“Sick bastard.”
Millstone had ruined so many lives. Even beyond the immediate names, Seth knew that being a victim of violence radiated out to affect the families, friends, and the community, which had suffered, too.
By the end of his search, he had trouble confirming the gender of two names—Jamie Littlefield and Cameron Harte. Both kids were dead, and their decomposed bodies had been discovered in shallow graves behind the old Millstone family home. He’d have to dig for photos or autopsy reports to confirm the gender or find any photos of those kids before they had died. But since the rest of Millstone’s victims had been little girls, the odds were that the bastard wasn’t into boys, too.
“This is good news, isn’t it, Jess?” he muttered as he looked over the list one more time.
Seth wanted to give Jessie a lead to follow, but he had mixed feelings about that lead coming from the Millstone case. Would Jessie be better off not finding her brother at all if it meant the kid hadn’t been taken by that sick pervert? He had a strong feeling Jessie would agree. Ruling out Millstone had its own merits, even if it didn’t give Jessie something more to go on.
But before he pushed too hard on coming up with more from the Millstone files, he decided to talk to Sam Cooper. They both loved Jessie. And he knew Jess had asked them to work different angles of the case.
“Maybe face time wouldn’t hurt,” he muttered as he pulled out his cell phone.
Seth hit his speed dial for Sam. Flying solo had gotten him nowhere. It was time to join resources and make a better run at helping Jessie. Maybe kicking around ideas—with the only other person who knew Jessie’s story better than he did—would make a difference.
Guadalajara, Mexico
Jackson had asked Garrett to drop Estella off at a local church. On the drive over, the girl had argued that the Church would not want her once they knew what she’d done. The girl was obviously embarrassed and had censored what she told Jackson in English, until he spoke to her in Spanish. Whatever Kinkaid said, he must have convinced her to keep an open mind about the Church. Alexa got the sense that he was telling her something private between them, and it must have worked.
When they got to the church, Alexa spoke to a priest and made a donation to care for the girl, at least until she got on her feet. When she headed for the car, Alexa saw Jackson with Estella near the front entrance. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but their voices carried like an echo through the chapel.
Estella hugged him, crying. “I can’t believe I am free of Ramon . . . because of you. God answered my prayers when he sent you to help me.”
“Believe me, I’m not anyone’s answer to a prayer. And God and me parted ways for good reason, but if it makes you feel better, put in a good word for me.” He turned to go, but stopped and looked over his shoulder. “You have a chance to reinvent yourself and start over. Not everyone is capable of that, but you’re a survivor, Estella. I think if anyone can do it, you can.”
Alexa wasn’t sure he was talking about the girl’s future anymore, but he’d made starting over sound easy, for her sake.
“Put what Ramon did behind you, if you can,” he told her. “He committed an act of violence against you. His sin is not yours.”
Fresh tears ran down Estella’s face. And when it took her a long, awkward moment to find the courage to speak again, she avoided looking at him.
“But what man will . . . have me now?”
Jackson didn’t hesitate. He stepped closer, reached for her chin, and made her look him in the eye when he said, “A damned lucky one.”
Kinkaid never said much. He was a man of few words, but Alexa knew he’d said enough to make the girl a believer in second chances. And he darned near convinced her, too.
An hour later
They had followed the GPS signal of Guerrero’s cell phone until the signal had stopped in one location. Garrett had parked down the street from the home of a local doctor and was setting up his thermal imager. According to his handler, the home was the personal address of Dr. Carlos Hernandez, a physician who got paid on the side by the drug cartels.
Alexa liked the setup. The doctor’s modest ranch-style home was at the end of a long block, with most of the surrounding land belonging to him. The grounds were gated, but no guards stood watch. With the house relatively isolated from any neighboring residence, the situation was perfect for minimal collateral damage. If they executed their plan with precision, they had a good chance of not firing a shot.
“Don’t see a car or that van Estella told us about,” she said.
“With Pérez wounded, they wouldn’t have parked on another street and walked over,” Jackson said. “They probably have their vehicle in that garage.”
“Yeah, I agree.” Garrett looked up from his surveillance gear. Even if he didn’t have his high-tech thermal imager, Alexa would still know someone was inside. Drapes near the front door moved with regularity—a dead giveaway that someone was home . . . and downright nervous.
“Curtain moved again.” Sitting in the front seat, Alexa had binoculars and got a closer look. “I can’t be sure. That could be the guy I saw in the hall, the one who helped Pérez escape.”
“Let me see.” Kinkaid poked her shoulder from the backseat, where he had changed into BDUs Garrett had given him. She handed him her binoculars, and it didn’t take long for Jackson to catch a glimpse of a face at the window. “Yeah, that’s Guerrero. Looks like he’s waiting for someone. How many are inside?”
Garrett had the thermal imager working in the front seat.
“Two in that front room. And someone is in back,” Garrett said, not taking his eyes off the imager’s display. “One in the front is stationary and hasn’t moved much. He’s alive, and that could be Pérez.”
The thermal imager picked up on the heat signatures of people in the house, but it didn’t give a layout of the rooms except for ghost images of walls that gave off heat. Although the imager gave them good information, without a schematic of the house, they’d be at a disadvantage.
“And I’d bet money the person in the back is a housekeeper or the doc’s wife or kid. I can’t tell, but that looks like an odd-shaped room, too. No telling where they’re at until we get in there.” Kinkaid had handed back her binoculars and was looking over Garrett’s shoulder at the thermal screen. “Someone had to let them in. Guerrero probably has them locked up until the doc arrives. Where’s Hernandez?”
“My guy tells me he works at a local clinic, but he’s not there now. The receptionist didn’t know where he went. He got a call and headed out. If that’s true, he should be here soon.”
“Got a car at six o’clock, moving fast.” Garrett had his eyes on the rearview mirror. “Get down.”
They all ducked and waited for the car to pass before Garrett slowly raised his head.
“If that’s the doc, we give him twenty minutes inside before we move in. You gonna hold up your end?” Garrett looked over his shoulder at Kinkaid. When Alexa saw that, she turned and waited for Jackson to answer.
“I’ve waited years for this, Garrett. And I let those bastards beat the crap out of me to get Pérez to think he had the upper hand.” Kinkaid rummaged through weapons and gear that Garrett had stowed in the back, but he stopped long enough to say, “You’re damned straight I’m gonna hold up my end.”
Kinkaid looked like a different man than he had a few hours ago. Despite his shoulder wound, he had a new spark in his eyes that almost scared her until he caught her still looking at him. Kinkaid ran a hand through her hair and trailed a finger down her cheek. And he stopped long enough to smile.