Finally Santora broke the standoff. "You are right, señor." He snapped his fingers, sending Shark scurrying back to the room they'd just vacated. "I always pay my debts, my reputation depends on it."
Moments later Shark returned. He clicked open a briefcase, and pulled up on the lid to display rows and rows of American currency.
"One million dollars. As promised."
Bryce glanced at the money. "Toss me one of those packs. Not that I don't trust you, but it's always good to be sure."
At the nod from his boss, Shark clutched a couple of bundles and tossed them to Bryce.
Fingering through the bills, Bryce vaguely noticed all were legitimate as he took the opportunity to scan the area, searching for potential barriers that could serve as a blockage against bullets until he and Lark could escape to the office. "Looks good." He flipped the bundles back to Shark who placed them back into the case before shutting it again.
"Now the girl." The middleman stepped forward, latched onto Lark's arm, and yanked her toward Santora.
Bryce forced himself to remain calm and passive, knowing if he showed too much interest or protective instincts, the others would catch on. Santora didn't climb to the apex of a drug cartel by being stupid and probably excelled at reading body language. How better to catch a double-crosser than to pick up on certain telling signals before confronting the individual?
Shark shoved the container of money into Bryce's hands as Santora took possession of Lark, who put up a token resistance.
Where in the hell are they? Bryce stepped back a notch, keeping his attention focused on the men in charge. "Since I brought her in, I should have a higher status in the group now. At least above Rodriguez." He tossed out the idea to buy another minute.
Shark sneered while Santora moved backward, hauling Lark with him. "Perhaps. I will have to consider your request. Later. Right now, I have more pressing matters." His gaze raked over her body.
Shit. With no other excuse to stay, Bryce eased back to the door he'd entered, slowly making his way out as if extra cautious. The men in power positions marched across the vast room while those with arms stood relaxed, watching him with bored expressions on their faces. With a last glimpse, he strode through the door and jumped back in the car, cursing his luck and the men who were to be their backup.
Ideas and possibilities raced through his mind, anything to get to Lark and fast. He cranked the engine, then slipped the car into gear. Backing, he turned around and headed toward the main gate, only to come to a stop at a semi-concealed area on the opposite side of the mansion, one with tall evergreen trees providing dense shade from their drooping branches. He turned the engine off then slipped out, taking a sniper rifle and a handful of grenades from the large black duffel Lark left behind. Tools in hand, he stalked in the shadows, warily sliding from cover to cover.
The first explosion sent the smaller storage building rocketing into the sky, its contents showering back to earth like pieces of brightly colored confetti. Chaos followed.
Bryce sprinted for the large warehouse, taking positions of relative safety whenever possible in his haste to find Lark and wrench her away from Santora. His powerful legs churned as he dodged one guard and slammed the butt of his rifle into the man's face before he could even raise his weapon or an alarm. After verifying the man wouldn't be getting back up again soon, Bryce loped down the long side of the building, pausing only to scan the area and to peek around the corner before continuing ahead.
Sounds of a violent struggle sounded through the thin tin wall of the warehouse in the area where he believed the office to be. He cussed a blue streak as he realized no windows or doors existed on that side of the building. He couldn't get in to provide any assistance to Lark.
The rat-a-tat-tat of automatic fire carried loudly across the compound, mixing in with another kaboom as more solid structures crumbled under the explosive power.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noted a figure covered in fatigues place another charge several feet behind him next to the foundation. With a sharp whistle, he garnered the man's attention, pointing and mouthing "Lark." The man nodded and waved him back a few steps before pushing the button and flying around the corner, his weapon bouncing against his back the whole way.
A small blast rippled the wall of the building, strong enough to bend and tear walls down, but not nearly the massive destruction seen at other areas. Crumpled tin pulled away from the frame, producing jagged openings, some small, others larger.
Bryce found the nearest hole and twisted his body enough to slide through the gap before taking a moment to reorient himself. Boxes and crates lay haphazardly across the once open area, their contents flung all over. Suspicious white powder lay in streaks across the concrete and clouded the air.
