Wild Case Read online

  “Hey, can you do me a favor?" I asked.

  "Sure, anything."

  "Don't say that. That's too wide open."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Anything besides what you really, really want."

  "How do you know what I really, really want?"

  She scoffed. ”Please, I’ve spent enough time around you to know."

  “What I really, really want is for you to look into a cold case. Samantha Baxter. 1986."

  Her eyes widened. "1986?"

  "I know. There are a few witnesses and suspects I need to track down. I'm going to be out of town for a few days. I would be forever in your debt if you could get a head start on this?"

  "My pleasure. What happened?"

  I filled her in on all the details.

  “That’s terrible!” Denise said after hearing about the grim crime scene. “I’ll get on it tomorrow and see what I can find out.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try.”

  Denise’s phone rang, and she took a call. “Hello… Yes… Really?” She grimaced. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

  She hung up and a frown twisted her beautiful face.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I gotta go. Sorry.” She gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek.

  “What is it?”

  She groaned. “You don’t want to know. When are you coming back?”

  I shrugged. “A couple days.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just a little side gig. No big deal.”

  “Well, have fun. Call me when you get back.”

  She smiled, then spun around and sauntered out of the salon, weaving through the board of partygoers.

  My eyes followed the teeny bikini.

  7

  It was probably a bad idea to throw a party the night before I had a major assignment. But once Jack got an idea in his head, there was no talking him out of it. The party raged into the wee hours of the morning until we eventually ran out of alcohol.

  A good time was had by all, but now I was paying the price.

  My head pounded when I woke, and my mouth was like the Sahara. It was still dark outside, and I hadn’t gotten much sleep. It seemed like my head had just hit the pillow when my alarm went off.

  I crawled out of bed, took a shower, got dressed, and packed my gear. I press-checked my weapon and stuck it in my Kydex holster for an appendix carry. A small subcompact strapped around my ankle would serve as a backup.

  In a small backpack, I stuffed a change of clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, and some ibuprofen. A few extra magazines seemed like a reasonable addition. I didn't think I needed to go overboard. Surely I wouldn't need any grenades, smoke canisters, night vision opticals, or any of my usual accessories?

  This was just a routine detail.

  I just needed to get the client, Frank, and his briefcase, to the destination. With any luck, I'd be back in the States by tomorrow afternoon.

  I slung the pack over my shoulder, left my stateroom, and climbed the stairs to the salon.

  The place was trashed.

  Empty red plastic cups and beer bottles were strewn about everywhere. A girl was passed out on the settee. A guy was crashed on the deck. I don't know what happened to JD, but he was probably in the VIP guest room with his two hotties.

  I whipped up a quick plate of breakfast, and Buddy looked up at me, pleading for bacon. The little Jack Russell had the most sad, adorable eyes. Jack said he would look after Buddy and Fluffy while I was gone.

  I scarfed the scrambled eggs down and dashed out of the salon. I’d deal with the mess when I got back. Maybe, just maybe, Jack would clean it up?

  I wasn't holding my breath.

  I trotted down the dock, and a driver in a black town car picked me up. I slid into the black leather seats and pulled the door shut. The driver whisked me across the island to the FBO.

  The private terminal was a dream. No security checks. No pat downs. No invasive searches.

  I moved through the terminal and strolled across the tarmac to the CSX—750 Slipstream. The sleek aircraft sat on the tarmac like a bird of prey. Fast and elegant.

  The pilot waited by the steps, along with my assignment.

  My eyes widened in disbelief. "You're Frank?"

  She groaned and looked disappointed. “You can call me Frank, or Frankie, or F-bomb. Call me Francine, and I'll kill you."

  It was the blonde from the party.

  "You already know my name,” I said.

  "This can't be happening. I'm supposed to entrust you with my security? You couldn’t even manage those two goons yesterday."

  "I would have been just fine. Sometimes I like to give my opponents a head start, just to be fair. I like a challenge."

