Page 78 of Resolution

Sorensen was holding out a hand. I shook it.

“That was great work, Huerta. I really hope you take me up on my offer.”

“What offer?” Mac asked.

I noticed Lincoln walking toward us from another vehicle which was driving away. I knew he had placed the handcuffed Gregory Aston into the vehicle, which was no doubt being driven to the same hospital the others were.

“Sorensen wants me to join the team in Houston,” I told Mac.

“That’s a big deal, Miguel,” Mac said. “I know the FBI would be lucky to have you.”

“I told him the same thing,” Sorensen said. “He fits into the team and after all, wearekind of awesome.”

“What’s a big deal?” Lincoln asked as he walked up, clearly having overheard the last part of our conversation.

“Sorensen wants me to join the FBI in Houston to be on his team,” I said, shaking my head. I turned to the man. “Sorry, Candy, I can’t do it. My life and my heart are in L.A.”

The sound of a vehicle driving into the compound made us all turn at once. It was speeding in our direction.

“Speaking of your heart, here he is,” Lincoln said.

I turned in time to catch the man’s wide, white grin before looking back at the Humvee which came to a screeching halt not twenty feet from us. The passenger door popped open, and Raven practically dived out of it. The second his feet hit asphalt; he was running. I left the others, charging for him, meeting him halfway. He was in my arms a moment later, right where I needed him to be.

I never wanted to let him go.

Chapter Nineteen

RAVEN

On the flight back to the States with Miguel softly snoring on the seat beside me, I reflected on the last twenty-four hours. Listening to the firefight happening in Castillo’s plantation house had been terrifying. With rapt attention, I’d watched the tiny dots moving through the house. I hadn’t known which grouping of agents Miguel was in until they’d been told that the home had been cleared of everyone but the men they sought, leaving only the wine cellar where the hostages had to be.

After that, I kept all my attention on the agents going downstairs, huddling by what must be the entrance to the cellar, and then I’d been horrified when I’d heard them say they were looking at a thermal imaging camera showing one person lying on the ground, probably dying. If I hadn’t heard the agents planning the operation to breach the door with explosive devices, picking out Sorensen and Mac’s voices, the small fireball which lit up the screen a few minutes later, would have come as a complete shock.

I’d been holding my breath and then the “All clear,” from Sorensen was followed by the “All hostages safe, Castillo is dead.” I’d sorely wanted to scream “Where’s Miguel? What about Miguel?” until I heard his voice asking about Alex Filmore then Sorensen again. “Alex Filmore is dead and we’re gonna need a medic. Willis is down.”

In the next few minutes, I’d realized that the man down in the wine cellar with Castillo and the hostages, was the dangerous killer we’d been chasing for months now, hopefully the final man in the rogue CIA cell of jewel thieves. I was hopeful that now that we appeared to be safe, the interviews with whatever bad guys had survived the siege on Castillo’s compound would lead to more clues. I was counting on Gregory Aston to provide us with all the details we’d need to close out the case including the location of the jewels.

Miraculously, none of the DEA or Spec. Ops FBI tac team members had been killed in the siege. Sarah, Jarrett, and the FBI sniper had been instrumental in taking out many of Castillo’s sicarios patrolling the grounds. The DEA tac team had cleaned up the rest of the trash. I’d heard—though it was still unconfirmed—that there had been more than twenty outside and another twenty inside the property. As far as I knew, all of them were dead along with Oscar Castillo. The Sanchez Cartel would most likely continue, but for now, the head of the snake may have been cut off. We still had no word on his half-brother, Rafael.

We landed in Houston almost three hours after taking off from Grand Cayman, leaving Aston under heavy guard at the George Town hospital. But also Tawny, Brian, and Trevor were there under heavy guard for their own safety. When we took off, Trevor was in surgery, fighting for his life. Miguel wasn’t optimistic he’d survive. He’d lost a lot of blood. According to Tawny, he’d been shot in the stomach after being tortured in front of them. The placement of the bullet, courtesy of Alex Filmore, had been deliberate. He’d wanted him to die slowly, suffering. I was glad the animal was dead, only sorry thathisend had come quickly.

I suspected poor Tawny had been raped. Brian was a basket case, and in my opinion, Gregory Aston deserved everything he got. I prayed Special Agent Trevor Willis would pull through.

“Are we in Houston?” Miguel asked as the plane touched down and the tires squealed on the tarmac.

I glanced over as he sucked in a deep breath, wiped his mouth, and sat up. I reached over and took his hand. “Yeah, baby. Get some sleep?” He looked so worn out and I was simply grateful he was sitting beside me looking alive and well. I’d make sure he slept when we got home but for now, I was just happy that he’d made it through the ordeal alive.

“A few winks at least,” Miguel said, smiling lazily over at me. “You?”

“No, I can’t stop replaying that final firefight in my head. Not being there to see that you were alive and unhurt with my own eyes, unable to hold you in my arms, almost drove me out of my mind.” I knew I probably shouldn’t be putting voice to my fears, but I had to.

Miguel smiled at me, lifting my hand and kissing it. “I know, Sunshine but now it’s over and done with. All the bad guys are dead. I have to go to the Federal Building tomorrow to do a thorough debrief with the FBI, but after that, I think we’re done.” I stared at him, wondering if I should ask him what was really on my mind. “Go on,” he said, smiling, “tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Do you really think it’s all over? How do we know there aren’t any more CIA guys coming after the jewels?” Something suddenly occurred to me. “What about Mancuso? He’s still out there, right?”

Miguel looked at me, eyes wide. “Hang on a minute.”

I watched him get up and walk to the back of the plane where Lincoln and the rest of the tac team were sitting. He leaned over Lincoln’s seat talking to him for a few seconds. Lincoln bent and showed Miguel something. He pulled out his own phone and pressed buttons before handing Lincoln’s phone back to him. When he climbed over me to get back into his window seat, he held out his phone. On it was a picture of a very dead Salvatore Mancuso. He was lying in grass which meant he’d probably been killed by the DEA outside. I breathed a sigh of relief and passed it back.

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