by Terry Odell
She repeated that to herself as she bumped over ruts and rubble, avoiding boulders and brush. Ahead, the rock formation that marked her destination grew larger. She resisted the urge to punch the accelerator.
Hang in there, Sis. Another few minutes.
The car jolted and jarred over the uneven surface. Rocks clunked against the undercarriage. She slowed, then decided to brave another quick flash of the lights to make sure she wasn’t going to hit something or end up in a ditch. Before she could twist the knob, a bright light almost blinded her. Closing her eyes, she slammed on the brakes.
The car stopped. She opened her eyes. All she could see was a flashlight beam and a shadowy form behind it. What now? She clicked on the high beams.
Try to blind me, will you? Take that, idiot!
“Get out of my car, dirtbag.”
She started at the voice. Not again. She rolled down the window. “Dalton, damn it. Get out of the way. I’ve got to get Nancy to the hospital.”
He stepped forward and ducked to window level. “Are you crazy? You’re driving my car through a combat zone.”
“What do you mean combat zone? The shooting’s way over there.” She pointed at the flashes coming from the distant trees.
“It’s not safe.”
“Well, I’ll take my chances. Nancy needs me. In about three minutes, we’ll be out of here and you can go play soldier again.”
“Did you hot wire . . . ?” Anger coated his tone. He stuck his head inside, then backed out and patted his pockets. He shook his head, and his lip curved in a cynical smile. His expression softened. “I didn’t mean to snap. Move over. I’ll drive.”
“I don’t think so. Let me get by and pick Nancy up, and we’ll be gone.”
He stepped away. She put the car in gear and started to move when he appeared at the passenger side and pulled the door open. “Then I’ll ride shotgun.”
Having an armed man aboard might not be such a bad idea.
He climbed in. “You’re shivering.” He reached behind the backseat and grabbed his parka. “Put this on.”
“Later.” She tossed it at his feet.
“All right. Go.” He held his flashlight out the window, illuminating the ground. He patted her thigh, and she relaxed. This was going to work.
She drove faster, able to avoid obvious potholes and larger rocks. She glanced his way, and he smiled. Then his face went blank. Someone was talking to him over the damn headset again.
“Here? Now?” Dalton said. A pause. “Damn it to hell.” His expression wasn’t blank anymore. He was stone-cold furious. “Stop the car.”
“What? No way.”
“I said stop. Turn back.”
“You have got to be kidding.” She slowed, but if he thought she was going to stop, he was certifiably nuts.
He gazed at her, the same mix of sadness and determination as when he’d left the hideaway. “I’ve got to do this,” he said. “I’ll be back.” He popped the door open and jumped.
Yeah, right.
She watched him run for several heartbeats, then drove on. With lights. At this point, the benefits outweighed the risk. She reached the clearing and positioned the car as close to the tunnel as she could. With the motor running, she bounded out and ran to the entrance.
“Hunt? I’m here.”
Brush rustled, branches moved and Hunt appeared, holding one corner of the cot’s mattress. Paco and two more men held the other three.
“Let’s get her in the car,” Hunt said.
“How’s she doing?” Miri asked.
The strain around his mouth answered her question before he spoke. He clawed his fingers through his hair. “Drifting in and out.”
She opened the back door and helped the men load her sister inside. Once they’d settled Nancy, her head cradled on Hunt’s lap, Miri raced back to the driver’s seat and threw the car in gear. Torn between the desire to drive at breakneck speed and the need to keep from jostling Nancy, she stuck to the semblance of a road, clearing her mind of everything but getting to the hospital.
Ahead, a silhouetted figure planted himself in her path, hands above his head, waving like a semaphore. Dalton? She couldn’t tell, and she didn’t care.
“No way, buster,” she muttered, gritting her teeth and plotting a course around him. “You had your chance. This is the hospital express. Non-stop. No riders.” She glanced in the rearview mirror. Hunt bowed his head over Nancy. He murmured soft, soothing sounds.
The car hit a deep rut, and she struggled with the steering wheel, trying to get back on a more level stretch of ground while avoiding the man, whoever he was.
