THE EDGE OF TRUST (TEAM EDGE)

by KT Bryan

  The ease with which he did this barely had time to register before an elbow slammed into his jaw hard enough to shoot stars across his vision and send the Uzi sailing across the cell.

  Cursing, he reeled around and blinked his vision clear just in time to dodge a kick to his stomach. A kick with a very small foot at the end.

  What the--?

  He took a swift step back, squaring off, and damn near laughed when he saw that his guard-slant-attacker was a woman. A very beautiful, very young woman with dark brown hair and electric green eyes.

  Lena.

  From what he’d heard, she was one of Sanchez’s women. She also had a brother who worked hand in hand with Sanchez and who was merciless in killing anyone who looked at him sideways. A real sadistic bastard. Those two things combined put Lena right at the top of Matt’s ‘stay-away-from’ list. Not that his so-called list mattered much right now. His cover had been blown to hell, and all he wanted, after his business with Sanchez was over, was to make it back to the States in one piece with Ellie and then find Sara.

  He gazed at Lena’s small frame.

  Oh, this was going to be way too easy. Pathetically simple. Not that he wanted to kick the crap out of a woman, but he wanted out of this hellhole before he rotted to death. And to achieve that goal, he needed her weapon.

  The weapon that was now laying in the mud, toward the wall, an equal distance from both of them. His gaze moved from the Uzi to Lena, and he smiled. She didn’t stand a chance.

  The grin on his face must have pissed her off because she charged, head down, like a bull ramming a red flag. He could’ve stepped aside and she might’ve hit the wall, as fast as she was moving, but he grabbed her instead.

  What he didn’t expect was how she twisted in his grasp, kicked him in the shin with the heel of her boot, and then backfisted him square in the nose.

  Sonofabitch!

  And here he’d been trying to be nice. He should’ve let her smack into the wall head first.

  Okay, so the pretty little minx could fight. Next time he’d be prepared.

  When she went into some weird Kung-fu-ninja fighting stance, he crouched, ready for whatever she was going to try next. Her breath came in short little bursts, full of anger and adrenaline. Her eyes blazed green fire, and all he could think was wow, what a beauty.

  Maybe he should try talking her down before he had to hurt her. He hated the thought of decking a woman, even one who carried an Uzi and had probably just broken his nose. So he asked her in Spanish, “Come on now, Lena, don’t you think you should quit before you get hurt?”

  She answered in perfect English. “If you think I’m going to let you walk out of here, Manny, you’re crazy.”

  Her English surprised him. He’d seen her around Sanchez a few times, but had never heard her speak, and until now he’d always assumed she was Hispanic. “You an American?”

  “That’s none of your business.” She took a step closer to the gun and so did he.

  “Friendly, aren’t you?” She sounded like she’d either been educated in the States or had lived there most of her life. For half a minute he wondered how she’d gotten hooked up with someone like Sanchez. Not that it mattered, really, because in just a few minutes he’d be saying goodbye to this shithole and he’d never see her again. Pity.

  “Look, buttercup, I’m going to get out of here even if that means I have to hurt you. I’d really prefer not to, so why don’t you take your cute little fanny back to where it came from and let’s avoid all this.”

  She responded with a sudden roundhouse kick to his ribs, which unfortunately for him, sent him flying backward in a red haze of hurt.

  She made a quick move for the weapon and he thought, oh, hell no.

  Desperation drove him forward, and he knocked her sideways with a grunt. She pushed off the wall, lost her footing, and they both landed in the mud with a splat.

  He tackled her, still not wanting to do her any real damage, and might have enjoyed how her body was all smooshed up against him, but her knee came up right between his legs and slammed his balls up to his throat.

  His world tilted, his vision blurred, then doubled, nausea stole air from his lungs and it was all he could do not to roll off her into a fetal position and cry like a girl.

  Don't ever fake left, Jedi, you'll lose a hand. Or in this case, your balls.

  She might have a killer jab with a knee, but he outweighed her by a good fifty or sixty pounds, which he now used to his full advantage. He muscled her arms above her head and held them there until his vision cleared.

