Hunter’s chest swelled, his veins popped on his arms, and rage rolled out of his pores as straight and burning as eighty proof rot gut whiskey. Lee Brown had nearly killed Hunter’s wife. The man’s time on earth was limited.
Ranger spoke up, knowing his brother needed a sec to gather his fury and regain perspective for the mission. “Okay. We’ll take the women and kids first. Then the men. Once we’ve secured all hostages, we can take the central building. Cut the head off the snake.”
Riser and Merc nodded. Hunter paced away, rubbing his hands over his head. “Fuck. Okay.” He approached the group again. “But you fuckers better get something straight. Brown is mine.”
“Got it, Top,” Merc said.
“Okay, let’s move.” Hunter led the team, the four men resuming their unit as one. They moved fluidly through the dark, winding around debris, ducking beneath the barred windows and then lined up beside the only entrance into the north building. Ranger checked his pistol. Hunter tried the door knob and shook his head, locked.
Riser slipped around and pressed the small explosive clay into the doors hinges. The material was small enough not to cause a loud blast, but strong enough to get the job done. Ranger and his team ducked, the bombs went off with a small bang and hiss, and the door caved in.
A few people cried out from inside. Ranger heard men cursing in Spanish, then heavy footsteps toward the door. Hunter stood back, raised a booted foot and kicked the door in. The team moved, sweeping right, left and center. Easily taking out the unprepared guards, dropping them like flies.
A woman screamed, near the back. One guard remained. Fat. Dirty. His long hair stringy. But he had a pistol to the female’s head. “You let me pass or the woman dies.”
The men stood, pistols raised. “Let her go. Now.”
“No. Put your guns down. I’ll let her go when you let me pass.” Spit dribbled down the man’s chin.
“Not gonna happen,” Hunter said.
“Then she dies.”
He pressed his gun tighter into the woman’s temple. Hunter nodded at Merc, who took aim and fired, planting a bullet in the center of the Mexican’s forehead.
“Damn, look at this,” Riser said.
Ranger scanned the room, finally able to take in the sheer amount of women and children packed into the room. Most of them stared silently up at the group of armed men.
Riser stepped forward, the only one in the group halfway fluent in Spanish. “We are here to free you, but we have to secure the other buildings first. I need you to stay here and keep quiet. Can you do that?”
One woman, older and calm stood. “Si, senor. The women will keep the children silent.”
Riser nodded to her. TF-S waited at the door. “Women and children secure. What’s it look like out there?”
“Good to go.”
“Moving to breach the south building.”
Hunter led, Ranger behind, Riser and Merc bringing up the rear. Riser planted the explosives on the hinges again, not bothering to check the door. The hinges dropped and they breached the building, taking out the two guards inside. Men sat on the floor, knees to their chests, not even standing for the invasion.
Riser delivered the same message as he had to the others.
“Second building secure. Cord, ready ATF and ICE. We are moving to breach central in one minute.” Hunter, leader of TF-S, said.
“Got it, Top.”
“Okay, we don’t know what or who they have inside so we need to be ready for anything.” Hunter said and the group circled around him.
“Could be five, ten, fifteen guys.”
“Excuse me, senor. You want know what Santos have?” One man approached, shirtless, his torn pants hanging on a gaunt frame.
“Yes. Do you have any information?” Hunter said.
“Si. Santos like to pretend he big man. He keep lots of guards. Lots of the women on hand. He have two with him all time. I see five more go in and out.”
“Gracias, mi amigo,” Riser said.
“Please, senor. My wife, she one of the women.” The man grabbed Ranger’s arm. Ranger looked down at the point of contact and the man let go. “Please, no harm the women. They no part of this.”
Ranger’s cold blooded armor shifted a little, understanding the man’s plea. How he might feel if it were Amy. Instead of scoffing he gave the man a reassuring smile, or the best semblance of a smile. “We’ve already secured most of the women. We won’t harm any of them.”
