Connor (In the Company of Snipers Book 5)

by Irish Winters

  “No, damn it.”

  Connor couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. What the hell was wrong now?

  Roy sighed. “I hate to admit it, but she’s right.”

  Connor’s ears perked up, but he kept on minding his business and enjoying his lunch. Or dinner. Whatever meal this handful of trail mix was. More important, who was right? Cassidy?

  “Hell, I been awake since zero dark thirty, either on the flight west, talking to the police, or walking these canyon walls. A man can only do so much,” Roy grumbled.

  Silently, Connor agreed. That’s what I tried to tell you before, you stubborn jackass.

  “Eat some trail mix. Have a sip of water,” he offered again.

  Roy glanced over his shoulder. “Food is not the problem. And I’m not thirsty.”

  Connor took a hit off his Camelbak’s siphon hose and waited. Then put up or shut up, you big baby.

  Roy growled again and rolled his shoulder. He’d stretched his legs straight out in front of him. His head was back against the tree, but he seemed agitated.

  Connor smiled. The stop was a good call. A sudden uplift from the canyon below brought a welcome breeze. Maybe a night spent sleeping on the mountainside wouldn’t be so bad after all. Utah did provide the most amazing vistas. They’d done tougher ops than this before.

  “Let’s move.” Roy pushed slowly up from the ground. Spreading his arms over his head, he stretched a full minute before reaching for his pack.

  Connor was ready. His second wind had arrived. He was refreshed and ready to hike another ten or so miles, but Roy headed down hill instead of due east. Down? Did that mean they’d be sleeping in comfort tonight? Was a date with Cassidy in the cards after all?

  Sure enough. Downhill was a lot easier. Roy made record time, even had the keys to the rig in his hand before he hit the welcome mat someone had thoughtfully left at the two steps up. They’d no more than opened the door when a cool breath of refrigerated air reached out and welcomed them into their new digs. The first thing Roy did was to darken the windows with sheets of foil so no light would show out and no one could see in.

  Connor downloaded to his laptop the surveillance footage from the Tattle Tales he’d planted. All of the listening devices were active and talking, relaying sights and sounds of every illegal garden they’d located. He set up a matrix of windows on his computer desktop to view all video feeds at once.

  Satisfaction for a job well done lifted his mood. He and Roy were tired, dirty, and hungry, but they’d mapped every known grow-site on the southern wall of the canyon in one day. He couldn’t help but feel a little proud.

  When finished, he left the comfort of the RV to set up a web of motion detectors in a circle around the rig. Necessary or not, he needed to know if any neighbors came calling, two-legged or four it didn’t matter. He activated a set of Tattle Tales to watch the RV. The more eyes the merrier. Connor doubted the cartel even knew he and Roy were in town. He intended to keep it that way.

  After a quick shower, which Connor very courteously allowed grumpy Roy to take first, they ate a dinner of grilled hamburgers, pork and beans, and topped it off with a slice of key-lime pie that same considerate someone had left in the RV’s full-sized refrigerator. The twelve-pack of cold Coors Lite didn’t hurt Connor’s feelings none either.

  Roy grinned when he’d spotted it. “You were wrong. They do sell booze in Utah.”

  “Mom always said we’re never too old we can’t learn,” Connor replied. “Give me one of them bad boys.”

  After dishes, both men collapsed on their bunks. It was too late to call Cassidy, but no matter. She was a lot closer now. A smile spread slowly across his sunburned face.

  “I might have been wrong about the DEA. I really like this RV.” Roy muttered before he dozed off in his nice clean bed instead of on the nice hard ground.

  “You sure made Agent Dancer mad,” Connor reminded him.

  “Cassidy’s a cute gal.”

  “Then be extra nice the next time you see her.”

  Roy snored in response.

  Three

  Driving through the Columbia River Gorge always made Izza smile. At least it used to. Stifling the icky feeling of motion sickness for the last fifty miles of rain filled curving roads changed everything.

  Mark and Morgan were in the front seat, which suited her fine. With slim and trim Rory at her side, she had room to stretch out. Dozing through the nausea took her from Washington though Oregon and into Idaho.