Guards ran from the building, shirts held over their faces as they protected their lungs from the air thick with cocaine. More than one coughed and choked as they scurried for safety and fresh air.
Bryce quickly knotted his handkerchief over his face before heading toward the room where Shark and Santora dragged Lark. The walls stood, though fragile and with multiple separations of the paneling. The wooden door was bent in half, the top yanked clear off its hinges while the bottom portion clung desperately to what remained of the frame.
"You dirty rotten bastard." Lark's voice full of anger carried to him, propelling him into quick motion.
He hurdled through the door, landing and turning in one motion, prepared to defend himself or Lark from whatever came their way. Instead, the scene before him had his jaw dropping open in disbelief.
Lark stood over a prone male body. She was kicking the crap out of the guy's side and kidneys, still holding her purse in hand as if she did no more than merrily bounce through the mall, window shopping as she went.
"Get up so I can castrate you properly, you lowlife scum!"
Blinking, Bryce watched her go off on the unmoving body. Another body lay across the back wall, blood soaking through the front of his shirt. Death by bullet was the diagnosis.
"Lark!" he yelled over her fury. "Time to go!"
For the first time, she looked up, her blue-eyed gaze latching onto his face, before glancing back down once more. "I'm not done."
"Yes, you are." He grabbed her by the arm, giving her a small shake. "The guys are blowing the place up and cocaine clouds are everywhere. We don't get going, you'll end up high and on a gurney. Now move!" The command rivaled an enraged drill sergeant.
The words must have sunk in as she scurried behind the desk to grab a laptop. "Files. In there." She pointed to a small cabinet.
Bryce jerked the door open, grabbed everything inside, and tucked all the paperwork into his shirt for safekeeping. Spying one more laptop in the bottom drawer, he tucked it under one arm and marched over to Lark.
She rifled through the desk for another moment, grabbed a couple more items, then gave him a quick nod. Bryce took the lead, high-tailing it over the broken door and back through the partially destroyed wall, holding his breath until they reached fresh air. When they reached his rental car on the far side of the property, he tossed everything in the trunk, gun included, and slid into the driver's seat. Lark followed suit, plopping into the passenger's side and pulling up the discarded communication gear from the floorboard.
"Clear. Target tango."
"Copy," Night said as a large boom sounded in the background. Orders flowed in Navajo as Night and his men communicated.
Bryce shook his head at the smile of excitement on her face. She resembled a child on Christmas morning. "You want to go play?"
She shot him a huge grin, jumped out of the front seat, and dug through her bag for a few remaining weapons. Goods in hand, she sprinted back toward the action, tugging on the black gas mask as she went.
Bryce followed suit after locking the car up tight and setting the alarm, his relief intermingling with satisfaction at their success and the sheer happiness he spied on Lark's face. A true warrior woman.
He could no more keep her out of the fight than he could jump to the moon. And, honestly, he couldn't blame her a bit, as even he caught the bug, eager to bound into the foray to destroy yet another pox on the planet and prevent a few more kids from being poisoned by hardcore drugs.
As he reached the corner of the house, the hairs on his neck stood at attention. Throwing himself against the north wall, he peered around the corner, searching for a back entrance that would allow him to slip in undetected in case anyone decided to take shelter in the old house located just in front of the presently exploding warehouses that served as Santora's base. Gun in hand, Bryce slowly and quietly advanced on a side door, ignoring the chaos nearby. Hearing no footsteps or gunfire, he kicked the screen door open.
He hugged the doorframe, counting to ten under his breath, before he crouched, rushed into the room, and plastered himself against the wall.
