by Diana Duncan
He propped pillows behind them and slid an arm around her waist, teasingly tickled her hip. “Fuel up with your coffee, then we’ll test that theory.”
She snuggled against his side. “You are a world class cuddler, cowboy. With stamina up the wazoo.” She tipped up her face and received an amused, tender kiss. “Any word from the hospital?”
“Zane texted late last night after you’d fallen asleep. Said Esteban is healing well. He’s still somewhat weak, but should be released in a few more days after the docs review all the test results.” He swigged coffee. “And Montoya asked Wolfe to pass on his everlasting gratitude to you for saving him. Says he owes you an enormous debt.”
“You know, it’s strange. Until now, I hadn’t actually considered the repercussions of saving our enemy’s life. If I’d delayed reacting for even two seconds, just let it happen …” She shook her head. “But I didn’t. Couldn’t. I’m not out to play God, but to find justice.”
“Yeah,” he gritted. “Death would be too quick. Too easy. I want to see that jackhole accustomed to wealth and privilege rot in prison the rest of his miserable life.”
“How does he disguise rampant evil behind such a kind, mannerly façade? It freaks me out.”
“Sociopaths don’t have consciences.”
“I know, but an evil drug lord building hospitals and sewage treatment plants and establishing a handcrafted industry that supports an entire village? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Life doesn’t always make sense, sweetheart. When daylight finally shines on all of Esteban’s activities, he’s going down.”
Dallas’ cell rang, making her jump. He set down his mug, lifted the phone off the tray table. “Hey, Zane, what’s—” He frowned. “What? Jesus. You’re sure?” He briefly closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Mia’s tender lover was gone … and he’d become her fierce gladiator. “Yeah. Tell him to hang on, I’ll be right there.”
He hung up, leapt out of bed and dragged on his boxer briefs, then black Levi’s. He clipped a pair of handcuffs to the back belt loop. “Soledad’s been kidnapped. Esteban just got a package at the hospital … containing her left pinky finger. The print positively ID’d as hers. And Carlos’ body was found at the mansion, his throat slit from ear to ear.”
Her spine went ramrod stiff. “Oh, my God!”
“I’m guessing it’s the rival cartel. Apparently, they can’t seem to off Montoya, so they’ve decided they’ll hit him financially—twenty million dollars.” He yanked a black t-shirt over his head, thrust his arms through the sleeves. “They’re going to call Esteban back with the drop point, and he’s rattled enough to give me the combo to his safe to collect it.”
“What’s to stop them from killing the Montoyas after Esteban gives them the money? They do want Esteban dead.”
Dallas sat on the edge of the mattress to stuff his feet into socks, pull on his boots. “He’s staying in the hospital. I’m making the ransom drop.”
Her stomach heaved. “What … what’s to stop them from killing you?”
He surged to his feet, retrieved his shoulder holster with his Glock, buckled it on. “Not a damned thing. But I can’t not go. I can’t let an innocent woman get tortured and slaughtered because of who her father is.”
“The police … shouldn’t we—”
“Bring in the cops, and she’s as good as dead. Not enough time, anyway. By the time they get done asking questions, and analyzing and organizing any tactical response, it’ll be far too late.” He stuck his smaller Glock in his back waistband, shoved a huge sheathed knife into his right boot.
“Won’t you be searched for those weapons?”
“If they know what they’re doing. But they’ll expect me to go in hot. Might miss one, though, and one is all I need.” He bared his teeth. “And they’ll be armed, so their weapons will still be within my reach.”
She willed herself not to tremble. “What do you want me to do?”
“Access my gun safe and arm yourself. Then stay put. The de-encryption should be hitting the finish line any minute. Hit print and type in 434972, then you can compile the data. Got it?” When she repeated the number to him, his laser gaze bored into her. “Mia, no matter what happens, you stay put until you hear from me, understand? And if anyone other than a uniformed cop comes through the door, shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Why would a uniformed …” The implications crashed over her, and she went ice cold, increasing nausea churning in her stomach. The police would come to the house to notify any next of kin. She scrambled out of bed. “Oh. Oh, God. Dallas—”
“Listen up, darlin’, this is what I do, and I’m goddamned good at it. I don’t intend to die today.” He gripped her shoulders, slammed his mouth down to devour hers. Then hugged her tight. “I’ll be back for you.”