A bright flash of orange almost blinded her. The car shook. An explosive crack made her duck.
“What was that?” Hunt asked.
She blinked. “Damn. Something hit the windshield.” A spiderweb pattern spread over the glass.
“Don’t stop,” Hunt said, his voice rising with urgency. “They’re shooting at us.”
“At us? We’re the good guys.” She found a spot clear enough to see through and stomped on the gas. A blast rocked the car. Dust flew in a giant cloud. She swerved. The wheel jerked and she fought to maintain control.
“Blown tire,” Hunt said.
“I think there’s more,” she said, gaping at the crater beneath the settling dust. The one the car teetered over. This was not happening. “Paco said there were tunnels underground. I think one caved in.”
“Crap,” Hunt said.
“What now?”
A man stood beside her window, a cigar clamped between his teeth, a rifle pointed at her. A big rifle. What was it with these boys and their toys?
“We do what he tells us,” Hunt said.
* * * * *
Dalton’s heart stopped when he heard the explosion. He spun around and saw headlights disappear behind a cloud of dust. His car? Miri? He lowered his rifle, trying to see through the debris.
Static, then, “Northwest,” came from his headset.
Without thinking if the call was meant for him, he thumbed his mic and pivoted in the direction Fozzie indicated. “Damnation, man, how many more?”
“Three I can find, mate. Keep your knickers on. Stick to business.”
Business. Right. “What the hell are those asswipes doing here?” Not that it mattered. They were here; they were loaded for bear, but they were not going to get away from him this time. Stick to business. He took an intercept position, willing whoever was rustling in the shadows to come forward two steps so he could get a shot. Ops worked because everyone did his job. He’d take out his assignment, then get back to Nancy’s rescue.
“Where’s Miri?” No response. He mashed the talk button. “Damn it, Fozzie, what’s with the fucking headset? You’re in and out.”
“I know, mate.” More static. “. . . flush these fellows out.”
Not that many moments ago—or was it a lifetime?—back at the meth lab, when Fozzie had radioed that they’d spotted Octavio, one of Rafael’s major henchmen, in the woods, Dalton had answered the call along with the team. Simply picked up and left, ignoring Miri’s pain-filled eyes. Again.
He pushed those images—along with the one of the disappearing car—from his mind. He took a calming breath. If Fozzie said he’d identified Octavio, then Octavio was out there. But where?
And Octavio wasn’t alone. At least two more goons accompanied him, and although it was too much to hope that Rafael had left his secluded fortress in the mountains of Colombia, Dalton hadn’t been able to resist the chance to eliminate one of his top generals. If they’d discovered a major drug conduit, he couldn’t pass up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to destroy it.
At what cost? He was used to putting his life on the line. But Miri? And what about Nancy?
Distracted, he didn’t hear footfalls until he smelled sweat. He revised his first thought, that a teammate approached, when he got a whiff of cigar smoke. No Blackthorne operative advertised his presence by smoking. He thought a
bout the aftershave he’d splashed on a lifetime ago when a night in Miri’s company was his only objective. Masked by his own sweat and meth chemicals, he assumed.
His brain processed these details at lightning speed, more in his subconscious than in any deliberate thought patterns. At the same time, he listened for any updates through his headset. Which was annoyingly silent.
“Do not move, Señor. Raise your hands. Do not turn around.”
A deep, gravely voice, roughened by too many cigars. One Dalton recognized. One that brought back too many unpleasant memories.
He obeyed, all senses sizing up the situation. Were Octavio’s goons with him? Dalton thought he detected at least one other person’s breathing.
“Ah, Octavio. We meet again. A little out of your territory, aren’t you? Surely you didn’t come by just to see me. To what do I owe the honor of the visit?”
“You were always one with the words. Words, words, words. Too many words. You will not speak without permission. Perhaps I will remove your tongue. Before I kill you.”
“You’re not still holding a grudge, are you?” Where was the rest of his team, damn it. With his hands up, he couldn’t reactivate his mic, assuming it was working.