“Gracias. Gracias. Bless you,” the man said, dropping his head and hands as if the men were some kind of gods.
“Okay, let’s move before they realize we’re here. Cord, is ATF ready?”
“Lined up at the gate, waiting on your orders.”
“Count of ten, we move.” Ranger exited the building with his team and backed up to the central door. Riser planted the last of the explosives, uncaring if the blast was heard.
Hunter lifted five fingers. Four. Three. Two. One. The bomb detonated. Ranger moved in lead, breaching the door before the smoke cleared. Gunfire erupted in the dark interior. Men screamed. A bullet hissed past his ear and embedded in the concrete wall behind him. Ranger returned fire, aiming in the general direction of the shot. A thick thud sounded, followed by a groan. Target hit.
“Hold.”
The men stopped firing but held their guns ready. Merc flipped on the lights. Precisely five men lay in their own blood. Just like the man had said.
One door remained locked at the back of the room. “He knows we’re here.” Ranger stepped over the nearest body, still scanning the room just in case.
“Well, let’s go say hello.” Hunter was the first one at the door. He smiled, his grin closer to the grim reaper than a real man. “Santos, we know you’re in there. Come out now.”
“Fuck you,” came the muffled response.
“No, Santos. We’ve taken out all your guards. ICE is escorting your captives as we speak. It’s over.”
No answer.
“Let’s finish this.” Ranger was ready for the mission to be over. Ready to get home. To Amy.
“Remember, if Brown is in there, he’s mine.” Hunter’s smile disappeared and in its wake was nothing but the cold promise of death.
Hunter kicked the door in and Ranger moved past, first to enter. A man, not Santos stood, a half-naked woman held in front of him.
“Where is Santos?”
“Right here.”
Ranger felt the press of cold steel to his temple. Realized his eagerness to get back to Amy may result in his doom. He swallowed, lifted his hands and dropped his gun. Images of Amy’s stark grief stricken face at Shane’s funeral flashed in his mind. Only this time, it would be Ranger in that casket.
28
Chapter 28
Ex-Sheriff Lee Brown paced the confines of the large barge anchored just up river from Coldwater Paper Mill. He’d heard last year from his buddy in Game and Fish that the barge was out-of-commission. It had run aground and the company that owned it had come into some financial problems and hadn’t been able to come free it. After finding Marcus’s weapons last year, weapons he’d intended to sell to an international terrorist, Brown had quickly set about moving them to a new, hidden location. This barge was the only place big enough and far enough from land to hide a weapon like he’d acquired.
What Brown had assumed all along was a cache of AK’s and grenades was in fact only five weapons. But these weapons weren’t ordinary handguns. After doing his fair share of research, and a little help from a few old friends in law enforcement, he’d discovered what a treasure he now possessed.
But he’d balked at handing over such power to terrorists. So he’d made contact with some bad guys a little more local, if he could call Mexican’s local. They hadn’t agreed to his price at first. But when Brown had threatened to go elsewhere with his business, they’d quickly capitulated to his demands.
If it hadn’t been for pure luck, Brown would have been at the Lobello compound
a few days ago, and he’d be in custody right now. Or dead. He’d been on his way to the meeting, with proof of his weapons, when he’d hit a deer coming up Red Fork Road.
The damn thing had taken out his front bumper and drove a dent deep enough to kill his radiator. Brown got the truck off the road, then put it in neutral and let it roll into Bayou Bartholomew. He’d cursed and ranted and raved that night. Until he heard about the raid on the Lobellos.
Santos, his contact, was now dead, as was most of his gang. Now Brown was left with a boatload of weapons and no buyer.
He stared at his sat phone again, his hands shaking as he contemplated his future. He’d killed before and honestly hadn’t felt much remorse for it. He’d committed his fair share of crimes. But he’d never considered himself a traitor.
If he made this phone call he would betray his country.
Probably be responsible for thousands of deaths around the world.
Brown’s finger hovered over the dial button. He might be a traitor, but he would be a filthy rich one.
He hit dial.
