On Deadly Ground (Devlin Security Force Book 1)

by Susan Vaughan

“Pah. You bungle this time as you did before. You buy the statue, then you sell it, then you lose it.”

  Sweat dripped from Sedgwick’s chin. His gaze shifted between his adversary and Max. “I was merely maneuvering for the best deal.”

  “And your visit to Chastain?”

  Sedgwick’s eyes widened. His already ruddy complexion went crimson. “You know nothing.”

  “Non? I wonder why else you would contact a forger who specializes in figurines.” Le Noir’s teeth gleamed white against his swarthy complexion. “More maneuvering? Or deception? Or is betrayal more precise a word?”

  Riveted by the confrontation, Kate offered a silent plea this confrontation would give Max an opening.

  The glare from beneath Sedgwick’s amber brows seared the air. The pistol’s barrel swung toward the powerfully built thug. “Certainly not. I’ll—”

  Le Noir snatched away the pistol as he smashed his right boot heel into Sedgwick’s knee. The Brit staggered backward. The big Frenchman lunged toward him. Sunlight flashed off the metal object in his hand. A knife. One stroke at Sedgwick’s exposed throat cut off his howl of pain. Only a choking gasp came from his mouth as his body toppled backward to the rocky earth.

  Frozen in place, a scream trapped inside, Kate clutched her throat.

  Behind her, the paid crooks jabbered unintelligibly.

  Adrenaline jolted Max to his feet. Everyone else seemed set in stone—Le Noir included—unable to look away from the bleeding man.

  A crimson stream gushed from the wound. It soaked the khaki shirt and flowed onto the hard soil, staining the air with a metallic stench. Abruptly the flow weakened, life drained away from pale, unseeing eyes.

  Max surged forward.

  Le Noir fired the pistol. Pfft.

  The silenced bullet struck Max. A thousand fire ants stung his left arm. He groaned and rolled to his side.

  Kate staggered to her feet. “No!” Tears clogged her voice. She started toward him.

  “Do not move!” Le Noir fired two shots into the ground in front of her. Rock bits spewed upward like shrapnel.

  She shrieked and stumbled to a stop, holding up her hands in defense the same way Sedgwick had in his vault. Tears streamed down her beautiful face. “Max?”

  Setting his jaw against the pain in his upper arm, he scooted back against the boulder. He plucked his sleeve away from the wound. He’d been shot before. This one wasn’t that bad. A deep gouge. Only skin. Not muscle or bone. The bastard only grazed him. On purpose?

  The Sig held fifteen to twenty rounds, depending on the magazine, so the gun had plenty more for target practice.

  “I’m okay, querida.” Damn, shouldn’t call her that. Don’t give the Frog more ammo. “Like in the old Westerns, it’s just a flesh wound.” Hurt like hell but he would ignore it. Cold focus would get him—them—through. He kept his eyes on Le Noir while, one-handed, he tied his bandana around the bleeding gash.

  He ached to go to Kate, to scoop her up and run into the bush, away from this madness. Every muscle in his body tightened against the urge. Black bile churned in his gut. He dug his fingers into the dirt. Hell and high water, for the moment he could do nothing.

  The local mutts were dangerous but not bright. Cut off a snake’s head and the body flopped around, useless. He had to get his Beretta.

  Le Noir sidled past Sedgwick’s body. He wiped blood from the knife blade on a clump of weeds, but kept it out, ready. He moved to where he could see everybody, including Sedgwick’s hired hands. Not that they’d be loyal now this man had cut off their paycheck. Literally.

  “You monster!” Kate mopped her eyes. “You didn’t have to kill him.”

  “But I did,” he said. “My employer detests treachery even more than incompetence. Enfin, I no long have need of him now he has brought me to you.”

  Cool and calm, this creep. Martial arts and smooth manners. Probably an expert marksman too. The knife was a switchblade, easily concealed in a pocket, the reason Max hadn’t spotted it, but Fuckin’-A, he should’ve suspected, knowing Le Noir’s reputation for liking blades. The knife was an H & K, a deadly dagger in close combat but not a good throwing weapon.

  Looked like the murder hadn’t been impulsive but a premeditated act. Only the timing was hasty, precipitated by Sedgwick’s challenge. Once Le Noir possessed Kizin, he would eliminate Kate and Max.

