Winning Moves

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “Like I would fire otherwise.”

  Displeasure flitted across his features. “I know how big you are on justice and doing the right thing. But out here in the field, a willingness to use your weapon can save your life.”

  She would have been irritated about being lectured to on other occasions, but this time, the warning settled hard in her stomach. She could do this, she reminded herself. She was tough.

  Resolve taking root, Nicole drew herself upright despite the roughness of the boat’s movement. “I know. I’m no fool. I’ll shoot if I have to. I think I’ve proven that.”

  “I know you aren’t a fool,” he said, his taut voice taking a gentler note. “But shooting tires and shooting a person aren’t the same. It can be hard for the most experienced people to pull the trigger. You can’t hesitate.”

  Right again, of course, and she knew it. “I’ll shoot if I have to.”

  He studied her a moment longer and inclined his head, apparently satisfied with her reply and already back in action mode. Grabbing his bag, he pointed to the stairs. “Let’s roll. I’ll go first to be sure we’re clear.”

  A few seconds later, they were back outside, and the weather had worsened. The rain had started, and the wind was even stronger than before. Constantine jumped to the docks and offered Nicole his hand, which she tried to accept, but with the wobble beneath her feet she couldn’t quite connect with his palm.

  Suddenly a scream ripped through the air, and Constantine retracted his hand, reaching for his gun. Nicole grabbed the boat railing with a solid grip.

  More screams, this time more intelligible. “Help! Help!”

  Nicole’s adrenaline spiked into overdrive, her eyes searching in desperation for the source of the cries. Her gaze scanned the area, spotting a woman on the deck of a boat, several spots down from the Adiós. The woman was at the railing, struggling with a life preserver, steadying herself a second before she shoved it over the edge.

  Hair blew in Nicole’s eyes, slapping at her cheeks and brow, as she tried to see the reason for the woman’s fear. She leaned down, looking beneath a sail and honed in on the water, where she saw a man struggling against the rough waves.

  Oh, God. He was going to drown. She turned to Constantine and screamed his name, pointing out what she’d seen. He maneuvered closer, ducking down for a visual. A curse followed. Obviously he had managed to see what she did, his expression grim. He seemed to weigh his options, before turning to Nicole and reaching for her. “Come on.”

  Before Nicole could catch her breath, he had a hold of her and she was lifted from the boat onto the dock. The instant her feet hit the ground, he had her hand, and they were running, water and wind smacking them hard.

  Seconds later, Nicole and Constantine climbed onto the woman’s boat. She ran at them, frantically pleading, “Save him! Please save my husband.”

  Constantine handed Nicole his gun, dropping his bag on the ground.

  Fear squeezed her heart. The water was insanely dangerous, the wrath of Mother Nature much worse than Carlos and Alvarez put together. “You stay alive, damn it!” she shouted, her gut churning much like the ocean.

  He didn’t answer. She wasn’t even sure he heard her. Already, he was diving over the side of the boat. She faced the sobbing woman and asked, “Do you have a phone? Have you called 911?”

  “No, yes, I…have a phone.”

  “Use it! Call! Call now! And go get help.” Nicole ran to the ledge to check for a ladder. Thankfully, the woman had, indeed, extended a rope ladder over the side.

  Preparing to help if needed, she dropped Constantine’s gun and holster next to the bag that he’d left on the deck. She returned to the railing, gulping water as rain slammed into her face. Coughing, she swiped at her eyes, desperately searching for Constantine. The minute she spotted him swimming through the salty turbulence, she breathed a bit easier. He was moving; he was visible. And yes! He had the drowning man in his grasp. She watched as he swam toward them, pulling the man with him through the powerful waves.

  How long Nicole stood there, terrified for Constantine, watching him struggle, she didn’t know, but it felt like a lifetime before he finally arrived at the edge of the boat, the man still in his grip. Thankfully, the woman showed up with help. Nicole turned to find two men wearing uniforms of some sort—beach patrol, she thought.

