The Echo of Violence (8 page)

That was when he felt her presence. He sensed her
near him. Her essence lurked in the shadows beyond his reach. And the familiar smell of her skin and blond hair calmed him—a heady floral scent of gardenias. The details of her face never came into focus until a light pierced the blackness and took her from him. She dissolved in a swirling crimson mist.

“No,” he whispered. “Don’t go.”

A wash of gray swept the remaining gloom aside, and blurred images took shape. His eyes watered as the light intensified, and his face and body raged with heat. His bare chest and arms were slick with sweat. And he ached all over with a fierce pain radiating from his belly.

“Jackson, it’s me, Joe. I’m not going anywhere.” He recognized his friend’s voice. The sound of it forced the cobwebs from his brain, and LaClaire’s face came into focus. The man stood over him.

“You’ve been delirious, boss. Are you with me?” Joe wiped a cool wet cloth across his face. After he nodded, his friend continued, “I had a doctor come here. Discreetly, of course. He’s got you on pain meds and strong antibiotics for an infection.”

Kinkaid raised his throbbing head to look at his surroundings for the first time. A small motel room with two beds. And a plastic bag of clear liquid hung over his head with a tube connected to an IV in his arm. Dank sheets covered him, and heavy bandages were taped across his belly.

“What…happened?” he asked.

“You were shot. It went clean through. Does that ring a bell?” His friend tried to jog his memory. “It sure would with me.”

Images of the academy fund-raiser rushed to his mind, an event marred by armed gunmen, a screaming little girl in danger—and Sister Kate. And judging by the fact he was in a motel room rather than a hospital with doctors who asked questions, he realized Joe had done his best to keep a low profile.

“How did you find me? I don’t remember…” He attempted to sit up and winced in pain.

“Oh, no. Stay put, big guy.” Joe held his shoulders until he settled down. “You want some water.”

When he shook his head, his friend went on.

“I called in some markers and triangulated your position using the GPS on your phone. Remember? You’re the gutsy guy, and I’m the clever one.” Joe smirked and sat in a chair near his bed. His amusement eventually vanished. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Not sure. Too…tired.” Kinkaid had a hard time staying awake. He heard Joe, but his words faded in and out.

“You lost a lot of blood. And the pain meds are potent,” Joe explained. “Police said a group of terrorists attacked that school fund-raiser you were at. They used heavy firepower and got away with hostages. You told me a friend was in trouble. And you wanted my help, no matter who I had to ask. Remember that?”

“Kate. She’s in trouble. We’ve got to…help her.” Despite his condition, Kinkaid picked up on Joe’s hesitance, but he was too weak to stay focused. “Who did you get…?”

He wasn’t sure he’d spoken or merely thought the
question. He shut his eyes and sank into the black void again, hearing Joe’s voice in the distance.

“Help is on the way, boss. But we gotta talk. Stay with me now.”

Kinkaid couldn’t open his eyes. He drifted into a fitful drug-induced sleep—an agonizing stupor where he couldn’t tell what was real or a nightmare—and he wondered if death felt like this.

If it did, he couldn’t recommend it.

Port de Paix, Haiti
10:00
P.M.

“Jackson. Come on, wake up, man.” A voice jolted Kinkaid from a deep sleep. Joe LaClaire’s voice. “I hate doing this, but you’ll wanna hear what I gotta say. Trust me.”

“What? What’s…happening?” He opened his eyes to a dimly lit motel room with another unmade bed and his friend leaning over him. An IV was still plugged into his arm.

“That help I promised you?” Joe winced, looking apologetic. “They’ll be here soon. We gotta get you up. And right now, you don’t look so good.”

Hell, he felt like crap. Why would he look good?

“Who? Who’s coming?” Kinkaid struggled to sit up in bed. His side ached, and his head throbbed without letup. Joe slid another pillow under him.

