Olga followed and stood nervously at her side. “What are you doing? They will be here for the plates soon. We can’t be near the door. They’ll punish us for sure.”
“Give me a strand of your hair,” Maggie said, her gaze on her friend’s coarse blond locks. “Mine is too fine.”
Olga looked at her like she was crazy. But then, as though resigned to the inevitable, she squinted, reached up and gave a sharp tug. Two strands of hair came free, at least eighteen inches in length. Perfect for her plan.
“I need to feed one of those through the button hole. Will you help?” She was asking a lot, Maggie knew that. If she thought she’d come out bad with broken ribs and bruises, it was nothing compared to what they’d done to Olga. Her friend had come close to dying, and all because she’d chosen to help.
“Just this. Then you can go sit with the others, okay? I promise.”
They sank to the floor for the best lighting. It took some time, and a few fumbles, but finally the button was threaded.
Maggie hugged her friend. “Go now, I’ve got the rest. Just be ready in case it works.”
Olga opened her mouth, then clamped down on whatever she’d been about to say. With a last well-founded skeptical glance at Maggie’s improvised weapon, she hurried over and crouched with the youngest of the girls brought in to be sold.
That was reason enough to do whatever she could to get them free. These girls had families who loved them and were no doubt worried sick. If she didn’t do something, they’d never see their daughters again.
She stood, wrapped the silken strands around her hand until the button was lined up between her index and middle finger. Then Maggie hid behind the door and waited.
2
Frank Stein finished curry-combing and patted his bay, Sadie, on the withers. They’d spent a long day rounding up ornery cattle, both of them could use a hearty meal and good night’s rest. Unfortunately, his rest would have to come later, he still had a couple of hours’ worth of accounts to attend to before he could seek bed.
“We’re getting too old for these dawn to dusk days, Sadie girl.”
She nickered and blinked great brown eyes at him. Her way of showing affection. Frank rubbed behind her ear where she liked it best, then dumped the scoop of grain in her feeder. He made sure she had plenty of fresh hay and water before leaving the stall and hanging her bridle on the hook by the door ready for morning.
His feet dragged as he walked the long length of the barn and then made his way up the steep hill to the homestead. At least it was a nice evening. The stars were already beginning to show on the darkening Texas skyline. Winter would be here soon enough. Then it would be time to rest in front of a warm fireplace with a good book and maybe a hot rum toddy or three. But for now, it was all hands on deck. The push to get the cattle out of the hills and into the lower pastures taxed even the toughest cowhand. Many of his neighbors chose helicopters and quads to search out the strays. Frank preferred the old ways. It was easier on the calves for one thing, and for another he liked the satisfaction that came with tradition.
He climbed the wide plank steps up to the wrap-around deck and swept his hat off, preparatory to entering the house. His momma would have his hide if he ever walked in with his hat on; rules were rules.
“There you are. We was wondering what took ya.”
Frank was startled by the nasally tone of his foreman. He searched the shadows until he spotted Spencer sitting with his mom on the wooden swing that had hung on thick chains from the rafters since he was a boy.
He hesitated, then rubbed a tired hand through his sticky hair and moved to join them. Man, he needed a shower. And a beer.
“Hello, son. Supper’s warm in the oven. I figured you’d be home soon.”
Frank leaned down and pecked her still-soft cheek, inhaling the warm fragrance of vanilla that always reminded him of her. “Hi, Momma.”
He straightened and shook Spence’s hand, then moved to lean against the railing. If he sat now, he might never get up.
“You catch those strays in the Blue Hills you was after?” Spencer dug his toe down and stopped the gentle sway of the swing.
Frank’s eyes narrowed as his mom eased out of the grip Spencer had on her hand and ran nervous fingers through her carefully arranged hair. Obviously, he’d interrupted a date.
“Yeah,” he grumbled. “We got ’em.”
