Chapter Four
Lucy must know by now that he’d been arrested.
Sean hated that he couldn’t be the one to tell her. What had they done? Sent a couple cops to FBI headquarters? Called her down to the station? Were they questioning her? They would—just to get his alibi. She would have to answer, she was a sworn agent, right? Did they have spousal immunity? He didn’t know the rules on that, just vague information.
You’re innocent! Why are you thinking this way?
Because he’d been in the back of a police car for the last hour driving across Texas to be booked and charged with a crime he didn’t commit.
He was going to lose it before they arrived, and he had to keep it under control.
And this arrest was going to stop him from finding his brother.
Jack told him to stay put, that he’d call if he needed him, but Sean planned to be ready to leave on a moment’s notice. Kane was missing—Sean didn’t want to lose another brother. He’d planned to fly down to Hidalgo to be closer to Mexico if Jack needed his help.
Now, they were on their own. Of course, Jack, Kane, and their team were more than capable of handling the situation south of the border—they’d been mercenaries half of Sean’s life. But Kane wasn’t the young man he used to be, and Siobhan was also down there. The least he could do was help protect the convent and his sister-in-law.
Was Kane’s disappearance and his arrest connected? That seemed extraordinary, but Sean couldn’t rule anything out.
He closed his eyes, tried to slow his heart rate. He needed to think. Figure out what was going on and how to get out of this mess.
Lucy probably had a hundred questions, not the least of which was why he’d gone to Houston to see Mona Hill in the first place. He should have told her, because it affected her—it affected both of their families. But on Monday night, he was still figuring out what to do about the information Mona gave him. He’d told her what to do, she told him to go to hell, they’d argued, she’d seen the light, then he left.
He certainly hadn’t killed her over their disagreement. He needed her—as much as she needed him—and her death was more than an inconvenience.
But he couldn’t tell the cops any of this. If he omitted some things—not lying, because they’d catch him in a lie, but simply not giving them the background—they would be suspicious. His meeting with Mona Hill made no sense out of context.
He needed information, but the cops that were driving him wouldn’t talk—and if they did, they didn’t know anything important. This was a Houston case, and these were SAPD cops.
Dammit, Mona? What happened to you after I left Monday night?
Sean hadn’t wanted to talk to Mona Hill, and he certainly didn’t want to fly to Houston to talk to her in person. But she’d given him no real choice.
She’d called him Saturday morning. He ignored her. Jesse had a soccer game, then he and Lucy had a rare night alone because Jesse had spent the night with a friend. He ignored Mona on Sunday the multiple times she called. Then Monday morning she called again and Sean answered. Irritated.
“What do you want, Mona? Odette? Or whatever you’re calling yourself these days.”
“Don’t you dare turn your back on me, Sean Rogan. You are no saint, and if you don’t think I don’t have a few tricks up my sleeve, don’t test me.”
“Do not threaten me,” he said.
“I don’t want to. I don’t want anything to do with you. But you made this mess and I need you to fix it.”
“Explain.”
“I have to see you as soon as possible.”
There was fear in her voice, and her fear won his curiosity because Mona Hill wasn’t a woman who feared much.
“I need more.”
“Tobias.”
“He’s dead.”
“Someone from his operation is fucking with me, and I know exactly who it is … dammit, Rogan! Do you think I wanted to call you? Do you think I want to be in your debt? You’re a blue-eyed devil, but only a devil can stop these demons.”
* * *
He hadn’t wanted Mona to come to San Antonio, but she sounded scared and angry enough that she might try to. She told him that she would if he didn’t meet with her. Lucy was working late Monday, so he’d texted Jesse that he’d be late and to eat leftovers for dinner. Sean then flew his Cessna to Houston late Monday afternoon. When he landed, traffic from the small airstrip to her condo was miserable, but it was still light when he arrived.
Mona lived on the top floor of an upscale complex in a trendy downtown area. Prostitution clearly paid well.
Sean had kept tabs on Mona over the last two years. She was a survivor—and so was Sean. In San Antonio, Mona had run call girls and specialized in blackmail. She had several important people on her go-to list if she or her girls ever got into trouble. Mona wasn’t violent, she didn’t work underage girls or deal drugs, but she was certainly no saint. And when she made an alliance with a ruthless criminal, she ended up on the FBI’s radar.
She found herself on Sean’s radar when she threatened Lucy.
They had a truce: because Sean had looked the other way so Mona could disappear—and the FBI could apprehend a fugitive—she agreed never to return to San Antonio. He told her no more blackmail. Prostitution was illegal, but if she ran a clean operation, he’d keep his mouth shut.
She had some dirt on him. Nothing that would be easy to prove, but he didn’t need rumors circulating about what he may have done. And Lucy knew what happened. He’d told her without details, only the outcome.
Some things were better left unsaid.
So he and Mona had a truce, a quid pro quo relationship that was mutually beneficial, though they didn’t communicate much because they didn’t like each other.
Sean knocked on Mona’s door at six fifty Monday night.
She opened the door and stared at him. “Took you long enough.”
“You’re lucky I came at all.”
He walked in, she slammed the door behind him. He looked around. Nice place, new construction—not more than five years—clean and sparsely decorated. Mona looked good, too—wore jeans and a thin, shimmery short-sleeved dark tan sweater that matched her skin. Minimal makeup, hair expertly braided. She looked much better than she had when she’d run girls in San Antonio.
Maybe not dealing with the scum of the earth helped.
“You’re lucky I called you at all after you ignored me all weekend,” she snapped back.
“Tell me what’s going on, Mona. No games.”
“I saw that little bitch.”
He sighed. “Are we going to play twenty questions?”
“Elise! Elise Hansen! Or Hunt … or whatever the fuck name she goes by. First time was Friday night, I was making arrangements for a special party, walked back to my car and wham! she was right there, in my face. Looked right in my eyes, turned, and walked away. I was so stunned I didn’t say a word, thought I was wrong, then I went after her but she just vanished. It shook me, Sean. She is a piece of work—you don’t know the half of it. I thought she was just this little skank, but she’s a psycho. I called you on Saturday morning, but then thought okay, it was nothing, I didn’t give a fuck you didn’t call me back. But Saturday night, there she was again. I was coming in late—took care of a girl who’d been roughed up, then took care of the bastard who bruised her—”