  “That wasn’t very nice. Next time you try it, I’m going to spank you.” The thought wasn’t all bad. Kinda kinky in a way, and for a long minute Matt wondered if he’d lost all his marbles for being attracted to the enemy. Although, he had to admit, she did have a really nice ass.

  She snarled, bucked, tried to roll, but he pressed his body flat against hers, riding her until her energy was spent. When she finally lay still, he straddled her.

  For now, victory was his.

  Or so he thought, until her eyes went wide with fear. “Please, let me up. Sanchez will kill us both.”

  “Now, see? That’s where you’re wrong. Once I have that Uzi in my hands, I’m home free. If you’d quit fighting me, I could let you up and be on my merry way.”

  For some insane reason, he didn’t like the thought that Sanchez might kill her for letting him escape. Not that she was exactly letting him. But Sanchez would only see the end result. And Lena would probably die.

  Part of him thought, well tough cookies, that’s the risk she took for getting involved with a drug cartel. But another part of him wondered if there was any way he could take her with him and keep her safe.

  Probably not a good idea. Although...if he got to Sanchez first...

  She started to struggle again and he tskkd. “You can keep moving like that and give me a hard-on, or you can call it quits and let me get that Uzi.” Not that his dick was anywhere near operational, not with his balls still throbbing, but she didn’t need to know that.

  She went stiff and still. “You...you’d rape me?”

  Rape her? Hell no! He’d never forced himself on a woman in his life. Not that she needed to know that. Her fear might just give him the he needed to get the hell out of here. “Lady, rape is the least of your worries.” But, he had to admit, the wiggling thing she was doing was definitely pushing his buttons.

  A sly look crept into her eyes and she slowly shifted her pelvis. “What if it wasn’t rape?”

  A sudden picture flashed through Matt’s mind and the thought of her moving like that under Sanchez made him sick. “Forget it. I don’t want Rafael’s leftovers.”

  “That’s the first smart thing you’ve said. Now let me up. I need your help.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Journal Entry

  Rafe’s courtyard eases the stress of the day, and what’s more, it takes my mind off the ugliness. Here, I can enjoy the smell of the garden and relax to the easy sound of the fountain. The sun shoots prisms of color through the fountain’s fine mist and I know that if Dreena had been home she’d either be splashing in the water with her small, busy hands or sitting on my lap asking me yet again how rainbows are made. Or why God makes trees either short or tall but not the same size. And who created manners.

  Fun, silly, little girl questions. I can’t help but think Dreena’s curiosity about all things is probably an exact replica of yours. You still have more questions than answers, and when you go into reporter-mode, you have the knack for getting answers to come quick and fast. Not many people can hold off against your charm or wit, or your reputation for honesty and integrity.

  If Dreena grows up to be even half the woman you are, she’ll be knocking men over with a single look.

  God, I can’t wait to get home next week and touch your face, feel your skin, smell your hair…

  “Dario?” Sanchez interrupts my thoughts, studying me with a slight smi
le.

  “Sorry. Daydreaming,” I say and pick up my iced tea.

  Sanchez nods, lights a cigarette. “You love her as much as I do.”

  Rafe, naturally, was speaking of his child. “Yes,” I answer. I love Dreena deeply. How can I not? ~~ D.C.

  <><><>

  Dillon cocked his head. “Car engine. Out front.”

  Jake blitzed to the front window and Dillon asked, “Feds?”

  “No. Four guys with Uzi’s. They’re outside the car, but they’re not moving. Looks like they’re just hanging around waiting for Sunday dinner. Why the hell aren’t they moving?”

  “Maybe they’re waiting for reinforcements.”

  “Damn.”

  Dillon snatched his gun off the table, ran to the bedroom and grabbed the duffel bags, then took Sara’s arm and gently eased her off the couch. “Sara. Wake up.” He had to get her the hell out of here.

  At least she wasn’t a deep sleeper. She came instantly awake and seemed to understand the urgency around her.

