Where Danger Hides

by Terry Odell

“Night vision?”

  “Pack,” Ryan said.

  Dalton unzipped the canvas carryall and found the goggles. He slipped them on, mentally mapping his surroundings in the eerie green glow. “Sorry you got called away—twice.” First from R&R, then back-to-back ops, leaving his girlfriend behind. “Been able to check in with Frankie?”

  “Yeah. Everything’s cool.” Ryan wriggled into the dirt, shifting some rocks out from underneath him. “You had to leave Miri. It’s not like you had a choice.” His tone was matter-of-fact, almost emotionless. Almost.

  Since when could Ryan read him like that? Hearing the unspoken, ferreting out the nuances had always been Dalton’s specialty. People opened up to him, not the other way around. He lowered the goggles, letting them dangle from the strap around his neck.

  Ryan adjusted his rifle’s sights. “That hideaway is well below ground. She’ll be safe.”

  “They all should be safe,” Dalton said.

  “They will be. That’s what we’re here for. And since you’re not officially on this op, as soon as we’re done, you and Miri can get back to whatever you were doing.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dalton said.

  “Don’t kid yourself. You’re hung up on her. More than hung up, I’d say.”

  “You’ve been here what? Twenty minutes? And you’re telling me how I feel? You’re full of crap.”

  “Yeah, right,” Ryan said. He squinted through the scope.

  Dalton dug through the pack for another magazine and stuffed it in his pocket. Ryan was nuts. He wasn’t in love with Miri. He didn’t do love. She was—Miri. Special, maybe, but not love material.

  Fozzie’s voice came over the headset before Dalton could think of an appropriate retort—or wonder why his chest ached.

  “Later, pard,” he said to Ryan, relieved at the diversion. “Company’s coming.”

  “Eight bodies, three o’clock, ETA less than one,” Fozzie said.

  “Friendlies or hostiles?” Dalton asked.

  “ID unknown,” Fozzie said. “Manny, Hotshot, suggest you intercept, herd them toward Dalton’s position. Harper, provide cover.”

  “Roger that,” echoed from all four men on the ground.

  Dalton raised the goggles, heading in the direction Fozzie indicated, moving from rock to shrub, taking advantage of any available cover. At the report of a single gunshot in the distance, he yanked the goggles from his eyes. Muzzle-flash would be enough to blind him. Moving by instincts honed over countless missions, he approached the sound.

  “Talk to me, Fozzie,” he said. Silence. “Fozzie, come in.”

  “Sorry, mate. Some radio troubles. Hotshot is twenty meters northwest. In the rocks.”

  Dalton took a quick peek through the goggles. Hotshot crouched at the base of a large rock formation. With a target in sight, Dalton ran. “In position,” he said when he joined his teammate. “What do we have?”

  Hotshot cocked his head to the left. “Other side of these rocks. One guy with a gun threatening seven others. Could be a trap. They could all be armed.”

  Dalton keyed his mic. “Fozzie, give us a situation report.” From above, with his surveillance equipment, Fozzie could pinpoint a flea on a squirrel’s balls. Silence. Dalton tapped his headset. “Fozzie, do you copy? Repeat. SitRep, please.”

  “I’ve got bodies approaching from the tree line. Two from northwest, one northeast. And three more unidentified heat signatures.”

  “What are they? Deer? Bears? And what about Octavio? Where is he?”

  “Give me a tick. I’m solo up here.”

  “Grinch isn’t with you?” Dalton asked. “Who’s flying?”

  “Yours truly,” Fozzie said. “Grinch was overdue for downtime, and this was supposed to be a cakewalk. I can pilot this bird and do recon. No sweat.”

  “No sweat,” Manny said. “Four of us, fourteen of them. They don’t stand a chance.”

  “Hey, let’s find out who they are first, okay?” Dalton said.

  “Shit, Cowboy, you think I’m going to walk up and shoot everybody? Maybe the boss was right and you have been in the field too long.”

  Fozzie cut in. “Two more unknowns coming up on your six, Cowboy. Heads up.”

