operative into believing he owed him many times over.
He gritted his teeth and pushed through the materials in front of him. He had work to do before he gave the assignment to his number one field agent. His choice to send Alexa had ramped up the importance of his decision. And depending on what came of his assessment, Alexa’s new recruit, Jessica Beckett, might get assigned, too. From the sounds of the situation in Haiti, Jackson Kinkaid was desperate.
And desperate men—with plenty to lose—could be played to his advantage now and in the future.
Port de Paix, Haiti
Kinkaid cut to the rear of the clinic and kept his distance from the perimeter the Haitian police had set. On a ridge, he ducked into the shadow of a deserted old armory and crouched against a stone wall to catch his breath and watch the action below.
The police had strategically directed lights along the rear of the medical facility. Although it complicated matters, the lights gave him a better view. The clinic where the hostages were being held had a basement. Narrow windows at ground level, two subterranean walkouts reinforced by cinder blocks, and a small loading bay for supplies made possible entry points. The windows were too tight to squeeze through, and the cops had the points of entry covered. He wasn’t about to slip by them unnoticed.
On the side of good news, there were fewer cops guarding the back side of the building. If he got lucky, and the cops suddenly went blind, he might have a chance to find a way in. But the bad news far outweighed the good.
He wouldn’t kill a cop who was only trying to do his duty as ordered, end of story. Yet the feeling wouldn’t be mutual. So long as he carried an AK-47, if the Haitian police caught him, they’d shoot first and ask questions later. Dead was dead. They find his body with the rest of these bastards, and no one would know he was any different. Considering what he did for a living, it would be an easy mistake to make. He’d be fitted for a body bag, no matter what his intentions were. And being the only dead terrorist in a fancy suit wouldn’t matter when it came to a body count in a foreign country.
Kinkaid shut his eyes tight to stop his head from spinning. He took deep breaths of muggy air to over-come his nausea. His body’s struggle between chills and fever was getting worse. And in his weakened state, he couldn’t afford to waste time. He’d get only one chance at helping Kate. He had to make it count.
Before he made himself into a one-man wrecking crew, he checked his cell phone for any messages from Joe LaClaire. After he came up empty, he heaved a sigh in frustration. Calling Joe had been a long shot. The whole thing sucked. The urgency of Kate’s predicament made any rescue nearly impossible for a man working alone, and he’d be bucking local cops, who weighed success by a high body count and had the photos to prove it.
“Damn it,” he cursed under his breath.
When he hit his speed dial to try Joe one more time, a thunderous blast shook the ground. And the night sky erupted in flames. Kinkaid covered his head as dirt and debris pelted him. When he looked up, he knew what had happened. The terrorists had used a grenade launcher that tore through police lines and cleared the way with deadly precision. Some cops broke cover and ran. Others stayed and fought, even though they didn’t stand a chance. The Haitian officers were outclassed in equipment and training.
The terrorists had rushed out a basement door using hostages for cover. A crush of humanity moved as one. Assault rifles erupted with short bursts of flame piercing the darkness. He squinted through the fires left burning from the grenades, unable to see who was shooting. The gunmen cut a swath through the few gutsy police officers who dared to resist. With brutal force, the terrorists showed no mercy as they hid behind women and children.
They were on the move again—and so was he.
Kinkaid tracked the cowards from the shadows on the ridge, weaving in and out of cover as he traversed the rough terrain. Armed with a grenade launcher, the men were more dangerous and better prepared than he had first thought. And coming off a firefight, they’d be wired with adrenaline and a shitload of testosterone. A lethal combo in his line of work. He’d have to be more careful.
And if these men escaped with Kate and the others, the terrorists would be in complete control to carry out their agenda. That was unacceptable.
When blood splattered her face, Sister Kate winced. A scream had wedged deep in her throat though she was too stunned to know if she’d actually cried out. The fierce explosions and the automatic gunfire had muffled any sound to her ears; it seemed as if the only thing she could hear was the pounding of her heart.
One of the gunmen had his arm tight against her neck, choking her. He’d killed a Haitian police officer in front of her. His bullets pounded the young man’s chest, the force of the blows staggering him. Her captor stopped long enough to see the body fall before he trudged on, dragging her with him.
The brief encounter forced a gap between them and the rest of the hostages. It isolated her with the man who had her by the neck until they approached a group of small dwellings. Kate caught movement from the corner of her eye. Another man in uniform stepped out from behind a shanty and thrust an arm near her head. She heard a series of thuds and a gasp from deep inside her captor’s chest. He arched his back and let her go. Kate turned in time to see that a policeman held the masked man’s body. And until the dead man collapsed to the ground, she didn’t know he’d been stabbed to death.
The uniformed man held a bloodied knife in his hand. After a stunned moment, he ventured a faint smile and stared at her. Another young man.
“Please, Sister, we must get you to safety,” he whispered in French, and waved for her to follow him.
She took a step toward him. It would have been easy to escape her ordeal—to run and not look back—yet something stopped her. The young officer didn’t understand, but when he turned to grab his rifle, a single shot rang out. He came to a dead stop. His body stiffened, and he never turned back. He crumpled to the ground at her feet, his face in the dirt. He was dead.
And for a split second, her eyes settled on his rifle. It was within her reach. So very close. She swallowed, hard. Her throat was parched, and she felt sick. She thought about running again, yet something made her turn.
A masked gunman, the leader of the terrorists, stood only yards from her. He was alone with a gun in his hand. He had killed the young officer. In another life, anger would have driven her to go for the rifle, but instead she took a deep breath and waited for what he would say.
“Get moving.” His voice was low. And although his words had been an order, he remained composed. She almost didn’t hear him.
Kate fell into step in front of him. A mix of emotions made her stomach churn, and tears coursed down her cheek, uncontrollable. She’d had a chance to make a difference, and she froze. Could she have pulled the trigger? If their roles had been reversed, she had no doubt he would have killed her. And yet something in his behavior and his unperturbed reaction to how close she had come to the rifle had confused her.
She didn’t have long to think about what had happened.
She was in the dark again, running with the man who held her against her will. And worse, Kate had lost track of the children. They were too little to be spotted in the cluster of hostages up ahead. She wanted to call out their names but was too afraid to draw attention to them. If the children didn’t keep up, she was afraid these men would kill them on the spot.
“Move faster…or you die,” the terrorist leader yelled to those in front of them.
His voice and the sound of his boots made her cringe. Every time he yelled, she thought he directed his abuse at her. Given the life-or-death extremes of their situation, the man had total control over her and the others.
Yet she needed to know one thing.
“You could have killed me back there,” she said, her voice cracking. “Why didn’t you?”
He didn’t answer at first. And she’d begun to think he hadn’t heard her until she looked over her shoulder.
“It would have been too easy.” He fixed his eyes ahead and shoved her shoulder, forcing her to face forward. “And I have plans for you now. When I could not take your wealthy American guest of honor hostage, I had to settle for you. An American nun. Now shut up and keep moving.”
Kate grimaced and fought a lump in her throat. Their lives were in his hands. And behind her, the steady skirmish between the terrorists left at the clinic and the Haitian police had stopped. Even with her muffled hearing,
