by Kelly Irvin
Deacon sniffed. “I’m working on it. I can handle myself.”
“With what? Your pen and your rapier wit?”
“I’ll have you know I’ve taken some karate in my time.”
“When?”
“High school. Same time I did Junior ROTC.”
“And that ended so well.”
“I learn from my mistakes. I’ll come up with a plan, you watch.”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something right out of Marvel Comics.”
“Okay, boys, no bickering. I’m closing my eyes for a minute.” Jake’s voice faded. “Let me know when the fun starts.”
Torture and three days in darkness hadn’t broken Jake’s spirit. Whether he could leave his underground prison under his own speed was another question.
Eli leaned his head back and closed his eyes, but his body hummed with the desire to do something, anything. He put both hands back, flat on the wall, and began to edge through the darkness.
“What’s that sound?” Did slight panic tinge Deacon’s question? “What are you doing?”
“Exploring.”
“Funny man.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Did I mention I’ve been known to have claustrophobia?”
A reporter, and he had claustrophobia. But then he did have that Junior ROTC experience. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Keep talking. You can even keep insulting me. It takes my mind off my surroundings.”
“You’re giving me permission to insult you?” Eli’s left hand touched air and then the indentation of the corner. He made the turn. His shoes shuffled in the dirt. The tunnel might have ventilation, but the air in this room was fetid. His lungs clamored for a deep, cleansing breath of fresh air. His hand touched the metal outline of the door. He searched for a knob or a lever. Nothing but a hole where a knob would have been.
He patted the entire door down. Hinges attached to a wood frame. How tight? His fingers fumbled. No way to get a hold on the door’s edges. He flicked the lighter for a few seconds.
The door swung open. He stumbled back. A flashlight blinded him. He flung his arm over his face and worked to regain his balance. A chance. Now.
He lunged.
Something cold and hard smacked him in the face with a jolt that sent him spiraling back.
A second later his head connected with the dirt floor.
“Don’t be stupid, mi amigo.” The same melodic voice as before. “Time to take a walk.”
“I’m not leaving without them.”
“Don’t worry, the three amigos ride again.” The man motioned with his AK-47. “Time to take a hike.”
Chapter 39
Fifteen minutes. And counting. All those years of pinging targets at the shooting range with Eli came down to a scant few minutes. Gabriella cradled Eli’s Sig Sauer in her lap. She checked again to make sure the magazine was fully loaded. Fear-induced adrenaline made her hands shake.
Fifteen rounds.
Not a lot, all things considered.
Despite a steady stream of AC-cooled air, sweat rolled down her forehead. Her eyes burned. She wiped at it with her sleeve. The sun, just beginning its trajectory in the west, beat on the windshield and blinded her. Her head throbbed. As much as this needed to be over, it might be better to keep driving and driving. Never reach the end and the struggle that waited at the other end of the road.
Eli. Jake. Deacon. And now Natalie. Lives counting on her. Jesus, I can’t do this alone. I can’t control this. I can’t control everything. I’ve tried to do it on my own. I can’t. I need You. Keep them safe. Cover them with Your protection. Please Lord, I’m laying this at Your feet.
She repeated the words to the erratic beating of her heart.
The van rocked. Her stomach rocked with it. She tightened her grip on the pistol with one hand and grabbed the overhead handle with the other. Natalie’s grim expression didn’t waver. They turned left, then right. Tires squealed. Brakes screeched. Asphalt gave way to gravel. A plume of dust spiraled behind them.
“Time?”
“Fourteen minutes.”
The van shot forward.
“We should see Rincon any second.”
“I know.”
Natalie’s phone rang. Bluetooth picked it up. Their mother’s photo popped up on the stereo console. “Natalie.”
“Mom, now’s not a good time.”
“Are you driving and talking on the mobile—?”
“It’s Bluetooth. Hands-free. I can’t talk right now.”