  A silver briefcase dangled from her hand. It was attached to her wrist with a handcuff.

  "This is not going to work. I'm calling Isabella."

  "Suit yourself. I've got other things I'd rather be doing, anyway."

  She pulled a cell phone from a pocket and dialed a number.

  I folded my arms and watched. My eyes glanced to the pilot.

  "Hey, I just fly the plane,” he said, innocently.

  "This is totally unacceptable!” Frankie said into the phone.

  I could hear Isabella's voice crackle through the speaker, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying.

  "I call bullshit,” Frankie barked. “This is your best agent?" She listened intently for a moment. "No, you’ve never steered me wrong…” After a few moments of cajoling, Frankie replied, “Okay, fine. If you say so. But if this goes south…"

  Isabella said something else, then Frankie hung up the phone.

  Frankie sighed and looked at me. "Okay, tough guy. Looks like you come with a pretty good referral. But you fuck this up, I will beat your ass myself."

  Frankie spun around and stormed up the steps.

  I exchanged a glance with the pilot who just shrugged.

  "I know. You just fly the plane. I just guard the package."

  My eyes were drawn to the sway of Frankie’s hips as she climbed the stairs. She wore a dark gray pantsuit with a white blouse and high heels. She looked like any other corporate professional taking a private jet. But the briefcase handcuffed to her left wrist drew the eye and begged for unwanted attention.

  I wore a navy suit and tie, attempting to look professional.

  I climbed the steps and took a seat in the supple leather. The plane had elegant appointments. Walnut trim, cream leather, flatscreen TVs, and a courteous flight attendant.

  "Can I get you anything to drink?" a cute brunette attendant asked.

  "Bottled water, please,” I replied.

  The attendant turned across the isle. “And for you, ma'am?"

  Frankie was still pissed about working with me, but forced a smile. "Nothing, thank you."

  The captain crackled over the intercom in a smooth, radio DJ voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying Cobra Airways,” he joked. “I estimate the flight time to Medellín at 3 hours and 20 minutes. It should be a smooth flight. I don't expect much turbulence. I do ask that you remain seated with your seatbelt fastened until I remove the sign, at which point you will be free to move about the cabin. We have a few planes ahead of us on the tarmac, but we should be in the air shortly. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight."

  He powered up the engines, and the turbines whined. The attendant brought my water as we taxied to the runway.

  I leaned across the aisle and asked Frankie, “What's in the case?”

  Her eyes blazed into me like lasers. "That's none of your business."

  “Must be pretty important.”

  “Obviously.” She went back to reading her iPad.

  "I just like to know what I'm protecting."

  Frankie scoffed and refused to look at me. She muttered to herself, "I might as well be on my own."

  "You haven't exactly seen me at my best,"
I said.

  "I should hope not."

  "Where is the case going?"

  "Again, none of your business."

  "I can do a better job if I know the route. That's all I'm saying."

  "I will tell you when you need to know."

  “And right now, I don't need to know. I get it.“

  "Exactly."

  I remained quiet for a moment. Then I asked, “What were you doing on my boat yesterday?"

  "I didn't know it was your boat.”

  “How did you find out about the party?"

  "Somebody handed me a flyer in a bar. When I go on assignment, I like to experience a little bit of the local flavor. I had an evening to kill. Why not?"

  "Did you have fun, at least?"

  "I always have fun, agent…?"

  "Wild.”

  She kept reading her iPad. "So, is the whole deputy sheriff thing some type of cover?"

  "Nope. I'm a volunteer deputy."

  “Don’t you find that conflicts with your duties with Cobra Company?"

  "Not really. I don't work for Cobra Company anymore. This is just a favor to Isabella."

  "Couldn't hack it, huh?"

  My eyes narrowed at her. "I could hack it just fine. Maybe I got tired of putting up with pain in the ass clients?”

  Her gorgeous blue eyes finally looked up at me. They lingered for a second, then darted back to her iPad. "You have no idea how much of a pain in the ass I can be."

