by Cait Jarrod
Jake grabbed his foot and jerked. The machine gun flew from the gangster’s hands, plopping into the water.
The Scorpion held firm and kicked out his foot, landing on Jake’s jaw. The steel-toe boot forced pain through his head. Shaking it off, he thrust forward and grasped the thug’s shirt.
Not so easy after all.
A firm tug and they flew backwards. Jake’s knee lurched upward, hammering the man in the balls as they fell into the water.
The toad released Jake’s shirt and grabbed his nuts. Jake’s head flew forward, a head butt to the forehead. The perp’s eyes crossed as he slumped into the water.
Two down.
Jake climbed on the ski and twisted the key. Nothing. He tried again.
“Fuck!” The needle on the gas gauge pointed to Empty. Sliding a foot over the side, he glided into the water. He had no choice but to deal with the men on the island before he could search for Pamela.
Twenty yards out, Jake emerged above the water and slithered to the shoreline. Once there, he inched toward the tree line. He had one weapon and only a few bullets. He’d have to make an arsenal from nature. From his run around the island earlier, he spotted thick vines. It was a good place to start.
A few minutes later, he was tugging on a creeper with the smell of rotten leaves engulfing him. Several feet tore out of the ground. He cut it off with his switchblade, slid it over his shoulder, then started on the next. This one, longer. Then, he went in search of sticks heavy and long enough to be used as spears. After finding several, he whittled one end, making a sharp point that could penetrate skin.
Adrenaline rushed through his veins, and a sheen of sweat covered him. These men had threatened Pamela for the last time. He was aware of two on the island, but Scorpions rarely did things in pairs. More would be coming for him. He hoped he’d have back up soon. Where the hell was Steve?
Night was falling, making it harder for the Black Scorpions to see him lurking about. In turn, he wouldn’t be able to see them either. From his experience, the Black Scorpion’s usual MO was to watch their victims’ eyes as they fell to their death. Therefore, he didn’t have to worry about a sneak attack.
Spotting blackberry vines, he smeared the juice across his face, neck, arms, and hands to camouflage his complexion. Then he put some aside for later.
Back at the center of the island, he untied the vine and removed the spears from his back. He tied an end of the longer vine five and half feet high, stretched it to the next tree and tied the other end. Next, he collected fist-size rocks and piled them ten yards away from the rope and the spears. The Scorpions had machine guns, so he’d have to be sneaky enough that they wouldn’t be able to tell how many reinforcements were there.
In the mini bag of tricks, he pulled out the gun, and checked it. Goddamnit. The bag wasn’t waterproof like Steve’s duffle. Water gushed out of the chamber, making the gun of no use to him. He stuffed it back in his bag and went forward with his plan, gunless.
Next, he gathered supplies for making a fire to bring the bastards to him, and dumped them in the sand on the beach. The twigs, dried leaves, and pine needles slowly started to burn. Adding more bark, he blew on the soft glow, and the flame took hold.
Watching from the shelter of the trees, he crouched near the rock pile and spears, then waited. Birds sung and crickets chirped as his mind worked a hundred miles a minute. He’d needed to get to Pamela ASAP. All kinds of horrible thoughts raced around in his head as to what they did with her and where they took her.
Were they using her to bait him or someone else? Nicholas Wine was dead. Maybe word hadn’t gotten back to the Black Scorpions yet. Did they think Pamela had the bonds? She didn’t. The pieces of paper were now the property of the United States Government.
Not having definite answers to any of those questions, there was one thing he knew for sure: the gang wanted The Warrior dead. Jake was ready to kick ass.
He heard voices in the distance, but the idiots hadn’t seen the fire yet. If they waited too much longer to stumble into his trap, he’d have to feed the fire by coming out of hiding. Not a good idea.
His throat was scratchy. Not having any fresh water, he popped a couple blackberries into his mouth.
