Raw Talent

A.J. left Victoria’s office with only a vague idea what her message to Sloan meant, but he felt no need to question her orders. He had learned well from his career in the military that there were times when a soldier didn’t need to know every detail about a mission. He simply needed the know-how and the determination to carry out the assignment.

Knowledge was a very powerful tool, no doubt. But, at times, knowledge could be a stumbling block to achieving the greater good.

This was one of those situations.

He appreciated that Victoria practiced what she preached. She had complete faith in his ability to get the job done. To his relief, much of that faith was based on his word. He strongly believed that a man was only as good as his word. It pleased him that his new employer shared that belief.

Just another reason he couldn’t allow any personal feelings he’d foolishly allowed to develop to get in his way of doing his job. He needed his work, needed that kind of focus in his life. There wasn’t room for anything else. Not anymore. He had to keep that truth in mind and stop permitting wishful thinking from overriding good sense.

A.J. considered his plan of action as he stopped by his town house for his bags and drove to the airfield where the Colby Agency jet would be waiting.

Picking up Jordan’s trail wouldn’t be difficult. Florescitaf was a small village and an attractive young urban woman would stand out. Since she didn’t know the location of Sloan’s private residence, she would have to ask questions or go on a grid search of the surrounding area. Either way would be time-consuming as well as risky as far as keeping a low profile.

Once on board the agency jet, he used his time to brush up on his Spanish. He hadn’t used the language in ages, but getting his point across wouldn’t be difficult. An hour later he felt confident with his spotty vocabulary so he took some time to consider his target.

Gabrielle Jordan was very young, only twenty-two. She’d spent eighteen months of that young life in prison. The first six months of that time she’d made a fuss about being innocent, including writing several appeals herself, none of which were taken seriously by her court-appointed attorney. So she’d shut up and done her time.

She’d gotten out only a few months before applying for a job at the Colby Agency. Her ability to create a false identity was commendable if misguided. She hadn’t missed a trick. Case in point, she’d fooled one of the top private investigation agencies in the country.

He had to smile. The woman had herself some real brass ones, that was for sure. He closed the door on that line of thinking. From what they’d learned in the past twenty-four hours, she was the only child of an alcoholic mother who claimed Gabriel DiCassi as the child’s father. DiCassi had been Trevor Sloan’s arch enemy and an international assassin. A standoff between the two men had ended in DiCassi’s death.

Apparently, Gabrielle held Sloan responsible for her father’s death. Victoria had estimated, based on comments Jordan had made to coworkers at the agency, that she believed her father to have been a great man. She’d spoken highly of him and her wistfulness related to his death had been apparent during those conversations. Of course she hadn’t once mentioned his name. Now she was apparently out for revenge.

A.J. closed the folder and relaxed into the aircraft’s luxurious leather seat a little more deeply. He found it difficult to understand how a parent could lie to their child, or neglect their offspring for that matter. By all accounts, Gabrielle fell smack into the category of the abused and neglected. That sort of childhood twisted a person’s thinking. He could only imagine how it felt to have no one in the world to depend on. He wondered if that was the reason she’d worked so hard to be the absolute best she could be. She’d had no one to count on but herself.

Though his father had been a strong disciplinarian, A.J.’s formative years had included a secure and loving environment. He’d earned his hard knocks as a military man. He’d jumped in at age seventeen and then spent the next fifteen years proving what he was really made of. An injury and the life-threatening infection that followed during his time in Afghanistan had ended that career. He didn’t talk about it. He shifted in his seat. Victoria was the only person at the agency who knew about it. His physical shortcoming prevented him from future military service, but it didn’t stop him from being a damned good investigator.

Being chosen by Victoria Colby-Camp as one of only a few new hires was proof enough.

A.J. Braddock wasn’t down for the count by a long shot. He still had some good years in front of him.

With his experience in the desolate mountains of Afghanistan, tracking one misguided young woman in Mexico would be a piece of cake. He would not fail in this mission. Victoria was counting on him. And he needed his work at the Colby Agency to give him something to look forward to, to hang on to. He wasn’t ready to give up on being all he could be. No matter what the doctors said.

