by Dana Marton
Her breasts flattened against Shep’s hard chest. Heat flashed through her.
But when he said, “Was that Doug Wagner?” his voice held no desire, only anger.
She sobered a little as he set her away from him.
His eyes narrowed. “Why the hell didn’t we grab him?”
“Let’s see who he talks to first. If Wagner doesn’t pan out, there might be another lead here at the bar. As you said, it’s a known smuggler hangout. I want to keep my cover. I want to be able to come back tomorrow and Saturday.”
“Our goal for coming here was Wagner.”
“What if whoever he gets his orders from is here? The higher up we get on the chain of command, the more likely we’re to find actionable intel. Wagner might not know the Coyote’s true identity. But the guy he reports to could have that.”
Shep’s expression was that of supreme annoyance, but he pulled out his phone. “I’ll call the office. You go in and keep an eye on him.”
So she went back inside, aggravated that their close encounter had affected her, while it had done nothing to Shep. Like back in the day—with her mooning after him, and him ignoring her. She was so not ever going back to that. She might have been lonely. He might have looked hotter than ever. But she had her pride, dammit.
She barely walked three steps down the hallway before she spotted Wagner, the sight of him distracting her from Shep. He was hurrying toward that closed door she’d checked out earlier. He had a key. He turned it in the lock and quickly disappeared.
She hurried after him but, of course, he’d locked the door behind him. She tried to listen, but the band was still playing, a woman was singing now, and she couldn’t hear anything else. She glanced around and pulled her lock picks from her pocket. Hopefully, Brian wouldn’t show up this time. How bad could her luck get?
Not too bad, as it turned out. The manager stayed out of sight. And she had the door unlocked in under thirty seconds.
A semidark staircase led down in front of her. Bingo. A basement. That certainly had potential if any nefarious activities were going on around here.
She left the door open a crack so when Shep came inside, he might get a clue as to where she’d disappeared. Then she started down, trying to listen if she could hear anyone talking down there.
Until she went around the turn in the stairs and ran into a three-hundred-pound chunk of bad attitude, wearing sweat shorts, a black muscle shirt and a full gallon of sweat. Pockmarks covered his face, his eyes small and mean.
She smiled at him, and did her best to look harmless and clueless. “Sorry. I was looking for Brian.”
Two beefy, hairy arms reached out to grab her. If the dark glare and snarl the man shot her was any indication, he wasn’t particularly happy to see her there.
Chapter Four
“Up,” the man said.
Lilly didn’t argue, but backed away from him as soon as he let her go. “Sorry.” She smiled again, even wider. “I’m brand-new. Don’t actually start until tomorrow. I got the gig. Can you believe it?”
“Auditions are still going on.”
She lifted her shoulder. “I suppose Brian wants to let everyone who showed up at least sing. He seems so nice,” she lied cheerfully.
The guy didn’t look touched. His hand hovered near his waist.
She was pretty sure he had a gun tucked into his waistband behind his back. She was unarmed and obviously so. Her skimpy clothes couldn’t have hidden anything. There was no reason for him to escalate.
But if he did, at least she was higher up on the stairs than he, in a better position, and was trained in hand-to-hand combat. She could take him down if things came to that. But only if she had to. She’d much rather keep her cover.
She kept backing up, looking lost and apologetic.
He didn’t go for the gun. Maybe he was buying her act. When they were at the top of the stairs, he waited until she was up and out, then closed the door in her face. She heard the lock turn.
Okay. That could have gone better. But it could have gone worse, too. Bottom line was, she needed to find a way to get back down to that basement so she could figure out what on earth was going on down there.
Shep, who was just coming in through the back door, caught her eye and raised a questioning eyebrow.
She hurried over and filled him in.
“You went down there? Alone?” He said the words between his teeth.
She smiled in case anyone was watching them. They could be seen from the bar. Plenty of people hung around waiting on Shorty for a drink.
“Next time, you tell me.” Shep spit out the words. “You’re here to observe and advise.”
“And assist.”
“Dammit, Lilly.”
Since she didn’t want to argue with him—or be seen with him too much—she simply walked away. She meant to hang out at the bar for a while and talk to Shorty and the waitresses if she got a chance. But Shep came after her. They came out of the hallway into the main area.
“How big is the basement?” he asked right next to her, so only she would hear.
“I didn’t get far enough to see.”
“I’ll try to get down there later.”
“They keep the door locked.”
“If you managed, so can I.”
Of course, because he would have to do everything, Mr. Hot Stuff Commando. She couldn’t possibly be enough. He was never going to forget what a screwup she’d been. She pressed her lips together and turned away from him, just in time to see Doug Wagner head for the door up front.
He must have come up from the basement and gone around the stage the other way.
Keith was about six yards behind him.
She gave a double take. Keith? Were they all here? Lilly scanned the tables but didn’t see the rest of the team.
He nodded to Shep, then toward Wagner, who pushed through the front door and was out of sight the next second. Keith followed.
