He drove straight past the place without looking again. As he passed the deserted Johnson homeplace, with its For Sale sign standing awry and uninviting, he knew that what they'd all dreaded was already taking place. Lopez was back in business, right here in Jacobsville. And if Cy and his friends were going to stop them, there wasn't much time to plan an assault.
At the end of the road, he turned back into the highway and burned rubber getting to Eb's place.
Ten
Eb was surprised by the news.
"Right under our damned noses," he exploded. "No wonder we couldn't find any evidence of drug smuggling at the honey warehouse. That was a blind, and we fell for it, just like raw recruits!"
"The question is, what do we do now?" Cy asked coldly. "And since Rodrigo didn't warn us about this, have they found him out and disposed of him?"
"I hope not," Eb said sincerely. "But I can't help thinking that he would have warned us if he'd been able to." He ran his hand through his hair. “Hell of a time to make this sort of discovery, when Lopez is ready to ship his new supply out to his distribution network."
"It gets worse. From what I saw, I'd say he's ready to go tonight."
"We'll have to go in now," Eb said at once. "Or we'll miss the chance. And we'll have to have help," he added. “I counted at least twelve men. Even with our experience, we won't be able to take that many men armed with machine guns."
"I know. But we can't do it without authorization, either," Cy returned. "We live here. I don't know about you, but I don't want to end up as an ex-patriated American."
"Neither do I." Eb's eyes narrowed. “There's another consideration, too. If Rodrigo's with them, still undercover, the feds won't know and they'll shoot him. We have to go in with them. I have a few contacts. I can call in favors."
"So can I," Cy agreed. "Let's compare notes. With a little luck, we may be able to bring down Lopez's local network and save Rodrigo all at once."
It was rushed and hectic to get the necessary people notified and in place, but they managed it, just. The sheriff pulled two deputies off patrol and called in two more special deputies. The DEA only had three men who could get to Jacobsville in time to assist with the surprise attack, but they were dispatched immediately. Two of the best officers from the local police department, Palmer and Barrett, volunteered to go along with the sheriffs force to help. They might still be outnumbered, but hopefully it would be possible to take the drug dealers by surprise and close down their operation. Nobody wanted a drug cartel operating out of Jacobsville.
Cy was putting on his night gear when Lisa came into his room and gasped.
"Where are you going?" she exclaimed.
He turned, black face mask in hand, to study her. She was wearing sweats, yellow ones that made her blond hair look more blond. It was loose, around her shoulders, and she had that peculiar radiance that pregnancy bestowed on a woman's face.
"Lopez's goons are ready to haul their shipment out tonight. We're going to stop them," he said honestly.
Her worried eyes never left her taciturn husband, from his tall, powerful figure in black to his lean, scarred face and glittery green eyes. He was devastating to her, physically as well as mentally. He took her breath away. She hated knowing what he meant to do.
She went right up to him, her dark eyes looking even darker through the lenses of her glasses. "No," she said shortly. "No, you don't! There are plenty of people in law enforcement who do this for a living. I'm not letting you go after those drug dealers!"
He took her by both shoulders, pulled her against him, and bent and kissed the breath and the protest right out of her. His arms enfolded her, cradled her, while his hard mouth devoured her soft, parted lips. It was a long time before he lifted his dark head.
"If Lopez is allowed to set up an operation here, none of us will ever be safe again, especially you," he said quietly. "If we don't stop it now, we never will."
"You could be killed," she said miserably.
The worry on her face made him feel funny. He couldn't remember anyone caring if he lived or died, especially not his erstwhile wife who'd only wanted creature comforts. His welfare was of supreme unimportance to her. But Lisa was cut from another sort of cloth. She was brave and honest and loyal. He searched her face and realized with a start that he could give up anything, even his own life, easier than he could give up Lisa. She was too young for him, of course...
