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“If you think I can go into this and not be part of taking down Calderone—”
“This isn’t about Calderone,” Mitchell snapped. “This woman, Julio Montenegro’s wife…Frank has reason to believe she might be Abby Diaz.”
The words dropped into the quiet room like boulders. He was too stunned to breathe, let alone speak.
“Abby is dead,” he whispered at last. He ought to know. He’d been one of the six-member FBI team that had gone into that building on a routine investigation, not knowing Tomaso Calderone was waiting for them. They’d walked into the trap and Abby had died in the explosion and fire that followed, along with two other FBI agents.
Mitchell took a puff on his cigar and continued as if Jake hadn’t spoken. “Julio Montenegro recently contacted the FBI with a deal. He said he had proof that Abby Diaz was alive. He had rescued her from the fire that night. She was burned, but survived.”
“No.” Jake shook his head adamantly. “I saw her body after the fire.”
“You saw a body. What if the charred remains found after the explosion weren’t Abby’s? Julio claims the body was that of woman who worked for him. Three bodies were found in that fire. We just assumed the female was Abby.”
“Abby, Buster McNorton and Dell Harper,” Jake said, more to himself, than Mitchell. He could never forget.
“As we understand it, Julio kept Abby under wraps, hiding her as his wife in the small town where he lived in Mexico, until he was ready to make a deal. That deal was a trade. The FBI would help him get citizenship and into a witness-protection program in the States in exchange for FBI agent Abby Diaz.”
“Why would he keep her six years?”
“Maybe he needed time to build himself a nest egg,” Mitchell suggested. “He must have gotten greedy, though, and finally got caught.”
He shook his head. “This woman can’t possibly be Abby.”
“Jake, if there is any chance that Abby might still be alive, you owe it to yourself to find out. Frank has already ordered that the body in Abby Diaz’s grave be exhumed for identification.”
He swore, pulling off his Stetson to rake a hand through this hair. “Dammit, Mitchell, I don’t want this. I don’t want Abby dug up. I don’t want—” Cold fury filled him. “I don’t want to relive Abby’s death all over again. Nor do I want to do Frank’s bidding for him. This feels like a trap. Or something Frank dreamed up to advance his career.”
Mitchell puffed on the cigar for a moment, studying him. “They knew about the two of you.”
Jake’s gaze jerked up. He didn’t have to ask who knew.
“They’ve always known.”
Jake wanted to laugh. He and Abby had thought they were being so discreet. Hell, they were FBI agents, trained in deception. But it seemed they hadn’t fooled anyone. Especially the people they worked for.
“Because of the affair you had—”
“It was a hell of a lot more than an affair,” Jake snapped.
“—Frank wants you on this case. As her former FBI partner and lover, you are the one person who’ll know whether or not this Isabella Montenegro is Abby Diaz or an imposter.”
“Of course she’s an imposter. I can tell you that without even seeing her.”
“Jake, we have confirmation that Isabella Montenegro was burned in a fire and had to have plastic surgery. She’s the right size, about the right age—”
“Come on, Mitchell. You aren’t buying into this, are you? Someone wants me to think Abby is alive, that this is my…kid.”
He’d actually believed that no one had known about Abby’s pregnancy. But obviously someone had. And now they were trying to use it against him.
“It explains the fake phone call from the little girl. Don’t you think if Abby were alive she’d have gotten in touch with me?”
His boss worried the lighter in his hand like a stone for a moment before he spoke. “Abby might have defected.”
“Bull,” Jake growled, getting to his feet again. “You didn’t know her. You don’t know what we had together. We were getting married. Dammit, Mitchell, we were going to have a baby.” The words were out before he could call them back.
Mitchell nodded and frowned. “That’s what I was afraid of. Jake, this child with Isabella Montenegro, she’s about five years old and—”
“No, dammit. If Abby was alive, she’d have contacted me,” he said adamantly. “Especially if she’d given birth to our baby.”
“She might have reason to believe you betrayed her,” Mitchell said, the words seeming to come hard to him.
Jake looked at the man, speechless.
“Abby might believe you set her up to die in that explosion,” his boss said. “She might have been given some sort of evidence—”
“No!” Jake cried. “She’d have never taken the word of a man like Calderone.”
“What if the evidence came from the FBI?”
Jake stared at him. “What are you saying?”
“Part of the deal with Julio was proof not only that Isabella Montenegro was Abby, but that she’d been the target the night of the explosion. Julio said he knew who’d tried to kill her and why. According to Frank, that evidence points to you.”
“You don’t really believe—”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” Mitchell said, cutting him off. “The point is, this woman might believe that you’re a killer. A man who set up his partner and lover six years ago to die. That could explain why, if she is Abby, she didn’t contact you.”
“That’s crazy,” Jake said. Abby was the target? It didn’t make any sense. Two other agents had died that night as well and another was injured. “Why? Why would someone want to kill Abby?”
Mitchell squinted through the cigar smoke. “Maybe only Abby knows that.”