  “Oh, don't worry, I'm beginning to get the idea."

  8

  The engines howled, and the thrust pushed me back against the seat as the jet rocketed down the runway. The fuselage vibrated, and the bulkheads rattled as we accelerated. The nose gently lifted off the tarmac, followed by the rear wheels a moment later. The plane lifted into the air, and the heavy vibration settled.

  Almost immediately, hydraulics whirred as the pilot retracted the landing gear with a clunk. He angled the craft skyward, and my ears filled as we ascended. I yawned, stretching my jaw to equalize the pressure. I would need to do it a few more times as we raced toward the heavens.

  The plane leveled off as we reached cruising altitude. Frankie put in earphones and launched a movie on her iPad.

  As far as I was concerned, this wasn't about her, or the case. I agreed to this trip for one reason, and one reason only—to get closer to Esteban Rivera—the man who, most likely, ordered my parents’ murder. Perhaps he even pulled the trigger himself?

  An informant had placed him in Medellín several weeks ago. With any luck, he would still be there, and I would get my revenge.

  I wasn't sure exactly what I’d do when I found him. Much like Florence Baxter, I needed closure—and so did Madison. I'd make sure Frankie got to her destination as promised. Then I’d take a little extra time for my own investigation.

  For the next 3 hours and 20 minutes, I could catch up on my sleep. Frankie would be safe until we touched down. The pilot, and the flight crew, had all been vetted by Isabella. They weren’t a threat. My job didn't really start until we touched down in Medellín.

  I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep. It only seemed like a moment later when a turbulent bump woke me up as we started our descent. I yawned and stretched and looked over at my assignment.

  "Catching up on your beauty rest?" Frankie muttered.

  "I just want to be tiptop when it's go time."

  "Go time is now," she said. "I catch you nodding off when we're in country, and I'll—“

  "I know. You'll kick my ass."

  We touched down a few minutes later, taxied to the terminal at the FBO, and the pilot powered down the engines. I pulled the latch on my seatbelt, climbed out of my seat, and grabbed my backpack. I slung it over my shoulders and moved forward. The flight attendant unlatched the door, and the ground crew pushed the stairs to the fuselage.

  The air was a cool 73°. Medellín was known as the City of the Eternal Spring. With an average year round temperature of 72°, the weather was often pleasant. Air conditioning and heating were rarely necessary.

  A squad of commandos in green jungle fatigues with assault rifles surrounded the plane. Maroon berets topped their heads. They looked like members of the Colombian National Army.

  A man in a dark suit waited on the tarmac. He had dark hair and a mustache. A smile curled his face. He was mid-30s and had a round face. He waved me down.

  I called back to Frankie. "Wait here."

  She gave me a concerned nod.

  I descended the steps and shook the man's hand on the tarmac. He introduced himself as Pablo Gomez—a special agent with the National Intelligence Directorate, the Colombian version of the CIA. His English was perfect, with a slight accent. ”Welcome to Medellín, Mr. Wild. I trust you had a good flight?"

  I nodded.

  He knew more about me than I knew about him.

  There's no doubt that Isabella had arranged for our entry into the country. This was clearly a joint operation between the CIA and the NID, and Cobra Company was hired to facilitate it. That meant if anything went wrong, no official agency would be held accountable.

  "I don't need to tell you that this operation does not exist. If you are captured or killed, we will deny any involvement. You will receive no official support from the Colombian government. You understand?”

  I nodded. This wasn’t my first rodeo.

  “This will most likely be the last time we speak."

  A stretch limousine approached, lumbering down the tarmac.

  "It looks like your ride is here,” Pablo said. “Good luck."

  We shook hands again.

  The limousine stopped near the tail end of the aircraft. The driver stepped out, moved to the rear door, and pulled it open. Another man in a silver suit stepped out with a beaming smile. He had short dark hair, brown eyes, and narrow, angular features. He marched across the tarmac with an outstretched hand.

