got that number crunching behind me. Much
more of this, and Venice is gonna need glasses on her big browns.”

Juliana laughed. “You make enough money sewing for the
theater department to pay for contact lenses.”

“Got to look to the future, girlfriend. I want my own
costume business.” Venice swept into the living room, the long, knit,
rose-colored tube of a dress embracing her statuesque body like shrink-wrap. “I
cooked up this number for next week’s one-act.”

“Gorgeous, as usual.” Juliana followed in her wake. “Coffee
should be ready.”

“Maybe half a cup, hon. I’m headed to campus in a few
with some outfits for the kids to try on.” Venice sleeked a hand from Speedy’s
head to his fluffy tail. “And how’s my favorite kitty, hmmm?”

Juliana poured two mugs of coffee. Her mind slipped
back to Jordan’s words:
“I gotta disappear.”
A headache throbbed behind
her eyes.

“You’re worried about something, and I’ll bet it’s not
accounting.” Venice blew on the hot brew. “Either your mother or Jordan. What’s
one of them done now?”

“I might as well tell you. You’d worm it out of me
anyway.” Juliana recited her truncated phone conversation with her brother and
the results of her trip to Portland. She didn’t mention the agent’s warning.

“The DEA? Whoa, that’s some serious shit.” Venice
said. “You got ideas about where Jordan might be hiding his fool self?”

“One or two. I want to find him first. I want to hear
his side of it.” And to make sure he was safe. She couldn’t trust Agent Cruz or
any cop. No way she’d trust the DEA to protect her baby brother. Between
classes and work, she would find the time.
Somehow.

“Why not let the cops do the dirty work? Seems to me
you take on too much responsibility for your family.” Venice clucked her
tongue.

She folded her arms. “And thank heavens one member of
the Paris family acts like a grown-up. My naïve brother chases every
hare-brained scheme that promises money, and Molly latches onto every
paradise-promising, lame-brained man who takes hers.”

“I understand, hon, but you can’t be everybody’s mom.”
Venice slid off the stool and smoothed her knit dress. She glided to the door. “I
hope you know what you’re doing, but that boy might be in danger. A big, strong
government agent would come in handy.”

When her friend left, Juliana picked up Speedy and
nuzzled the fur between his ears. The cat rumbled a deep, rolling purr. She
carried him to the window and stared out, picturing the DEA agent.
Six-foot-plus, lean frame, hair and eyes as black as the starry sky above. “No
way. If I never see Ricardo Cruz again, I’ll be safer all around.”

She released the cat, who muttered what might have
been a cynical harrumph.

Below, a van with no headlights rolled from the street
to the parking lot’s edge. If it hadn’t passed beneath a light, she wouldn’t
have seen it.

The agent’s words echoed in her brain:
“They could
come looking for you too.”

Juliana sank down beneath the window. Heart pounding
like a tom-tom, she hugged her knees.

Chapter 3

Two days later, Rick had found no trace of Jordan
Paris. He logged off his computer and rubbed his knuckles, still tender from
the right he’d given that door jamb. “Dammit!”

“What’s the matter, Cruz? Can’t decide which babe
tonight?” Jake Wescott called across the big office the task force shared.

“Nah, he’s bummed about the one female he couldn’t
rope with his charm,” Holt Donovan added. He thumbed up the brim of his Stetson
and leaned back in his swivel chair.

“You got it, Holt. Can’t find Jordan Paris and can’t
get it on with his sister. Finally, for one smart woman, he really is the
Invisible Man.” Wescott hooted at his own joke.

Rick’s stealth on SEAL missions had earned him the
nickname. He grinned. “Go ahead and have your fun. How much of this case have
you cracked while I’ve been trying to talk to Ms. Paris?”

Donovan coughed and removed the hat. “You got me
there. Her brother has plumb disappeared.”

“Right.” Rick’s grin faded as he ticked off their
progress on his fingers. “Only his fingerprints and the sister’s in his
apartment. No leads there. We impounded his car, so he has no wheels. No charges
to his two credit cards, no plane tickets reserved, no checks cashed.”

“If he’s as reckless and gullible as his sister
implied, why hasn’t he made a mistake by now?” Wescott asked.

“Maybe he did. And the gang silenced him. For good.”
Rick’s comment silenced the hilarity. Everyone began to pore over files.

He picked up the one he’d begun on Juliana Paris.
Part-time temp worker, part-time student. Jordan was her only close relative
except a mother, whereabouts unknown. Father deceased. No police record, no
traffic tickets, small bank account. Her silent act looked bad for her and for
her brother, but the lady checked out squeaky clean.

But why did she distrust the DEA enough to endanger
herself and her brother? A search of the father came up with no prison record.
Not even a traffic ticket. Nada.

Stymied, he slapped down the folder and considered
Sudsy Pettit. How had he gotten away? The task force had kept their presence
secret, not to spook the guy. Units had watched the harbor to ensure Pettit
didn’t escape in his boat or the refrigerated fish truck. Their pigeon had
flown, but not before cleaning out his coop. No fingerprints. No personal
items. No computer files. Only a pair of crutches left in a closet.

Another question oozed greasily in his gut. How had so
many busts gone sour and ops blown? It was as if the suspect had been warned.

He wouldn’t allow the gang to slip the net. Snaring
Carlos Olívas and the other assholes running the northeastern smuggling would
save a hell of a lot of kids like his brother. If he could nail the head honcho
El Águila himself, he might feel whole again. Rick curled his hands into fists.
He refused to fail at shutting him down. Leak or no leak.

Juliana Paris was his only lead to her brother and the
smugglers. He had to persuade her to cooperate.

*****

Juliana leaned against her car door, her pen poised
over her day planner, a low-tech loose-leaf binder instead of the digital one
she couldn’t afford. The same neighborhood of row houses that contained Jordan’s
apartment housed a number of his fellow fishermen and buddies. Not dangerous,
just neglected in the way of temporary housing for people down on their luck.
Or goalless, like Jordan, on the way to nowhere. Smells of fried food and
uncollected garbage hung in the air.