by Elle James
As if she hadn’t said a word, Fedora focused on Vance. “You know my policy.”
Vance’s entire body shook. “Yes, sir, but—”
The mystery man held up his hand. “You’ve compromised my cover.”
“I had to. They know.”
“Know what? Really.” Tracie shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I just want to go home, kick up my feet and drink a very dry martini. Maybe two.”
Fedora man didn’t move a muscle. In a voice that sent chills up and down Tracie’s spine, he said, “Kill her.”
“Whoa, wait a minute,” Tracie said. “This is one big ugly mistake. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll buy my guns somewhere else.”
Vance backed up a step. “I’m not doing your dirty work for you. This is Delgado’s mess. Other than a grainy photo and Delgado’s text, I’m not even certain they did anything wrong.”
“We can settle that right now.” Fedora raised his hand and motioned for someone to join them. The passenger door of the SUV opened and a man dropped to the ground.
At first all Tracie could see was his silhouette. When he passed beside the headlights, she caught a glimpse of his face.
Carmelo Delgado.
Tracie’s blood ran cold and she leaned her head forward, letting her hair fall partially over her face, praying the man didn’t recognize her for the woman who had come to ask about his coffee plantation.
“Is this the woman?” Fedora asked.
Delgado walked straight up to her, grabbed a handful of hair and yanked it back, exposing her face to the headlights.
“Si.” He cursed in Spanish and then backhanded her so hard, she almost fell. If not for the big guy’s arm around her middle, she would have been knocked to the ground.
Her jaw and cheek ached and the tissue around her right eye began to swell.
“Kill her,” Fedora demanded.
Delgado’s eyes narrowed and he pulled his fist back to hit her again.
“Wait.” Vance held up a hand. “You can’t kill her. Her husband is still running around out there. I’ve arranged for him to meet me at Lion’s Shipyard at midnight. He’ll want proof she’s alive before he reveals himself to us.”
Delgado looked to Fedora.
For a long moment, Fedora paused. “How did you get him to agree to come?”
“I told him to bring five million dollars in cash in exchange for his wife.”
“Where exactly are you meeting him?” Fedora straightened the sleeve of his suit jacket, appearing to be in no hurry.
Warning bells went off in Tracie’s head. The man was like a snake, quietly tensing to strike.
“At Lion’s Shipyard, pier ten.” Vance added, “At midnight.”
“How did you arrange this?”
Vance pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “I used this disposable phone. I signed up for it using a fake name.”
“Clever,” Fedora said. “Let me see that.” He held out his hand.
Vance placed the phone in the man’s hand.
In the next second, the world exploded around Tracie, and Vance fell. Knocking into the man holding her and taking them both down.
Another gunshot made the big guy jerk and then his arm loosened.
Slightly dazed, Tracie fought to free herself from the tangle of bodies.
Delgado yanked her up by the hair, jerked her hands behind her back and secured them with a zip tie. He tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to the back of the SUV and dumped her inside.
Her night wasn’t going very well at all, but Vance and his bouncer friend’s had ended even worse.
Tracie vowed to live long enough to return Delgado’s favor and slug him in the face. Then she’d figure a way out of the mess she was in and expose the man in the Fedora. He seemed to have the power, and she planned to bring him down.
* * *
AT TEN MINUTES to midnight, Rip found a gap beneath the fence and slid the suitcase full of money under the chain link, then he dropped to the ground and rolled beneath the wire. Once inside he patted the gun in the holster under his shirt. It was little reassurance against an enemy he didn’t know much about. All he knew was that Vance had taken Tracie. How many more men would show up to protect his investment was a mystery.
He walked between tall stacks of huge metal containers, aiming for the end of the dock where pier ten was located. Right at midnight he arrived and waited in the shadows of the containers, craning his neck to see beyond, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tracie. Nothing moved. He didn’t know whether or not Hank’s team was in place.
At three minutes past twelve, his cell phone rang.
He fumbled in his pocket for the device and answered.
“There is a forklift three rows from where you are standing. Get in it and drive it down to pier number six. Leave your cell phone where you’re standing. If anyone follows you, the girl is dead. You have exactly two minutes to get there. If you aren’t there by then, the girl dies. Now go!”
“I want to hear her voice. Prove to me she’s alive,” he demanded. His demand was greeted with the silence of the call having ended. With less than a minute to spare, he dropped his phone, ran two aisles of containers over and found the forklift with the key still in it. Rip pushed the lever toward the front of the device and the forklift shot forward. Manipulating the many levers, he finally got the forklift heading in the right direction, having wasted too much time already.
He raced past several piers, counting backward from Pier ten to the sixth one. He would have to handle the exchange alone. If the others moved closer to pier six, they would be seen and risk tipping off Tracie’s kidnappers. The money didn’t mean anything to him. Tracie did.
Hopefully, with the amount of money they’d demanded, her captors wouldn’t feel the need to kill her. Then again, they’d killed the DEA agent to keep their secret. Rip figured there was little chance they’d take the money and leave the girl. Alive.