“I wanted to let you know we’re still working on getting there. Our flight out of Heathrow was canceled due to weather. We can’t get another until tomorrow night.” Mom’s upper-crust London accent sounded almost warm. “Your dad and I spoke, but he was on his mobile. I lost him when he got on the lift at the airport in New Orleans. I think he said his flight gets into San Antonio tomorrow morning. He wants you to call him with any updates ASAP.”
Mom and Dad had spoken. Cataclysmic event followed cataclysmic event for the Benoit family.
“We need an address and directions for this Seville family. We’ll rent a car in San Antonio and drive to Laredo when we arrive.” Their mom’s new husband sounded equally warm. For a guy who broke up a family. “Just give it to us and we won’t keep you.”
“Or we can call Gabriella,” Mom offered. “I just don’t know if she’ll answer.”
“I’m right here, Mom.” Gabriella heaved a breath. Their voices sounded so good, so concerned. They were living this nightmare from afar. Her parents didn’t need to know the details. They hit a deep rut. The van rocked. Gabriella’s shoulder banged against the door. “We’ll call you back as soon as we can.”
“Don’t be that way—”
Natalie terminated the call.
“She’ll think I did that.”
“Let’s deal with one thing at a time. There’s Rincon.”
The detective stood in front of a dense thicket of live oak, mesquite, and huisache trees cloaked by prickly pear, cactus, and catclaw. A silver Ram pickup was parked off the road, half hidden by the trees. “Where’s the backup?”
Hands on his zipper, a lone man sauntered from behind the trees.
Kyle Sullivan.
“What’s he doing here?” Hair prickled on Gabriella’s neck. Her hands were slick with sweat around the Sig Sauer. “We met him at the bar. He knew Eli from high school. He’s from the Webb County sheriff’s office. He oversees SWAT.”
“I hope they’re right behind him.” Hitting the button to roll down her window, Natalie pulled off the road. She left the engine running. “Make this quick.”
As if Gabriella needed a reminder.
She popped from the van. “Where are your guys?”
“WCSO’s SWAT is on the way. The warehouses are in their jurisdiction. This is Sergeant Kyle Sullivan. He oversees their tactical unit.”
“We’ve met. What’s the plan?”
Sullivan shoved a Texas Rangers cap back on his head. His dark eyes pierced her. “You have the video?”
Swatting away buzzing flies the size of her big toe, Gabriella nodded.
“Let’s see it.”
“We don’t have time. It’s just voices talking about a shipment.”
“No faces?” Sullivan’s voice held a strange note Gabriella couldn’t identify. “What shipment?”
“This may be our last chance to hear it.” Rincon held out his hand.
Ignoring it, Gabriella produced the phone and accessed the video.
A few seconds in, Rincon swore and whirled toward Sullivan. “You and—”
“Sorry, bud.” Sullivan snatched his weapon from his hip holster. He slugged Rincon in the head with the butt of his gun. The detective went down like a boulder.
Blood trickling from his forehead, he sprawled between them in drought-starved brown weeds.
Frozen, Gabriella stared into the barrel of a Sig Sauer 9 mil. The buzz of crickets so loud earli
er disappeared into a strange silence. Eli’s backup weapon lay on the van seat. “It’s you.”
“I’m just the inside man. A cog in the machine. I’ll take that.” He held out his free hand.
“I’m not giving you the phone. Not until Jake and the others are free. That was the deal.”
“Give it to me or I’ll kill you.”
“If I hand it over, you’ll kill me.”
He raised the gun and pointed it at her head.
“You should know I emailed a copy of the video to an anonymous person with instructions. If we don’t come back in two hours, he’ll forward it to the ATF, the DEA, the U.S. attorney, and the Laredo police.”
“It seems we have a standoff here.” His amused sneer deserved a mouth full of steel-toed boot. “Fine. Hang on to the phone. We’ll see what the jefe has to say about your plan. We’ll go see him together.”
A whirring sound. The van’s sliding doors opening. Natalie. Gabriella whirled. “No, Natalie, don’t!”
Sullivan grabbed Gabriella’s arm and jerked her closer. The warm metal of the barrel pressed into her temple. “Tell your sister to hang tight. We’ll need her to drive.”
