No One Heard Her Scream

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.