  When at last the interstate split south to Utah, it was a day later, the rain had finally stopped, and her back ached all the way to her toes. She was numb-butted and cranky.

  They made one more rest stop before they hit the highlights of Tremonton, Ogden, and went southward to Salt Lake City. She blew out a sigh of barely controlled frustration. There was more than one mission needing to take place in the next week, and it was high time she figured out what she needed to say when the moment came. Oh, hi. Guess what? You’re going to be a father. Or her preferred – You screwed up. Now you’re going to pay.

  Settling her palms over the small mound below her belly button, she felt the now familiar bump-bump of an elbow or knee jabbing her from within. Motherhood. Ugh. Who would have thought she’d get pregnant after just one mistake? She sure as hell didn’t plan to, but then, this had been the year for surprises. Or shocks.

  Focusing on the bleak desert landscape outside her window took Izza back to a different desert and time. Her CO, Colonel Nesbitt, looked so sad that morning, but what’d he expect? That she’d fall apart when he told her that Jamie, her brother, had been killed in action? Did Nesbitt think she’d cry all over him and need a hug? Hell, no. She’d taken it like the soldier she was, gulped it down like every other piece of bad luck in her miserable excuse for a life.

  The only reason she hadn’t re-upped for another tour was her pride. In that split second, she’d become the object of pity instead of the bringer of pain. Her tough girl persona was shot to hell. People were talking behind her back, and she floundered. The more she buried the need to scream, the worse it dug into her heart and hurt. Damned if they would see her cry, she left. The Corps could take all their esprit de corps bullshit and shove it.

  She was alone. Even the apartment she and Jamie shared felt hollow when she’d returned home on that dismal, drizzling Seattle afternoon. No rowdy Seahawks’ games blared from the TV room to welcome her. No Rainier beer bottles or half eaten bags of dill pickle flavored potato chips littered the counters or floor. No smelly socks and sweaty running shoes either. Not even dirty dishes. The place felt like a morgue. It smelled too—clean.

  God, she used to ride Jamie’s ass. Dirty dishes might make it to the kitchen counter, so why not into the dishwasher? And what was so hard about actually turning it on once in a while?

  Smelly gym clothes got stacked on top of the hamper. Why not dumped inside? Her own words met her at the door. Who do you think I am, your slave? All those annoying habits that used to drive her nuts—suddenly didn’t.

  And that was when she lost it. By the time her anguish was spent, the apartment was in shambles, the tidiness undone, and her new reality come home to roost. Out of control and as lost as ever, she’d spent the first night in his closet buried beneath every last T-shirt and pair of pants he’d left behind just to breathe him in—one last time. Just to hold onto something that was left of him. Just to friggin’ stop crying!

  Only she couldn’t. All Izza could do was bury the pain left by his death. The morning he fell, she lost everything—her family, her reason to smile, and the one person who loved her no matter how bruised, swollen, or messed up her face was. No matter how hard her father used to hit her.

  She’d thought of ending it until she found out she was pregnant. Even though Izza should hate this child, she didn’t. It was the ultimate gift from her time in hell come back to save her when she needed it most. For once in all of her twenty-two worthless years on earth, Izza deserved a brea
k and a blessing. Despite its father, this baby was it.

  She bit her lip, drawing just enough blood to remind herself that she’d survived worse. An unwelcome tear sparkled in the corner of her eye, catching a ray of the bright Utah sun. She scrubbed it away. Fast. No one needed to see what a stupid girl she was, least of all kind-hearted Mark or gentle Rory. Hell, no. One smidgen of kindness right now, and she’d crumble.

  Besides, sunshine always made her cry. It meant nothing. So did the heat. The stifling lack of humidity. It all reminded her of—them. Jamie and Connor. The brother she loved and the man she hated.

  Who was she kidding? She hadn’t survived anything worse than this.

  “Let’s go play nice,” Roy muttered.

  “You’re telling me? Seems to me you own that problem.”

  Roy growled and rolled his shoulders, but Connor could tell. The convenience of the RV was growing on him. They’d gotten up at the crack of dawn, and by noon, had located twenty-two grow-sites in all and possibly the cartel’s main camp.