  Dalton spun around, weapon raised. Nothing. He slowed his breathing. Waited. He reached for his goggles right before he saw the light. It moved up and down, back and forth. Had to be the worst stealth approach in history. Or, more likely, they were unaware they were walking into danger. Crap. Who’d be out here at this hour?

  “Cover me,” he said to Hotshot. “Let’s get these two out of harm’s way before anything hits the fan.”

  Too late. A barrage of gunfire exploded in the distance. The light crashed to the ground. Dalton lowered his head and ran toward it. “Take cover,” he shouted. “Down! Rocks!” he added in Spanish.

  Chapter 30

  Disoriented, Miri struggled to remember where she was. Her head throbbed, and she waited for her memory to clear.

  Loud noises. A man shouting. Paco throwing her to the ground.

  That explained the weight pinning her down. She wriggled out from underneath him. He pressed against her back, keeping her facedown in the dirt.

  “Do not stand,” he said in a hush. He rubbed his arm.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  She lifted herself onto her elbows and peeked around the rocks. Nothing but vague shapes and shadows. “What’s out there?”

  “Coyote, I think. But I do not expect new arrivals for three days yet.”

  “That was gunfire, wasn’t it?”

  “Si.”

  So, why were they hanging around out here? “Let’s get back into the tunnel.”

  His arm pressed her down again. “No. We wait. Nobody must find it.” He cocked his head. “Somebody comes. Hide. Like so.”

  He folded his arms and buried his face. She’d always been good at making herself invisible, but that was in the city. Here, she followed his lead, trying not to inhale any dirt. Given she was breathing ten times faster than normal, that was challenge enough.

  “Don’t move,” someone said in a stage whisper. The voice came from above, and nearby. “Stay low.”

  So much for hiding. Miri lifted her head enough to see a pair of black boots. Her gaze moved upward over dark camouflage pants, then stopped at the gun barrel hanging alongside the pants.

  “I said, don’t move.” The gun lifted and pointed at her head.

  Dalton’s voice. Thank God.

  “It’s me. Miri. And Paco. We’re on your side.”

  He dropped beside them. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay put, damn it.”

  Even his whisper couldn’t disguise the anger in his voice.

  “Don’t talk to me that way. Nancy needs to get to the hospital, and you weren’t doing anything about it. We seem to have different priorities.”

  Gunfire cut their reunion short. She flinched. “Are they shooting at us?”

  Paco belly-crawled to the shelter of a larger rock.

  Dalton motioned her silent, and she realized he was listening to his headset. After a moment, he nodded. “Roger.” He laid a hand on her arm. “How did you get here?”

  “There’s a back exit. Through a tunnel.”

  “Anyone else out here with you two?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Dalton inched closer, his body heat radiating through the denim of her jeans.

  She edged away, away from the temptation to burrow into his warmth. To sleep, and wake up from this impossible nightmare, to be in the motel room bed the way they’d planned. Which was not going to happen. Not tonight, and probably not ever. This was a world she wanted no part of, and this man had abandoned her. The way everyone else had.

  He leaned closer, his breath warm against her cheek. “You should get back. Take the old man with you.”

  “He said no. Nobody’s supposed to know about the tunnel.”

  Dalton slid a pair
of goggles over his eyes, raised himself on his elbows and looked around. He sighed, apparently convinced it wasn’t secure to cross the open space to reach the entrance. He spoke into his mic. “I need a diversion away from my position. Two civilians to move to safety.” He did his listening thing, then said, “Roger.”

  “Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” Miri demanded. “My sister needs help and you’re out here playing soldier. It’s clear enough you’re no private investigator.”

  “It’s complicated.” His gaze moved constantly, from her to Paco, then out into the distance and back again.

  “Yeah, well, try me.” Her voice rose above a whisper. “I might be a little slow on the uptake, given I’m not usually in the middle of the OK Corral, but I’m not stupid.”

  “Will you be quiet? We need three minutes.” He clamped his hand over her mouth. “They’ll hear you.”

  She resisted the temptation to bite his hand. There had to be some way for him to deal with his problem, whatever it turned out to be, and let her get Nancy out of this fiasco.

  She squirmed, extricating her mouth from his grip. “Are you going to tell me who they are?”

