Port de Paix, Haiti
When Kinkaid arrived late to the party, the fund-raiser for the St. Thomas Aquinas Academy was in full swing, an occasion that marked the tenth anniversary of the missionary school. With its aqua stucco walls and red-tiled rooftop, Dumont Hall was a civic building on the fringe of town and near the academy.
Port de Paix was not much more than an impoverished village with dirt streets, but the school was situated close enough to the children who really needed it and was bordered by growing commercial establishments that might support the academy.
The town had seen a growth spurt, and the organizers had done well to have their event at one of the newer civic buildings. Partygoers could be seen through the windows and on the front steps of the building. Women in fancy dresses accompanied men in suits with children playing dress-up. And the music of a small quartet wafted into the night air as Kinkaid’s taxi pulled to the curb.
He cringed at the thought of walking into an event at which he knew he didn’t belong. And if he believed in divine intervention, the course that had led him to this fiasco had a real hinky vibe to it, like an unavoidable retribution for his sins.
Four years ago, he’d crossed paths with a very persistent Catholic nun, Sister Mary Katherine, when her need for cash outweighed her common sense. Their meeting had been a surprise for both of them. It had not been their first. After his arrival in Haiti—under the guise of an American businessman traveling the islands—the woman had tracked him down, looking for donations. How she’d found him, she never said. And she’d followed his lead in not talking about the past. She had left that up to him, which meant the topic never came up.
The nun had no idea what he’d become. And he never told her otherwise, but being with her was a constant reminder for him.
Deserved penance.
Standing on the curb with the taxi driving away, he delayed making his entrance. He took a breath of fresh air to dispel the smell of the taxi from his nostrils. Despite his usual swagger—a product of the flamboyant public image he had cultivated out of necessity over the years—he hated being the center of attention. But tonight he’d have to put up with it. If Sister Kate hadn’t specifically asked him to attend and made such a big deal about it, he would have turned her down flat.
“Only for you, Kate.”
Killing time, he avoided the main hall and headed for a spot in the garden to the left of the entrance. Dirt
and gravel crunched under his shoes when he entered a courtyard. The pungent aroma of flowers mixed with the scent of the ocean off a warm breeze, but something more lingered in the air. His eyes trailed to a far corner of the garden, where he searched the shadows for what he knew he’d find. He had taken a gamble that he wouldn’t be alone, and he was right.
In the dark, under the dim glow of moonlight, he saw Sister Mary Katherine. Her dark silhouette stood out against the stonework behind her. A faint yet ghostly twist hung low around her head like an aura, and he grinned at the faint impression of a halo. Sister Kate was too grounded in the reality of life to ever be mistaken for an ethereal saint, despite the fact that he couldn’t think of anyone more deserving.
The nun was sneaking a cigarette—her one true vice—and billowing smoke like a flume. She smoked when she was nervous. Socializing at the fund-raiser had her on edge, too. When she saw him, she didn’t bother to hide her smoking.
“Come here.” She waved her free hand. “Let me get a good look at you.”
“Okay, you got me at this shindig. Now what?” With arms crossed, Kinkaid slouched against the stone wall next to the nun, who was dressed in a traditional black tunic and veil with starched white collar.
Sister Mary Katherine flicked her cigarette away to glance at him, top to bottom.
“You clean up real nice, Jackson. You change the color of your skin to suit the occasion.”
“You have no idea, Kate.” He crooked his lip into a
smile until he noticed that Dumont Hall had uniformed guards with weapons at key locations, not exactly low-profile. “This event is supposed to be about the kids. What’s with all the firepower?”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” the nun argued, waggling a finger. “What we do at the school is for the kids, yes. But this event? It’s about you, Jackson Kinkaid. I’m proud of you. And people are curious about the wealthy American, my dear. I’m afraid I’ve been bragging about you again. I caught the local media on a slow news day, and they gave me a feature to promote the event and our new programs.”
She cocked her head. “And I’ve invited other regional school administrators to see the programs you’ve generously funded. Some have flown in for the occasion, and if local contributors like what they see, they might make a donation, too. So play nice, will you? Do it for the kids. A few of the children will be attending with their parents. They’re excited about playing dress-up, like real grown-ups.”
