The Echo of Violence (6 page)

“You could have killed me back there,” she said, her voice cracking. “Why didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer at first. And she’d begun to think he hadn’t heard her until she looked over her shoulder.

“It would have been too easy.” He fixed his eyes ahead and shoved her shoulder, forcing her to face forward. “And I have plans for you now. When I could not take your wealthy American guest of honor hostage, I had to settle for you. An American nun. Now shut up and keep moving.”

Kate grimaced and fought a lump in her throat. Their lives were in his hands. And behind her, the steady skirmish between the terrorists left at the clinic and the Haitian police had stopped. Even with her muffled hearing, she’d noticed. The police must have overrun the facility and arrested or killed anyone who resisted.

With the deadly force used by the local law in response to the terrorists’ aggression, she wondered if any of them would have survived the final assault if their captors hadn’t escaped before the police reinforced their lines. Their abductors had used explosions as an element of surprise, but if the local law had known they were so well armed, they might have reciprocated with more firepower to put an end to the standoff. That thought left her feeling a strange gratitude toward the man who’d forced them to leave. And he’d sacrificed some of his men to ensure that they got away.

Why? What plans did he have for them?

She understood that the diversion to the medical clinic had not been in his scheme, but it wouldn’t be long before the authorities would learn they’d escaped. They’d be better prepared for round two and hungry for revenge, if only to save face. And following the hostages would be easier since they were now on foot. Their captors must have figured this out. They had
picked up the pace and weren’t bothering to keep to the shadows anymore.

Kate searched the horizon, looking for clues to determine where they were. She detected the smell of the ocean on the breeze, and it was getting stronger. They were near a beach. Did these men know where they were going, or were they merely putting distance between themselves and the Haitian police?

Cresting a small hill, she saw the faint lights of Tortuga Island in the distance, and the moon glistened on waves that lapped the shoreline of a small cove. She expected the armed men to scramble up the beach or down. Instead, they gathered the hostages together and forced them to their knees. The children spotted Kate and ran for her. Tiny hands gripped her hard as they collapsed to the sand.

“We thought you were…” Joselyne sobbed, unable to finish.

“I’m fine. We’ll all be fine. We just have to stick together.” She held them and kissed their heads, ignoring the twinge of guilt she felt for telling them something she didn’t believe.

She wanted to believe these men had a backup plan—that their grand scheme wouldn’t end in death on this beach. The grotesque image of dead bodies on the sand—even the children—gripped her mind and wouldn’t go away. Her gut twisted, and she couldn’t breathe.

The masked men stood between her and the ocean. The undulating waves by moonlight normally soothed her. She focused on the water and imagined other nights when she’d taken a quiet walk on the beach.

Another time. Another place.

A living nightmare ago.

Dark silhouettes of faceless men surrounded her now, and they were armed with weapons that could kill them in seconds. The brutal men had grown edgier. They peered through the shadows, waiting for something.

She started a prayer and hoped she’d be allowed to finish. Shutting her eyes, she clutched the crying children tighter. There was no comforting them. They all knew something worse was about to happen—or it would end here on this beach.

They were in God’s hands now—as they had been from the start.

Armed with the AK-47 he’d taken off a dead man, Kinkaid crouched low behind a stand of trees and got as close as he dared. He was positioned on a rise, careful to maintain the high ground and a good view of the scene below.

He watched the terrorists and thought about what he’d seen of their op. Relying mainly on AK-47s, the men assaulted the fund-raiser using low-tech weapons until they resorted to grenades to blow their way out of the clinic. They hadn’t employed the usual al-Qaeda tactics of suicide bombers or massive explosives to launch their attack. Yet with relatively few men, they’d been effective, and the op had been well orchestrated. That was what the Haitian police and the media would report.

But from what he was witnessing now, this terrorist cell was far more sophisticated than he’d first thought. One man carried a satellite phone and another had a handheld GPS unit and a laptop. That kind of communication meant they had handlers. They could be aligned with any number of splinter groups. No one
had seen this part of the operation except him. The combination of their simpler tactics and more sophisticated gear might mislead anyone analyzing the attack into underestimating them.

And all the Haitian police had were dated walkie-talkies, outclassed weaponry, and virtually no tactical support.

Kinkaid counted heads for the first time. Although he couldn’t be certain of what he saw through the darkness, he tallied six or seven armed men and fourteen hostages. One or two of the captives looked wounded, but he couldn’t determine their condition. He didn’t like the odds. All he had was a rifle with only one magazine and a handgun. He had to face facts. Confronting these men in his condition—and without resources to back him up—would only get innocent people killed.

He searched the frightened hostages, and his heart lurched when he saw Sister Kate. The nun had gathered the children and held them tight. Although she was putting up a strong front for the kids, she looked terrified; but at least she was still alive. He took comfort from that and forced himself to focus on the armed men.

Why had they stopped running? The Haitian police would figure out what had happened at the clinic and track them soon. Why risk getting caught with their backs to the sea?

