Wild Justice (Delta Force Book 3)

by M. L. Buchman

  “Whisky bar amidships. We’re up above the open skylight. Twenty-two rats plus one in double wrist casts. Two non-combatants behind the bar.”

  Sofia could hear them still egging each other on. She’d only give it a ten percent chance of getting ugly; she’d certainly heard worse.

  “Duane,” Sofia tried pushing against his shoulder but he wasn’t going anywhere. “Let it go.” They were so alpha-idiot raunchy. She upgraded the chances of action to fifteen percent and climbing. Initially only four or five were being vocal, but it was up to half now. There had to be a way to—

  “In thirty,” Kyle called back.

  “No! Wait!”

  Duane shushed her.

  Damn it! She knew better and lowered her voice—not that the SOGs could hear her. They were up to twenty percent and climbing on the probability-of-action scale. She’d listened to plenty of intelligence traffic over the years to know that there was no way this was going to end well, not at the rate it was escalating.

  At some other time she’d have to reconsider growth rates of group pressure dynamics. At thirty percent it was fast becoming a certainty, so why were her trained instincts still classifying it as only thirty…now forty percent likelihood of action?

  “Duane, you’ve got to find another way.” This time she actually had to raise her voice a little to be heard over the escalating cloud of machismo.

  He pulled something out of a thigh pocket. He leaned through the rail and attached it to the edge of the skylight. A micro surveillance video camera.

  She checked it out. Nothing fancy, thirty dollars retail online. She liked the low-techness of it. The Activity had a similar cam that they almost never took in the field because it cost closer to a thousand. Probably with about the same performance specs.

  “You can help or you can step aside. But no one gets to talk about women that way. Especially not around a Delta team.” He unshouldered the FAST rope and tied one end around the rail.

  “All you have is live ammo,” she double-checked her own weapons. “The Simunitions are still in the restaurant.”

  “No one on the team will be using Simunitions,” his voice was low and dangerous.

  “But you can’t—”

  “Just don’t shoot to kill…unless you have to.”

  Duane balanced the coiled FAST rope on the rail so that it could be deployed down through the skylight with a nudge. He sat on the top of the rail and hooked one foot in place to keep himself balanced.

  Helpless, unsure what would happen next, Sofia scrabbled to get her own rifle in place. Some part of her had been counting:

  Twenty-eight.

  Twenty-nine.

  Duane placed his rifle against his shoulder and aimed down.

  Thirty.

  “Well, isn’t this cozy?”

  Duane watched Carla walk into the room as if entering a ladies social club—one for which standard attire included a pair of Glock handguns and an HK416 over her shoulder.

  The sudden silence was deafening.

  “You know, I have some really bad news that you boys aren’t going to like.”

  “Oh, and what’s that?” The big commander with the flame tattoo, stepped up in front of Carla. He was at least a foot taller and each of the arms he had crossed over his chest was as big as her waist. He still had two paint splotches on his chest from his initial Simunitions death, and a line of six more down his back from when he’d shot Sofia after he was technically dead and Duane had decided to teach him a lesson. It must hurt like a line of wasp stings, at least he hoped so. The next time Duane shot him, it was going to hurt much more.

  “We just started streaming a nice little video of your conversation to our commanding officer. I’m sure you’ve heard what a patient man Delta Commander Colonel Michael Gibson is. Is there anything else you’d like to say to him? Now’s your chance.” Carla sounded all sweetness and light.

  She could bluff her way through a brick wall. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered with breaching charges when she was around.

  Two years ago—on the first day of Delta Selection—Duane had watched her face down over a hundred macho wannabes by herself. But still he couldn’t believe how cool she was standing alone in front of all these assholes. He’d bet that not a one realized Carla was already in command of the room though she was the smallest one by far. Several of the guys were chilling down fast.

  Not the commander.

  If he’d been pissed before, he was nearly apoplectic now.

  Carla put a hand to her ear as if listening. “Oh, Colonel Gibson said that he recalls you, Captain Victor (such an unfortunate name in the current situation).”