Over the years, he’d gotten a bit of a reputation in certain circles. Partly due to his involvement with Sister Kate’s pet project, the media had initially placed the spotlight on him, but when other more influential people took notice, he had to invent a persona that people and the police would buy. One thing led to another, and things got out of control fast. He’d been mistaken that the local media would get tired of covering his story—and now he was stuck with the consequences. No good deed went unpunished.
He’d never told Kate that she’d brought trouble to his
door the day she’d found him in Haiti and brought the past colliding with the present for him. She thought she had done him a good turn—drawing attention to what she believed to be his philanthropic nature—and the academy’s kids had benefited from it. The choices he’d made in his life were not their problem.
Sister Kate walked with him toward the main building, but not before she wiped stone dust from the back of his jacket like a nervous mother hen. With her arm in his, the nun explained that since the local papers had circulated the news of the charitable event for the St. Thomas Aquinas Academy, the local police thought it would be wise to add security. She told him that she had little to say about it.
“In truth, the police are here for you, Jackson.”
“That’s not funny, Kate. Armed men in uniform aren’t my idea of a good time,” he protested.
“But an armed man who is well dressed in designer threads is perfectly acceptable?” She reached over and tugged at the lapel of his suit. “I noticed you were packing heat.”
Under his jacket, he wore a .45-caliber Glock 30 in a holster.
“Packing heat?” He laughed. “You’ve been watching too many Bogart flicks.”
“And you’re ignoring my question.” She crossed her arms and stood in front of him. “You’re a man with secrets, Jackson Kinkaid. You always have been. Don’t bother to deny it.”
“Wouldn’t if I could,” he agreed.
“You’ve always struck me as someone I can trust
when it really counts, but I have a feeling I’d never know you in a lifetime. Why is that?”
“Why you trust me?” He smirked. “Good question.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” She poked his arm.
“I could say the same about you.” He shrugged. “I trust you, but I haven’t scratched the surface of understanding who you really are. You’re not exactly an open book.”
“I’m a nun. What’s to know?” She brushed off her habit. “Being trustworthy comes with the uniform.”
“Not in my world, Kate.” Kinkaid grinned. “You’re a complicated and uncompromising woman who respects secrets. And I like that.” He looked away and broke the hold she had on him. “Besides, you don’t want to know who I really am. Men like me are the reason you pray.”
“You’re not the only reason I pray, Jackson. Not by a long shot.”
“I remember the day we first met at the hospital. Sometimes that day seems like a lifetime ago.” He stared into the night sky and sighed. “Other times, it feels like only yesterday. Some wounds never heal.”
“I’m surprised you remember that day at all. You weren’t in any condition to recall much of anything.” She stroked his arm. “I do pray for you, Jackson. And I have faith that one day you’ll find peace.”
“Pray for someone who deserves it, Kate. Your odds would be better.”
He caught the glint of her eyes in the moonlight and
knew she was staring at him. When she didn’t say anything more, he knew that she understood not to ask questions. If she ever did, he would tell her the truth, about the man he’d become, and that might change everything between them. She had accepted him into her life, and that was good enough for him. And for a reason he didn’t want to think about, it mattered what she thought of him. But that didn’t mean he wanted to risk crossing the line—to tell her the truth about his life.
“Come on. Let’s get this over with…for both our sakes.”
She took his arm again and headed for Dumont Hall, muttering under her breath, “Who invited the likes of you and me anyway?”
“Someone with exceedingly low standards.” He smiled. “But remember. This is all for the children.”
“That it is, my dear.” She patted his arm and grinned at him. “That it is.”
New York City
Lower East Side
9:30
P.M.
Alexa knocked on the apartment door and peeked through the peephole. From the outside looking in, nothing was very clear through the lens, but she spied a light on inside. That was good enough for her to decide that someone was home, although that didn’t ensure her knock would get answered. Straightening her blond hair, she took a step back into the hall so she’d be visible through the peephole—and waited.