“Who is this?” The man’s accent was definitely foreign.
“This is your new best friend.”
By the time he disconnected the call, Brown had a new outlook on life, and it was good. The man had been extremely interested in his deal and had in fact, already sent his own man to Mercy in search of the weapons. All Brown had to do was wait for the contact’s phone call and he’d be set. He wouldn’t have to worry about purchasing a plane ticket out of the country and getting flagged by the FBI. He could buy his own plane.
29
Chapter 29
Amy stood at her island, chopping vegetables for supper. Zucchini, squash and carrots colors were bright and happy, the total opposite of her mood for the past few days. She hadn’t heard from Ranger in two days. Two whole days and she was a freaking train wreck.
Sunlight filtered in through the kitchen window, gleaming on the island countertop and lighting the kitchen. She hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights in the house, preferring natural light. The oven dinged behind her and she jumped. Every time something clicked in her house she startled. Every time her phone rang her heart raced. The memory of Shane’s death whispering through her mind, constantly reminding her how easy it was to lose the ones you love.
The logical part of her knew Ranger was fine. He was strong. Capable. Damn good at what he did. But the other part of her, the part that finally opened up and admitted her feelings for him – that part throbbed like a raw and aching wound.
The pot of purple-hulled peas was already on the stove boiling. The aroma of cinnamon and fresh vegetables filled the house, their delicious scent helping sooth her frayed nerves. Amy grabbed the fresh okra and started chopping. She sliced down and cut the tip of her finger. Instant sharp pain flooded her senses and she dropped the butcher knife. She ran to the sink and ran water over the cut, cursing herself for her clumsiness. For her distraction. For letting herself care so much that it hurt.
The cut on her finger wasn’t anything compared to the pain in her chest.
Amy grabbed a paper towel and wrapped her finger, squeezing it tight to stem the blood flow. She glanced at the clock on the oven, six o’clock. The local news would be on. She found the remote and clicked on the TV.
A reporter stood off to the left, federal officials escorting women and children and men through an open door behind her. The scene looked like controlled chaos.
The reporter said, “The Mexican gang known as the Lobellos was taken down last night due to the coordinated efforts of multiple government agencies. Behind me you see ICE officials escorting the hostages out of their prison where they have been held for over two weeks. Initial reports say there are fifteen dead, five wounded. We just arrived on the scene, but will keep you updated as more information becomes available.” The remote control clattered to the floor. Amy forgot about her finger. Forgot about the blood. Forgot about everything.
That nagging sensation of worry that had been growing like a fungus in the pit of her stomach consumed her. It hadn’t been worry, it had been instinct. Instinct telling her something bad had happened to Ranger.
Her knees gave out and she sank onto the barstool at the island. Don’t be stupid. Don’t jump to conclusions. The reporter hadn’t said who had been killed or injured. It could’ve been anyone. It could’ve been the bad guys. Wasn’t good supposed to triumph over evil?
Her cell phone rang and she snatched it to her ear, adrenaline giving her superhuman speed. “Hello?”
She held her breath silently praying and begging she would hear Rangers deep rich voice on the other end of the line.
“Amy? Are you home?” Evie said.
Amy expelled a breath and fought the disappointment. “Yes, why?”
“Hunter is on his way over.”
Why would Hunter come to her house? Her subconscious whispered why do you think?
Her mouth was dry as a desert. “Did he say why? What about Ranger?”
“He didn’t say, he sounded like he was in a hurry. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”
Hunter was headed to her house. He was rushing. Something Hunter never did. He needed to talk to her. And he hadn’t said anything about Ranger.
She walked into the living room, with Evie on the phone, and pulled her linen curtains to the side. Two vehicles were pulling down her driveway. Hunter James’ truck and the sheriff’s cruiser.
Her fingers went numb and she dropped the phone, vaguely aware of Evie still talking, she stumbled a few steps back, tripped and landed on the couch.
Please God, please, please let Ranger be okay.
