No One Heard Her Scream (32 page)

Now all eyes were on his gun, but it wouldn't take them long to see he had something wedged in his hand. Diego wanted to keep Brogan talking, but windy old Cavanaugh was his best chance.

"Leave this sickly girl, Hunter. She'll only slow you down. Take me instead," he offered.

"Now why would I do that, Diego?" Cavanaugh stepped closer.

"You might get away from here. Although with time ticking, you're losing any advantage you may have. But this girl won't keep Rivera off your ass. Not like I would."

Cavanaugh considered his point. He narrowed his eyes and pondered the notion. Brogan sneered, no doubt loving the idea of a slow torture when the bastard had more time. The other two men looked at each other, questioning the rationale of switching a weak girl for a man who could defend himself. But it wouldn't be their call.

"You have always impressed me with your eloquence and logical thinking," Cavanaugh stepped closer, near the edge of the light. "But I've got one problem with your proposition."

Diego shifted his gaze to Cavanaugh. "What's that?"

"Quite frankly, I'd prefer to know you're dead. And as for your old man, screw him. Your riddled body will serve as notice. Our merger is ... terminated." He turned and headed for the open hatch door. "Mr. Brogan? Fire when ready ... and put that sniveling girl out of her misery. Mr. McPhee? You're with me. Three guns are a bit ... overkill, don't you think?" Cavanaugh stepped through the doorway, with McPhee on his heels, and bellowed over his shoulder, "Mr. Brogan? You and Ellis join me on the other side of this tunnel. Don't dawdle. You know how I hate to wait."

Cavanaugh disappeared into the dark and never looked back.
The coward!
Now Diego settled his eyes on Brogan . . . the last face he would ever see.

Diego lowered his arms and crossed them over his chest, the knife in his grip.

"Hey, no one said you could move," Brogan protested.

"What are you going to do? Shoot me?" Diego took a deep breath. "You wouldn't deny a man his dignity, would you?"

"The way I'm gonna leave your bodies? Dignity will be the last thing you'll have."

With Brogan's snide comment, the other man grimaced and shrugged. "Come on, Matt. We don't have time for this. You know the old man ain't gonna wait for us. We gotta go."

Brogan clenched his teeth and shot a nasty glare at his man. "Ellis is right. Rude and an asshole, but he's got a point. We got a ride to catch. Believe me, I wish we had more time."

Brogan sneered and raised his gun. Diego tensed his body. No time left. He stepped in front of Danielle and gripped the knife, ready to move when . . .

"FREEZE! Lower your weapons."

Rebecca stood at the top of the ramp, gun in hand, locked and loaded with a double-fisted grip. And she had never looked more beautiful!

Brogan refused to budge and never lost sight of his target. He held his ground. His gun aimed at Diego, center mass. "I ain't movin', lady. Looks like we got a Mexican standoff here. But since I'm such a softhearted guy, I'm gonna give you a choice. Cavanaugh wants the Mex dead, so I got my orders. But as far as your sister goes, I'm leavin' that up to you. What's it gonna be?" He chuckled, his focus on Diego. "I kill the Mex, and we part company. Your sister goes home with you. You play this any other way, and your precious sister is the first to go." To his man, he ordered, "You hear that, Ellis? The Mex can't protect the girl from both of us. She's your new target."

His man shifted his aim to Danielle. Things had gone from bad to worse. Becca hesitated, her eyes on Diego. He stood with such confidence, arms crossed and defiant. And Danielle sat rigid against the wall, strangely quiet and cowering in Diego's shadow. Becca gritted her teeth. No way Brogan would get his way.

But when she looked back at Diego, he returned her stare and shrugged. "Sounds like a deal you shouldn't refuse, Rebecca."

It all happened so fast, Becca didn't see it coming. Diego flung an arm. Something left his hand. A loud heavy thump! Brogan was still smiling when the blade hit. He cried out and sputtered, staggering back with a knife jutting from his chest, to the hilt. He gaped down at it in disbelief like he'd sprung a new appendage.

Danielle cried out, the pitiable sound of her muffled scream gripped Becca, wrenching her gut with fear for her sister. Shocked by what happened, the other man gaped at Brogan and hesitated long enough for her to react.

"Gun down . . . Now! Or you're dead," she cried out.

