Connor (In the Company of Snipers Book 5)

by Irish Winters

  “I’ll be in touch.” Alex slipped his SIG Sauer P290 inside his underarm holster as he ended the call. Less than six inches in length, the pistol carried six .9mm rounds in the magazine, plenty enough for the conversation he had in mind. Two extra magazines in his pocket might come in handy if the discussion lagged, but he preferred to rely on the laser sight. It was funny how a little speck of neon red dancing across a man’s chest could change a belligerent mind. Lifting his backpack to one shoulder, he phoned Mother on his way to ground level.

  “You’re still tracking Ramirez for me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Boss. He’s dining at a little joint called the Pink Iguana not far from your hotel.”

  “Anyone with him?”

  “Some dude dressed up like a biker.”

  “Send me coordinates?” he asked instead of ordering. Somehow, that little change in his approach worked wonders with his employees. Alex smirked to himself. Old dogs could learn new tricks.

  “On their way to you now,” she answered.

  “One more thing. Are you and Ember tracking the fires here in Utah?”

  “Yes. Ember’s down loading the latest satellite imagery right now. She’ll have that info for you shortly.”

  “Thanks, Mother,” he replied sincerely. Gratitude was another skill set he’d recently acquired. Sometimes it worked.

  By the time Alex stepped out into the street, he was surprised how close the Pink Iguana was to his hotel. Two blocks south, one east. Either Ramirez wanted to enjoy the view of the flaming mayhem he’d created, or he was keeping track of someone himself.

  Hmmm. That possibility gave Alex pause. Could Ramirez be watching the owner and CEO of the very team called in to put the drug lord out of business? Were two watchers watching each other? How bizarre.

  He knew he had a tail the minute he set foot on the pavement. Easy to spot, the man stood out like a sore thumb, an unmistakable wolf among the flock. Mother called it right. Another bruiser type, leather vest over a muscle shirt and tattoos. The man was all biker, but definitely not trained at undercover surveillance.

  Lowering his head, Alex walked west. Biker Boy followed. Storefronts lined the sidewalk. Alex was close to the light rail transfer station. With all the people coming and going, it was as good a place as any to play ditch the dummy.

  A group of excited, young people raced around Alex on their way to board the just arrived train. One young man bumped him hard, knocking his backpack strap off his shoulder.

  “Hey. I’m sorry, Mister. Did I hurt you?”

  “Nah. I’m fine,” Alex replied. “No troubles.”

  “Here. Let me get that for you.” The young man grabbed his pack up from the ground and handed it to Alex with a big smile. Off he ran to catch up with his friends.

  Alex followed the youngsters onto the train, turned left at the door and walked to the opposite end of the car. He intended for Biker Boy to see him board, so Alex went upstairs to the second level, doubled back and came down the stairs right behind the guy. He’d barely boarded and was still looking for him, just headed in the opposite direction.

  Alex pulled his tweed jacket and Irish flat cap from his bag, put them on and exited the still boarding train, this time joining ranks with a young mother, a doublewide stroller, and her two little boys. She had too much gear and one too many little ones to move quickly.

  “Hey, look, Mama. That man’s going to the zoo with us!” Her precocious, oldest son pointed at Alex. She smiled, her arms full of her other wiggling son.

  “Can I help you with that stroller, ma’am?” Alex offered.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’m afraid hauling two boys means hauling twice as much stuff.”

  He helped her stow a diaper bag on the bottom of the stroller, along with a couple kid-sized blankets and another bag full of treats and water bottles. Before long, the curly-haired adventurer in her arms was safely belted into the stroller. As Alex secured the second little guy into the seat behind his baby brother, he noticed Biker Boy had hurried off the train right behind him. The man was so close Alex could’ve reached out and smacked his back in friendship if he’d been so inclined. He wasn’t. Biker Boy looked worried and mad, a good combination.

  The young woman didn’t look old enough to have two children already. “That was very kind of you to stop and help us. Thank you again.”

  “No trouble at all, ma’am. Have fun at the zoo.” He dipped the brim of his cap to her in a friendly salute.

