The Ranger

by Angi Morgan

  “I have no idea. It’s just me and Mitch, exactly like you said. He came to help me. We saw your car leave so we split up.”

  “Don’t lie to me!” she screamed. “I had everything planned to perfection, every move carefully calculated. Then you came into the picture and hired a mechanic who would never leave. Rey screwed everything up by kidnapping your kid.”

  “That wasn’t a part of the plan?” Brandie asked, genuinely surprised that her son was an afterthought, but had brought down this woman who thought of herself as the queen of an organization.

  “Of course not! Too many variables.” She paced back and forth. One, two, three steps, then back. Mumbling to herself. “Magnus Carlsen. Think like Carlsen. His end game.”

  Brandie was at a loss, not comprehending the conversation, witnessing the demise of a desperate woman. She paced erratically, mumbled and tapped her temple with the weapon.

  She finally looked up, pointing the gun at Brandie like an extension of her finger. “That’s what I need. One of Carlsen’s famous endgames. I have the strongest pieces. I should move them into position and be able to take out no matter what opponent shows its face. Like your knight mechanic.”

  Sadie still didn’t know that Mitch was an undercover Ranger. That fact had to be in their favor. Her knight? Images of a giant game board with life-size playing pieces sped through her mind. Rey sat as the king. Sadie next to him. But in what game would the queen take down her own? That was just it. Sadie was the dark queen and the rest of them were playing opposite her.

  “This isn’t a game,” she said, trying to bring Sadie back to reality.

  “Of course it is. I make a move and someone counters. You’re simply a passed pawn, something to exchange for what I want.”

  “If you exchange someone, exchange Toby. He—”

  “Shut up and let me think.”

  Mitch had to be outside by now along with Pete, Cord and the rest of Presidio County’s sheriff’s department. If she knew for certain, she could run to the button on the wall and open the garage door. She uncrossed her legs, getting life back into them before making a mad dash. She gained only a momentary glare from her captor who still paced.

  Trying to reach the opener was useless until she knew someone was outside. She hadn’t heard anything. Nothing from inside the house. No cars leaving. How was everyone escaping?

  “Can I please see my son? You said he was inside, right?”

  Sadie stopped in her tracks, eyes clear and evil. “Do you think I’m stupid?” She pointed the gun, it didn’t waver like when she was thinking. “You’re staying exactly where you are.”

  Brandie really wished that Mitch had given her some physical secret agent training. She desperately wanted to know how to leap forward, take the gun from Sadie and find Toby.

  The doorbell rang. And rang again. The doorbell did multiple rings until Sadie/Patrice/Patty Johnson lost her temper at the annoyance. She threw her head forward, flipping her hair with an irritated growl.

  This was Brandie’s chance. She pushed up from the floor as quickly as she could and threw herself at Sadie as she lifted her head. They toppled backward, tumbling into the metal shelves, knocking the boxes to the concrete.

  Guns and boxes of ammo fell in every direction. They continued to spin across the smooth surface while Sadie yanked, tugged and jerked on all of Brandie’s clothes, trying to stop her from getting to the garage opener button on the wall.

  Brandie’s boots slipped on the slick surface, and she fell to her knees. Sadie was on top of her. They rolled. Sadie pulled hair and clawed. All Brandie could do was protect herself.

  Then Brandie’s head cracked to the right, reacting to the butt of the gun hitting her jaw. She saw shards of light and felt the world sort of phasing out.

  Toby!

  She couldn’t let this witch take her little boy. If she wanted a fight...she’d get a fight. Brandie fought the haze gathering in her head, pushing, punching the blonde madwoman in her scrawny sides.

  Kicking out from under her, Brandie rolled, then crawled until she could get her feet under her. Sadie had hold of her boot when there was a loud crash. They froze.

  Brandie turned and scooted away, but Sadie didn’t care. She was on her feet and running inside. Brandie should wait on Mitch. She knew that. The lack of sounds within the house earlier frightened her. There had been others in the house. She’d heard them moving, talking. Then she hadn’t.