“I have a confession to make. You were so desperate for help…to rescue a woman named Kate, that I called someone you might not…”

Now he knew something was up. Joe was a straightforward guy, and he didn’t mince words. Apparently he had something in his craw.

“Spit it out, Joe. Who’d you call?”

His friend paused long enough for him to glance up and stare him in the eyes.

“Garrett Wheeler.”

“What?” Kinkaid glared at Joe before he tore the IV from his arm with a grimace. He swung his legs off the bed and protested, “I thought you understood. I’ve got history with Wheeler. He’s not…”

Before he finished, Joe interrupted.

“The thing is, he’s the only one who sent a team. And he’s got the resources to get the job done.” Joe waved a hand and urged him to get up. “Come on. Alexa Marlowe will be here pronto. We gotta get you looking presentable.”

“Alexa? She still with…Garrett?”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘with’ him. He sent her with a team. You know her?”

His mind reeled with memories of Alexa. She was a force of nature. A strong, intelligent woman with passions to match. He had kept his private life a secret from her when they worked together, believing it was the right thing to do. But his reticence only added fuel to her fire.

He’d seen the same thing happen to others. Living life on the edge played havoc on operatives’ libidos. And staring death in the face with each new op made it easy to form attachments to those who understood the life. Although Alexa had wanted more from him, he
couldn’t give her what she needed. And after he cooled things off between them, he later suspected that she found Garrett more willing.

All of this came at about the time his life went to hell. And any feelings he had for Alexa melded into his resentment of Garrett.

“Know her? Not anymore I don’t.” Wearing only boxers, he stood and toppled over before Joe grabbed him. “I gotta get showered and dressed. I can’t let her see me like this. She’ll find an excuse to put me on injured reserve and leave me behind.”

Now Joe lost his cool. “Oh, like the fact you’ve been shot? Silly woman. Why would she hold
that
against you?”

“Exactly.” He shrugged and took his first steps toward the bathroom, fending off Joe’s help with a wave of his hand.

“You’re insane.” Joe raised his voice. “Doc says you had a nasty infection, and you need stronger antibiotics than pills. If you get off the IV now, you’ll be slammed harder. You have no business on a rescue mission in your condition. You’ll only slow her down.”

Kinkaid turned back to his friend to make his point.

“If that happens, I’ll make the call and bench myself, but I’m not turning this over to Garrett Wheeler and his blond surrogate. I can’t trust them, not with this.”

“I’ll be your wingman. Does that count?” Joe argued. “Or don’t you trust me either?”

Kinkaid raked a hand through his dark hair and heaved a sigh. He was being an asshole to a guy who didn’t deserve it.

“I trust you, Joe. And I appreciate all your help. But…I feel like I got Kate into this mess,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Those terrorists…they called out my name before they started shooting up the place. They were looking for me, Joe. I gotta know why. And I gotta see this thing through for her sake. I owe her.”

Joe stared at him for a long moment before he backed off. “You can be a real son of a bitch, but invoking your name doesn’t usually spark gunplay. At least, not right away.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“No problem. And I brought your bag off the boat. Let’s get you dressed and smelling pretty.” He grinned and tossed a duffel bag on his bed. “So tell me, boss. Is Alexa Marlowe as sexy as her name?”

He gave his friend a sideways glare. And even though he didn’t answer his question, Joe smirked. “Yeah, thought so.”

Port de Paix wasn’t exactly paradise by Alexa’s standards. And the darkness of a cloudy night kept the place in shadows, the best thing she could say about it. The flight to Haiti had been a long one, and she had more hours to work before hitting the sack.

With file in hand, she headed for the motel room Joe LaClaire had given her over the phone. She’d spoken to him from the plane. Once they landed, her team drove straight to the motel and had already checked into their rooms. She’d done the same and planned to meet with them after connecting with Kinkaid and LaClaire.

