Mine to Save

by Diana Gardin

  This. I’m doing this again, and adrenaline rushes through my system like a goddamn wildfire.

  At the other end of this mission, Sayward Diaz is waiting for me. There’s no way I’ll fucking fail.

  Abbott produces a small torch from his backpack, and sliding a pair of safety glasses into place from the top of his head, he gets to work cutting a hole in the fence large enough for us to slip through. It takes seconds, and as soon as he’s done we slide through the fence one by one. Once we’re on the other side, we follow Teague’s instructions on which direction to take.

  “Ghost, proceed with a hard cut east-northeast. That’ll put you in the vicinity of the propane tank buried outside the wall in approximately seven minutes.”

  Abbott nods. “Copy.”

  Instead of walking in a straight line, we stagger and set off in the direction Teague instructed. Each outfitted with a smart watch that lets us know how far we’ve traveled and the direction we’re moving, we don’t need Abbott to keep us on the correct course or to lead us in the right direction. But the foliage grows less and less dense as we move, and soon sweat beads on my forehead and the back of my neck. Not because of the heat; it’s only about sixty-seven degrees Fahrenheit. But we’re out in the open in broad daylight, and I don’t like that shit one bit.

  Teague works ahead of us from his position outside the perimeter with our contact, Lockman. We’re hiding in plain sight in the crime boss’s security system. Apparently, he feels like if he has cameras aimed at the perimeter fence and the wall, that’s enough. The entire sixteen acres of property in between is unwatched, and he’s one dumb motherfucker for letting that happen.

  Conners has similar thoughts. “He should have hired NES to install his security system. No way would we have let this area go unmanned.”

  Teague’s chuckle comes through my earpiece. “Damn straight. Guess he figures he’ll catch anyone stupid enough to intrude at the gate or the wall, huh, Wheels?”

  “Then he doesn’t know the Rescue Ops team,” I mutter darkly to myself, but the answering laughter from the other guys tells me they heard.

  My lips twitch into a smirk, and I’m suddenly lifted to a place where I’m hopeful. Where I come out at the end of this with Sayward in my arms and the respect of a team I never asked to be a part of.

  “Everybody. Stop. Moving.” Jacob Owen might as well have shouted his order, for the way we all instantly obeyed it. Our footsteps all came to an abrupt halt, and my heart starts to hammer against my rib cage like a wild animal trapped inside my chest.

  “Drop.” At the Boss Man’s one-word order, I fall to my stomach like the other four men, the side of my face slamming into the hard ground. My ear, the one facing the sky, pricks as a dull buzzing sound rises from somewhere above us.

  “Talk to me…oh, shit.” Teague’s curse lifts the hairs on my arms.

  “What the fuck does that mean, Brains?” Jacob grinds the question out through what sounds like gritted teeth. I can’t see the members of my team from my position frozen on the ground, but the buzzing grows louder and dread fills me up.

  “Drone,” Teague grinds out. “Dammit! Viper would have caught this. They have a drone patrolling the no-man’s-land between the fence and the wall. Looked too easy, because it fucking was!”

  “Don’t move.” Jacob’s voice is low, even. He’s not panicked, he’s in command of the situation, and he knows it. “Stay still and you’ll blend into the landscape.”

  My muscles rigid, my nerves buzzing with anticipation and nervous energy, I do as I’m told. I’m frozen, becoming a part of the land around me. The drone’s buzzing gets louder with every passing second until it sounds like it’s right above our heads.

  And then the air I was holding inside my lungs is expelled all at once, because the sound fades as the drone flies away.

  “Fucking hell,” mutters Abbott as we all stand.

  “You need to move.” Teague’s voice is laced with urgency. “Don’t know if the drone saw you or not, and if it did they’ll be on you. Get to the high point, now.”