Was Sanjar still the mastermind pushing the Scorpions to kill The Warrior? Jake sniggered. The Scorpions didn’t need any push in that area. He had single-handedly executed their leader. They would slay him at all costs. Thanks to Lever’s betrayal, Sanjar told the gangsters exactly who he was. Lever, the fucking coward.
And what about Jameson? The picture Larry had shown him of Wine’s partner flashed in his mind. The ring-wearing dipshit had a cold calculating gleam in his eyes, but still was yellow-bellied enough to have the ruthless gang do his dirty work.
Jake grabbed a few rocks and climbed a nearby tree to get a better look.
So, why did Jameson turn to Sanjar? For more limelight as they had speculated previously? Jake scratched his chin. Was the man really that fucked up?
Excited voices grew near. They’d found the fire. In the shadows of the moonlight sky six feet above the ground, he waited.
Two men, machine guns at their sides, circled the campfire. If only he had a working gun, they both would be lying face down in the sand. He tossed a rock into the woods behind the vine he’d stretched between the two trees.
Bullets peppered the area near him, and the thugs ran forward, right into the vine. Coughing and sputtering they fell backwards, releasing their hold on the guns. Jake dropped from the tree, picked up a few spears, and shifted forward.
Neither one was moving.
Something hit his back. Pain pierced his body. Jake collapsed face first on top of a Scorpion.
“The Warrior is alive and well, I see.”
He couldn’t see him, but he knew that accent. Sanjar. Damn, this was not how he pictured this going down.
The Scorpion that cushioned his fall slid out from under him and got to his feet. The man came into his Jake’s line of vision and reached for his machine gun.
“Little late for that now,” Sanjar barked. “If I hadn’t shown up, one man would have done you in like a boy scout. You’re a waste of my time.”
The report of a gun sounded, then a body slumped next to him. Another shot fired, the body next to Jake flinched. Jake waited for the next shot.
“The Warrior, or should I call you Agent Jake Gibson?”
Jake swallowed. Damn, he couldn’t just lie here. He had to fight back, but his brain couldn’t make his body move. He was forced into the sand, yet he couldn’t feel a thing.
“Let me get the spear out for you.”
“Damn you to hell, Sanjar!”
“Ah, I see you haven’t lost control of your voice like you have your body.” The spear snapped.
“Sanjar, Big Dog, yo wat me to bump off the copper?”
Jake was forced onto his back.
The sound of a motor drew near.
Sanjar crouched next to him. “I only regret that I won’t have the opportunity to watch you die a slow and agonizing death.” He straightened. “Take care of him.”
Bullets peppered the trees. He heard a thump and the sound of feet scurrying away.
The motor turned off. It had to be Steve. He had to get to the boat, had to get to Pamela. Damn, his body wouldn’t move. The spear had to be pressing against his spinal column. His fingers felt numb. Son of a bitch. He couldn’t die.
Her sedate smile shone at him. He knew that look. Seen it a few times and had plans on seeing it a hell of a lot more. She touched his shoulder, his neck.
His body rocked.
She threw her head back and yelled, “Jake!” It could only have been in the throes of passion, but his body was numb. He saw her sitting on top of him, her breast bouncing, yet he couldn’t feel her, taste her.
“Get your no-count ass up!”
The vision faded with the deep voice.
“Jake, do you hear me? Get the fuck up!”
&n
bsp; His eyes popped open. Larry and Steve stared down at him. “I hear your sorry asses.”
“Can you get up?” Steve asked with a hand on his arm.
“Don’t think so. I have a spear in my back.”
“Then why are you lying on it?” Larry flipped him over. “How did you break it off?”
Jake groaned. “Not me. That would be Sanjar’s parting gift.”
Steve huffed. “You got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I was. They’ve got Pamela.”
“Send a has-been to do a man’s job.” Steve straightened and glared at Larry. “I can’t believe you had him watching her. He can’t even keep his dick in his pants. That’s the sign of going soft.”
Larry stood, standing toe to toe with Steve. “Agent Anderson, keep your emotions out of this situation. If you don’t, you’re no better than Agent Gibson.”
