But that day....
She shook the memory off. Everything ended abruptly. There was a firefight. They had to gear up and leave in a hurry. Like most firefights, it started fast but didn’t last long, only long enough to change her life forever. She glanced over her shoulder to the injured man in the shadows behind her. Why was Connor the one who got to live?
“You want to tell me why I’m in Utah and you’re not?” Alex barked.
“Surveillance,” Mark barked back. By the time Alex’s flight landed at SLC International, Mark and his team were deep in the heart of Sonora. Damn all cell phones with their GPS locators.
“Why?”
“Because it’s time Ramirez got a taste of his own medicine. Are you calling to assist me or not?” Mark cranked up his own obnoxious meter in response. “How’s Roy?”
“In Intensive Care.”
“But he’s doing good?” Mark needed to hear the words. When he and his team flew out of Salt Lake City, Roy was barely out of surgery and still in critical condition. He’d been shot twice, once in his upper thigh, once in his chest.
“He’ll live,” Alex muttered. “Might need a cane. We’ll see.”
“Which is why we’re here. Ramirez has Izza and Connor, maybe not in Mexico, but he knows where they are. I’m going after him, Boss. I’m getting our people back if it’s the last thing I do.”
“No shit.” Sarcasm. One of Alex’s ready tools. “Not only are you out of line, Junior Agent, but you’re way past the scope of my contract with Tom.”
Mark ignored the warning implied when Alex reverted to using titles instead of his agent’s names. “Need you to brush Ramirez to me, Boss. Stir the water. Bait him with the intel me and my team intend to send you. Light him up. Make him need to come home.”
“And I need you to get your ass Stateside where it belongs.” The gloves were off. Alex didn’t brook mutiny.
“And I need to finish the mission you gave Roy, Connor, and Izza once and for all!” Mark shot back. “Ramirez is running this show, Boss. Not Baxter. Not you. And sure as hell not the DEA. Let’s bring the point home to the damned boss of the SC for a change. We’re in his country now. His hometown. And later today, I’ll be inside his damned quiet hacienda planting Tattle Tales. Let him understand we can hurt him too. That we can. That I will.”
A moment of silence stretched between Salt Lake City and Hermosillo, Sonora. At last Alex grumbled, “Anything else?”
Mark took the snide hit from his OCD boss on the chin. Alex hadn’t continued to berate him for outright disobeying a direct order. That alone felt a lot like winning. He pushed the limit. “I’m not walking away from this. Neither is my team. It’s the only way I can get Connor and Izza back and you know it. I’d like to think you’ll fly cover when I decide to do something stupid and stick my neck out.”
Alex didn’t miss a beat. “When haven’t I?”
Instant relief eased over Mark’s shoulder. He went for broke. “While you’re at it, I need you to up the balance in my expense account. I’m gonna need cash to operate while I’m here. Black marketeers don’t take credit.”
“Already done.”
“And I need you to put Cassidy Dancer and Brigham Coltrane on your payroll. They’re busting their ass down here.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Mark. That’s what I’m paying you for.”
“I will get Connor and Izza back,” Mark promised.
Alex sighed. “Like I said, tell me something I don’t know.”
Cool air flooded the place where Connor lay. He’d lost track of time. It was pleasantly quiet. Izza hadn’t been around for what seemed like hours now. For all he knew, she’d walked away and left him. He wouldn’t blame her. In a way, it would make things a lot easier. That way he could die in peace.
But not yet. He elbowed himself off the ground. This time his stomach and head allowed him to stay upright. The holes in his side hurt plenty, but at least now they were clean. But there was no Izza in sight. That was good and that was bad.
Izza Ramos. The eternal paradox in his life. One minute she’d do something kind. The next minute she’d half beat him to death. He never knew which side of her would show up.
Thankfully, Cassidy hadn’t been with him and Roy when they were ambushed. Had he really seen Morgan die? Without a doubt, Mark would’ve raced to their rescue. Was he and the others caught in the crossfire as well? Was Cassidy okay? What happened to Roy?