  We shook, and he introduced himself as Diego Suárez. "I will take you to Santiago Martín." He looked me up and down, somewhat concerned. "Do you have the package?"

  I nodded. "I need to inspect the vehicle first."

  "Be my guest," Diego said motioning to the car like it was the prize on a game show.

  I dropped to the tarmac and glanced underneath the chassis, looking for explosive devices.

  “I can assure you, the vehicle is safe. I wouldn’t ride in it otherwise,” Diego said.

  “Has the car been serviced recently?” I asked.

  “It’s brand-new,” Diego replied. “Maybe 6 months old. We’ve had no issues with the car. Enrique is trained in tactical driving. There is reinforced steel in the doors. Bullet resistant glass. Run flat tires. No expense was spared in securing the vehicle."

  I inspected the frame and the welding. I looked for anything unusual that was taped or attached to the frame. The muffler and the fuel tank didn’t look like they had been tampered with. The undercarriage looked evenly coated with dirt and grime. I saw where the frame had been cut and stretched, but the work didn’t look inconsistent with the age of the car.

  When I was satisfied, I pushed off the ground and strolled around the vehicle. I looked in the trunk and pulled back the lining. I checked the spare tire and smelled it. I looked for any new welds and tapped around for inconsistent sounds or hollow compartments.

  Everything looked normal.

  I strolled to the front of the car and checked under the hood. Then I inspected the wheel wells and felt the swing of the doors. They were heavy from the reinforced steel. I slid into the driver seat and looked over the dash. There were a few papers in the glove box, and the dash looked intact. The headlights and the taillights were in good working order.

  I moved around to the passenger area and poked my head inside. It smelled like fresh leather. I didn’t notice any unusual odors. I really needed a sniffer dog and an x-ray device. But I’d have to trust my senses, and my gut.

  I pulled my head out of the cab and looked back to the plane. The co
mmandos still huddled around.

  “You’re a very thorough man, Mr. Wild,” Diego said. “I like that.”

  I gave a subtle nod to Diego and strolled back toward the aircraft. I yelled up the staircase, “We're Oscar Mike."

  It was military jargon for on the move.

  Frankie emerged with the case dangling from her wrist. She descended the steps, and I escorted her to the limousine. We slipped into the leather seats. Diego followed, sitting on the bench seat across from the minibar.

  The driver closed the door, then climbed behind the wheel. He twisted the keys and cranked up the engine. He dropped the car into gear and banked the limousine around. We cruised away from the airplane, and I watched through the rear window as Pablo motioned for the squad of commandos to rollout.

  "Can I offer you a drink?" Diego said, motioning to the fully stocked minibar. Crystal snifters contained rum, vodka, and whiskey.

  ”No, thanks."

  "Right. One must stay sharp," he said.

  I forced a smile. There was an uneasy tension in the air.

  Diego's eyes kept flicking to the silver case. He tried not to look at it, in the same way a man tries not to look at a nice valley of cleavage. Like a magnet, the case kept pulling his eyes back.

  I didn't trust Diego, and I was pretty sure Diego didn't trust me. One thing was for certain, he wanted what was in the case. I wondered if he wanted it bad enough to cross his boss to get it?

  I kept my hand near my waistband, not far from my pistol.

  "The case is sturdy, yes?" Diego asked.

  Frankie's cold eyes stared into him. "Very."

  "Biometrics, yes?" Diego asked.

  Frankie nodded.

  The handcuffs that secured Frankie’s wrist to the case were no ordinary cuffs. Made from a special alloy, they were virtually indestructible. To get them off, you would need a special key, a biometric fingerprint, and a matching voice pattern. Same for the case. It was high-tech stuff.

  There was only one person who could remove the handcuffs and open the case, and that was Santiago Martín.

  I'm sure, given enough time and determination, the security mechanism could be breached. It would be easier to cut through Frankie's arm than saw through the alloy of the cuffs. I knew that, and she knew that. And somehow, in the thick of it all, this began to seem like much more than a standard protection detail.