“You mean Mister Gibson.”
Larry shoved Steve backwards. “Blast it! I don’t give a rat’s ass if I am five inches shorter than you.” He closed the gap. “Obey my command, or we’ll go for it right here while Pamela is out there with one of the worst monsters the US has ever seen.”
Steve wiped the spit off his face. “Yes, sir.”
“And you damn well know, no matter what Jake may or may not be doing with Pamela, he would never jeopardize her!”
Good ole Larry, he always had his back.
Hands on his hips, Steve glared at Jake then back at Larry. “Christ, I know.” Steve sidestepped a red-faced Larry and approached Jake. “Come on, let’s get your sorry mug out of here and find Pamela.”
With Larry’s help, they heaved Jake over Steve’s shoulder and swiftly moved to the boat. “I’ve got to take the wood out,” Steve said, laying Jake flat on his stomach, then turning on his headlamp.
“Why can’t I move?”
Larry moved behind the wheel and steered the boat away from shore. A hundred yards out, the boat lights flicked on, and Larry opened up the motor. “We’ll head to the marina.”
Steve ripped Jake’s shirt up the back, then slid his fingers over Jake’s neck and shoulders, nowhere near the spear.
“No, they’ll be looking there. Head to the lighthouse,” Jake said.
“Which one?” Larry asked.
“Found it.” Steve pulled something out of Jake’s neck and held it up. Immediately, the movement in Jake’s body returned, but pain blasted its way through his body. “Put it back.”
Steve chuckled. “You had a dart in your neck.”
“No wonder I couldn’t move.”
“Lie still, time to get the spear.”
“You should have removed the spear first.”
“I know.” Steve’s voice was laced with humor.
“What lighthouse?” Larry asked again.
“The one that was just sold on eBay.” Jake grimaced.
“How do you know?” Steve moved his knife around the wound.
Jake bared his teeth, trying to ignore the sharp blade in his back. “Gut feeling.”
“Did that gut feeling get this stick in your back?”
Jake’s jaw tightened and the pulse in his next ticked. “Bite me, Steve.”
Steve snickered. If the damn thing didn’t hurt so badly he’d have laughed too.
“Got it.” Steve held up the piece of wood. “Lie there.”
Man, he hoped he got it all. As soon as the case was over, he’d see a doctor. “You’ve got the bag of tricks?”
“Yes.”
“Mine wasn’t waterproof. Lost the gun when the bag went for a swim.”
“No wonder Sanjar got the upper hand on you.” Steve splashed liquid on his back.
“Son of a bitch, that burns.”
Steve bandaged the area. “The wound is pretty superficial, considering. That damn dart is what did a number on you.”
Jake stood, and Steve tossed him another black shirt. He was tender, but he could move.
“Let’s put an end to this case,” Larry said, stalling the boat a couple hundred yards out while Steve pulled another duffle out from a cubbyhole.
Jake looked inside the bag. The headlamp he put on lit up the contents. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was like finding gold at the end of a rainbow, seeing the arsenal and gear in the bag, everything from guns to wetsuits. The weapons would be useful, but he planned to use his bare hands to beat the shit out of Sanjar.
“Jake, I got something for you.” Steve held up a syringe.
“Load it up.” He gave Steve his back and felt a pinch, then another.
“This stuff doesn’t last long. You should be able to get through whatever physical demands are warranted without pain.”
“I’ve got my own private medic.” Jake chuckled.
They slipped on their second skins and snatched up their rucksacks. Guns, grenades, and miscellaneous items were stuffed inside them.
By the time the men had suited up with their gear, they looked like Rambo times three.
“Jake, you never said, how do you know she’s at the lighthouse?” Steve asked.
“As The Warrior, I was privy to Sanjar’s decision about using abandoned lighthouses in the Chesapeake Bay. He had an interest in this one in particular.” Jake wrapped a bandana with crossbones around his head, completing the ensemble. “Let’s roll.”
