Connor (In the Company of Snipers Book 5)

by Irish Winters

  What the hell was keeping Ember?

  As if she’d read his mind, his phone cell vibrated. “Alex?”

  It’s incredibly eerie how one angst filled word two thousand miles away can kick-start the acid pouring into a man’s gut.

  “Yes?” he answered quietly so Connor couldn’t overhear whatever came out of Ember’s mouth next.

  “We just received a video from the guys who are holding Izza. Sending it now.”

  He scrolled through his text messages and tapped the file to open it the second it arrived in his in-basket. Dark and grainy, the film revealed concrete floor and walls of corrugated steel. His heart stalled. In the middle of all that darkness, a blindfolded person sat tied to a wooden chair. An overhead spotlight flashed on—Izza.

  Sonofabitch! His hackles rose. The camera zoomed in closer. She still wore her cargo pants and tank top, her hair pulled back in its usual ponytail. From the sideward camera angle, it was easy to tell she was pregnant and in the same depleted physical condition as Connor. Her arms and legs were secured to the chair with plastic zip-ties. Her face was wet and sweaty. Blood trickled down her chin. The back of a man came into view, his arm already raised.

  “Don’t do it,” Alex growled a warning to no avail as the man struck her with his open hand. Alex jumped to his feet, vowing agonizing pain the minute he got hold of that bastard’s neck.

  The slap knocked her head back, but tough girl Izza pulled her face off her shoulder with a sneer of contempt. “That all you got, you piece of—”

  He hit her again. Her head snapped backwards and Alex planned outright cold-blooded murder for the animal striking her. He stepped into the hallway, carefully closing the door behind him with one thought on his mind. Connor must not see this.

  For a couple minutes, Izza didn’t move. Her chest heaved beneath the tank top. Alex swore hell for the man beating her. Torture. Limb from limb suffering. God awful pain.

  “Stay down,” he whispered to Izza.

  She should have. Hell, the woman should have pretended she was out cold, but no. Painfully slow, Izza rolled her neck until she faced the man again. Through swollen lips and with her nose gushing blood, she belittled him yet one more time. “You hit like a girl.”

  Three times the sonofabitch hit her! Alex raked a hand through his hair, groaning at the spectacle he could do nothing about. She could barely hold her head up. Blood poured down her neck. He cocked his head to hear her barely audible voice. “Connor’s coming,” she murmured. “Just you wait.” Her chin dropped to her chest. She’d finally passed out.

  The man stepped away from view. Scuffling and men’s voices sounded in the background. A hand-written paper that read Ramirez for Ramos was held up to the camera lens. The back of the man who’d struck Izza returned to view. The video ended with him striking her again and again until the screen went blank.

  “They don’t know Ramirez is dead,” Alex hissed to Ember. “What else did they send?”

  “Nothing. Mother is back tracking their IP address and—”

  “Sonofabitch!” Alex cursed in every language he knew, pacing up and down the hall with the need to kill unleashed and out of control. “What about satellite feeds?” he barked.

  “We’re trying, Alex. We’ve expanded our search of the same coordinates where you found Connor. A black helicopter landed there earlier. Three men with two dogs tracked Izza into a cave. She put up a good fight until they knocked her out. I’ve tracked the helicopter to a private airstrip outside of town, but then they pulled a fast one. I would have called you sooner, but—”

  “But what?” Lightning cracked all the way to Alexandria.

  “They transferred her from the chopper to the trunk of a black sedan. I watched them do it, but then they drove into the hanger, and twenty cars just like it drove out the other side. They know we’re tracking them. We’re running each vehicle down. Murphy’s helping us, Harley’s helping. I’ve even asked—”

  “Stop!” Alex had no patience for banter. Not now. “You said this came through e-mail?”

  “Yes, Boss,” Ember replied meekly.

  He calmed enough to be civil, trying real hard not to kill the messenger. “Can you send a reply?”

  “You bet.”

  “Tell those bastards anytime. Anywhere. You hear me? I’ll meet them anywhere!”

  “I’m doing it. Right now.” She hung up.