He shook his head. “Wait a minute. If Frank really believes that I was the one who set up Abby, then why would he want me on this case?”
“Frank doesn’t believe you had anything to do with Abby Diaz’s death. Or alleged death. You’re the obvious person to send. Like I said, you, of all people, will know if this woman is Abby.”
Mitchell slid a sheet of paper across the desk.
Jake watched him, his mouth suddenly dry.
“This is the faxed photo Julio sent Frank,” Mitchell said. “It’s the Montenegro child and her mother. I think you’d better take a look, Jake.”
The black and white copy of the photograph was blurry, the resolution poor and the paper even worse. But Jake felt his heart lurch, his breath catching in his throat, the pain sharp and bright, blinding.
He stared down at the woman. Frank was right. Isabella Montenegro looked enough like Abby Diaz to make him ache. But that was the point, wasn’t it? To make him hurt. To make him doubt himself. To make him desperately want to believe Abby was alive.
But was it possible? Could this woman really be Abby? Or an imposter, designed to draw him back into something he’d spent six years trying to forget?
He shifted his gaze from the woman to the child in the photograph. His pulse pounded just at the sight of the little girl. He felt his eyes burn, his heart slamming against his ribs. Oh God, could it be possible? He couldn’t take his eyes from the child’s face. There was something about her. So small, so sweet. And so scared. He could see it in her expression.
He crumpled the sheet of paper in his fist and closed his eyes, his throat tight, the pain unbearable. He told himself she wasn’t his daughter, but she was someone’s, and damned if he’d let whoever was behind this use an innocent child to get to him.
But he knew he was lying to himself. As much as he fought it, he wanted it to be true. He wanted Abby to be alive. He wanted their lost child more than he wanted life itself. And knew he wouldn’t rest until he found out the truth. He just feared he was walking into a trap, one that even if it didn’t get him killed, would destroy him.
“I’ll understand if you don’t want this case,” Mitchell said softly.
Jake did laugh then. He opened his eyes and looked across the table at his boss, his friend, the man who’d saved him from his obsession to destroy Calderone, from his need to destroy himself. “You know damned well you couldn’t keep me off this case now.”
“Then you think there is a chance this woman is Abby?”
Jake shook his head, his words belying the battle going on inside him. “Abby is dead. The woman is an imposter. So is the kid. And I’ll prove it.”
Mitchell let out a long sigh. “I thought you might feel that way.” He regarded Jake for a long moment, his gaze sad, worried. Then he continued as if this was just another assignment. “One of Calderone’s henchmen is already on her trail. Ramon Hernandez.”
Jake knew of Ramon. A crazy, ferret-faced man with a thirst for blood. Calderone’s kind of man.
“Frank is hoping you can find her before Ramon does and keep her alive until you can turn her over to the FBI back in the States,” Mitchell said.
Jake only nodded. He wasn’t worried about finding Isabella Montenegro. After all, finding people was his specialty.
What worried him was what he’d do when he found her. He’d thought he’d buried the past, but one look at the woman in the photo brought it all back. He swore a silent oath. If this woman was part of a ploy to make him believe Abby Diaz was still alive, she would rue the day she ever laid eyes on him.
And if she was Abby?
He wouldn’t let himself think about that now. He had to get to her and the kid before Calderone’s men did.
Chapter Three
Isabella Montenegro cracked the curtains to peer out into the dirt street. This time of the morning the plaza was still empty, the sun barely peeking through the adobe buildings. A dog barked in the distance. Coyotes howled, the sound echoing from the hills surrounding the small Mexican town.
She closed the curtain and glanced back at Elena sitting, half-asleep, on the edge of the bed. Her daughter looked as worried as Isabella felt. They both knew that Calderone’s men were out there and they couldn’t keep evading them much longer.
So why keep running? Why not just give up now? They couldn’t possibly get away from Calderone, one of the most powerful, influential men in Mexico. Not a woman and a child with very little money, no defenses— Other than the knife she’d taken from Julio’s chest, she reminded herself.
She shuddered at the thought. What had she been thinking?
And now she had not only Calderone and his men after her but possibly Jake Cantrell and the FBI.
That all-too-familiar feeling of defenselessness threatened to paralyze her. She ached from it and the fear. Not for herself but Elena. She had to protect her daughter. But how?
She had no idea. Yesterday, she’d felt as if she’d been on automatic pilot. Not thinking. Just moving. She hadn’t taken Julio’s car. Too conspicuous. Instead she’d stopped the first bus she’d seen and boarded, having no idea where she was headed. Did it matter?
The bus had been going northwest, along the U.S. border. She realized that she was headed for the States and that was where she wanted to go. She wasn’t sure how she’d get the two of them across the border, but she knew that once they were across, it might be the one place she could escape Tomaso Calderone.
She and Elena wouldn’t last long in Mexico. Not with Calderone’s connections. She tried not to think past getting to the border, because she feared they’d never get that far.
