“We got something.”
Trigger leaned forward. “What?”
“As we realized there at the end, they had no intention of flying that big-ass plane out of there. They had a cartel pilot picking them up in the Beechcraft to take them back up to Mexico.”
“Mexico?” Trigger asked in surprise.
“Yeah. They were with Sinaloa.”
“Fuck,” Trigger said, sitting back in his chair with a thump.
“They didn’t want Hugo Lamas freed so he could escape with them. They wanted him killed to send a message to the Cartel of the Suns. Essentially, they started a war.”
“And like any drug cartel, they didn’t care who got caught in the crossfire,” Trigger said in disgust. “The people they killed on the plane didn’t mean shit to them. All they cared about was sticking it to the Venezuelans. Letting them know they got one over on them right on their own turf.”
“Exactly. But there’s more,” Brain added.
“What?”
“There was talk of a seventh hijacker.”
“What are you saying? That we missed a hijacker and he got away?” Trigger asked.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. On the tapes, they were arguing about the Beechcraft. Luis was saying they were good because it could hold up to twelve people—and there was seven of them with the pilot, plus two more with the women he and Alberto were taking, leaving room for their ‘amigo’ and two more, if someone else wanted to bring along a ‘plaything.’”
Trigger wanted to kill Luis and the other hijackers all over again. Alberto had planned to take Gillian with him. The thought of what would’ve happened to her if he’d gotten her deep into the Sinaloa Cartel territory was too disturbing to dwell on.
Brain went on. “But then another said something about how it would be better for their ‘amigo’ to go with the rest of the hostages, to find out as much information as possible. To find out what the government and the Cartel of the Suns knew about the op. As far as I can tell before the call was abruptly cut off, they were still arguing about that. Half of those assholes wanted to let the mole stay hidden and camouflaged with the other civilians, and the other half wanted to extract him with them.”
“So the CIA needs to look into the backgrounds of all the hostages who were on the plane. See who has connections to Sinaloa and Mexico,” Trigger said.
“Not that easy,” Brain said with a shrug. “Even if we did narrow it down, everyone’s in the wind. They all went back to their countries and lives. Hell, our target could’ve used a fake name. But I think we’ve got bigger problems.”
“Bigger?” Trigger asked.
“Whoever was in cahoots with the hijackers knows everything that went down on that plane. Everything. They’re likely aware of how their friends were killed…and how Gillian was a big factor in giving us time to get to them and take out Luis, Alberto, the pilot, and the others. He or she might not be too happy that Gillian escaped…might even realize that she was giving us intel.”
“But why single her out? There’s no reason for it,” Trigger asked. “There were a lot of other passengers on that plane who interacted with the hijackers.”
“I talked to one of the agents who interviewed the hostages. Several said they saw Gillian struggling with Alberto, and saw them go down and trip Luis and Andrea. They also saw you and her hugging. It was the talk of the group. How impressed they were with Gillian and how brave they thought she was…but also how intimate the two of you seemed to be. As if maybe you knew each other before the hijacking, and Gillian was the reason the team was sent in. If I was an insider, I’d be pretty pissed off at her right about now. Especially after hearing all my fellow passengers praise her so highly.”
Trigger stood so quickly, his chair fell to the floor behind him. “Address?”
Brain didn’t quite smile, but his lips twitched as he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “She lives on the north end of Georgetown. Shouldn’t take you too long to get there.”
“This isn’t funny,” Trigger said with a scowl.
Brain stood up. “Never said it was. No matter what hang-ups you might have about what you do and who you are, she needs to know that she could be in danger.”
“I know.”
“The Sinaloa Cartel doesn’t fuck around. If they want her dead, it’ll take a miracle to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Brain said solemnly.
Trigger ground his teeth. He turned to leave, but he had one more question. He looked back at his friend. “Did they really hijack an international flight just to kill some border agent who was working with a rival drug cartel?”
Brain sighed and shook his head. “Doubtful. As far as the DEA can tell, it was a distraction from their main goal. Smuggling eight hundred kilos of cocaine and meth out of Venezuela. Sinaloa stole it from the Cartel of the Suns. While the world’s attention, and that of the leaders of Venezuela, were on the airport, they loaded up a ship with the drugs and sailed away without so much as a second glance from the authorities.”
Trigger could only shake his head. All those deaths because of drugs. Well, more accurately, because of money. He’d never understand it. “Thanks for the heads up,” he told Brain.
His friend brushed off his thanks. “Your best bet is to move her up here to Killeen so we can keep an eye on her.”
Trigger snorted. “You really think that’s gonna happen? You did hear me say that she’s independent and smart, right?”
Brain smiled fully for the first time. “Yup. You’ll just have to convince her. Show her some…leg…or something.”
Trigger rolled his eyes and turned to walk out of his office. He knew there wasn’t a chance in hell of convincing Gillian to move in with him, even for her own safety. But he couldn’t deny the thought of having her in his space was pretty fucking appealing.
Gillian stood in front of her bathroom mirror and stared at her reflection. She looked damn good, if she did say so herself. She was going out with Ann, Wendy, and Clarissa tonight and had dressed for the occasion. She had on a pair of tight jeans that hugged her ass and thighs, high-heel sandals with sparkly crystals, which made them look fancier than they really were. She also picked her favorite black wrap shirt, which hugged her boobs and gave her a ton of cleavage.
She’d used a heavier hand with her makeup than usual and put on her favorite necklace, a two carat—fake—diamond, which rested right in the middle of her chest, bringing attention to the aforementioned cleavage.
Her hair fell in curls around her face, and even though Gillian knew they’d probably come out by the end of the night, at least she’d start out the evening looking good.
Sighing, she leaned on her hands on the counter and bowed her head. Now, if only she felt as good as she looked.
Three weeks. It had been three weeks since her ordeal in Venezuela, and in some ways it still seemed like yesterday. Her parents had insisted on flying in to make sure she was all right, and the week they’d stayed had done her a lot of good. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention, and talking to the press made her extremely nervous, but her mom had reassured her that the information she’d shared with the reporters was concise and clear without going into too much detail, which was a huge relief. She’d been embarrassed by the way a few of the other passengers had gushed over what a good job she’d done under pressure, but again, her parents being there was a good distraction from everything.