“Natalie, get out of here! Go!”
His hand tightened. “Don’t be stupid, Natalie.” His voice held a hint of amusement. Two women, one a paraplegic. “I’ll kill her slowly, a bullet here, a bullet there, a bullet everywhere.”
Only the faintest line on her forehead betrayed Natalie’s anxiety. “Do what he says, Gabby.” The sliding door shut.
Every muscle in Gabriella’s body protested. Sullivan released her arm. He motioned with the gun. His service weapon. The irony would be wasted on him. “Time isn’t on your side. If we don’t show up, you know what they’ll do to your buddies, don’t you?”
She knelt next to Rincon and did as she was told. The detective moaned.
At least he wasn’t dead. If SWAT showed up soon enough . . . Her mind pounded on the walls of a locked room, trying to find a way out.
Sullivan dragged her to her feet. He shoved her forward. “They’re expecting us.”
“Who’s they?” She tumbled forward a few steps, then caught herself. “If you’re the lowly middleman, who’s the top dog?”
“It’ll be a surprise. Don’t you like surprises?”
God, is this the plan? Help me. Please. “Not particularly.”
“Allow me.” He tugged open the van door. The gun butted her back between her shoulder blades. “Red, you’re a babe. Even more than your sister. Too bad about the legs. Open the sliding door.”
Natalie pushed the button.
“Get in.”
Like dancers who’d performed their choreographed routines a hundred times, Gabriella went first, into the front seat, and her captor squeezed onto the ramp next to Natalie’s wheelchair. His gun remained inches from her head.
Eli’s Sig Sauer no longer lay on her seat.
“Red, toss your phone out the window.”
Gabriella exchanged glances with Natalie. She shrugged. She did as she was told.
“Tick tock.” Sullivan tapped his weapon on Natalie’s shoulder. “I’m sure you realize that I won’t hesitate to shoot your sister. Pull back onto the road and continue west. We’re almost there.”
“How did you get involved in this?” Natalie utilized her soft, conversational Dr. Ferrari tone, the one she adopted with her adolescent patients. “What made you cross the line from police officer to criminal?”
“Fifteen years with the sheriff’s office doesn’t mean squat when you’re paying child support to two ex-wives and your girlfriend has expensive tastes in jewelry and likes beaches in faraway places.”
“Money.”
“Isn’t it always about money?”
Greed. Lust. Revenge. It was never about anything good. “You orchestrated the firebombing of Reverend Cavazos’s church.”
“It’s unfortunate that you and your boyfriend didn’t take the hint I dropped at the bar when I mentioned the reverend.” Sullivan’s laugh made the hair stand up on Gabriella’s arms. “You kept on digging. Kept on asking questions. The whole point of the exercise was to get the video and move on. Beto and Colby were out of the way. If you’d given us the video when we asked for it nicely, you’d have your brother back and this would be over.”
“Nicely? Once we’d seen the video—or heard it in this case—there was no going back. We’re not idiots.”
“Don’t let him bait you.” Natalie used her doctor’s voice again. “You have the video now. Return Jake and our friends to us. Everyone wins.”
“Honey, I played a lot of sports in my life. It’s only the YMCA that tells kids everyone is a winner. In real life there are winners and there are losers. I intend to be a winner. Which makes you the losers.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“You watch too many movies.” Sullivan grunted. “Turn left here.”
In front of them a ten-foot-tall black chain-link fence with razor ribbon wire on top surrounded a series of dilapidated warehouses with corrugated metal roofs as far as the eye could see. A double-pane moving gate had been left open far enough for a single vehicle to enter.
Natalie stopped the van. Gabriella glanced her way. Natalie raised her eyebrows. Her fingers tapped on the miniature wheel. Gabriella managed a minute nod. Whatever Natalie had in mind, it was better than going peacefully. Sullivan had Beto’s phone. The facilitator had no reason to keep them alive.
“Go on in. They left the gate open just for you.”
“Who’s in charge?” Natalie started forward again. “No reason not to tell us. They’ll kill us anyway.”