Right now Ramon and the rest were probably outside waiting for her to open the door of the motel room knowing they had her trapped. No reason not to wait and take her peacefully. Quietly. Calderone would prefer that they not cause a commotion if possible. Not that anyone would help a strange woman and her child. Especially if told she had run away from her husband. From her responsibilities. Isn’t that what had happened the last time?
But what could she do?
She looked around the motel room. It was small, with a makeshift kitchenette complete with cockroaches and beat-up cookware. She opened the cupboards, searching for something, she had no idea what. Just something to buy them a little time. Enough time to escape again. To be free just a little longer.
FINDING ISABELLA MONTENEGRO and her daughter had been child’s play for Jake. Penny had traced the call from the kid to a rundown Mexican motel southeast of Del Rio, Texas. He figured she’d head for the States and try to cross the border at Piedras Negras, since that was the direction she was headed and it was closer than Ciudad Acuna across from Del Rio.
But he also knew that Calderone’s men would figure the same thing. That’s why he decided following Ramon Hernandez and his pack of javelinas would be the easiest, fastest way to get to Montenegro and the kid.
That was how he’d found himself in a tiny Mexican town about seventy miles from the border, watching Ramon’s men wait for the sun to come up and Isabella and Elena Montenegro to come out of a dilapidated motel.
The narrow, one-story strip of five motel rooms faced the square and the church. Jake spotted two of Ramon’s men hiding behind the rock wall of the church, another behind the motel. The men didn’t look too concerned. It seemed pretty obvious that Isabella and her daughter would be coming out at some point and the men would be waiting.
A desert-dust-colored van was parked behind the church, the driver dozing. Ramon was down the street at the cantina having breakfast.
Jake had taken a room in the aging hotel. His window looked out over the square. He had a view of the church, the motel and the cantina. At this distance, he’d be able to take out Ramon’s men easily—and Ramon as well, if it came to that. Then, by way of the balcony and fire escape directly outside his hotel-room window, he could grab the woman and kid.
He preferred not to kill Ramon and his men if possible but no matter what he did, he knew Calderone would hear about it and set an army of men after him. He just hoped to get out of Mexico before they caught up to him. But he wasn’t going without the woman and kid.
Like Ramon’s men, he waited without much concern. He’d checked out the small town and had convinced himself he hadn’t walked into a trap. If it’d been a trap, Ramon’s men would be wired with a bad case of the jitters, looking around anxiously, worried about the former FBI agent.
Instead, they seemed half-asleep and bored. They probably were. How hard could it be to catch a woman and a little kid?
He looked over the desert-hued adobe buildings, the sun grazing the tile rooftops, wondering if his instincts were trustworthy when it came to Calderone. He didn’t want to end up like Daniel Austin, the Texas Confidential agent who was missing and presumed dead. Daniel probably hadn’t thought he was walking into a trap, either. Nor had Abby.
Jake was thinking how Abby Diaz would have been too smart though to get caught in a motel like the one below his window. Nor would she have slept in this late with killers after her. The sun crested, bathing the dusty little town in gold.
He was thinking how Isabella Montenegro might have been made to look like Abby, but she couldn’t be made to think like her, when suddenly, the pace picked up.
No more sleepy little Mexican town. No dozing, waiting for something to happen. In a matter of seconds, the motel-room doors began to fly open followed by loud curses as patrons stumbled out into the square.
Jake stared down at the commotion. Smoke rolled out of the doors of the rooms as if the entire motel was on fire.
He let out a curse, staring in disbelief as he came fully awake himself. Four of the five motel-room doors stood open, smoke pouring out. Couples stood in skimpy clothing or nothing at all, coughing and cursing, several of the men trying to hide their faces.
The motel was a brothel!
The noisy excitement brought onlookers from the cantina and the church and the motel office. Ramon Hernandez was one of the people who rushed out into the square. And the man he’d had watching the back of the motel ran around to see what was happening, as well.
Instantly, Jake saw that he had two big problems. Ramon’s men had blended in with the small crowd gathering outside the motel. Shooting into this bunch was out of the question. So was getting to Isabella Montenegro and the kid without having to confront Ramon and his men. The odds had suddenly changed.
The second problem was that Isabella and Elena Montenegro weren’t among the guests who’d tumbled out of the rooms. In fact, only the one motel-room door was still closed and he could see smoke curling from around its edges.
Where there is smoke there’s—
He swore again and dove for the balcony and fire escape. Either Isabella and the kid were still in the motel room, dying of smoke inhalation or—
He rounded the back corner of the motel in time to see a woman and a small child scurrying down the alley, their heads draped with wet bath towels like veils, smoke trailing after them.
As he passed the small open bathroom window that the pair had just come out of, he realized he hadn’t given the woman enough credit. He shook his head as he took off after her. Who was this woman?
ISABELLA HAD FOUND the flammable kitchen cleaner under the sink. Her gaze had leapt to the bathroom window, then to the metal grate in the ceiling. Standing on the night table with a kitchen knife, she’d been able to pry the grate open. Sure enough, it was an air vent and she suspected it ran the length of the motel. At least she hoped so.
