On Deadly Ground (Devlin Security Force Book 1)

by Susan Vaughan

  She had no choice but to make the best of the situation. She mustered a warm smile. “That’s fine, Julio. We can’t leave your cousin stranded here for hours. Not a problem. Don’t you agree, Max?”

  Max clearly did not. He didn’t like surprises. Especially the way things had been going. Scowling, he followed Rufo.

  After the men loaded most of the gear, Kate ducked beneath the rotor blades and climbed aboard. Clear from the interior this was an old military transport. Bare metal all around, the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats forward, a mid section with five passenger seats bolted to the side opposite the sliding door, cargo hold in back. The space smelled of metal, sweat, and someone’s lunch of spicy meat. She buckled her camera bag into one of the empty passenger seats. Duct tape covered holes in the upholstery but the frames seemed sturdy enough. She dropped into the adjacent seat.

  The cargo hold had straps and netting to prevent gear from sliding around. She had no fear of heights, but a helicopter’s tilt-a-whirl maneuvers would be another matter. Willing her racing pulse to calm, she forced herself to relax against the cushioned seat. Everything would be fine. She closed her eyes.

  Clicks indicated the rear door was secured. She looked up as Max climbed inside. He had that hard warrior look, insanely masculine, especially with a weapon at his side. Her pulse leaped again. He closed the sliding door, chose the seat on her other side, and buckled up. Despite their differences about Doug, she needed his strong presence, and his familiar sun-warmed scent was comforting.

  When Julio and his cousin entered the cockpit, she called, “Julio, do we get helmets and earplugs?”

  A hoot of laughter was the only reply.

  “Darlin’, you’re lucky to have a seatbelt in this bucket.” Max buckled his.

  The rotor blades’ whirr cranked to a whine as Julio increased the engine speed. He pulled a lever and the helicopter rose, lifting with a deafening whomp-whomp. Kate grimaced.

  The craft banked and arced out over the jungle, and she drew deep breaths to calm her swooping stomach. As they leveled out and settled into a constant speed, the noise diminished to a bearable level. Breathing more evenly, she lifted the GPS receiver from a camera bag pocket and pushed buttons for the display. On track.

  Max tugged on her arm and pointed out the window.

  Mesmerized by the view, she forgot her anxiety. The canopy spread five or six hundred feet below, a rolling, verdant blanket dotted with flocks of multihued birds.

  For a long time, she simply watched the landscape unfold beneath the copter’s landing skids. What appeared to be hills jutted upward here and there. Not hills, but unrestored Maya buildings, overgrown with roots and trees and as green as their surroundings.

  Dragging her gaze away from the panorama, she checked the GPS receiver. She sucked in a sharp breath, then spoke into Max’s ear. “We’re way off course. Where is Julio going?”

  His gaze locked onto the coordinates. Forehead bunched in a storm cloud, he handed back the device and undid his seat belt. He opened his holster and started to take out his pistol. “Just what we need. A freaking scam. Or worse.”

  When Kate turned toward the forward seats, she gasped and clutched her throat. “Max!”

  Rufo leveled a long black pistol at them. “Take the gun out slow.”

  Her heart slammed against her rib cage.

  Max spat curses in Spanish. He held both hands in the air. “You don’t want to do this, man. We have nothing valuable. People will be looking for us.”

  “Perhaps. But I have my instructions.” The bald man’s black eyes were as opaque as his sunglasses.

  “What are your instructions?” Max asked in an amiable tone.

  “To return with the contents of your baggage.” The pistol’s barrel remained steady in his hand. “The gun, señor. Two fingers.”

  Apparently seeing no other option, Max lifted out the Glock by the grip.

  “Toss it back there, into the cargo hold.”

  Max hesitated, then complied. The heavy automatic pistol landed with a soft thud. On one of their packs, Kate guessed. Out of reach.

  “Now the other.” Rufo gestured downward with his gun. His smile chilled her.

  Mouth a grim line, Max bent and removed the Beretta from his ankle holster. He tossed it into the cargo hold, where it too landed soundlessly. He then hooked an arm around her. His support eased the worst of her trembling.