He wasn’t dead yet.

Chapter Three

The Sierra Madre mountains, washed in green forest, jutted upward around the desolation of the desert and were a sharp contrast to all that surrounded it. The desert scrub and cacti of the expansive terrain she’d traveled for miles after leaving the village had given way to the rugged landscape at the foothills of the mountains, but the Jeep she’d rented had handled the drive easily.

Her patience and persistence had paid off. A kid, maybe twelve or thirteen, who’d made a delivery to the Sloan residence from the local market had given her directions.

For a price.

She hadn’t haggled with him. At least, not once she’d seen a sort of kindred soul in his eyes. This kid hadn’t needed any more grief in his life. From what Gabrielle had deciphered from the conversation, his mother was ill and he drove the broken-down truck his father had left behind when he’d deserted the family years ago. The kid helped put food on the table for his three brothers and sisters.

Life sucked that way all too often, Gabrielle decided. But the kid…he reminded her of herself. He wouldn’t let it get him down. Instead he’d do what he had to. No matter the personal cost.

She focused a little more closely on the house in the distance. She’d decided that getting too close without sizing up the situation wouldn’t be a smart move. Instead she’d driven around it, parked at the base of the mountains and then climbed for a while. Just long enough to find a decent position for scouting out the property.

“Some digs,” she muttered as she surveyed the massive residence once more.

A fortress. A ten- or twelve-foot wall completely surrounded the property, which included a monstrosity of a house and sizable grounds, as well. A large iron gate allowed entrance from the front, if one possessed the proper credentials. Probably a numeric code at the very least. Another gate provided a secondary exit at the rear of the property. She could see a pool and what could be a detached garage or rather large workshop. The stuccoed exterior and red-tiled roof of the main house gave the place a rustic Southwestern style.

Apparently murder paid well.

Fury boiled up inside Gabrielle, but she wrestled it aside. She had to stay focused. Losing her temper or having an emotional outburst would be detrimental to that task.

No vehicles were in view. She supposed they were parked in the garage. In the past half hour she hadn’t noted any activity period.

Getting onto the grounds wouldn’t be easy. She’d definitely have to wait for the cover of darkness to attempt any sort of move. Even then—she scanned the rear gate once more—security might include motion sensors. But that was a risk she’d just have to take.

Movement beyond the front of the property snagged her attention and she focused her binoculars to check out the vehicle approaching from the road that led to town.

Her heart rate bumped up a notch. This could be him. This could be Sloan.

The vehicle stopped at the gate. A truck. Full size. Maybe four-wheel drive judging by how high the chassis sat off the ground.

A man, dark hair, dark complexion, entered a code into the keypad. Not Sloan, Gabrielle decided. He had blondish hair and this guy looked like a native of the country versus just a guy with a deep tan.

As she watched, a woman in the passenger seat leaned past the driver and pressed her thumb to some part of the security keypad device.

Fingerprint analysis. Oh, yeah, Gabrielle had known security would be tight.

The gate opened and the truck rolled forward to park directly in front of the main entrance to the house. Before the two passengers were out of the vehicle, the gate had closed securely back into place.

If Gabrielle waited until the visitors left, she might be able to slip through the gate as it closed. It would be dark soon. She glanced at the setting sun. That might work. But she would need to get into position right away. Who knew how long these people would stay or whether or not they were permanent residents? They could be the hired help. The kid from the market had mentioned there was a man who helped around the house.

Gabrielle started to put her binoculars away and get to her feet, but new movement near the house stopped her.

What the hell?

She peered through the binoculars, hardly believing her eyes.

Two boys, one small, nine or ten maybe, another thirteen or older considering his manlike features, ran out of the house and toward the rear gate. Another man, this one much older and clearly Mexican with slight features, hurried after them.

The older man abruptly fell forward onto the stone courtyard. The driver of the truck rushed up to him. Shot the old man twice in the back.

