Redhawk's Return

by Aimée Thurlo

  “I don’t like it,” Travis said after a brief pause. “If McNeely spots us and starts shooting, some of the residents who are home might be injured.”

  “We have to do something. We can’t just allow him to move on. If you don’t like my suggestion, come up with a better one.”

  He glared at her. Gone was the soft, yielding woman he’d held. That was the problem with Fox’s passionate nature. A man would always have one hell of a time controlling her.

  “I’m contacting Carl Andrews,” he said at last. “He’s monitoring our frequency. I’ll ask him to send word to Ashe.”

  “Of course, if no help shows up,” she said, “then we’ll know for sure that Andrews is the inside man at the Marshals Service.

  “That’s one of the biggest reasons we should leave now.”

  “We can’t do that and you know it. But don’t worry. I’ve got another plan,” she said.

  Travis rolled his eyes. “Hang tight while I call in.” Several moments later, he switched off the radio. “The storm’s gaining strength,” he warned. “The signal was getting a lot of interference.”

  “The storm will be our ally this time, covering up any noise we make,” she said. “Let’s go back to the house. We can avoid the trip wires because it’s still daytime and we know approximately where to look for them. We’ll be careful to remain out of sight, but get close to an open window and take a look inside. That’ll let us get some information while avoiding a confrontation.”

  “Bad idea. What if things go wrong? We have no guarantee that backup will arrive, and we might be spotted. If that happens, I wouldn’t lay great odds on our chances of staying alive once they get what they need from us.”

  “Even if Andrews is the inside man, he’s not going to be stupid enough to tip his hand. He may delay the request for backup, that’s true, but he won’t ignore it altogether. If you want to hedge our bets, call the tribal police and talk to Ashe directly.”

  He used the cell phone, but was unable to reach his brother. He then used the radio again but, this time, insisted on speaking to Gray. It didn’t take long.

  “Okay,” he said, finished. “Let’s go see what we can do.”

  The wind, which was rapidly increasing, grew to gale-force intensity and, five minutes later, the rain started to come down in thick sheets. Reaching the house at last, they edged in behind one of the piñon trees close to the window and could hear at least three men speaking inside. Fox concentrated, trying to understand the language they were using, but only one word struck a cord with her. “Kiselnikova.”

  Images of herself as a child writing the name—her name—on lined paper danced in her head. The last name of Sorge had been another phoney identity, that’s why she hadn’t recognized it before. Then, suddenly, a new image took shape. She was inside the house, running and afraid, doing her best to find a secure hiding place. The echoes of a fear she didn’t understand gripped her. It was the same terror that always slammed the door on her memories. But this time she fought hard not to let go of the mental picture. Yet, even as she struggled to hold on to it, the image slipped away, dissolving into nothingness.

  Frustration ripped through her, but instead of giving in to it, she shifted her attention once again to the conversation going on inside the house. Although she listened carefully and the language sounded vaguely familiar, she just couldn’t make it out.

  “They’re speaking in Russian,” Travis whispered.

  “Hey, how about some English here,” an American voice suddenly interrupted.

  There was silence for a long moment. “We have been told that she will come here soon,” an accented voice replied. “When she does, the woman goes with us, and the man dies. That’s all you need to know.”

  “I can agree to that.”

  “McNeely,” Travis mouthed.

  “But what makes you think she still has the information you need?” McNeely added. “From what you’ve said, she was a kid when it all went down.”

  “She has the account numbers,” the accented voice said. “She’s the only one who could. And that money is ours.”

  “I don’t care whose money it is—not as long as I get paid,” McNeely said.

  Travis peered inside the room cautiously, then quickly ducked down and pulled her away from the window. The rain was starting to let up, and the wind had stopped completely. “We’re going. They’ve got a high-powered rifle and I’m willing to bet it was the weapon used to kill Prescott. My guess is that there’s a skilled sniper in there, and that’s information we need the others to know before they get here.”

