Personal Target: An Elite Ops Novel (3 page)

The waiter continued to hover. “May I get you anything, sir?”

“Did you see who delivered this?” Nick heard the intensity in his own voice and knew the package held bad news. The envelope was plain enough, but he found himself loath to open it.

“No, sir. Clarissa at the front desk brought it to me to be delivered. I can ask her. Is everything all right, sir?” The waiter was beginning to look concerned.

Nick forced a nonchalant grin. “Everything is fine, thank you. But I would like to speak to Clarissa. Where can I find her?” He smiled again. “I’d really like a refill on my scotch, too.”

The waiter smiled back, no longer alarmed and confident he knew how to soothe this ruffled guest. “Yes, sir. I’ll have her come out right away.”

Nick waited until the man was walking away before he opened the envelope. It held two items: a piece of stationery and an 8x10 photograph.

The note consisted of four words:
Payback is always personal.

The picture was of a shirtless, platinum blonde woman seated in front of his brother’s Christmas tree. His niece’s and nephew’s Christmas stockings were behind her on the mantel, and a
Dallas Morning News
paper was propped in her lap.

He studied the woman in the photo. The hair color was right and her face shape, but Angela wasn’t as slim. Nick was fairly certain his sister-in-law didn’t have a tattoo on the inside of her right breast peeking out from her pushup bra, either, or she’d really taken a walk on the wild side. His ultraconservative brother had become more broad-minded, as well. He peered closer at the photo and felt the oxygen clog in his lungs.

Holy shit. Was that a unicorn?

He swallowed hard as recognition hit him upside the head like a two-by-four. He’d seen that delicate tattoo before. At one time he’d been intimately acquainted, so to speak.

Jennifer Grayson.
Jenny.

How was this possible?

Nick studied the photo again and noted the date on the newspaper—this morning’s headlines, last night’s Mavs game, a standard “proof of life.” Not bothering to glance at the ocean again, he rose from the lounge chair and stalked to the lobby, the sunbathers and scotch refill forgotten.

T
HE SHIP-TO-SHORE PHONES
lived up to their notoriously bad service, and it took Nick forty-five minutes to reach his brother on the
Norwegian Dream
in the middle of the Mediterranean. By that time he was packed and ready to leave for the airport.

“Drew, is everyone okay?”

“Absolutely. We’re terrific and having the time of our lives, just leaving port. When are you meeting us?”

“Not sure, something’s come up. Tell me. Is anyone staying at your house while you’re gone?” Nick looked out the sliding glass door toward the beach and the beautiful water. It was difficult to believe something so bad could be happening when the scenery was so stunning.

“No, we didn’t do that this time. You told us not to. Is everything alright?” asked Drew.

“I don’t know. You’re sure about no one staying there? Ask Angela. There’s no one who has a key who might have needed a place to crash?”

“Hang on a sec.” There was silence, and Nick could hear his brother and sister-in-law talking. “Jenn what? Yesterday? Why didn’t you—Oh?”

Nick’s heart sank. He’d been hoping he was wrong on the visual ID, but he wasn’t. It was Jennifer Grayson in the photo, Angela’s best friend.

Drew came back on the line. “I take that back. There is someone at the house. Jennifer Grayson, you remember? Jenn? We all hung out that summer after Mom and Dad’s accident . . .” Drew’s voice drifted off. “She’s Dr. Grayson now.”

Oh yeah, Nick remembered all right.

The summer my life imploded.

Drew’s voice pulled him back to the conversation at hand. “Jenn was coming by to get the mail, feed the cat and guinea pig, and generally look after things. She called Angela yesterday while we were shopping in port. The bottom of her water heater had fallen out, and her house flooded. She needed a place to stay until everything dried out and was repaired. Angela told her to stay at our house. It never occurred to her that might be a problem. Is Jenn alright?”

“I don’t know yet.” Nick explained the package he’d received on the beach. “I’m emailing a photo to your cell. You should be able to get it if you’re just leaving shore. Tell me if you recognize the woman. And Drew, don’t let Angela see it.”

Nick put the picture through his portable scanner and waited. He could hear his brother’s breathing over the phone. When he was agitated, Drew’s asthma made him sound like he was climbing stairs, even if he was sitting still.

