Dangerous Heat (Aegis Group, #8)

by Sidney Bristol

  Her place wasn’t big enough for a dining table except for the one outside that still had clothes drying on it.

  “Mm.” He plopped down and picked up a slice.

  What was getting into her? Besides him, that was obvious.

  Coco sat on the sofa, her stomach knotting up for no reason all of a sudden.

  They had to talk, but not about sex. He wasn’t ready to talk yet, and she didn’t want to force the issue.

  “Pax?” She bit her lip.

  “Hm?”

  “What do I need to know for tonight?”

  “Tonight?” He frowned and swallowed. “What about it?”

  “What do I need to do?”

  He set his plate down on his thigh and stared at her. “You’re not going.”

  “Yes, I am. You need me.” She set her piece of pizza down and pinned him with a stare. “You have to have someone who speaks their language, knows the town, the people.”

  “Someone else can go. Daluxolo.”

  “He won’t go. He’s not certain, but he thinks his cousins are in on it. He doesn’t go off the property on Mlilo business. He won’t help you.”

  “Coco—”

  “I’m not asking you, Paxton. This has been my fight since before you were here. It will be mine after you’re gone.” She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “I want to be there to make sure you’re okay.”

  He leveled a very serious, very awake stare at her. “I’m not the one who goes after a guy with a stick.”

  “I don’t want a gun. I just want to make sure no one gets hurt. You aren’t going to stop me.”

  “I’ll tie you to this bed.”

  She arched a brow at him. There wasn’t a cell in her body who believed he’d do that.

  He glanced away, proving her right.

  “I need to go with you, Pax. If they still have... I need to be there.”

  Paxton reached over and took her free hand. He brought it to his lips for a quick kiss to her knuckles. “You have to obey my rules. I followed your lead yesterday—”

  “And I was wrong. I know.”

  He was very awake now and his stare had that intensity to it, the kind that made her think about hiding under the bed. “You wear a vest. You stay close to me. You listen to me and if I tell you to run, get down, hide—you do it. Your safety is not up for discussion, not after yesterday.”

  They were reasonable requests, and yet she balked at the idea of being kept back, coddled. “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I’ll put Silas on you and he has no qualms about hog tying you for your own safety.”

  “Hey.”

  Paxton squeezed her hand. “I will not allow you to make yourself more of a target when you don’t have to be. It would be best if these people have no idea who is responsible. One look at you, and they’ll know. I’m here now, but what about when I’m not? Who’ll look after you then? Watch your back? I’m not debating your safety.”

  Coco swallowed, her stubborn resolve crumbling.

  What would it be like to have this on a regular basis?

  If she took the scholarship, they’d be closer. It wouldn’t be a typical relationship and school would demand a lot from her. But that would mean going to school on someone else’s terms, and Coco had lived her whole life following other people’s rules. For once she wanted to decide what she did, how she did.

  Could she have both? Was there a way? Or would she be selling her soul?

  15.

  Wednesday. Soweto, South Africa.

  Paxton hated this.

  He’d slept in fits and bursts, his rest broken up with flashes of memory from last night running with Coco interspersed with twisted distortions projected forward on tonight. He was reconsidering his agreement with Coco. Silas wouldn’t blink if Paxton asked him to secure her, and he wouldn’t have to explain why. Silas was good like that. But Paxton couldn’t bring himself to go back on his promise.

  Which was how he’d wound up in the back of one of the nondescript delivery trucks they’d borrowed with Coco by his side. It was late afternoon, pushing into evening. The sun was dipping below the horizon, but even at half strength the rays were turning the trailer into an oven.

  This wasn’t the most absurd job he’d done. Hamstringing the poachers fell under preventative work, and while it was on the extreme end, it still wasn’t the craziest thing Paxton had ever done. But he’d never brought a civilian or client with him on the job. Though Coco wasn’t paying them so she also wasn’t a client. She had no defined role other than her knowledge and language skills.

  He crossed his arms over his chest then stretched his fingers out, brushing her side where the Kevlar protected her vital organs. Coco glanced up at him. The black knit mask was pushed up on her forehead. Bits of her hair wrap stuck out as did a few curls. He stared into her eyes and prayed tonight went according to plan. If they could recover Utata’s horn and find evidence of either the tranq darts or Ebrahim’s involvement, they’d have something to go on. If not, at least they’d stall poaching for a while.

  He knew that was what he should be focused on. After all, beefing up the anti-poaching and security teams was their primary focus. But it had all changed for him that first day when he’d seen her swinging that tree branch, a scaly baby nestled in her arms.

  The truck slowed.

  The men around them began tugging masks into place. They were all dressed alike in boots, dark jeans, black long-sleeved shirts, gloves, masks. Paxton had even applied a little grease to his face to help him meld with the shadows better.

  He placed his hand on his rifle. It was loaded with bio-degradable rubber-like bullets. As soon as it rained all the evidence would be washed away. However, if they were shot at tonight, those doing the firing wouldn’t be using less lethal rounds. They’d have real bullets that would do very real damage, and Coco had already made herself a target.

