Caught in the Act

by Jill Sorenson

  His soul would die.

  “Put your hands behind your head and interlock your fingers,” he said, reaching for his cuffs. Just as he touched the metal, a shot rang out behind him. Not the heavy blast of a handgun but a hissing round from a high-powered rifle.

  Apparently Moreno had a sharpshooter on his team as well.

  Adam felt the bullet rip into his left side, penetrating his uniform and slamming against one of the armor plates in his ballistics vest. CBP officers were required to wear a Level IV vest, the maximum protection. The body armor was a weighty nuisance, damned near unbearable on hot days—and he’d never been so glad for the burden.

  Even with the vest on, getting shot hurt like a bitch. The impact reverberated through the protective plate, rattling his teeth. He stumbled sideways, barely maintaining a grip on his weapon. His handcuffs clattered to the sidewalk.

  “Motherfucker,” he muttered, whirling into a defensive stance. He searched for the shooter on the rooftop, locating him immediately. Heart racing with fear, he wrapped his left hand around his right wrist, needing both arms to hold his revolver steady. Although he managed to squeeze off a shot, his Beretta was outmatched. The rifleman fired again, hitting Adam in the upper part of his chest.

  And that was all she wrote.

  He fell back against the building, stunned into utter uselessness. His right arm felt like a slab of meat. He couldn’t draw breath. Adam wasn’t completely sure that his gear had held up. Contrary to popular belief, bulletproof vests couldn’t stop every type of ammunition.

  Then his lungs expanded, sucking in oxygen, and he knew the bullet hadn’t penetrated his chest cavity.

  But the point was moot. Because Moreno had turned and drawn on him.

  Adam tried to bring his gun arm up to protect himself, and failed. A deep ache radiated from his collarbone to his fingertips, making him nauseous. The first hit hadn’t incapacitated him, perhaps because his lateral muscle had absorbed more of the impact. The flesh on his upper chest wasn’t as meaty.

  Moreno stepped closer, looking down at Adam with cautious curiosity. How easily their roles had reversed. Adam could almost read Moreno’s thought processes as he contemplated pulling the trigger. His indecisiveness surprised Adam. He hadn’t expected the drug lord to have a conscience, let alone struggle with it.

  They stared at each other like equals.

  “I didn’t kill your girlfriend,” Moreno said finally.

  Adam drew in another sharp breath, his chest burning with two kinds of pain. “Did you kill yours?”

  Moreno’s face revealed an emotion Adam recognized well: anguish. He holstered his weapon in an angry motion, jerking his chin toward the sharpshooter above. “My associate will shoot you in the head if you make a move.”

  Adam could only lie there, watching his nemesis walk away.

  Kari’s knee was bleeding again.

  She couldn’t believe Adam had set her up. When they dragged her away in handcuffs, he’d looked right through her. He hadn’t appeared sad, or conflicted, or coldly satisfied. His face was a mask. He didn’t even acknowledge her.

  Bastard.

  She was sick with worry for Sasha, shaking uncontrollably. The detainment area was made up of four walls, a locked door, and a concrete bench. With her wrists locked behind her back, she couldn’t do anything about her knee. The bandages had been knocked askew when she’d been forced to the ground. Beneath the fabric of her jeans, blood oozed from the wound, dripping down her shin in an agonizingly slow crawl.

  The only thing that sustained her was anger. She felt like a wild animal, ready to pounce. If Adam was in front of her right now and her hands were free, she’d rip his face off.

  Her fear was too sharp, too painful. So she focused on the rage instead.

  He’d lied to her. Over and over again. And she’d bought it because she was a lonely, pathetic fool. Her hungry heart had eaten up every word, every gesture, every pseudo-sincere expression.

  She must have had sucker written on her forehead. Right next to fuck me.

  Why had she believed him? Because he was handsome and exciting and fantastic in bed? He’d said he cared about her, that she was special to him, and he didn’t love Penelope anymore. What bullshit!

  She understood that he was a lying son of a bitch, but she didn’t know what had gone wrong with the plan. Why would they arrest her and give up the chance to take down Moreno’s crew members? More important, what would happen to Sasha? If her sister had been harmed because of Adam’s deception, she’d never forgive him.