  Julio quietly continued piloting the helicopter. No help there. Rufo probably wasn’t Julio’s cousin any more than she was. What did this man want? The statue? Money? What?

  “I have money, Rufo. I can pay you. Put away the gun and let Julio take us to K’eq Xlapak.” She barely recognized her thready voice.

  Rufo looked insulted. “Chica, I am an honorable man. I have already accepted money for this job.”

  She could say nothing in reply to that amazing statement.

  “Hang in there.” Max squeezed her shoulder. In her ear, he whispered, “Wait.” He slid his arm away, leaving her trembling more than before.

  Wait? What did he mean? Did he have a plan? Praying he did, she drew in a deep breath against the clawing in her belly.

  The gunman squeezed between the front seats and crossed the cabin. He unlatched the door and shoved it open wide. Air rushed past the open doorway, along with the whomp-whomp of the rotors. His mouth spread in what she supposed was meant to be a smile. “Who will jump first?”

  Bile stinging her throat, she shook like a sapling in a quake. “No. You can’t do this.”

  When neither Kate nor Max made a move, Rufo took a step toward them. He sneered and raised the pistol. “I can shoot you first and dump the bodies. It matters not.”

  Julio erupted in an angry flurry of Spanish. Rufo’s staccato reply was a clear refusal. Julio remained silent, piloting the craft. But to where?

  Kate leaned closer to Max. “What did he say?”

  His smile was grim. “He reminded Rufo of his promise not to fire a gun inside the helicopter.”

  “But that means—”

  “Yes, that Julio gets a cut of Rufo’s blood money.” He glared at the gunman. “Who wants us dead, cabrone? How much did he pay you?”

  Rufo shrugged in reply. “You I will shoot. Only one gunshot. My cousin can live with that.” He angled his gleaming dome toward the pilot. “Right, cousin?”

  When Julio ignored him, Rufo laughed.

  Without warning, he flipped open Kate’s seat belt. He reached behind her and grabbed her ponytail. Hauled her upward.

  Searing pain stung her scalp. She cried out as she stumbled to her feet. Her boots clattered on the strips of metal flooring.

  Max started forward. “Kate!” He stopped when her captor jabbed his gun into the tender skin beneath her jawbone. Max sank down, his face a mask of fury, his hands balled into fists.

  Rufo released her hair and clamped his hand around her upper arm. His fingers dug painfully into her flesh. He dragged her closer to the open doorway. He kept the pistol aimed at Max, forced to remain seated on the other side of the copter.

  From the corner of her eye, Kate saw far below her leafy grave. The sight blurred. Images of her body impaled on a tree branch or broken on the rocky ground flashed through her mind. Her pulse roared in her ears and she gasped for breath.

  Rufo pulled her close. His stale breath nauseated her. He nuzzled her ear. “Ay, chica, too bad we have no time. A waste. Close your eyes. It will all be over in a moment.”

  Insides churning, she jerked away from her captor. “No!”

  Rufo reeled her in as if she were a child. He jabbed the pistol hard into her neck. “I have wasted enough time.”

  She cried out and her heart thumped against her sternum. She would fail in every way. Kizin would be lost. She would die. Max would die. And Doug...

  Fighting the sob clogging her throat, she looked to Max for reassurance.

  He sat erect, alert and watching, his hands on his knees. His dark eyes searched for an
opening. Knowing she could count on him gave her courage. But what could she do?

  Moves she’d practiced in a self-defense class came back to her. She slumped against the gunman. At the same time, she lifted her right foot and stomped hard on his canvas-clad instep.

  Rufo howled. The impact of her boot heel threw him off balance. His gun lowered. He released her.

  Max dived for the gun.

  She fell to the floor. Scrambled into the back corner by the cargo hold. Oh God, let me reach Max’s pistol. Prayed she could hold it steady enough to fire. Prayed she wouldn’t hit Max.

  The helicopter tilted and swayed, dipped and wallowed with the shift of weight. An aluminum canteen rattled across the cabin and rolled out the open door, falling to the ground as Kate could have. She shuddered.

  The frame creaked and whined at the strain. Then the angle evened out.

  Julio yelled. Kate didn’t need to understand his words to grasp his meaning.