“You stay,” Shep told her under his breath. “We need to grab him before he disappears.” Then he took off after them.
* * *
SHEP STEPPED OUTSIDE just in time to see Wagner walk to a white sedan parked at the end of the street and drive off. Keith was already at the beat-up pickup they used as their undercover car, on his cell phone, probably calling in the development. Shep caught up with him and jumped behind the wheel, then took off after Wagner.
Keith stayed in phone contact with the others. “Suspect heading south. We’re two cars behind.” He muted the phone before he turned to Shep. “How did it go with Lilly?”
“Fine.”
“She’s hot. I mean, like—man, did you see the way she moved up there? Those curves...”
Shep gave an annoyed grunt. Not only had he seen them, they’d been pressed against him in the alley, a sensation he wasn’t about to forget anytime soon, unfortunately. But just because he couldn’t forget the incident, it didn’t mean he was going to share his feelings about it.
Keith made some more appreciative noises, keeping the phone on mute. “You sure you’re not going to hook up with her?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I wouldn’t mind asking her out for a drink,” the idiot went on. “She’s here to work with us. No sense being rude to her.”
Shep’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. He hated the idea of anyone asking Lilly anywhere. But she was a grown woman, entitled to her own decisions, so he stayed quiet.
Wagner turned off the main road and they followed. He stopped his sedan in front of an apartment building and got out.
The building had four levels, maybe a hundred apartments. Looked like a fairly new place, the siding clean and trim, the windows double paned. Pebble Creek was growing, adding some housing around the edges. T
he complex was one of a dozen like it that Shep had seen while driving around.
What was Wagner doing here? His official address was a trailer park across town. Who was he visiting? With a little luck, it would be a connection to the Coyote.
The man turned back to the sedan, reached into the back and pulled out a rifle. He left his car running as he walked away from it.
Shep watched as the man hurried into the building. “I don’t like it.”
“Definitely not a good sign,” Keith said, then called in the address to the rest of the team, who were on their way.
Still, it’d be at least twenty minutes before they got here. He had no time to wait for reinforcements. They had to take Wagner into custody before he killed anybody else, or got himself killed.
Shep checked his weapon. “I take the front, you take the back.”
They got out and ran toward the building, then separated when they reached the steps. Keith went around to see if there was a back entrance. Shep pushed through the front door, weapon in hand but down at his side, in case he ran into civilians.
The main lobby stood empty—Mexican tile floor, no trash, no graffiti, a decent middle-class kind of place. The far wall held a hundred or so mailboxes. Two pink kid bikes stood in a back corner. Didn’t seem like drug-dealer-lair territory.
He could hear footsteps on the floor above him. That would be Wagner most likely. Shep followed, keeping his gun ready. He stole up the stairs silently, hugging the wall.
When knocking sounded from above, a sharp rap on wood, he moved faster. Seemed as if nobody responded, because the knocking continued. Then he could hear some small noise from below. Probably Keith coming in from the back. Was there a back staircase? There should be. A fire escape if nothing else. It’d be nice if they could corner Wagner.
Shep kept moving up. One flight of stairs to go. Just a few more steps. He looked right when he made it up all the way, and saw Wagner raise his rifle as the door he stood in front of inched open.
Shep raised his gun. “Drop your weapon!”
Wagner swung toward him just as the door slammed in his face. He squeezed off a shot at Shep, missed, then started running in the opposite direction down the hallway.
“Drop your weapon!” Shep ran after him.
Wagner squeezed off another shot.
Shep ducked, but he had nothing to duck behind for cover. He kept moving anyway, wishing he had his bulletproof vest. But since they were coming from the bar, dressed as rodeo cowboys, neither Keith nor he had any real protection.
Wagner reached the end of the hallway and turned.
Okay. Shep slowed. Showdown.
But instead of surrendering, the man squeezed off another shot, then slammed through the last door to his left.
Shep ran forward to the spot where the man had disappeared. Emergency fire exit. With any luck, Keith would be coming up and they’d have Wagner trapped between them.
He pushed the door open and inched forward carefully, kept his weapon raised in front, in case Wagner was waiting for him. But he saw no one, and judging from boots slapping on the steps above, Wagner was going to the next floor up in hopes of escaping instead of going down.
Shep ran after him. “Stop right there and throw down your weapon!” He needed to catch up to the bastard before an innocent civilian got in the middle of this.
And then someone did.
He heard screams, ran faster. Saw Wagner at last in the next turn. The man was holding his gun at two teenage girls who’d apparently snuck into the staircase for a smoke. They were fifteen, tops, dressed in summer skirts and flip-flops. They were white with fear, their eyes rapidly filling with tears as they whimpered, their half-smoked cigarettes having fallen at their feet.
Wagner’s eyes darted back and forth as he tried to figure out his next step. “You stay back,” he demanded from behind the girls.
“Listen—” Shep didn’t get to finish.