  If she wanted Toby...she should go after wherever that crazy woman had taken him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The deputies couldn’t just shatter the front door with a ram. They had to pry the iron bars off the front, then crash through. The car he’d followed was a decoy. Some sixteen-year-old kid had been hired to drive it to the border. As soon as Mitch had gotten a look and verified the car was empty, he’d headed back to the house.

  There was a chance that during that time, Brandie had been found and everyone inside had driven away. He swallowed hard, controlling his emotions as Cord crushed his ribs holding him back from entering the house first.

  The sheriff’s department searched. No shots were fired. Pete walked out the door, shaking his head, and Mitch was finally released. He ran, jumped the short iron fence, ignoring the gate.

  “Are they in there? Are they...?” Mitch doubled over. His head dropped below his belt before he fell to his knees. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have left her alone. I shouldn’t have waited on warrants and procedure.”

  The pain shooting through his heart was unbearable. He didn’t want to live without Brandie and Toby. They’d become his life, the most important things to him. He couldn’t imagine losing them to a waitress he’d always call Sadie Dillon. It was so bizarre, he couldn’t wrap his head around their deaths.

  “Mitch, they aren’t inside, man. No one is,” Pete said, grabbing Mitch’s shoulder to get him to stand.

  “Then there’s a chance. What do you want me to do?”

  “I’ve got my men canvassing the neighbors. I doubt they’ll give us any workable information. We’ll set up to watch her other properties, but I think she’s smarter than that.”

  “Until she resurfaces or makes demands,” Cord said.

  “You want me to sit and wait? That’s why we’re in this mess.” That was the last thing he’d do. “I waited on the right way to do things. I waited and gave her time to make her chesslike moves. I can’t do that now. I need to find my family.”

  The men looked at each other. Neither seemed surprised.

  “I’m going inside.” He stuck his hand out to Cord. “Give me my sidearm.”

  Cord complied and stayed in the dry, lifeless yard. Mitch shoved past a deputy who said “hey” and attempted to stop him while Pete shouted the okay.

  Mitch didn’t care about anyone else. They could all assume they’d all cleared out. But he’d been on the major road in town. He hadn’t seen many cars. He’d looked at every face. And his gut told him to keep trying. He’d keep searching until he found them. Period.

  Men were in different rooms looking for anything the warrant allowed. Someone was coming down from the attic. “Nothing there.”

  Mitch secured his weapon at the small of his back when he realized none of these men knew he was a Ranger. He straddled a dining-room chair. How could they have gotten out of this house? It looked every bit like a normal house. But it wasn’t. It belonged to a smuggler.

  What did smugglers have?

  “Tap on the walls and move furniture. There may be a hidey-hole.” He yelled loud, told some twice as he pulled the china cabinet to look behind it.

  Nothing. He searched every inside wall and started for the garage. There had to be something.

  “Striker!” Deputy Hardy called. “I found something. I looked inside after I saw the laundry basket in the bathtub. I mean you wouldn’t do that, right? Laundry goes to the— Anyway, it looks like it goes under the house.”

  At the bottom of a bathroom lin
en closet was a panel with a small finger hole. It looked like extra access to the water pipes and it might be. Except this was wide enough for a man twice his size to fit through. He pulled his weapon and reached to lift the wood.

  Hardy jerked his arm back stopping him. “I understand why you have that weapon, but I’m going to have to ask you to hand it over to me, sir.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  Hardy drew his sidearm. “Damn it, Mitch. I can take care of this. Hand me your gun.”

  The youngest deputy in the sheriff’s department was shifting nervously. Mitch hated what he was about to do, but he couldn’t tell him he was undercover. Hell, he might not be. He had resigned and not proceeded back to Austin like his orders had stated.

  He wasn’t taking a chance. He was heading down that hidey-hole.

  Hardy readjusted his grip to reach for his radio. Mitch slammed his forearm up under Hardy’s gun, knocking it to the floor. He ripped the radio from the stunned deputy’s belt and shoved him backward through the door. Locking it while Hardy recovered and began shouting and turning the knob.