  Max and Rufo grappled on the cabin floor. Fists landed on flesh and bone with sickening thuds. They grappled for the pistol. Stronger, Max outweighed Rufo by at least twenty pounds, but both had skills. And both were fighting for their lives.

  Max! Nothing could happen to Max.

  Dragging her gaze away, Kate climbed over the net barrier into the hold. Max’s big Glock lay atop his pack. She didn’t see the other gun. She crawled closer, but another shift in the craft’s angle sent her crashing against the fuselage. Pain rocketed through her shoulder, then numbness. For a moment, she couldn’t move.

  The pistol slid farther aft and landed with a clank.

  Far behind the luggage. Out of reach. And still no sign of the smaller pistol.

  She rubbed her throbbing shoulder and scooted closer to the cabin. Her gaze locked on the men, she pressed a hand to her mouth. She had to do something more than pray. The helicopter must contain something she could use as a weapon.

  Max and Rufo rolled to the lip of the open door.

  She scanned the hold. Anything, anything. In this damn bare-bones chopper, nothing. She started pawing through the baggage.

  The two traded blows with their free hands and vied for the pistol with the others. Max plowed a fist into the other man’s chin. He closed his hand over the pistol, but before Kate could glimpse hope, Rufo snatched the weapon back.

  Gunshots rang out. Bullets smacked into the passenger compartment and into the canopy above her. The aircraft dipped and dived. It looped from side to side. Barely able to hang on, she flattened herself behind the tent bag and fought the nausea stinging her throat.

  Max! Was Max all right? Did he fall? Did both?

  Her heart jammed up into her throat, she crept forward enough to see. The men still fought for possession of the pistol.

  More shots slammed into the fuselage.

  The combatants rolled halfway out of the plane. Kate could barely breathe as they hung there.

  God, she had to find something. There! Sunlight glinted off metal. One of the curved ribs supporting the fuselage had fallen off.

  She scrambled over the tent pack and yanked on the rib. The metal creaked but stayed put, trapped beneath the pack. Pain screamed in her shoulder. A twist and a turn and she muscled the tent aside. Metal rib in her hand, she scooted toward the mid section.

  Still hanging partway out, Max and Rufo grappled for the gun.

  Her pulse pounded. Her stomach roiled. Her hands shook. She gripped the rib with two hands like a softball bat.

  As Rufo raised the gun to fire again, she sucked in a breath and surged forward. She swung. The metal strip slammed down on Rufo’s arm. The chopper tilted, and she crashed backward onto her behind.

  Rufo’s shot went wild. The gun slipped from his hand.

  Max delivered a crushing blow to the other man’s throat. The bald man gagged but reached for the gun, stretching over the edge as the weapon skidded out.

  Max hooked his free arm around the strut behind the co-pilot’s seat and kicked.

  Rufo slid over the edge. His eyes and mouth widened in terror as the realization hit him. His arms windmilled.

  He disappeared into the void.

  Max held onto the strut, chest heaving with effort before he hitched himself back inside.

  Kate exhaled and put her head down to dispel the nausea stinging her throat. Thank God.

  “Something’s wrong. Check Julio.” Max pulled himself upright and slid the door shut.

  Levering to her feet, she mustered the strength to propel herself forward. The helicopter had stabilized but now it dipped and veered to the right. She propped her back against the co-pilot seat and braced her legs.

  Julio flicked a switch on the control panel. She had barely been aware of the crackling noise but now that it stopped, she realized he’d shut off the radio.

  The left side of the man’s khaki shirt was soaked in blood. “I cannot... fly her... my colibrí...” His voice was a reedy whisper in her ear. His hands still held the controls but with no strength. Pink bubbles foamed at his mouth.

  No, oh no!

  “He’s been shot. A lung, I think. It looks bad.” She grabbed a stained hand towel from behind Julio’s seat and held it against his chest. But blood quickly soaked the cotton. She tried to keep her voice even but her vocal cords didn’t want to cooperate. “He can’t—”

  Something black and huge grabbed her throat, her chest, threatening to choke her. Rufo and his gun were gone but they were going to die anyway. The jungle would grow over them as it had covered the ancient Maya ruins.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Max gripped Kate’s shoulders. “We still have a chance.”