Jessie Beckett opened the door without a hint of whether she was pleased to see her. And she didn’t feel the need to break the ice by talking either. Dressed in faded jeans and a black Chicago Bulls tee, the former bounty hunter could play poker with the best, yet she’d never make a good politician since she spoke her mind, short and sweet—one of the reasons the woman had grown on her. And the pronounced scar over her eyebrow hinted at the darkness in her past.
“You don’t call…you don’t write.” Alexa leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb with her arms crossed. “Can I come in?”
Jessie stared at her a moment, then backed away to let her in. Alexa entered the small apartment before Jessie had a chance to change her mind.
“I’ve been busy, that’s all,” she said. “You didn’t tell me what hard work it would be. Garrett’s people have me jumping, but it’s all good…I think.”
“From what I hear, you’re a star,” Alexa replied, unbuttoning her light tweed jacket and putting her hands into the pockets of her khaki pants.
She glanced around the tiny living room, sparse with cheap rental furniture and worn cardboard boxes stacked in a corner. The mundane room was colored in varying degrees of brown and looked like something anyone would scrape off their shoe. And it smelled a little musty, with the faint scent of pine and ammonia.
Although it was clear that Jessie had made an attempt to clean, she barely looked like she lived there. No personal effects could be seen, only the essentials
for her to eat and sleep in the apartment that Garrett Wheeler—the liaison to the Sentinels—had leased for her after she’d picked it. The woman definitely gravitated toward the simpler life, having no tolerance for the more-upscale lifestyle he would have provided.
But that only made Garrett peeved that he hadn’t gotten her total buy-in. Lavish gifts and posh living quarters were more his style. Yet she had refused his usual ploys to make her feel obligated to him—and to add insult to injury—the woman could pick up and go in a heartbeat. Garrett didn’t like that. So knowing Jessie had worked late, Alexa had been sent to check on her even at this hour, a task she would have done on her own without his prompting.
She had something personal on her mind, and she had to get it off her chest.
Alexa turned to face her and get a closer look at her new partner. Jessie looked tired, and the spark of her usual defiance had been dulled. Alexa knew about going stir-crazy until that first assignment came along. Living in luxury had made the wait tolerable for her, but Jessie didn’t have such a distraction. Plus, the Sentinels’ instruction program for its operatives was consuming, a twenty-four/seven schedule that had kept them apart until this week, when she’d be officially assigned her new partner.
Jessie was ready, and they both knew it.
“Rumor has it that you’re the one to beat. You had top honors,” Jessie reminded her. “I’m just trying to make a good first impression.”
“Spoken like a true overachiever who’s been smacked
by the humility stick.” She chose a chair across from the small sofa and sat.
“Can I get you a beer?” Jessie asked.
Beer was not Alexa’s drink of choice, but for Jessie’s sake, she said, “Sure, as long as you don’t take me to a monster-truck rally after.”
“And here I thought you were a Monster Jam groupie.”
“Just hearing you say that scares the hell out of me.”
Alexa had gotten various reports from Jessie’s trainers as her instruction progressed. Top marks on all levels except when it came to a consistent concern. Her instructors had agreed that Jessie was both physically and mentally tough and would make a gifted operative, but she was a definite loner. In the world of the Sentinels, this was not a bad thing, but not everyone was convinced she’d make a good partner until Alexa spoke up for her.
That helped Garrett make up his mind. He needed to test her with the real deal. Soon they’d be assigned a case, another reason for Alexa to make contact with Jessie.
“Garrett told me we’d get one of the next assignments. You up for it?”
“Hell, yeah.” Jessie handed her a beer without a glass. “I’d take my urine test over just to feel I’m making progress.”
“I’ll mention that to the HR Department.”
Jessie plopped onto a sofa across from Alexa and took a long pull from her bottle before she spoke again. “I mean, it’s not that I’m ungrateful for all Garrett’s done for me. The training has been interesting. And
I’ve never been in such good shape physically. The first few weeks were killer. But lately I’ve been pulling longer hours to stay…focused. Just hanging out like this is driving me crazier than usual. Without a bail-jumping scumbag in sight, I’m going through arrest withdrawals.”