  The truck turned right. There was only one turn on their route after they got on the road, and that was to pull into the ready area. The poacher’s headquarters was down a back lane and on the right in an old, rundown garage. Paxton could see the place in his mind’s eye.

  A two-man team had been sitting on the place, reporting numbers, activity, for most of the day. Best guess was there were less than ten people on the premises, which made their twenty-man contingent a bit excessive. At least they’d be able to hit hard and get out fast.

  The truck came to an abrupt stop, jostling those who’d gotten to their feet.

  Paxton stood and offered Coco a hand.

  “Comms on.” Silas caught Paxton’s eye.

  It was now Paxton’s op. These guys were looking to him. “Everyone knows their job. Speak only if necessary, otherwise we’re in and out. Let’s do this.”

  Silas opened the back of the truck from the inside, revealing a desolate stretch of road with nothing much in sight other than an empty street and a pile of garbage waiting for pick-up.

  Paxton filed out of the truck after the first four guys, then turned and helped Coco down. She wasn’t admitting it, but he’d watched her walk around enough to notice she favored her left leg. Soon enough their whole team was on the street, the darkening sky creating more shadows, hiding them as they moved toward their target.

  Vito, one of Paxton’s roommates, spoke through the headset. “Seven suspects inside, three in the open bay, four in an inner room. Approach as planned.”

  “Copy that.” Paxton glanced over his shoulder. “Getting into position.”

  He took Coco’s hand and pulled her from the group, toward a ladder. This part she didn’t know. She wasn’t going to like it, but they’d made an agreement.

  “Where are we going?” she whispered.

  He tapped his comm, muting the microphone. “Up. Go.”

  “What—”

  “Move.”

  He could feel her scowl, but he didn’t care.

  Coco grabbed the rungs and climbed up a ladder leaning against the buildin
g across from their target. Vito and the others had scouted this earlier when Paxton had asked for ideas.

  He followed her up to the top of the building, moving carefully across the flat surface until he reached the vantage point that let him look out over the street. The garage had one of the rolling doors open and three men lounged around a card table under the lights overhead. Three newer model Land Rovers and trucks sat out front. Statement pieces. No doubt other people looked at them and saw potential, what could be.

  As a kid, Paxton would have seen the appeal.

  “What are we doing up here?” Coco went to a knee beside him.

  “Our job. You’re my lookout.” Paxton hadn’t brought his sniper gear with him, but he’d make do with their standard issue rifle.

  “But we’re up here.”

  He turned his head and even with the mask obscuring her features he could see the frown lines, the glare.

  “I’m a sniper. This is what I do best.” He reached up and tapped the comm. “Team Leader in position. Sound off.”

  One by one the four teams chimed in.

  “I cannot believe this,” Coco muttered.

  Paxton tuned her out and peered through the scope, finding his first target. “Go on my signal.”

  Less lethal bullets still hurt, no matter their composition. He had to be mindful about his hits. These were still people with families, children who depended on them. The key was to cause as much disruption that they looked elsewhere, not to put them in the hospital or a grave.

  Paxton blew out a breath and squeezed the trigger.

  The first bullet sailed through the air, pinging against the leg of the card table, sending the game flying. He fired twice more, hitting the ground near the men’s feet as they pitched backward in their chairs and scrambled out of the way. Paxton adjusted and aimed through the broken-out window. His shot hit its mark, shattering the light overhead just as a dozen figures swathed in dark colors rushed forward.

  One of the points they’d discussed was a sneak attack, taking hostages. Fear was a more powerful motivator. There was a reason shock and awe worked on the battle field. An overwhelming response often crippled an enemy. If they wanted to scare these people to new lines of work, they had to hit hard.

  “Have they found anything?” Coco asked.

  Paxton caught movement on the left and adjusted his aim. A figure had emerged from the garage, circling the team. He fired a warning shot at the man’s feet. The man went down, either from the ricochet or surprise.

  “TL?” Silas’ voice broke the radio silence. “We’ve got cages in here. I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

  Shit.

  Gunshots punctuated that thought.

  Paxton stood, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and glanced at Coco. “Secure the cages. I’m bringing Coco to you. She’ll tell us what to do.”

  “Copy that.”

  Paxton tapped his comm as muzzle fire lit up the inside of the garage. And that was where he was taking Coco.

  “Meet me on the ground in front,” he said.

  Instead of using the ladder, Paxton went over the front of the building, lowering himself to a window then dropping down, using the ledge to get low enough to make the leap to the ground.

  He went to a knee, taking in the street, looking for reinforcements or even cops.

  Some onlookers had gathered at the end of the block. Their countdown was ticking.

  Coco sprinted around the corner, huffing.

  Paxton shot forward, moving into her path, placing himself between her and the garage. They proceeded past the vehicles. Each and every tire was flat, a few windows were busted up. The guys had done a thorough job.

  “Two suspects pinned down in an inner room. Returning fire.” Brett’s voice was calm. The ex-CIA agent had ice in his veins, that was for damn sure.

  Paxton unmuted his comm. “I need to find those tranq darts. Someone bring me one.”

  “Look out!”

  Coco’s words were too late.

