Bound to Danger: A Deadly Ops Novel (16 page)

Not by drugs, but she was stretched out on a pale green chaise longue with her hands clasped lightly over her middle. It was almost too cliché for her to be practically lying down at a psychiatrist’s office, but here they were.

When she was in the command center van, she’d reached out to Dr. York, a man who worked with a lot of kids at Bayside Community Center. The doctor had been out of town when the Westwood mansion was bombed, but he had just arrived back in Miami.

While Cade was secure in his ability to protect her, he didn’t like having her anywhere but the safe house at this point. An analyst had run York’s information and the guy appeared clean—and Cade had checked him for weapons, much to the man’s annoyance—but he wanted Maria somewhere secure.

After she first told Cade that she wanted to come here, it had been clear she’d expected an argument. But he was fine with the idea of hypnotherapy and had seen it used more than once successfully. When the mind was
utterly relaxed, it was amazing how many memories could be retrieved.

Of course Burkhart had been all over this idea, which had just pissed Cade off. He was still angry that his boss had tried to pull him from Maria’s detail even if he understood why. Burkhart had seen that Cade was getting too involved, something he’d never done before. He’d always been able to keep his distance from any asset. But Maria was way more than that. If he truly thought he might put her in harm’s way by continuing on as her guard, he’d pull himself faster than Burkhart ever could. But he wasn’t distracted enough that he couldn’t do his job. Hell, if anything he was more focused on her safety than anything else.

“What do you see now, Maria?” Dr. York’s soft voice matched his small, wiry frame. Everything about the gray-haired man was nonthreatening. After he’d put Maria in a trancelike state, he walked her through the steps she’d taken the night of the bombing: from arriving there by a driven escort to how sick she’d been feeling. So far her memories matched up with the scant information she’d relayed to Cade.

With her eyes closed, Maria frowned, stress lines bracketing her mouth. “A hallway. Not secret, but it’s not open for public use. Mrs. Dobbins says it’s okay if we use it. But I don’t want to go any farther. . . .” She trailed off in a whisper, her entire body tensing and her hands balling into fists. A tear trickled down the side of her face, carving a path along her delicate cheek.

The sight was like a punch to the face.

“You have to,” the doctor said soothingly.

The hell she did. Cade started to say something, but the doctor shot him a sharp look. The man had already
warned Cade that he needed to be quiet while he was in here or he would make him leave. Cade nearly snorted at
that
thought. Clenching his jaw, he nodded tightly as the doctor turned back to her.

York sat next to her, leaning slightly forward, his rimless glasses pushed back on his head. “Why don’t you want to go any farther?”

“I . . . don’t know.” Her voice sounded almost broken, her face growing even paler.

“Yes, you do, and you need to go in there.”

She swallowed loudly, the sound over-pronounced in the quiet room. Restless, she shifted against the chair. Whatever she was reliving, clearly she was afraid of what was coming. “I’m opening the door. Mrs. Dobbins is gone and it’s just me now.”

“What do you see?”

“A nice room, but I don’t care about any of it. I just want to throw up. And sleep. I’m so tired my eyes hurt.”

“This is just a memory, Maria. You’re not actually sick and you’re not tired. Look at your surroundings and tell me what else you remember.”

Cade had to hand it to the guy, his voice was incredibly soothing. It had a melodic quality that was managing to even calm him. It was no surprise that he had such a high success rate with hypnotherapy. Cade might hate that Maria was putting herself through this, but damn it, they needed this information. Even with the identity of the terrorists revealed, there could be more that they were missing.

“I got sick and dozed in the bathroom for a while. I don’t think it was very long, because when I woke up I heard voices. Male voices.”

Cade sat up straighter, but the doctor never wavered. “Can you see who is speaking?”

Eyes still closed, she frowned, her expression frustrated. “No. They’re shouting, though. From . . . next door. They want to hit . . . someone, more than one person, where it hurts. First they want to bring down the hotel, to destroy the place of evil with fire and destruction, but that’s not enough. They have to pay financially . . . the port.” Her breathing grew more erratic as she lay there.

“The port?” Cade asked without thinking, wanting to know everything.

Her head tilted to the side in his direction, but she didn’t respond.

Dr. York scowled at him but spoke to Maria. “Did they say anything else?”

“I don’t know.” Now her breaths were coming in short, rapid bursts. “I need to tell someone what I heard, but I don’t want to look anymore. I don’t want to see!” She clutched the couch beneath her, her knuckles white.

Cade stood, wanting to comfort her, but the doctor held up a hand without glancing his way.

“Maria, take a deep breath. I’m doing to count backward to one from five. When I reach one, you’re going to open your eyes. Do you understand?”

She nodded, her breathing ragged. “I can’t be here anymore. I can’t. . . .”