“It’s such a shame too. Such beautiful women.” Sullivan sounded truly regretful. “I would argue for keeping you around for a while. The bodies are piling up. Perhaps we can ship you across the Rio Grande. My compadres have nice homes where we could get to know each other better. I’d love to see what you look like without the glasses, Red.”
Gabriella’s skin crawled. Her stomach bucked. The phrase better off dead pulsed in her head.
The van jerked forward. Gabriella’s head banged against the headrest. They hurtled through the gate.
“Hey, slow down!” Sullivan’s weapon disappeared from her peripheral vision. A string of curse words followed. “Stop.”
Natalie’s fingers worked the levers on her door. “Your wish is my command.”
They slammed to a halt for a split second. Gabriella’s seat belt bit into her chest. Pain sliced through her rib cage. Her neck popped.
The van shot backward. It rocked. Tires squealed. Banging said Natalie’s wheelchair had toppled from its rig.
Cursing suggested where it had landed.
“You’re crazy.” Sullivan spewed more invectives. “I’ll kill you.”
The van rolled. Gabriella grappled for a hold. Her hands grasped air. Air bags deployed. A second later they deflated. She choked on hazy air filled with talcum powder and the scent of gunshot.
Her face banged against the door. Like body surfing in a metal box instead of ocean waves.
Glass shattered. Time passed.
Gabriella opened her eyes. The van rested upright and head-on into a semitrailer parked in front of a warehouse loading dock. Ignoring excruciating pain in her neck, she swiveled. Sullivan slumped against the sliding door. Natalie’s wheelchair lay on top of him. His eyes were closed. Blood trickled from his nose.
“Natalie? Natalie!”
Her sister grunted. “To think I was sober for this one.”
“Are you okay?”
“I think my arm is broken. My head feels like someone stepped on it. I lost my glasses. You?”
“I’m okay.” Adrenaline pulsed so hard her heart had catapulted into her throat. Fear held her body captive against the seat. “Where’s the gun?”
Her voice sounded so calm it had to be someone else’s.
“Under my right thigh. At least it was.”
The safety
glass in the windshield had fractured into a million tiny, spidered pieces. Gabriella tried to sit forward. Her seat belt stuck. “Can you see anything?”
“A blurry blob mostly.” With one arm clasped against her chest, Natalie used her other hand to shove her hair from her face. Bruises had already begun to bloom on her fair skin. “People are coming. Whoever they are, they’re coming.”
Her tone reminded Gabriella of the I Spy game they had played as kids on long road trips. “Guns?”
“Big ones.”
One stinking Sig Sauer wouldn’t be enough. Gabriella twisted in her seat. No sign of Sullivan’s matching weapon. She worked the seat belt clasp. “My seat belt is stuck. Yours?”
“I’m working on it. It’s undone.”
“Dump yourself out. Hide behind the trailer.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“I’m right behind you. I need to get Sullivan’s gun.”
“Then get it.”
Gabriella fumbled with the buckle. “Come on, come on.”
Seconds ticked by.
Her fingers felt like blocks of wood. She tensed, waiting for shots to finish shattering the windshield.
The belt gave.
She climbed into the back and shoved the wheelchair away from Sullivan. No gun. Her lungs refused to work. Her muscles moved like molasses.
Breathe. Breathe.
One of Sullivan’s legs crumpled at an unnatural angle. Ouch.
Swallowing against vomit, she slid two fingers in between his waist and the seat. Working by feel, she found Beto’s phone and tugged it out. He didn’t move. The phone went into her back pocket.
Now the gun.
She shoved him aside and searched the ramp with both hands. Nothing.
Panting, she peered into the crevices around the ramp. There. A sliver of metal. She reached for it.
Sullivan’s arm shot out. His hand grabbed her wrist.
Gabriella slammed her free fist into his face. His head popped back.
A filthy river of invectives flowed over her. His grip tightened. Sullivan had more strength, but Gabriella had more fear. And more reasons to live.
Jake and Eli and Deacon and Natalie.
She gouged his face with her fingernails.
He jerked back. This time he let go.