  They’d come home to an ice chest on their steps with a note that said, “Enjoy!” written in feminine handwriting. Inside, were two perfectly marbled rib eyes that Roy quickly grilled to perfection. Little by little Agent Dancer was winning him over.

  Now Connor and he were dressed in fishing vests and carrying fly poles on their way to visit their friendly DEA neighbors. It had been another successful day, and if Connor had anything to say about it, the night would be just as successful.

  “Four agents are headed our way to assist. Two out of the Seattle office,” Roy advised as he set a quick pace uphill. He was a lot easier to get along with now that he’d gotten a good night’s sleep. That tasty steak hadn’t hurt, either. “I’d like the preliminary report filed by the time they get here.”

  “Already got the video scrubbed and ready to go. Which agents?”

  “Morgan Humphries out of Seattle, for one. Mark Houston and Rory Dennison will join us out of Virginia. Not sure who’s on fourth. We still need to get inside that camp we found today, though. I’d like to include that in the report. You up for more exploring after our visit with the neighbors?”

  “You bet. The sooner the better.” Connor knew most of the guys out of the Seattle office. It would be good to see Morgan again and whoever that fourth person was. Maybe Eric Reynolds, the ex-Army medic.

  Agent Dancer was correct. Their undercover vehicle was as easy to spot as Roy and Connor’s. An older looking rig, it was not as large but appeared to be just as comfortable. She waved from their food-laden picnic table when she spotted them walking up the trail.

  “Hey, guys. Good to see you again.” She made quick introductions of the three men sitting around the campfire: Randy Burkhouse, Harold Denton, and Brigham Coltrane. Burkhouse was the stuffy senior agent, Coltrane just out of college and as green to federal service as they came. Denton was the proverbial cowboy, complete with handlebar moustache and a plug of chewing tobacco stuck in his cheek.

  “You’re kidding me. You found twenty-two sites?” Brigham Coltrane couldn’t get over the fact that Connor and Roy had located a no-kidding cartel camp along with a couple more grow-sites. A handsome young man with close trimmed brown hair and brown eyes as friendly as a puppy’s, Brigham had an easy going air about him as if he’d already seen the world and approved of it.

  “Come see,” Connor said as he lifted his laptop out of his backpack. Before long, everyone was gathered behind him watching the same video report he’d prepared for his boss. Each framed window on his desktop showed a bird’s eye view of every grow-site, including a few shots of their RV.

  “Oh, look. There’s one we didn’t catch.” Harold Denton pointed over Connor’s shoulder at one of the feeds. Short and squat, Denton was as laid back as any man could get, a definite don’t-sweat-the-small-stuff kind of a guy. He clapped Connor’s back. “Danged if you didn’t find a couple more than us. Good on ya. Look at this, Randy.”

  “Yeah, I see it.” Agent Burkhouse stared at the specific window frame Denton pointed out. Surly and gruff, he hadn’t seemed pleased when Roy and Connor showed up unannounced, and he’d grown less so since they’d proven their worth. “It’s no wonder we missed it. Look at all the cottonwoods obscuring the view. These guys just got lucky. Anyone can see that.”

  “Yeah, right. It doesn’t hurt they’ve been hiking the walls of this canyon since they arrived instead of sticking close to camp like we do.” Agent Dancer shot Connor a sideways glance, which he easily caught. “Heck, Randy. They’re actually looking for the cartel.”

  “Nah, we just got lucky.” Roy leaned back in his camp chair. “’Sides, it don’t matter who gets these cartel guys as long as they leave the country, right?”

  “Whatever.” Burkhouse shuffled away from the conversation and headed inside. “I’m turning in. I’m tired.”

  No one seemed to care.

  “I owe you an apology, Agent Dancer.” Roy turned up the charm meter as he faced Cassidy. “You took real good care of us. Almost feel like I’m on vacation. Thank you.”

  She smirked at his cheesy apology. “Air conditioning is a lifesaver, isn’t it?”

  “Those steaks you brought weren’t too bad, either. And how’d you know I like Key lime pie? A man could get used to being treated this good.”

  “Don’t. Next time it’s your turn.”