  The silencer. Nobody at the temple site would hear. The bodies would disappear in the depths of the cenote. No witnesses.

  Not if Max could prevent it.

  Le Noir scowled, his black eyes watchful. “The statue, if you please. I should like to be on my way to Cabo Blanco.”

  “It’s over, Kate. Give it to him.” Maybe when Le Noir saw the statue, he’d let down his guard.

  Her over-bright gaze stared at the fucking Centaur thug. She must know he’d shoot them. For a jade-and-gold statue that meant redemption to her and hope to the Maya. Only another possession to the killer’s boss. She hadn’t let panic disable her. He could see the steel within her firming as her mind wrapped itself around the choices. Saw decision in the tightening of her mouth.

  “I’ll get the statue.” Swiping away the rest of her tears with one hand, she plodded to the cenote’s edge. “It’s hidden down there.”

  Le Noir stalked forward two paces but stopped well away from the sheer rim. “If you try anything, he dies.”

  Without a word, she climbed down. The only sound was the echo of her hiking boots on the ledge below. Max pictured her reaching into the eroded recess where they’d stashed the camera bag.

  Le Noir’s watchful eyes remained on him.

  Max stared back.

  A scant two minutes later, she reappeared at the top, the bag slung over her shoulder. She knelt and opened it. First the Nikon came out, then the bubble-sealed package. When she unwrapped it, sunlight glinted off the emerald eyes and the gold skeleton shape in the jade.

  She held up the statue. “Everyone in Costa Verde is looking for this figure of Kizin. You’ll never get out of the country with their legendary earthquake god.”

  One of the local mutts pointed at Kizin and whispered to the other. The second man crossed himself. Accepted religion didn’t preclude belief in the old Maya gods. Or in curses. They were fucking afraid. Le Noir didn’t need Sedgwick but he did need these two, to lead him out of this wilderness.

  If they believed... Apparently Kate had suspected the possibility. Her gaze veered from the frightened men to Max. He nodded.

  “Yes, yes.” Le Noir hissed. Eager to get out of here. Afraid of the earthquake or something else? “If you smuggled it into the country, I can smuggle it out. Bring Kizin to me.”

  Max gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

  She lowered the statue. “If you want Kizin, come take him.”

  “Enough of these games. Gomez, take the statue from her,” Le Noir ordered one of the men. “Bring it to me.”

  “No, señor,” Gomez, the man Max had called Scarface, crossed himself again for good measure. His eyes were wild. “Is no good, señor. Kizin muy bad.”

  “Do not be idiots. It is only a statue.” The killer sneered as he waved Gomez forward.

  “Le Noir can’t take it from you, Kate,” Max said, leveling a confident gaze at the other man. “The big, bad Centaur enforcer with the gun is afraid of heights. He won’t go near the cenote’s edge. Do you get vertigo, Le Noir? Maybe freeze?”

  The other man’s lips thinned. Color rose in his cheeks. His gun hand wavered. A second later, calm dropped over him like a blanket. “Bring it to me or I promise more bullets, aimed more precisely. First in Rivera’s extremities. Then I shall work my way inward. Methodical but effective. And painful.”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. “If you shoot him, I drop it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Max stiffened. Had he heard her right?

  The gunman’s wide gaze bounced between the two of them. He was rattled. Good.

&nbs
p; Lips pressed tightly together, Kate scooted closer to the rim. She held the statue out over the water. Kizin’s emerald eyes stared up at the sky.

  Le Noir took a step toward her but faltered. “What are you doing? Bring it here now or Rivera loses a kneecap.”

  “Shoot Max and I let go.”

  Max’s insides cartwheeled. She would do that for him? Give up the quest that obsessed her? He swallowed his question. “You don’t have to do that, Kate.”

  “Merde, c’est de la foutaise. You cannot do that.” Sweat dripped from Le Noir’s chin, spread from his armpits to stain the camo. “You will not.”

  “Put down your gun. Kick it over to Max. Or the statue’s gone.”

  He sneered, his mouth twisting in an oddly wormlike curl. “You were so dedicated to returning it to the temple, to saving your bête of a brother. What about the earthquake?”

  “Whether you take Kizin or I drop it in the cenote, I can’t fulfill my promises. Either way Doug dies. Max and I die. You can’t escape. You can’t outrun the earthquake. Or the curse. Kizin will have his revenge.”