  Alex raised his arm in a fast pitch, but Connor was suddenly behind him. He caught his boss’s arm just before Alex would’ve blasted his cell phone into the wall. By then, Connor had heard enough of the one-sided conversation. In a fit of rage, Alex blasted the younger man beside him instead of his phone. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

  “No, Boss. What the hell are you doing out here?” Connor demanded, his eyes bright with fear.

  Alex had no choice but to spit it out. “The cartel has Izza.”

  “I already know that.” Connor said, one hand pressed hard against the bloody dressing at his side and the other gripping Alex’s forearm. “What’s really going on? Tell me!”

  “Mother and Ember received a video of Izza. They’re tracking—”

  Connor went ballistic “Let me see it. Give it to me. Where is she?”

  “I don’t know. Right now, I don’t know any more than you. Get back into the room and let me bandage that—”

  “Where’s the sonofabitchin’ video!” Connor all but climbed over Alex to get at the cell phone in his hand.

  Alex tapped the screen to replay the video and handed it over.

  “God, no.” Connor choked, his knuckles clenched to his lips as he watched. “I’m leaving. I have to find her.”

  “We don’t know where she is.” Alex grabbed his agent’s arm in a steely grip. “Let me dress your wound first. Ember and Mother will locate her; I promise you that. Do you hear me? Then you and I will go get her, okay?”

  Connor stared at his boss, the stark terror in his eyes proof he no longer comprehended logic. He shook his head even as Alex forced him back into the hotel room. “I shouldn’t have left her. She didn’t want me to go. You don’t understand. I can’t stay. I have to find her.”

  “We will.” Alex closed the door behind them. “Trust me.”

  Connor broke down on the edge of the bed. “Don’t let me fall asleep. I can’t help her if—”

  “No way.” Alex leaned into his agent’s still bearded face. “As soon as Mother gets back to me, we’re going to get Izza. Everyone back in Alexandria is looking for her.”

  Connor gripped Alex’s wrist. “But they’re not here. Don’t lie to me, Boss.”

  “Every man’s got the right to take care of his family.” Alex pushed Connor onto his back. “Trust me. I want them as badly as you do.”

  Connor leaned back, his fists clenched and his belly tight with the need to run. “I need a gun.”

  Wordlessly, Alex went to his gear bag and pulled out two loaded pistols. He handed them grip first to Connor. Trembling with more rage than weakness, Connor clutched the weapons across his chest. “I’m going to kill them all.”

  Alex didn’t even nod as he peeled the bloody bandage from Connor’s side. First things first. The wound had to be stabilized. Connor needed one less thing to worry about tonight. And then they were going to war.

  Izza groaned just to hear her own voice. Every breath seemed so damned hard to draw in. Exhaling was easier, but at least the ragged noise in her throat meant she was still alive. That was good. She could turn this nightmare around.

  Somehow.

  The jerk who’d hit her was going to pay. She didn’t know how she’d get out of these ties yet, but when she did, the sucker had a helluva beatdown coming. Left jab, upper cut, both followed by lightning combos of cross hooks and crotch kicks. He better start running cuz he was gonna cry like a baby when she caught up with him. And then she was going to kill him.

  She clung to the promise of dropping his sorry ass to the ground. He’d be the one
to bleed, not her. He’d never know what hit him. Not until she stood with her boot on his throat. Not until she crushed his larynx. Then he’d know. By hell, he’d know.

  Her fingers flexed to reach her tender stomach and the infant within. She groaned again to let that tiny little girl nestled inside of her know her Mama was still there. Beaten maybe, but Izza had been beaten plenty before and lived to fight another day. It was that other pain that worried her, that one in her lower back. As weary as she was, righteous rage ignited in her soul. If these men hurt her baby, they were all going to die. Every last one of them.

  Somehow.

  Darkness rolled around her like waves on the ocean. Blue waves reached up with tender comfort. Deep Pacific blue....

  “Connor,” she whimpered. “Come here. Hurry. Come save me.”

  Somehow….

  “Take the girls and Juanita. Run for the van,” Mark yelled to Cassidy and Brigham over the gunfire. “Get them out of here. Rory and I will cover you. Move it!”