  “Listen. We’re going to have a little showdown any minute now, so I want you to go into the bathroom, lock the door, and get in the tub. And stay there until I come and get you.”

  Jake was still peeking out the front window. “Bad idea. The two of you need to get out of here. My rental’s out back. Keys are in it.”

  Sara wavered, looking unsure which way to go.

  “And leave you to face four guys with Uzi’s? No way.”

  “Do you honestly think I can’t handle this? Crap, Caldwell, I’ve got an M16 and a boxful of grenades. Those idiots don’t stand a chance. I’m more worried about them following you.”

  Dillon knew Jake was right. Hell, either one of them could take on twice as many men and still have time for dinner and a movie.

  “And what if they are waiting for reinforcements?”

  “Then you’re going to be the ones they chase after, not me. But I’ll do my best to hold them here as long as I can, maybe toss a few grenades their way and have myself a nice little party. As you’re so fond of saying, piece of cake.”

  Dillon hesitated, torn between leaving Jake in the lurch and getting Sara out of firing range.

  “Clock’s ticking, boss,” Jake turned back to the window and grimaced. “Uh, hold up. Remember when you asked about the feds showing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, it looks like they just did, along with every cop within a hundred miles.”

  “Shit.”

  Jake flicked the curtains closed. “I’m starting to get a Butch and Sundance feeling here.”

  “Not exactly the ending I’m going for.” He would’ve smiled except that, with Sara here, this wasn’t really funny.

  Okay, first things first. He handed the coded drive to Jake. “Take this, stick both flash drives in the vault, then clear the desktop’s hard drive.”

  Jake gave a brief nod, shoved the two drives in a specially made vault in the floor--thank you Spec Ops--then strode over and smashed the hard drive with a baseball bat. “Drives are safe. Computer’s clear.”

  “I suppose that’s one way to do it.” Dillon grabbed a block of C-4, some detcord and a plunger out of Jake’s ammo bag, then stashed the whole thing behind a vented wall air-return.

  Then, just like a bad movie, a voice with a Spanish accent boomed loud and clear over a bullhorn from somewhere in front of the house. “You have five minutes to come out with your hands up.”

  Well, the feds were quick, Dillon thought. Not original, but quick.

  “I’ll go,” Jake said. “They may not know for sure that you’re here.”

  Dillon gave him a hard look and didn’t bother to answer. “Get a head count.”

  He took the front. Jake took the rear. “How many?” Dillon called, stepping away from the curtained window in the living room.

  “Fifteen to twenty, militarily dressed, all heavily armed.”

  “Same here.” No way could they hope to escape that many armed men with Sara in tow. Although...under the circumstances maybe he could turn her from a liability into an asset.

  Sara sank down onto the couch looking worried. “What’s going on? What am I missing?”

  “The good news is, while you were asleep Jake decoded the flash drive. The bad news is, he had to hack into the FBI’s mainframe to do it. Which apparently led to a trace-back.”

  “And what? The FBI and entire Mexican police force now have us surrounded?”

  “Pretty much,” Dillon said.

  “Don’t look like feds to me,” Jake said at the same time. “Local cops, probably. But no Americans or FBI jackets that I can see.”

  Sara leaned back against the cushions looking thoughtful. “And your plan to get us out of this would be?”

  “Come here.”

  <><><>

  Sara strode on steady legs over to where Dillon stood by the front door. Curiosity mixed with quiet respect as she witnessed the commander in him take charge. Some of her anger melted away. Not all, but some. Plus, she remembered that he wanted civil, and this was probably a good time to give it to him.

  He put his hands on her shoulders and said, “Listen close. I want you to play the helpless victim here, okay? Cry, pretend you’re a hostage, act hysterical. Make it real. I’m sure they’re going to take you in, at least for a statement. Your passport and my papers are locked up here in a vault, so make sure you use an alias. Make something up. Like I snatched you at the airport. Hell, I don’t care, just be convincing. If anything goes wrong, you don’t know me. Think you can do that?”

