by Zoe Dawson
“His mom must be so proud,” Kid said and the guys laughed.
Ruckus studied the picture of Salazar. He looked more like a billionaire playboy than a drug runner in an open collar shirt and white jacket, tanned, of medium height with a honed body and a face that would turn female heads, but the light in his eyes would definitely turn off many of the savvier women. He had a full head of black hair he wore swept back in a style that suggested vanity.
“He is responsible for the deaths of six DEA agents and several American missionaries. The attorney general wants him in the States to stand trial for his crimes. We want him extracted alive.”
“If it’s not possible,” Kid piped up, “we take him out?”
“Affirmative,” McRae said.
Either way justice will be served,” Cowboy said in his deep voice.
“This is Angel Nunez, his second-in-command.” A second picture flashed onto the screen. Nunez was a different animal altogether and Angel was definitely a misnomer. His head was ruthlessly shaved, glittering black eyes and a vicious look around his mouth warned of the kind of violence that showed no mercy. The man had some hard-packed muscle and was probably about six two. He was dressed in camo and Ruckus suspected, out of the two of them, Nunez was more dangerous.
“Intel says that he’s not at the compound,” McRae continued. “But in Mexico with their business associates, so he shouldn’t be a factor.” He turned from the screen and said, “You’ll HALO over Yaviza and glide to the drop zone just south of the town. You will consider the situation on the ground as hostile. Make your way to the stronghold and obtain the package. You will be extracted to the west at LZ Foxtrot. Any questions?”
“We’re under the radar on this one, sir?” Blue asked.
“Copy that, it’s black. Avoid any direct action with the natives if possible, but if someone fires on you, defend yourselves. I’m sure Panama won’t be too upset to get rid of Salazar, but they’ll be pissed to find unsanctioned SEALs on their soil.”
The debrief over, they headed to the waiting plane that would take them over the DZ. Thirty minutes later, Ruckus looked around at the camo faces, the paint thick to hide the brightness of their skin. If they were spotted dropping into the jungle, they could easily be shot out of the sky before they landed.
“How you guys holding up?” Ruckus asked.
“Good to go, LT,” was the murmured response. Ruckus expected nothing less from his SEALs. Didn’t matter that they’d had about four hours sleep in twenty-four. Echo gave him a quick look that said he was ready, too. He was in a harness, belted to Tank’s chest, ready to get airborne like the rest of them.
“I’d say pretty boy Blue needs his beauty rest, though,” Kid said.
“Kiss my ass,” Blue responded in his no-nonsense voice.
“I would if you’d shave it.” Kid hooked on his oxygen mask and snapped it in place. His green eyes dancing in the dim light of the cargo bay.
“Hey, stop picking on Blue. That hair on his ass matches his back,” Hollywood quipped, his voice muffled in the mask.
There was laughter all around and Blue gave them both a double finger salute.
“Approaching DZ. Load up.”
They all stood up and approached the bay doors as they lowered in a grinding hydraulic grind, the burst of air pushing them back slightly.
The flight master yelled, “Go.”
Kid was the best navigator and he went out the door first, followed closely by the rest of the team. Using a compass, he would be sight point.
Thirty K up, the temperature was frigid, but warmed as they fell, the ground rushing toward them at one hundred and twenty miles per hour before he saw the first chute open. At the right time, Ruckus deployed his, abruptly slowing his silent descent into a mass of steaming green.
And into hostile territory.
This was the most vulnerable time for a spec ops guy free-floating to a target.
As he dropped lower into the deep valley, the wind yanked at his tight-fitting black jumpsuit, the hot air warming him and slowing his descent. Through his night-vision visor, he saw lights from Yaviza near the winding river. Below him was nothing but a black maw, accelerating toward his face. It was a personal high. He didn’t get excited about many things, but jumping out of a speeding aircraft topped the list. That and sex.
He aimed for the sweet spot, a small clearing that would be tough to hit without getting snagged in the dense trees. Kid, Cowboy, Hollywood, and Blue were already down. With Ruckus’s boots brushing the treetops, he pulled the suspension lines of the parachute close, rapidly driving him toward the ground.
Touching down with a thump, he tucked and rolled, pulling the black chute with him. He released the oxygen mask, then unhooked his helmet, on one knee, weapon aimed as the remaining SEALs landed in a billow of black nylon.
Being prepared was the best course of action. Switching the visor to thermal, he surveyed his surroundings, sweating inside the suit and his uniform. It showed him nothing but dense forest and a family of monkeys.
Easy in, he thought. Entering the country under the radar kept them invisible for now. In the dark, Ruckus stripped. All of them were removing their suits, wrapping their jump gear in the chute, then burying it.
The team assembled as Ruckus positioned foliage over the pile and dusted his hands. Tank had his GPS out and was marking their route to the stronghold.
They were about ten klicks or kilometers out—approximately six miles and would have to hump it to the target area. He didn’t expect military checkpoints or patrols, but there could be plenty of Las Piratas stalking their territory and protecting their routes. Echo would alert them to anyone in the vicinity.