  Our pace increases to a jog and we reach the point highest on the grounds. It’s far enough away from the wall for our purpose, and we get there within three minutes. Spreading out along the hill, Conners, Abbott, Jacob, and Ronin take up positions with weapons at the ready. I crouch low, pulling off my pack. I study the large, one-hundred-gallon tank through a rifle scope. When I think I’ve got it figured out, I take what I need out of my pack and jog down toward the propane tank. I squat beside it and reach around to the back side. I locate the relief valve and pull out the plug I brought with me. Stuffing it inside the valve, I focus on the materials Lockman secured. Then I focus on the tank. I zero in, seeing nothing but what’s in front of me. I trust my team to cover my six, because I have one job during the next few minutes and one job only. I try to momentarily block out Sayward’s face in my mind. It’s just me, this goddamn tank, and the explosion I’m about to create.

  My chemical knowledge tells me exactly what to do as I carefully mix three ingredients that will cause the propane to heat way too fast. Without the use of the relief valve, which I’ve made sure is useless, it won’t take long until the whole thing goes kaboom. Retreating to the rise where the team waits, I attach the mixture to the ammunition and hand it over to Conners.

  He takes it from me, loads it onto the rocket launcher Teague procured, and sets his sights on the scope.

  “Aim.” He says in a low tone. “Fire.”

  He squeezes the trigger.

  As a Ranger, Dare wasn’t a sniper. But his aim is damn good, and my bomb lands directly under the target, just like it should. We all watch, and everything in the air around me seems that much louder as I catch my breath and wait.

  Whoosh.

  The propane tank is ignited as the chemical mix I rigged engulfs it in flames. Without the relief valve meant to save the tank during situations just like this, it only takes seconds before the entire tank explodes. The blast radius doesn’t reach the mansion beyond, but the wall crumbles, just like we wanted it to.

  We can hear Jeremy’s celebratory whoop on the coms, but we’re all silent as we spread out into our planned positions and move.

  Sayward’s face is back at the forefront of my mind. It’s a beacon guiding me through that goddamn crumbled wall, and I’m not gonna stop until every single fucker standing between us is annihilated and the woman I love is back in my arms.

  29

  Sayward

  I jerk upright as what feels like a sonic boom ricochets through my body, and my eyes snap wide open. My back teeth clamp together and my heart skips two beats before stuttering to a stop and then taking off like a racehorse’s galloping hooves.

  An explosion.

  The words come to mind almost instantly, and my heart lifts, soars. That was the sound of an explosion, and that can’t be coincidence.

  NES is here.

  Bennett is here.

  Both men standing beside the door jump, turning toward each other with confusion before one of them opens the door and peers out into the hall. They speak to each other in rapid-fire Spanish, asking what the hell that noise was and wondering what they should do.

  Then, something happens that’s better than anything I could have asked for. They both disappear out the door, leaving me alone and locking it behind them.

  I’m up and out of my seat in a second, running to the desk and lifting that laptop lid open. A password screen pops up and I roll my eyes before typing in a few keys at warp speed and bypassing it completely. I don’t even know what I’m looking for, all I know is that I want to make sure Pablo Suarez never sees the light of day again. I don’t waste precious seconds logging into the NES network to communicate my location, I trust my team to find me. But if I make it out of this mansion alive, I need to know this time that the man who brought me here is in prison. For good.

  My fingers fly across the keys as I open folder after folder of documents. From
Pablo Suarez’s demeanor, it doesn’t surprise me. The man is smooth and put together, and I’m not even a little bit shocked that he’s brought his father’s cartel into the twenty-first century with digital recordkeeping.

  Each time I scan a folder’s title and open it, I then send the file to the NES cloud. I’m getting everything, and I’ll sort through the information later. Or I’ll let the FBI do it.

  Then the cursor rolls across a phrase that makes me pause, and I read it again.

  MOBILE PROPERTY HOLDINGS

  Glancing at the door, knowing I’m almost out of time, I click on the folder.

  And almost swallow my tongue.

  Names. Name after name after name, in columns and rows for pages.

  All female.

  And if I were a betting woman, I’d bet money that these are the names of women who’ve been considered “property” of the cartel for years. Sold to the highest bidder. Or held as slaves.