Nick could hear Stephanie and Jeff playing in the background, the sound of his niece’s and nephew’s high squeals as they laughed and giggled with their mom made his chest hurt. God, he wished he was there and away from this mess. He loved his family, but separating himself from them sometimes seemed the kindest thing he could do.

“It’s coming through,” said Drew. There was a beat of silence. “Shit. That’s her. She did something to her hair. God.” His breathing sounded worse.

“I need you to erase the email now.”

“Alright. Done.”

“Good. Take a deep breath,” said Nick.

“Yeah. Thanks. Aw, Christ. Angela’s going to go crazy when she hears this.”

“Don’t tell Angela ’cause we don’t know anything yet. I need Jennifer’s cell number.”

“Sure. Just a minute. I have it in my contacts list.” Drew rattled it off and Nick copied it down, though he didn’t hold out much hope that Jennifer would be answering her phone.

“I’m catching the first flight to Dallas, and then I’ll let you know what I find. Keep Angela and the kids close. And don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Be careful, Nick. Find Jenn.”

“I will.” He hung up and dialed Jennifer’s number on the very off chance this was all some sick joke.

He got a recording. Jenny’s voice was like he remembered. Soft, low. He asked her to call him as soon as she got the message.

Next he called Marissa, his boss and the co-owner of AEGIS, to explain the situation. Again, he wasn’t holding out hope that he’d get the answer he was looking for. Two hours later he was on a redeye flight bound for Dallas.

His vacation was over and he was back to work, whether his doctor liked it or not.

Saturday morning

Dallas

F
IFTEEN HOURS LATER
Nick sifted through the rubble of Drew’s living room in North Dallas. The Christmas tree was tumbled on its side, decorations and lights tangled. The stockings had been slashed with malicious abandon, the sofas overturned, knickknacks toppled to the floor.

Every surface in the house was swept clean or scattered with pieces of something that had been destroyed. The one surprising thing Nick found intact was a handbag sitting in a puddle of red wine at the back door. He assumed it was Jennifer’s. He reached inside and found car keys, a makeup bag, and a wallet with an ID.

He wasn’t positive it was Jennifer’s bag till he opened the wallet and saw her driver’s license. This was the Jenny he remembered: dark blonde hair, big green eyes, dewy skin, generous smile. Even in a DMV picture, she was beautiful. She’d obviously dropped her bag on the way into the house, along with the bag of groceries and bottle of cab. He set the bag aside to return to her,
when
he got her home.

Somehow the kids’ guinea pig was still in its cage, even though the enclosure had been knocked to the floor. Nick righted the cage, cleaned it out, and gave the animal some water along with an extra-large portion of food before hunting down the family cat in the laundry room. He fed her as well, dumping what he estimated would be a week’s worth of kibble in her dish.

The normalcy of those actions kept his fury at a slow boil, but when he was done with the simple chores, his anger roared to the surface again. Still, he knew fury was better than the naked fear that lay under that anger. He ignored the white-knuckle terror as he continued searching, hoping to find some scrap of evidence that would give him a clue to Jennifer’s whereabouts. He already had a fair guess as to who’d taken her. Most likely it was Cesar’s brother, Ernesto Vega.

Amid the debris he spied the ladder-back chair from the photograph he’d received. The chair was upright in front of the fireplace with a manila envelope on the seat, just like the one he’d received in Grand Cayman. His name was printed on the outside. Inside was a piece of stationery, and another photo.

He took a gulp of air before studying the picture. Jennifer was lying on a bed—asleep or dead, he couldn’t be sure. He prayed she was merely sleeping. She wore a blouse and a trim tailored skirt, but her shirt was torn and simply knotted at her waist. She looked extraordinarily vulnerable: hands tied behind her back, eyes closed.

If you want to see your sister-in-law alive again, come to the Gaylord. Suite 345, Saturday at noon. She’ll remain drugged until then. Remember, it’s always personal.

Damn.
Nick wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or terrified at the confirmation. They thought Jennifer was Angela. How could they have made that mistake?

The two women didn’t look at all alike. Then he remembered the platinum blonde hair in the photo, and it was easy to understand how the error had occurred.