  Gomez and Mustache clutched each other, fear stark on their faces.

  “All nonsense. You will not dare to drop it.”

  “Try me.” Her glare should’ve turned him to stone. Her chin was firm.

  Max had never seen anybody more brave or beautiful in his life. “If you don’t return to Cabo Blanco with Kizin,” he said, “I’m betting Centaur won’t let you off easy. What was that about incompetence?”

  Le Noir’s jaw went slack. The gun lowered a fraction then rose again. His black eyes glittered. “Kizin belongs to Centaur. Bring it to me.”

  Not deterred, Kate held the statue farther over the void. “This is the official cenote for K’eq Xlapak. The ancient priests sacrificed goats and tossed them in this very well. When offerings on the altars, like this statue of Kizin, had served their purpose, the priests smashed them and dropped them in.

  “The pool below and the river make up a labyrinth of passages too deep and treacherous for divers. No artifacts have ever been brought to the surface. If I drop Kizin, he’s gone forever. And with him, all hope of ending the earthquake curse. You’ll never make it out of the jungle.”

  Spoken like the expert she was. She was magnificent. Max bit his lip.

  Terror filled the eyes of Gomez and his pal. Their mouths gaped. As one they turned and fled into the vegetation. Palm fronds clattered as they disappeared.

  “Non! Non! Fools. Come back!” The Frenchman’s bellows went unanswered.

  Max sprang.

  Before Le Noir could turn, Max kicked the Sig from his hand. The pistol skittered across the hard ground, landing out of reach.

  Le Noir tossed the switchblade from his left hand to his right and eyed Max like he was choosing his targets. Sweat and the rank odor of living rough poured off the man.

  “I hear you like to play with your victims, Frenchie, ’til they bleed to death. Bet you never faced somebody who really knows how to fight.” Max beckoned, stretched his lips into a smile. Probably more of a grimace. His wound hurt like a son of a bitch.

  Holding the knife in a hammer grip, Le Noir lunged. Max parried the strike with his injured arm. Pain lanced through him. He snapped a side kick into the other man’s chin that felled him like a lightning-struck oak. But not enough to loose Le Noir’s grip on the knife. He swung the blade at Max’s gut, at the same time kicking his ankle. Max fell on his wound and grunted in agony.

  The thug struck again with the blade, but Max grabbed his wrist with his good hand and held on in spite of the fire in his other arm. Blood dripped from beneath the soaked bandana. If only he could reach his damn ankle holster.

  Sweat and dust covered both men as they traded blows and strained for the knife. Hard to tell who was stronger but Le Noir had the blade and two good arms. Max’s punches barely dented the man’s skin. How long could he hold out with no weapon?

  In his peripheral vision, he saw Kate still kneeling by the cenote’s edge. “Get out of here, Kate. Run!” he grunted. “You can make it to the temple.”

  “No! I won’t leave you.” She scrambled around, maybe looking for a weapon.

  Their arm-wrestling duel was going more and more Le Noir’s way as Max’s strength drained away with every drop of blood. Fuck, the French fireplug was using his legs to push their battle inch by inch closer to the pistol. He was bull strong but too bulked-up to be agile in a fight. He seemed to be focused on holding on until he could reach the Sig.

  Max scraped up earth with his left hand and flung dirt and gravel at Le Noir’s eyes. He drew up a knee and whacked the man in the groin. Finally a blow that fucking distracted him. Torque in the knife arm eased a fraction. Max sucked in air and slammed Le Noir’s hand to the ground. The knife clattered free, and Max pushed up and kicked it far away.

  A massive punch rocked his bloody arm. Pain like flaming daggers tore through him and he couldn’t breathe. He dropped to his side.

  A freight-train rumble surrounded them. The ground shook, making footing insecure and trees sway. Dust clouds swirled into Max’s eyes and nose. High above, monkeys shrieked in terror.

  Shit. Another tremor or was the damn curse real?

  Le Noir scrambled to his feet and scooped up the pistol. He stumbled over the trembling earth toward Kate. Leaves and twigs shaken from the trees littered his path. “Bring me the statue.”

  “No!” She backed closer to the cenote. “I’ll never let you have it.”