  Cassidy stared at Mark, knowing full well what that order really meant. Her eyes were dark. Determined. Fierce. She didn’t argue. With one last piercing look, she pushed Juanita, the girls and Brigham away from the battle. The five of them disappeared into the dark.

  “This sure as hell sucks,” Rory said in his customary understated manner.

  Mark gave him a quick nod as he slapped another magazine home. “Yeah. I saw this going down a little differently. How many do you think?”

  Rory ripped a portion of his shirt and wound it around his bloody elbow. “Looks like a hundred. Probably less. Sixty maybe.”

  “Agreed. We stop them here,” Mark muttered calmly. “They have to look for us once they clear the gate. That’s our only chance. Mow ’em down the second they show their faces. Don’t leave a single man standing.”

  Rory nodded, silently accepting his last order. Mark drew a deep breath. They lay a foot apart and belly to the ground, perpendicular to the gate opening and in a perfect defensive position. For a while, they’d have the upper hand. While exiting the hacienda, the cartel guards would initially be exposed. They’d have to have to turn left and locate the two snipers before they could make a killing shot. Mark would have felt better with a few more men at his side, but there was no time for what-ifs now. The wait for battle was too short and the advancing army too many.

  He laid out his extra magazines on the ground to his right for quick and easy access. Less than a split second passed before the assault unleashed upon them again. The guards crowded out the gate, firing steadily. They quickly located the two snipers left behind. A triumphant roar went up in their ranks. Only two intruders!

  Mark and Rory were more difficult to hit, but not impossible. A bullet grazed Rory’s shoulder as another dug itself deep into his thigh. Mark heard him grunt, but amazingly Rory continued firing, his aim more deadly as the battle raged. He took out guard after guard until the gray uniformed bodies began to pile up near the gate.

  Mark felt the sting of steel in his shoulder and wondered why his gun quit working. Only visual examination revealed his bloodied hand, shattered bones exposed, his index finger and thumb useless. He moved his weapon to fire left-handed, not his strong hand, but still usable. Oddly, neither his shoulder nor hand hurt.

  Another bullet lanced the side of his head, just above his left ear. Blood drenched his neck. That one didn’t hurt either. Yet. Adrenaline worked wonders. He kept firing.

  His last thought was simple. The beautiful, sweet face of his darling wife, Libby, flashed to his mind. She smiled up at him from their bed, her curly blond hair framing her perfect face, her bright blue eyes full of nothing but love for him. Him – a simple farmer’s son, a man so unworthy of such devotion.

  And here he was dying too far away and not in her arms like he’d dreamed. She would be sad. She would cry. His own little JayJay would grow up never remembering her daddy; she’d never know how much he loved her tiny pink toes and happy baby giggles.

  Mark fired faster, the thought of his family a sudden burst of energy in a losing battle. If he had to die, let it be for the innocence of children, the laughter of three little dark-eyed girls in the world.

  Libby. JayJay. God, I love you both so much. Please. Don’t cry too long.

  Twenty-Seven

  “You ready to go?” Alex was no more than finished repacking and taping the wound when he offered Connor an arm up.

  Connor stood in answer. He hefted the solid weight of the spare SIGs. Covert operators never carried one when two or three would do. His body ached, but his mind grew harder and more focused with every passing minute. The time had come to kill. Men were going to die tonight.

  Alex grabbed his gear bag. “Let UHP and Ember handle the wild goose chase. I’m not following any damned cars. You saw the video. Izza’s in a hangar, not the trunk of some sedan.”

  Connor bolted for the door. Alex followed, locking his hotel room behind him. By the time they hit ground level, Connor was weak-kneed and shaky again. The most important covert op of his life lay ahead and he was falling apart. He stiffened his spine and hid the truth. But Alex saw through him when he fumbled the seat belt in the Land Cruiser. Wordlessly, Alex pulled the strap across Connor’s chest and fastened the belt for him.

  “You good?” he asked without looking into Connor’s eyes like he normally would have. The man’s blue eyes could pierce walls of concrete when he wanted the truth.