Gabrielle jerked with each sound that echoed against the mountains around her. She scrambled to her feet, almost falling in the process.

“What the hell are they doing?”

The woman, the passenger from the truck, rushed up to the man with the gun. She appeared to be screaming at him. She, too, looked like a local. Dark hair, dark skin. Young.

The man with the gun grabbed her by the throat and said something to her. Something brutal, considering the cruel twist of his face. And then he ran after the boys.

Gabrielle tracked the course of the kids. They had made it through the rear gate but the man was gaining on them fast. Surely he wouldn’t…

Her gaze swung back to the woman who was now kneeling next to the old man. The woman cried and rocked back and forth as if she’d just lost a loved one.

Gabrielle’s attention shifted back to the kids. The older one was giving the guy with the gun a run for his money but the smaller boy…

“Damn.”

The guy had the little kid.

Adrenaline seared through Gabrielle’s veins. Her business here involved Sloan and only Sloan. Whatever the hell was going on with these kids was none of her concern. But she damn well couldn’t stand here and watch some bastard hurt a kid. No way.

She tore out down the mountainside, careful to take the route she’d chosen on her ascent. The daylight was waning and she didn’t want to risk falling.

By the time she’d reached her vehicle the man had rousted the two boys back through the rear gate, but he hadn’t closed it. Cocky bastard.

Gabrielle jumped into the Jeep and drove as close to the house as she dared for fear of being heard. She bounded out of the vehicle and crept covertly onto the property.

Even before she’d edged up to the corner of the building she’d assumed might be a garage she heard the man with the gun ranting at his captives as well as his partner in crime.

“Tell me when your father will call!” he screamed, simultaneously ramming the muzzle of the weapon into the older boy’s skull.

The boy told the man to go screw himself and Gabrielle couldn’t resist a smile. “You tell him, kid,” she muttered under her breath.

“Maybe I’ll just kill you now, smart boy!” the killer warned.

“No!” the woman cried, only then moving away from the downed man. “You promised no one would die. What are you doing, Manuel? I don’t understand!”

Gabrielle shook her head. Women could be so stupid when they were in love. She braced herself to take down the bastard with the gun.

She’d been training for a moment like this for weeks. She was the best in her class back at the firing range in nowhere Montana.

The sound of a weapon discharging exploded in the air.

Gabrielle’s mouth dropped open and it was all she could do not to scream.

He’d killed her.

The man with the gun had shot his girlfriend.

He ordered the boys to get into his truck.

For ten, maybe twenty seconds, Gabrielle couldn’t move. Her body felt paralyzed by what she’d seen. None of her training had adequately prepared her for this.

By the time she’d pulled it back together. the truck was driving out through the front gate.

She swore and rushed toward the two downed victims.

The man was dead for sure.

The woman gurgled and frantically flung one arm.

Damn.

Gabrielle surveyed the damage. The bullet hole in her abdomen was pouring blood. The one in her chest was a little too far to the right to have hit her heart, but maybe a lung. Gabrielle shook her head. How the hell did she know?

She needed help.

How did she get an ambulance way out here?

Her gaze zeroed in on the blood pooling on the ground around the woman’s waist. Gabrielle swallowed hard. This girl wasn’t going to make it.

Gabrielle pressed her left hand over the gut wound since it appeared to be the worst and tried to staunch the flow. “How do I call for help?” she asked the woman who still writhed desperately.

A dark brown gaze collided with Gabrielle’s. “Stop…him…” The words were scarcely a breath of choking sound.

Gabrielle glanced toward the gate. “I don’t…”

Icy fingers wrapped around her wrist with surprising strength. Gabrielle’s gaze jerked back to the woman.

“I am…dying…” she gasped. “Help…the children.”

Her voice was barely audible now.

What did she do? Let the woman die or go after the children?

Gabrielle’s heart pounded so fiercely she couldn’t think.

“Take the…chi-children and hide…”

“What?” Hide? Panic tightened around Gabrielle’s chest. What did she mean hide?

The woman’s mouth worked but no words came out.

