Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3)

by Marliss Melton

  Ominous silence filled Jeremiah's earpiece. His heart began to double-time.

  "Could be the law responding to reports of gunfire," Kuzinsky proposed. "We could use their help."

  "Not a good idea," Tristan interjected. "The detective in Playa del Carmen said the police chief here is dirty."

  "That's affirmative," Jeremiah piped in. "I overheard a narco say pretty much the same thing. Local law enforcement's been helping these SOBs."

  Sirens, wailing loudly and getting closer, became audible.

  "Sonofabitch," Kuzinksy swore on a note of incredulity. "Fuck! I think El Cuchillo's about to get sprung by the local police. Hack, tell the OGA to move in closer. Don't they have eyes in the sky that can stop those trucks? Second squad, retreat to the rear. Tristan, cover me."

  Jeremiah started to back toward the rear of the building. But then, curious to see what Master Chief was doing that required being covered, he doubled back and saw Kuzinsky rolling from one vehicle to the next, slashing tires. The tangos wouldn't get far in any of their own cars.

  With every passing second, the sirens grew louder.

  "They're almost here, Master Chief," he warned over his headset.

  The sirens went suddenly quiet. In their stead came the roar of powerful engines.

  * * *

  Oh, shit. The realization that two emergency vehicles were barreling up the road in her direction turned Juliet's mouth dry. If she stayed put much longer, she'd be caught in the glare of their headlights. If she darted into the yard, she'd probably be spotted by the SEALs. Maybe if they recognized her, they'd withhold their fire?

  Whipping the hat off her head, she sprinted into the open gate, breaking right toward the first object to offer cover. No one shot at her. No one even shouted for her to halt. She slipped into a crevice between the object and the wall, identifying it as an old, steel sign, propped on one end, just large enough for a child—or woman—to hide behind.

  In the next instant, headlights brightened the street outside, then strafed the inner wall of the factory complex as first one armored vehicle and then another swerved through the open gate and slid to a stop. The SEAL she'd glimpsed earlier rolled out from under the van where he was hiding and darted out of sight on the far side of the building.

  Juliet studied the newcomers. Had the CIA arrived to lend a hand?

  With a loud clang, a pair of searchlights popped on, adding to the brilliance of the headlights as they panned the yard, pausing over the dead bodies while searching for the shooters.

  "Policía!" barked a voice over a loudspeaker, providing Juliet an answer. Not CIA. Detective Canché had warned them that the police chief in Mérida had been bought off by the outlaws. Perhaps this was he, commanding the shooters to lay down their weapons and surrender. They would be shot on sight, he promised, if they did not submit.

  She grimaced and made herself even smaller. No doubt they would be shot if they did submit. Gulping down her heart, which seemed to have taken up residence in her throat, she shrank into her hiding place, praying for protection.

  * * *

  Jeremiah heard the doors of the armored trucks clang open. Booted feet hit the ground. The police had arrived in force to help El Cuchillo make his getaway. They would eventually make their way around the building, where second squad had two options for escape—either go up and over the formidable wall, or climb the lines used by first squad and escape to the rooftop.

  "First squad," Master Chief spoke in his quietest voice to the men inside. "I need a man on the roof to drop us a couple of lines."

  Yes, the second option made more sense.

  "I'm on it," Bronco replied.

  A second later, the end of a black nylon rope slapped the ground next to Jeremiah's feet. He could sense the police making their way cautiously around the building. He would have to climb the rope quickly, taking it with him, to avoid being spotted.

  The sudden explosion of a grenade detonating in the yard spiked his adrenaline.

  Now what? Jeremiah wondered. But then he realized that the CIA had arrived per the SEALs' request—just in time to hamper the corrupt police chief's rescue efforts. His thoughts went to Emma and Sammy as a woman's cry penetrated the windows of the building. Not Emma, he decided with only the smallest bit of relief.

  Haiku startled him as he crept up from behind.

  "You go first," Jeremiah said, offering him the rope.

  With spider-like speed, the Japanese-American SEAL ascended the line, hand over hand. Jeremiah watched him hook a leg over the ledge and disappear. It was his turn, only he couldn't bring himself to retreat—not when El Cuchillo was poised to leave the building taking Emma and Sammy with him.