  Connor nodded, already exhausted and panting for air. Good had nothing to do with how he felt. He didn’t care if he lived or not. Tonight was all about Izza. He leaned into the supple leather seat, drawing down the calm of the universe to help him accomplish what lay ahead. Killing was never his first choice, but tonight all that changed. Whoever was in that hangar with Izza, if that’s where she still was, had better be ready to die hard. There would be no head shots to take these guys out instantly, only lingering, bloody, screaming pain until they begged to be put out of their misery.

  He shot a sideways glance to his boss. The man’s jaw was hard-set and squared off, his eyes sharp and deadly. The same darkness clung to him that Connor felt. War waited in the very near future. As Connor prepared himself mentally, so did Alex. They were back in battle-mode and going in hot. Izza damned well better be alive when he found her because Connor knew exactly how many fingers and limbs a man could live without until he prayed to die.

  Pulling onto the interstate, Alex swung south. He’d locked in the coordinates of the hangar on the vehicle’s GPS. The disembodied voice of Bitching Betty directed them for less than thirty miles of freeway before Alex exited and headed due west. Ten more minutes of travel time brought them to what appeared to be an abandoned airfield. Only the lighted windows along the eaves revealed the truth. Someone was home.

  “I see three points of egress,” Alex said calmly as he killed the headlights and rolled to a stop beyond the circle of mercury vapor lighting. “Hangar doors at the rear and front open upward. Side door opens out.”

  “One window at ground level,” Connor reported, his brain instantly offering strategy and reconnaissance.

  “One chopper. Look familiar?”

  “That’s it,” Connor hissed, never so sure about anything in his life. The chopper sitting in front of the hangar was the one he’d seen in the desert. One click and the seat belt slipped out of his way. Adrenaline kicked in. His nerves steeled. The mission was go.

  “Let’s make sure,” Alex said grimly as he set one booted foot to the gravel. “Window first.”

  Connor followed a half step behind his boss. The window looked too dark. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe Izza wasn’t here. Flattening himself against the corrugated hanger wall, he peered in one side of the window while Alex took the other.

  There she was, all the way at the back of the hangar, in the dark and still bound to the chair. The lights were dimmed. Connor’s heart jumped to his throat. He honestly could not tell if she was still alive from where he stood. Anger fl
ared up from his soul at the four men seated on a nearby, dilapidated couch watching television while she suffered. He took one step toward the side door before Alex stopped him.

  “Not yet. Stick to the element of surprise. Let them invite us in.”

  Connor nodded once. He and his boss were linked through years of military experience and combat ops. They might not have worked alongside each other in the Corps, but they knew how the other’s mind worked and what each lifted brow and innuendo meant.

  “You packing tracers?” he asked curtly.

  “Always,” Alex answered, his knee already to the ground, his hands cupping his SIG and aimed at the helicopter. “The second they open up, we go in. I don’t care if they’re packing nothing but a cup of coffee, mow the bastards down.”

  Connor wiped his sweaty face and nodded. Alex squeezed the trigger to start the war. One single incendiary round hit the fuel tank. With a tremendous roar, the helicopter jumped up off the concrete pad in a fiery whoosh of orange flames and flying wreckage. Black smoke spewed skyward. Metal and glass flew. Sure enough, the hangar door burst open.

  “On your knees! Now!” Alex roared, his pistol aimed at the surprised cartel guards despite his order to mow them down. Three of the cowards opened fire, while the fourth ran back into the hangar, his gun drawn.

  Connor didn’t duck, think or hesitate. His arm snaked out to his side before Alex could get a shot off. The nearest man fell bleeding to his knees.

  One down.

  Not slowing even to ensure his own safety, Connor rounded the corner of the hangar with long and steady steps. Alex was out there somewhere, but Connor only had eyes for one person, and she damned well better still be breathing when he got to her.

  His weapon spit lead as rage and pure muscle training assumed control. For this single moment in time, he was the avenging angel and hell better get out of his way. The second fell quickly, then the third dropped, gurgling and whining his way to the concrete tarmac.