Connor closed his eyes at the awful scenes that emerged from his mind, not knowing which were real or not. The somber thought lingered. He was pretty sure Morgan had been killed. Maybe Roy, too.
The worst part of war was always the not knowing. A soldier could read reports of battles and catch up on all the news afterwards, but the not knowing what was going down while it happened was every soldier’s worst nightmare. Connor hated suspense. Even home in America, so much could happen in the blink of an eye. And the next time you saw someone might be the last time. He hoped Roy and the others were safe. Especially Cassidy.
Her brown eyes came to mind, teasing him. Her short blond hair said as much about her personality as the rest of her. Cassidy had potential. He figured her for an athlete who either biked or hiked, maybe skied. Mentally he calculated the logistics and cost of a Christmas vacation to one of the ski resorts in Utah or Colorado. Maybe Cassidy would join him. Who knows? She’d be a lot of fun if he got the opportunity. And Connor was all about opportunity.
His stomach growled. With a few grunts and groans, he managed to get to his knees. And then to his bare feet. He braced one hand against the wall for balance and looked around for his shirt. Finding it hung up on a piece of wood stuck between two upright timbers, he reached a hand up to pull it down. Examining the garment proved what he already knew. It had two bullet holes in it. So did he. But it didn’t look as bloody as he remembered. Had Izza washed it? She must have. There was hardly any blood left on the fabric.
He pulled it over his shoulders and prepared to greet the world. Stepping into the bright sun for the first time in days, he immediately covered his eyes with the back of one hand. It was blinding hot, and nothing but sagebrush and sand as far as he could see. A water bottle rested next to a squared off chunk of granite.
So this is where she goes when she runs away from me. Hmmm.
Izza was one tough gal, especially if she’d dragged him all the way in here like she said. He vaguely recalled her taunting him, but it could’ve been another dream.
Too weak to stand on the hot ground, he shuffled back inside where it was cooler. He’d actually been laying on a combination of old shirts, torn jeans, and a ratty vinyl jacket. It was an awful mattress, but it had kept him off the dirt while he was unconscious. That much was good.
Three old glass soda bottles lined the wall beside a dented tin coffee pot. He looked closer. The bottles were filled with—water? Hmmm. That was odd. So Izza had found water out here in the middle of nowhere? Leave it to her. She did have a knack for survival.
Connor sat on a lump of granite beside the slanted wall. Bumpy and hard, it made a sufficient chair. A sufficient sufficiency to suffice the insufficiency, as his mother would say. He smiled. Bridgette Maher, the widowed mother of seven sons who idolized her, thought she walked on water, and would do anything humanly possible to make her happy. Thinking of his mom brought a bright spot to this very dark place.
“You’re up.” Izza stood at the mouth of the cave, her hands on her hips. Hostility radiated off her like the heat waves off the desert behind her. She could glow in the dark with all that stored up negative energy she possessed.
“Yeah, I’m actually feeling—”
“It’s going to rain,” she declared. Her weather prediction cut him short. Okay, so she didn’t care how he felt. No big deal. He should be used to that by now.
“Okay. It’s going to rain.”
“That means it’s going to get cold, dumb ass. When it rains in the desert, it gets cold. You ever
think about that? How the hell are we supposed to keep warm with nothing but rocks around us?”
He shrugged, not going to offer what naturally came to his mind. She’d shoot down the suggestion of snuggling with him pretty damned fast. “Not much I can do about the weather.”
She glared at him, still more shadow than not, the bright light behind her providing only a dark silhouette of a woman with a nasty attitude. Even with that limited view he saw the sharp jut of her stubborn chin. Was there ever a day she was NOT mad at the world?
“Thanks for taking care of me.”
“What was I supposed to do, let you die?” The girl just could not say anything without filling it with venom.
“Yeah. You could’ve walked away and saved yourself. You could’ve left me.”
“I guess that proves I’m not anything like you, doesn’t it?”