  The two men started to lift the drowning man from the water, which meant Constantine could follow. With the woman’s husband safely on board, stretched out and unconscious, one of the patrolmen dropped to his knees and appeared ready to start CPR. The other cop was leaning over the side of the boat trying to help Constantine.

  Nicole ran to the edge, fearful, wondering why Constantine hadn’t shown himself. Her heart felt as if it would explode at what she saw. Somehow, Constantine had been swept away from the boat by the rough waters. She watched as he grabbed the life preserver, and she let out a sigh of relief.

  She turned to check on everyone else, only to find an order barked in her direction. “Go flag the ambulance!” The shout came from the man doing CPR. Nicole blinked. Was he talking to her? She glanced at the wife, who was crumpled to the ground next to her unmoving husband. Nicole’s gaze flickered to the victim; his face appeared somewhat bluish and she understood why the woman was crying. Her husband was dying. Nicole had to do something.

  She started running, or rather stumbling, across the deck toward the dock. Her heart jackknifed in her chest. Constantine would not like what she was doing. She didn’t like it herself. Carlos was coming. She jumped off the boat to the wooden walkway, landing on her feet, and then darted toward the parking lot. Her mind went back to the silent threat. Carlos. Coming soon. How much time had passed? Thirty minutes? Forty?

  It didn’t matter, she told herself. She had to do this. But fear gripped her as she had the thought; she realized she was creating more danger for these people. Everyone on that boat was in danger—they’d be in danger because they were near her and Constantine.

  She should turn back. A dim eeriness had claimed what was daylight only an hour before, which added to the growing unease rattling her nerves. By the time she’d made it to the parking lot, she was nervous, and had convinced herself she’d made the wrong move. About to abandon her efforts, she was waylaid by flashing red lights that blasted through the haze of the storm.

  Charging toward the ambulance, determined to get their attention and get back to the boat, Nicole felt hope form that all of this would work out. After all, the ambulance was here. That was something. She clung to that little bit of good news.

  The emergency crew, which consisted of two men, pulled to a stop beside her and she directed them where to go. And then she took off running toward the boat, not allowing them time to respond, ignoring their shouts behind her.

  Hope filled her. She’d pulled off helping that man without getting herself killed. Hope that quickly faded as she found a man standing in front of the walkway that led to the docks. Stocky, with an air of menace clinging to him. Nicole had no doubt who she faced. Carlos.

  16

  NICOLE’S SURVIVAL INSTINCTS kicked in at the sight of Carlos in her path. She turned and cut a sharp left off the path she was on, and started running toward the car from another angle—leading Carlos away from the unsuspecting emergency crew, fearful for their safety. A gunshot sounded behind her, a blast that cut through the fierceness of the wind with a vicious roar. Nicole nearly jumped out of her skin, cringing in preparation for pain that never came. Somehow she kept running. Another shot was fired. No, two. Two shots.

  She took a sharp left, toward their parked car. Carlos would follow her, then no one else had to die. She reminded herself she had a gun in the car. Now she had to focus on running, on getting to shelter so she could use it.

  The car came into view and she pushed through the sting in her legs, against the power of the wind, running faster, harder. She could use the car for a shield, and then she’d pull her gun. Constantine was
wrong to doubt her willingness to shoot. She’d shoot and she’d survive.

  She approached the car and to her amazement, and relief, Constantine was right behind her. He charged at her, grabbed her arm and dragged her to a squat out of sight, beside the driver’s door.

  He held her shoulders, inspecting her for injuries. “You’re okay?”

  She blinked at him, rain rolling over her hair and lashes. They were both completely, utterly soaked.

  “Nicole! Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” The one word was barely audible. Her teeth were chattering, but she wasn’t cold. Reality slipped back into her mind. “It was Carlos! Where did he go?” She grabbed his forearms where he held her. “Where? Where is he?”

  “Close. Too damn close. I got a shot off at him, but I missed. He slipped out of sight. But he’s here.”

  “And so are a lot of innocent people.”

  His jaw flexed. “I know that all too well.” He fixed her in a reprimanding look. “You shouldn’t have left. You could have been killed.”

  “I—”

  He cut her off. “Now isn’t the time. Stay down.”