  “Wait,” she whispered. “I want to find out who told them to wait for us here.”

  “No.” He mouthed the word, his eyes filled with intent. Travis’s tug on her arm was relentless. She had no choice except to follow him.

  They’d just reached the hedge when they heard the wail of sirens. A breath later, two police cars suddenly appeared from each end of the street. Travis saw McNeely charge out the back door. Another armed man he didn’t recognize followed instantly.

  “The cops are too far away. I’m going after them. Stay here and help the officers.”

  Travis raced around to the back of the house. As a third armed man darted out the door, Travis intercepted him and immediately kicked the gun out of his hand. His enemy recouped quickly, launching a vicious counterattack.

  Fox saw Travis lose hold of his own pistol in the fight. Knowing she had to help Travis, she raced toward him, but someone opened fire from inside the house.

  At that instant only one thought ran through her mind. The police would shoot back, and one stray bullet could end Travis’s life. As she approached the men locked in battle, she saw the long hunting knife in the hand of Travis’s adversary. Her stomach sank. Travis had nothing with which to defend himself.

  “Fox, stay back,” Travis said, his voice low and lethal.

  Travis was crouched low, his hands extended as he dodged two knife thrusts in sequence. Travis was quicker, but without a weapon, he was at a disadvantage. She had to do something right now.

  Picking up a piece of firewood from a stack underneath the veranda roof, she threw it as hard as she could at the man with the knife. He saw it coming and ducked. The firewood sailed past him, missing Travis’s head by mere inches.

  Seeing an opening, Travis aimed a disabling kick at his adversary’s knee. The man grunted and fell to the ground, and Travis was on him in a flash. Two more shots were fired from somewhere close by as Travis pinned his opponent, the knife now at the man’s throat.

  Two armed policemen came rushing around the corners of the house. Their guns were trained on her and Travis. “Don’t move!”

  “Officers, these men came after us,” Fox said quickly as the policemen came up and one of them handcuffed her. Travis placed the knife out of reach of his captive, but refused to let his opponent up until they were both handcuffed.

  “We’ll sort it out later, ma’am,” the officer said, then started reading her her rights.

  Fox’s throat felt so tight she could scarcely breathe. If the others came after them now, they’d be sitting ducks despite the police. And she and Travis would be easy targets in jail. “We called the police. We’re not guilty of anything except defending ourselves.”

  “The only call SFPD received was from a Mrs. Perea, who lives across the street. Are you her?”

  Fox considered lying, but then decided against it. “No.” The thought suddenly occurred to her that perhaps neither Andrews nor Gray had relayed their call.

  “There are two more men, armed and dangerous, around here somewhere,” Travis said as he was pulled roughly to his feet. “One is an ex-Army Ranger named McNeely.”

  “We’ll look into it,” the officer snapped.

  The rain and the wind chilled Fox to the bone as they, and the man Travis had captured, were led to waiting squad cars. This was turning out to be one very bad day, after all.

  Chapter Fourteen
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br />   The police officers transported Fox and Travis together because she had refused to quiet down unless they did. As they rode in the back of the squad car, Travis was acutely aware of everything about her, from the warmth of her body to the way her wet clothing accentuated her soft curves. Images flashed in his mind as he visualized the way she’d looked as she’d responded to him when he’d made love to her.

  Muttering a curse under his breath, Travis tried to discipline his thoughts. He couldn’t seem to stop wanting her. Even now, when they were in serious trouble, he couldn’t stop thinking about her in that way.

  He tried to concentrate on his next move. As soon as they gave him his one telephone call, he’d contact Ashe at the station. He needed his brother’s help and the U.S. Marshals Service’s clout to get him out of this mess.

  His gaze strayed back to Fox. It hurt him to see her in handcuffs. He wanted to take the damn things off her wrists and pull her against him.

  Fox looked up at him and gave him a reassuring smile. Her courage never ceased to surprise him. Sensing his concern, she was letting him know she could handle this. But, he’d seen the way her bottom lip had quivered for a fraction of a second before she’d bitten down on it.