He sighed. Talking with Izza was the same as playing with a baby alligator. It might look cute, but it always got a man hurt.
“Thanks for the water.” He kept trying. Whether she had wanted to or not, she’d been kind to him. She turned away, still at the mouth of the cave and mostly silhouette.
He saw it then. What? No way. It can’t be.
“Izza?”
She faced him again. “Spit it out. What do you want now?”
“Are you...?”
Even with the sun behind her, her razor sharp glare dared him to speak one more word. She already knew what he was going to ask. He almost didn’t, but he had to know. “Are you… Are you pregnant?”
She whirled on her heel and left. This time he followed, slowly making his way back to the mouth of the cave. The minute she saw him, she faced the opposite direction. Connor braced himself against the timber at the doorway and studied her. There were so many facets to this woman, all of them sharp and pointy.
“Well? Are you?”
“Butt out, Boston. It’s none of your business.”
Ah. So I’m right.
“How far along?” He probed for details.
“I’m not going to tell you again. Butt the hell out of my business.” She continued with her blank stare routine, but he was getting to her. He could tell. There was so much rage in that tiny body and most of it close to the surface. It was just a matter of knowing which buttons to push.
“Six and a half months,” he said softly.
She bit her lip, nothing more to say, her eyes staring off into the bleached blue sky and pretending he was invisible.
“I think about that night, you know.”
That did it. In a split second, she was off her stone chair and in his face with blood in her eye. If looks could kill, he’d be dead, embalmed, and buried. Or on-the-spot cremated.
“Will you shut the hell up? Why don’t you go back into your damned cave and puke your guts up like before? That’s all you’re good for.” She returned to her rock, her knees pulled tight to her chest and her arms wrapped around them like a human fortress of solitude.
He couldn’t help but smile. Izza was so sure she didn’t need anybody. That’s why she was tough. And mean. Because deep down—she wasn’t. And despite all the nasty anger directed at him, there was more to the story.
Connor leaned against the cave opening, still watching and hoping. “They were lobbing RPGs at us all night long, remember? I thought they’d never stop.”
She stared, nothing to say.
“It was a tough day. We lost Huffaker and Carter. The medics were out of their minds with all the evacs and injured. Choppers kept setting down and lifting off. I’m surprised none of them got shot down.”
Her chin jutted a little too far. Want to or not, she was thinking. Most of that day he didn’t want to remember, but some of it—he did.
“They thought we’d already caught a chopper out and were back at camp. They left us.” His voice low and steady, he watched the reaction shift over her face. Mean girl Izza looked very small and fragile. Her fingers clenched her arms. She breathed hard. A tear dripped off her nose. One tear. There wouldn’t be another. That was one of her rules, part of her code. Never cry. It was a stupid rule, and when she broke it, she turned on everyone as if it was their fault she’d shown weakness. That’s why she’d hit him before. He’d made her cry.
“There was only the two of us when the thunder started. I was scared,” Connor admitted honestly.
“You would be.” She wiped her face with one quick stroke of her palm, the tear already ancient history. “Wuss.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. Denial didn’t make fear go away. It only compressed it until something as tiny as a single teardrop blew the concealed ammo dump of pain and anger skyward. “Guess I’m the kind of guy who would be scared. We had no way to call for help, air support or backup. Cut off from our squad all night long. Insurgents were camped not a stone’s throw away and dying to torture any American soldier they could get their hands on. Yeah. I’m not ashamed. I was damned scared.”
She wouldn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. Connor knew for a fact she’d been scared that night too, scared enough to seek him out in a way he’d never expected. Only dreamed of.
“Do you ever think about that night?”
“No!” Her answer came too fast and too definite. Of course she did, especially if....
“Is it a boy or a girl? Do you know yet?”
She didn’t answer.
“It’s mine, isn’t it?” The words unspoken were just words, but the minute he heard his question out loud, his heart gave a funny little lurch. It’s yours, Connor. Izza’s pregnant with your baby. Your son or daughter. You’re going to be a father.