  “Damn it, darlin’, I said quiet.” He covered her mouth with his, pulled her against him. They grappled. She struggled, her hands all over him, seeking enough leverage to escape. On the ground the way they lay, his sheer size and weight overpowered her. She went limp, melting into him, succumbing to his strength. His tongue probed, and she opened her mouth to him, reaching behind him, clutching his buttocks, teasing, exploring. Wriggling against him.

  Noise came over his headset and he rolled away. In the distance, explosions filled the sky. “Okay. You and the old man get to your tunnel. Now. Like the devil is on your tail.”

  She scrambled to her feet and ran to Paco’s hiding place. “Quick. To the tunnel while Dalton’s men keep everyone busy.” At least that’s what she assumed was going on. She grabbed his hand and helped him to his feet.

  They used her penlight instead of the lantern, but Paco seemed familiar with the terrain, and she hurried to keep up.

  Barely missing a stride, they slipped through the entrance and hastily threw the branches back to disguise it. Paco leaned forward, breathing hard.

  “I need you to help me,” Miri said. “For Nancy. Can you make it to the house by yourself?”

  “Si.” He straightened. “But the danger? The guns? Will not be safe to bring her this way.”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  “This entrance. This place. Even los coyotes do not know of it.”

  “I told Dalton the tunnel was a secret. He’ll make sure nobody finds it. I trust him.” Almost surprised to hear the words, she stopped for a heartbeat. She did trust him. She just didn’t like him a whole lot right now.

  “Very well.” Paco moved along the path, setting a brisk pace.

  “Wait,” she said, catching his arm. “This is what I want you to do.”

  * * * * *

  Satisfied Miri was safe, Dalton focused his attention on Fozzie and away from the annoying distraction below his belt. Kissing her had to be the stupidest thing he’d done since he brought a garter snake to the church dance to impress Cindy Mae. He could have shut Miri up a dozen different ways.

  Yeah, but they wouldn’t have felt that good.

  Damn it, he couldn’t fall in love in the middle of an op, for God’s sake. Ryan was nuts, that was all. Emotions always went into overdrive when the adrenaline kicked in. He tried to convince himself the rush he felt was no different than any other op. That a quick rendezvous with Debbie would get him back on an even keel. But all he saw was Miri. Damn Ryan for messing with his head. And double damn the man for being right. He, Ambrose G. Dalton, the lock-up-your-heart king, was ass-over-teakettle in love. “Fuck.”

  “You clear, mate?”

  Dalton adjusted his headset, as if that would dislodge the emotions flooding over him. He took a steadying breath and activated the mic. “Ten-four.”

  “Mind joining the party?”

  Shit. Plenty of time to deal with this after the op. He made the necessary adjustment to his pants and circled to join the team.

  From above, the helo whined. A spotlight illuminated a clear patch of desert ground. Four men stood in the center, hands on their heads, scowls on their faces, and an assortment of weapons on the ground. Hotshot pointed his assault rifle at them. Dalton took in the pock-marked clearing and the smoldering shrubs. An excellent demonstration of Blackthorne’s superior air support.

  Dalton smiled and collected the dropped weapons. “Doesn’t look like you needed me.”

  “You get your two tucked away?”

  “Yeah. What about these folks?” He nodded toward the circle. “Do we know who’s who?”

  “Allow me to introduce you,” Hotshot said, “to Moe, Larry, Curly, and Shemp. Moe, on the left, is a coyote for gullible immigrants, promising them a land of milk and honey, streets paved with gold.”

  “Can it, Hotshot. Cut the crap.”

  Hotshot’s eyebrows bunched. “Lose your sense of humor, Cowboy?”

  “Shut up. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Fine. Moe was leading a small party of immigrants across the border. For a fee, which is every peso they owned, most of it converted to the now-regulated cold and allergy meds, he promises not to ditch them as soon as they hit U.S. soil but to guide them to a halfway house.”

  “Right. Which ends up being a meth lab.”

  “True.” Hotshot waved his weapon at one of the men who dared to lower his hands. “Hands back on your head, Curly.”

  “Wait a minute,” Dalton said. “We had a total of fourteen unknowns. Where’s everyone else?”