Flicking a glance across the room, he found appliances and furniture consistent with a modern kitchen. Nothing out of the ordinary greeted him, no mugs of steaming coffee or turned over items that would indicate someone used the room until the invasion drove them onward and possibly outward. Gliding to his left, he sought shelter behind a refrigerator, and peeked around, intently watching for any signs of movement or an ambush. Shark ventured out of this very house earlier, meaning a high probability existed for someone else to still be inside, biding their time to pick off the Wind Warriors at any given opportunity.
Bryce sucked in a breath and inched forward, his handgun at the ready in his outstretched arms. Step after step, he moved from one smaller room into a larger open family area, dotted with a handful of basic furniture. Another doorway loomed to his left. He maneuvered across the opening to get a brief glimpse inside. Another empty room. Satisfied, he pressed onward, freezing at the sound of shuffling papers coming from just ahead. All senses on alert, he made his way to the next doorway, and listened. Sure enough muted sounds carried out of the room to his ears. Drawers thudded softly as they were opened and shut.
Throwing himself around the corner, he aimed his weapon, finger on the trigger, as he spied the person inside. "Hands up!"
Bryce stared down the muzzle of a gun. Adrenaline hit him like a charging bull. Before he could duck or throw himself to the side, his mind clicked. The deep blue eyes staring into his own belonged to Night.
"Shit!" Bryce muttered on a relieved sigh.
Night lowered his weapon, a sly grin appearing on his face. "Damn, Sky. Trying to get yourself killed today?"
"Not really." His pulse dropped marginally after his scare and slowly leveled off. Running one hand through his short hair, he stared at the leader of the Wind Warriors. "You heard me?"
Stuffing a laptop and files into an over-the-shoulder carry bag, Night nodded, his attention on gathering up small piles from what appeared to be an office. "Yeah. Figured you were friendly. The bad guys always run like coyotes, none have enough courage or motivation to sacrifice themselves for a greedy drug boss."
"Thought it would be a target sitting in the catbird seat, ready to pick off our guys one by one." Stepping forward, he shoved a second pile of documents into Night's bag.
"Let's get going."
With a quick nod, Bryce followed Night, staying right on his heels as they carefully made their way to the front of the house and out the door. "For the record, you scared the shit out of me."
Night glanced over at him, a tiny hint of amusement crossing his face. "I hear that a lot."
Refraining from rolling his eyes, Bryce shook his head, not doubting the leader's words for a second. Night in full attack mode would be enough to scare the most hardened man.
Together, they left the house and trotted back toward the action.
Ten minutes later, the home and buildings lay in a smoldering mess sending up plumes of smoke into the air. Santora and his top generals had been dispatched to Hell and tons of cocaine either burned or blew away in the attack. Even if someone wanted to, they couldn't repair the damaged caused by the team and their powerful explosives.
Chapter 15
Thomas slouched across his large wooden desk with his nose buried in a pile of paperwork as it had been all morning. "I'm tired of this shit," he murmured as he rubbed tired eyes.
Maybe he could retire soon. A couple more years of dual income from the department and from Santora might be enough to allow him to live in comfort for the rest of his life. He could live on the beach, drive a sports car, and pick up young, pretty chicks. A party every night and no more kissing ass to keep his supervisors happy or ferreting away tiny scraps of information just in case one of the guys on the drug payroll wanted to play hardball. No. He would take it all with him, become anonymous, and live his days in the sun.
He could leave work early and stop by Lark's apartment once more. Take her to Santora. Earn the cold million. That alone would put him on the expressway to retirement. A small fortune to most, it would chop off a year of service to the federal government, grinding away day after day in an office full of idiots and smart-asses, digging through more political tape and harassment than one man could stand. He would be done with this crappy job just as soon as he found Lark and delivered her on a silver platter.
With a frustrated sigh, he resumed reading the latest memo from his regional supervisor.
A knock sounded on his door. Without bothering to look, he growled in that direction. "Come in." Tearing his focus from the paper, he stared up at three unfamiliar faces. "I'm busy. So whatever it is, just say it."