His eyelids were heavy, and it was difficult to focus. He loosened his grip on the AK-47 and wiped the sweat and grit from his eyes with the sleeve of his suit jacket.

Stay alert, damn it!
He took a deep breath and let it out slow to clear his head.

Kill shots would have to be on the money—quick and thorough. Any other day he would have been up for the assignment, but not now. An AK-47 wasn’t the rifle for the job. It lacked accuracy and stealth. And he didn’t have a knife to pick them off one at a time.

That didn’t mean he’d given up. The right tactic might still work. Once he started shooting, the terrorists would know where he was. Muzzle flash in the dark would put him in the spotlight and place a target on him. After his first strike, he’d have to dodge their grenade launcher and keep it from roasting his ass. If he kept the bastards busy, the hostages might have a chance to escape.

Would Kate be one of the lucky ones, or would his interference only get her and the children killed? She and the kids were positioned on the edge and near cover. They might make it if he drew fire and kept the gunmen’s attention long enough for them to get away.

“Come on, Kate,” he whispered. “I won’t get a second chance.”

He picked his first target—a masked man standing closest to Sister Kate—and took aim, but a noise forced him to stand down. He raised his head and looked for the source of a steady droning sound. His gaze shifted toward the ocean. Offshore, a murky shadow drifted into view. And a double flash of light from an undulating beacon conveyed a message to the gunmen on the beach. They turned their heads, and one man signaled back.

“Damn,” he cursed under his breath. They weren’t making a stand. They had called in reserves and were ready for round two.

An old motorized fishing boat anchored offshore, a fifty-foot craft in need of paint and repair. He’d seen the type countless times before, owned by a local commercial fisherman working the waters near Haiti. More men stood on the bow of the boat, rifles in hand and on edgy alert. He had no idea how many men were on board.

A small raft was deployed to transport the hostages. It splashed into the water, and the sound of a small engine revving up could be heard. Two men manned the raft and hit the tops of waves as they sped toward the beach. Judging from the size of the craft and the number of hostages, they’d have to make more than one trip.

Now he had no choice. His marginal plan had hit the skids.

If he waited until the hostages were split up, it would only improve the odds for some and make matters worse for others. And if he hit the gunmen before the raft hit the shore, reinforcements were too close by. Too many hostages would be caught in the cross fire. No way he’d start a fight without knowing what he was up against, not when innocent lives were at stake.

He’d have to be satisfied with providing intel for a rescue mission with Joe LaClaire and whoever he wrangled for help. Kinkaid took stock of the fishing boat and memorized details as he watched the hostages being loaded onto the raft. Sister Kate and the children
were the first to be transported. And it didn’t take long for the gunmen to board the rest.

He tensed his jaw as the fishing boat pulled anchor and motored into the dark, heading north. Whoever the men were, he had underestimated them.

That wouldn’t happen again.

“Next time you’re in my crosshairs,” he vowed, “I’m pulling the trigger.”

Kinkaid stood and retraced the tracks of the terrorists to get a good look at their boot prints and any distinctive footprints of the hostages. Such intel could be invaluable if he had to trail them later.

When he’d done all he could do, he gave thought to leaving the area. He knew he’d have to avoid going back the way he’d come. The stolen Toyota would be off-limits, especially with the police tracking terrorists in the vicinity. To avoid getting caught in an official interrogation, he’d need help to get out.

He grabbed his cell and hit speed dial for LaClaire. When the phone rang, he took a step forward and stumbled. A sudden burst of heat raged through his body as nausea hit hard. He grabbed a tree for support and dropped the AK-47. The rifle blurred on the ground as if it had vanished into a black hole. And when he looked down, he lost his balance. His world spun out of control.

Kinkaid dropped his phone and collapsed. He tumbled down an embankment, unable to stop. And jolts of pain melded into numb oblivion when he finally skidded to a halt with dirt and debris hitting his face.

“Talk to me, boss. What’s happening?”

Somewhere in the distance, he heard Joe’s voice. Lying flat on his belly, he opened his eyes to a blur of vague shadows. The faint glow of his cell phone came into focus for an instant, then multiplied and drifted from view. He tried moving, but couldn’t force his body to cooperate. Hell, he couldn’t even feel his legs.

“Where are you, Jackson?” Joe asked.

Good question, LaClaire.
It was Kincaid’s last thought before his world went black.

Once aboard the vessel, Kate was herded with the rest of the hostages to the rear of the boat and shoved to her knees. She clung to the children and kept her head down, afraid to make eye contact with anyone.

A heavy tarp was thrown over their heads. It stank like dead fish, which made it nearly impossible to breathe, especially with the diesel fumes coming from the boat engine. And once they got under way, the rocking of the boat made some of the hostages sick. She heard them heaving and throwing up where they sat. The muggy stench became unbearable. She held her breath as long as she could.

But their isolation under the tarp soon ended.

One by one, hostages were hauled out and dragged to the front of the boat. Not even the drone of the engine masked the sobs and the screams. She only caught fragments of what was happening and recognized the voice of the leader, the one who spoke English. He asked questions about who they were and who might
pay money for them. And for those who resisted, he tortured them until they cooperated.