  "Bullfrog, let's go." It was Bronco, watching from up on the roof.

  "I can't. Sorry, Master Chief but if Emma's downstairs I need to stay here. Cover me, brother," he requested of Bronco, abandoning the rope and putting his back to the wall instead. He started inching his way toward the yard again.

  "You stay the hell out of sight, Bullfrog," Master Chief bit out, clearly angry that his orders were being ignored.

  Thoop. Thoop. Bronco took out two policemen creeping toward him.

  Jeremiah flattened himself against the shadows, his heart pounding. "Sure thing, Master Chief," he replied, pushing forward.

  Arriving at the corner of the building, he was heartened to see the police chief's forces sandwiched between the CIA, who lobbed grenades at them from out on the street, and the SEALs, who rained gunfire down from the roof. Bodies of uniformed policemen hit the ground next to those of the dead narcos. The explosions kept the policemen from advancing any farther. One of the armored trucks caught on fire before Jeremiah's satisfied eyes.

  Just then, the loudspeaker, though barely audible over the noise of the battle, crackled and a voice instructed the police to cover the capo's exit. Jeremiah halted at the corner of the building, risking the bullets that peppered the cinderblock and kicked up dirt at his feet to peer around the corner. This was it.

  Sure enough, two of El Cuchillo's goons emerged from the front of the building, one firing out at the CIA, the other up at the roof. Suddenly, the capo himself appeared, though he wasn't alone.

  Jeremiah's heart stopped beating at the sight of Sammy Albright squirming in the capo's grasp while he struggled to carry her high in his arms, shielding the front of his body with hers, while also holding the knife that had given him his fearful reputation against her throat. Emma, whose hands were bound by a short length of rope to his left elbow, shuffled next to him, protecting his left flank while Katherine, similarly bound, protected his right.

  Jeremiah shouldered his rifle, preparing to shoot if at all possible. "Filthy coward," he muttered, unfazed by the bullets whizzing past his ears and embedding themselves everywhere but in him.

  "OGA, hold your fire," Kuzinsky said to the allies outside the wall. He, like Jeremiah, knew that El Cuchillo was the CIA's primary target. They had no compunction about killing the women if that's what it took to stop the drug lord.

  Jeremiah's finger flexed over his trigger. "Bronco!" he raged, praying his best friend had a bead on the top of El Cuchillo's head.

  "Can't take the shot, brother," Bronco apologized. "It'll go right through him to the kid."

  "Shoot the tires on the truck, at least."

  "Won't make any difference," he replied tautly. "Master Chief, the CIA's got a sniper with an RPG. I can see him from here. If that truck drives away, they're going to blow it up."

  Jeremiah felt all the blood drain from his head. In three steps, the capo would be inside the armored truck. And as soon as it reached the clear street, the CIA would fire a rocket propelled grenade right into the gas tank. No way in hell would they let this drug lord get away a second time. Sammy and Emma would be killed instantly, collateral damage in this filthy war—and his promise to them shattered.

  A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He would rather risk them getting shot. If they went with E
l Cuchillo, they were dead anyway.

  "Take your aim, then," Kuzinsky replied. "Just be careful."

  Jeremiah put his crosshairs on the back of a man standing in his way. Before he could even squeeze the trigger, a shot rang out from within the yard and the man in front of El Cuchillo toppled. The rest of his men, as jumpy as cats around snakes, swiveled and fired back.

  A head of blond hair disappeared beneath the Fanta sign. Astonishment rooted Jeremiah briefly. Was that Juliet?

  Ping, ping, ping, pyong! Bullets ricocheted off the sign she hid behind, as El Cuchillo's men retaliated. In their distraction, they shifted and turned sideways, providing Jeremiah the window he'd been waiting for. He pulled the trigger, sending two bullets streaking through the ranks of the capo's bodyguards and slamming into the drug lord's kidneys.

  El Cuchillo pitched forward, spilling Sammy onto the backs of the men in front of him and dragging Emma and Katherine to the ground.

