Reckoning for the Dead by Jordan Dane Page A

plan if all hell broke loose. Cash was stashed away with prepaid cell phones, fake IDs, and passports stowed in safe-deposit boxes. It was time to utilize what she’d set up long ago.
    And it was time to find out what had happened to Garrett, even if the news wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
    Outside Guadalajara, Mexico
    Estella crept down the murky corridor but ducked behind a stone wall when she noticed the guard outside one of the jail cells. If she got caught, Guerrero would punish her, whipping her for disobeying his order to stay in her room. She had no doubt that she wouldn’t have been alone for long. Guerrero’s men would finally come for what their boss might have promised, and Estella would rather die than sit and wait for that to happen.
    But why she had come to find the American, she had no idea. The man had one foot in the grave. He wasn’t strong enough to help her escape her fate, yet she followed her instincts to find him. She’d come to see where they had him. And even from where she stood, cowering in the shadows, she heard what they were doing to him. And it made her sick.
    One voice stood out from the rest. And the sound of his cruelty raised the hair on her neck.
    â€œD o it. Now!”
    With the help of another man, Ramon Guerrero followed orders and grabbed the head of the naked prisoner. He shoved the man’s face into a tub of filthy water. With his hands in shackles, Garrett Wheeler bucked to break free, sloshing water to the stone floor. When he stopped struggling, and the last bubbles erupted to break the surface of the water, Guerrero looked over his shoulder at the man who had given the order.
    Miguel Rosas, number two man to the head of the Pérez cartel, had a reputation for brutality, with the body count to prove it. The Pérez cartel was a splinter group making a name and expanding its reach. And Rosas had played a big part in the Pérez family’s growing reign of terror in the country. Guerrero had no appreciation for the politics within the organization. He was only a soldier within its ranks, only wanting to carve out his piece of the pie. A manageable piece.
    Guerrero had transported the drugged American to a heavily guarded villa outside Guadalajara, Mexico. Being allowed to remain with Wheeler had been a good sign that powerful men had taken notice and trusted him to get the job done. Participating in the interrogation was another good sign. He didn’t care if Wheeler died, but it made no sense to kill him before they got him to talk.
    Finally, Rosas nodded, and the prisoner was yanked from the water. A loud, guttural gasp reverberated off the walls, but when Wheeler said nothing, his reprieve was short-lived.
    â€œAgain,” Rosas demanded.
    â€œNo,” the bound man gagged as his head was shoved back under the murky water. This time, when he was brought up, Rosas stepped closer and looked down at the gasping man.
    â€œYou make this harder than it needs to be. Who have you come to kill? And why are you here, in my country?” When Rosas spoke, his voice echoed. “Tell us what we need to know, and your misery will be over. Are you not hungry? Would it not feel good to sleep?”
    Wheeler had not been allowed to rest after the drug had worn off. He’d been forced to stand naked in his cell and had been drenched with water every time he could no longer open his eyes. And he’d not been given food or drink. A local doctor had been on call to keep the American alive as the torture escalated.
    And still, Wheeler had not told them anything.
    Guerrero grabbed the American’s hair and yanked his head back. The man’s jaw fell slack as he panted for air, his chest heaving.
    Mustering his contempt, he glared at Rosas. “Go to . . . hell.”
    â€œVery well. You leave me no choice.”
    In Spanish, Rosas gave an order, and the American was hung by his arms, suspended in chains from a massive wooden beam,