Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle)

by Susan Vaughan

  Shivering in the early morning chill, he snugged his sheepskin collar tighter. After Maddy’d gone to bed, he spent a restless night on Chris Hawke’s recliner.

  Ten times he rose to telephone her.

  Ten times he stopped himself, telling himself he didn’t want to wake Bronc, who’d volunteered to bed down in the living room with his rifle. The old man said she was still in the bedroom when he left the house.

  Maybe she’d be gone by the time this was over, and the twin agonies of wanting her and not trusting her would end.

  Sure.

  Even injured, her first impulse had been to say she’d give herself up for the baby. If he’d learned anything about Maddy in the last month, it was that she wasn’t selfish or pampered. And at the darkest point in that long night, he admitted to himself that he’d fallen in love with her. But ask her to stay? No, he couldn’t set himself up to be bucked onto his ass when she decided to kick up her heels and gallop away.

  She’d changed, was it enough that she’d stay with him? Did she really love him like she said? Take her on faith? Hell, how could he know? Better she leave now than later. Get it over with. Rip out his heart instead of picking at it little by little.

  He had Bobby to worry about. That was all. That was everything. Had to be.

  *****

  “Thanks, Chris. I needed to know what was going on.” Maddy disconnected. She glanced at the kitchen clock. Less than two hours until the deadline, the drop, as Chris Hawke had termed it. In her stiff and sore condition, she might need every minute of it to reach the mine on time. She swallowed one of the painkillers, less than the prescribed dose, but she needed to be alert.

  No telling who she’d have to face when she got there—El Águila or some of his henchmen—or what she could do. But she had to help. She had to try. Perhaps she could distract them to give Holt and the others an edge.

  Panting shallow breaths against the pain, she donned the sheepskin jacket. Stomping her feet into the riding boots was less painful than bending to tie sneakers, but just barely.

  In the barn, she contemplated how to manage saddling Chica. The buckskin watched her patiently, with apparently less apprehension than Maddy felt about the process. “Yes, I know, girl. It’s impulsive of me to do this, but I have to. That’s me—impetuous, impulsive Madelyn McCoy...Donovan. Don’t forget the Donovan. I sure as hell won’t.”

  Today she felt better, but sagged when she Holt’s bed hadn’t been slept in. She’d spent the night in the house alone. Then she’d telephoned Chris Hawke.

  The pitchfork-wielding demons had departed during her drug-induced but fretful sleep. The wrestling gorilla, however, had not. Tossing the saddle blanket over the mare’s back prompted him to squeeze her ribs a good one. The racking pain bent her double, and she propped her hands on her knees and breathed with deliberate slowness until she could straighten again.

  Good. The pain would help her focus and not concentrate on what she had to do for Bobby. She could crash once he was safe.

  Now for the saddle. Maybe she’d slip on the bridle first.

  *****

  By nine o’clock the sun soared high over Ghost Mountain. Holt loosened his coat and turned his face to the sun. The time Maddy was supposed to surrender. Unless the bad guys knew she wasn’t coming, they should have arrived by now.

  He pursed his lips and frowned. “It prods me like a rock in my boot why El Águila would choose this old mine.”

  Luke turned to face him and propped his rifle across his knees. “Remote. Difficult access. Maybe he figures we can’t chase his man or find him if he bolts.”

  “But how’d he know about it? It’s not public knowledge.”

  “Ah, we’re back to the local gun theory.”

  “Not a theory I first put a loop on, but it’s looking better.”

  Down the mountain out of sight, stones clattered.

  Holt focused the binoculars. “Someone’s coming.”

  Ducking farther behind his rock, Luke checked his rifle. “I didn’t take part in the meadow-shooting investigation, so I don’t know the details. Seems like the sheriff should’ve found that black truck you saw when you and Maddy were shot at.”

  Reality tilted. Holt’s breath clogged his throat. In two powerful moves, he knocked Luke’s gun to one side and slammed him face down onto the hard ground. He twisted his right arm behind him and held on. He knelt on the other arm.

  “Hey! What the hell!” Luke struggled to wrench away from the body pinning him. “Donovan!”