  Heart pounding like it could break through his ribs, Max staggered erect. His arm hurt like ten rattlers had latched on. Blood ran down his arm. He had to stop Le Noir. Couldn’t let him hurt Kate.

  Gritting his teeth, he pulled out the Beretta and flicked off the safety. What if it wouldn’t fire after being wet?

  The ground wobbled and bounced beneath him, but he planted his feet and raised the weapon. He stood off to the side, not the best position, but the Frenchman’s thick body made a wide target. If he waited, ordered the man to drop his weapon, he might not get another chance.

  Le Noir raised the pistol toward Kate. Fwip.

  Kate cried out and crumpled to the ground. The statue fell from her limp fingers into the cenote.

  “Kate!”

  “Non, non! It cannot be gone.” Le Noir turned the silenced pistol on Max.

  The crack of Max’s shot reverberated around the clearing. The round struck Le Noir in his side. Blood bloomed on his shirt.

  He dropped to his knees. Aimed the pistol at Kate.

  Max discharged the Beretta again and again until the big man fell face down and didn’t move. Beneath the sun, now high overhead, the acrid smell of gunsmoke mingled with the meaty scent of blood.

  Kate didn’t answer. She didn’t move.

  Rage vibrated through every cell in his body. His heart thumped wildly.

  She moaned.

  Gracias a Dios, she was alive. He trudged toward her.

  Writhing in pain, she clutched at her left thigh where blood was spreading.

  “Max.” His name was barely a whisper but rang in his ears like The Hallelujah Chorus. She gripped his arm weakly. “Le Noir, is he—”

  “He won’t be doing any more enforcing.” He ripped the cloth to look at her wound.

  “How bad is it?”

  “We’re in that same old Western, darlin’. Just a flesh wound.” Hers went deeper, into muscle, but telling her would scare her more than she already was. The bullet had gone all the way through. Tore up that tender flesh on exit.

  He yanked off his shirt and tied it around her leg. “Keep pressure where you can. I’ll get the medical kit.”

  The spasms in Kate’s thigh came in waves, chewing a path to her brain, and she breathed deeply to swallow down nausea. She kept her hand where she could reach, but blood was already soaking the makeshift tourniquet.

  Oh, God, worse than the pain was her utter failure—in everything she’d set out to do. Her eyes stung, and
she could barely swallow past the tightness in her throat. Kizin was lost forever. And Doug, she could lose him. Still no call from the DSF agent. If he failed, she had no way to ransom her brother. Once she’d obtained the statue, she should’ve allowed Devlin Security to handle the rest. Without the drag of her incompetence.

  But then she wouldn’t have known Max.

  He’d brought her almost to K’eq Xlapak. He’d kept his commitment and gotten shot in the process. He was braver and more honorable than she deserved. A wave of pain swept her, inside and out.

  ***

  In the jungle

  Had to be really bad when Doug didn’t wince at Al’s fetid breath as the guard rolled him back into the hut. On the trip to and from the latrine, no sign of the bearded guy. Dammit, that would’ve been the perfect time.

  This better be a rescue. If he didn’t have a bum leg and wasn’t weak as a baby, he could take Al, but not that GI Joe. Not knowing if the guy was on his side was eating him as bad as the bedbugs. He sagged against the seat back. So why in hell was GI guy here? And where’d he go?

  The guard squatted down and folded the footrests.

  Shit, why couldn’t he just sit in the fucking chair? Horizontal was good for sleep and sex, but for now he’d rather be vertical. “Hey, Al, give your back a break. Let me sit here?’ He shifted in the sagging seat.

  Something clanked against the wheel.

  Al lifted the fallen object from the dirt floor.

  Doug’s heart thumped. Shit. The fork. The damn fork.

  He knew no Mayan but recognized angry cursing when he heard it, probably something like “What the fuck is this?” The fork went winging across the room. A back-handed blow knocked his head to the side. Rang up that headache that had finally subsided. He lowered his head and concentrated on breathing.

  Before he could do anything but recover, footfalls crunched at the doorway.

  The bearded guy swung in, bent in a crouch Doug had seen a thousand times in war movies. He carried a honkin’ big semi-automatic. Holy shit.

  The guard pulled a pistol from somewhere. Aimed it at GI Joe, who ducked back behind the door frame.