by Bobbie Cole
Now it looked as if he was worse off than he’d been with the three bumbling kidnappers.
Seth sat in stony silence beside Runnels, mindful of the Uzi Runnels held. They were the only ones in the backseat of the car, and Seth didn’t recognize the driver. Somehow he didn’t feel so betrayed because he didn’t believe Stone was in on this mess, but Seth wondered where the guy was. Had Runnels killed him?
The driver was young, probably only in his early twenties. Just a kid, Seth thought ruefully, and one with a short life ahead of him if he was already hooked up with the likes of Rogers and Runnels. He seemed extremely nervous as he steered their car through traffic. His eyes kept darting to Seth’s, and there was something frightened yet sympathetic in his gaze.
Seth noted with a sinking feeling that this time he wasn’t told to ride with his head between his knees, meaning Runnels wasn’t concerned with keeping him in the dark about wherever they were headed. It wasn’t important for Runnels and Rogers to protect their privacy if they intended to kill him.
“If I’d wanted to work in dark, smelly places, I’d have joined the city’s sanitation department.” The driver, who’d parked the car inside the dank, warehouse-like garage, looked about nervously once they’d arrived at their destination.
“Shut up, Kevin.” Runnels gave the kid a hard stare. “You get paid well to drive fast and think slow.” He opened his door, cautioning Seth. “Out, this way, slowly.”
Seth did as told, taking in the empty building. If Rogers was there, he blended into the walls.
“You realize you’ll never be able to run for office once you’re back in D.C., right?” He hoped his smart mouth wouldn’t write checks his bound hands and shackled memory couldn’t cash, but he needed to stall, give himself time to look around his new location.
Runnels, who had barely cracked a smile since Seth had arrived from Mexico, suddenly burst into laughter. When he did, Seth noticed the bad teeth. Then Runnels tossed his head as he laughed, and Seth noticed the tattoo. Whatever he was, Runnels was not CIA.
“I take it you killed our real agent?” The words were bitter in Seth’s mouth as he realized yet another of his comrades had been murdered.
Runnels’ jaw dropped slightly. He seemed to know his tattoo had given him away, for he touched it gingerly. “Well, well, you must be regaining some of your lost senses, Agent Taggart.” Runnels snorted. “Pity that the man who really graduated the academy with you wasn’t as bright.”
Seth narrowed his eyes. The voice, the crooked smile, the Midwestern accent. The wreck in Mexico and the figure of a tall man in jungle fatigues hovering over him. Runnels, of course—well, someone posing as Runnels. That explained the reaction he’d felt when he and Charlie had first met the man. He was the one standing over me in the rain in Guadalajara.
“What are you?” he asked the man. “Some mercenary?”
“Please. The term is derogatory. We prefer to call ourselves contractors.” He smirked. “Or guns for hire, if you choose.”
Seth swallowed a retort. So the man saw himself as a cowboy of sorts. Let him. Even they met the long arm of the law at times. Maybe this arrogant fool would as well.
While the three of them waited in the garage, or whatever it was, Kevin paced nervously, to the point that the gunman barked at him to get back in the car if he couldn’t be still. And Kevin obliged, reclaiming his place behind the wheel. One look at the boy’s face told Seth that Kevin had wanted to be back there for some reason. Probably because he knows what they’re about to do to me.
Not long afterward, a door creaked, and Seth heard footsteps, and with each footfall he knew his time was limited. He wondered what Rogers would do before killing him—and he was sure by this time that Rogers was the only one left who wanted to deal with him.
As soon as the man stepped into view, Seth recognized him. Within a millisecond, the key to unlock what had been hidden from him appeared, and that one face unleashed a flood of memories…and emotions.
Rage at what he’d witnessed.