He adjusted his tech vest filled with gear and ammo, in addition to the rucksack he swung to his back. Tank was checking Echo’s harness, a high-tech vest, and proceeded to the head of the line. Behind him, the guys broke their defensive perimeter position to line up behind Tank, all of them careful to maintain their spacing discipline.
Though the monkeys were already screaming warnings to each other, he wanted to get in, do the job, obtain the package, and get out with everyone still breathing.
There was no doubt in his mind that was the outcome. Positive thinking was the road to success. He’d memorized the terrain, but he’d been in enough jungles to know his way around dense undergrowth. Yet, in the dark, he would rely on Tank and his glowing GPS. The moon was just cresting and the rain forest was wet, hot and dark.
Echo took the lead, his black snout moving between the ground and the air, loping along. He would alert them to any hidden tangos.
They hacked through the undergrowth, listening for movement and hearing only the squawk of macaws and seeing white-faced monkeys hovering overhead as he worked his way toward the target. Giant kapok and rubber trees shadowed the valley, the ground spread with a gray-white mist that wrapped the giant palms and curled toward the sky, where it hovered, ghost-like in the jungle canopy. The roots smothered the ground so much that his boots rarely touched the soil.
Ruckus ignored the sounds around him, the movement of creatures, the fall of nuts, the scurrying of a green iguana hightailing it into the thicket. He watched as Cowboy checked the compass on his watch. As they neared the stronghold, his gaze moved over the land, searching for any signs of human life.
Nothing.
He gripped his weapon and they all crouched as they came to the edge of a clearing, the stronghold below them. Concrete walls and a huge house sat in the center. There were roving patrols moving silently below them.
“Spread out,” Ruckus said and the SEALs complied. “Tank,” he said and the big SEAL rose, gave Echo a command and the dog took off with Tank close to him. He would be checking for any explosives.”
After a tense few minutes, Tank’s voice came over the comm. “Clear, LT. There are two guards at the gate, a barracks to the left, but only three roving patrols. Two guys at the front door.”
“Copy,” Ruckus
said. He turned to the team. “We’re going in.” He checked his M4. “Kid, neutralize the group to the left. Cowboy, take the right. Hollywood and Wicked stay here to cover our backs. The rest of you are with me. Keep the noise to a minimum.”
“That’s five guys,” Kid said. “Easy peasy.”
“Sure, small potatoes. Didn’t you once take out fifteen?” Scarecrow said.
“No,” Kid said on a huff of laughter. “I might be bat shit crazy, but I’m not suicidal. It was only fourteen.” As the guys laughed, he pushed his weapon onto his back, pulled out his tactical knife, crouched low and disappeared. Cowboy did the same, the six foot five SEAL melting into the night like liquid darkness.
They slipped down the incline and approached the gates. Kid and Cowboy had already cleared the guards, they were nothing but lumps on the ground. Tank and Echo joined them.
Once inside the walls, Ruckus headed straight for the front door, up the garden path paved with flagstones, flowering bushes and plants along the border. Was this guy for real?
“Hey, Cowboy,” Kid whispered. “You think this is some kind of garden party?”
“Shoot, boy. Don’t look like it. I don’t smell no tea or ladies perfume,” he murmured.
Even Ruckus smirked. Cowboy would never live down the garden party incident and it would forever be a source of ribbing from the guys.
Tank released Echo and he kept the two guards at the front door busy until Blue took them out with suppressed head shots. The four of them waited until Kid and Cowboy materialized out of the gloom. Blue was already crouched and within seconds had the door open. It swung wide with no noise. Kid’s M4 bucked and the two men who were standing in the hall went down.
“Tank watch our sixes. Blue, Cowboy, downstairs. Scarecrow, take this floor. Kid you’re with me.”
“Copy,” came the soft replies.
Ruckus headed up the stairs. The thermal scope telling him that there were two tangos on the top floor and five in the basement. When he stealthed up the stairs, he took out the guards and saw the heat signature registering from one of the bedrooms, not the master. He frowned. Where was Salazar?
“Kid.”
Without needing any more communication than that, he crouched and picked the lock.
They burst through, but both of them stopped dead. Instead of a hostile, a woman gasped, looked at them, her hand clutched to her throat, startled into a frozen statue. All five feet five of her in practically nothing with tanned legs, dangerous curves and slick dark hair.
“Damn, LT. She’s wearing a towel.”
“What was that?” Male voices filled the comm.
“Clear the channel and focus on what you’re doing.” God help him. All knuckleheads.
Sure enough, the woman was in nothing but baby blue terry cloth in a hot tropical jungle, in a hot tropical night, mean tropical bad guys surrounding the house. Drug thugs were so plentiful you could hit one with a rock and this honey was smack dab in the middle of it all. If the human filth didn’t get her, the wildlife would.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the gorgeous brunette, and it had nothing to do with monitoring her for any type of threat. He swallowed. She had weapons aplenty, the strained terry leaving nothing to the imagination and almost a tad too small for her lithe curves. The law of physics guaranteed that something was going to fall out of that towel, and so help him God, he didn’t want to miss anything when it happened.