  I send the information along to the cloud with the rest, knowing I’ve just found the nail that will keep Pablo Suarez’s coffin closed forever.

  In the next minute, voices rise on the other side of the door, shouts and the sound of thudding footsteps. Urging myself to hurry, I download the last file that I can find. I’m closing the lid to the laptop just as the door is flung open. I step out as far from the desk as I possibly can.

  Suarez strides in with one of the security guards previously stationed as my gatekeeper trailing behind him. The man’s gun is at the ready, but Suarez opens both arms wide, almost in apology, before clasping them behind his back.

  “It seems we’ve had an unfortunate accident. The propane tank on my property just exploded. We are lucky the entire estate didn’t go up in flames.”

  Satisfaction swims inside me, a rising tide of hope and jubilation I hide under the mask of a blank expression.

  “Oh?” Idiot. Doesn’t he know the chances of a propane tank explosion happening on its own are slim to none?

  Suarez gestures for me to step forward. “Yes. We are leaving now. It is not safe for us here, not with the fire. Let’s go.”

  Nervous agitation makes my palms sweat. I don’t move. “Where are we going?”

  I can’t leave this place with him. Not now, not when I know that my team is close. They’re here, I just need to give them time to get to me. Suarez’s men must be crawling all over this place like worker bees in a hive. It’s going to take them a few minutes to get to me.

  “Now,” snaps Suarez. “Come.”

  He reaches forward, grabs my arm, and shoves me in front of him. He pushes me past his man, the pressure of his hand gripping my arm never lessening, and the man takes up his place walking behind us as Suarez hurries me out the door. Once we’re in the hallway, I glance both ways and see that the place is surprisingly empty.

  We’re hurrying along the landing, the security guard advising Suarez in Spanish that the staff has been evacuated, but that a team is waiting downstairs to escort him.

  My heart sinks. Was I wrong? Maybe the propane tank really had just coincidentally exploded. Maybe thinking that the Rescue Ops team was in full–blown mission mode to save me was just that: wishful thinking.

  But then the sound of gunfire erupting downstairs causes all three of us to falter. The security guard lifts the weapon he’s been carrying by his side, a semiautomatic rifle. The sight of it makes my heart pump too much blood into my veins, inciting my fight-or-flight reflex. My muscles twitch and jerk, urging me to turn and flee from this man and his weapon.

  But Suarez grips me tighter as he reaches down under his slacks to an ankle holster. He pulls up a pistol, holding it expertly in one hand while he turns this way and that, searching for any sign of an intruder on this level.

  “Go,” he murmurs to his security professional, and the man shoulders his weapon and edges toward one side of the dual staircase.

  Still keeping me in front of him, Suarez, the fucking coward, jerks me back against his chest and hauls me backward. His steps are quick and sure, and panic bubbles up inside me as I open my mouth and scream.

  White, blinding light explodes behind my eyelids. Pain blossoms in my head, and I realize that all Suarezes fight the same: dirty. Pablo took a page out of his dead father’s handbook and slammed the butt of his gun against my head.

  My knees buckle and I lose the ability to hold myself up as my head lolls to one side. Suarez drags me, half-conscious, into a room off the hallway and kicks the door closed.

  “Stupid bitch,” he hisses, all hints of his sophisticated facade now long gone. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

  His breath is hot against my neck, and I can’t respond to anything he says. My mouth doesn’t seem to be working, and my brain is only half-registering what’s happening right now. The pain in my head is so intense all I want to do is close my eyes, but something, probably my own will to live, forces me to keep them open.

  A beautifully rugged face with warm cerulean eyes and dark blond hair works its way into my mind, and I focus on him.

  Bennett.

  “Are you responsible for the commotion?” Suarez’s voice is nothing but a pissed-off grunt. He’s dropped his other personality completely, no longer acting the suave and educated prince. Instead, he’s reverted back to the place he belongs and is truly comfortable.

  The gutter.

