Chapter One #3
Details she’d have to worry about later.
Now, she needed to get cash and disappear.
Missoula, Montana
Friday, April 13, 6:45 a.m.
SUPERVISORY SPECIAL AGENT KIRK KEHOE—his joint task force leader, his mentor, his friend—was dead.
It was still hard for Jackson Powell to believe, even after seeing the body and walking the crime scene. But what threw him for a loop was that Christina Ortiz was the killer.
Chrissy.
His Chrissy.
The sixteen-year-old girl he used to know never would’ve shot two men in cold blood. But there was concrete evidence of her guilt.
Jackson shoved aside old feelings. The past was irrelevant. That girl he’d once loved was gone.
Only one thing mattered: Taking Christina Ortiz into custody and seeing justice served.
A tip had led him and his team to where the fugitive was hiding. A classic 1950s-style motel. One story with just ten rooms. They parked their two SUVs, blocking entry to the lot of the City Drift Motel.
Jackson was the only deputy US marshal assigned to Operation Big Sky Guardian. With Kirk gone, there were five other agents left on the task force: Vazquez, from the FBI. Nichols, an IRS criminal investigator. Two from DEA, Tillman and Mirabal, and one from DHS, Walken.
None of whom Jackson trusted.
For weeks, Kirk had suspected there was a leak.
The entire team had been polygraphed, under the guise of a routine operational security check.
Everyone passed, but even so, any one of them could be the mole.
A polygraph wasn’t easy to beat, but it could be done.
Especially if a double agent had been trained to do so.
Which meant Jackson couldn’t count on them to cover his back or bring in the suspect safely.
There was also no way to tell how many people were in the cartel’s pocket.
Possibly even other deputies from his office.
To play it safe, he reached out to the US Marshals Special Operations Group in Camp Beauregard, Louisiana. Made an emergency request for assistance. Two had deployed within hours and arrived last night.
Fortunately, they’d sent deputy marshals he’d known for years and had the utmost faith in: Aiden Yazzie and Luis Flores. Jackson would bet his life that neither could ever be compromised by the cartel.
They all got out of their vehicles wearing their tactical gear and quickly huddled. At this time of morning, the street was quiet. Everything was still. No passersby to worry about if gunfire popped off and things turned dicey.
“I can’t believe our perp had the guts to get a room at a motel two blocks from the US marshals’ building,” Tillman said, shaking his head. “Gutsy.”
Jackson had no idea what Christina was doing or thinking. None of it made any sense. “That’s one word for it.”
Yazzie joined them, carrying the battering ram from one of the vehicles. “Ready.”
“Okay,” Jackson said. “She’s in room five.” He pointed it out. The other motel rooms on either side were unoccupied, according to the owner, who had tipped them off. “Alpha, you’re with me. Bravo, cover the back.”
A round of curt nods and everyone dispersed.
Quietly, Jackson led Team Alpha—Yazzie, Flores and Vazquez—up to room five, sidearms drawn. They were careful not to cross in front of the window, even though the curtains were drawn, and gathered on either side of the door.
Waiting to give the signal, Jackson sucked in a calming breath.
Chrissy. Killed Kehoe and another man.
With a quick roll of his shoulders, he refocused. Got in the zone. She was just another fugitive. Armed and dangerous. He’d treat her as such.
“In position,” Tillman said over comms.
Jackson raised three fingers and began the silent countdown. On one, Yazzie thrust the ram into the door, smashing it open. Glock up, Jackson swept inside the room first.
Christina jackknifed up from the bed and was on her feet, fully dressed, with shoes on. She eyed a subcompact handgun on the nightstand.
“Don’t do it!” he warned.
“Jackson?” Christina stared at him wide-eyed and raised her palms.
“Hands behind your head!” Flores came up alongside him. “Down on your knees!”
Kneeling slowly, Christina placed her palms on the back of her head.
Yazzie and Vazquez closed in around them.
Flores shoved the fugitive to the floor and handcuffed her.
“I didn’t do it,” Christina said. “I didn’t murder anyone.”
Flores hauled her up to her feet. “We don’t care.”
US marshals were the best of the best when it came to apprehending criminals with warrants out for their arrest. Whether someone was innocent or guilty wasn’t their concern. That was a matter for a court of law.
Christina’s panicked gaze found Jackson’s. “You have to help me. I’m innocent.”
Grabbing hold of her other arm, Jackson kept his gun pointed at her.
The mere sight of her made his skin tingle and touching her brought a fresh wave of memories to the forefront of his mind, but he shut it all down.
He had a job to do and nothing was going to stop him from getting it done. “Christina Ortiz, you’re under arrest.”