“Oh, God.” Gabrielle lowered her head closer to the woman’s face. Strained to make out her words. “I don’t understand. What do you want me to do?”

“Hide…the children…more bad men will come…”

Gabrielle reared back at the warning. “Your friend isn’t alone in this?”

“…many more will come…”

The woman stilled. Her eyes lost their desperate appeal.

Gabrielle’s breath caught. She stared at the wounds that still oozed blood, but the force was much less now.

“Look, lady, I don’t know—”

The woman remained completely, unnervingly still.

Gabrielle felt for a pulse. Nothing. Damn! She tried to get the woman’s heart beating again, but it was no use.

The kids.

Dammit all to hell.

Gabrielle glanced at the gate, then back at the woman.

Someone had to save those kids.

There was no one but her.

Without taking a moment to second-guess herself, she bolted toward her Jeep.

If Sloan’s residence was tied in with any kind of security monitoring system then maybe help was already on the way. It was too late for those two, but someone needed to know what had happened here.

One thing was certain, if Gabrielle was going to catch up with the son of a bitch who had the kids, she had to move fast. She jumped behind the wheel of her Jeep, wiped her bloody hands on a T-shirt lying on the passenger seat and twisted the key in the ignition.

The motor started and she released the clutch, allowing the vehicle to lurch forward. She sped out over the sandy landscape, dust flying behind her. But that was good because it was flying behind the other guy, too, and that was the only chance she had of keeping him in sight.

The sun had almost completely set, leaving only the thinnest purple hues reaching across the barren desert in front of her.

She couldn’t turn on her headlights. She needed to get close enough to shoot out this jerk’s tires before he noticed her approach.

She would figure out what to do next after that.

Chapter Four

Gabrielle slammed on the brakes.

The Jeep skidded to a halt and she bailed out.

Feet wide apart, she took aim. Her heart hammered against her sternum but she ignored it. She stared down the barrel of her 9 mm at the rear tire of the kidnapper’s vehicle. Told herself she could do this. Her forefinger instinctively curled around the trigger.

The truck abruptly swerved and slid to a halt.

Gabrielle swore, adjusted her aim. Dammit, the truck was stopped with the passenger side facing in her direction. She could make out one of the kids….

The shooter registered in the corner of her eye a split second before she dove for the ground.

A series of explosions rent the air. Bullets plowed into the sand a few inches from her head.

She rolled. Took aim again.

A smile curled the corners of her mouth.

“Gotcha.” She fired.

The man screamed and scrambled out of sight behind the vehicle.

“Dumb bastard.”

A spray of bullets pelted the sand around her. She lunged for the cover of her Jeep. She’d been able to see some part of one leg beneath the truck. She’d hit him. Probably hurt like hell, but he wasn’t dead by a long shot.

She studied the truck, except she couldn’t see anything now. No movement whatsoever. “Damn.” He had her at a distinct disadvantage. She couldn’t shoot anywhere near the cab for fear of hitting one of the kids.

Where the hell was he?

He was still behind the truck…evidently using the tires for additional cover since she couldn’t see any part of his lower anatomy beneath the vehicle chassis.

Gabrielle scanned the darkening landscape beyond the truck. Help didn’t appear to be coming. Worse, the dying woman had said others would come. Friends of the jerk currently exchanging lead with her.

She couldn’t just lay here and wait to see what happened. She had to make a move.

Screaming from inside the truck cab abruptly snagged her attention. What now?

She heard the shooter yell at the kids to shut up. Gabrielle’s nerves jangled. If he started shooting at those kids…surely he wouldn’t do that. He’d obviously had some reason for wanting to kidnap them, would likely need them alive for that purpose.

Gabrielle took a moment to find calm. Staying alive required slowing the blood roaring through her ears. It meant being aware of the other guy at all times and not letting her emotions take control.

The sound of wailing jerked her into forward motion. More arguing between the man and one of the boys. She had to try to reach the rear end of the truck while he was distracted.

Too late.

She didn’t have to see the bullets pelting the sand, the echoing sound of the weapon firing was enough. He was laying down ground fire in an attempt to hit her or to force her away from her destination. She dove for the ground.