Damien Rogers, the smarmy businessman with minions who worked behind the scenes at Simple Solutions, employing unsuspecting immigrants who thought they were merely helping bring their own families across the border, when once they’d been compromised and promised paradise, had been forced to spirit terrorists from other countries into America, along with their parents and children. If the employees who posed as companions, dates or surrogates of some sort for their contacts balked? Rogers would either pass the opportunity to see a loved one on to someone more willing to do his bidding—or worse, he’d threaten them with exposure and deportation.
Marjorie Lawson had been one such client. She had asked for someone to pose as her date for an important business meeting in Guadalajara, someone who spoke Spanish and was willing to travel. Her CIA cover had been that of an entrepreneur who exported leather goods. She’d been working undercover for two years and had already infiltrated Rogers’ organization, so the CIA had felt comfortable in sending her back for one more mission, this time with George Martin. Only something had gone terribly wrong, and Martin had disappeared. That’s when Rogers had replaced him with Seth.
It all made sense now. Martin must’ve cracked. Seth knew after meeting Charlie and seeing the crime photos at the station that Martin had been tortured.
Looks like I’m next. Seth braced himself, trying not to fall into an abyss of despair when Rogers brought out the Bowie knife, the one Seth figured had most likely gutted Martin.
“For God’s sake, Charlene!” Sam bellowed from the backseat, where he clung to what he called the “oh shit bar” to steady himself. “Slow down!”
“Want me to drive?”
The meekness of Julio’s offer was laced with concern, which only ticked Charlie off further. “No, thanks.” She glanced into her rearview mirror. “Hang on, Dad. I’ve been driving since I was fourteen.”
“Too bad your mother didn’t instruct you better.” Sam’s gruff response was growled, but at least he didn’t yell this time.
Charlie tapped the navigation system. “If you want to help, Rodríguez, just watch for upcoming streets and tell me if there are any traffic delays.”
“We didn’t have those things when I was on the force,” said Sam, whose voice seemed calmer.
Charlie knew her partner and father were only trying to help, to keep her from screaming and pulling out her hair, and while she appreciated their input, she’d rather they both remained silent. It’d only been a few minutes since they’d received the information she needed—the whereabouts of the car that had been seen when Seth had disappeared. With that message had been news that Agent Runnels was an imposter. The real agent’s body had been discovered inside an offshore oil drum the week before, and the medical examiner had just identified the remains. The body was missing both hands and eyes.
With Stone directing CIA personnel from his plane, and the Houston PD able to use the more sophisticated surveillance equipment of the Feds, the two groups had managed to pinpoint the exact location of the car, and the building where they hoped Seth was being held.
The Houston PD liaison with the CIA broke into the mike Julio held. “Heat sensors from the helicopter show six people in the building. The SWAT task force is in position and closing, awaiting instructions. Another chopper is at the airport waiting for Agent Stone.”
Julio looked at Charlie after acknowledging the dispatcher. “You get that?”
“Yep. We’re about four minutes from destination.”
Julio peered at the GPS on the dash. “Traffic jam of some sort two blocks ahead.”
Charlie quickly veered to the left then peeled down a one-way, avoiding oncoming traffic and eliciting more cursing from Sam. “Sam, you stay in the car when we get there.”
“Like hell!”
“Daddy, please. I need someone there in case this guy who has been impersonating Runnels has more men in the parking lot we don’t know about.”
Sam had to
realize she was protecting him, and knowing him, he considered it babysitting, when he was fully capable of handling himself and providing backup. She didn’t dare glance at him, though, because the tears she’d been holding back would gush forth, and the last thing she needed was to drop the ball for Julio. His life and hers depended upon her being able to conduct herself as she’d been trained.
Nothing she’d done up to this point, however, had held such personal stakes for Charlie. Her very life, that of her partner, her father and the man she loved were on the line, and even with luck, the odds that they’d all walk away today were slim to none.
The dispatcher’s voice was replaced with that of Bemo, chastising Charlie for her trip down the one-way. He asked what the hell she thought she was doing, and Julio responded something about a shortcut to the parking lot. Charlie was too busy avoiding mishap to catch everything verbatim, but in the back of her brain she knew she would hear about it once this was over.