And some other part of her mind scrambled furiously for another excuse, any other reason that Ranger’s brother and the sheriff would be coming to her house after a mission, without her man.
Her experience slapped her hard. Knocked her down and left her gasping for breath. There was no other reason.
One of them knocked on her front door but she couldn’t make her feet move. She couldn’t coordinate her legs to straighten and simply walk across the floor and turn a doorknob. She couldn’t even breathe.
A vise tightened around her chest, each knock cinching it tighter, inch by inch, until her ribs threatened to crack and her heart shatter.
“I’ll get it.” Arturo rushed into the living room, all knobby knees and elbows.
Amy’s throat worked convulsively, trying to scream at him no, but her lips refused to move and no sound escaped. Arturo turned the handle and the door swung open and there stood Hunter James. Black pants. Black shirt. Black bottomless eyes filled with some awful expression she didn’t even have a name for.
The vise cinched another notch tighter.
Arturo looked between Amy and Hunter, and then he ran to Amy and sat on the couch beside her, taking her hand. Hunter’s gaze flickered for the briefest instant to the boy at her side and she found herself praying – praying he was here because of Pedro not Ranger.
Shame filled her. How could she wish for Pedro’s death when it would leave Arturo an orphan?
And then Bo was there, standing beside Hunter, his tan sheriff’s uniform a death knell.
The vise cinched the last notch around her chest and her heart collapsed under the pressure. She felt herself falling into a deep dark bottomless hole of grief. Because Bo’s expression wasn’t as guarded as Hunter’s, and she could clearly see the emotion in his grey eyes.
Regret.
The only sound she heard was the buzzing in her ears, her hands were cold and numb. She was distantly aware of Arturo squeezing her arm.
How could fate be so cruel to give and take from her twice? She’d fought so hard to deny Ranger, her instinct to guard her heart, to protect herself, had been right all along.
Her subconscious had known she would shatter. She’d survived Shane’s death – barely. But now she was expected to survive Ranger?
“Amy, maybe we could talk alone?” Hunter’s vo
ice scraped across her raw and bleeding heart, jerking her back into the here and now. And then she felt Arturo’s little fingers digging painfully into her skin. She swallowed back the bile and the tears and the horror and pried his little fingers from her arm.
Think of the children, don’t think of yourself. “Hey Artie, why don’t you go watch cartoons for a little while in the playroom?”
Artie looked at her, his gaze filled with worry and indecision but he nodded as if sensing how close Amy was to breaking. After he left the room, she turned to Hunter and forced herself to stand and lock her knees tight. Her voice was harsh when she spoke, “Just tell me.”
Amy sucked in a deep breath and held it, waiting on the words that would destroy her forever.
Amy’s heart slammed against her chest, fracturing her sternum with the force. She clutched at her neck, her throat bobbing furiously in an attempt to swallow her tears. “Ranger?”
Hunter’s unreadable expression cracked and a small smile played at his lips. Then he stepped to the side, allowing Amy to see through the open door.
Ranger limped up her front porch steps on crutches, his left eye black. “Thanks for the help, bro.”
Amy’s eyes widened. Her mind must be playing tricks on her in some foolish attempt to hold onto her sanity.
And then Ranger was elbowing his way into her house. She’d never seen anything so beautiful in her entire life. Amy launched herself at Ranger with a cry. “I thought you were dead. I thought they were telling me you were dead.”
She sobbed, uncontrolled and a little unhinged, but she didn’t care. Ranger had come home. Her prayers had been answered.
One of his arms wrapped around her and she clutched him tighter, needing to anchor him to her.
“Shhh, honey, I’m okay. Hunter had to drive me over here. Doc said no driving for a full week.” His slow southern drawl soothed across her soul and filled her with warmth.
Her sobs eased a little, but didn’t stop. Two days of torture needed their release. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop crying.”
“I promised you, didn’t I? I promised you I’d come back to you, I’d fight for you.”
Resurrection River: Men of Mercy, Book 2 Page 17