  He spits on the floor beside us as he pushes the muzzle of the gun hard into the tender spot on my head. Something wet and hot—my own blood?—drips down the side of my face. I moan in pain as my stomach revolts, nausea rising.

  “Your people are stupid enough to come to mi casa, blow up my shit? All to what…rescue you?” He says the words like they’re truly disgusting to him. Like the idea of someone risking themselves to save me is the most impractical move a man could make.

  I try to move my lips, but my mouth fails me. I blink rapidly as the scene in front of me swims in and out of focus, hazy darkness creeping in on the edge of my vision.

  “I’ll show you what—”

  But Suarez doesn’t get to finish his sentence before two sharp thuds on the door stop him. Then the entire thing flies off its hinges and that face—the one I thought I’d only see in my imagination again—materializes on the other side.

  Dressed in camouflage, his chiseled face scuffed with dirt and hair dusted with leaves and twigs, he carries an assault rifle as he steps across the threshold looking like an avenging angel.

  30

  Bennett

  The explosion worked better than we could have hoped for. All we had to do was step aside and stay out of the way while the mansion’s staff fled the place. The heat from the blast lingered, raging flames rising up into the sky on the heels of a black cloud of smoke, and fire puts the fear of God in people. No one really noticed us as they ran until we entered the foyer and encountered members of the cartel. Armed and ready to escort Suarez off the premises, they got a nasty surprise when we entered, fast and hot.

  Gunshots ensued, and some of the men were taken out before they realized we were the real deal, and the rest of the fucking cowards ran like the pussies they are.

  Jacob told Ronin to sweep the downstairs portion of the mansion, sending Conners and I upstairs. Through our coms, Jeremy instructs us that we have less than ten minutes until Bogotá law enforcement arrives.

  “Copy. We need to be out before that happens, men.” Jacob’s voice is gruff across my earpiece. “With Sayward in hand.”

  Conners is right behind me as we clear the stairs fast. At the top, I poke my head around the corner and see one man, armed to the hilt, coming in hot. Ducking back behind the corner and down one step, I wait until just the right moment and reach out, grabbing him. He shouts, firing off a round into the air before I fling him down the stairs behind me. Conners flattens himself to the wall until the man tumbles past, and then we’re both in the hallway. Opening doors one at a time and clearing rooms in record speed, the adrenaline in my system seems to spike with each second
I spend inside this goddamned house.

  Sayward’s face keeps flashing in my mind, the only thing driving me forward. Anything that comes between me and her is susceptible to being taken the fuck out.

  My blood pressure skyrockets. The last time I’ve felt like this? This intense, this close to the edge? When I beat the shit out of the man I caught fucking my wife.

  But this is totally different. I realize that now. This man, the fucking animal who hits first and asks questions later, is what’s going to bring Sayward home alive. Because I won’t stop until she’s in my arms again. Period.

  The very thing that scared me about returning to this life where I use my training, my skills, to hunt and defend, is the very thing that’s going to save her life.

  “Clear!” Conners shouts from the room beside the closed door I’m standing in front of.

  One booted foot comes up and I kick twice before the wood splinters and the locked door flies open. And the only thing I’ve wanted to see since she left me is right in front of me.

  Sayward.

  I take one second to feel the relief and motherfucking joy before it all turns to red, blinding rage.

  The breath catches in my throat. My vision laser-focuses on the man standing behind her, crushing her to his chest as the coward uses her as a fucking shield. The muzzle of his gun presses to her head, and bright red blood trickles down the side of her face.

  From where I’m standing, fifteen feet away from her, I can see the way her eyes swim in and out of focus. She’s barely standing on her own, held up by the motherfucking monster standing behind her.

  My heart explodes.

  Pain.

  And fury like I’ve never felt in my entire life. All swirling, mixing, turning into a potent chemical inside me.

  I feel rather than hear Conners come up on my six. I don’t know how I know it’s him, but sometime between starting this mission to go after Sayward and now, we’ve started working in sync.