  “Run, tell Pete,” he mumbled. “I’m going to need backup.”

  Mitch quickly pulled the hole cover only to find it spring back into place. He lifted again, wishing he’d grabbed Hardy’s flashlight. He unlocked and cracked the door open. No reason to delay the cavalry. He propped the panel open with a stick located on the underside, secured both weapons, then lowered himself through the hole.

  As soon as his feet hit concrete, his gun was back in his hand. He took a second to let his eyes adjust. But immediately he could see light at the end of a long tunnel. Then he heard voices. Arguing.

  His heart raced as fast as his feet wanted to move, but he held himself in check. His fingers felt a rough, concrete block wall behind him. This place had been specifically built for smuggling.

  The tunnel led to the back of the house. Judging from the voices and the far sliver of light, it probably led the full distance of the field behind the house, too. Three feet wide and at least fifty yards long. There was no way to find the exit without walking through this end. He had a few minutes before the sheriff could follow.

  He hugged the wall, staying flush to it as best he could.

  “Shoot her and be done with it. We’ve taken much too much time here,” Sadie said, her distinctive voice shrill as it bounced through the tunnel.

  “I thought I was a pawn to be traded for a better playing piece.”

  Brandie!

  There were at least three people standing in the light. Sadie and whoever she’d been demanding shoot Brandie.

  “We lift the door. She screams. We might as well put a bullet in our own heads.”

  The Spanish that followed was a deep bass and too fast for Mitch to catch all of it. The pool of light grew larger until it was apparent there was another small area about ten feet wide like under the house. He could make out Sadie with one hand on a ladder rung. A figure was on the floor—Brandie. And a large outline with a hand extended as if to shoot.

  The gun drooped back to his side. This time Mitch could understand the Spanish. “You shoot her then. I take care of your mother.”

  As the man handed Sadie the weapon, Mitch ran forward. “Drop the weapon.”

  “Mitch?”

  Sadie did the opposite. She snatched the gun and fired. He dove, sliding across the pavement on the elbows of his jacket. The lightbulb shattered, spinning the room into darkness.

  “Get next to the wall and don’t move, Brandie,” he called out as the large man kicked his thigh.

  He heard a door or hatch open. Then a scream of frustration. By the sound of Sadie’s curses, Brandie hadn’t listened to him. She must have yanked Sadie’s ankle and latched on in order to keep her from escaping.

  The yelling continued while he stood. Fighting blind was nearly impossible. The man could be heading back down the tunnel for all he knew, but then a big fist connected with his kidney.

  “Mitch, help! We can’t let her go. Toby’s already gone.”

  He headed toward the voice. She was right. They had to get Sadie off the ladder.

  But a direct hit to his right kidney again made him spin and fire off a couple of punches—including one using the gun still in his fist. “You stop hitting me and you can take your chances out of this dark hole, man. All I want is your boss lady.” He hoped he’d said the right words in Spanish.

  “Mitch, I’m slipping.”

  “Okay,” the big man answered.

  Mitch pulled out his cell with his left hand and pressed on. It was a blinding light after so much complete darkness. He fixed everyone’s positions in his head, stuck his phone back in his pocket and climbed the bottom two rungs to get Sadie. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and she immediately began clawing at his head.

  Brandie fell to the floor as Mitch was rammed in his side. Obviously, the big man changed his mind about his freedom. Mitch didn’t let go. He pulled his arms close against his ribs, taking another punch.

  “Stay still, you rotten woman,” Brandie said. Her hands tried to control the frantic flaying Sadie achieved while screaming at her man to kill them both.

  He’d never hit a woman in his life and never intended to. Sadie was quickly changing his mind. He rolled several times, taking her with him in order to stop being her man’s punching bag.

  “Hang on to her, Mitch. Someone’s coming,” Brandie said from farther away, maybe down the tunnel.

  “That should be the sheriff.”