The man named Ellis didn't lower his gun. She knew the twitchy aggressive look. He wouldn't be arrested. The bastard was only waiting for his chance. Becca rushed down the ramp to throw Ellis off and take him out of the equation. But Brogan reeled, still on his feet. A macabre and bloodied puppet.

Becca kept her options open. She stood within a yard of Ellis, his back to her. The man watched her from the corner of his eye, waiting for her to make a mistake. She gripped her weapon, her palms slick with sweat. Her eyes shifted to watch Brogan and Diego. But Ellis turned his head, a subtle flinch to keep her honest. She countered as he did, a deadly game of chicken.

Why hadn't Diego moved?

In reflex, Brogan stumbled forward and raised his arm, ready to fire. A look of shock forged on his face. Diego had a slim chance. He might have rushed him, gotten to the bastard before he fired his gun. But he chose to cover Dani—defenseless—shielding her sister with his body.

Oh my God!
Becca's heart pounded, and her chest heaved.
Damn it!
Diego was going to die. Brogan aimed his gun just as Ellis dropped his shoulder to turn. Becca had no choice. She had to move. She yanked Ellis by the collar and jerked him back, keeping the man off-balance and in front of her. Using his body as a shield, she pointed her gun at Brogan.

It's going down. Move . . . MOVE!
Brogan caught the sudden movement and turned his weapon on Becca. He fired. A deafening sound. Again and again. Ellis bucked in her hand as the bullets hit his chest. His convulsing body had become a liability, too heavy to hold up. She shoved him aside and took aim. Becca looked down Brogan's gun barrel, with him in her sights.

Take the shot! Take it!

Draper's com unit crackled to life. "Sir, we're investigating a report of gunfire. On a lower level. No telling how many rounds fired."

He recognized the voice of his HRT leader Martinez, and asked, "Could it be our guys?"

"We're still verifying our head count, sir. But I sent a team to check out the disturbance."

"Anyone see Diego Galvan or Detective Rebecca Montgomery?" Draper asked.

"Nothing so far, sir. But we're still accounting for the dead. Will keep you posted. Out."

Dead?
The word gripped him, hard. And he thought he didn't do guilt.

Draper caught the eye of Lieutenant Santiago, standing a few yards away. The man heard the last report and looked worried. And he had to admit, his stomach had been knotted from the beginning. He had taken liberties with the lives of two people still unaccounted for, and he knew it. And Draper had coerced Joe Rivera to gain an inside informer, but he'd gotten much more in Diego Galvan. He couldn't have expected any better from an agent. If anything happened to him, it would hurt like he had lost one of his own.

"Damn it." He torqued his jaw and peered through the mass of bodies going in and out of the scene. Each face got a second look. But so far, nothing.

The operation shed its harried pace and settled into wrap-up mode with plenty for him to oversee. Spiraling lights, from emergency vehicles and police squad cars, streamed across the night sky and robbed the heavens of its stars. Urgent voices of medical crews and law enforcement personnel muted into background chatter in his mind. Yet when he needed to respond to his com unit, he picked up on every word. Filtered hearing from controlled chaos, he liked to call it.

And of course, an operation this size attracted the media, another reason for superior hearing filtration. He managed to rope off the news crews a couple of blocks away. Their camera lights might attract the wrong attention if one of the gunmen escaped. Keeping them at a distance had its benefits for now. When he was ready, there would be a press conference. Now, he had other priorities.

Up until a few minutes ago, he believed the underground facility had been secured. The wounded and dead were being carted out, and EMT units worked on the injured. The new gunfire added complications, but nothing his men couldn't handle. Thus far, all of the casualties had been Cavanaugh's men. His team had sustained injuries, but nothing life-threatening.

Best of all, every one of the abducted girls had been rescued . . . and then some. A greater head count than he had expected. The girls had been malnourished, dehydrated, and in need of medical attention. But overall, the operation had been a success.

When Draper saw the hostages brought out one by one, he fought a gnarl in his throat the size of Rhode Island. Cavanaugh had been kidnapping young kids from Mexico and bringing them into the United States. He probably promised them work or simply took them like he had before, knowing the missing girls' parents would have no recourse across international borders.

Nineteen girls in all, ranging in ages from ten to twenty-two.