Shrugging on his leather blazer, he stalked toward the door.
“Cowboy.” Her shaky hail halted him, spun him around to look at her. “If you don’t come back, I will come looking for you … and that’s a promise.”
Glowering, he pointed at her. “Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.” Then he wheeled and strode out.
She hurried to the window to watch him stride down the driveway and climb into the Jeep. The wipers slicked raindrops from the windshield. As if Dallas felt her gaze, he looked up, and their eyes locked. He gave Mia another savage warrior’s grin, saluted her … and then he was gone.
Empty and alone, she wrapped her arms around herself, willing back the fear. She was now linked so closely with Dallas, he was an integral part of her. And if something happened to him, it’d be worse than losing a limb.
He’s smart and strong, and knows what he’s doing. He’ll be okay.
She sent up a silent plea, Please, please, if anyone Up There is listening, please keep him safe.
She quickly showered and dressed in jeans and a long sleeved pine green shirt, which had “magically” appeared in her bureau. Even though they’d picked up some of her own things and her car, new clothes kept appearing.
Mia opened the gun safe and chose a Ruger .22 semi-automatic—with which she’d had somewhat better luck hitting the target—and a baby Glock, in case she needed more firepower. She loaded the weapons, then stashed extra clips in her jeans pocket. Since she didn’t own a holster, she followed Dallas’ example and stuck both guns in her back waistband.
Comfortable: not so much. Peace of mind in packing to the eyeteeth: priceless.
Downstairs, she browned a slice of toast and poured another coffee she didn’t want, mostly to try to keep her hands busy and her mind off the unthinkable.
She’d just finished eating when Dallas’ laptop beeped. She entered the print command and code, then the screen flashed, started scrolling data … and she heard the remote printer upstairs begin to spit out pages.
He’d been right about the timing. At least she could contribute by reading and compiling possible evidence.
She raced up to his office. Snatching up the first thick stack, she sat at his desk to skim and sort. Some client files she recognized, so she set those aside.
Twenty minutes of unremarkable files printed, followed by another beep, then Paul’s emails started rolling out, most recent first.
Mia read the top three, dealing with mundane office matters. Number four was an airline confirmation … open date, first class one way for three people to the Maldives—which had no extradition treaty with the United States. As she scanned the next few, she gasped. Her stomach pitched and she got the shakes.
Dallas was walking into a trap. One even he wouldn’t see until too late.
She scrabbled her phone from her pocket and hit speed dial one. Come on. Come on, Dallas, pick up!
When the connection click sounded in her ear, she inhaled. Thank God.
A tinny recorded voice intoned, “The party you are trying to reach is out of the calling area. Please try again later.”
Shit! She couldn’t even leave him a warni
ng message.
Mia stuffed her phone in her pocket and tore downstairs for her purse, rummaged for her keys. He hadn’t told her where the drop was taking place, but if he was in an out-of-service area, she had an educated guess where he’d gone. She prayed she was right.
Dallas had almost an hour’s head-start, but hopefully stopping at Esteban’s to collect and load twenty million had delayed him enough.
Her throat tightened. Because unless she reached him in time, Dallas could end up dead.
* * *
Mia barely remembered the frantic rain-swept drive up the winding back roads on Mt. Hood. Esteban’s ski lodge was the perfect place for the exchange. Remote, sparsely inhabited, surrounded by rugged wilderness that would muffle gunshots … or screams.
She parked on the graveled access road far enough from the lodge where her Bug wouldn’t be seen. All her earlier weeks of surveillance came to her aid as she zigzagged through the dim, foggy underbelly of old-growth forest. She knew exactly where to go, and how to get there.
Panting, she leaned behind a massive evergreen trunk and surveyed the rambling stone and wood lodge tucked among mist-shrouded trees.
Paul’s silver Bentley was parked in the circular turn-around out front. Only Paul would drive a luxurious status symbol to a rustic mountain retreat.