  “How do you know about the black truck? How?” Adrenaline fueled his blood, as if acid filled his veins. Everything inside him screamed to beat it out of this guy, but he held on. He had to know the truth.

  “It was in the report, maybe, or I heard it in the office. What’s the big deal?”

  “I never got a look at that truck. Once or twice a black pickup followed me on the highway, but I never mentioned that to the detectives.” He leaned harder on his prisoner. “Maybe it was a Circle-S truck. Maybe it was you.”

  “You’re crazy! Why the hell would I sit here with you if I was involved in this business?”

  The rage died as cold reason and memory returned. Luke had an alibi for yesterday’s attempt on Maddy. And that morning a week ago, he’d been on duty, driving an official department vehicle in another part of the county.

  Holt sat back and released Luke. “I believe you, Rafferty. Had to be sure. I apologize.”

  “It’s okay, man. I understand.” Luke rotated his shoulder, then sat up, brushing dirt and pine needles from his chin and jacket.

  “The black truck. It’s the key. Who told you?” Holt subsided into his former position. He glanced down the trail. At what he saw, the blood froze in his veins. He had to act fast. “Think, Luke. I see who’s coming up the mountain, and it’s not fucking El Águila.”

  Chapter 26

  Maddy’s hands were icy beneath a layer of sweat. The demons had awoken, and this time they wore spurs. She should’ve brought the freaking pills with her. Every step the smooth-gaited mare took over the rough slope ripped agony through her torso.

  Holding the reins took all her strength, all her focus. She had to trust the horse. “Good girl, Chica. Just keep going up this damn hill.”

  She glanced at her watch. Nearly nine.

  She had to make it in time. Had to. Spasms clutched at her chest, making her breathing shallower than did the pain.

  Bobby, where are you? Are you all right? If she focused on him, she could do it.

  The mare brought her over the last rise, and the mine entrance lay ahead. All was quiet and undisturbed. Not even bird twitters drifted to her ears. She imagined hunting rifles and assault rifles and RPGs aimed at her from every rock and tree and shed. Ice-edged shards scraped up and down her spine.

  But she saw no sign of Holt and Luke and the agents. They were supposed to be surrounding the place. Nor did she see El Águila’s man or men.

  And where was Bobby?

  She urged the mare onward.

  *****

  He removed the black metal components from the small backpack. So easy a child could do it. Not quite. But after he snapped and rotated the parts together, the powerful sniper rifle was ready. He attached the telescopic sight and inserted the bullet.

  He’d have time for only one.

  If he screwed up this time, he’d be chewing dirt from six feet under. If she didn’t come, he didn’t know what that crazy Mexican would do. He’d seen eyes like that before, not alert and piercing like the hunting bird the man was named for, but flat and emotionless like a damned shark’s.

  He knew death waited behind them. His death.

  Donovan had warned her away, but she would come. She was one tough cookie. And she loved that baby.

  He counted on it.

  Guilt nibbled at the edges of his brain, but he shoved it away. His own life was on the line. He had no choice.

  The clatter of stones pricked up his ears. A k
ick of adrenaline set his heart racing like a formula engine. Willing his hands steady, he raised the rifle and adjusted the sight.

  *****

  Holt sidled bent over around the clump of rocks. He could see no movement behind the boulder that was his target. Luke should be in position and ready. He stretched up enough to view the trail.

  Maddy sat stiffly, pale as ashes. She gripped the saddle horn as Chica picked her way along the rough trail.

  Oh, God, she must be in terrible pain. Fear and pride and—in spite of himself—love roiled in his bloodstream. Dammit, he should have known she wouldn’t fucking listen.

  He checked his watch. Time to make their move.

  Side arms drawn, Holt and Luke dove in tandem around either side of the boulder.

  Nobody.

  Frustration knotted Holt’s gut. He wanted to punch someone. “Where did the fucking son of a bitch go?”

  Luke squatted down and peered at the ground. He pointed to fresh digs in the hard soil, scrabbled pebbles a few feet farther uphill. “Up there,” he whispered. “About thirty feet. The two boulders close together.”