As he pulled to a halt in front of pier six, he remained in the forklift, hunkered low, using the heavy-duty frame of the machine to shield himself as best he could. He didn’t care if he lived or died, but he had to make sure Tracie was safe. He couldn’t do that if he was picked off by a sniper.
Shutting off the forklift’s engine, he sat for a moment, waiting for Vance to emerge with Tracie. Poised to throw himself off the forklift, he twitched, ready for action, ready to get this over with.
When no one emerged, Rip couldn’t wait any longer. “I have the money. Give me the girl.”
Again silence.
“One more minute and I leave, taking the money with me. Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven...”
His countdown made it to fifty before a figure detached itself from the shadow of a container stack. “Are you alone?” A man in a Fedora stood in the open, his face still hidden by the brim of his hat.
“Yes. Where’s my wife?”
“Come down from the forklift so that I can see you’re not armed.”
“Show me my wife.”
“She’s in a safe place.” The man waited with his legs slightly apart, his arms crossed. “Show me the money.”
“It’s in a safe place.”
“Touché.” Fedora touched a finger to his hat. “Tell me, why would a man and his wife go all the way to Honduras to buy a coffee plantation and then leave without negotiating?”
“We didn’t find one for sale.”
“Perhaps you didn’t ask nicely enough,” Fedora said.
Another man emerged from the shadows, and in his arms, he held Tracie, his hand clamped over her mouth. A shaft of light spilled over the man’s face, revealing who it was.
Carmelo Delgado.
Rip’s heart lurched. He wanted to drop down off the fo
rklift and run to her. But he couldn’t tell whether Fedora had a gun in his hand or not. He couldn’t take the chance with Tracie’s life hanging in the balance.
Tracie struggled to free herself, but Delgado had a powerful hold on the trained agent and it appeared he had her hands tied behind her back.
Thinking fast, Rip called out, “Tell you what. You send the girl halfway and I’ll send the money halfway. She can show you that the case is in fact full of the five million dollars you asked for. When I have my wife safely over here, I’ll leave and you can take the case. I won’t try to stop you. All I ask is that no harm comes to my wife.”
“Bring her.” Fedora waved Delgado forward with Tracie.
Using the forklift’s bulky frame as cover, Rip slipped out of his seat and dropped to the ground. He took the suitcase full of money from behind the seat of the forklift and held it against his chest.
“You need to untie my wife’s hands so that she can open the case.”
Fedora and Delgado whispered to each other.
Delgado pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and hit the button, popping it open. Then he cut the tie binding Tracie’s wrist, immediately pressing the knife to her throat.
Rip’s heart stopped and then raced on.
Fedora shouted, “If you do something stupid, I’ll have him kill you and then kill your wife.”
“Okay, I’ll leave the stupid out. On the count of three, send her over, and I’ll send the case.” Still using the forklift for cover, Rip bent and laid the case on the pavement, slipped the strap holding the small .40 caliber pistol from around his calf and buckled it to the handle of the case. If the strap held, the gun would arrive at the midpoint between him and Tracie’s captors. “If you want the money, you have to give me the girl.”
“Okay. But if you make one wrong move, I’ll kill your wife,” Fedora warned. Using Delgado and Tracie as a human shield, he backed toward the SUV and ducked behind the door.
Rip held his breath. They could be walking her back to the SUV to take off and find another place to hide her or leave her body.
When they didn’t shove her into the vehicle, Rip remembered to breathe. He’d feel better when she was with him and away from Fedora and Delgado.
“Ready?” Fedora called out.
“Ready,” Rip responded. “On the count of three. One...two...three.”
Delgado gave Tracie a shove, sending her flying toward the case. He ducked behind the door with Fedora and waited.
Rip shoved the case, gun and all toward Tracie, praying she’d see the gun before the others did.
Surreptitiously pulling his Glock from beneath his shirt, he waited for the fun to begin. As soon as Tracie started out across the pavement, Rip wanted to run out and throw his body over hers to protect her from being shot.
“I have a gun aimed at Mrs. Gideon,” Fedora noted. “One false move and she is dead.”
Tracie walked toward the case and bent down beside it. She fumbled with the clasps until they popped open, taking more time than Rip liked.
When he was sure she’d found the gun and had sufficient time to pull it from the holster, he held his breath.
Tracie swiveled on her heels, squatting beside the case, turning it so that they could see inside. “The money is all here.”
Rip almost laughed.
Tracie held the gun behind her back, her legs tense, appearing spring-loaded, ready for action. “Coming your way,” she said and shoved the case hard enough it went flying at Fedora. Rip had been ready and fired at the same time as Fedora, hitting him square in the chest.
Delgado threw his knife at Tracie.
She dropped to the ground, clutching at the knife in her belly. With a quick jerk, she pulled it out and blood spurted from her body.
Rip fired back at Delgado and lurched toward her, his heart in his throat.
“Look out, Rip!” she yelled.
Fedora sat up and aimed at Rip, but didn’t get the chance to pull the trigger.
A shot rang out from somewhere to Rip’s right, clipping Fedora in the temple, knocking the hat off his head.
Chapter Eighteen
Rip reached Tracie and gathered her in his arms, pressing his hand against her wound to slow the blood loss.