If she survived.
She tore through the remainder of oncoming traffic, whipped onto another side street, and pulled into the garage’s parking lot, with Julio getting instructions on which entrance they should use.
The list of necessities was short. Firepower, vest and a final appeal to the Almighty.
Chapter Twelve
“You are a hard man to kill, Agent Taggart,” Rogers said, walking slowly toward Seth. “I know because I’ve tried several times.”
Seth remained silent. He wouldn’t give Rogers the satisfaction of a response, not fear, not even contempt.
The door they’d entered was closed, with small shards of light filtering through broken boards where outside damage had occurred, making the monster appear somewhat dark, as if standing with a spotlight behind him. But Seth could well imagine the features, soft from too much cholesterol, hard with hate.
Seth had despised him on sight, primarily for what he stood for, but also because of the sexist attitudes Rogers displayed toward women. While Seth had only been hired to “date” locally the first few months he’d been at Rogers’s escort service in Houston, he’d been allowed that last trip to Mexico, most likely because Martin had given him up. But Seth couldn’t condemn Martin. The poor man had probably been demented by the time he’d collapsed. Seth promised himself that no matter what Rogers did, he’d not give him what he wanted. He’d not compromise another agent. Or Charlie.
Slight movement to the rear of the garage alerted Seth that at least two more of Rogers’s henchmen were there, ready to kill him upon command if he survived what Rogers had in store for him.
“I see the wheels clicking in your mind,” Rogers said smoothly. “You know what’s coming, so you might as well save us both the trouble.” He shifted his attention to the mercenary. “Frank, what about the other three?”
Ah, another name, not that it’ll do me much good. Seth watched as the man who had posed as Runnels stepped forward.
“Dead. I didn’t have time for cleanup.”
“So the car is still there?” Rogers grew angry.
“Sue me. Couldn’t be helped. You said you were leaving Houston anyway, that it was too dangerous.” Frank shifted his Uzi.
Probably more as a threat in case Rogers reproached him, thought Seth.
Before he could form another thought, Seth heard the sole car in the garage, its engine coming to life.
“What the hell?” Rogers looked over his shoulder and walked toward the car, his hands waving at Frank. “Get that little bastard.”
The kid who had driven them had triggered the garage door opener, and glaring sunlight broke into the garage as the door lifted, but instead of backing up, as Seth had imagined the kid would do, he threw the car into gear and sped toward them.
Within seconds, two thoughts raced through Seth’s mind. Either the kid was nuts, or he was on Seth’s side. In either case, it didn’t look good. Seth was sitting smack in the middle of the garage and would be hit as surely as would one, if not both, of the other men.
Frank aimed, fired and kept firing, advancing on the car as if he hadn’t a care in the world other than to kill the kid. Rogers, on the other hand, dodged, moving sideways at first, then toward Seth, with nothing it seemed but the knife to arm him. The two men standing in the shadows protecting Rogers also let loose with a hail of bullets. Seth’s heart nearly stopped as he recognized the sound of AK47s. Frank’s Uzi might do some damage up close, but it was primarily for spraying and show from a distance. The assault rifles, on the other hand, were serious firepower aimed at the kid.
Kevin, however, didn’t seem to care that he was being fired upon. He ducked, dodged and wove his way from the opening of the garage to the heart of the building. Then Seth watched in horror as the kid aimed the car straight for Rogers and gunned the engine, diving below the wheel, seemingly not caring that he’d hit both Rogers and Seth at that speed.
Seth heard the bump as Rogers’s body bounced off the car, and he braced himself for the impact that was inevitable, just as he heard more gunshots and shouting from the garage door. He caught the word police and heard someone shout FBI before he felt himself propelled backward. The chair broke, and Seth’s bad shoulder slammed into concrete. He rolled, trying to avoid having his head smashed like a melon against the garage floor.