Mia crept around the building, covertly looking in the windows, left undraped to take advantage of the magnificent view. Living room, dark and empty. Kitchen, dark and empty. Bedrooms one through six, dark and empty. Den … jackpot!
A lamp illuminated Paul sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, sipping a glass of ice water with a slice of lemon and thumbing through a golf magazine … while a young woman in a blue dress and jacket sat slumped in a wooden chair in the corner, bound to the chair with duct tape. Long raven hair hung limp and tangled, a nasty purple bruise mottled her right temple, and bloodstained gauze wrapped the space on her left hand where her pinky finger used to be. Tears and grime stained her peaked face.
Isabel’s face.
Frowning, Mia shook her head. Why was Isabel here, and how did her fingerprint pass as Soledad’s?
She circled back to the front door, didn’t see anyone else. Her pulse kicked. They must be headed for the money drop. She had to hurry!
Standing behind the Bentley, she scooped up a rock from the graveled parking area, threw it at the lodge’s front door with a loud thunk. Then she ducked, peering cautiously around the front tire.
The doorknob rattled, and Paul stuck his head out, glanced around. He scowled, then retreated inside.
She had to repeat the rock toss twice more before Mr. Lazy finally strode outside, muttering, “What the fuck?”
Gripping the Ruger the way Dallas had taught her, she rose from her hiding place and pointed the muzzle at him. “Hello, you sonofabitch. Don’t move.”
Paul froze, stunned eyes wide. “Mia? Wha—”
“I read a couple of your cringe-inducing emails to Soledad and hers to you. Still have the bad habit of forgetting to empty your trash bin, I see. Still arrogant, careless, and not as smart as you think you are. So, you and Soledad have been doing the nasty, and the evidence leads me to believe you and she and Daddy Grayson plan to rip-off her papa and fly away to the Maldives. But why the hell is Isabel here missing a finger instead of Soledad, and where’s the ransom drop happening?”
“I … uh … How did you … ? Wait, are you here because of McQuade?” He sniggered a dirty laugh. “Color me surprised when Soledad told me about your elopement. Poor sorry bastard, married to the frigid snow queen. And he brought you as backup? He must be really hard up. So to speak, ha-ha.”
“I don’t have time for your crap, Paul. Tell me what’s going on, or else.”
“Or else what?” He crossed his arms, smirked. “Do you honestly think I believe you’re going to shoot me?”
She stepped closer. Racked the slide, released the safety. “Last chance.”
He flipped her the bird.
Dallas’ voice echoed inside her head. Some circumstances force you to play offense, not defense. Mia aimed down the sight. And pulled the trigger … exactly the way Dallas had taught her.
Paul screamed. Dropping to the ground, he rolled in the dirt, clutching his right foot bleeding through the hole in his tasteful Bruno Magli loafers. “Jesus Christ! You fucking shot me! You shot my foot, you cunt!”
“Be glad I decided against using the Glock, or you wouldn’t have a foot anymore.” She re-aimed the pistol. “The next round is going into Wee Willie Winkie. Talk. Everything. And fast.”
“Jesus, Jesus.” He was sitting up, blubbering now. “It fucking hurts. And I’m bleeding! I’m dying!”
“Unfortunately, I doubt it.”
“I need a doctor!”
She aimed at his crotch. “The only thing you’ll need is a strap-on if you don’t spill the intel. Now.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t.” His complexion seasick green, his words tumbled out. “We uh … The plan is to take the twenty mil and then execute Isabel. Soledad switched all their medical and dental records, and with just enough damage to the face, nobody will question Soledad’s transformation into ‘Isabel.’ Upon hearing the bad news, Esteban suffers a fatal ‘heart attack’ in the hospital, courtesy of an untraceable drug the new-and-improved ‘Isabel’ injects into his IV when she arrives to console him. Lone, tragic survivor ‘Isabel’ inherits her uncle’s empire … which we’ve increased beyond our wildest dreams by smuggling drugs though his beloved factory. And we all live happily ever-after in extradition-proof tropical paradise, richer than God.”
Mia’s lip curled. Nest of coldblooded vipers. “And Dallas?”