  “Oh, no. We’re not going to the zoo.” She beamed. “We’re just visiting my mother up in the Avenues. I hope we get there before the rain hits.”

  “Have a good night.” Alex winked at the boys and walked away, while Biker Boy headed safely in the opposite direction. No more tail. Alex proceeded to the Pink Iguana. He called Mother again. “I’m late. Is Ramirez still there?”

  “They just ordered after dinner cocktails.”

  “I got side-tracked.”

  “I saw that.”

  “You’ve got eyes on me, too?”

  “Sure. Traffic cams are wonderful. I didn’t know why you were taking the train ‘til I saw you had a tail.”

  “Yeah. Lost him.”

  “It’s too bad I can’t just highlight creeps like that with my mouse and hit control-alt-delete, huh?” Mother was feeling a little better tonight. “Then I could really help you.”

  “You help me plenty, Mother,” he praised her again, wondering what the hell control-alt-delete meant. Acronyms he understood. Techie talk? Never.

  Food. He had to have food. Connor awakened where he’d fallen, close to the cave entrance and not sure how long he’d lain there. Hunger overrode any need for trivial information.

  “Ouch!” He touched the newest knot on the back of his head. Damn. Something had to change soon or he wouldn’t survive rescue by Izza. He wasn’t up to any more battery, and she was too fired up all the time. Food would help them both. Of course, Izza wasn’t inside the cave. She was probably sitting out on her boulder again, planning ways to make him suffer.

  Easing into a sitting position, he looked for his socks and boots. If Izza really hated him like she claimed, would she have set his dusty boots side by side with the socks folded neatly over the tops? Heck, even the laces were tucked inside where they belonged.

  He retrieved his boots and sank to the granite rock to put them on. Another paradox revealed itself. He was pretty sure his socks had been washed or at least rinsed. Lifting one to his nose, he sniffed. Right again. His eyes didn’t even water. Not even a little bit. Will miracles never cease?

  The paradox that was Izza Ramos made him smile. There were still feelings there; she just didn’t want to admit it. Heck, she might not even realize it. His heart swelled. Despite his thoughts for Cassidy, that prior moment spent with Izza still meant something especially now that there was a baby involved.

  Wow. I’m going to be a father. He couldn’t restrain the surge of pride at the knowledge that it was his seed inside that fierce woman’s belly. At least they’d loved each other once. His baby was all the proof he needed.

  Connor shuffled around the cave, looking for something to make a trap with. Anything. At last, he found a long piece of rusty wire half-buried in the dirt floor. He dug it out and within minutes, he’d fashioned a couple of loops for a rabbit snare. His father had taught him how to trap the little varmints. Now. Where to place it?

  Exiting the cave, Connor spotted Izza sitting on her granite throne and looking just as miserable. She looked away the minute he stepped into the light.

  “Hey,” he offered amicably despite her chilly reception.

  She didn’t acknowledge that he still breathed the same air. Dizzy from the short walk, he gripped the wall so he wouldn’t fall on his butt again.

  “It’s kinda bright out here,” he said as he took a solid step forward without support, just him and his two jelly-legs. The earth wavered. He halted dead in his tracks until it held still. The horizon rocke
d back and forth. Connor gulped. Maybe this was not a good idea. The gurgle in his stomach offered a different argument. They needed food. With sheer determination, he flattened his two big feet to the hard-packed sand beneath him. As quick as it had come, the vertigo ceased. He took a deep breath and counted himself successful. I can do this. Go me.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Sarcasm dripped off her lips.

  “Hunting.” He staggered a few more steps, careful to keep his feet close to the ground. It wasn’t walking as much as it was shuffling like a very old man with a very bad back. “And yes, my head is fine. No thanks to you.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s nothing out there but sand and dirt, dumb ass.” She huffed her annoyance. “Besides, you’re not smart enough to catch a cold, let alone something we can actually eat.”

  He winked over his shoulder at her. “We’ll see.”

  “Whatever.” Her eyes were extra mean until she turned away.

  Yep. Still mad.