  Constantine started to stand, but stilled when one of the police officers from the boat appeared, his firearm drawn.

  “Drop your weapon!” the man ordered.

  “Easy now, kid,” Constantine said. “I’m FBI. Call it in on—”

  “Shut up! My partner is dead. I don’t give a damn if you’re the Lone Ranger.”

  Nicole’s heart sank. Oh, God. “He didn’t kill your partner. He’s FBI. It was—”

  “Shut up!” the kid yelled again and focused on Constantine. “Drop the gun.”

  Constantine held his gun by his side, showing no signs of throwing it away. “That man who killed your partner is after us. Throwing down my weapon would be a death sentence.”

  “Please,” Nicole added, “let him do his job. Before it’s too late.”

  The patrolman shifted his gaze between them and then fixed on Constantine again. “I’ll do it when the gun is on the ground.”

  The muffled sound of a motorcycle broke through the noise of the storm, and Constantine stiffened beside her. “That would be the man who killed your partner, and now he plans to kill us.” The sound grew louder. “Look, kid,” Constantine said, his tone like hard steel, “I’m losing my patience with you. You’re impeding an FBI operation.” He raised his voice. “If you don’t stop aiming your weapon at me in about two seconds—”

  Abruptly, he stopped talking. The sound of a motorcycle was fast approaching. “Get down!”

  Nicole hit the ground. The patrolman didn’t. Constantine launched himself at the kid and took him to the pavement, smack in the center of a puddle that splashed mud all over. And not a second before a spray of bullets hit the car. Nicole covered her head, her heart thundering along with the motorcycle engine as it sped by.

  The minute the sound of the bike faded, Constantine shoved off the patrolman and stood up. Nicole followed his lead and did the same, moving to Constantine’s side, the place he’d once again proven to be the safest.

  The patrolman scrambled to his feet, his expression flustered and confused. Constantine looked at the man, his face full of disgust. “Call for backup,” he ordered as he returned his weapon to the holster. Carlos had to have gone. How he knew this, Nicole wasn’t sure, but she was learning not to doubt him. Not when it came to his job.

  Constantine wasn’t done with the patrolman. Not by a long shot. “When you call for that backup, tell them you just let Carlos Menchaca get away.” He bent down and retrieved the kid’s weapon from the puddle and let it dangle from his finger. The kid grabbed it.

  Constantine motioned toward the car, and she didn’t argue. She wanted out of there. Her life had become hell.

  Once they were in the car, she was relieved to see the bag of supplies in the backseat. Constantine must have remembered to bring them. He started the engine and squealed out of the driveway. A second later, he grabbed the phone that was stuffed in the compartment between the seats and dialed. “Give me Agent Nelson. Tell him Agent Vega is on the phone.”

  Nicole gaped at that, shocked he trusted anyone at this point, especially Nelson after the way he’d reacted to his involvement. “Vega here,” he said to the receiver, she assumed to Nelson. “Menchaca is in Padre, near pier thirty-nine. He killed a cop, tried to take us out, too.” He listened a minute as they pulled up behind a line of traffic at a standstill. “Local police have their hands full with the storm.”

  Constantine did some more listening, and offered a few short, clipped words in reply. Then, he dropped his bomb on Nelson. “Flores is dirty.” He went on to describe the way they had set him up and ended with, “I suggest you deal with him before I get back.” Silence, listening, then he said, “And, Nelson. This doesn’t mean I trust you. It simply means you’re all I got right now. I’ll be in contact soon.”

  He hung up. Neither Nicole nor Constantine spoke, the tension in the car as thick as the storm surrounding them. Nicole wanted to lie back and think, to calm the chaos going on in her brain. But that would have been too easy. She should have known there would have been complications to come. Without warning, Constantine whipped the car into a hotel parking lot, drove to the rear and shut off the ignition.

  “Carlos knows this car. We have to switch vehicles. Wait here.” Right. No keys to leave since it was hot-wired. His exit came with obvious effort, as he fought a gust of wind and lots of water.