  Kari was still shivering, and seething, when a female CBP officer came into the detainment room. She had short, dark hair and a midnight-blue uniform. “Ms. Strauss? I’m Officer Li.”

  Kari just stared at her, teeth chattering. She couldn’t extend her hand, and she sure as hell wasn’t pleased to meet her.

  “Come with me.”

  She stood, allowing Officer Li to guide her out the door. There was a small room nearby with a table and three chairs. When the woman removed her handcuffs, Kari massaged her aching wrists. Her arms felt like rubber.

  “Have a seat,” Li said.

  There was a bottle of water on the table. Kari unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. “Can I use the restroom?”

  “Sure.” Li pointed to the nearest door.

  After Kari used the facilities, she bent over the sink, washing her hands and face. Her mouth tasted like blood. Pulling up her pant leg, she cleaned her knee as well as she could, blotting the scrape with a paper towel. Under the fluorescent lighting, her skin looked ghostly, the shadows beneath her eyes like purple bruises.

  She left the bathroom, taking a seat across from Officer Li. Although she knew that asking for a lawyer was in her best interests, Kari was more concerned about Sasha’s well-being than her own. She also didn’t give a damn if Adam got in trouble.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” Li asked.

  “I assume there were drugs in my cargo space.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  After a brief hesitation, she explained that she’d made a deal to smuggle some packages across the border in exchange for her sister’s debt.

  “It didn’t occur to you to call the police?”

  “I was afraid for my sister’s life. That’s why I approached Officer Cortez.”

  “Officer Cortez,” she repeated, arching a brow.

  Kari nodded. “We met at my store and … hit it off. He agreed to help me. Obviously he didn’t follow through.”

  “What is your relationship with him?”

  Kari knew she could cause Adam a lot of grief by telling the truth, but she was too proud to admit she’d been screwed by him in more ways than one. “There is no relationship,” she said, lifting her chin. “Can I call my sister?”

  Officer Li’s expression revealed an emotion that Kari didn’t want to recognize. It was part revulsion, part pity.

  “Is Adam available?” Kari asked, tamping down her anxiety.

  “Officer Cortez is not on site.”

  Tears of anger and frustration filled Kari’s eyes. Wasn’t that just like a man? He’d used her and ditched her.

  “I have some bad news for you,” Li said.

  Kari’s heart dropped. “No.”

  “Your sister was found in the cargo space of your vehicle.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “No, ma’am. She’s deceased.”

  Kari stared at Officer Li, her lips trembling. Tears poured down her cheeks, unchecked. “No. Please, no. It’s not true.”

  “I’m afraid it is. Would you like to identify the body?”

  After taking a moment to let the finality sink in, she rose to her feet, swaying a little. “Yes. Let me see her.”

  Officer Li led her out to the secondary inspection area, guiding Kari by one arm as if she were an invalid. When the crime scene investigator unzipped the body bag, revealing Sasha’s frozen face, Kari was glad for the support.

  S
he collapsed on the blacktop, devastated.

  19

  Maria screamed, trying to yank her arm from Chuy’s grip.

  He held tight, placing the smoking barrel against her temple once again. It burned, sizzling her hair and skin. Her ears were ringing from the shot, her eyes watering. Armando lay on the ground, motionless. A pool of blood began to form underneath him.

  Agent Foster appeared at the edge of the courtyard, about twenty feet past Armando. His face was taut and alert, the muscles in his arms flexing. He looked taller than she remembered, stronger and more formidable. “Let her go,” he said, pointing his gun at Chuy.

  “Stay back or I’ll blow her fucking brains out,” Chuy replied. “You know I will.”

  Foster kept moving forward, like a man-machine.

  Chuy pulled her toward the lobby, shouting obscenities, promising to kill her. Maria knew he wouldn’t—not yet. If he shot her right now, there would be no bargaining chip, nothing to prevent Foster from opening fire.

  “Let her go!” Foster repeated.