“No loose ends. Sorry, babe, you’re about to become a widow.”
Her heart stopped. “How?”
“He’ll die a hero, in the failed attempt to rescue sweet, innocent ‘Soledad.’” Paul sniffled, then sneered at her through his tears. “After McQuade hands over the dough and thinks he has Soledad safe and unharmed at his side, and while he’s keeping a sharp eye on her ‘abductors,’ she’ll pull a gun and shoot him in the head. Don’t fret, wifey, he’ll never know what hit him.”
Kicking into painfully high gear again, her heart jammed in her throat. “Where and when?”
“Old dead-end logging road, about five miles southwest of here.” He moaned, clutched his foot. “You think you won. Think you beat me, don’t you, you frigid bitch? But you don’t have time to charge to the rescue. Exchange is already going down. Any moment now, McQuade will be banging on the Pearly Gates.”
No! Not happening! “Throw me your car keys. Now!”
When he complied, she scooped them from the gravel. “Get up.”
“I can’t,” he whined. “I’m hurt.”
“Tough. Move your sorry ass, or I’ll shoot and leave you singing soprano.”
Whimpering and limping, he obeyed.
She flung open the trunk. She couldn’t leave him to escape or possibly warn the others. “Climb in.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
He glanced at her face, gulped. Then hurriedly climbed in.
“And Paul?” She slapped her hand on the lid. “There’s no such thing as a frigid woman. Just incompetent men.”
Then she slammed it, locking him inside.
Tucking the .22 in her waistband, she jumped into the Bentley. She’d have to go back for Isabel later.
A growing sense of dread chilled her blood as she sped as fast as possible over rutted back roads. Mia took a deep breath and shoved aside roiling fear. She had to stay focused, or Dallas would die.
She drove down the muddy logging track as far as she dared, then parked. Slipping into the storm-darkened woods, she broke into a run. She had mere moments to save the man she loved.
The thought of loving him no longer terrified her.
But losing him did.
Mia ran through the rain, fought through thick, we
t undergrowth with skeletal branches scraping her face, tearing her clothes. Nearing the dead-end, she slowed to a stealthier pace. Finally, through the trees, she spotted a small muddy clearing where a ring of giant evergreens had been cut down, leaving enormous stumps. Dallas’ Jeep was parked facing outward on the exit road.
She’d gotten here in time!
Dallas stood taut and alert on one side of the clearing, five wheeled suitcases at his feet, empty hands held slightly away from his sides.
Harper Grayson and a big, swarthy man she recognized as the factory sniper stood beside a black SUV on the opposite side of the cleaning, with Soledad between them. Both men were gripping pistols. Grayson’s was stuck in Soledad’s ribs. Mia gulped. The sniper had his gun trained dead-center on Dallas’s chest.
Soledad’s hair was tousled, her blue dress and jacket—identical to the outfit Isabel was wearing in the lodge—rumpled and dirty, and a bruise marred one aristocratic cheekbone. A convincing-looking bloodied bandage decorated her left hand.
As Mia watched, the lying bitch squeezed out a few tears. “Señor Dallas, I am so afraid. Please help me.”
“Don’t worry,” Dallas assured her. “These gentlemen don’t want Esteban’s wrath coming down on them. They’ll collect their twenty million dollars, then they’ll be leaving.”
Mia dropped to her belly. Crawling through the fog-chilled undergrowth, adrenaline sharpened every sense. Far above, a hawk circled, his piercing cry echoing over the clearing. The bitter scent of pine mingled with dank dirt and decaying vegetation. Pine needles stabbed into her palms and wet leaves clung to her hands. An acid backwash of panic leached the moisture from her mouth. If she failed…
She squelched the thought.
Failure isn’t an option.
“We’d like to see the money.” Harper’s self-assured bass voice carried across the clearing.
“Certainly,” Dallas replied. With everyone focused on him unzipping and re-zipping the suitcases, Mia maneuvered into position. “Beautiful sight isn’t it? And it’s all yours.”
Breathing raggedly, Mia crouched behind a massive fallen trunk and eased the Glock from her waistband. She inhaled, tried to slow her racing pulse, steady her trembling limbs.
