The monster had killed his mother. She’d stolen the money that his dad had hidden before he went to prison. The money to pay for his mother’s chemotherapy and surgery.
His mother had had a good chance of surviving if she’d had the necessary treatment.
And Bobbie had even known that when she took the money.
TWENTY-THREE
Sean drove Tim to his house and, after getting directions to the Callahans’ place, he asked Tim to check in on Lucy. Sean had already warned her about the note he’d found in the truck. He didn’t want to leave her longer than he had to, but he had questions he was certain Henry Callahan could answer.
As soon as he drove away from the Hendricksons’, his cell phone rang. It was his brother, Duke, calling from California.
“Confirmed,” Duke said. “Roberta Swain Molina, a.k.a. Bobbie Swain.”
“That was fast.” Sean had sent the picture less than thirty minutes ago. “She’s married?”
“Widowed. Her husband, a known drug smuggler, was murdered in his bed and Bobbie left for dead in what the police believe was a retaliation killing. A killer for a rival cartel came in through a window, slit Herve Molina’s throat, and attacked Bobbie. She fought back, but nearly died from blood loss. Their safe was emptied.”
“It’s not like those guys to leave a witness.”
“She fingered him, but also told her husband’s security chief who did it, and Molina’s people got to him first. Tortured and killed him. His knife was found in the bushes outside the window with both Molina’s and Swain’s blood on it.”
“That must have been hell to live through. Could have changed anyone.”
“Don’t lose sleep over what happened to Bobbie Swain,” Duke said. “According to both Molina’s cartel and others, she was just as ruthless as her husband. Kane heard the same thing, plus a nasty rumor.”
“You called Kane?”
Their brother Kane Rogan knew near everything about the international drug trade.
“You said you needed the information fast. Molina’s murder started a drug war. And Bobbie Swain walked away.”
“Drug lords don’t usually let people leave the business,” Sean commented.
“Kane’s theory was that she and Julio Gomez worked together to kill her husband, then Gomez turned on her, not wanting a witness. It’s all about access-logistically, Gomez needed an inside accomplice to access her husband’s safe.”
“But Bobbie managed to survive and fingered Gomez.”
“Molina’s people never thought she was involved, and she walked away. It was a bloody fight between Molina’s people and Gomez’s. In the end, a third player rose to the top of the food chain. Someone named Theo Corbin, an American who is affiliated with some nasty people in Colombia.”
Sean nearly missed the narrow, rutted driveway that marked the Callahan property. He made a sharp left turn and his truck barely cleared the old posts. A single light on the right illuminated a weatherworn metal sign:
H and E RANCH
MR. and MRS. HENRY CALLAHAN
SPRUCE LAKE, NEW YORK
Sean wondered how Jon Callahan felt living out here with his uncle. Unmarried, commuting three hours to Montreal several times a month. Unless he had something else going on-something illegal and lucrative. Agent Victoria Sheffield had been investigating white-collar crimes that crossed the border. Sean could see all the pieces of the puzzle, but he didn’t know how they fit together-yet.
“Did you hear me?” Duke asked.
“Sorry, almost missed my turn.”
“Kane speculated that Bobbie Swain had planned for Corbin to take over.”
Sean’s truck bounced over the potholes and he had to slow even more. “You mean she started the war between Molina and Gomez in order for a dark horse to come in and take over?”
“Bingo.”
“Do you have any evidence? That’s pretty damn cold-blooded.”
“It is. There’s no proof and little talk. But Corbin knows certain information that only Molina had-Molina and his wife.”
“When did this happen?”
“Six years ago.”
“Around the same time Paul Swain was sent to prison. Could that be a coincidence?”
“You tell me.”
The driveway turned sharply to the left, then a well-lit house came into view. He turned off his headlights, drove past the house, and parked on the far side of the garage. The sudden silence was broken only by the tick of his cooling engine.
“I’m talking to Paul Swain tomorrow.”
“Watch out for him.”
“Kane have intel on him, too?”
“No, he doesn’t track the domestic drug trade. Never heard of Spruce Lake or Paul Swain, and Bobbie Swain dropped off his radar when she left Miami. He’s going to ask around, but doubts he’ll find out anything in the next day or two.”
“Meaning he’s not going to try.” Sean knew his brother well, better than Duke thought he did. Kane’s priorities were always at the top of the list. He had quiet disdain for small-time drug action. The low-level players were easy to take out, but another asshole always popped up.
“I’ll see what I can find out. Be careful, Sean. This woman sounds like a dangerous piece of work.”
“I know exactly what she is,” Sean said. “She’s a monster.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up. Abigail Swain’s letter to her son made complete sense now.
Paul Swain had something on his sister, some piece of information that was so big that it would get him killed in prison. It might put her in jail for life, or possibly even get her killed. If it was so big that it had kept Bobbie out of Spruce Lake and away from Ricky Swain, it was likely connected to Herve Molina’s murder.
Bobbie Swain sounded ruthless, at least the way Kane portrayed her. But his oldest brother didn’t sugarcoat anything. A spade was a spade. A killer, a killer. No excuses, no explanations.
More than once Sean had threatened Duke that he’d head south and join Kane’s team of mercenaries. It was the surest way to get easygoing Duke riled up. Duke had spent three months in Central America with Kane’s team and returned a changed man. But Sean had never done it, and he’d always felt when he was younger that Duke thought he was too weak or too spoiled or too comfortable.
Sean saw the allure of fighting for something bigger than himself, fighting to save people from a fate worse than death. Rescuing young boys from the battlefield and giving them back to their mothers. Burning coca fields before harvest. Storming brothels where girls and women were held as sex slaves and bringing them to safety. Killing their captors because in some countries, there was no other justice.
But Sean feared that in such violent scenarios he might well lose his humanity. He could be trained to do what Kane did, but wouldn’t emerge unscathed. He sometimes wondered if his brother was superhuman, because no one could do what he did with his soul intact.
Sitting in the truck, Sean considered another theory about the sniper. Someone in town knew precisely what was going on and wanted Sean and Lucy out of the way before one or both of them was killed. The sniper hadn’t tried to kill him, true to his note. He thought he was doing them a favor.
Sean didn’t like the game, and he wasn’t leaving until he found out what had happened to Victoria Sheffield and Jimmy Benson. And he certainly wasn’t leaving until he had Ricky Swain in his custody. The kid was a wild card, potentially dangerous and also in danger. He could get himself killed if he confronted the wrong people. Someone who would kill a federal agent could just as easily kill a teenager seeking vengeance for his uncle’s death.