“Three of my cousins are dead because of you,” Octavio said.
“And your cousins killed seven innocent bystanders. In my book, we’re not even.”
“You will drop your weapon. You will tell your friends to leave me alone.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, amigo.”
“Perhaps you will when I tell you I have something you want. Three somethings, perhaps. Two beautiful women, although one is not well. The other—I can imagine what I will do with her later. Is that not right, mi amor?”
Vulgar kissing sounds twisted Dalton’s gut, but he knew better than to react.
“Let go of me, you creep.” Miri. Sounding strong and defiant. He breathed easier.
“A wild one, she is. I like that. She will be fun. Maybe you will enjoy watching, no, Señor Dalton?”
“He’ll enjoy watching me punch your lights out, creep.”
Miri’s voice, followed by the sound of a hand slapping against flesh and then a sharp intake of breath tightened the knots in Dalton’s stomach. He spun around to see Miri rubbing her cheek. “Leave her alone.” He did a quick scan. No goons. All he needed was an opening.
“I’m all right,” she said. “I’ve dealt with scumbags like this one before. Guys who hit women do it because they’ve got no dicks.”
Octavio’s eyes narrowed to slits, his lips flattened, but he didn’t take his gaze from Dalton. “Your woman has some mouth as well. She needs a lesson.”
“I’m not his woman,” Miri said. “So if you think he’s going to defend me, forget it. He doesn’t give a damn about me.”
Her tone sent a painful chill through Dalton, as if she’d stabbed him in the heart with an icicle. There wasn’t a hint that she didn’t mean what she said. No glance his way to say she was bluffing. That she did care.
You’re wrong. I love you. He longed to say the words.
But he couldn’t let Octavio see his feelings, much less hear them. Keep the guy off guard. He steeled himself, ready for the explosion when Octavio’s temper blew.
Instead, a genuine explosion came from the distance, where he’d seen what he’d assumed was his car disappearing in a dust cloud. Octavio’s head tilted toward the sound, and Dalton lunged forward. Before he reached his target, Miri elbowed Octavio in the gut and stomped his instep.
“How about we let Dalton watch while I smash your tiny family jewels, creep?” She stepped back, poised to knee the man, who clutched his middle.
Above, helo rotors whirred. The area around them lit up. Fozzie’s voice came through Dalton’s headset. “You think you blokes can handle things while Hotshot and I run a med-evac mercy mission?”
“Roger that. Hold one second.” Dalton pressed his rifle against Octavio’s temple. “Miri, Fozzie’s going to get Nancy to the hospital. Get to the helo. I’ve got this dirtbag.” He grabbed Octavio’s rifle and tossed it out of reach.
“First, I owe him.” She followed through with a deft knee to Ocatavio’s groin. The man collapsed at their feet.
“Go,” Dalton said. “Fozzie’s waiting. I’ll meet you at the hospital. I . . . I’d like to talk.”
She glanced over her shoulder toward the helo, then back at him. All his years reading people, and to him, she was a blank page. “Hurry.”
“Thanks. I guess we have things to discuss.” She lowered her eyes, her head, and ran.
Dalton automatically reached into his back pocket for flex cuffs before realizing he wasn’t outfitted for an op. Instead, he shoved his boot onto Octavio’s back, pinning him. Miri bolted toward the helo, hovering near a hole where his car balanced half in, half out. Arms reached from the open helo door and hoisted her inside. The helo lifted off and his car teetered for several long seconds, then disappeared.
“My insurance company is not going to like this,” he said, increasing the pressure of his boot.
“Can’t breathe,” Octavio wheezed.
“Tough shit. Where are the rest of your buddies?”
A salvo of automatic weapon fire answered his question. Crap. He tapped his silent headset. “Manny? Harper? What the fuck’s going on?”
Nothing but gunfire. Getting closer. He kicked Octavio in the ribs, grabbed the man’s rifle, and hightailed it for cover. Not that there was anything for fifty yards. “God damn sitting duck,” he mumbled.
