Jordan Dane
RECKONING FOR THE DEAD
A Sweet Justice Novel
Dedication
To my uncles and aunts—
Loren, Beth, Larry, Joyce, and Lorena.
Laughter is like taking a vacation
without returning home ten pounds heavier.
Acknowledgments
In this fourth book of the Sweet Justice series, I was influenced by the escalating violence along the United States/Mexican border. And after researching how the drug cartels work through the gangs on the U.S. side, I had to write a story to shed light on that. Covert operative Alexa Marlowe goes off the grid when her former lover and boss, Garrett Wheeler, goes missing under mysterious circumstances and is suddenly replaced by someone she doesn’t trust. And when surprising DNA evidence surfaces on an old cold-case murder in Wisconsin, Jessie Beckett learns more about her already frightening past as her relationship with Seth Harper deepens. Will Jessie let Seth into her life enough to help her through the ordeal? I love writing about strong women and the men who love them. As a writer, it’s my job to throw roadblocks in their way even though I feel bad when I do so. The characters in this series have become very dear friends. And I feel blessed to have them be a part of me.
And speaking of blessed, I’m fortunate to have friends and family who bring joy to my life. My dear husband constantly surprises me with the many ways he supports my work. And my parents have always nurtured each of their children in unique ways. I’m truly blessed to have them. And my weapons wizard, Joe Collins, is a real-life hero that I’m lucky to have as a friend.
Special thanks to my amazing editor, Lucia Macro. Your collaboration is remarkable. As always, you bring everything together and make it fun. And thanks to all the staff at Avon Books who played a part in this project, with special recognition to my agent, Meredith Bernstein. I’m so happy to have you in my life.
And finally I want to express my profound gratitude to my readers. I love hearing from you through my Web site at www.JordanDane.com. Except for the many voices I hear in my head, writing is a solitary activity, but finishing a book is only part of the equation. The most important part is for you to read the book and take a journey with me. You complete my creative circle, and I’m especially grateful for all of you who have been following this series and enjoying my books. The passion I feel for writing is made richer by your continued and cherished support.
Chapter 1
El Paso, Texas
Nearly midnight
After he’d sent a text message on his cell phone, twelve-year-old Ruben de los Santos did as he’d been ordered to do. He followed the man from a safe distance as he left the cantina, heading for his car. The parking lot was down two blocks and around a corner if the man stuck to the well-lit streets. If he knew of the shortcut, he would use the alley.
That was what Ruben prayed he would do.
When the stranger looked over his shoulder, Ruben ducked into the shadows of a doorway and waited until it was safe to move. With his heart racing, he counted to five before he emerged from the shadows. By the time he did, the man was gone.
“Ay, Dios mio,” the boy muttered, with his eyes alert.
Ruben looked down the lit street and saw no sign of the man, but when he turned toward the alley, he caught a glimpse of movement. It had to be him.
He ducked into the alley and stepped up his pace to catch the man. When he got to the end of the alleyway, he stopped and held his breath. Slowly he inched closer to the corner and peered into the darkness.
That was when a hand grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him off his feet.
“Please . . . don’t hurt me,” he begged.
Ruben covered his face with his hands and raised his voice higher, sounding more like the boy he was.
“Why are you following me, kid?”
The tall, muscular man kept ahold of him. His body was cast in nothing more than a bluish haze. Ruben couldn’t see his face. And although the boy felt the heat of the man’s breath on his cheek, he tried not to be afraid.
Ruben de los Santos wasn’t alone.
“You will see soon enough, señor.” The boy forced a smile with courage he didn’t feel.
The big man released his grip on Ruben and pulled away. He reached for his weapon, but it was too late. Members of Ruben’s gang emerged from the shadows like ghosts rising from the grave. The stranger was surrounded.
“Who are you? And what do you want?” the man demanded. He aimed his weapon into the crowd, shifting his barrel from face to face. He was outnumbered and outgunned.
“Lower your weapon, pendejo. You will not be asked a second time.” Arturo, one of the older boys, stepped forward and held his gun sideways, aiming between the man’s eyes. Ruben held his breath, unable to take his eyes off the two men. If one of them fired, many would die. And Ruben had no doubt he would get caught in the cross fire.
The standoff continued, neither man backing down, until the one Ruben had trailed into the alley finally lowered his weapon. The boy let out a ragged breath and made a quick sign of the cross, but it wasn’t over.
After they’d taken the man’s weapon, every gang member of Los Chupacabras beat and kicked the stranger until he dropped to the asphalt.
After he was down, lying unconscious and bleeding on the ground, Ruben searched his pockets for his wallet. He pulled out the few hundred dollars he had in cash and gave it to Arturo, the boy in charge. And Ruben got a look at the man’s driver’s license and saw his name and where he lived.
“I’ll need that.” Arturo held out his hand. “Cash is ours, but his ID goes with me.”
One of the other boys pulled a van into the alley. They loaded the wounded man into the back and carried out the rest of their orders. The man was to be taken across the Mexican border and delivered to someone linked to the Pérez cartel in Juárez. Ruben’s gang in El Paso had powerful connections on the other side of the border, men who supplied them with drugs to sell. And in return, Los Chupacabras carried out execution-style killings, acted as drug mules, and bartered for weapons with their brother organization. That was why Ruben had taken the risk to follow an armed man into the alley.
He had passed his initiation. And the unconscious man in the back of the van had been his ticket in, but what the American from New York City had done to piss off the cartel and earn him a one-way trip across the border, Ruben didn’t know.
And didn’t care.
Outside Ciudad Juárez, Mexico
Three hours later
Ramon Guerrero’s footsteps echoed as he walked the shadowy corridors of the rancho, guided by the meager light from flickering torches. The old hacienda belonged to his family, handed down through the generations. Although it had no electricity, and its only source of water was an old well on the property, it served its purpose by sheltering him and his men. It had been a good location to hide the many hostages who were held for ransom as a funding source for his drug operation. And being remote, the ranch enabled him to carry out the unsavory side of cartel business without anyone’s knowing what went on behind its adobe walls.
An armed guard stood at the end of the long passage. The man had been slouched in a chair but now stood at attention as Guerrero approached.