  So Nicole waited. Waited while he stole another car. And though she knew the government would cover the expense, it was still stealing. She tried not to think of a family in need, reminding herself they could rent a car. That she and Constantine would be dead without escape. They had no help. Worse, she wanted another car. She wanted to feel safe. If she kept at this a few more days, lived in Constantine’s world, would she justify vigilante acts to save lives, too?

  As she’d feared, the right circumstances, the right person—aka Constantine—and she was back to her old self. Or getting there. Suddenly, she didn’t want to claim her darker side. She wanted to blame someone. Anger and frustration over all of that twisted inside her.

  The back door opened, more wind, more rain. Constantine grabbed the supplies. “We’re a go.”

  Steeling herself for the weather, Nicole reached for the door and pushed it open. Seconds later, she was inside a four-door sedan, a Mercury maybe, basically a perfect match for the car they’d left behind—wet and stolen.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Houston. They’ll expect us to go farther. We won’t.”

  She didn’t comment. Houston. Dallas. Canada. All that mattered was that she got back to Austin, alive and ready for trial. Which would be delayed at this point, but she hoped not too long. Too many things could go wrong with a long delay.

  In a matter of minutes, Constantine maneuvered them onto the highway, and into a traffic jam. Great. Trapped in a car, feeling edgy, in a traffic jam. In a storm. If that didn’t trigger her claustrophobia, she didn’t know what would.

  She inhaled and let out a breath, focusing on anything but the small space, her gaze sliding to his profile. A strong profile, a grim set to his jaw. A stubborn, hard-ass man. Her anger hadn’t faded. “You shouldn’t have been so rough on that kid.”

  He glanced at her, his brows set in a straight line. “I saved his life.” Constantine’s voice was low, unaffected by her attack.

  “Today,” she countered. “What about how it affects him? How it will impact his ability to do his job?”

  A sound of disbelief slid from his lips. “I can’t believe you’re comparing him to either of us. And don’t deny you are because I know better. The impact of my words on that kid doesn’t even begin to compare to what you and I have been through to get where we are now. In fact, what happened to him today might well save his life, and other lives, many times over. He won’t ever be as careless as he was today.”

  “He lost
his partner. That’s the part you seem to be forgetting.”

  “And he acted irrationally and emotionally, ignoring his training. A good way to get others killed. We could have helped him get the man who killed his partner. Instead, Carlos is free, and he’s going to keep coming. For me. For you. For anyone we care about. So did you think I was going to give him a lollipop and thank him for screwing us?”

  She took those harsh words with a stunned blast and fell back in her seat, not even aware she had been sitting up in confrontation mode. Realization dawning, she said, “I thought this was about justice and helping people. Why does it feel like I’m hurting more than I’m helping right now?” Her lashes shut, blocking out nothing, when she wanted to block out everything—at least for a few minutes.

  Silence followed before he replied, “You are helping, Nicole. But there is no such thing as that easy black-and-white line that you want to believe exists. Fighting to find that safe middle wears on a person.”

  She turned to him, her lashes lifted. “Wears on you?”

  “Hell, yes. That’s why I’m getting out. I’m done and gone after this, and never looking back.”

  A hint of pain tinged his voice. She’d almost forgotten. “I’m sorry about Flores.”

  He shrugged, but he didn’t look at her. “It’s done. He’s done. That’s what counts.”

  “Do you want to know why he did it?”

  “Nope,” he said, glancing at her. “He was part of an attempt on our lives. He couldn’t give me a reason that would matter. They’ll suspend him and hold him for questioning until we get back and then I’ll give them what they need to lock him away for good.”

  She drew a long, hard breath. This had hurt him. Betrayal hurt. If he wasn’t ready to leave his job before this, she imagined that Flores had sealed the deal. Still… “You really think you can simply shut off this world? Forget this part of your life?”

  He answered quickly, as if he’d given the question a lot of consideration before she’d asked it. “For a while. Then, I’ll see where to go from there. I haven’t had time to spend my money so I invested it. I have time to decide. Private hire work is an option. It would be nice to choose my own battles.”