Two muzzle flashes sparked from the distant trees to his left. Another to his right. “Shit.” He dove. Unless Rafael’s men came equipped with night goggles, darkness was his best hope. He hugged the earth, trying to look like a rock. His mind raced through possibilities.
Other than his own, Rafael considered life expendable and went through underlings like a drunk wolfing peanuts at a bar. Why was Octavio here on what seemed a chump-change operation? Had he been demoted? Or had Rafael sent him to supervise this conduit? If so, they were dealing with more than a few illegal aliens smuggling dope and cooking meth.
Another thought wormed its way through. Was Octavio branching out on his own? Instead of being one of Rafael’s tentacles, was Octavio creating a new drug monster?
With an ear to the ground—literally—he strained to detect any signs of approaching danger.
Explosions vibrated the earth beneath him. He lifted his head a fraction. His headset crackled with static. “Cowb . . . six.”
Gunfire grew closer. His heart jumped to his throat as his stomach plummeted.
Dalton did something he hadn’t done in years.
He prayed.
Chapter 32
Miri twisted in the helicopter’s seat, alternating between watching Hotshot minister to Nancy and checking the time, willing the seconds to tick by faster. One minute he’d been fully armed, a soldier ready to kill, and now he worked to save a life. While Hunter held Nancy’s hand, Hotshot inserted an IV into her other arm. Although Miri couldn’t hear his words, his compassion permeated the aircraft.
Fozzie’s voice came through the headphones he’d given her. “ETA, twenty minutes.” She checked her watch again. His voice came back, dead serious, definitely not directed at her. “Roger, Riverside. Have a medical team standing by, please. Hold for our medic.”
Then silence. Fozzie had switched channels. She twisted around. Hotshot, his fingers on Nancy’s wrist, said something into his mic. Hunt’s shoulders stiffened. His eyes widened, his gaze focused on Hotshot.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Fozzie’s voice returned. “No worries. Hotshot’s coordinating with the medical team.” His lip set into a grim line. “Nothing but the best for Hotshot’s patients.”
“Riverside?”
“Good trauma center, and it’s closer. Less busy tonight, too.”
She nodded, turning to look out the window. Up here, in the cloud-filled darkness, without la
ndmarks or mile markers, she had no clue how fast they were going, but if they’d been in a car, she’d have sworn he floored the accelerator.
She clutched the buckle of her harness, her damp palms slipping on the metal. She huddled deeper into Dalton’s parka. “Fozzie?” She hoped he’d attribute the way her voice trembled to the sound quality of the headsets.
“Almost there.”
“Nancy. She’s . . . Should I . . . I mean . . . do I have to say . . . I should be with her when . . . if . . .” she choked on the words.
“What?” Fozzie raised the face shield on his helmet, leaned over and squeezed her hand. “Of course not, sunshine. Hotshot’s the best, and we’ll be there in a tick. No sweat. She’ll be apples.”
Miri tried to believe him.
Fozzie twisted some dials, pushed some buttons, and flipped some switches. Her headset went silent.
“Damn it,” she shouted. “Don’t leave me out of this.”
Hiding behind his face shield, he tapped her headphones, shook his head, then shrugged. “Sorry. Not working,” he mouthed. He pointed toward the window.
She followed his gesture and saw city lights below. Growing closer. She reminded herself to breathe. “Hang in there, Sis.”
Minutes later, the painted circle of the landing pad rose to meet them.
“Last stop,” Fozzie said. “Riverside General. Everyone out.”
Three people wearing medical scrubs waited alongside a gurney. When the helicopter set down, Hotshot threw the door open, and two of them rushed the gurney to them. With Hotshot’s assistance, they transferred Nancy. Hunter leaped to the ground.
Miri clambered out of the helicopter, racing to catch up. At the open elevator door, a man in scrubs held his hand up. “Sorry. Not enough room. Two of you will have to wait.”
“I’ve done all I can,” Hotshot said. “I’ll stay.”
“Hunter, you go.” She questioned a man in scrubs. “Where?”