  The more she bantered with Roy, the more Connor approved of Cassidy. She could dish it out as fast as Roy could, but he was no slouch when it came to good food. “I was thinking along the lines of baby back ribs, hot homemade cornbread with honey butter, and a big batch of jambalaya with shrimp, sausage, and crawdads. You know, something from down south where folks really know how to cook.”

  “Where down south?” Brigham asked.

  “Birmingham, Alabama.” A big toothy smile lit Roy’s dark skin. “Used to live there when I was a kid. Best barbecue on the whole damned planet.”

  “Sounds good.” Cassidy turned her attention back to Connor’s computer screen. “You mind showing me that video report again?”

  She was the only one left standing behind him. Her hand rested light and warm on his back, her thumb rubbing a small circle on his right shoulder blade. That gentle meaningless contact played havoc with his breathing. “You bet,” he mumbled as he opened his laptop and prayed his battery had enough juice to keep this woman interested. And close.

  “Do you report into your office everyday by video?” She leaned over him to take a better look, making contact with her arm against his bicep. The powdery fragrance she brought with her was a pleasant change from the sweaty hiking boots he was used to.

  “Usually. It’s no big deal. How do you send your reports?” He glanced up at her, but Cassidy’s eyes were fixed on his laptop screen, actually watching the live feeds from the Tattle Tales.

  “By phone. Every day. Nine PM,” she answered glancing to their RV. “That’s probably what Randy’s doing now.”

  Connor took a slow breath in, enjoying everything about this gutsy woman. He’d read her body language when she snapped back at her superior. Randy Burkhouse bugged her.

  “I could show you how to set up a simple reporting program. Even without the Tattle Tale feeds, it’s easy.” He closed the computer. “If you’re interested.”

  “Not me. Show Brigham. He’s our token nerd.” She gave Connor’s shoulder a final pat as she strolled to the rear of the RV. “Sorry, but I don’t do computers.”

  He stowed his laptop in his backpack to follow. “You sound like my boss. Alex doesn’t do computers, either.”

  “I’m a woman of action. Computers are for geeks.”

  “Guess I’m a geek then.” Connor grinned at her not so subtle opinion. He made himself comfortable on an old tree stump while she leaned against the rig, her expression hard to see in the fading light.

  “You guys did a good job. Considering,” she muttered.

  “For a couple of geeks, we don’t do half bad, do
we?”

  “No, I didn’t mean that. I meant considering you’re ex-military. Randy’s ticked because you were more effective in two days then we’ve been in a month. It’s embarrassing when a couple out-of-towners know more than the home team.”

  “Hey, we’ve got skills.” Connor noticed the earnest tone in her voice. “We’re trained in all that marksmanship, observation, and stalking stuff.”

  “You’re taking your chances, though.” She turned serious. “The SC will kill you if they catch you in their camps.”

  “That’s not going to happen. They are not going to catch us.” That was one thing Connor had no doubt about. He changed the subject. “Thanks for the steaks tonight. The Key lime pie last night, too. That was thoughtful.”

  She shrugged. “Just taking care of my guys.”

  He liked the way that sounded on her lips. “Your guys? How many do you have?”

  A mischievous smile met his gaze. “Sometimes too many. Right now I’ve got just enough to get me into trouble, but not enough to cry over when they leave.”

  “Any of these guys belong to you?” He nodded toward her DEA cohorts still chatting with Roy.

  Cassidy grimaced. “Them? Don’t make me laugh.”

  Roy called from the campfire. “Connor? You ready to go yet?”

  Connor rolled his eyes at the interruption, but he stood to leave. “Guess duty’s calling my name. Thanks for the hospitality.”

  “We’ll have to do this again sometime.” She extended her hand, but when he grasped it in a handshake, she pulled herself into him. Suddenly, she was under his chin and looking up with those big brown eyes of hers. A glint of firelight sparkled there. A glint of something else, too. “I restock supplies every Thursday. Anything special you’d like me to bring next time?”

  His blood supply fled south. Duh, yeah. A sexy negligee comes to mind.

  “Connor? You back there?” Roy called again, grating on Connor’s last nerve.

  “Yeah. Coming,” he answered even as he breathed down at Cassidy, his heart thudding loud and clear. This might just be a great op after all. Her lips glistened with the quick slip of her tongue over them. Even in the dark, her eyes beckoned.