One of the girls panicked and dashed forward, tumbling down the stairs, throwing herself at him, screaming, nearly knocking him off his feet. Her flailing arms knocked his weapon aside as she tried to get behind him to safety.
“Get down!” Shep pushed her out of the way, doing his best to keep her from hurting herself, dammit.
Wagner used the momentary distraction, shoved the other girl down the steps, too, on top of Shep and tore off running once again.
The girls didn’t seem to have any injuries worse than a scraped knee.
Shep called back to them as he ran up the stairs. “Get back into your apartment, lock the door. Call 911 if you need medical help.” Then he turned his full attention to the man running from him and gave chase as if he meant it.
Three more floors before he reached the door to the roof. He wasn’t even breathing hard. Every man on his team trained every single day. He could go a hell of a lot longer than this little sprint.
Once again, he went through the door carefully, gun first, and prepared to duck from fire, but no bullets came.
Chimney and vent stacks broke up the flat, long roof that radiated back the sun’s heat, making the air shimmer above it. He had a flashback, for a second, to his days in the Iraqi desert. He shook that aside and pushed forward. When a shot finally did ring out, he rolled behind a vent stack.
“Cease fire!”
But bullets kept coming, pretty hard and fast. Wagner had to be hiding behind one of the chimneys. Looked as if he’d decided to make his last stand here.
“Cease fire!” Shep rolled over into the cover of a chimney that provided more substantial protection, caught sight of another fire-stairs door on the far end of the building just as Keith ducked through it.
He signaled, pointing at the spot where the shots had come from so far. Keith nodded back and rushed forward, into cover of a vent stack.
Shep waited until he was in place, then rushed Wagner. While Wagner was focused on him, Keith took his shot and sent a bullet through the guy’s right shoulder.
Wagner went down screaming.
“Stay down! Hands behind your head!” Shep reached him and kept his gun trained at him. “Stay down! Drop your weapon!”
Down in the parking lot, cars pulled in squealing. Keith glanced over the edge of the roof. “They’re here.”
Good. The rest of the team could help with cleanup and damage control. Especially since police sirens sounded in the distance. It’d be a full-on party soon. Maybe the girls had called in. Probably other residents had also reported the gunshots. The police would want explanations.
He slapped the cuffs on Wagner, grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him up. The man was crying and yelling about his shoulder. The idiot could dish out violence, but it didn’t look as if he could take much when the tables were turned.
“You have the right to remain silent.” Keith Mirandized him before Shep had a chance.
Had to be done. The man needed to be put away. No sense in letting him slip through the cracks due to a technicality.
They took Wagner down, met with Ryder who was rushing up the stairs.
“Anyone else?” he asked. “I had the rest of the team spread out through the building.”
Shep shook his head. “Just this one.”
Ryder talked into his radio unit. “Shooter in custody. Coming down the south-end fire stairs. Withdraw from building.” He ended the connection before he asked, “Any injuries?”
“Just him as far as I know.” Shep glanced at the bleeding wound on Wagner’s shoulder. “He’ll live.” But they’d have to take him to the hospital before they could interrogate him. “Local police can go through the building.”
Bullets had flown, and they had the ability to go through wood and walls. Somebody could be lying bleeding in one of the apartments for all they knew.
Jamie and
Mo walked Wagner downstairs while Ryder haggled with the local cops over who should have the man in custody.
Shep caught Keith’s attention and gestured back toward the building with his head as he backed toward the entrance. Keith followed him.
“I want to know who he came to take out,” he said once they were inside. He didn’t want the local cops to see them and get it into their heads to interfere.
They moved up the stairs together and took up position on either side of the door in question, then pulled their weapons.
Careful, Shep mouthed. Whoever was inside had been face-to-face with an assassin just minutes ago. He might start shooting and ask questions later.
Keith rapped on the door then pulled back into cover. “Customs and Border Protection. Open up.”
Footsteps sounded inside. “There’s a shooter in the building.”
Not anymore, and the man would know that. His apartment was in the front, his windows overlooking the parking lot. He would have heard the cops arriving, would have looked and seen Wagner taken outside in cuffs.
Shep kept his focus on the door. “He’s in custody. We need to talk to all the residents.”
A long moment passed before the key turned in the lock. Then a small gap appeared, only a sliver of the man’s face visible.
Shep put on his most trustworthy look. “We need to come in and check the apartment, make sure there are no other attackers.”
“There aren’t.”
“We have to check for ourselves. Are you armed, sir?”
“What the hell do you think? People are shooting up the damn place.”
“Please, put your weapon down and step back from the door.”
Seconds ticked by until the guy made up his mind and they heard the metal of his gun click on the tile floor, heard him move back.
Shep pushed in and kicked the weapon to Keith with the back of his boot.
The man was in his mid-fifties, nearly bald with a handlebar mustache. He was tanned, but not weather-beaten like most cowboys and ranch hands who worked outside. His mouth was pressed into an angry line. His right wrist was bandaged, bloodstains on the white gauze.