  Connor made it a few steps before he fell. Holding one hand to his abdomen to hold everything in, he shuddered. Every damned movement hurt like hell. Very slowly, he pushed himself back to his knees and then to his feet. Izza didn’t offer to assist. No matter. This was not about her. This was about doing what a man had to do.

  Finally flat-footed and halfway steady again, Connor shuffled along, knowing she might be right. He was probably making a bigger fool of himself than he already had. He might not catch anything with this piece of rusty wire.

  Connor smirked. Now he sounded just like her. Not going to happen. When he got far enough away from the cave, he turned to take in the view. Man, it was ugly—nothing more than boring, gray granite. He’d expected something a little grander, maybe snow-covered peaks. Mountains rimmed the valley they seemed to be stuck in the middle of, but those peaks were a long ways off and there was no snow capping them. Looked like the desert. Now he knew why the mine was abandoned. It was butt ugly.

  Huge thunderheads rose black and high in the sky behind it. Rain would probably be cold even in Utah, wouldn’t it? Izza said it would. That was good enough for him. He stumbled on. At last he came to a cluster of sagebrush. As careful as if he were setting blasting caps in C4, he set the simple rabbit snares with shaky fingers. Not too small of loops and not too big. The smaller loop within the larger loop. Anchor them. Good. And pray like hell there’s a stupid rabbit in the vicinity.

  His mother came to mind again. She always offered a prayer over her vegetable garden at the first of summer. She’d plant her tomatoes and cucumbers, stick her onion sets into the dirt and stand back with her head bowed. Why not? It was worth a try.

  Heavenly Father. Please send me a dumb rabbit. Or better yet, send me two dumb rabbits. Amen.

  Connor smiled. His mother would have smacked him a good one for that kind of a disrespectful prayer. He sat by the snares for a while, exhausted with the small effort he’d just made. It was a long walk back. Izza was nowhere in sight, her disinterest in whether he lived or died forever obvious. Taking a deep breath, Connor forced himself to his feet. The cave suddenly seemed farther away. He pressed onward.

  No sooner did he step inside its entrance than the first raindrops fell. Lightning flashed. Connor ducked at the loud crack of booming thunder. Wow. The weather had gotten real nasty real fast. It sounded a helluva lot like artillery. The ground shook. Tiny showers of gravel and dust fell down from the rafters overhead.

  Turning from Mother Nature’s magnificent outdoor light display, he spied Izza curled up in the opposite corner of the cave, her arms around her knees again. She looked pale. Scared.

  He had to ask. “You feeling okay?”

  “What’s it to you?” she snapped and looked away.

  “Just asking.” Connor proceeded to his side of the cave. What was he thinking? Of course she was okay. That USMC sergeant was too damned mean to be anything else. Let her sit there.

  Very slowly, he lowered his butt to the makeshift mattress and lay down. Every muscle shook, and he was spent. The dirty clothes on the hard ground beneath him actually felt good.

  He closed his eyes, thinking about his next problem—how to cook a rabbit if he caught one. He couldn’t eat it raw. There was some rule about eating rabbit meat in months with an R in them, but he couldn’t recall which months were safe and which were not. Dehydration as an alternative to roasting the meat came to mind. This was Utah after all. Dried rabbit jerky might work. As hot as the sun was, it ought to take about a minute. But how was he going to gut the rabbit and clean it in the first place? He needed a knife.

  Another whip crack of lighting ripped the sky. Thunder followed. The hair on his arms stood up. Damn. Mother Nature was putting on a helluva air show in the desert tonight. He’d love to be outdoors watching, but the walk had done him in. He settled for lying still and enjoying the simple act of breathing instead.

  A chilling breeze blew through the entrance. Connor closed his eyes and left the cool draft float over him. Another streak of lightning lit the world outside. Booming thunder followed on its heels. Again the earth trembled, while he prepared to bask in the glory of it and let it put him to sleep.

  Connor shot one last glance toward the opposite corner, meaning to say good night to his very grumpy companion. His heart melted. Scrunched into a tight ball with her face pressed into her kneecaps, Izza jumped at every burst of lightning and crash of thunder. She would never ask for help. Not in a million years.