A dim light shone around the closed curtains of room 15. The motel was nothing more than cinder block painted in a depressing green. The doors were metal, with rust around the edges caused by humidity off the ocean. Muggy air carried the smell of the sea and the faint stench of manure, a deterrent to taking a full breath of good old Mother Nature. The listless backdrop of windblown palm trees with ragged fronds and spindly banana trees surrounded the motel. Weeds shoved through cracks in the parking lot and worn, dented vehicles lined the narrow dirt streets. With most windows down, the cars weren’t locked. Why bother? Who would steal crap on wheels?

What was Jackson Kinkaid doing here? He always had a sense of style, yet this place seemed out of character from the man she remembered. Associating with drug cartels must have left its mark.

Out of habit, she reached beneath her windbreaker and released the retention strap of her holster, making her weapon easy to grab. With the sweltering heat, a jacket was the last thing she wanted to wear over her jeans and tank top. But it covered her .45-caliber H&K MK23, her travel companion.

Standing outside motel room 15, she knocked, and someone doused the light inside. The door opened with a creak.

“Alexa?” When he had seen her blond silhouette, a man spoke from the dark room. “You made good time.”

Only a streetlamp shed light on someone standing inside the room. She recognized LaClaire’s voice.

“Yeah.” She stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her. And with a hand on her weapon, she added, “You want the secret handshake? I’ll do you one better.”

When they flipped the light on, she held up a gesture both Kinkaid and LaClaire would recognize—the one finger salute.

Joe LaClaire grinned and nodded. “Yeah, you and me are gonna get along just fine.”

Jackson Kinkaid stood to her left. Unlike his buddy, he wasn’t smiling. She fought hard not to react to seeing him again, but the beat of her heart ramped up a notch. She felt it.

He wore faded jeans with a black T-shirt worn tail out. And he stood taller and looked more defiant than she had expected. Hypnotic green eyes glared at her with a smoldering hostility that Garrett had warned her about. And he smelled of soap, with his dark hair still wet from the shower. He wore his hair longer than she remembered, and it curled at his neck. And although he hadn’t bothered to shave, the rugged macho thing suited her fine.

When he saw her middle finger, he raised an eyebrow and said, “
You
haven’t changed. Nice to see you, Alexa. Who’d you piss off to score
this
cherry assignment?”

She ignored his abuse.

“Haiti, Kinkaid? Is this your idea of a good time?” She crossed her arms and returned his stare. “I prefer the smell of coconut oil and cute cabana boys serving me umbrella drinks.”

“Sorry,” he said. “The best we can do is bottled water. With any luck, you can avoid a good case of dysentery.”

“There’s a good kind?” she asked.

Joe took Kinkaid’s cue and lifted the lid to a cooler where they had bottled water. She waved him off.

“No, I’m good,” she told him. “But you gotta tell me. How did you end up at a school fund-raiser…an event in your honor, no less? And who is this mystery woman, Kate?”

Kinkaid looked unsettled, and he shot a glance at his friend, who shrugged. Guess Joe had told her too much.

“That’s not important,” he said. “By now Garrett has done his homework and confirmed the assault was legit and the hostages real. I’m not in the mood to have my chain yanked or take a trip down memory lane. Are you gonna help or play twenty questions?”

“Attitude? You’re giving me attitude here?” She shrugged. “Look, I don’t see anyone else lined up outside. So cut the crap. You asked for help, and I brought a team. Whatever beef you have with Garrett, I don’t care. It’s not gonna interfere with this mission.
Capisce?
”

His jaw tightened and he narrowed his eyes. Eventually he took a deep breath and gave her an almost imperceptible nod. That was all the concession she’d get from him.

Kinkaid crossed his muscled arms over his chest, and his broad shoulders and narrow hips got her attention again. The man carved out his own corner, leaving little elbow room in the cramped space for her to feel
comfortable in. Thankfully, he kept his distance and leaned against a wall. His man Joe backed off and took the corner of a mattress.

She still had one more point to make.