  Maybe she wasn’t bluffing. He should know better than to underestimate Carla.

  “He says that the court-martial was very memorable. Ooo, dishonorable discharge. Two years in Leavenworth,” she made loud tsking sounds. “He now has the Director of the CIA on line. Sounds like she doesn’t appreciate being woken up at 0200 Langley time. Look up, Captain.”

  He did. Not quite in the right direction to see Duane leaning out into the darkness above, but his face was very clear in the rifle scope’s and camera’s video feeds.

  His face shifted as he figured out why she’d made him look up and his expression twisted from pissed to mean. In a move so fast and liquid that Duane almost missed it, the leader snatched one of his sidearms as he turned toward Carla. Then he grabbed for her with his other hand—intent on hostage taking, or maybe being dumb enough to think he could teach Carla a lesson.

  Three things happened simultaneously.

  Duane used his sniper rifle to shoot the commander’s sidearm away, through the back of the man’s hand.

  Carla grabbed the arm that the commander was trying to grab her with, and twisted it up behind his back hard enough to make him scream in pain.

  And there was the sharp spit and the click of a bolt close beside him as Sofia used her silenced G28 to shoot the SOG commander in the knee.

  There was a momentary pause, then five of the men leapt to their feet.

  Duane pulled out his handgun, which wasn’t silenced, and shot an entire magazine into the walnut bar, placing a round in front of every SOG still seated there. The sudden roar filled the space and everyone froze.

  Except for the Delta team. Just as they’d been trained, they used the distraction to surge into the room from both directions, rifles up with the safeties off and sweeping from side to side.

  Someone flinched, and earned a round through the arm from Chad. Another swore and Sofia’s shot shattered the bottle in his hand.

  Carla stepped up to the former Captain Victor, kicked him in the shot-up knee, then disarmed him while he howled.

  Chad, who was as big as any of them, snapped out an evidence collection bag—a big, heavily-reinforced green garbage bag—and began collecting weapons, knives, and—in a smaller bag—anything else he could lay a hand on: wallets, IDs, watches, rings.

  Duane knew Chad well enough to know that it wasn’t just for show and humiliation. None of these guys were getting shit back. They were being robbed in middle of the night on a luxury cruise liner and just didn’t know it yet. Chad would probably, once the cameras were off, give it all to the bartenders still cowering behind the bar. It would make up for scaring a decade off their lives.

  Melissa stepped forward with a fistful of plastic ties and began binding them hand and foot. When one kicked out at her, Duane shot him in the foot. Melissa bound it with a sea green linen bar napkin—after she finished tying him up.

  Chapter 8

  Sofia found a room by herself. It wasn’t hard, the ship had a thousand passengers less than it usually did. The rest of the team had opted for a pair of facing suites. She had quietly asked one of the stewards for a simple room on a different deck.

  The SOGs—still bound—had been extracted before dawn. No CIA bird to whisk them back into whatever dark recesses the CIA’s Special Operations Group lurked. Colonel Gibson had called
in a Navy MH-53E Sea Dragon helo from a nearby aircraft carrier group. There might be no love lost between the Navy and Delta, but they were more than willing to team up against the SOGs. Especially after Duane had played his soundtrack for the helo’s flight crew. The Navy was the most gender-integrated service of them all and had a real penchant for protecting their own.

  Delta was to continue ashore with the cruise boat.

  Which left her in limbo.

  There was a soft knock on her door…and she made the mistake of answering it.

  She’d expected a steward and at the last second, when it was too late to stop, half-feared it might be Duane.

  “Hi!”

  “Uh, hi.” Sofia had never expected Carla Anderson. She was a thoroughly daunting woman despite her being several inches shorter than Sofia. Sofia still couldn’t believe how brave she’d been to walk into that room the way she did, and she’d done it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Carla wore her cinnamon-brown hair long and loose and looked like the fashion model next door. She also wore camos, a black t-shirt, Army boots, and a Glock 19 in a holster. Her face was dead serious.