His mom shot him a look filled with reproach before she rose and tottered toward the door. “I’ll check on dinner. Don’t be long now, you hear?” She glanced back and smiled at Spencer. “I had a good time tonight. Thank you, Spencer.” Then she opened the screen door and stepped inside, letting it snap closed like a warning statement. One that Frank read loud and clear.
He sighed and tapped his hat against his thigh, uncomfortable with the man he’d known since childhood. He was grateful his mom had finally come out of mourning the loss of first her husband, and then the disappearance of her youngest son. And there was no one better than the ranch foreman. It’s just it reminded him of how alone he was.
“Sorry, Spence. Long day.”
The other man stood and joined him, several inches shorter than his six-five frame.
“I wish you’d let me help. Doc said I’m doing fine. You heard him.” Spence opened a can and shoved a wad of chewing tobacco into his mouth.
Frank shook his head. “I need you here. And I thought Doc told you to cut that shit out?” He nodded at the tin getting stowed into Spencer’s breast pocket.
Spence grinned and hit Frank with the stench of mint and tobacco mixed. “Nah. He just suggested I give it up. I will—one of these days.”
Hopefully while his boots were still this side up.
“You heard anything from your friends recently?” The older man stared across the ranch yard, the outbuildings taking on the shape of hulking black monsters in the dwindling light.
“Still looking,” Frank said, not surprised Spence knew the reason for his disquiet. Even when his father had been alive it was Spencer who had taken the two inquisitive Stein boys under his wing. He’d taught them everything from living off the land to the running of a busy cattle ranch. Their father had always been larger than life—someone they’d aspired to become. But not a dad in the conventional sense. Instead that job had fallen on ranch foreman and family friend, Spencer Tate.
Spence placed a weathered hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, son. You’ll find her.” He gave a final squeeze and a pat before ambling down the steps and onto the path to the ranch quarters where he had a comfortable log cabin along the creek bisecting the property.
She wasn’t his responsibility. Frank barely knew DEA Agent Holt well enough to call her Maggie. But he wanted to, and that was a problem. Because his buddy, retired Navy SEAL and now her partner, Adam O’Connor, had the jones for her too. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d gone rogue, deep undercover, and gotten herself into a mess she might not survive. He was better off forgetting about ink black hair and cinnamon sugar eyes and concentrate on what needed done here. Because this ranch and all the people who worked on it were his responsibility. And because she scared him. Magdalena Holt had the power to rip his safe, secure world apart and Frank wasn’t sure he could handle the fallout.
Bone weary, he sank into one of the fancy wicker chairs his mom had special ordered from Austin. He just needed a few minutes, then he’d go in and apologize for his rudeness earlier, have some dinner, and head for bed. The breeze played with his hair and coaxed a melody out of the chimes hanging near the door. He let his eyes drift shut and listened to the night. He loved this land, but the evenings carried their own type of magic. The blended rustling of leaves, babbling brook, and far-off lowing of cattle all served to send him into that place between sleep and wakefulness. The place where the dreams took over.
His Abuela was there, smiling with her eyes. Waving him forward. Into the abyss.
And then he was falling.
Everything tu
rned gray and dark. Walls surrounded him, drove him down. Further, and further, until the pits of hell opened and tried to suck him in. He clawed at the walls, his fingers scraped and bleeding, but the pull was too hard. He couldn’t save himself. And then he looked down, and there she was, Magdalena Holt. His Maggie. And it didn’t matter anymore. He let go of the wall and fell. Fell until the ground rose up and slammed his back, stealing the breath from his body. But, he’d found her. He’d found his true love.
Frank woke with a start. His heart pounded so hard he figured they could hear it in the next county. His skin was clammy and his hands had a death hold on the arms of the chair. But, inside—inside he knew. He was going to find Magdalena Holt, even if it killed him.
3
Adam O’Connor rubbed tired eyes and leaned back in his ratty old desk chair. The boys had been bugging him to get a new one for months, but he couldn’t. His partner, Maggie, had chosen the sleek beauty for him as a gift when they were signed up together. If he parted with it now, it would feel like he’d given up.