  With the hostages out of the line of fire, the CIA and then the SEALs rained bullets fore and aft on anyone still standing. The armored truck took off without warning, backing up with its rear doors still swinging, through the open gate. Once on the street, it reversed direction and took off. The CIA sniper launched his RPG. With a high-speed hiss, it pursued the truck. Somewhere down the street, the vehicle detonated in a ball of fire tall enough to be seen within the yard.

  A cheer went up amidst the CIA contingent, but the SEALs kept quiet.

  Bolting from the side of the building, Jeremiah raced through the yard of dead men to collide with Juliet as they both skidded next to their loved ones in the soft dirt.

  "Emma! Sammy! Are you okay?" she cried, helping both of them to sit up.

  A glance at El Cuchillo confirmed that he was already dead, or nearly so. Katherine, caught beneath his body, was sobbing hysterically. Jeremiah rolled the capo off her.

  Cautious of the bodies strewn around them, he kept a sharp eye out for survivors capable of firing another round until Tristan jogged up to them breathing heavily. With him keeping sharp watch, Jeremiah withdrew the knife from his boot and sliced through the rope that still bound Emma and Katherine to the capo.

  "Back into the building," he ordered when they were free. "Helo's on the way."

  Helping a wobbly Emma to her feet, Jeremiah searched her profile while Tristan aided Katherine and Juliet gathered Sammy close.

  "I got you, English. Can you walk?" he asked, though he was itching to sweep her up into his arms and carry her.

  Her only answer was a faint nod.

  "Ma'am, you're safe now," Tristan said to Katherine, though she continued to wail. "Let's get you back to your family."

  "See, Sammy, I told you that you could never hide from me," Juliet teased her niece.

  Avoiding the bodies, Jeremiah ushered them swiftly into the dark building while the CIA contingent swept the yard for survivors and began the cleanup. It was over. However, until the hostages were airborne and flying out of Mexico, Jeremiah knew he couldn't let his guard down. Fortunately, he could hear the extraction helo surging closer.

  The smell of the building's interior brought on a weird sense of déjà vu.

  "We're almost out of here," he said to Emma, who had yet to speak.

  "Bullfrog, Sam needs your help stabilizing the kid," Tristan informed him as they started up the stairs. "Apparently, he shot and killed César Salvador. No one knows where the pistol he used came from."

  Guilt knotted Jeremiah's intestines as he realized what must have happened. Noah must have overheard Joe telling him where the gun was hidden. Brave kid, he'd used it to defend the hostages. But damn it, if he died, Jeremiah would feel more than partially responsible.

  "I'll take the ladies to the roof," Tristan offered.

  Loath to let Emma go when he'd just gotten her back, Jeremiah dropped a quick kiss on her ice-cold cheek. "I'll be right back," he promised.

  Her dazed and unresponsive expression shot an arrow of concern through him.

  She's just in shock, he assured himself, even as he watched her put her arm around her daughter and disappear up the stairs with Tristan.

  Stepping into the room where he'd spent so many hours as a captive, Jeremiah crossed to where Noah lay. All of the hostages aside from Noah's mother and Joe and Cheryl had been evacuated to the roof. César's body lay in a dark corner, along with a man Jeremiah didn't recognize—probably one of the capo's thugs.

  Lt. Sam Sasseville, who hovered over Noah with a penlight clutched between his teeth, looked up at him as Jeremiah crouched opposite him to assess the patient. The boy had lost consciousness along with a lot of blood, given his pallor and the size of the scarlet puddle beneath him.

  "What have we got?" he asked.

  The lieutenant had cut away Noah's T-shirt and taped his midsection, using Jeremiah's kit that they always carried.

  Taking the penlight out of his mouth, Sam directed it at the wound. "Kid took a bullet to the abdomen. I can't tell what organs were hit. His vitals are weak, but they haven't changed since I started monitoring them. So that's good, right?"

  Noah's mother shook Jeremiah's shoulder. "Please don't let my boy die." Her voice quaked with grief. "I've already lost my husband. I can't lose him, too."

  Jeremiah glanced up at her and nodded, though he was wary of speaking any more promises that ultimately were out of his control.

  But Master Chief had just entered the room. "He's in good hands, ma'am." Drawing Noah's mother to one side, he spoke reassuring words to her.

