by Jaye Wells
Pain exploded across the back of my skull. I jerked and started to turn, but a low, mean voice said, “Stand up. Slowly.”
“Shit.” I put my hands into the air and did as instructed.
A light way down inside the hole flashed on. I blinked at the scene below. “Gardner.”
Far below, a man with a machine gun jerked back my boss’s head. Her face was barely recognizable from all the swelling. Her brown hair was matted with blood. But she was still wearing the pantsuit she’d been wearing two days before—albeit now bloodstained and torn. Her hands were bound behind her, and wire bound her ankles to the legs of the chair. She was unconscious.
“Where is Volos?” the man behind me said in an accented voice. I glanced out of the corner of my eyes and saw Pantera’s midnight-black skin.
“He’s close. I want to see Gardner first.”
He pointed his gun toward the hole. “You can see her.”
I shook my head. “I need to make sure she’s okay.”
He sighed. “I don’t like games.”
“Good,” I said, “because I’m not playing any. Once I see she’s okay, I’ll call my partner to bring Volos to you.”
“Fine.” He nudged my shoulder. “Use the ladder.”
I moved toward the opening, where a metal ladder descended into the bowels of the cargo area. My boots clanged against the rungs as I made my way slowly down. Pantera stood above, watching my descent. I paused. “Aren’t you coming?”
He smiled wide, his teeth impossibly white against the pitch black of his skin. The expression made his green eyes sparkle like poison under glass. “I’ll be here.”
I sucked in a breath through my nose. If he stayed up there, Gardner and I would be like two fish in a very empty barrel. He could shoot us both and clear out before Morales and Volos even heard the bullets ricochet off the steel walls.
The shaman raised a single brow at me. “Well?”
I resumed my descent. I wasn’t about to leave her down there alone. Souza smiled down at me. Probably, he’d known I wouldn’t show up with Volos. He’d have concocted his plan around it, and I was playing right into it.
By the time I reached the bottom, I also realized just how freaking deep the cargo area was. I looked up, up, up at Pantera. The height made him look small at the mouth of the hold, but no less menacing.
Her head hung low and to the left side, as if her neck had simply lost the ability to hold up her head. Her hair covered her face. Before I got close enough to move it out of the way, the asshole with a homemade TEC-9 stepped in front of her.
He didn’t look familiar, and his Hispanic features indicated he might be a henchman the shaman brought with him from home. Because no shaman worth his weight in ayahuasca would dare travel without an armed gunman. The gun, too, hinted at his origins. A while back I’d read a report in the MEA files about a trend within A Morte for members to make homemade submachine guns. Agents had even found gun workshops within larger potion labs in São Paulo.
The henchman met my eyes, his lips curled in an anticipatory smile, as if he’d love nothing more than to put a bullet between my eyes. “Souza?” I called up.
“Yes?”
“Tell your friend to stand down or you won’t see Volos.”
His laughter echoed down to me. “You talk a big game, menina. But if your partner doesn’t bring me Volos, I’ll kill both of you.”
I turned and put my hands on my hips. “Do it, then.”
He paused and tilted his head as if trying to see my bluff shimmering in the air like a hologram. He said something in Portuguese. I wasn’t anywhere near fluent in his mother tongue, but I was certainly well versed in the tone of a superior telling his flunky to stand the fuck down.
The asshole didn’t look up at his boss because he was too busy trying to intimidate the little woman with his big gun. I raised a brow and flicked my thumb to indicate he should move aside. He took his sweet time before turning and sauntering away to go stand nearby.
Finally free, I skidded to my knees in front of my boss. “Gardner?” I pushed the hair back and tilted her battered face toward the light. Up close I could see the true extent of the damage. The lacerations and bruises on her face I’d expected, but she also had them on her arms and legs—her neck. They hadn’t just beaten her. They’d tortured her.