  A sweet ache pierced him. Cursing the handcuffs that kept him from reaching for her, he started to say something when she shook her head.

  “I’m okay,” she mouthed, defiance shining in her gaze.

  As usual, she didn’t want his comfort. Her self-possession challenged him, stirring his blood.

  They arrived at the station a short while later and were led inside. Casey came out of one of the offices, badge in hand, and met the arresting officer. “Release this man and woman. I’ll accept full responsibility. They’re in my custody now.”

  Fox stared hard at Travis. “You just had to go one-on-one with that guy, didn’t you? You really do pick the most awful times to go macho on me.”

  “You were the one who insisted on staying there, just in case they tried to escape. Did you all of a sudden forget that part?” he managed through clenched teeth.

  “You didn’t just catch one of the bad guys. You got us both arrested.” She looked at Casey and shook her head. “These Redhawk brothers are just trouble waiting to happen. Run away as fast as you can before it’s too late for you.”

  Casey bit her lip to keep from laughing as she led them into an empty office. “Have a seat, guys. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. It took us longer to requisition the chopper than it did to make the trip. We also had some problems flying through the storm.”

  Travis looked behind her. “‘Us’? You mean my brother is here, too?”

  “Yes. He’s taking care of some red tape right now. Now tell me, what happened? We heard about your radio call, but your message was really cryptic.”

  “We didn’t know much at that time, but we have a lot more we can tell you now,” Fox said, then recounted the conversation they’d overheard back at the house.

  “What I can add to that,” Travis said, “is that the man I fought is a trained soldier and his fighting style was definitely Russian. He also had a tattoo on his arm. I never got a really close look at it, but I think it might have been Cyrillic in origin. I’ve seen similar ones during intelligence briefings.”

  “I’ll have it photographed and sent in for analysis. What we do know so far is consistent with that. The suspect’s name is Yuri Lazarev. Ashe and I are going to question him at length soon.” Casey looked at Travis, then at Fox. “Anything else?”

  “That’s about it,” Fox said. “Except for McNeely definitely being part of this. Travis recognized him.”

  Travis nodded, then sat back, trying to unwind. He was dead tired, but he always felt this way after action. He’d be okay in another hour or so, not counting bruises.

  “How about giving me a few minutes with Lazarev?” Travis suggested. “I bet I can get some answers from him.”

  “Not a chance. We’ll be keeping things strictly by the book. I don’t want some hotshot lawyer throwing the case out.”

  “What about the gunshots I heard coming from inside the house?” Fox asked. “There must have been another man who didn’t escape.”

  “He’s dead. We have an ID. He’s a Farmington man by the name of William McNeely.”

  “I had a feeling that was him. Billy’s Stan McNeely’s cousin and a Ranger wannabe.” Travis considered everything he’d just learned. “Lazarev is or was a soldier. I’m certain of it. That gives me some common ground with him. Let me in on the questioning. I may be able to help you.”

  “This isn’t the military, Travis. It’s in the hands of the U.S. Marshal’s office and local agencies now, and we’ll handle it our way. Sit tight I’ll be back shortly.” Casey stood.

  TWO HOURS LATER, TRAVIS was ready to punch the wall, but neither Casey nor Ashe had come to join them yet.

  Fox had been quiet—uncharacteristically so. She’d undoubtedly sensed his vile mood and was keeping her distance.

  Another half hour passed before Ashe finally came in. He raised an eyebrow as he studied his brother’s bruised face. “You look like hell. The other guy looks worse, though, so I guess you handled yourself okay.”

  “You couldn’t have taken him, little brother.”

  “If it comforts you to think that, go right ahead,” Ashe countered with a lazy grin.

  “Don’t get too cocky. There are at least two more who got away,” Travis said.

  “Stan McNeely was one, I gather,” Ashe acknowledged. “You said he’s bad news, right?”