And that wasn’t going to happen.
She’d been gone for the better part of a year; first undercover, and then captured by the animals who dealt in human slavery.
He pushed to his feet, unable to deal with the fear of what she must be enduring, if she even still lived. She had to be alive, he couldn’t imagine what he’d do if she was gone.
He nodded to other agents as he made his way toward the elevator, but didn’t stop to chat. Unless it had something to do with his case, he wasn’t interested. Others in the office tended to give him a wide berth these days anyway, all except his SAC, Amanda Rhinehold. He wished she would avoid him. She’d been arguing with the brass for months to yank him off the case, insinuating he’d let it become personal.
No shit, Dick Tracy.
And she wasn’t even aware he and Maggie had been in a relationship. One he’d destroyed years ago. It had taken time, but they’d managed to overcome their differences and remain friends. And now his partner was out there being tortured and God knows what else. Of course it was personal. She couldn’t pull him for that. He wouldn’t let her.
He was almost to the elevator and his escape for the day when Rhinehold called his name.
Shit.
He turned and pushed open the half-closed door to her office. Did she have radar? “I was just on my way out. What’s up?”
She gave him the squint-eye he always received for his tone. He couldn’t help it, she rubbed him the wrong way. “What are your plans for the weekend, O’Connor?”
He stiffened. What business was it to her? “You asking me out, boss?”
“Watch your mouth, agent.” She tapped the top of the desk with blood-red nails. “I expect you to leave your work at the office, Adam. You need some downtime or you’re going to burn out.”
He got plenty of downtime, as she put it. And he’d get plenty more when he was dead.
“Is that all?” He reached back for the door knob, ready to get the hell out of the dragon’s den before she totally ruined his weekend.
“Sit down, O’Connor.”
Crap.
He reluctantly let go of the door and took a seat on one of the two steel chairs across from Rhinehold’s desk. Cold and indestructible—just like her.
Adam took his time straightening the crease in his suit pants and tightening the knot on his tie. He finally turned his attention to his boss to find her eyes locked on his fingers running down the front of his shirt to make sure he was properly buttoned. Interesting.
He cleared his throat, unaccountably warm all of a sudden and wishing he hadn’t fixed his tie quite so snug.
She lifted her gaze to his face and awareness flashed between them like the zap he got from a light switch when the air turned dry.
No. No. Double-damn no. He was never going to get involved with someone on the job again. Especially his superior. Not happening. Uh-uh. And besides, he wasn’t over Maggie.
“Agent O’Connor,” she began. “As you know I’ve been actively trying to remove you from the trafficking ring assignment.”
He cursed under his breath and shook his head. “This is my case, Amanda.”
She flushed a becoming pink that clashed with her sea green eyes.
Adam leaned forward, determined to change her mind—give him a chance. “Maggie and I worked this case for five long years. We have a clear trail from the time I was shot in Iraq as a SEAL, to the cartel running a money-laundering, sex trade out of a hotel in Las Vegas. They’re all in bed with the Russian mafia, Amanda. We can prove it. But you have to give me time.” He forced himself to relax. “Maggie went undercover just before you joined the team. She managed to infiltrate the cartel, but then she disappeared. As you know, she was responsible for the release of those hostages in Vancouver a couple of months ago, so we know she was still alive at that point.”
“That’s a long time to be held captive, Adam.” The empathy shining in her eyes unnerved him. He popped to his feet—startling her—and paced the room, rubbing an agitated hand along the back of his neck.
“It doesn’t matter. Maggie is resourceful. She won’t give up, and neither can I.” He placed his palms flat on the desk and leaned over, noticing a young boy perched on a log smiling out of a framed portrait near her computer. “Please, boss. I can’t let her die out there. I just can’t.”
Amanda stared at him for a long moment, her long brown hair in its fancy updo shining under the fluorescents.