  “Can I come in for a minute?”

  “Uh, sure. Sorry,” Sofia stepped back and held the door wide. “It’s not much, but you’re welcome to it.” The room had a king-size bed, a single chair at a desk, and a private bath. How they’d fit it all into a space smaller than her own bathroom in the Forteza family mansion without making it feel cramped was an engineer’s conjuring trick.

  Carla dropped into the lone chair. Not sure what else to do, Sofia sat on the bed and folded her hands.

  “Did Duane do something I need to know about?”

  He’d done a lot that Sofia didn’t want anyone to know about, including herself. His kiss. The way he’d gotten so angry on her behalf, for something that she’d accepted as just part of her role as a woman in Special Ops—at least she’d accepted it before tonight. The way…

  “Did he—” Sofia could see Carla gearing up, and then just saying it fast. “Do anything that I should have him court-martialed for?”

  “What? No! What made you think that?”

  Carla just waved her hand at the room. “Not quite the pick of a vacant luxury cruise ship. The Oceanwide Whisperer is a top-of-the-line boat, yet you lock yourself away three decks down and most of the way aft in a common suite.”

  “It’s not Duane.”

  “Then who? Who on my team?” It was a lethal snarl that made the jaguar’s roar in the jungle seem welcoming.

  “No one!” Sofia felt as if she was being backed into a corner that didn’t exist. Unaware, she had shifted across the bed until her back was against the headboard, which was the limit of how far she could get from Carla.

  “Then what the hell, Forteza?”

  “I’m trying to get away from me!” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but there it was.

  Carla froze for a long moment, then leaned back in the chair and propped her boots up on the foot of the bed. “Doesn’t work, does it?” Somehow she switched gears from cool Delta operator to thoroughly outraged then to understanding woman in mere seconds without any signs of the transition.

  Sofia could only shake her head at the sudden change that had come over the Carla. Minutes ago she wouldn’t have believed anyone that Carla Anderson could smile, yet here she was doing just that. It turned her from dangerously beautiful—like the lethal look of a top-quality butcher’s knife—to suddenly approachable.

  “Everyone on the team knows that I tried to avoid myself,” Carla continued. “Didn’t work for crap. You figure out how to do that you damned well better let me know the trick.”

  Sofia nodded again because it was all she could think to do.

  “Don’t speak much, do you?”

  “I’m trained to listen.”

  “Uh-huh. So what the hell is wrong with you?”

  “What?” Sofia was having a hard time keeping up with Carla’s conversational style.

  “What is it that you’re trying to hide from?”

  “Telling you would defeat that purpose, don’t you think?”

  Carla shrugged, leaned over to the mini-fridge that took up half of the foot space under the desk and grabbed a pair of San Pellegrino Limonatas and two Snickers bars, tossing one of each to her. “Too bad. I’m here. So spill.”

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “You can begin by telling me that this isn’t about a dead brother.”

  “I don’t have a dead— Wait. What?”

  Carla sighed, chomped down on her Snickers bar, and spoke around the mouthful. “Melissa and I both lost brothers. In different ways, but it’s what drove us both into Delta. Why are you here?”

  “I’m not Delta. I’m with The Activity.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s why you turned out to be a top performer in the field. We have baby D-boys fresh out of the Operator Training Course who don’t do as well. You kicked ass girl, both in Venezuela and a couple times last night, so cut the bullshit. Now give.”

  Whether it was the bludgeoning style of Carla Anderson’s staccato speech pattern or the unexpected kindness from the toughest woman she’d ever met, Sofia found that she was ready to speak. But that didn’t mean that she knew where to begin.

  “Family,” Carla prompted. “Maybe not a dead brother, but it’s always about family.”

  Sofia sighed, “Got me.”

  “Shit, if this ain’t the life.” Chad slapped Duane hard enough on the shoulder it was a surprise he didn’t dislocate something. Then he made up for it by handing Duane a beer so cold that it was dripping with sweat in the warm tropical air. Chad dropped into the next lounge chair over on their suite’s deck.