  “Very bad news.” Travis noted that his brother had used the man’s name. According to Navajo beliefs, the name of one’s enemy was an important weapon. The Diné believed that the power inherent in the name could be used against its owner. Not a traditionalist, Travis wasn’t counting on that, but he decided to use the name often, too. At this point, he’d take whatever help he could get.

  “I understand it took three cops to get Lazarev out of the squad car and into the station,” Casey said. “McNeely can’t be any worse than that.”

  “It’s what’s in a man’s head that makes him a lethal adversary. Lazarev is big, and a skilled fighter, but when I faced him, his heart wasn’t in the fight. What he really wanted to do was get away. With McNeely, it’s a different. story. The fight itself is what makes him come alive. He savors it. That’s a far more dangerous mind-set,” Travis warned.

  “I ran Lazarev’s tattoo through our files,” Casey said. “It’s the mark used by a gang of Russian criminals, most of them ex-soldiers, who’ve been operating in the United States off and on for many years. They’re called Boyebaya Gruppa. It literally means ‘combat group.’ Traditionally, they’ve been responsible for some really nasty crimes here and in the eastern block.”

  “And they’re the ones who murdered my natural parents?” Fox asked.

  “I can’t say for sure yet. What I can tell you is that being arrested carries a high price for anyone in this particular gang. If they even suspect that Lazarev cooperated with the authorities, he’s a dead man. Since we’ve let the word out that he’s being most helpful,” Casey added, “Lazarev knows now, as we do, that he’ll be a dead man within hours if he ever makes bail.”

  “So why isn’t he talking yet?” Travis asked.

  “He wants to try and cut a deal with us first,” Casey replied. “He’s asking for complete immunity and protection in exchange for his testimony. We can grant that, but only if the information is worth it. So far, all we’ve got is a hint that the man who killed Prescott was the one who disappeared along with McNeely. The sniper is running their operation. They all answer to him.”

  “He has told us one other thing,” Ashe said. “Fox’s family name is Kiselnikova.”

  “He’s telling you the truth,” Fox said softly. “I remember that much now. But I don’t have the account numbers they’re looking for. I wish I did. It would give me some leverage.”

  An incredible restle
ssness gnawed at Travis. Instinct urged him to remain a moving target. “I really don’t think Fox and I should stick around here.”

  “We’re in a police station. Where would it be safer than here?” Fox countered, then rolled her eyes, realizing what she’d just said.

  “Prescott got killed outside a courthouse, surrounded by the law, remember?” Travis smiled grimly. “The presence of the police doesn’t always make places as safe as we’d like them to be.”

  Casey nodded. “You’re right, especially because the sniper is still out there. And in New Mexico, all he needs to do to get another high-powered rifle is break into a deer hunter’s house. We’ve got a lot of them around here.”

  “Is there any way we can get some cash?” Travis asked.

  “No problem,” Casey said. “I’ll be right back.” She stepped out of the room and returned several minutes later with a roll of bills. “Stay in touch.”

  “Where’s our vehicle?” Travis asked.

  “It’s out front,” Casey said. “I won’t even ask you where you got it.”

  Travis smiled. “It’s not stolen, really. Look at it as an example of creative thinking and a friend who’s in a position to cut through the paperwork.”

  “And a result of sore feet,” Fox added.

  As Travis left with Fox, a purely instinctive fear overtook him. He wasn’t worried about himself—he’d faced far worse. It was Fox, and what might lie ahead for her, that made his guts turn to ice.

  “I wish I knew who we’re really fighting.” Fox climbed into the truck, looking in every direction, “The men who came after us were only following orders. We need to capture the one in charge of the operation, the Russian with McNeely. He’ll hold the key to everything, including how Prescott became part of their gang and the identity of the person inside the Marshals Service who’s leaking information.”

  “Let Ashe and Casey tackle that part. You have to concentrate on remembering your past. After that, everything else will fall into place,” Travis said.

  As they headed south along the interstate, Fox studied the road signs. “We’re going to the car dealership in Albuquerque?”