He got it now. She’d never meant for him to know about the baby. He gulped. As quickly as he was surprised by this unexpected news, he was sad. They should be celebrating the prospect of a new life that they’d created together, not hating each other.
“Why did you keep it if you hate me so much?” One thing Connor knew to his soul. Life began at conception. His mother drilled that truth into all of her boys. If you want to dance, she declared, you better know up front that you’re going to pay for the music. And he agreed. So did Izza, which is why he’d baited her with such a mean question.
It worked. Like an angry mother bear, she charged him with murder in her eye and stuck her finger so deep into his chest that he had to catch his balance not to fall over.
“What the hell kind of question is that, Maher? Are you asking me why I didn’t get rid of this baby? Why I kept her? Is that what you’re asking, dumb ass?”
He smiled again. So much information in just a few seconds of angry ranting. He was the father of a baby girl, and Izza planned to keep her. She wanted the baby, but she’d also planned on raising it all by herself. She loved his daughter enough to protect her from the man Izza thought might hurt the baby. Him. Connor. That wrongful assessment hurt his heart. How could Izza ever think such an ugly thought of him? She of all people should know him better.
“Izza—” He should’ve known she’d turn on him. Ramming him with the point of her shoulder, she knocked him off balance. Already unsteady on his feet, it didn’t take much.
“You’re a jerk, you know that, Maher? Did you think I’d get an abortion? Is that what you want? Would that make your life easier? Then you could just walk away like you did last time! Isn’t that what the whole damned world should do, make your life easier?”
“I didn’t walk—”
She shoved him. Hard. With a thud, the back of his head met the stone outcropping just inside the cave entrance. Stars swirled, and down he went, a veritable ton of free-falling bricks. He grabbed for anything to stop his descent, but ended with an armful of Izza. They toppled over together, his back to the floor, her chest to his chest.
For a fraction of a second, they were locked in each other’s arms with the breath knocked out of them. Like the stupidly hopeful man he was, he cupped the back of her hard head, wanting to cradle instead of fight her. Her heart pounded against his the way it had
that night in Iraq. Tears filled his eyes, but not from the pain in his head or gut.
“Izza. Please,” he whispered.
She pulled away, but he held on tight, hoping for God knew what. If only she would hear him out... If only she would give him a chance to explain....
Izza hesitated.
God, please. Give me the words to get through to her.
Connor no more than thought the prayer when she pushed away. “God, I hate you,” she muttered as she rolled to her feet and left.
He closed his eyes and stayed where he’d fallen. One of them definitely had to learn to pray better.
Fourteen
“Ramirez has been busy.” Alex stepped onto his veranda to answer the phone call from the governor. The television reporter had just announced that Governor Baxter had declared a state of emergency in Utah due to the wildfires burning from Weber Canyon, just north of Salt Lake City, all the way to Mount Nebo in the south. More flames glowered on Ensign Peak to the east of Salt Lake City. It seemed all Utah was on fire tonight.
“Which is why I’m calling you,” Tom Baxter said.
“Do you know where he is?”
“DEA and FBI have him under surveillance, but he’s not the one setting these fires.”
“Of course not. He has hired help for that.”
“Can you find the men who are?”
Alex didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I’m on my way to meet him right now.”
“Who? Ramirez?” Tom asked in disbelief.
Alex fingered the photos Mark had provided. “He doesn’t know it yet, but yes. We have things to discuss. He needs to understand the rules have changed.”
“Do you need assistance? I’d be glad to send a couple of Utah’s finest for backup.”
“I’d prefer them to DEA or FBI,” Alex remarked drily, “but not now. You’ll know when I’m ready. I’ll have Mother contact you.”
Tom chuckled. “She is a pistol, isn’t she?”
Alex didn’t respond to that question. Pistol was not one of the words he’d use to describe his nosey techie. At the moment, he and she were on amicable terms, but only because he’d learned to exercise restraint instead of biting her head off when she overstepped her authority. Still, the woman could make the Pope swear.
Connor (In the Company of Snipers Book 5) Page 14