“And while we’re setting ground rules, there’s another thing we’re gonna get straight. I’m in charge of this mission. I make the call on pulling the plug. If I see you or your friend endangering my team, I won’t hesitate to take you both out of the equation. Is that clear?”

“Crystal. What else?” His somber expression gave her nothing. Only his gruff tone sent her a warning that he wasn’t in the mood for playing nice.

“Garrett said you had intel. What happened after the bastards left the clinic? Are they still in Haiti, or did they get out?”

“They left by boat,” he said. “I saw them leave, heading north.”

“But you didn’t tell the cops,” she guessed.

“No.”

By the look on his face, he challenged her to ask why. She didn’t.

“Tell me everything,” she said.

Kinkaid gave her what he’d seen, from specs on the boat to bad-guy head counts, weapons details, and the number and condition of the hostages—a thorough account that not even the Haitian police had. His intel might keep them one step ahead of anyone else.

“These guys had a SAT phone, handheld GPS units, and a damned laptop,” he told her. “And they were in and out like they’d run the scenario before and knew
where to go. They had to be connected to a handler. Why else would they come with all that high-tech gear?”

He shook his head and continued, “The Haitian cops didn’t stand a chance. They were outgunned, and all they had were dated walkie-talkies. Hell, the terrorists were willing to die, Alexa.”

“Maybe we can help them with that.” She narrowed her eyes. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, I got a good look at their tracks after they left the medical clinic. If we cross their path, I’ll know what to look for.”

The man had given her plenty of detail. Alexa knew how outraged she would have been if this attack had happened to her, but Kinkaid was taking this harder than she would have believed for a guy who was on the payroll of drug cartels. Something else was at play that she didn’t understand, and instinct told her to have patience. A guy like Kinkaid wouldn’t be pushed into talking if he didn’t feel like sharing.

“This is good stuff, Jackson. I’ll feed your account back to Garrett. See if he can ID the terrorist cell. And someone might have claimed responsibility on Arab news. Al Jazeera might have something by now. I’ll let you know.”

After he nodded, she held up her file and stepped toward a small table near the door. “I’ve got satellite digitals. If we can narrow down the time, we might figure out where they went.”

“That’s great. Let’s do it.” He looked surprised to have satellite surveillance and sat down next to her at
the table. He was slow to move and looked beat-up, with bruises on his jaw under the shadow of his day-old beard.

“What’s wrong with you, hotshot? You look a little rough.”

“It’s nothing.”

She opened her file and put a series of satellite images on the table. Narrowing the time, they were able to locate the time stamp that worked. Using what Kinkaid had witnessed and her high-tech surveillance, they tracked the boat he’d seen leave Haiti.

The news wasn’t good.

“Damn it!” he cursed.

No more doubt. The boat that had taken the hostages landed in Cuba—a communist stronghold, a country supportive of terrorism and a transshipment point for the drug trade. She pulled out a map of Cuba and located the southeast part where the boat had dropped anchor. It was east of the U.S. Naval Base at Guantanamo Bay and south of the city of Baracoa in the middle of nowhere. The terrain was extremely mountainous and rugged, plenty of dangerous places for terrorists to hide. And with terrorist training camps in Cuba, such a remote area would be an attractive location, especially given the region’s history of guerilla warfare.

“Our plane won’t get us close enough and would draw too much attention. You have access to a boat, or will we need to supply that?” she asked.

He looked at Joe and without a word spoken between them, Kinkaid turned back to her, and said, “We got a boat. What else?”

“We’ll be linked to Garrett via tracking beacon and a SAT phone. We’ll have additional resources at our disposal. Garrett will make sure of that. And a backup team can be within range if we need them. We’ll also have GPS and spare batteries, but depending on how dense the jungle, we could still lose our satellite signal. That’ll mean we do it the old-fashioned way, using maps and compass. You good with that?”

“Fine.” He nodded. Although his expression softened, he was still all business.