God.
It was what he’d always been most afraid of and what he’d worked so hard to prevent—his work putting the people he cared for at risk. Still, he was grateful that Ernesto didn’t know as much about him and his past as he’d originally feared. Except by now, of course, they might have figured things out.

He reread the note. He had to focus.
Saturday at noon.
That was in two hours.

Drugged.

He recalled Jenny’s affinity for health food and her aversion to even taking aspirin from that summer they’d spent so much time together. A future doctoral candidate, she’d already been a natural teacher. Late at night, lying side by side in his bed, she had made the history of dinosaurs come alive, a topic that hadn’t interested him since he was a child.

She’d understood him in ways no one had, before or since. In the weeks after his parents’ accident, as his father’s reputation was destroyed posthumously in the press, Jenny had been the person he could count on when it felt like everyone else had turned their back.

Her support had enabled him to sort through the horrific media storm surrounding his father’s alleged embezzlement and the subsequent dismantling of the Donovan law firm. That summer had led Nick to re-evaluate everything in his life, and he’d chosen to join the Navy instead of attending law school. He’d never told Jennifer how much she’d influenced that decision, or that she’d held him together when he’d felt like his world was falling apart.

They’d stayed in touch, for a few months at least. Even when she’d quit returning his calls and emails with no explanation, he’d kept up with her through Angela. Had he really thought Jenny’d wait for him?

Why had she quit returning his calls in the first place?

God, he was tired, as evidenced by the fact that he was revisiting past history and particularly that question.

The reason she’d quit calling didn’t matter anymore.

He took another steadying breath to pull himself back from memories that would do him no good right now. Exhaling, he smoothed his clenched fist along his jean-clad thigh. He had to file those thoughts away.

Someplace where it wouldn’t be personal. Someplace where he could stay cold and untouchable.

Chapter Three

Saturday noon

Gaylord Texan Resort

“I
AM
E
RNESTO
Vega. I believe you knew my brother.” Two bulky-looking guards stood across the room as a distinguished-looking Hispanic man seated himself across from Nick. His eyes were disturbingly familiar.

Nick’s gut tensed at the introduction, but he didn’t give any outward appearance that the knowledge disturbed him. That Ernesto would risk coming into the country was an indicator of how important this was.

“Yes, I knew Cesar.” Nick gave a small nod as an exotic-looking woman handed him a bottle of mineral water from a refrigerator in the suite’s wet bar.

“You’re surprised I’m here in the U.S., are you not?”

Nick shrugged. “It would seem rather rash given that you’re on the most wanted list for the DEA.”

Ernesto smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. The men stared at each other in silence.

Nick unscrewed the top on the water. “Are you here to kill me or give me back the woman?”

Ernesto shrugged. “I haven’t decided. Perhaps both. For now, let’s call it a mission of diplomacy.”

Nick raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at the bodyguards. “If you’re planning to kill me, you’re going to need a hell of a lot more men than you’ve got right now.”

Ernesto sipped his drink. “Oh, I don’t think so. Remember, I have your sister-in-law.”

They still didn’t realize their screw-up. Nick took a swallow of water to cover his relief. “For the time being. We’re here because you kidnapped my brother’s wife. That beats the hell out of any kind of diplomacy I’ve ever seen.”

Ernesto swirled the liquid in his glass. “Tomas Rivera’s wife, Carlita, was my sister. She’s dead. So is my brother, Cesar. I don’t give a shit about diplomacy.”

“I had nothing to do with your sister’s death,” said Nick.

That was true. Ernesto’s sister, Carlita Vega Rivera, had been killed in a violent explosion in November, the day before her brother, Cesar Vega, tried to kill Nick in a back-alley Mexican vet clinic.

But Carlita had been doomed long before the unexplained detonation that destroyed her husband’s home. Having a very rare blood type, she’d been days away from death and in desperate need of a bilateral lung transplant that wasn’t going to come in time.

In hopes of saving Carlita, Tomas Rivera had kidnapped a boy whose mother, Anna Mercado, had the same rare blood type. Leland Hollis, the newest member of AEGIS, had gone into Mexico to get the boy. Nick had been part of the extraction team.