Dr. York counted backward in that agreeable voice and the second he said, “One,” Maria’s amber eyes snapped open. She blinked, her breathing growing steadier as she looked between the two of them. When her gaze landed on Cade, tears glistened in her eyes. “I feel sick.”

Shit.
Moving fast, he grabbed the ridiculously expensive looking gold-colored wastebasket next to the doctor’s desk and brought it to her. Thankfully it was empty.

She clutched it, holding it in her lap as she stared at it for a few long moments, her breathing ragged. Finally she shook her head and set it down next to her, but Cade didn’t move from his position next to the chaise. “I think I’m okay. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep going. It’s like there’s a block in my brain. I . . . I was afraid to remember more, I think.”

“Don’t worry—you were helpful.” The mention of the hotel could be a reference to the Opulen, and the port might mean the Port of Miami. Unfortunately the place was vast. Still, if the port was important, it could help out the NSA to narrow down any future targets.

“Do you remember any of our conversation?” Dr. York asked.

“Yes, but it’s more like sensations. I remember what I felt like. The fear, the terror, just not . . . what I saw or heard. But . . .” She looked at Cade, then the doctor. “Sometimes when I close my eyes I see fire and destruction. I think it’s the bombing. Is it normal that I’m having flashbacks?”

The bombing must have happened right after she overheard that conversation. It would explain her fear to even go in the room, because after she left it, she would have seen the mansion destroyed with her mother inside. Her subconscious was trying to protect her.

Dr. York nodded. “It’s very normal. Until you recover all your memories without aid, it’s likely you’ll continue to get them. They might become more intense and while I would never insist, it wouldn’t hurt you to talk to a
professional when you’re ready. And if not with me, I can recommend a few very good doctors.”

Maria gave a noncommittal shrug and went to stand. Cade slid an arm around her and helped her up. He had some questions for her but wanted to wait until they were alone. Even if the guy was a doctor and bound by doctor-patient confidentiality and had signed the twenty-page confidentiality agreement from the NSA that Cade had given him, he still didn’t want to discuss anything else in front of the guy.

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “I can walk on my own.”

Cade just shrugged. He liked touching her. Okay, more than liked. He was starting to crave the feel of her, and having her pressed up against him like this wasn’t a chore. Unfortunately his need for her compounded the damn guilt he felt for all his past mistakes. His insides were like a constant battlefield. “You feel okay to get out of here?”

She nodded. “Yes. Thanks for letting me do this.”

He inclined his head, though really, he’d only brought her here because she’d been so adamant about it.

After thanking the doctor for his help, Maria and Cade left. As he drove back to the safe house, he couldn’t escape the tingling sensation at the back of his neck. He hadn’t felt it when they were on the way to the office, but something was bothering him now. Something that told him danger was near, and even though he was positive they weren’t being followed, that subconscious warning just wouldn’t abate.

Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck, as if that could get rid of the awareness. He just needed to get Maria to safety. That was all.

•   •   •

Date: December 25, 2006

To: Cade O’Reilly

From: Maria Cervantes

Subject: re: holidays

Merry Christmas! Sorry I didn’t get to respond yesterday. I didn’t get home until late. My mom had us running around looking at Christmas lights, attending two parties, a boat parade, and midnight Mass. . . . Some holiday break. I wish you guys were here with us, and yes, my mom and aunts (that’s plural!) are driving me and my dad crazy. My mom is so insistent that I learn how to cook, but then when I’m in the kitchen, she shoos me out. Probably because I eat more than I pay attention, but really, can you blame me? All I know is, when I find the right guy, he’s going to cook for me.

I showed the family the picture of your tree. I love how you made lights out of the bullet casings, very creative. And you look pretty good in your fatigues.

Ran into some friends from school when we were at the boat parade. That was a madhouse, but really beautiful. I hope you’ll get to see it sometime. One of the guys asked me out on a date, but I said no. At the risk of making things awkward between us . . . I said no because it felt wrong when I have feelings for you. I’ve written and deleted this e-mail about fifty times, but it’s been almost a year and I can’t deny it any longer. At first it was just a little crush, but all our e-mails have changed that for me. I’m more honest with you than I’ve ever been with anyone. If you don’t feel the same, then just ignore this and nothing will change. Okay, that’s a lie, it’ll probably be super awkward for a while, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. But if you do have more than friendly feelings for me . . . God, I don’t even know. I just wanted to let you know how I feel.

xo,
Maria

Bang and burn: demolition and sabotage operations.

M
ihails glanced behind him before taking a sharp turn into the opening of a new canal. If he hadn’t already known about it, he would have missed the turnoff hidden by brush and a half-fallen cypress tree. He was only aware of its existence because a gunrunner contact had told him of it—in exchange for a favor, of course.