As a father, it gripped him in the worst way, hitting too close to home. No parent should have to endure such a nightmare. Daughters were precious gifts. He had been blessed with four. When he was a young father, he had yearned for a son to pass on his name, his futile and self-indulgent attempt at immortality. Time and experience changed his view.

For him, a bond between father and child transcended gender, in theory. But the connection between a father and daughter had its own unique miracles. Seeing love reflected in his daughters' eyes, and knowing it was meant for only him, had fulfilled him in ways he hadn't expected.

But with this tragedy, Draper imagined the horrifying ruin of these young lives. Gazing into the eyes of a broken child—
your broken child
—would have torn him in two. And bastards like Cavanaugh deserved hell on earth and beyond for their sins.

"Hey, Mike. You're gonna want to see this." Lieutenant Santiago punched him in the arm and pointed. Two patrol cars pulled up with lights flashing in silent mode. Draper walked with him to the vehicles and looked in the backseats. Each squad car held a single man.

"Well, I'll be damned. Who the hell is that guy?" Draper didn't recognize the muscle man in the second car. "And how did we score the top dog? I thought he might have slipped through our net or not been here at all."

Draper bent down and glared at the man he'd been pursuing. Hunter Cavanaugh had never looked so good, handcuffed and riding in the back of a squad car. And the man sitting in the other vehicle looked scared enough to be a talker.

"The other guy's name is Stan McPhee. He's got a list of priors that should have him willing to talk. We thought it would be a good idea to keep them separated. I smell plea bargain for testimony," Santiago replied. "But under the heading of living right, you're not going to believe the stroke of luck we got with Cavanaugh."

"Oh this I've got to hear. I could use some good news."

"Seems one of our tactical teams secured a staging area in a condemned textile factory behind our target building. It gave us a good view of the back side of the facility." Santiago grinned.

And he talked loud enough for Cavanaugh to hear from inside the squad car. The old man rolled his eyes and slunk down into the seat, his jaw clenched as the lieutenant continued.

"One of our guys found an abandoned vehicle inside ... a rather pricey Lexus. Only it's clean as a whistle and not lookin' so abandoned. In the course of carrying out their duties, the team staked out the car and waited. What started out as a fishing expedition landed us a whopper. The son of a bitch walked right into us. Didn't even put up much of a fight."

"How did he get over there?" Draper asked.

"Turns out these old buildings had tunnels under 'em. Most had been walled in as the owners took over the property. But there's evidence of new work done to install a coded hatchway at the facility where we nabbed Cavanaugh and McPhee. I bet we'll be able to trace who did the work and get them talking." Before Draper had to ask, the lieutenant added, "We sent a team to investigate the one Cavanaugh came waltzing out of. Murphy will report when he has something."

Draper shifted his gaze to Cavanaugh, staring through the side window. He opened the back door to the squad car and leaned in to get a better look at the man.

"Here's something I bet you'll agree with. You've had better days, right?" Draper glared, not expecting an answer. "What happened to Detective Rebecca Montgomery?"

Cavanaugh shifted in his seat and turned away. Draper thought the man would hang tough with the silent treatment, but the bastard wanted to twist the knife.

"Tragic really. I saw her gunned down by one of your own men. When you find her body, an autopsy will prove my point."

Draper took a deep breath and tried one more time. "Where's Diego Galvan?"

"The last time I saw him, he was breathing. Although you notice I used past tense. You see, I believe Diego suffered from an allergic reaction. A case of severe lead poisoning . . . with extreme prejudice. Don't bet on him walking out of there alive. You'd lose."

Something snapped inside him. Draper had no intention of being the object of Cavanaugh's amusement.

"Go ahead and have your fun, you cocky son of a bitch!" He leaned into the squad car, and whispered, "If Galvan is dead, so are you. And I don't have to pull the trigger. His father will get to your ass even if I can't touch you. I'll personally deliver my version of the case details to Rivera."

The smugness left Cavanaugh's face as fear slithered under the surface of his cool veneer. And Draper was only getting started.

"But there's one thing I
can
control. The system will be taking care of your room and board for a long time, but I'm personally goin' to see to your accommodations. Some lifer named Bruno will be saliva-tin' over your lily-white ass. Whoever said size didn't matter never met Bruno." Draper leaned closer, venom in his voice. "Every time he bends you over, think of me. 'Cause I'll be the one sticking it to you. In this lifetime, it's only a fraction of what you owe those girls."