The senselessness of it hit me like a fist to the gut. Souza didn’t do things on a whim. He’d planned to use Gardner as leverage to get Volos. Torturing her for information was unnecessary, but the sick fuck had probably just done it to get his rocks off.
I ran my hands over her arms to check for breaks. Two fingers on her left hand were bent at odd angles. I touched them gingerly. It took me a moment to realize that her tiger-eye ring was gone. The only time I’d ever seen her without that thing on was the night I walked in on her cooking in the lab. For some reason, knowing that they’d taken that from her—something she considered sacred—was the final straw.
Rage roared behind my sternum. My hands itched to overpower the asshole, steal his machine gun, and perforate the hull of the ship.
“Detective Prospero,” the shaman called.
“What?” I yelled louder than I’d intended. I closed my eyes and tried to get my temper under control. It would only be a weapon for the homicidal shaman to use against me.
“Now that you’ve seen Gardner is alive, it is time to summon Mayor Volos to the party, yes?”
I cleared my throat and prepared to stand. But just before I engaged my thigh muscles to rise, Gardner’s hand squeezed mine. I was standing between her and the asshole, so he couldn’t see her right eye open a mere slit. It was enough. Enough to show me she was alive and lucid enough to know who I was and that I was there to help her. But also, I thought, the squeeze was a warning to be careful. I nodded and licked my suddenly dry lips. “Be ready,” I said under my breath. The only response was the closing of that single lid and the release of my hand.
“Hey,” I said to the asshole.
He tilted his head down. “What?”
“You got any wire cutters?”
“Fuck you.”
“Yo, Panther Boy?” I called up.
“Yes, Detective?” His voice was weighted with exaggerated patience.
“I need something to cut these wires.”
I rose slowly and turned to look up at the shaman. His body was a dark silhouette against the lights above.
“That was not the deal, vadia.” Something in his tone made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I turned slowly. The asshole had his knockoff TEC-9 pointed at me again. My gaze shifted up and I took in the image Pantera portrayed. He had a booted foot propped on the edge of the hatch, like a fucking pirate.
I ignored the rapid flutter of my pulse. “If you think I’m going to hand you Volos with her here so you can kill all of us, you seriously underestimated my intelligence.”
He made a dismissive noise. “Why do all cops think they’re smarter than everyone else?”
I crossed my arms and squinted up at him. “Same could be said for most criminals, dickbag.”
He sighed. “You test my patience.”
Yeah, I thought, that’s the fucking point.
“At least let me get her unbound,” I said. “Obviously it’s going to be hard to get her out of the hold until Morales gets here to help me.”
He raised something into the air and waved it. “The number first?”
I pursed my lips, weighing my options. If I continued to stall one of two things would happen. Either Souza would lose his patience—or Morales would. If I wanted to maintain some control, I needed to get things moving. I read off a series of numbers.
A few moments later the muted sound of the shaman speaking into the phone filtered down to me. I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms, trying to remain still and continue to look unworried. But inside, adrenaline coiled like a viper in my gut, ready to strike. Adding Morales and Volos to this scene would be li
ke throwing a match into a barrel of gunpowder.
Something in his posture shifted toward anger. “No, you listen to me. The two bitches stay here until you produce Volos.”
I closed my eyes and cursed under my breath. Morales wasn’t doing anything I wouldn’t have done. But seeing how I was the one with a machine gun pointed at me, I found myself praying that my partner would listen to reason.
“You bring Volos here or I will kill one of them. I think I’ll start with the young one. She’s pretty but not as valuable, I think, as the special agent.” Souza punched the End button on the phone and inhaled a long breath. “It’s time,” he said, almost to himself.
Time to get Gardner ready to go. I moved back toward her and knelt. The wires around her ankles and wrists had cut through the skin, and blood coated her palms and bare feet.
“Think about this, Mr. Souza,” I called. “If my partner hears a gunshot, he’ll take Volos and get the fuck out of here.”
The shaman’s laughter boomed through the empty cargo hold. “Or he’ll rush in to save you. That’s the fatal flaw of all cops—the instinct to run toward danger.”