“Hey, Mrs. Gideon, you doing all right?” he asked, brushing the hair out of her eyes so that he could see them.
She smiled up at him. “Never better, Mr. Gideon,” she answered, her voice weak, her face turning a chalky white.
“Hang in there, we’re going to get you fixed up.”
“Good. I have a date with my husband I wouldn’t want to miss...” Her voice faded and her eyes closed.
Rip’s chest squeezed so hard he could barely breathe. “We need an ambulance here!” he yelled.
“Could you keep it down, sweetheart?” Tracie whispered. “A girl needs her beauty sleep.”
Keeping his hand pressed to her wound, Rip hugged her close. “That’s my girl. You’re going to be just fine.”
Covert Cowboys surrounded them. Hank brought up the rear, already on the phone calling for assistance. Within minutes, the fire department’s emergency vehicle arrived and they loaded Tracie into the ambulance.
Rip couldn’t remember a longer trip in his entire life.
Two hours later, he stood in the waiting room, waiting for the surgeon to appear. Hank, Adams, Bolton, Harding and Drennan had gathered around him, awaiting news of Tracie’s prognosis.
The entire time they were in the waiting room, Hank had been on and off his cell phone with the authorities, with Rip’s commander and with Brandon back at the Raging Bull Ranch.
Hank finally hung up and faced the men. “Brandon verified the identity of the man with Delgado. His name was Mark Kuntz. He’s a former soldier from the US Army Special Forces. He was in the same unit as the sniper who tried to kill you several weeks ago, Rip.”
Rip’s chest felt hollow. “Fenton Rollins?”
“Yes. Brandon found several photographs of the two together in Iraq. And, get this—Kuntz was Senator Thomas Craine’s executive assistant.”
“Wasn’t Craine the one who was working on trade negotiations with several Central American countries?” Rip ran a hand through his hair, sick at the thought of his own countrymen selling them out.
Hank nodded. “I had Brandon search the photographs of Senator Craine’s visit to Central America, including the one in which we saw him with Delgado. Mark Kuntz was in that photo, as well. Not prominently featured, but there in the background.”
Rip’s fists clenched. “Is Senator Craine involved in the illegal arms deals with the terrorists?”
Hank shook his head. “So far, we haven’t found a definitive connection other than Kuntz working for Craine. I have Brandon searching every link he can find, digging into their emails, their phone records and their bank accounts. Senator Craine has several corporations he’s associated with, some of which have offshore accounts. So far we have nothing and Senator Craine has refused to be interviewed. It’s in the Feds’ hands now.”
Rip drew in a deep breath to calm the rage he felt toward these men who’d become traitors to their own country. “You’re not stopping the investigation, are you?”
Hank smiled, though his eyes narrowed. “Not on your life...or Tracie’s.”
“Good.”
“With Mark Kuntz and Fenton Rollins out of the picture now, are you planning to go back to your unit?” Hank asked.
Rip hadn’t even gotten past leaving the hospital. He wouldn’t leave until he knew for sure Tracie was going to be all right. “I haven’t gotten that far.”
“When Tracie is released, I’d like you two to take some time off. I’ll clear it with your unit commander if you don’t mind me arranging things. You need it, and I’
m sure Tracie would feel better if you were with her during her recuperation.”
Rip glanced at the doorway to the surgical waiting room. “I’m okay with whatever.” He didn’t care about anything at that moment but getting news from the doctor.
Then a man in scrubs, a hair cap and surgical booties entered the waiting room. “Are you the folks with Tracie Kosart?”
All six of the men answered as one. “Yes.”
“Good news. She’s going to be just fine. No major damage to internal organs. After a night of observation, she could be ready to go home.”
All the air rushed out of Rip’s lungs and, for a moment, he felt light-headed. “Can I see her?”
“She’s in recovery now and asking for her husband.” The doctor’s brows rose. “Is that you?”
Rip nearly laughed out loud before he nodded, “That’s me.” He ran for the door, happier than he’d been since graduating BUD/S.
* * *
A WEEK LATER, Tracy lounged in a deck chair, staring out over a mountain valley with a cup of hot cocoa cradled in her hands. “It’s just like I imagined it.”
“It’s better than I had imagined it because you’re here.” Rip held out his hand, taking one of hers.
“You’re a smooth talker, for a frogman.” Tracie squeezed his fingers. She couldn’t remember a time she was more content.
Rip shot a twisted smile at her. “How would you rank this as a first date?”
“Right up there.” She sipped her cocoa. “Although I don’t think most first dates last an entire week.”
“No?” Rip stood and took the mug from her hands. “Well, we have your boss to thank for that. It was nice of him to offer his mountain cabin for your recuperation and the plane to get us here in comfort.” Rip eased her out of her chair and into his arms, so careful not to disturb her stitches.
Tracie leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his rock-hard waist and resting her cheek against his chiseled chest. Feeling very lucky to have him, she lifted her face and stood on her toes to press a kiss to Rip’s lips. He tasted of marshmallows and cocoa and she loved it. “Mmm. Remind me to thank Hank.”
Despite the tug at her stitches, she didn’t want the kiss to end and pushed up on her toes again, deepening it until their tongues writhed together and her body heated.