The truck horn blared to life. The gunshots stopped. Screaming and cursing followed.

Gabrielle scrambled to her feet and reached the side of the truck, hunkered by the tire to listen. The man still ranted at the older boy. Gabrielle decided the boy had laid down on the horn to distract the bastard or to annoy him. Either way, she’d have to thank him later.

Abrupt silence warned her that her enemy had figured out her latest move.

She held her breath. Listened…leaned down to see if there was any sign of his feet and legs.

Nothing.

He had to be crouched on the other side of the rear driver’s side tire. Less than a dozen feet away.

The proverbial Mexican standoff. How ironic.

A thud had her fingers tightening on her weapon.

She listened intently.

Nothing.

She couldn’t just continue to crouch here until he came around the end of the truck after her. But then he could be waiting for her to make exactly that kind of move. Evidently was.

Still no sound. No movement.

Damn. What the hell did she do now? Her mini weapons training course hadn’t included anything like this.

She looked under the truck again. Couldn’t see a damned thing.

Hovering here and waiting for him to come after her was driving her nuts. She had to move.

She eased quietly toward the end of the truck. Stalled there to listen.

Not a sound.

She peeked beneath the truck, but couldn’t see a thing in the deepening gloom. Hell, he could be waiting for dark. The sun had already dropped behind the mountains, leaving only a faint glow reaching across the desert.

That thought propelled her into action. She moved around the end of the truck, to the far side of the tailgate. Steeled herself. Then risked a look beyond the corner…

The shooter was on the ground. Not moving.

Gabrielle frowned. She definitely hadn’t gotten in a lethal hit.

His weapon was still in his hand, but he made no move to aim it toward her. Then she saw the reason for his motionlessness. Blood. Or what was likely blood. The sand around his lower body was dark with it.

Considering his eyes were still open and he hadn’t blinked, she figured he was dead or damned close.

She darted to his position and kicked his gun away from his hand. He didn’t move.

He’d been crouched near the tire as she had suspected. Looked as if he’d simply fallen over. Why had he bled so profusely?

She looked for the entry wound where she’d hit him, but it was difficult to see in the near darkness. Instead she looked for where the blood appeared to start on his clothing. Left thigh area.

Then she knew. There was an artery in that general area. She couldn’t remember what it was called or exactly where it was, but apparently she’d hit it.

And he’d bled to death before he’d realized how badly he was wounded.

Damned lucky for her.

“Get us out of here!”

Her gaze swung to the truck and the older boy’s face. He peered out the rear window now.

The two must have hunkered in the floor after the horn-blowing incident. Otherwise they could have seen the man lying on his side in the sand.

Gabrielle hurried to the driver’s side door and wrenched it open.

“Hurry, lady!” the older boy demanded. “He was meeting his friends. They’ll know something has gone wrong and head this way soon!”

“Give me a minute,” Gabrielle snapped. Ungrateful kid. Didn’t he realize she’d just saved his butt?

The boys’ hands were chained together. The end of the chain was also bound to the bottom of the front seat. No way he’d reached that horn with his hand. He must have done it with his foot. The console between the front bucket seats would have allowed for a reach like that.

“I’ll need the key,” she said as she picked through the stuff in the console. The key in the ignition was alone on its ring. Shooting the chain to break it might work in the movies but she wasn’t going to risk it under the circumstances.

“It’s in his pocket,” the older kid said. “Hurry!”

She rushed back to where the guy lay on the ground and crouched next to him. The gun had been in his right hand so that made him right-handed. The key would likely be in that pocket, which meant rolling him over.

Touching a dead guy ranked really low on her list of things to do in life. Unless it was Sloan, she amended. But the situation sorely limited her options.

Bracing one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip, she rolled him onto his back. She shuddered but didn’t hesitate to pilfer through his right pocket. Her fingers encountered cool metal and then curled around a single key. She tugged it out of his tattered jeans and rushed back to the truck without allowing her gaze to linger on the dead guy.