  They arrived at the lobby entrance and Chuy’s body tensed for action. Maria knew he was about to make a move. The instant he took the gun away from her temple, shoving her inside, she reached for the pepper spray at the waistband of her jeans. Heart pounding, she gripped the canister in her sweaty fist.

  Using the lobby entrance as cover, Chuy aimed down the walkway, shooting at Foster. As the agent returned fire, Maria lifted the canister, blasting Chuy in the face. She hoped she wasn’t too late.

  “Pinche puta!” Chuy yelled, swiping at his eyes. With his left arm, he swung at her, striking her across the cheek. Crying out in pain, she fell backward, sprawling across the floor. The caution sign she’d placed in the lobby less than an hour ago clattered beneath her body, digging into her hip.

  Chuy stumbled away from the entrance, coughing like a sick dog. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming from them.

  Maria lifted a hand to her stinging cheek, shuddering in fear.

  In an awful twist of fate, Sonia crept out from behind the counter where she’d been hiding and rushed to Chuy’s aid.

  He fired the gun again, shooting Sonia in the stomach.

  She crumpled like a puppet, landing in a pitiful heap on the just-mopped floor. Her head lolled to the side and her eyes glazed over. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth and blossomed across her midsection.

  Maria stared at the horrific scene, afraid to move. Afraid to breathe.

  Although Chuy’s vision was obstructed, his instincts were still good. He seemed to realize the mistake he’d made. Choking out Sonia’s name, he made a sign of the cross. Then, with a strangled sob, he fled the scene, crashing out the back door.

  Foster appeared at the entrance a moment later. When he saw Maria, terrified but unharmed, his eyes darkened with an indefinable emotion. “Where is he?”

  She pointed the direction Chuy went, her mouth trembling.

  Foster limped inside the lobby, his hairline dark with sweat. His jeans were torn at the thigh, his pant leg bloody. Glancing at Sonia’s crumpled form, he advanced toward the exit. Chuy must not have been visible, because Foster didn’t pursue. He came back inside and took out his cell phone, requesting an ambulance.

  Maria was so relieved to see him alive that tears sprang to her eyes. She wanted to run to him, to wrap her arms around him and never let go. But Sonia was bleeding, perhaps dying. “Will she live?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, his mouth tense.

  “Are you okay?”

  His brows rose. “I’m fine.”

  “Your leg …”

  “It’s just a fragment.”

  Maria didn’t know what that meant, but he didn’t seem worried about the injury. “I will get some towels.”

  He crouched down beside Sonia. “Be careful.”

  She rose to her feet, walking through the lobby doors. To her surprise, Armando wasn’t lying facedown in a pool of his own blood. Maria followed a series of crimson splashes to the laundry room.

  He was inside, pressing a towel to the wound. “What happened?”

  “Chuy shot Sonia on accident. Then he got away.”

  “Where’s the cop?”

  “In the lobby. His leg is shot.”

  Armando winced. “Tie this around me.”

  Maria secured an apron around his taut midsection, holding the towels in place. She didn’t think the improvised bandage would last long … and neither would he. His breathing was labored and he’d lost a lot of blood. Unlike Foster, Armando appeared to be in serious trouble.

  “Wait here,” she said, grabbing a short stack of towels. She raced back to the lobby, leaving red shoeprints on the concrete. When she handed the towels to Ian, he pressed them to Sonia’s ruined stomach. She glanced at his thigh, noting that the puncture was seeping rather than gushing. “I have to help Armando.”

  His focus was on Sonia, who appeared critical. Nodding, he spoke into his phone, giving the emergency operator details on her condition.

  Maria returned to the laundry room, her heart pounding.

  Armando’s face was ashen, his black eyes unnaturally dull. He took an envelope from his pocket, smearing the surface with red fingerprints. “Get this to my daughter. Please. There’s an address.”

  Maria shook her head, holding the envelope in his hand. “Don’t try to run, Armando. You can barely walk.”

  “Promise me,” he demanded, shoving the envelope at her.

  “You have to get to a hospital.”

  “No.”

  She put the paper in her pocket and glanced past him, through the open back door. “Where will you go?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  After a second’s deliberation, she slipped her arm around his waist, letting him lean on her for support. The sound of approaching sirens spurred them into motion. Maria didn’t want to leave Foster, but she was terrified to talk to the police.