  He wedged past her and took the co-pilot’s seat. Madre de Dios. He hoped to hell the Huey operated like a Bell JetRanger. He’d be damned if he’d let this go south now.

  Julio’s head lolled as the loss of blood and breath took its toll. His hands fell to his sides.

  The ship tilted. Emerald treetops rushed up to them.

  Her boots clattered on the metal as she stumbled. “You can fly a helicopter?” Her voice was breathy with fear.

  “I can.” He injected more confidence in his voice than he felt in his gut. Hell, he was jacked up on adrenaline. Focused. He could do this. “Go strap yourself in.”

  He felt her pat his shoulder before she made her way aft.

  Grasping the collective control lever, he moved it forward to increase the power while he moved the cyclic control stick to climb. He settled his feet on the pedals and maneuvered the rudder.

  The craft bobbled in the sky for a long moment before the rotors found air again. He stabilized the position and banked up and away from the lethal canopy. Nosed the bird forward. Hoo-yah!

  “Max!” Kate cried as they leveled out. “I can see the western hills in the distance.”

  They were finally headed the right way. He checked their position on the control-panel. “GPS here says we’re not too far off course,” Max called. “Maybe sixty miles north of the ruin.”

  “Not much farther away than we’d have been with our original plan. We can get there after all. Today!”

  He checked the other gauges on the panel—attitude indicator, altimeter, air speed, RPM. A hard look at the fuel gauge stifled the affirmative reply on his tongue. A cold sweat washed over him. “Shit!”

  “Max?”

  “Kizin is testing us, darlin’. A bullet must’ve hit the fuel line. We’re losing fuel. I gotta set her down.”

  “Here? In the trees?” From her squeak, he reckoned she gripped the seat arms with white knuckles.

  “A chopper’s not like a fixed-wing plane. You don’t need a runway, just an open space. Hang tough. We’ll make it.”

  The fuel gauge read a quarter tank and the level was falling faster than Rufo. Max had been in tight spots before but not dangling several hundred feet above the earth. He reduced the collective and eased the cyclic back to slow for a better view of the rough terrain.

  No openings, only a solid
floor of green. Towering trees and scrubby underbrush interspersed with cactus. Not the most welcoming landing pad. Dripping like a beef at a barbecue, he swiped at his chin and dried his palms on his shorts.

  The warning light blinked red on the fuel gauge. The needle ticked closer to E. If he landed now, would the trees cushion the fall? Or maybe they’d smash the chopper. And them.

  “Up ahead. I see a gap in the trees.” Her voice was rough with fear.

  “Roger that.” Concentrating to maintain the right amount of control, he nosed the bird toward the gap, about a quarter mile ahead at his ten. No matter how small the space, he had to take the chance. “Going for it.”

  He held the airspeed at sixty knots and the altitude at about a hundred feet as he kept his eyes on the opening.

  Slowing as he began the approach, he saw green and more green and brown. No indication of what lay below. The landing spot was too small, barely big enough for the chopper body. Treetops could puncture the fuselage. The rotors would rake the trees and break off like twigs. The tail section could get hung up and flip them over. God knew what else.

  He worked his back teeth apart so he could speak. “This is it, Kate. One hell of a bumpy landing coming up. Pull out a seat cushion. Bend over it to brace yourself. And pray this old crate can take the impact.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sunshine. I’m ready.”

  Her spunk made him smile but the trust in her voice punched him in the gut. Every muscle in his body was bowstring tight. He forced tension from his shoulders and hands so he could control the levers.

  He reduced power and brought the nose up to level off. The chopper drifted into position. Easing back on the cyclic, he established a hover. Dangerous. Hovering ate up more fuel than cruising. “Setting ‘er down, Kate. Hold on.”

  Keep the descent slow. Nice and easy.

  The tail hit the trees first. Crashing and splintering sounds competed with the motor’s whine. Max fought to compensate. Increased the pitch. He would not let Kate die, and he wasn’t ready to end it here like Rufo.

  The rotors sliced off treetops. The blades cracked off with pops as loud as thunderclaps. With no power, the bird dropped the last dozen feet like the proverbial stone. He braced himself.