  “Keep low and keep quiet. Maybe he won’t spot us. Same drill.” Holt waved Luke around to the other side of their quarry. They had to make it in time. They had to stop him before he could fire.

  Holt crept uphill, placing his booted feet on hummocks of greening grass to minimize the sound. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Luke doing the same.

  A few more steps took him to the lower side of the smaller boulder. He slipped the safety off his SIG. Crouching low, he edged along its perimeter until he could see his man.

  The shooter knelt between the two rocks with the powerful rifle aimed at the trail.

  At Maddy.

  No time to wait for Luke. “Freeze, Foley. You fire that gun and you’re a dead man.”

  “NO!” The sheriff swung the sniper barrel toward Holt. He started to push to his feet.

  Holt lunged forward and tackled the off-balance man. He hit him square in the numbers.

  Luke snatched the rifle from Foley’s hand as the two slammed to the rocky ground.

  Foley grabbed for Holt’s automatic, struggling to wrench it from his grasp. They grappled, rolling over and over, scattering pebbles and small rocks.

  The older man might be less fit, but he was desperate. Holt slammed a left hook into his jaw.

  “Give it up, Jarvis,” Luke said. He held his .38 to the sheriff’s temple.

  Another deputy, Bronc, and Special Agent Salazar ran forward with their pistols drawn.

  With a moan, Foley sagged into the dust and stayed there.

  *****

  “Whoa, girl.” Maddy halted Chica at the mine entrance. She pushed back her baseball cap and gawked at the people making their way toward her. Bonnyman and three deputies popped out of the timber-propped mine and its ramshackle sheds. Others traipsed down the slope above the shaft.

  Holt and Bronc were among them. She blew out the breath she’d been holding and nearly sagged, but anything other than remaining poker stiff hurt too much. Holt’s jacket was torn, and his jeans grimy. She’d seen him so angry he nearly steamed, but coming off that mountain he emanated pure danger.

  Behind him came Luke and Salazar dragging Sheriff Foley between them. In handcuffs. Foley?

  “Here’s your shooter,” Luke said. “Dirty slime took blood money to kill you.”

  Foley looked at the ground. His tan uniform as well as his chin bore the dirt and grime of a struggle. The handlebar mustache he was so proud of drooped like the rest of him.

  Holt’s gaze radiated rage and relief. He laid his hand on her knee. “Dammit, Maddy. He nearly got you this time. He had the sniper rifle. I sent you away.”

  She smiled. “I know why you told me to leave. You wanted to protect me. It didn’t work, Holt. I had to come. For the baby.” She cast an anxious glance around. “What about Bobby?”

  “Foley, tell her.” Holt’s voice was menacing.

  “Bobby’s all right. He should be back at the Valley-D by now. In his own bed.” The disgraced sheriff raised his head. Maddy expected to see guilt and fear in his eyes, but not bravado. “He promised me he wouldn’t touch him. Snatching him was just my means to get you here. My idea.”

  Holt wheeled on the man. If the two men had been alone, he would no doubt have continued the beating it looked like he’d begun earlier. “Promised you? And you believe him, a drug dealer? A man who traffics in death and deception. What possible motive could he have to lie to you?”

  “He promised,” Foley repeated, but less certain.

  “Why, Sher—uh, Foley? Why?” Maddy asked. “You’ve been a public servant all your life. Why dishonor that record now?”

  He shrugged. “That’s just it, don’t you see? A damned public servant. Do you know what the pension is for a sheriff these days? Not enough to keep me in beer. With his money I’d be set up for life, on a beach somewhere, maybe Tahiti.”

  “He’s been a very clever boy, our sheriff.” Bonnyman approached Maddy. She stroked the mare’s neck. “Kept one step ahead of us the whole time. Yesterday he did what we deduced. He fired a rifle from one of the racks, then replaced it. Being Johnny-on-the-Spot with Salazar here to ‘find’ the shell casing made him look good.”

  “Planned something on that order for today too, I bet. Shoot Maddy with that high-tech rifle. Then pretend to be the first one on the scene to find that the shooter had fled.” As if itching to bloody the man’s face, Holt took himself out of reach. He returned to Maddy’s side.