  "You did a great job here, sir," Jeremiah said to Sam while opening his medical kit. "Let's get him on a saline solution. When the medics arrive, we want to strap him to a plastic backboard stretcher to keep the bullet from traveling. Joe will need one, too." He gave a nod to the policeman waiting patiently with Cheryl beside him, holding his hand.

  With a throbbing sound that grew louder, the helicopter hovered over the building preparing to land. Sliding an IV needle into Noah's arm and freeing the contents of the bag to flow into him, Jeremiah took one last look around the room that had housed them for several days. The rescue hadn't happened the way he'd envisioned it, but most of the hostages had survived—with the uncertain exception of Bert and Joan. And, of course, Noah still needed to pull through.

  "Come on, kid," he muttered, willing his pulse to grow stronger.

  Plaster sprinkled the short hairs on Jeremiah's head as the helicopter presumably touched down. He held his breath, waiting to see if the old but sturdy building would support its weight. But the roof did not collapse, and a minute later, two medics from the crew swept into the room carrying stretchers.

  Jeremiah made certain they strapped Noah securely to one of them. Kuzinsky escorted Noah's mother and Cheryl up the stairs. Then he, Sam, and the medics followed, helping to carry Noah and Joe to the roof.

  Once he'd delivered them into the hold of the helo, Jeremiah joined Emma where she stood with the other hostages behind the entrance to the stairs and away from the MH-60's rotor wash. Juliet was doing her best to normalize the situation.

  "Oh, shoot, I forgot to buy souvenirs before we left," she joked, ruffling her niece's hair. "Didn't you want to get one for the refrigerator, Em?"

  Sammy managed a smile, but Emma stood with one arm around her daughter, her jaw decidedly clenched, staring into space.

  Nudging her chin up, Jeremiah forced her to meet his gaze. "You okay?" he asked.

  With a frisson of alarm, he wondered if she'd been raped during his absence. What had happened to the confident woman who'd kissed him good-bye, and where was the kiss she'd promised to give him every time he came back to her?

  Master Chief moved up behind him and spoke into his ear.

  "The attaché from the American Embassy wants you to stay with the hostages through the debriefing process."

  Grateful not to have to leave Emma just yet, Jeremiah nodded. "Great."

  "The helo's going to fly you all to Fort Sam Houston so the two in
jured can get medical attention at Brooke Army Medical Center. The rest of you will be evaluated for twenty-four hours and debriefed. The media's going to want a statement. Of course, you'll want to avoid getting your picture taken and no personal interviews."

  "Goes without saying," Jeremiah agreed. The Army's largest and busiest medical center sounded like a five-star vacation destination, especially if he got to stay there with Emma while they all received a little TLC.

  "I expect they'll shuttle you back to New Orleans after that to collect your things. Are you holding up okay?"

  Jeremiah met Kuzinsky's dark gaze. A wave of familial affection rolled through him. Kuzinsky wasn't more than twelve years his senior, but the firefights he'd survived made him the granddaddy of all SEALs. Jeremiah grinned down at him. "I'm good, Master Chief. Thanks for everything."

  Kuzinsky slapped him on the back. "See you back at Spec Ops on Monday. Go on. Get out of here."

  Jeremiah turned to the others. "Time to board, everyone. Let's go home."

  * * *

  "Juliet!" Tristan shouted her name a second time, but she still ignored him. Abandoning his watch post, he sprinted across the roof through the gale caused by the helo's rotors, catching hold of her arm just as she put a knee into the hold.

  "What?" She rounded on him angrily, proving she'd heard him calling all along.

  Most women looked like witches when they were angry. Juliet just looked sexy.

  "I just wanted to say, good shooting out there. Unlike most guys, I admit it when I'm wrong, and I was obviously wrong about you not being able to help us. You caught the capo's men totally off guard—us, too, by the way."

  He almost laughed aloud as her mulish expression melted under his praise. God, he would miss teasing her!

  "So, thanks," he added, aware that the rotors were accelerating. Taking swift advantage of her astonishment, he leaned over, caught her chin in his hand, and planted a bold kiss on her slightly parted lips.

  "See you soon, gorgeous" he swore backing away as a crewmember slammed the cargo door shut between them.