While the asshole kept his gun pointed at me, Pantera Souza raised a pistol into the air and pulled the trigger.
I closed my eyes and tried to center myself and get my pulse under control. Souza’s move had just fucked shit up, but at least he hadn’t actually killed me as he’d promised Morales. I needed to get Gardner free before he arrived and bullets started flying for real.
Using my fingers, I started untwisting the ends of the wires. They were slick with Gardner’s blood so my grip kept slipping. Finally I gave up on that tactic and pulled at the wires. They stretched a little, giving me enough room to work them farther down Gardner’s hands. She was passed out now, so her hands were slack and the blood acted like a lubricant for the wire to slip over her skin.
The sound of boots against metal made me look up. Souza was climbing down the ladder. I frowned. Why not stay on the deck where he could hide and shoot at Volos and Morales?
Above, the sound of multiple feet running across the deck pounded throughout the ship’s metal walls. I moved around to Gardner’s front. “Wake up,” I whispered, my voice sounding panicked to my own ears. When she didn’t respond, I slapped her cheeks. “Wake up!” I commanded. “Miranda, wake up!”
Her head swiveled and a groan escaped her bloody lips. “Good,” I said. “I’m going to move you.”
As carefully as I could manage, I tipped her chair to the side and lowered it carefully to the ground. She cried out, as if the movement had put pressure on a particularly nasty injury. I gritted my teeth together from the strain of not dropping her to the floor. Finally, the edges of the chair reached the metal floor and her torso collapsed on its side. Using my booted foot, I brought it down hard on one of the chair’s legs. It cracked on the second kick, but the movement forced another cry from my boss’s mouth. I didn’t have the luxury of trying to remove the wires from her ankles, but I could at least get her free. The other chair leg was flush with the floor, so I could only push the wire down the wood until it came off. The whole thing probably took less than a minute, but it felt like a lifetime.
By the time I got Gardner free and got her body upright and braced against my side, the shaman had reached the bottom of the ladder. There were a few crates pushed against the far wall of the hold, which he knelt behind. The guy with the TEC-9 had taken cover behind some barrels on the opposite wall. That left Gardner and me out in the open. Not that I thought Morales would shoot at us, but bullets had a nasty habit of ricocheting off metal.
I dragged Gardner over toward the corner of the cargo hold. There, a pallet of boxes was shrink-wrapped and pushed into the corner. I helped Gardner to the floor and leaned her against the boxes. Then I turned and stood in front of her. My body wasn’t a great shield, but it was better than leaving a defenseless, injured person out in the open.
“Shit’s about to hit the fan,” I whispered. “Stay behind me.”
She swallowed and nodded. “Be careful.” An immediate wince followed the words.
I planted my feet and crossed my arms to brace for the fireworks. But the ambush I expected didn’t appear. What the hell was keeping Morales? The footsteps on the deck had quieted, and now the only sounds were my harsh breath and the creaking of the ship in the water.
I glanced over toward Souza. As if he sensed my gaze, his head turned to look toward me. Something lit his eyes. Anticipation? Realization that my backup wasn’t coming? Either way, that look caused a corresponding ping of fear in the center of my chest.
The shaman rose from his crouch. Under his loose-fitting pants and roomy shirt, his muscles began to twitch. His limbs shifted in odd angles. Holding my gaze, he lowered his head with a feline smile on his face.
The ears shifted up, the face grew forward, and his eyes spread toward the sides of his head. His black skin sprouted fur, which gleamed in the harsh lights. His hands and feet grew and morphed into claws.
A loud growl echoed through the hold.
My heart kicked up speed. Bullets I could handle, but a magical panther? Hell no. I was suddenly regretting giving Morales my gun. “Anytime now, Morales,” I whispered, backing up.
