Locked and Loaded

by Alexis Grant

  “All right,” Bruno muttered, clearly not thrilled about her plan but seeming okay with the breakfast part of it. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

  “Oh, just an hour, then give me a half to get a shower and get dressed, then I’ll stop being a pain in your butt.”

  That coaxed a new smile out on his face. “Promise me.”

  She laughed and walked away toward valet parking with a jumble of shopping bags and her receipt.

  Tapping her foot, nerves wire-taut, she waited for the valets to bring around her car. Bruno stood by her side patiently, and then walked her across the street without incident. The moment she was in the gym, she greeted the staff and swept by them to find her locker, got a call off to Hank with the update, and then changed into the fresh gear that she had in there.

  An hour run on the treadmill did her good, so did another half hour of lifting weights. The workout helped lift the stress and clear her mind. She had to get Anthony out of her head.

  Back in a pair of black linen slacks, her black heels, and white linen tank, she donned her designer shades and hoisted her purse and gym bag over her shoulder. Bruno was across the street with her red coupe waiting. Two of his men were smoking. One of the security vehicles was on the parking circle in front of her car, one empty one was behind it. She stepped aside for the cab that came up into the driveway. But what happened next unfolded in slow motion.

  Two businessmen and the cabbie got out of the cab that now blocked the first security vehicle and opened fire on Bruno, hitting him at point-blank range in the chest. The silenced bullet ripped through Bruno’s body, sending blood splatter against the pristine walls, glass windows, and stone entrance. Before his body hit the ground, the other businessman and cab driver fired two quick shots in the heads of the two smokers. Screams echoed throughout the hotel lobby as guests, valets, and bellmen dove for cover.

  Men in the first vehicle that was blocked by the cab panicked, rammed the cab, and then backed up, hitting her coupe. But the second they tried to roll down their windows to open fire, the vehicle exploded as though on a timer, killing them.

  Sage’s weapon was out of her purse as soon as the first shot was fired. Running toward the scene, she caught the cabbie in the skull before he had a chance to unload a clip on Agent Jennings, who ran right into the firefight looking for her.

  “Get down, Dan!” she screamed, running toward him, firing directly at the fleeing hit men.

  Agents McCoy and Whittaker kept on enough pressure, firing from a hunkered down position in the lobby, so that the two hit men ran back to the discarded SUV and jumped in it, careening away.

  “You all right?” she asked, breathlessly, stooping to check on Dan.

  He looked up and nodded, and then brushed himself off as he stood.

  She grabbed him by the chest. “Don’t ever do that again! You could have been killed—last night I gave you a direct order to fall back and get out of here!”

  “But something was wrong!” he shouted. “Somebody had to watch your back, Sage!”

  “Gimme your encrypted cell,” she said, yanking it out of his hand as he produced it. “And a clip.” Sage held out her hand. “Now!”

  Agents McCoy and Whittaker were up and running toward her.

  “Don’t do it, Wagner,” Agent McCoy shouted as Sage jumped into the coupe and peeled away from the curb.

  Seconds counted, and she’d lost too many of them already. She could still see Bruno’s black Durango weaving in and out of traffic erratically as it headed toward the highway. In a situation where size mattered, she had the advantage of speed and German engineering.

  The chase was on. She had to find out if these were Colombians or possibly a part of Assad’s army that had decided to clean up the American trail left behind their arms deal, now that they had their cash. Just as important, she had to call Anthony. He was no doubt in the air and needed to know that South Beach just blew.

  Ten rings and no pickup and no voice mail. Frustration claimed her as she tried to drive at an insane speed and then called Hank.

  “Put a chopper in the air, Hank,” she said. “I’ve got two unidentifieds in a hijacked black Durango headed back toward the Salazar compound, of all places.”

  A crazy swerve on the road and a tractor trailer near miss made her drop the phone. She never heard Hank’s message to fall back. Slammed from behind by an F-150 pickup truck, she realized that the men with Uzis hanging out the window weren’t trying to shoot her, but rather wanted to capture her.