After their initial getaway from the Opulen, they’d switched boats twice, then spent the next few hours hiding in a mansion that had gone into foreclosure a few months ago. Such homes were common in Miami. They’d preordained the place as their first meeting spot in case the hotel operation went south. Some of his men thought his planning was overkill, but a time like this was a reminder of why he was so meticulous.

He’d heard the helicopters in the distance as they’d ditched the Donzi and it was a miracle they’d been able to get away. After that point, it was a matter of waiting out the searchers. Miami was a big place and it had been easy enough to hide since they’d had a location already scouted out.

With dusk falling, it would be next to impossible to track them now even by satellite. So if for some reason the government somehow pinged them from the sky—though he couldn’t see how they would—Mihails would lose anyone in the intricate web of channels in this swampy area south of Miami.

As he steered them into the inland waterway, he slowed the boat even though every fiber in him wanted to gun the engine. The channels were complex, and even with the map they had, he knew it would be easy to get lost.

“How’s he doing?” Mihails asked Oto quietly.

“Just lost him.” Oto shook his head and stood, stepping away from the fallen bodies of both their comrades. One had died on-scene immediately after being shot, but Janis had been hit twice, once in the upper arm and another in the gut. The stomach wound had done him in. And his death had been slow and painful.

Mihails was just surprised Janis had lasted as long as he had. They’d been too far from the rest of their men to get medical help, and taking Janis to a hospital had been out of the question. Hospital staff had to report gunshot wounds. There were too many CCTVs in Miami and far too many government agencies hunting for them. He wasn’t positive the government knew their identities yet, but if they did, he and the others wouldn’t have made it half a mile inland without being brought down.

He’d hated seeing his friend suffering but had been hopeful Janis might be able to hold on long enough until they met up with their medic. Janis had been loyal and dependable. His loss would be felt by all of them. But it wasn’t to be.

Mihails had seen and caused so much death that it was becoming easier to deal with. That scared him more than anything. He knew his cause was just, but sometimes he questioned himself. . . . No, there was no time for doubts.

Crickets chirped from the nearby banks, and other animals moved almost soundlessly through the water, small ripples of movement the only sign of their presence. It was impossibly quiet in the swamps. Because of the cooler weather, the air was crisp and fresh smelling, an almost sweet scent permeating everything. He looked at the GPS bolted onto the dash of the speedboat and turned left at the next small opening into another waterway channel. At least neither the boat nor the GPS had been seriously damaged in their escape. It was a miracle and he cursed that incompetent marina employee who had slowed them down.

The stupid fool had wanted to talk, refusing to let the four of them make their quick escape. Shooting him had been the only option, and the shot had alerted that team of agents. Now it was just him and Oto until they could be reunited with the rest of their team.

“What about the bodies?” Oto scanned the banks, alert for danger as he asked what Mihails had been debating himself.

He paused as he weighed their options. “If we dump them here they’ll never be found.” According to his gunrunner contact, this was the perfect place for dumping bodies. They would be eaten by alligators in less than a day. Which meant no DNA leads or any way to trace these men back to their crew. It would be much easier to dispose of them here than deal with them once they docked.

“Agreed. I’ll remove any weapons or ammo.”

Mihails nodded and kept his gaze on the GPS. The sun had finally disappeared behind the horizon, so he’d turned on a small light at the front of the boat. The soft green glow illuminated their movements, but the GPS was the biggest help. It showed water depth and possible obstructions in the waterway.

“Either our contact sold us out or the woman knew about the hotel,” Oto said as he worked.

It wouldn’t have been financially viable for the man to betray Mihails. And he was too afraid of him and Oto anyway. “We need her alive if possible.”

“Yes. Finding out what she told the government will be easy enough once we have her.” A bite of anger ran through Oto’s words.

Mihails ignored it. He didn’t care for torturing women, but he would let Oto do it if she refused to talk. She’d already ruined one part of their plan and he had to know how much she was aware of. If they had to change their attack strategy, that was fine, but until he was sure what she knew, he couldn’t risk moving forward. He retrieved one of his burner phones from his bag and turned it on.

This one had no numbers programmed into it, but he had the necessary number memorized.

“Hello?” His contact picked up on the second ring, his voice cautious.

“It’s me. Have you located the woman?” Mihails had been positive the other man could, but at this point he was having doubts.

“Yes, I managed to put a tracker on her at the funeral. She’s been to a few places since then, including the hotel.” Mihails noticed that he didn’t use the word
“Opulen,” probably because the government was monitoring the airwaves for mentions of certain keywords.

Surprise shot through him as his heart rate picked up. “She was there?”

“According to my map, she was in the vicinity, during the time of . . .” He trailed off and Mihails understood why. He cleared his throat. “Afterward, she went to a doctor’s office and now she’s at a residence. I’ve tried searching but can’t find out who the owner is.”

“What’s the address?”