  “You missed yesterday, just wounded me. Did you really have the nerve to go through with it?” Maddy’s chin jutted up in challenge.

  “We’ll never know now.” Foley licked his lips and slid his gaze from her to Bonnyman. With him out of commission, the agent was in charge. “How did you figure out it was me? Did I give myself away?”

  “Holt?” Bonnyman said. “You and Luke broke this puzzle. How did you do it?”

  “I got detoured with the Circle-S trucks awhile, but Luke and I sorted it out. He remembered Foley told him I saw a black truck that day in the meadow. He couldn’t have known the color unless he drove it. Then Luke recalled a black pickup that was impounded, but disappeared.”

  Foley gave a bitter laugh. “Reckon this blows my cushy retirement.”

  Bronc spit into the dust beside the man’s boot. “Feller makes a pact with the devil, he’s gotta know he ain’t made a hell of a bargain.”

  Maddy turned Chica and adjusted the reins. “I’m heading back to see about Bobby.”

  Dammit. Exhaustion and pain made dark smudges beneath her eyes and she was too damned pale. Hiking down the mountain with the rest of them would drive daggers into her ribs. He couldn’t keep up with her on foot, and riding double was out of the question. The mare couldn’t carry them both. She had to ride back alone, but every step must be agony.

  He wanted to wrap her up and carry her down. That would probably hurt too. The less contact between them the better. She said she wouldn’t, but she’d leave. His gut ached with it.

  “You can’t go alone. El Águila or some of his goons may be waiting at the house. You’ll only endanger yourself. Then how could you help Bobby?”

  “I have to go.” She kicked the mare into a walk.

  “I’ll meet you there,” he called. “Promise you’ll wait for me. Don’t go inside alone.”

  She made no reply, but the painfully stiff set of her shoulders told him the answer. He’d sure as hell hurry.

  “Radio for a couple of units to get to the Valley-D pronto,” Luke said to one of the other deputies. “Let’s get started hiking out of here.”

  “You can’t call,” Foley said. “I knocked out the radio. Didn’t want you in too much of a hurry to track the shooter.”

  “No wonder you insisted that for security reasons we bring only one unit. We’d better get a move on.” Bonnyman motioned to the group.

  “You bastard.” Holt
swung a fist at the air. “If that drug-pushing monster has harmed my nephew, you’d better hope the jail has security strong enough to keep out an army.”

  “I’ll take my chances with you...and jail. Better than El Águila’s punishment. I saw what he did to the first guy.” Beside Luke, he trudged downhill, his cuffed hands behind him.

  Holt hurried ahead, scattering rocks beneath his boots as he scrambled down the trail. He had to get to the Valley-D. And Bobby. And Maddy.

  The two people he loved.

  What else would Maddy find when she got there? And who?

  Chapter 27

  How the hell she made it to the ranch house she had no idea. She could barely summon the energy to slide off her horse’s back.

  The late morning sunshine lay quietly on the house and yard. She saw no vehicles, no one. They were radioing for patrol cars as she left. Where was Bobby? “Where is everyone, girl?” she said to the tired mare.

  Feet dragging, she led the patient animal into the corral. She unfastened the saddle and dumped it on the ground by the fence before ensuring the mare had water. “You’re a wonder. I’ll tend to you in a little while.”

  Her nerves thrummed as she approached the kitchen door. At the thought of who or what she’d find, her stomach churned. She opened the door and stepped in.

  She hadn’t believed Holt’s prediction. The last person she expected to see seated at the table was the dark man.

  El Águila.

  She stifled a shudder. This was the ruthless gangster who had arranged Rob’s and Sara’s deaths as indifferently as that of a rodent in the pantry.

  And on his lap lay Bobby.

  The baby seemed content, propped against the man’s stomach. Bobby waved his arms and squealed when he saw her.

  “Buenos días, señorita--or rather señora. Finally we meet,” the cartel kingpin said in barely accented English. “Since you have returned safely from Ghost Mountain, I know that Foley has failed. Again. I salute your husband.”