heard the rest of the team heading away from them toward the kitchen. No gunfire yet, so they hadn’t encountered anyone, either. According to plan, they’d check the kitchen and adjoining bathroom, while he and Jordan entered the bedroom where they expected to find Calderon.
Riley moved as silently as possible, rolling through his feet. Music blared from the back room, underlaid by a sitcom laugh track. At this proximity the noise made his ears smart, and that was through a helmet. The door leading to the bedroom was closed, a simple padlock securing it from the outside. Jordan stepped forward with his shotgun. Riley raised his gloved hand, counting down: three…two…one…
The lock blew away, taking a good chunk of the cheap door with it. Riley swept into the room. Aside from a bed, there was no other furniture. The windows were boarded up. On the right, another door led to the bathroom. Jordan moved to clear that while Riley held his MP-5 steady on the room’s sole occupant.
The hostage was lying on a bed, hands and feet trussed. The black hood covering his head was knotted loosely around his neck. His clothes were filthy, an undershirt mottled brown with stains and a pair of suit pants that were nearly reduced to shreds. The head jerked toward him, and he heard muffled pleas.
Jordan stepped out of the bathroom and nodded: all clear. Despite this, he wore an expression of concern. Riley felt the same way: they should never have been able to enter the apartment without encountering resistance. The abduction of Calderon had been done with precision by a skilled team. No way they would leave Calderon alone and unattended. And still no gunfire from the other side of the house, yet the rest of his team hadn’t reappeared. Riley glanced at his watch: ninety seconds since they’d entered the apartment. The little voice in his head was screaming at him to grab this guy and get the hell out.
Riley nodded for Jordan to cover him. He shouldered his MP-5 and unholstered his sidearm. Crossing the room in two steps, he aimed the gun with one hand while untying the hood with the other. He yanked it off and stepped back, keeping his weapon leveled at the man on the bed. The guy was bruised almost beyond recognition, cheeks sunken and gaunt. His eyes were wild, hair matted with blood, mouth duct-taped. He didn’t look much like the hale, robust man in the company photos, but it was hard to tell. Six weeks as a hostage would ruin anyone’s good looks.
Riley barked, “Don’t move!” He edged in again, ripped off the duct tape. “Where are the hostiles?”
A slow smile crept across the guy’s face. At the sight of it, Riley went cold. “Behind you, amigo,” the man said.
Riley spun. On the other side of the entryway, five men had assault rifles fixed on him and Jordan.
“Fuck,” Jordan muttered.
Riley debated for a second, tightening his grip on his weapon. One handgun against enough firepower to take out a village—he didn’t like his odds. Still, he’d faced worse.
“Don’t be a fool, señor,” the man continued. “We have your other men. Surrender and they all survive.”
Slowly Riley lowered his weapon. The guy’s wrist bonds must have been faked, for he was suddenly at Riley’s side, yanking the handgun from his grasp. Gritting his teeth, Riley linked his hands behind his head. Gunshots, right by his ear. He whirled around in time to see Jordan’s body collapsing to the floor. The bastard was standing over him, grinning.
“Lo siento,” he said casually. “You brought too many.”
“Fuck you,” Riley spat, unable to contain his rage.
The guy ignored him, barking orders to his men. The hood he’d just pulled off was tugged over Riley’s face. It was difficult to breathe through the thick fabric. His hands were zip tied behind him. They pushed and prodded him down the hall. Riley considered yelling, but knew they were in Zetas-friendly territory; there was little chance any locals would come to the rescue. In this town, it was hard enough to gauge whose side the police were on.
He stumbled a few times on the stairs. Hit a landing and heard a door clank against the wall. They must be leaving through the same service exit his team had used to enter the building. The sound of an engine running, and Riley was suddenly sent flying forward. He smacked his head against something hard. Hands shoved him against the far wall into a sitting position. Other people crashed into him, muttering curses. An engine roared, and the vehicle they’d been loaded into peeled away from the curb.
Riley swayed, bracing his feet hard against the floor to stay upright. It felt like a van—probably the one they’d requisitioned for their own getaway. He wondered how many of his men had survived, and what was going to happen to them. Most of all he wondered why the hell any of them were still alive. Clearly they’d walked into a trap—someone knew they were coming. Riley resolved right then and there to find out who. And if he managed to come through this in one piece, he fully intended to hunt them down and kill them.
Three
Kelly Jones relaxed. The water surrounding her was warm, womblike. She let herself drift as images flashed across her mind’s eye. Agent Leonard barking a command as he ran alongside her, before vanishing in a flash of light and heat. Her former partner, Rodriguez, laughing at his own jokes. Her family, all together again, making pancakes. And finally Jake Riley, the man she had promised to marry. She was focusing on his easy grin, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, when a voice jolted her back to the present.
“That’s not bad. Now raise and lower it one more time.”
Kelly opened her eyes. She was floating on her back. The ceiling above the pool danced with the shadows of ripples. From this distance it almost appeared alive, like some great writhing beast. She gritted her teeth and tried to do what she was told, focusing on her right leg, forcing it to resist the hand pressing against her quad. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead and into the water.
“Not bad. But try to raise it all the way up.”
“It’d be a hell of a lot easier if you stopped pushing it down,” Kelly muttered, teeth clenched.
“Sure would, but that’s not my job. Remember our goal?”
Kelly had disliked the physical therapist on sight, and her chirpy voice with the irritating habit of emphasizing every other word had only become more grating over time. Still, she was supposed to be the best in her field. And to get back on active duty, Kelly would tolerate almost anything. Even a she-devil named Brandi.
“One more time and we’re done.”
“That’s what you said before the last one,” Kelly protested.
Brandi shrugged. “I lied. C’mon, you can do it!”
Kelly closed her eyes again. She strained hard, clenching her leg muscles and gluts. There was a splash: her stump had broken the surface of the water. She let her head drop back down, still unaccustomed to the sight of it. “That’s what I’m talking about!” Brandi exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “All right, now you’re done. See you on Thursday.”
“I thought we could meet tomorrow instead,” Kelly said. She hated the pleading tone in her voice, but she needed this. The more PT she did, the faster she’d be able to get back to work. Seven months off and she was climbing the walls. At this point it felt like another few weeks would kill her. And the only person who could clear her for active duty was standing in front of her, ponytail pointing straight up like an exclamation point, glossy pink lips pressed firmly together.
“Now, Kelly.” Brandi shook her head disapprovingly. “Remember our chat about recovery time?”
“I’m never sore the next day anymore,” Kelly protested.
Brandi’s expression didn’t soften. “No way, missy. I will see you on Thursday.” She leaned in. “But if you like, I’ll sneak in an extra half hour.”
“Gee, thanks.” Kelly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She watched Brandi swim fluidly over to the ladder. The pool wasn’t kept locked,