Her long, thick hair was wet, water still dripping from the dark mass, tendrils stuck to her upper chest and one tantalizing shoulder.
“Who are you?” she said, her voice more firm than breathless.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“You’re American?” Those almond shaped, sultry brown eyes widened, then she blinked in relief.
“Navy SEALs, ma’am,” Kid said. Ruckus wasn’t the only one to notice her. Kid was young and randy. His eyes caressed her from head to toe.
He nudged the younger SEAL with his shoulder, and Kid gave him an innocent look.
She breathed a sigh. “Thank God. Dana Sorenson. I’m a reporter—”
“Don’t move,” Ruckus said all his muscles clenching when she started forward. Saving damsels in distress was in his mission statement and in his job description. If she turned out to be telling the truth, his priority had just changed. Saving anyone, especially an American was most definitely listed somewhere, but she wasn’t the package he was looking for, and he had no idea if she was telling the truth. He wasn’t putting himself or his men in jeopardy for this cupcake just yet.
“What? Why? My crew members are being held in the basement. You’ve got to help them.”
“I’m not going to take anything you say at face value, lady. Just stay where you are.” Ruckus never took chances until he was one hundred percent sure. They were in a hostile environment and women weren’t to be trusted even if they seemed to be exactly what they said they were. This was an unexpected complication.
“Where do you think she has her weapon stashed?” Kid whispered, giving Ruckus a quick, amused glance.
“Go downstairs and help Scarecrow.”
“But, LT,” Kid whined.
“Go.”
“Yes…uh, sir.” With a last look at Dana, he turned and slipped down the hall, disappearing down the stairs.
“LT,” Cowboy’s voice came through his earpiece. “Three tangos down. But there are two guys down here, two American citizens. Worse for wear. One of them is unconscious, the other one says they’re journalists.”
“Standby,” Ruckus murmured. Her safety and the safety of her crew was utmost in his mind. They were surrounded by killers and it was apparent her colleagues had been treated poorly and held against their will. That pissed him off and made him doubly determined to get Salazar. Getting them medical attention was imperative, especially for the man that was unconscious.
“We have ID downstairs in Salazar’s safe along with my memory cards. What about my crew? Are you going to help them? Are they all right?”
“Get dressed,” he ordered not even lowering the M-4 an inch.
Her brows rose at his order. She set her hands on her hips. “Make up your mind. Do you want me to stay put or get dressed?”
“Move and get dressed,” he said through clenched teeth. This woman was going to be a handful of trouble. He immediately got his mind off his hands and her person. She huffed out a breath and bent over—sweet hell—and reached for her clothes on the bed.
She paused and looked up at him. “If you could give me some privacy….”
He didn’t answer. His response was clear on his face and in his eyes.
“At least turn around.”
“Nope.”
“Close your eyes?”
“Just get dressed. Now.”
She picked up a pair of black lace panties. Ruckus worked to keep his mind on watching her, not thinking about where that black lace would cover her. She slipped them up her legs and under the towel. She snatched up the pants, muttering under her breath, pulled them on and fastened them. Then she reached for her bra, this time a silky white. She turned around and dropped the towel, revealing the creamy expanse of her back. He felt his body stir as she moved all that long dark hair and fastened the hooks, then she turned around and picked up her shirt. With angry jerks, she was finally fully clothed. He wasn’t sure if he was happy about that.
“Can I use my comb or will you consider that a deadly weapon?”
2
She realized this SEAL was being cautious, and she couldn’t blame him for that. It was that she was sick of being ordered around and terrified. Yeah, that had gotten old five minutes after that hood had been jammed over her head.
“Where is Salazar?”
“He’s gone.”
“Where?”
“I’m not telling you until I see my friends and get my memory cards.” She didn’t have much to bargain with, and she figured this was going to get her in trouble, but that was not
hing new when going after a story. She wasn’t leaving this jungle without those cards. They had gone through a lot to get that footage, but it was more than that…her mom’s irreplaceable interview. Dana’s promise was all tied up in those cards. She wasn’t budging on this. The only memory cards that Salazar had let her hold onto were his interview. One that wasn’t finished. But he had other plans and had left about a day ago on urgent business.
The SEAL just gestured with that wicked semi-automatic, looking every inch the badass. His features were hard to make out under that camo paint, with his weapon against his cheek, but those blue eyes of his were steely beneath his dark, frowning brows, and his voice meant business.
She grabbed the comb and pulled it through her hair, quickly braiding it and wrapping an elastic around the end. She threw it behind her when she was done. Then she put everything inside her pack and swung it to her back.
“I’m ready to go. But, I’ll need to actually walk to get out of this room.”
Those hard eyes never even softened. “After you,” he said, his voice both deep and menacing.