  “I was getting to that.”

  “Get there faster.”

  “Moe—who speaks damn good English, so watch your step—contracted with seven immigrants. At the last minute, three more—that would be Larry, Curly and Shemp—joined the group. Since they were willing to pay triple his usual cash fee, he waived the drug portion.”

  “And the original seven?”

  “Scattered at the first gunshot.”

  “Wait a minute.” Dalton did some quick math. “We’re three short.”

  “Manny is on them.”

  Dalton rubbed the back of his neck, trying to stave off the impending headache. “These Stooges seem rather well armed for poor immigrants.”

  “Yeah, that’s where things get interesting. How about if you go frisk ’em?”

  “Gee, thanks.” Dalton stepped into the spotlight. A gaunt faced man eyed him warily. He wore torn jeans and a bulky parka over who knew what. Damn, he didn’t have time for this. He raised his Glock.

  “All of you. Strip. Now.”

  The men exchanged confused glances.

  Dalton applied the Glock to the first man’s head. “Take your damn clothes off. I’m not in the mood for touchy-feely tonight. At least not with the likes of you.”

  Muffled laughter came from Hotshot’s position. More from his headset. Dalton shrugged. “I’m tired. You got a problem with my methods?”

  “Whatever floats your boat, Cowboy.”

  Keeping a watchful eye out for concealed weapons as the men reluctantly undressed, Dalton kicked shed jackets and shirts toward Hotshot. “Don’t stop,” he said when the men bared their torsos. “You’re getting to the good part. But shoes first. Makes it easier to get the pants off.”

  “Bingo.” Hotshot said.

  “What did you find?” Dalton asked. “More guns?”

  “A small fortune in crystal meth. None of this start-from-scratch stuff. This is ready to hit the streets. Enough to supply a small city.”

  Dalton’s gut twisted. Blood pounded in his ears. He jammed his rifle into the belly of the nearest man. “Get the rest of your damn clothes off. Now!” The man doubled over. The second man wore an assortment of thick gold chains around his neck. Dalton yanked them off.

  Hotshot
rushed up and pulled him back. “Easy, Cowboy.”

  “Slimeballs like these shouldn’t be allowed to live. What’s a little gold or one sucker punch?”

  “Fine. You go through the rest of the clothes. I’ll supervise.”

  Dalton caught the confusion in Hotshot’s eyes. “I’m okay. Told you, I’m tired.” He trudged over to the pile of discarded clothing and shook out pockets, checking for needles or other paraphernalia before digging with his fingers. He added the packets of drugs he found to Hotshot’s collection. These folks were sellers, not users. The sort to prey on young innocents. How many had they pushed along the road to death?

  Hotshot tossed four pairs of jeans his way. The men stood, shivering in their underwear.

  “Think we need to go any further?” Hotshot asked. “It’s cold out here.”

  Nothing like cold and nerves to shrivel the old family jewels. “I don’t know. Maybe we should take pictures of their diminishing privates. Put them on the Internet or something.”

  From the wide-eyed reaction, apparently all four men understood English.

  “Fozzie, come in.” Manny’s voice came over the headset. “My guys have gone to ground. Can you locate?”

  “You blokes got things under control?” Fozzie asked.

  “Go,” both Dalton and Hotshot said.

  “Harper, you napping?” Dalton asked.

  “You hear that?” Hotshot said.

  Dalton thumbed off his headset and peered in the direction Hotshot pointed. Nothing but darkness. “What should I be hearing?”

  “Sounded like a car starting.”

  Dalton closed his eyes, zoning in on the sound. Definitely a vehicle coming toward them. His lids snapped open. He clutched his flashlight and grabbed his rifle.

  Chapter 31

  Miri slotted the key she’d lifted from Dalton’s pocket into the ignition of his car. With a quick prayer her plan would work, she twisted the key. The engine hummed. So far, so good.

  She slid the car into gear, then wiped her hands on her jeans. She flashed the headlights one time, long enough to get her bearings, and drew a mental map of the terrain from the house to the tunnel entrance. By the time she got there, Nancy and Hunt would be waiting. She hoped. They’d get Nancy and have her at the hospital in no time.