Before Guerrero had a chance to redeem himself, Pérez focused all his attention on Miguel Rosas, his trusted death dealer.
“What has the American admitted so far?”
“Nothing of consequence, but he has told both of us that he has come to kill a man,” Rosas admitted.
“Oh?” Pérez smiled. “Depending on who his target is, perhaps we should help him. Eliminating the competition, is that such a bad thing?”
“My thoughts exactly.” Rosas glanced over his shoulder at Guerrero, rubbing in his advantage with the boss and taking credit where none was due.
“Take me to him then”—Pérez smiled—“this man I know.”
Rosas escorted the cartel boss out of the study, toward the makeshift cells where the American was being held, with Guerrero following close behind. Without really trying, Rosas had made him look like a fool, but maybe he still had a way to redeem himself.
When Pérez came face-to-face with the American, perhaps the truth would come out, and his boss would see who he had personally delivered to his door.
1:35
A.M.
“I haven’t told you the truth, but it doesn’t matter now. It’s too late.”
He looked at Estella and saw the questioning look on her battered face. And before she opened her mouth to ask what he meant, he kept talking. He’d run out of time.
“My name is Jackson Kinkaid. I’m not Garrett Wheeler. That was a name I thought would get Pérez here.”
“You mean . . . the man Ramon works for? He is coming here?”
Kinkaid didn’t have to see the fear in the girl’s eyes. He heard it in her voice.
“He’s already here. He came in that helicopter. And he’s probably on his way to this cell right now.”
“He’s a bad man, señor. A very bad man. If he’s here, it will not be good.”
“If I had known you’d be dragged into my fight, I wouldn’t have done this. I would’ve found another way, but now everything is in motion. I can’t stop it.”
“What’s in motion? What are you saying?”
From across the cell, Kinkaid saw Estella’s eyes glistening with fresh tears. If this girl died because of him, he was no better than Pérez.
Grief and his urgency for revenge had blinded him. He had tunnel vision when it came to settling the score. There had to be a reckoning, where the dead got their due. That was all that had weighed on his mind and heart and soul since his family had been killed. The murder of his wife and his precious little girl had haunted him beyond reason.
Revenge was the air that he breathed.
Garrett Wheeler and his team were waiting for a signal—only it wouldn’t be what they were expecting. Kinkaid’s own men had confirmed that Pérez had been inside the aircraft at takeoff. And now that the helicopter had touched down at the compound outside Guadalajara, it had tipped the first domino, which toppled the rest to the point of no return.
And Estella would pay a price for his indulgence. But there was nothing he could do about it.
“Open the door,” a man’s voice bellowed from the corridor.
After a key slid into the lock, the door creaked open. And a torch nearly blinded him. Kinkaid squinted and turned his head with a grimace. He braced himself for more abuse, his body taut and seething with adrenaline.
He had lived for this moment. Despite his regret for what this meant for Estella, he couldn’t do anything about that, not now. And his need to see this through to the end outweighed his good conscience.
Hidden behind the bright flame of the torch, the shadows of several men entered his cell, but the big man stood out. His face emerged from the dark, as in the many nightmares Kinkaid had had over the years. Manolo Quintanilla Pérez stood in front of him with a despicable smirk on his face. After all these years, it was really him.
The man who had murdered his wife and child.
The man who had taken everything.
Chapter 12
Sweat trickled down Kinkaid’s face and stung his eyes. And it took all his determination to lift his head and stare down the man who had killed his family.
It had taken him years to uncover the truth. And he had worked with other despicable men to find out who had given the order on the hit, an assault intended to kill him instead of his wife and baby girl. But after he’d learned the truth, that Pérez had put a price on his head, it was all he could think about and all he had lived for.
And it would be the reason he would die here.
“So you are Garrett Wheeler, a big man with the CIA.” Pérez sneered and walked slowly, not taking his eyes off him. “I only want to know one thing.”
The men standing behind Pérez shuffled and moved closer. They listened to every word the fat man said. They were waiting for the American spook to back down in front of their fearless leader.
“Why did you feel you had to lie to my men?” Pérez leaned in and whispered, “You are worth more to me than Garrett Wheeler.”
“What?” The voices of his men echoed in the cell. “What do you mean? Who is this man?”
“His name is Jackson Kinkaid. He blames me for the death of his wife and child, but who is really at fault?” The man shrugged and shifted his focus back on Kinkaid. “You were the one who destroyed my first cartel. It took me years to rebuild. And what kind of man would I be if I didn’t punish the one who nearly got me killed?”
Pérez grabbed Kinkaid by the throat and squeezed. “You are to blame for the death of your family. You brought that on yourself. I warned you what would happen.”
After he let go, Kinkaid choked and gasped for air.
“Your beef was . . . with m-me, not them. You’re a c-coward who murders innocent women and ch-children.”
“So what did you hope to gain by getting hauled here to me, like this? You are a stupid man, Kinkaid. A bullheaded one.” Pérez grimaced. “And all this, for a mere woman? You are a young man. You could have had more children, no?”
“I missed killing you the first time. But now I’m here to finish the job.”
“So the man you came to kill is Pérez?” Ramon Guerrero looked shocked, but it didn’t take him long to make excuses to his boss. “I swear, I did not know.”
“Unbelievable,” Pérez said as he scowled at his man, but when it finally sank in what Kinkaid had intended to do, he laughed aloud. His men joined him, with each one looking at the other to make sure it was all right. In Pérez’s eyes, he had the high ground—the advantage. Kinkaid was nothing, less than nothing.
“You turn me loose, and we’ll see how un-fuckin’-believable it is.” Kinkaid mustered all his strength. He lurched at the man, rattling his chains. “You don’t have the guts to face me like a real man. You’re soft, Pérez. You’ve grown too fat and too old.”
Pérez stopped laughing. And from the shadows, Kinkaid saw the man glaring at him in the darkness. He didn’t know if the cartel boss would take him up on his offer, but he had nothing to lose.
Outside the Pérez Compound
2:05
A.M.
“What are you waiting for?” Alexa crowded Garrett’s space, grabbing the sleeve of his BDUs to plead her case. “What if there’s no signal? What if he can’t . . . ?”
She didn’t have to finish. From the look on Garrett’s face, he knew what she was about to say. Jackson Kinkaid could already be dead. And if Pérez got into that helicopter again, he’d fly off and get away with murder . . . again. Kinkaid might not care what happened to him, but Alexa did.