When it came time for her, what would she tell him? And who would pay enough for the children? Their parents had no money.

She crouched under the heavy tarp until her leg muscles cramped, and her neck ached, waiting for them to come for her. Her mind reeled with what she might say. Eventually, her legs went to sleep, and the tingle felt like a million pinpricks stabbing her. And after hours in the same position, she couldn’t force her body to move at all. Her legs had grown numb.

But her captors never came for her. And that scared Kate more.

She stayed under the tarp until the boat came to a stop. Morning had come. She saw a pale light edge the tarp. That was when panic set in. She had to get the circulation back in her legs. If she couldn’t walk, she had no doubt they would kill her. Bending her legs and stretching her back, she forced her body to work although the movement sent excruciating pain through her muscles. She made sure the children and the other hostages did the same.

When the tarp was stripped from their heads, the shouting began again. They were shoved toward the small rafts and carried to shore by angry masked men with rifles. A lone stretch of beach and a dense jungle with rugged cliffs lay ahead. She looked for any indications of where they had landed, but there was nothing. No civilization in sight.

Kate had no idea where they were.

New York’s LaGuardia Airport
Midmorning

“No, this is my first time here. I’ve never been to New York,” Seth Harper told Alexa as he loaded his bag into the trunk of a car she had rented for the weekend. “I’m looking forward to seeing the city. And maybe we can score some tickets to
Regis and Kelly.
”

She had no idea if he was kidding.

Jessie would have known, but there was one thing Alexa picked up on. His crooked grin communicated more than he’d probably intended. No doubt Seth felt the awkwardness of their first few minutes together, so it was up to her to break the ice. This was her town and her invitation.

“I’m sure Regis appreciates the shout-out. I’m glad you’re here.” She touched his arm, and when he fixed his gaze on her, she had a strange reaction to the sudden intimacy she felt between them.

An electric rush swept through her body. She felt the same link with Garrett Wheeler, but that was only after years of demanding erotic encounters that triggered the feeling. She’d become attuned to the workings of her sensual nature
because
of Garrett. Yet so far, she had only kissed Seth. The potency of the physical connection she had with him stunned her.

Perhaps the feeling centered on the prospect of Seth Harper’s accepting her invitation, her first step toward taking on a young lover. She felt naughty, rebellious, and liberated at the same time, yet something else was at play that disturbed her. Seth had triggered an unset
tling need—one she had to control for a while longer. She had a hurdle to get around before anything happened between them.

And that obstacle was Jessie.

She cleared her throat and grinned. “You look great. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat. What’s on the menu?”

You,
she wanted to say.

Dressed in jeans, he wore a gray cotton shirt with rolled sleeves and vest. His dark wavy hair looked worthy of attention from her fingers. And as usual, his brown eyes held her in place without mercy. He had no idea what he did to her, but she wasn’t a fool. Anything personal that had happened between them came from her pushing the line with him, not the other way around. She’d given him plenty of signals that she was interested. Unlike most men, he’d never acted on them.

Some women preferred the bad-boy thing and would have been frustrated by Seth’s shyness. And yes, he was younger. His age, stamina, and naïve innocence played a major part in why she had become the aggressor. Alexa knew what she liked. And her flavor of the day was Seth Harper. The more he played hard to get, the more she wanted him—lust in all its glory. His coy game of cat and mouse only stoked her fire.

“I’ve got just the place in mind.” She slipped behind the wheel and watched him slide into the passenger seat next to her. When she shut the car door, her cell phone rang. “Marlowe here.”

“Alexa. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Garrett’s low
voice sounded intimate and masculine as if he were in bed next to her. “Are you free to talk?”

His not-so-perfect timing provoked a feeling of betrayal in her. And she resented the guilt, especially after she knew Garrett had not been faithful during the time they’d shared a bed. When she’d first learned the truth, she was hurt and angry but forced herself to get over it. That hadn’t been easy. Garrett was the kind of man who branded a woman and left his mark.

She had crossed the line with her boss by having a physical relationship with him, and there had been consequences to her actions. Alexa had hoped to put it all behind her—and not sacrifice their working relationship to do it.

“Sure. What’s up?”

With Seth in earshot, she was careful not to mention Garrett’s name. Her work would be off-limits.

“I have an assignment. It’s urgent, I’m afraid.”

She listened to what he had to say. Even on an encrypted cell-phone connection, Garrett was careful not to provide too many details. He’d wait until they met to disclose more. He told her what she’d need to know about a trip out of the country.

“How soon can we meet for a briefing?” Garrett asked.

Alexa took a deep breath, looked at Seth, and forced a smile as she brushed back her blond hair and changed the cell to her other ear.

“Let me work something out. I’ll call you back.” She didn’t wait for his reply. She ended the call and turned toward Seth. “Let’s grab that bite to eat. I’m starved.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked. “What’s going on?”