Prologue
ONE YEAR AGO
Michael Thompson sat in the jail cell after his arraignment. He hadn’t spoken a word since his arrest, except to his lawyer. Even with his lawyer, he was brief and to the point. His plea was not guilty, even though he had killed the man.
He had expected this day for years. Not because he felt remorse for his crimes—those he killed had committed far worse crimes—but because he still, deep down, believed in the system. That someone would see him, a camera would catch him, an alert cop would arrest him.
It was none of the above. It was a mistake on his part, a stray fingerprint that led back to him.
He was normally careful. Unlucky thirteen, he mused.
Spending the rest of his life in prison didn’t worry him. If he was given the death penalty, he would accept it. Dying did not scare him.
He’d been dead inside for seven years. Seven years, two months, four days. The day his daughter’s broken body had been found.
A crime that could have—should have—been prevented.
A crime that killed his daughter, gutted his marriage, destroyed him.
“You have a visitor.”
Mike looked at the guard, then rose from his cot.
“Walk to the bars and turn around, please.”
He complied. He had no beef with the guards here. They were just doing their job. They’d shown him respect and he would return the same.
He was handcuffed through the bars, then the guard motioned to the control room to unlock the gate.
Beep.
Click.
Slide.
The guard escorted him down three halls and through two locked doors.
Buzz.
Click.
To the row of rooms that were reserved for prisoners and their lawyers.
It wasn’t his lawyer sitting in the small room.
It was a friend, a colleague of sorts. Mike doubted he knew the man’s real name, and it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they worked for the same man, a true visionary.
The guard unlocked his handcuffs, then reattached the cuffs to the ring on the table. He left the room without comment. Did he know the truth?
He might. His friend was not a lawyer; he shouldn’t be here.
“I am sorry,” Mike said.
“There is no reason to be sorry. We talked to your lawyer and cultivated a source in the police department. The evidence is fairly solid, and they have also connected you to the situation in San Antonio.”
Mike nodded. He’d feared at the time that the girl had seen him; she had at least seen the rental car. He also suspected his image had been captured at the rental car pick-up, even though he did everything reasonable to trick any surveillance. Though he hadn’t used his own identity—he never used his real identity when working a job—it would only be a matter of time before they were able to trace that burned identity to him.
He hadn’t expected it to take two years, but that was two more years of righting wrongs. He couldn’t complain.
“He wants you to know that he appreciates your loyalty and that he loves you as a son. Getting you out of this situation might be difficult—”
Mike shook his head. He—his mentor, his savior—had given him hope when he had none. “I don’t expect to get out of it. I’m okay with that. I’m at peace.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“But I am. And I have a second mission here, inside, that I can fulfill. Please, thank him for the new life he gave me. Thank him for his faith and support. The police will push, will want to know who hired me, but I will never betray him.”
“He knows. You have remained silent—which is exactly what you should continue to do. Your imprisonment will ultimately help us in the long term. Our boss finally sees a way to punish Sean Rogan. But it’s a difficult and complex plan which will take time to implement. A year, maybe longer.”
“I have time.”
“You won’t see me again; it might be too risky. If it works, you’ll know during the trial. I may be able to find a liaison so you have all the information you need. It won’t get you freedom, but we will fight against the death penalty.”
Mike said, “I’m not afraid to die.”
His friend reached out and shook his cuffed hand. “I’m really going to miss you, Mike. When this is all over, I’ll visit as often as I can.”
When Mike was back in his cell, he mulled over what the plan might be, and how Sean Rogan would be punished. He didn’t know the man, but he had heard plenty of stories. He’d offered to add Rogan to his list, but his boss said no.
“There are other ways to right wrongs, and death is too good for Rogan.”
Chapter One
WEDNESDAY
OUTSIDE MONTERREY, MEXICO
Siobhan Walsh Rogan watched as her new husband and his team helped the six terrified girls into the old Hummer.
Even before he took her hand to help her into the vehicle, she could read his mind.
“No,” she said. She jumped back down and stared into Kane’s brilliant blue eyes and knew her instincts were right. “No,” she said, more emphatic. “Do not go after him.”
She ignored the gnats flying around her head, the distant sound of a lone rifle, the curses of the man restrained in the doorway of the house Kane and his men had raided.
He didn’t say anything. He stared at her, face blank. Almost blank. Was he actually smiling?
“See, you can’t even argue with me!”
“I’m not going to argue with you, Red. Get in the truck.”
“No.”
His gaze narrowed just a fraction, but it added three levels of mean to his expression.
“It’s an order.”
“Don’t even.”
He pulled her away from the truck, away from his team and the girls, all of whom were watching them far too closely.
“I will find him; I will stop him.”
“It’s not worth it.”
“Was it worth it to rescue Hestia nine years ago?”
“This is not the same thing. We have the girls! We’re getting them to safety. Just like we did with Hestia.”
“Blair escapes, more girls are at risk. You know it, I know it. Dyson and Lucky will take you to the convent. Ranger’s with me. I know what I’m doing, Siobhan.”
He looked like the cold, hardened mercenary he’d been when she first met him. The mercenary she had loved and hated. The hero she wanted and feared for.
She couldn’t stop him. She knew that. She wanted to—because she had never loved like this before. But she loved Kane Rogan because of who he was, and this was who he was. He hadn’t wanted her to come because the rescue was dangerous, but he also recognized that her unique skill set working with young victims would be instrumental in making the extraction easier than it might have been with only four armed men. He trusted her when she knew it was difficult for him to put her in danger.
She had to trust him.
This was who Kane was. She didn’t want to change him. She couldn’t if she tried.
She didn’t want to lose him.
Yet another reason why she loved him so much.
“Don’t get killed, Kane Rogan. I will never forgive you.”
He kissed her. So hard it almost hurt, then he touched her face, and she saw the love in his expression, the love he had a hard time showing. “I love you. Go.”