  Shooting at them on an open civilian highway might look good in the movies, but was out of the question in real practice. Families were driving, teenagers were driving, truckers just trying to deliver goods and do their jobs were driving … minivans with car seats passed her, car windows containing dogs with their tongues hanging out were beside her. Sage pulled off of the highway and headed toward the Salazar compound. She had to take this firefight away from the public and get the hit men on familiar ground.

  But halfway down the road, speeding at 110 mph, she saw the compound and yacht blow up. She hit the brakes, but the F-150 clipped her back bumper as she tried to slow down, sending her into a crazy tailspin with airbags deployed.

  Not wearing a seatbelt, she almost went airborne. Before she could reorient herself and find her weapon, three big brutes with Uzis jumped out of the Ford and surrounded her. In rapid sequence, their heads exploded from sniper fire from a source unknown.

  Sage was out of the vehicle in seconds, snatched one of the Uzis, and headed for cover. The Durango came out of nowhere and a click at the back of her skull made her decide not to spray it.

  “Drop it or die.”

  A rough hand pulled her behind a tree. She could hear sniper fire exploding wood and car metal, then everything went dark as burlap got yanked over her head. Lifted off her feet and walked slowly forward, she knew she’d just been turned into a human body shield.

  Not enough had been said to allow her to pick up an accent. A hard shove pushed her into a vehicle that, judging by the floor and space, had to be a van. Hundreds of questions swirled in her throbbing head as her hands and legs were bound by nylon electrical ties.

  Which side was this that held her, and what was the point? Keeping her alive had to be leverage against Salazar—that had to be the only reason. Shit. Snipers had tried to assist; was it DEA or DELTA? Had to be DELTA; they were the only ones with the codes to blow the mansion, compound buildings, and marina. But why? Had to be enough bodies on the premises to make it worth their while … or maybe they had a new strategy in play. If so, did Anthony know? He was about to walk right into a hornets’ nest in New Orleans! Then there was the not-so-small issue of her now being a hostage. Please, God, if they were going to kill her, just let it be quick.

  Damn, damn, damn, it wasn’t supposed to go down like this!

  CHAPTER 10

  Anthony stepped out of Agent Alvarez’s silver Lamborghini, wearing clothes that cost more than his monthly salary. They’d been dark for over an hour. He didn’t like it.

  The warehouse district was perfect for an ambush. Salazar wanted to meet here, but they weren’t near his Key West Construction warehouses blocks away. Agent Alvarez, aka Rene Santiago, had been summoned to appear before Salazar at one of his Largo Food warehouses. If Anthony passed inspection, then he’d walk out alive. If not, both he and Alvarez were dead men walking.

  But if they didn’t come out, nobody was coming out. His DELTA unit, and the DEA agents were lying low in an area holding pattern. Right now enough firepower was focused on the Largo Food warehouse to leave a smoking black hole if anything went down wrong. The combined units had been instructed not to rush in if a couple early shots were fired, as that gun report could be nothing more than a few testing shots—just some rounds clicked off to intimidate a new guy being brought before the boss. If all hell broke loose or they didn’t come out in the Lamborghini, then and only then were the units to move in on that warehouse and t
he Key West Construction warehouses.

  Two burly guards patted them down and confiscated their weapons as they waited for Roberto to appear. Anthony’s nerves twitched silently beneath his skin as his sunglass-shielded gaze traveled along the warehouse catwalks, shelves, and huge pallets of inventory. The guards had handheld Uzis; five more men scattered throughout the quiet shipping floor had gats. Seven visible enemy combatants. Anthony remained cool, waiting, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon, should he need it.

  A rusty nail on the floor could kill a man. An abandoned crowbar used for opening crates was a sure instrument of death. Deep aisles filled with inventory were a diversionary shield. A discarded ink pen could end a man’s life. And all of it was within his reach, making him feel slightly better.

  The entrance guards carrying Uzis had their guns lowered now. Interior guards hadn’t drawn theirs yet, just flashed them. In a true firefight, it would take a few seconds for information to register to the human brain and for them to react—it was within those few fragile seconds that the men of DELTA Force had been trained to kill.