  Armando wasn’t in any position to argue. He let her guide him down the back alley, lurching forward with awkward motions. As they rounded the corner, a rash of squad cars descended on the scene, tires squealing.

  “That way,” Armando gasped, picking up the pace.

  Maria knew he wouldn’t get far, even with her assistance. She stumbled across the street, holding him upright, praying she wasn’t signing his death certificate.

  “There,” he said, indicating a small business with a white stucco exterior. La Canada Veterinary Clinic, the sign read. The office was closed for lunch, the waiting room empty. “Go around the back.”

  Arms trembling from exertion, she took him down a narrow alleyway. Behind the building there was an open field and an aqueduct. She stopped short, knowing she couldn’t drag him across the space.

  “Leave me here,” he ordered, gesturing at the back door of the veterinary clinic.

  Maria gaped at him. “You’ll die.”

  He pushed away from her, using the building for support. Resting his shoulders against the wall, he slid down to a sitting position, collapsing in an ungainly heap. The apron and towels she’d tied around him were soaked red.

  Maria bit at the edge of her fist, horrified.

  “I’ll be okay,” Armando insisted, his lips pale.

  She followed his gaze to a woman walking a dog in the field. Her auburn hair was tied in a ponytail, her white jacket flapping in the breeze. There was a shiny name tag on her lapel. “Will she stitch you up?” Maria asked.

  Armando didn’t answer.

  “You’re not a dog,” she pointed out.

  He rested his head against the building. “True. Dogs are loyal.”

  “What if she refuses?”

  “I won’t give her a choice,” he said, pulling a gun from his waistband.

  “No,” Maria whispered, crouching next to him. “You might hurt her on accident.”

  Armando gave her a dark look, but his gaze wasn’t steady, as if he was seeing more than one disapproving face. With a flick
of his thumb, he ejected the clip and removed the bullets, fumbling to put them in his pants pocket. Then he returned the empty clip to the chamber, shoving it back into place. “Better?”

  Maria hesitated, tears filling her eyes. She shouldn’t have helped him.

  “I can’t go to jail, mariposa. I’ll never survive there.”

  She knew he wasn’t exaggerating. His rift with Chuy would have grave consequences, and Maria felt partly responsible for them.

  “Go on,” he said, gripping her hand. “Don’t forget the letter.”

  “Vaya con Dios,” she replied, kissing his rough cheek.

  He didn’t bother to say that he wasn’t on a path to heaven. She’d just assisted him in the opposite direction, in fact. Smothering a sob, she stood, running down the alleyway before she could change her mind.

  Returning to the Hotel del Oro wasn’t an option. Removing her bloody apron, she tossed it aside and smoothed her hair, walking along the street. Tears coursed down her face as she headed south, toward the border. Away from God.

  Although Ian had wanted to stay on the scene at the Hotel del Oro and help mobilize the manhunt, he was required to seek emergency treatment for his gunshot wound.

  The injury was minor, caused by a bullet fragment, but it had made all the difference in the chase. He’d stumbled sideways when hit, slowing down for the extra few seconds that Chuy Pena needed to get away.

  Motherfucker.

  Sonia’s body had been the second obstacle to his pursuit. Ian couldn’t let a woman bleed to death while he limped after a fugitive. The hell of it was that he probably could have caught Chuy. Ian’s hurt leg wasn’t as much of a handicap as Chuy’s temporary blindness. And Ian hadn’t been able to do a damned thing to help Sonia.

  By the time backup arrived, Armando had disappeared with Maria.

  Ian couldn’t believe he’d let both suspects flee the scene. Armando was half dead, and Chuy’s vision had been seriously impaired. It was a fucking embarrassment, like two senior citizens outrunning a beat cop.

  He suffered in silence while his thigh was X-rayed, explored, and irrigated. Hollow-point bullets created an expanding path of destruction, ruining a shocking amount of tissue. Ian was lucky to have been hit by a ricochet. At full speed, the hollow-point might have destroyed his leg, even taken his life.