their spot. The first had three men, all in pseudo-military gear. The second had two men including Blair, the man Kane had been tracking.
Kane was here somewhere.
If he hadn’t been recaptured.
He wasn’t in either Jeep. A good sign?
If Ranger’s contact was right, Kane had escaped and was intent on pursuing Blair as long as it took to stop him. Jack couldn’t help but wonder if Kane was motivated by a darker purpose.
While it was true that Peter Blair was bad news, a notorious human trafficker who had ruined the lives of countless people, Kane’s job had been to rescue the girls, that was it. Though Jack wouldn’t lose sleep if Blair ended up dead in a ditch, he also had powerful allies, and Jack didn’t think that Kane had quite thought this through. RCK did not assassinate the bad guys. Unless Kane knew something that he hadn’t shared, his actions didn’t make sense.
Yet, Jack had the utmost respect for Kane Rogan and all that he’d given to protecting the innocent. He didn’t act on anger or for revenge. He risked himself solely to save lives.
Yes, Kane knew something they didn’t.
When the trucks passed by, Ranger whispered, “There’s only one place they can be going. That’s where Kane is. There’s a creek bed on the other side of the road we can follow—safer than using the road. If we hoof it, it’ll take an hour.” Ranger took out an energy bar and water bottle; Jack did the same. They waited another two minutes, made sure no other vehicles were coming, and crossed the road.
Jack let Ranger lead and hoped his old friend was right.
Chapter Twenty-three
HOUSTON, TEXAS
Sean kept his head down during breakfast. No one talked to him; he was fine with that. He didn’t feel much like eating; his stomach was twisted up in knots. But he forced down toast and scrambled eggs so dry he drained his orange juice (five percent real juice) in one long swig.
At the end of breakfast, he lined up with the other prisoners to head back to their cells for a head count. Then at nine they’d be taken to a common area.
All Sean wanted was to see Lucy.
Sean was still sitting in his cell—staring at the wall but not seeing anything—when his door buzzed open. A guard with the name PORTER on his chest said, “Rogan, follow me.”
“Why?”
“You don’t ask the questions.”
“But—”
“Do you want to be written up? I can make your life easy, or I can make it hell. Your choice.”
If he was in prison for any length of time, he’d be written up often. He didn’t fall in line with authority easily. Never had.
It was only seven thirty. Lucy wasn’t here—unless she pulled strings and was able to get in earlier. That was possible. Or his lawyer was here with news. Good or bad. Hell, just getting out of the cell was a plus.
Porter motioned for Sean to walk ahead of him. Sean complied, and they headed to the end of the hall. The guard manning the door unlocked it from the other side of the glass and buzzed them through.
They went through this four times, including an elevator ride down. They ended up in the same holding area where Sean arrived yesterday.
“What’s going on?” Sean asked.
Porter didn’t answer. Instead, he handed the guard manning the main desk a file folder. “Rogan, Sean Tyler, Prisoner 4J55591, cleared for transport.”
“Transport where?” Sean asked.
He didn’t answer that question, either.
The desk guard looked at the paperwork, signed the folder. “We have a bus going to Beaumont in twenty.”
“No,” Sean said. “My lawyer is meeting me here this morning.”
Porter finally looked at him. “I have paperwork to take you to Beaumont, that’s what I’m doing.”
“I’m being arraigned on Monday; I’m supposed to be here until then. I need to talk to my lawyer. I’m not going anywhere until I talk to my lawyer!”
“One more word and you’ll be in solitary when you get to Beaumont. Turn around.”
This wasn’t right. Someone had screwed up somewhere, because he wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. “You don’t understand,” he said.
The guard forcibly turned him around. Sean pushed back, startled.
The guard took out his billy club and hit him hard on the back of his thighs. That brought him immediately to his knees. “Do not move.” To the desk guard, Porter said, “Who’s running the bus?”
“Beaumont. They’re here to pick up a prisoner who had a late court date yesterday. They can take one more. But if anyone else is going,