  Standing wide-legged, relaxed, left hand clasping his right wrist and flashing a platinum Rolex, Anthony waited next to Agent Alvarez. Soon multiple footfalls echoed in the warehouse. No one moved, so he knew it had to be Salazar accompanied by two more men. The hunch paid off as tense guards nodded a greeting to the boss.

  “So, Rene … this is your cousin?”

  “Sí, Roberto. Juan Morales. The cops—”

  “Yes, I know—they took our man down for some domestic bullshit.” Roberto Salazar shook his head and glanced at the two men that flanked him. One was Assad with a Beretta out and cocked. He’d know that gaunt face and lanky frame anywhere. The other looked like a slimmer, shorter version of Roberto—had to be Hector. “This is why I always tell you, follow the law. Pay your fucking traffic tickets and your taxes. Don’t even jaywalk, and pay your bitches child support or whatever, because it interferes with business.”

  Roberto nodded toward the Lamborghini behind them and then focused on Agent Alvarez. “Like what the fuck is that, Rene? In Los Angeles, okay. But coming south with New York tags … are you insane?”

  Alvarez hung his head. “I’ll get rid of it, Roberto.”

  Ignoring him, Roberto motioned to Anthony to step forward.

  “Take off the glasses. I need to look into a man’s eyes to know what’s in his soul.”

  Anthony took off his shades, carefully put them in the breast pocket of his Armani suit, and stepped up to stand two feet in front of Roberto. Their eyes met. Neither blinked as they appraised each another. Pure outrage passed through Anthony. He wanted to kill Roberto so badly for the pain he’d caused Sage that it was all he could do to remain motionless. A woman stood between them in more ways than one.

  “This motherfucker’s got heart,” Roberto finally announced. “My own brother cannot look me in the eye like that.” He glanced over to Hector. “But a man with too much heart is a dangerous thing, especially in times of uncertainty like we’re living in today.” He then looked at Assad. “You and I have seen eye to eye since the beginning.”

  Assad nodded. “A man who is not afraid to die is a dangerous thing or a blessing, depending on whose side he’s on.”

  A high shadow moved in Anthony’s peripheral vision. When he spun to meet it, the sniper jerked, revealing his position for a flash. He wasn’t wearing fatigues; it wasn’t one of his. Hair-trigger reflexes kicked in, and Anthony grabbed Assad’s hand with the gun still in it, kicked Roberto out of the way of the shot coming from the shelves, and squeezed the trigger. Two seconds later, the entire warehouse erupted in booming voices as the shooter fell forward to his death onto the floor.

  Anthony and Assad were face to face. He’d stripped Assad of his gun and was walking toward the body. It couldn’t have been one of Roberto’s men, because they wouldn’t have risked trying to shoot a newcomer that close to the VIPs. Instant logic dictated that, if they’d wanted him dead, Roberto was the kind of control freak who would have enjoyed making him get on his knees before unloading a shell in his head. It couldn’t have been DELTA or DEA, they’d been instructed to hold and lie low, and none of them were to be inside the warehouse to risk a tip-off. No. This was an intruder.

  All guns were on Anthony as he walked over to the body and kicked the rifle away from it, then fired a shot in the back of the man’s head. Three shots had been fired now, a rifle shot plus two from a Beretta, and he had to only pray that his men’s nerves would hold. Right now was not the time for a rescue raid. Not yet.

  “You know this bastard?” Anthony shouted, kicking the dead man’s body over with his foot.

  Roberto dusted himself off and drew near as the confused guards gathered around with weapons pointed at Anthony and Alvarez. He slapped their extended guns down.

  “A new man walks into my warehouse and saves my life, my brother’s life, and my new client’s life and you slow bitches didn’t even see this coming!” Roberto spun in a crazed circle, spittle flying as he shouted. “What do I pay you for?”

  “I recognize this man,” Hector said, visibly shaken. He glanced around the group and then allowed his gaze to settle on his brother’s wild eyes. “This man is from Colombia.”