“Okay, but you’re not going it alone anymore. Understood?”
A swell of something like relief temporarily robbed him of his voice. He nodded and got the hell out of there before she changed her mind.
They were going to bring Maggie home.
4
Maggie’s heart was in her throat. She looked down at her clammy hands, surprised they were rock steady. She’d been trained for this, it’s what she did. Who she was. That didn’t mean she wasn’t petrified. So many things could go wrong. She could die. They all could.
The lock turned and the door swung open, grazing her toes. Her breath stalled.
Wait.
Wait.
The lazy guard, thinking himself safe from a bunch of half-dressed, emaciated women, leaned down to grab the discarded food trays.
Now.
Maggie exploded from behind the door, her only goal to drop the man before he gained the upper hand. She used the hard button between her fingers like a knife, aiming her jabs for the eyes and nose, hoping to disorient him enough that she could get his AK-47.
The shouts and cries of the women blended with the harsh pants ripping the air between her and her opponent. She only had moments before the second guard checked up on his partner. She needed to take him down before it was too late.
His fist shot out, and using the AK like a bar, slammed it into her solar plexus, knocking her to the ground. Winded, she stared as the fury in his gaze turned triumphant. He waved the muzzle of the gun at the others, warning them to stay back, then lowered it to tunnel between her breasts, pressing her to the floor.
She froze.
A voice yelled something in Spanish and the guard glanced over his shoulder to growl an answer.
It was the opportunity she’d been looking for. Maggie put everything she had into the foot she raised to the bastard’s crotch.
His words were cut off mid-sentence, the stunned shock turning his face into a clownish mask of pain. The gun dropped, clattering onto the floor near Maggie’s thigh. She rolled as he fell and landed on top the plates with a god-awful racket.
The other guard shouted, aware that something had happened, though he was still out of sight.
Maggie grabbed for the gun and came to her knees in the dirt, her pulse pounding like a herd of cattle in her ears. “Quédese atrás,” she shouted. “Stay back.”
Fear dried the saliva in her mouth and she choked, the heavy gun wavering between the fallen soldier and the unseen threat beyond t
he open doorway.
The door to their freedom.
“What will we do?” cried one of the women, a young teen, not yet old enough to drink or drive, much less be sold for some pervert’s sexual depravities.
Olga shushed her. “Quiet. This is our chance. Do you wish to remain here?”
Maggie was grateful for her friend’s intervention. The last thing they needed right now was to panic.
The silence beyond the door was making her antsy. What was he doing? How many were there? For all she knew they could be sitting smack dab in the middle of a terrorist encampment. She and Olga had been brought to the cave unconscious. They’d awoken to the moans and cries of the other women, all there for the same purpose. Human trafficking.
She kept an eye on the fetal ball of the guard groaning a few feet away. She ached to put a bullet in his brain and shut him up forever, but some bit of humanity stopped her. Not that he would afford her the same kindness. Not long after they had arrived, one of the women—a young mother with two pre-school children from Mississippi—tried to escape, the guard shot her in the stomach and walked away without a second thought. She’d died in Maggie’s arms.
Olga sidled up beside her. “If this is your plan, cop, it sucks.”
Startled, Maggie glanced at her. “Yeah,” she grinned, the adrenaline making her feel half drunk. “It has a few holes. You have any bright ideas?”
Much as she teased, it was thanks to Olga’s quick thinking in acting as a human ladder that allowed the girls they’d been trapped with a few months ago to get away.
“I say we use him,” she nodded toward the fallen man. “He can be our shield.”
Brilliant plan. Until the others decided he was expendable and killed him. But she was right, their choices were limited. He was their best bet.
“Okay,” Maggie nodded. “I’ll go first, and try to take down as many as I can. You follow with him, and for God’s sake, stay low.”
They hugged, aware that this could mean the end for either one of them, then Maggie stood and nudged the guard. “Get up.”
Maggie's Revenge Page 2