  The folks who know everything in the world call it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. They even gave it a cool four-letter acronym: PTSD. But soldiers who had to live with it called it hell. And they all came home with it in one way or another.

  He shook his head in bewilderment at the puzzle before him.

  Izza. It had to be Izza.

  Fifteen

  “Good evening, Ember,” Alex acknowledged the call from Ember Davis, Mother’s assistant techie and the more agreeable of the two. Tall, buxom, and a little on the ditsy side, the day he’d hired her he’d also learned that appearance could be damned deceiving. Despite her current blue hair color, she was as smart as they came and one hundred percent reliable, discreet, and intelligent. He could not have asked for a better team member. And better yet, she was not prone to gossip like Mother.

  “Hi, Alex. Wow. Lots of fires out there in Utah, huh?” she asked brightly. And that was another thing. Ember was struggling with the death of a team member tight now, but you’d never know it to talk to her. She kept her personal life and troubles to herself. Another plus.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “What can you tell me about them?”

  Standing across the street from the Pink Iguana, his nose filled with the delightfully spicy odors of the Mexican cuisine wafting through the open doors of the establishment. An arbor of brilliant red and yellow roses offered outside dining, but it also offered a plate glass view of the lighted interior as well. Just inside sat Miguel Ramirez, boss of the despicable Sonoran Cartel.

  Another bruiser type sat with him, stuffing his face with chips and salsa even though the meal appeared to be over. Apparently Biker Boy had a twin brother. They looked to be identical.

  Seated at Ramirez’s right hand was the murderer, Jose Ibarra. Alex glanced over his shoulders. Where the hell was the brutal enforcer, Nestor Martinez? He wouldn’t have gone far.

  “From what I’m seeing on satellite recon, the cartel started setting fires two days ago. They drive twenty miles or so, stop and throw something out of the back of their truck. They go another twenty miles and do the same thing. Looks like Molotov cocktails maybe, I don’t know, but whatever they’re throwing, it’s a ball of fire by the time it hits the ground.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Interstate Eighty, west of you, headed toward Nevada. They just passed the airport. There’s a line of fire behind them and it’s spreading fast. And Alex, there are a lot of industrial type complexes west of the airport. Just thought you’
d like to know.”

  “Any residential areas?”

  “Not until they get to Grantsville. The lakes will be to the north of them pretty soon, the mountains to the south.”

  “Call Baxter. Ask him to intercept. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do to stop any more fires from being started.”

  “I’ve seen the weather report. Aren’t you supposed to get rain?”

  He glanced at the dark clouds moving in. “So?”

  “Why not let the weather take care of the fires?”

  “The cartel will just start them again. Call Baxter. Let’s get these bastards before they run.”

  “Will do.”

  Alex hung up and stared at the meeting across the street. The notion that the DEA knew where Ramirez was, but had taken no steps to take him down, galled Alex. Mark was right. Ramirez deserved a taste of his own medicine.

  The cartel boss nearly jumped out of his chair when Alex sat down at his table. Body language speaks loudly to a trained observer. Ramirez’s screamed, ‘How dare you?’

  Wearing a linen sports jacket over a casual yellow polo, he looked the part of a true Mexican aristocrat. His short black hair was combed with a distinct part on the right. A neatly trimmed mustache graced his upper lip. Most women might think him handsome, but to Alex, he was just another immaculately groomed sepulcher concealing a rotted corpse.

  Dropping his cap to the table, Alex leaned his backpack against the leg of his chair and removed his cell phone from his pocket. He placed it face up on his cap, and smiled at the startled man directly across the table.

  Ramirez had yet to speak. Alex could wait. Glancing at the brightly displayed antiquities and boldly painted pottery displayed on the walls and tabletops, he absorbed the layout of the quaint Mexican restaurant. One rear exit emptied into the courtyard and arbor. No other bodyguards beside Biker Boy came into view. Only Ibarra. A sniper hates anyone at his back, but Alex stilled. Now that he knew what and who was behind him, there was no reason for alarm. Good to know.