One by one, they slipped into the bay without a ripple and swam under the liquid blanket toward the slightly tilted steel structure, standing firm in the waves. Ten feet out, they emerged and gazed at the circular lighthouse, covered with mold. Jake took in the rusty building, looking from the galley deck, past the lone window to the top of the thirty-foot plus lighthouse. The watch room was located on the roof. Another walkway encompassed it, the widow’s walk. A rusty railing separated the walkway from the chance of falling into the water below. They had two platforms to use. Unfortunately, with the deteriorated condition, it’d probably have several holes. If his memory served him, the water surrounding the lighthouse was only ten foot deep.
Larry and Steve gathered around him.
“She could be in the living quarters,” Larry suggested.
The three divided, one to the left, another to the right, and Jake swam to the front. He removed the coil of rope he’d draped over his arm, tied a loop on one end, then tossed it to the galley. He tugged until the loop caught on the edge. When he reached the top, Steve gave him a hand, helping him to the platform while Larry stood guard, his gun ready at his side.
“You should have been the one to take the easy route. Stairs worked great,” Steve said, sarcasm in his voice.
“Too easy.” His brain wasn’t operating at full capacity. His heart and mind were with Pamela. In order to rescue the woman he obsessed over, he’d better regain his no nonsense approach. Jake gathered his rope and tossed it twenty feet to the widow’s peak railing. He missed. Rewrapping the rope, he tossed it again. This time, it hooked. Hopefully, it would hold.
“I’ll go,” Steve offered, attempting to grab the rope.
“Stand down, agent,” Jake barked.
Steve held up his hands and walked in the opposite direction, disappearing. Larry had vanished around the lighthouse as well. Jake retrieved his holster and a gun from his pack, strapped them around his waist, then scaled the rope to the next platform. The lighthouse rocked as he threw his leg over the railing. He tightened his grip and held on. It leveled, and he slid his leg onto the floor of the widow’s peak. From here, he could see for miles in the moonlit sky. A quick peek in the watch room, then he turned the knob on the door leading to the lower level. It didn’t move.
Light footsteps sounded behind him. He turned on his heels, gun at the ready. Steve and Larry faced him.
“Damn doors are sealed,” Larry said, tugging on the door in front of Jake.
“I’ll enter through a window.” Jake pulled a harness from his rucksack. After slipping it on, he clipped one end of the rope to himself
and gave Steve the other end to knot on the railing that encircled the widow’s peak. After he lowered, Steve would follow and Larry would maintain watch.
Free falling a few yards, Jake tapped his feet lightly against the side, shoving off and falling some more.
The railing creaked and groaned.
Their only chance of getting to Pamela and removing Sanjar was a sneak approach. At this rate, they’d be surrounded by Black Scorpions any second. His feet touched the rusty side once more. The deteriorating rail moaned as the clouds slid over the moon. He held his position, waiting for a sign to continue.
Steve grasped the rope, holding it like an anchor. He tugged on the end, giving the okay to move forward.
Jake shoved off. The rail snapped.
Larry lunged, grasping Steve’s ankle, as he dangled over the side.
Jake crashed into the metal, a clattering sound echoed. Fuck. His gun fell into the water.
Not wasting time, Jake pushed off from the side and slammed feet first into the wide window. Glass shattered.
Gaining his footing, he focused on the inside of the room, as the weight of the rope pulled against his waist. Steve had released it. He wound it around his arm, tossed it on the floor, and slipped off his harness before sliding on the headlamp.
A few pieces of broken down furniture scattered about the room. He saw a bowl with some sort of mush and a glass of a light brown liquid sat on a nearby table, evidence that someone had been in residence. He proceeded farther into the room, his light landing on a wooden door.
Footsteps approached. He clicked off the light and bumped his back on the wall behind the door. It creaked open, bringing in a ray of light.
“Get in there.” The door clamored shut.
Pamela’s body hit the floor.
The footfalls faded.
“I’ll kill the bastards.” Jake knelt next to Pamela.