  Pure silence ricocheted throughout the warehouse. Assad broke it with shattering calm as Anthony bowed and returned his gun to him, handle first.

  “I have delivered the product, you have paid me,” Assad said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Your men will be here tonight to set the terms of your distribution so you can in turn make money from our arrangement … and I need my arms delivered in Canada without further incident. If there is a war brewing between you and your original supplier, that is not our affair. That, as you say, is a domestic problem inside your house. My brothers and I are fighting a war on a much different front for Allah. I hope you understand.”

  “Completely understood,” Roberto said. “This does not change the arrangement regarding the weapons.”

  “Good,” Assad replied, staring at Anthony. “As I said—a man who is not afraid to die can be a blessing, if he is fighting on your side. It appears this Mr. Morales is such a man with good eyes and quick hands. I should like to see him close to us as we complete our transactions over the next several days.”

  “Done,” Roberto said, staring at Anthony. He motioned to his guards, who seemed to instinctively know to give Anthony and Alvarez their guns back. “You’ve just earned yourself a rank promotion. Go collect your things and have Rene bring you to the house early. But, Rene, do not arrive at my house in that cop magnet vehicle, either.”

  “Sí, Jefe,” Alvarez said, keeping his gaze cast low.

  Anthony nodded as he holstered his weapon beneath his jacket.

  “I should like to return to my hotel,” Assad said, glancing at Roberto. “I cannot be anywhere near this. I will see you at dinner.”

  Roberto nodded and spoke to his men. “Two-man detail—take our client back to Harrah’s. Clean up this mess.” He began walking as Assad withdrew, and spoke to Anthony and Alvarez over his shoulder.

  “Santiago—you are cleared to bring Juan in to the family meeting in the French Quarter tonight.”

  There was no more to be said as Roberto took a call on his cell and disappeared into the aisles. Bulky guards dragged the dead man away and slung him into the back of a parked Largo Food van. This time there was no escort as he and Alvarez got into the Lamborghini. Both men remained quiet as they backed out of the warehouse, passed by secret checkpoints so their men could see that they’d made it out alive, and entered the construction-gravel laden streets that would ultimately lead to the highway.

  They waited until they were on the open road, visibly clear of Roberto’s men, before either said a word.

  “Holy Christ!” Alvarez exclaimed once in normal traffic. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t even see that coming. I just dove for the floor, figured you had snappe
d and were about to pull some crazy Rambo shit! Then once the shot got fired, I was expecting a chain reaction that would bring down hellfire from our teams. How’d you see that, man?”

  “I told you, Colombians had been spotted on the cargo ship. I knew they’d be gunning for Salazar, and the setup didn’t make sense. All his men on the ground had a clear shot at us. Why would some dude take a risky shot to hide and try to hit us, when one of the guards on the ground could have easily popped us at point-blank range? Hide, for what? It wasn’t like we had visible backup in there that they had to worry about, right?”

  “True, true,” Alvarez said, wiping his brow.

  “If anything, they would have played with us and intimidated us, not had a hidden sniper to kill us so the shot came without us seeing it. The whole goal of terrorism is to terrify. A quick shot you never see coming isn’t anything but merciful.”

  “Damn … okay, you’ve got a point. But, man … how in the hell did you figure all that out in three seconds?”

  “I wasn’t trying to figure it out in three seconds. I started placing the pieces on the chessboard from the moment I saw how the board was set up when we drove in and got out of the car.”

  Alvarez extended his fist toward Anthony’s and pounded it. “Glad to have one of the dudes who gets more done by five A.M. than most people get done in a week on our team.”

  “Thanks for bringing me in, man. Took balls to stand there in front of Salazar with a long story.”

  “We try,” Alvarez said with a half smile. “But we’re gonna have to change cars and go to his house in yours. This was the flyest thing I could get out of the impound lot. Reach under the dashboard and feel for duct tape. My encrypted cell is mounted there. This is a need-to-know incident back at headquarters, especially since you just got promoted into the inner circle.”