  “Go! Kill the boy!” Sadie shouted.

  “What?” Brandie cried. “You can’t!”

  Sadie was no longer as important as stopping the big man from leaving. Mitch shoved her off, got to his knees and leaped away from the lights coming through the tunnel. He grabbed the ladder rungs, just behind the big man making his escape.

  “Send the men up after me, Brandie. I’m going to need their help.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but he heard another scuffle begin below and shouts of the deputies approaching.

  The big man threw back the hatch, leaving a square patch of dark bluish sky pinpricked with stars beginning their nightly West Texas reign. Mitch’s ribs ached and his muscles tensed at the thought of seeing the big man’s boot aiming for his head. He climbed, grabbed on to the top rung for his life and prepared his left forearm to block a kick.

  Sure enough, the kick came. Mitch swung his arm around, locking his hand around the big man’s ankle. With all his strength and a loud growl, he yanked, twisted and then pushed. His opponent tripped to the ground, and Mitch hurried out of the hole.

  His opponent was lighter on his feet than he’d hoped. Mitch had both feet on the brittle grass and dirt just in time for another whack to the side of his head. He’d had enough and reached for his weapons...

  * * *

  “STOP! I SAID, STOP!” Sadie screamed with flashlights honing in on her face.

  Their short scuffle for the loose gun had once again resulted with Brandie on the wrong end of the barrel. She was breathing hard, but at least on her feet.

  “I swear I’ll shoot her and you’ll never find Toby.”

  The men behind the beams stopped. Sadie nervously shifted the gun between Brandie and the tunnel.

  But most of the woman’s focus was on the deputies. She didn’t seem to notice Brandie inching a little closer along the wall when Sadie faced the tunnel. Brandie didn’t know any defensive moves, but she put everything she had into a vicious kick against the back of Sadie’s legs.

  The blonde fell to her knees, the gun flew from her hand and landed across the tunnel. The men swooped in, pinning her to the ground while they cuffed her.

  Pete pulled Brandie from the ladder, but she clung to it. Her son’s life was at stake.

  “Let me go! She told someone to shoot Toby. Mitch went after— You’ve got to help stop him.”

  Pete grabbed his radio from his belt. “We’ve got Brandie. Can you see the hatch exit?”<
br />
  “Negative.”

  “Head north from the house. Mitch is there. I hear him fighting above me.” Pete’s eyebrows arched, asking an unspoken question.

  Brandie let go of the rung and stepped to the side. “I’m fine. Please go help him.”

  Pete headed up the ladder.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Sadie said with her face in the dirt. “You will not find that boy. He’s gone. Without me you will never find him.”

  * * *

  MITCH HEARD SADIE’S screeching words. His backup would be surfacing at any minute. He shrugged out of the denim jacket, needing the flexibility. He reached for one of the guns he’d had entering the tunnel but changed his mind. He couldn’t shoot him or take a chance of accidentally wounding him in a fight over the weapon. The man he fought might have different ideas about negotiating a deal than his boss.

  The man had at least fifty pounds on him. Mitch’s strongest punches barely made him wince. He wove his fingers together and swung. The backhanded blow made the man stagger. Mitch threw one from the opposite direction. The man’s head snapped to the side.

  He fell backward like a tree toppling to the ground.

  Pete’s head popped out of the hatch. “Need some help?”

  “Just cuff him.” Mitch rested on his knees, catching his breath. His eyes were peeled on the road. “You have units headed here yet?”

  “On their way. This thing—” he stomped on the hatch “—is blocked from the street by that storage shed. Fairly smart on their part. Now where do you think they all headed?”

  Pete slowly turned, searching the perimeter. He was too calm for Mitch’s comfort. He joined him, nudging his shoulder when the unconscious man began to moan. The sheriff rolled the man to his stomach and added handcuffs to his wardrobe.

  “Where the heck were these two planning on going?” Mitch asked, staring at the open lots.

  “Do you think there’s another tunnel?” Pete asked.

  “Sir?” the radio blared into the quiet night.