He kissed her again, long and hard, ignoring all the reasons why he should do his best to send her out the door and out of his life. For her own good, of course, he rationalized. Sadly, none of those reasons made any difference when he was within five feet of her. Her arms curled around him and she gave him back the kiss with every bit of strength in her body. It was like walking on hot coals. She couldn't get close enough.
She was breathless when he lifted his head, but the resolve was still there, in those narrow green eyes. “It amazes me," she whispered huskily, "what lengths you're willing to go to...in order to stay out of my bed."
He laughed despite the gravity of the situation. "Is that what you think?"
"Walt was my husband," she said quietly. "I was fond of him. I'm not sorry that I'll have his child, so that a part of him will live on. But you and I could have children of our own as well. It isn't biology that makes a man a father; it's love. And you aren't ever going to convince me that you wouldn't love a baby, even if it wasn't yours genetically."
He sighed gently and smoothed back her disheveled hair. "I keep mixing you up with the past, when you're nothing like my late wife. I don't resent Walt's baby." He shrugged. "It's not the age difference, either, really. But you're young and I'm older than my years make me. Maybe you need someone closer to your own age."
"Someone like Harley?" she asked deliberately.
His face hardened and his eyes flashed dangerously. "No!"
Hope, almost deserted, began to twinkle in her eyes. "That's what I thought you said." She pulled his head down and kissed him tenderly. "I know you can take care of yourself. I've seen you do it. But don't take chances. I want to be married a very long time."
"You do?" he murmured.
"Yes. I'm not going back to Dad's ranch. If you won't let me live in the house, I'll live in the barn with Puppy Dog and Bob and tell everybody in Jacobsville that you won't let me live with you...."
He was kissing her again. It was sweet and heady, and he didn't have time for it at all. He just couldn't seem to stop. He was starting to ache and that would never do.
"And I'm moving into your bedroom while you're gone," she added, her voice thready with passion. "So there."
"Maybe I can think up an objection before I come back," he murmured against her lips.
"You try to do that." She grinned.
He loosened her arms and put her gently away from him, his strong hands tight on her shoulders. "While I'm gone, stay in the house with the doors locked. I've got Nels on the front porch and Henry watching the back door. They're both armed. Stay away from the windows and don't answer the phone. You know where the spare pistol is," he added, and she nodded. "It's loaded."
She bit her lower lip, realizing from his demeanor how dangerous it would be for both of them. "Okay. I'll use it if I have to. But don't you let yourself get shot," she told him firmly.
"I know, come back with my shield or on it."
She smiled and nodded. "That's right. Because you're not a 'summer soldier' like Thomas Paine wrote about. You're a winter soldier, fighting through blizzards. But you have to come back to me in one piece."
"I'll do my best to oblige," he mused, smiling back. Her eyes were soft and dark. He almost got lost in them. His gloved hand came up to touch her flushed cheek. "What did I ever do in my life to deserve someone like you?" he asked in a breathlessly tender voice. He moved away from her before that softness captured him. "I'll be home when I can."
She put up a brave front. "Okay," she said, and without further protests.
He
paused at the doorway for one long, last look at her. She was a hell of a woman. And he wasn't giving her up, whether or not it would have been for her own good. He read the same resolve in her own face. She didn't cry or complain or try to stop him. She stood there very bravely and kept smiling, even though her eyes were too bright to be normal. She was still standing there when he went out into the hall and disappeared.
Harley was sitting on the front porch with Nels, waiting for him with a lit cigarette and a scowl. He got to his feet when Cy came out the door dressed in black and wearing a face mask. Harley had on jeans and boots and a camo jacket left over from his army ranger days.
"You aren't leaving here without me," Harley said belligerently.
"Who says I'm leaving?"
"Don't insult me." Harley opened his jacket to disclose a .45 automatic. "I may not be a full-fledged merk, but I was a crack shot in the Rangers," he added. "And no matter how many men are going, I might still be useful."
That was much better than bragging that he had combat training, Cy supposed. He hesitated, but only for a minute.
"All right. Let's go. Nels, guard her with your life," he added to his man on the porch, who nodded solemnly.