When he groggily looked up, he saw the wheels of the car coming for him. Then the screeching sound of brakes being applied, a car door being opened and Kevin screaming obscenities at Rogers, saying something about “my mother.”
“She had a son!” the kid screamed. “Marjorie Lawson had a family, you piece of shit! She had a husband, and three kids!” Kevin continued delivering kicks to Rogers, in the groin, the gut, the head.
Seth tried hanging on to his sanity. The car had stopped. He wasn’t dead. Kevin would surely be six feet under soon if Frank had his way. Bullets were still flying, and others were in the garage taking down the two men whose forms he’d only seen, but Seth had no idea if his rescuers would reach Kevin in time.
He jerked against the rope, the broken chair. He screamed in pain as he felt his shoulder snap out of place, and he saw feet menacingly striding toward him.
One more time, please, one more time. With a violent wrenching, he tore himself loose from the chair and rolled, struggling with the rope and the dislocated shoulder. There was nothing to brace himself against, and he figured he probably wouldn’t be able to stand anyway, so he took the only avenue of escape he saw—he rolled beneath the front end of the car and jammed his shoulder back into place.
To his right, also on the ground, he saw Rogers, still alive but moaning in pain, the knife, which had probably flown out of Rogers’s hand when he was hit, lying beneath the left front wheel of the car, and he saw Kevin’s feet. The kid was kicking the hell out of the downed man, cursing and blaming him for his mother’s death.
Seth struggled, crawled toward the knife, and his fingers had barely closed over it when he felt the bullet hit his leg. Seth yelled, and with superhuman strength born of adrenaline and self-preservation, he freed the knife and turned on his side, facing the feet. He stabbed the foot closest to him and clung with both hands around the blade’s handle as Frank jerked his foot back with a thundering scream.
Dragged somewhat from beneath the car, Seth scrambled to swing his legs out and wrap them around Frank’s foot, then the attached leg, all the while doubled over and clinging for dear life to the knife until he felt another bullet graze his side.
With a victorious yell, Seth maneuvered one of his legs between both of Frank’s and felled him like a giant oak. Both men on the ground at last, evening the playing field, he twisted and turned until he had the mercenary’s head between his legs and finally had him facing the other direction.
Frank still had the gun, but Seth had his opponent’s airway, trapped between two muscled thighs, and he squeezed with every ounce of strength he possessed. Still clutching the rope that had bound him, Seth let Frank out of the leg-lock long enough to get
the rope around Frank’s neck and his legs around Frank’s waist.
With the bigger man on top of him, Seth turned into a human python, squeezing the life out of Frank. The Uzi went off again and again, but it was in the air, not trained on any particular target, and that’s all Seth cared about.
“Not this time,” he grunted, holding his grip on his would-be assassin.
Excruciating cold crept over Seth, and he realized he was losing consciousness. With one last breath, he tightened the rope…his legs…and he grasped the gasping man around the neck, placing one hand on the side of his face, the other on his chin. Seth gave a last ferocious wrench, heard the bones break and sighed just as he lost the strength to go on.
Gunfire crackled all around her, and Charlie screamed as she saw her partner fall to the ground, clutching his shoulder, with blood spurting from somewhere near his temple. “Rodríguez is hit!” She inched toward him, willing him to live.
Julio let loose with a stream of swearing in Spanish, but he still clutched his gun and aimed it…so close to Charlie’s face she thought he’d shoot her. She ducked, more out of instinct than knowing what Julio was up to, and she heard the grunt as Julio’s bullet found its target.
The thug behind her fell within a hair’s width of her back, and Charlie lunged toward Julio. “You might warn a girl next time.” She touched his face and said a quick prayer—the head wound was superficial. Then she ripped open his shirt, her hands searching for the strap on his vest. The bullet he’d taken had missed the Kevlar and had lodged a millimeter out of the protected range, hitting his upper arm. So why was he holding his chest?