  She nodded, wondering if he realized the irony of what he’d just said. Because she didn’t know him. Certainly not this side of him. But she did admire how he seemed more worried about her than he was himself, not to mention the fact that he was willing to add a kidnapping charge to his already long list of crimes just to keep her safe.

  He let go of her to pick up what looked like a thin block of modeling clay off the table and broke the foot-long bar in half. “One more thing. I need you to hide this somewhere under your clothes. When the time is right, if they don’t separate us, I’ll need you to give it back to me, okay?”

  “C-4?” She took the thin gray blocks wrapped in olive-colored cellophane and tucked them securely into her pants. Sara looked down at her waist and back at Dillon. “Isn’t this the stuff the bad guy uses in movies to blow himself, along with an entire city block, sky high?”

  Dillon grinned and said, “Yep,” with a nonchalance she wasn’t feeling.

  She held out her hands. “May as well give me the rest.”

  “That’s the spirit.” He handed her two sets of thin, black wire with a silver tube attached at the end, and a small metal box with a switch. “Detcord attached to blasting caps and a plunger. Stash them too. Then put your shoes on.”

  Personally, she didn’t like the word blast anywhere near her person, but figured he wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to her, and if he had a plan in mind, she’d better do everything she could to help it along. “What if they search me?”

  “Then we’ll create a diversion.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Honestly, Sara, you’re the victim here. Don’t worry about it. And if they do search you, then we’ll move on to plan B.”

  “Which would be?”

  “I’ll worry about that when, and if, I need to.”

  “Great,” she said, nodding, not particularly crazy about plan A. But since she didn’t have a better idea, she bent over, hid the cord and plunger in her socks and went to get her shoes. A lot was at stake here, and the outcome seemed to be riding solely on her. What if she couldn’t pull it off? What if the cops didn’t believe her? Or worse, what if they searched her, found the C-4 and shot her for terroristic threats, then shot Dillon and even Jake?

  Just as she finished tying her shoes, she heard the man on the bullhorn tell them their time was up. She looked at Dillon and her palms started to sweat.

  “Piece of
cake, remember?” He smiled, kissed her hard on the mouth, then nudged her toward the door.

  With a deep breath, she pulled open the front door, raised her hands, yelled, “Please don’t shoot!” then immediately burst into sobs.

  As she stumbled outside onto the porch, a million guns cocked at the same time. Oh. My. God. Suddenly she didn’t have far to go with the fake factor. Her stomach clenched and real tears rushed down her face.

  Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot.

  She prayed the army of men she saw holding weapons understood English, or at least wouldn’t shoot her unless the Captain or whoever he was, the one who spoke English, told them to. And surely he wouldn’t do that. She hoped. “Those men are kidnappers,” she cried, sobbing into her hands. “Please, help me!”

  <><><>

  From the crack in the slightly open door, Dillon watched Sara play the helpless victim to the hilt as two large, beefy looking men with guns ran toward her and jerked her off the porch. She jabbered on and on with thanks as they roughly pushed her toward the side of the house.

  Bastards.

  He gave a curt nod to Jake, and hoping the FBI hadn’t given orders to shoot him on sight, stepped outside with his hands raised.

  At least twenty gun barrels zeroed in on him and a trickle of sweat slipped down his spine. Jesus. Please don’t let them shoot me in front of my wife. “I’m not armed,” he said in English, then again in Spanish, and let years of training take control.

  Jake followed, arms high, and stood next to him. They both stayed silent and still as a swarm of cops closed around them, boots pounding heavily onto the porch. With his hands now behind his head and legs spread wide, Dillon waited patiently while two of the cops searched him. He gave an almost imperceptible nod to Sara, hoping she’d get the message that she’d done a good job. That he was proud of her.

  And with that thought spreading in his chest, a cop yanked his arms behind his back and cuffed him. The big, dark-skinned bulldog looking guy with the bullhorn gave orders to search the house, and ten or so cops moved inside. After several endless minutes, they emerged and one of the cops shook his head.