Harley headed for the Expedition, but Cy shook his head. He indicated a black Bronco of questionable vintage, parked under a tree. There were two men already in it. Harley was shocked that he hadn't seen it at all until now.
He wasn't surprised to find Eb Scott in the front seat with an unfamiliar man much bigger than Eb or Cy, and both of the newcomers dressed similarly to Cy.
"Here," Eb said, handing a small container of black face paint to Harley. "You'll shine like a new moon without a mask."
Harley at least knew how to use camouflage paint. He wanted to ask half a dozen questions, the foremost of which was why his boss was going along on what was obviously a search and destroy mission. Then he remembered the way Cy had used that knife on the two intruders and the way he'd caught the pistol Harley had thrown at his retreating back. It had long since dawned on him that his boss hadn't always been a rancher.
"Stubbs and Kennedy are going to rendezvous with us at the old Johnson place," Eb said tautly. "We've got the sheriffs department out in force, too. You and Micah and I will set up a perimeter with the deputies and let the feds go in first."
"Who are Stubbs and Kennedy?" Harley asked.
"DEA," came the cold reply. "Walt Monroe was one of theirs. They get first crack at these mules."
Mules, Harley recalled, were the drug lords' transportation people. He handed the face paint back to Eb. "You said the old Johnson place," Harley began. "But the warehouse is right behind Mr. Parks's place."
"That was a damned blind," Cy said shortly. "To draw attention away from the real distribution point. I could kick myself for not realizing it sooner."
"No wonder we never saw any drugs changing hands," Harley realized.
"Listen," Eb said as he eased the Bronco off the main highway and down the back road that led first to the Johnson place and then to the rental house near it, "I want a promise from you, just on the off chance that Lopez is around. No storm trooper stuff."
"Mr. Scott, I wouldn't dream...!" Harley began.
"Not you," Eb said impatiently. "Him!"
He was staring in the rearview mirror straight at Cy, whose eyes were glittering.
"He set fire to my house," Cy said in a menacing tone, "killed my wife and my five-year-old son. If he's there, he's mine, and no power on earth will save him. Not even you."
"If you kill him, the DEA will string you up on the nearest courthouse lawn!"
"They're welcome," Cy returned grimly.
"And what about Lisa, when you're gone?" Micah Steele interjected. "This isn't Africa. You're not on your own. You have to think about Lisa and her baby."
"Africa was a long time ago," Cy said irritably, noting Barley's intent stare.
"None of us have forgotten it," Micah persisted. "You walked right into a nest of snipers with machine guns firing. Your clothes were shot to pieces and you took ten hits in the body, and you kept right on going. You saved us from certain death. We won't forget how much we owe you. That's why we're not letting you near Lopez. If I have to knock you down and sit on you, I'll do it."
"They were lousy shots," Cy muttered.
"They were crack shots," Eb countered. "But you psyched them out by walking right into the gunfire. It won't work with Lopez's men. We have to let the DEA take point. We aren't even supposed to be in on this. I had to call in markers from all over Texas to get even this far. And to boot, I had to confess to Kennedy why we're here—to protect Rodrigo from everybody in case he's among these guys. Don't forget that we haven't heard a word from Rodrigo. He may also be with them and unable to get a message to us."
"They may have killed him already, too," Cy added.
"We won't know until we get there. Harley—" Eb glanced over the seat "—you stick close to Cy."
Harley was weighing the dangers of that position when Micah Steele began to chuckle. "That's all he'll be able to do, or don't you remember that it took Laremos and Brett-man and Dutch all together to bring him down just after Juba was killed, and he went right after a company of crack government troops?"
Harley's gasp was audible. "Laremos and...!"
"Who do you think taught us all we know?" Eb mused. "Now put a sock in it, Harley. This is where things get dicey."
He pulled up at the old Johnson place and cut off the engine. He handed out high-tech night scopes and listening devices to Micah and Cy. Cy gave Harley a level stare.