  Something struck Paxton on the back. He staggered under the weight of the blow and his vision blurred for a moment.

  The first coherent thought that emerged through the momentary haze was that someone had come between him and Coco.

  He whirled just as his attacker drew back for another blow. In the darkness it was hard to make out the man, only that he had something that was the size of a baseball bat in his hands. Paxton swept his left arm out, knocking the weapon aside. At precisely that moment another figure launched itself into the fray.

  “No you don’t,” Coco practically growled.

  Paxton refrained from using her name as a curse. He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and jabbed his gun into the man’s belly.

  “Let him go,” Paxton said when he was nearly nose to nose with the man.

  “What the fuck?” Silas called out with a heavy sigh.

  Coco met Paxton’s gaze. She stared right back at him with that fierce goddess glint he’d seen the first day they met. She relented, releasing her captive to him.

  Silas was there a moment later. “I’ve got him. You two get in there.”

  Paxton reached around the man and grabbed Coco’s arm, pulling her forward to jog at his side. He wasn’t letting her out of his sight. He’d hoped to keep her out of the garage, even if he’d known it was a futile endeavor.

  Inside the garage others from their team prowled around the space, searching, looking.

  A metal shipping container sat in the second bay, its doors open and unholy sounds coming from inside. Coco shot around Paxton and into it, a colorful array of words following her.

  Brett emerged from the shadows and sidled up to Paxton, watching the open doors. “I haven’t seen darts or a horn.”

  That was not what Paxton wanted to hear. All their intel had tied their main suspect to this group.

  Paxton lifted his hand to his comm. “I’m going to need every available hand to move crates. Time to go.”

  He breathed in deep and caught the acrid smell of smoke.

  Shane dashed around the end of the container. “We need to go now. Those guys locked upstairs? They just threw Molotov cocktails everywhere. This place is going to go up fast.”

  God damn it.

  “Everyone to the bay, grab what you can, and get out.” Paxton whirled toward the container.

  Four guys were already exiting, cages in each hand. It was hard to see what they had other than small moving things that weren’t happy.

  He stepped into the space and saw Coco struggling with three short, rectangular, bright yellow enclosures.

  It was decision time. They couldn’t over-think things. Their priority had to be the safe evacuation of everyone—including the animals.

  “Here. Just point and shoot.” He shoved his rifle into her hands and lifted the three crates from below.

  The smell hit him first. It was ammonia. Animals living in their own waste.

  “Come on,” Shane snapped.

  “Grab and go. Grab and go,” Paxton said.

  He walked straight into Coco, forcing her out of the container. Guys dashed in, grabbed and were gone long before Paxton made it out with his unwieldy burden. The rest, the things that weren’t alive, they couldn’t be saved.

  Paxton fled the building, keeping pace as best he could with Coco. Every couple of paces she stepped out of view ahead of him, blocked by the cages. The team began chiming in, indicating they had left the building, that all were safe.

  “Look out,” Brett yelled from behind Paxton.

  For a split second he didn’t know if he should go forward or backward. He couldn’t see.

  A loud pop pop sounded followed by a crash directly in front of Paxton.

  “Come on,” Coco ordered.

  He opted to listen to her, following the sidewalk. He rushed past, following her, and glimpsed a man lying on the sidewalk holding his crotch.

  That seemed about right for Coco.

  At the truck a lin
e had already formed helping load containers of scared, protesting animals onto the truck. Paxton handed the three over, then grabbed Coco and shoved her up into the truck.

  In short order the others sounded off. They’d made it out without an injury. The truck lumbered on, the sound of the engine drowned out by the squawk and cry of God only knew what because there wasn’t a light to see by.

  “Did anyone find the darts? Do we have the tranqs?” Coco asked.

  No one answered.

  It was the truth Paxton was dreading.

  If this outfit wasn’t responsible, who was?

  WEDNESDAY. CANE DE Jong’s Home, Johannesburg, South Africa.

  Mia needed to do something. The files she’d copied weren’t the right ones, not that she had any idea what those might be. Luke was in a rage. Mia didn’t know how much longer she could keep this going if she didn’t land on something.

  She stood at the window and stared out on the balcony. He’d let her plant a few things there. She’d done it in the beginning of their farce of a relationship to give her a moment to breathe. Now the progress of the plants only tracked the length of this sham.

  What was she going to do?

  Cane was a good man. There was no doubt in her mind about that. Which meant her only solution was to create a trap. The weakest link in the De Jong family was Cane’s twin sister.

  The question was, how did she bully Cane into fixing a divide that had spanned years with his twin just so Mia could use the relationship against him?

  She picked up her cell.

  Cane had been in meetings in Pretoria most of the day. Chances were he’d have stopped by to see his dad and half-brothers, because that was the kind of man Cane was. Family visits made him sentimental. It was the perfect time to push him.

  Mia hit dial before she could think about her plan too much.

  The line rang once, then twice.

  “My sweet angel.” Cane’s voice was weary, yet warm.

  “Hey, you.” She smiled, because it was hard to resist him. She could no longer completely separate herself from this lie she’d pledged herself to live.

  “I’m just getting out of a meeting.”