Three men, all in dark suits, stood before him. Clean shaven and wearing tinted sunglasses, they resembled dozens of men working in all branches of the federal government. He may not recognize them individually, but he did the uniforms.
The blond stepped up to his desk while reaching inside his jacket pocket. "Thomas?"
"Yeah."
A badge flashed. "FBI. You're under arrest."
His mouth dropped open as the words slowly sunk in. "What the hell? What for?" Standing, he glared at the men, a hint of panic sparking in the pit of his stomach. They didn't appear to be joking, which could only mean one thing…
"Conspiracy. Drug trafficking. Fraud. The list goes on, but we'll save that for the judge."
The other two men slid on either side of him, each pulling an arm behind his back while the leader slapped handcuffs around his wrists.
"You bastards. You have nothing on me."
Once more the blond faced him, a grim smile plastered on his face. "Oh, I think we do."
They led him from the room—through the entire DEA office—to their vehicle before shoving him in the backseat. They climbed in, buckled their seatbelts, and the driver pulled into traffic.
"You know what happens to a cop that gets thrown in jail, don't you?"
Thomas swallowed hard, his head swimming with confusion and dread, even as a cold sweat broke out. He could only pray his lawyer could intervene and convince a judge to set him free. Otherwise, he would walk into a nightmare straight from hell and suffer the fires of eternal punishment. He did know what happened to a cop tossed in the brink. The stuff of nightmares.
Chapter 16
Slapping the cell phone shut, Lark beamed up at the group of men sitting around a large table at a local mom-and-pop restaurant. "Got him."
Each had switched combat gear for normal clothing after stopping by Loco's condo to get cleaned up first. Lark finally met Oakley, the woman who had tamed the cranky ex-Marine enough to put a smile and expression of absolute adoration on his face when they were together. She wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. Oakley declined their offer to tag along, citing a departmental meeting at the junior college where she taught, but didn't leave without Loco planting a hot kiss full of promise on her lips. Lark simply shook her head at the gesture, still amazed at the transition from surly beast to devoted fiancé.
"I would have loved to see the bastard's face when the FBI marched in and arrested him," Bry
ce said before sticking a French fry in his mouth.
"Ryan said Thomas was all arrogant and huffy until they got in the car and the other guys started talking about how inmates treated former cops. Then he turned positively green." She couldn't wipe the happiness off her face, knowing that not only did they capture a dangerous mole, but her team took out another main pipeline for drugs in the process. A good day's work in her opinion. "The Feds are still digging through the computers and files we dropped off, but preliminary consensus is that there is more than enough to convict him and the other traitors in the department."
Night took a bite of his hamburger. "Sky? Assuming this undercover assignment is over, what'll you do next?"
Bryce sucked on the straw and swallowed before answering. "Report in and probably return to my job, detective for the Rocky Hill Police Department."
"Ever consider leaving?" Spoon asked from across the table.
"Every now and again, just like every other worker in the world, I guess." He shrugged.
"When you're ready for a change, have Lark call me." Night wiped his hands on a napkin.
"Huh? Why do you think I'll still have his phone number in a year or two?" She blinked at her boss.
A small smile appeared on Night's face. "Because someone was getting all hot and bothered in the car earlier when I called, and by the way you two look at one another now, you'll be getting friendly again soon."
Lark's face burned. "Like you guys aren't going straight home to do the same thing."
"Of course we are. It's instinct. Go to battle other males then return home to celebrate by mating with the female."
"Been watching those nature shows again, Loco?" Cale slurped loudly on his nearly empty cup.
Lark grinned wickedly. "Oakley doesn't let him watch the Playboy channel anymore, so that's the next best thing."
Loco snorted then winked at Bryce. "She needs that perky butt spanked a few dozen times, but she's a damned good shot, so we tolerate her. Barely."
Bryce met her gaze with a gleam in his eye. "Any woman that can go into a small room with two deadly thugs and come out unscathed and threatening to cut their balls off after they're dead certainly gets my attention."
Sky's Lark Page 8