When the backs of my legs hit Gardner’s shoulder, I stopped. My eyes scanned the cargo area for anything I could use to defend us. The boxes behind me were covered in plastic and appeared to contain electronics from China. The barrels across the way were yellow and had warning symbols on the outside indicating that whatever was inside was poisonous. Hard to make use of in an enclosed space. The crates behind the panther might have held something useful, but would require me to get around the pissed-off animal. Not an option.
The cat growled again and began to slowly stalk forward. Its glossy black shoulder muscles rose and fell with each step.
“Hector,” I said quietly, appealing to the name his mother gave him, instead of what he was called on the streets, “don’t do anything stupid. Morales will be here.” Inside my head I thought, Please, Morales, get here.
The panther paused, lowered the front of its body, and licked its chops.
“Shit,” I said.
The next few moments happened in slow motion. The panther sprang forward. I braced my muscles for impact. But before it came, the air sizzled with magic. It filled with the overpowering stench of ozone. Then—poof—three dark figures materialized between the panther and me. Everything froze for the span of a single heartbeat.
Then, chaos in motion.
One man tackled the cat and rolled away, struggling with the animal. The second man swiveled and aimed a Glock at the asshole with the poor man’s TEC-9. The bullet’s trajectory was relentless, hitting the guy square between the eyes. His brain exploded back out of the skull and spattered all over the wall.
I barely had time to digest what I was seeing before the third man slammed me to the ground. Pain exploded in my back and spread through my hips. My head bounced off the hard metal of the ship’s floor. Before I could cry out in pain, the heart-stopping scream of an angry jungle cat ripped through the air. The large body on top of mine shifted to the side. I sucked air into my lungs and looked into his face. “John?”
His hands were still clasped protectively around my waist, and his eyes were busy looking over very inch of my body. “Where are you hit?”
I tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but he held me down. Fed up with fighting him, I grabbed his chin and made him look at me. “He didn’t shoot me.” I pointed to where Morales was wrestling the panther while Mez assisted with magical weapons. “I need to help them. Let me go.”
Relief flashed across Volos’s face, but a frown quickly replaced it. “He’s fine.” He grabbed me in a hard hug. “Jesus, I thought we were too late.”
Magic sizzled through the air. A loud yelp responded. A low male curse. Then the sound of gunfire exploded. I looked up in time to see the panther fall at Morales’s feet.
I
scrambled out of Volos’s hold and leaped toward Mez. He was panting and lying on his back. A visible wound bled freely from his right shoulder. Sweat coated his forehead. Large scratch marks created red canyons on his cheek and neck. A nasty bite on his left arm forced the limb to lay useless by his side. His shirt was torn to ribbons, exposing red gashes all over his torso. I pushed his hair back from his forehead and looked into his eyes. “Talk to me.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a lame attempt at a smile. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Remind me to stay in the van next time.”
I snorted a laugh, not because I was amused, but because I was relieved he was alive. Mez wasn’t a fighter. He was a badass wizard, but he normally left the violence to the rest of us.
Morales knelt next to us. “How you doing, man?”
Mez swallowed hard. “Next time, don’t worry about my ego and just shoot the killer panther.”
“I thought you were just toying with it.” A smirk spread across my partner’s face.
A wheezing chuckle came from the wizard’s mouth. I patted his shoulder and looked at Morales. “What took you so long?”
“Once we filled him in on the plan, it took some convincing to get Mr. Mayor to take the potion.” His tone was mocking.
“I’m just glad it worked so well.”
“Hey,” Mez said, protesting my doubts about his potion.
I smiled at him. “No offense, but you have to admit it was a long shot.”
After we’d told Mez about how Souza had disappeared from Harry Bane’s trailer, he’d been working on his own version of the potion. He’d even called in some favors from wizards who specialized in potions created by South American shamans to figure it out. We’d taken a major gamble relying on the untested product to get Volos and Morales into that ship, but it had worked a treat.
“I’m pleased,” Mez said. “Especially since we got to use that asshole’s own magic against him.”