  The sun would be rising soon and right now the entire horizon above the dark Atlantic was painted in the softest possible pink with a pale blue arch above.

  Oh-six-hundred. Time to get some shut-eye soon, but Duane doubted that he’d be sleeping, even with a beer in him.

  All Duane could see was red.

  He’d seen that asshole SOG grab Sofia’s butt and squeeze it hard enough he’d probably left fingerprints. And something in her past had made that somehow part of “normal” life. The satisfying crack of his breaking wrist hadn’t been nearly enough payback. And then he’d tried doing the same thing with Carla, which made it even worse.

  When he’d overheard the SOGs’ talk—and it wouldn’t have taken too much to turn it back into just talk—it had been one offense too many.

  “You were hard on those guys. They can’t help it if they just stupid SOGs,” Chad wasn’t usually one for being insightful. “Don’t blame you, just being surprised, buddy. Not your usual style.”

  Duane only grunted.

  “Too bad the shits are outside of any military chain of command.” Chad’s comment snapped Duane back to present. “Hate to say it, but I finally get why they put us through all those stupid-ass sexual harassment trainings. I got a question, bro.”

  “What?”

  “Can see how you feel about her. Why’d you only break his wrist rather than his neck? Thought you were better trained than that.”

  Duane couldn’t agree more. “Mistake I won’t make again.”

  Even at his womanizing worst, Chad never did anything a woman didn’t want. Most people didn’t know that about Chad because he was so damn smooth that women seemed to fall in love with him faster than you could chug a beer. But Duane had seen—Chad always left them with a smile. A trick Duane had never figured out how to do himself. Ultimately most of them scorched his back with their anger when it came time to walk away. Then the “I’m sorry” letters, begging him to call them. He’d learned not to.

  Chad was still grinning at him.

  “What?”

  “You got it so bad, you didn’t even hear it go by, bro.”

  “Hear what?”

  “Duane and Sofia sittin’ in a tree,” Chad sang. “K-i-s-s-i-n—”

  Duane stood up
and emptied his beer over Chad’s head, while he kept singing, before heading into his room for a sleepless night.

  “Colina Soleada Wines? Sunny Hill? That’s your family? Shit, you’re high end, girl.”

  Sofia wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

  Carla bit off another big chunk of her Snickers bar and softened it with a swallow of Limonata. “You part of the family? Like in tight?”

  Sofia sighed. “Eldest of four and named heir.”

  “Damn!”

  “That’s assuming Mama does not find some way to get control and run it into the ground first. I think that’s half the reason my nana is still alive, keeping Mama from screwing it up. If she didn’t, my brothers would. They’re worse than her in some ways. She self-centered and careless, they’re low and mean.” She’d learned hand-to-hand combat fighting them off. Thankfully, they’d been too lazy to stick with the martial arts classes that Nana had started each of them in. Her battles with her brothers never lasted more than a few seconds. She’d made sure her little sister had the same training. If not for Nana, both of their lives would have been so much worse.

  “So, your grandmother is why you are the way you are.” Carla stated it as simple fact.

  “Are you telepathic or something?”

  “No, I’m just interested in what drives people.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me? I’m easy. I’m a crazy bitch.” Then she paused and crossed her feet the other way on the bed as if suddenly uncomfortable. Her voice went so soft that Sofia had to lean forward to hear her despite the small room’s deep silence. “Probably gonna get me killed someday. The idea never bothered me much, but that was pre-Kyle. I still act the way I always did, but I can see it worrying him.”

  “Like tonight?”

  “I was pissed. We fight so goddamn hard to do what we do. I was the first woman to make it into Delta the hard way. Not because they needed a woman on the team so they ‘borrowed’ her from the Coast Guard’s MSRT or somewhere and never gave her back. I walked in through the front gate and survived Selection and the Operator’s Training Course. Melissa was Number Two. We women battle for every inch, and Delta welcomed us—most of them anyway. The five or six lead SOGs in that group here are like a concentrated slime mold of all the worst of the worst from the whole military.”