A pause. “Why?”

He gritted his teeth. Explaining himself was not something he was accustomed to. “I have different resources and will see if I can discover the owner. In the meantime, track her down, but do not eliminate the problem. We need her alive.”

Another pause. “I will try.”

His words weren’t convincing, but Mihails didn’t respond as the man continued. “I’m on the other side of town but should be there in half an hour. I’ll do reconnaissance but won’t move in until about three this morning.”

“Good.” Dawn and the hours directly before were the smartest time to conduct any operation. It would give them the element of surprise.

After he gave Mihails the address, they disconnected. Mihails glanced at Oto as he slid Janis’s weighted body over the side of the boat. It made a soft splash that seemed overpronounced in the quiet canal. A twinge settled in his chest. He would send Janis’s mother compensation once this op was over. “He has outlived his usefulness,” he said, referring to the man they’d been using.

Oto nodded as he hefted the other body up and over.

Decision made, Mihails texted Fedor with the address and ordered him to kill their problem and bring the woman in alive. She might be protected, but now that they had an address, he was confident in his man’s ability to bring her in. No more screwups. Once he received the reply that it would be done, he tucked the phone into his pocket and savored the small bit of relief coursing through him.

The hotel strike might not have gone off as planned, but he and Oto were still alive and could be very effective even with a limited team. The bastards he was hunting would never know what hit them.

•   •   •

Burkhart slid into the backseat of the waiting SUV. After hours of dealing with the Opulen blast site, he still had more shit to deal with and not enough hours in the day. If only he could clone himself. It still wouldn’t be enough, though. Not with all the crazy going on.

His driver, a trained agent, maneuvered his way toward the bridge that was their only exit off the island, while Burkhart opened his slim laptop. He didn’t even have time to drive himself because of all the reports he needed to scan. Most of the time his analysts or his assistant just gave him a rundown of key points, but he still had to follow up.

As he pulled up the most updated file on Clay Ervin, his cell buzzed. He didn’t bother to look at the caller ID as he tapped his earpiece on. Right now everything was important and he’d missed a shitload of calls the past couple of hours.

“Ervin is dead,” Captain Nieto said, not bothering with any greeting.

Shit.
“How? Where?” Ervin was supposed to have been in holding. That was who Burkhart was on his way to see.

“When he found out his attorney was dead, he asked to make a phone call for another attorney. His new attorney made it clear that if we weren’t going to charge him with anything, he was a free man. Thirty minutes later, he was released from holding.”

Shit, shit, shit.
“Who was his attorney?”

“Piers Tennyson the Fourth.” Nieto’s voice was dry.

“That sounds familiar.” Burkhart pulled up another file on his computer, one filled with a list of names. He recognized the name because it just sounded pretentious.

“He’s a high-priced attorney who represents a lot wealthy people in South Florida. Including the owners of the Opulen. . . . I heard about what happened today. Any injuries or deaths?”

“We didn’t lose anyone.”
Thank God.

“Good.”

“Where was Ervin found and how was he killed?” Burkhart’s mind was racing as he asked the question. Tennyson was the attorney to the owners of the Opulen. That’s why he recognized the name. He was also on the list of guests who had been scheduled to attend the Westwood party but never made it. Those were some interesting ties. It could mean nothing, but Burkhart wanted to know more about the man immediately.

“Shot twice in the back of the head, close range. He was dumped in an alley in an abandoned neighborhood. We wouldn’t even have known about it, but the DEA had a bust and the body was discovered in the cleanup.”

“Thanks for the info. By the way, did Ervin call anyone else other than his attorney while he was there?”

“Hold on.” Burkhart could hear Nieto talking to someone in the background. A minute later he was back on the line. “Got the call log and he didn’t actually call his attorney. He called the cell number for a man named Paul Hill. He’s—”

“One of the owners of the Opulen.” Burkhart frowned.

“That’s interesting.”

“Yeah.” There had to be a connection somewhere. He just wasn’t seeing it. But he would. “Thanks for the call.”

“No problem. If you need help with anything, let me know.”

Burkhart continued frowning after they disconnected and he pieced together what he’d just learned. Tennyson was supposed to have attended the Westwood party and he had a connection with at least a dozen of the attendees there, if his client list was up-to-date. He probably knew more attendees than that, though. Ervin’s own attorney had been killed, and once his new attorney got him free, Ervin had been killed also. But not tortured like Flowers or his friend Scott Mullen.

A quick hit. It had to mean something as important as the more gruesome deaths.

Burkhart rubbed the back of this neck. Hell. He had a headache just thinking about all the possible connections. Sighing, he dialed his assistant. He wanted to find out everything there was to know on the owners of the Opulen Hotel. She’d already been running checks for him, but this was going to take priority. If they had something to hide, they were going to be very sorry.