"This isn't a weekend at a merk training school," he told the younger man in a firm tone. "If there's a firefight, you stay out of it. Eb and Micah and I are a team. We know to the last ditch how far we can trust each other and we work as a unit. You're the odd man out. That being the case, you could get somebody killed. You're backup, period. You don't shoot until and unless one of us tells you to."
Harley swallowed. He was getting the idea, and an odd sickness welled up in his stomach. He could hardly talk, because his mouth was so dry. "How will we know the bad guys from the good guys?"
"The DEA boys will have that imprinted on the back of their jackets in big letters. Palmer and Barrett from the police department and the deputies from the sheriffs department will all be in uniform. The bad guys will be trying to protect their product. This is important," he added intently. "If you should be captured, make damned sure that you're on the ground when we come in. Because if that happens, if we have to storm the house, the first thing we'll do is to take out everybody standing. Have you got that?"
"I've got it," Harley said. "But I'm not going to get myself captured."
The others synchronized watches, and piled out of the Bronco. With Eb in the lead, they made their way so stealthily that Harley felt like an elephant bringing up the rear. He realized at once that his so-called training session was nothing but a waste of money. And that his inexperience could prove deadly to his comrades.
Eb deployed Micah and Cy at the edge of the woods behind the barn. One of the feds motioned to them, and to the five sheriffs deputies. As he waved, four other men in DEA jackets split and went around both sides. Everybody hesitated.
Harley crouched with his heart beating him half to death. He'd been in the United States for his entire tour of duty with the Rangers, except for a brief stint in Bosnia, where he hadn't managed to get out of headquarters. He'd seen people who'd been in combat and he'd heard about it. But he had no practical experience, and now he felt like a high school freshman getting ready to give a book report in front of the whole class—on a book he hadn't read. His knees felt like rubber under him.
Time seemed to lengthen as the seconds ticked by. Then, quite suddenly, one of the government agents raised his arm high and brought it down.
"Move out!" Eb called to his team.
It was pandemonium. Lopez's men were in civilian clothing, not the black gear that Cy and the others
were wearing. The sheriffs deputies and the police officers were in uniform, and the DEA boys had visible identification on their jackets. Everybody seemed to be firing at once.
Harley hesitated at the sharp firecracker pop of guns going off, the sound so ominous and deadly in real life, so unlike the enhanced gunfire used in movies and television. He got a grip on his nerve, clutched his pistol in both hands and moved out a few seconds in the general direction where Cy and Eb had just vanished. He started to run, but he wasn't quick enough to get to cover. He ran right into the path of a submachine gun, and it wasn't held by one of his team. He stopped, his breath catching in his throat as he looked certain death in the face for the first time in his young life.
The small, dark man in jeans and checked shirt facing him ordered him in perfect English to drop his pistol. The leveled automatic weapon he was holding looked very professional. Harley's pride took a hard blow. He'd walked right into that by being careless and he steeled himself for what was coming. He knew that the man wouldn't hesitate to fire on him. With a muffled curse, he dropped his automatic to the ground.
"One less to worry about," the foreign man said with a vicious smile. "Adios, senor...!"
Harley heard the loud report as a shot was fired and he tensed, eyes closed, waiting for the pain to start. But the weapon spilled out of the other man's hands an instant before he crumpled and fell forward.
"Get the hell out of there, Harley!" Cy raged.
Harley's eyes opened to find his opponent lying very still on the ground, and Cy standing behind him. Cy picked up Harley's .45 and threw it to him.
"Get around in front of the barn. Hurry!" Cy told him.
Harley felt shaky, but he caught the pistol and walked rapidly past the downed man. He glanced at him and had to fight the rise of bile in his throat. He'd never seen anyone like that...!
His heart was racing crazily, his mouth felt as if it had been filled with cotton. As he cleared the side of the building, he saw firefights. Some of the drug dealer's men were undercover, firing from behind the big transfer trucks. Others were in the barn. They were cornered, desperate, fighting for their lives if not their freedom.
Books By Diana Palmer Page 271
