Firestorm (Security Specialists International Book 6)

by Monette Michaels

  "You've got it," Tara replied. "We women have to stick together. Men still haven't realized women are the stronger sex. Look at what Keely and Callie survived to give birth."

  "Yep. But I'd like to deliver my baby in the hospital with all the mod cons, thank you very much," DJ said. "I had enough roughing it during the military. Civilian life is supposed to be just that…civilized."

  Tara shook her head. Supposed to be were the operative words. Whatever happened, DJ would do just fine. The woman was a survivor like Tara.

  About thirty minutes later, Grangeville Air Center (GAC)

  Tara landed the Hawk on a half-empty helipad. Two of the Center's four helicopters were gone. She wondered if they were dropping a crew on a new fire. The Douglas aircraft that was used to ferry smokejumpers to remote drop zones was also gone. There must've been some new fire activity since she checked earlier this morning. She'd drop into Operations and see what was cooking before she and DJ flew back to Sanctuary.

  It had been just over a month ago that SSI had been called in to back up the local firefighting crews to contain a couple of fires along Highway 14 between Grangeville and Elk City. The fires had probably been started by a carelessly thrown cigarette or a spark from a vehicle dragging a tail pipe or the like. With no wind to speak of, the highway had acted as a fire perimeter and had kept the brush fires from spreading across the road.

  So far this year, they'd been lucky not to have to fight a huge fire in a more inaccessible area. But Mother Nature was a temperamental bitch. She'd given the Grangeville to Elk City area a lot of lightning but no rain to dampen the deep grass the wet winter had sprouted. The fires had been easily accessed and, with no high winds to carry embers, quickly contained.

  Tara shook off a nagging feeling that something big and bad was coming. No use worrying over the unpredictable. What happened would happen.

  "So, where are we headed?" DJ asked as she engaged the security system Tweeter had designed for all SSI vehicles. "I've been by the Center, but never stopped in."

  "The barracks. It's the ugly grey cinder block building. It's where the lockers, the showers, the sleeping quarters, and eating area are located. Operations is adjacent and connected to the barracks by a covered walkway. The building that looks like a tall garage is the loft. The smokejumpers spend a lot of time there." Though it looked deserted today.

  "Loft? Sounds fancy for such a plain Jane structure," DJ commented as she matched Tara's stride.

  "Yeah." Tara chuckled. "It's the room where the smokejumpers' chutes are rigged and maintained which means a lot of sewing and patching. Jumping fires is hell on parachutes."

  "I'll bet." DJ visibly shuddered. "I've jumped out of planes and that was scary enough without a fire. Just the thought of jumping into a forested area where a fire is close by is the stuff of nightmares."

  "Yeah, but most jumps are made well away from the fire itself. Then the jumpers hike to the fire with eighty-to-one hundred pound packs on their backs. They're always the first line of attack on a fire in areas that the hotshots can't get to by established roads or by access roads cut by heavy equipment." Tara stopped and looked back at the hangars and the Hawk, then checked out the rest of the area. Every nerve in her body had gone on the fritz. "This is wrong. Even with two of the helos and the Douglas out, there should be activity. If nothing else, someone should've come out to check on a strange helicopter."

  "You'd know better than me." DJ looked around. "Now I'm getting the creeps."

  "Yeah."

  Motion in Tara's peripheral vision caught her attention. Something dark, no several somethings, slithered among the shadows of the hangers. She and DJ were now blocked from reaching the Hawk or any of the other helicopters.

  "Move, DJ." She pulled her gun from her back holster and ran toward the barracks. "Fuck, shit, fuck."

  "What did you see?" DJ asked as she ran alongside Tara and checked over her shoulder. "Never mind. I see the fuckers. Three, no four, of them. They're not moving that fast. It's as if they know we can't…shit. This was a setup."

  "There'll be a welcoming committee inside the barracks." Tara stopped to the side of the barracks' entrance. She checked the other men's approach. She and DJ might just survive this if—"We go in, take out whoever's inside, and lock the other bastards out."

  "Yeah. There's no way we could outrun them. Plus, I'd rather not get shot in a running gun battle. I left my body armor at home," DJ said. "We survive until our backup gets here. I sent the emergency code to Sanctuary as we ran. They'll zero in on my GPS signal. Maybe thirty minutes before any help gets here."

  "You take high. I'll go low."

  DJ nodded.

  Tara crouched down. Hand on the doorknob, she turned it and slammed open the door. Her gun led the way as she entered the lobby.

  Motion to her right. She shot low, two shots—one blew out the guy's knee and one went in his thigh. Her victim cursed as he fell to the ground, clasping his leg. His gun landed next to him.

  At the same time Tara had shot, DJ's gun blasted twice, taking down two men. Both torso shots.

  Motion to Tara's left had her diving one direction and taking a shot as DJ went behind a chair and took hers. A fourth guy was down.

  Multiple foul curses and shouts of pain colored the air. But the ones who could still shoot did so. One shot whistled by Tara's ear, gouging the wall by the door. She was peppered by cement block shards. She shot at the guy she'd first taken down and hit his gun arm this time. DJ also shot several more times in response to the gunfire. But the few shots the men had gotten off had been last gasp efforts. Her and DJ's shock-and-awe approach had worked and shut down any effective counterattack.

  Now the silence was interrupted by groans and curses.

  Shouting from outside reminded her the danger was nowhere near over. Shots ricocheted off the partially open door.

  Counting on DJ to cover her back against any resurgence by the only two men still conscious, Tara turned, slammed the door completely shut, and shot the triple set of locks on the front entrance. They were heavy-duty, long-bore deadbolts and the door was steel. Any attackers trying to get in from the outside would have to get a piece of heavy equipment to knock through the cement block walls. The barracks at one time had been an armory. The doors were built to withstand Armageddon. The windows were high and barred from the inside to prevent theft.

  "You okay?" Tara asked DJ, now that she had the front door secured. "I need to lock the back entrance."

  "Yeah, I got this." DJ collected the men's weapons.

  Tara ran to the backdoor and shot the dead bolts on that door just as the handle turned. She could hear a man cursing a blue streak outside. She then coded in a silent alarm on a keypad by the door; the signal would go to the security company which covered the Center and they'd call the Sheriff's Department and the State Police.

  SSI would get here first, but having backup from law enforcement wouldn't hurt.

  When she returned to the reception area, DJ said, "These four are out of the game. Whatever the game was." Her friend's tone was terse. "Three injured. All need medical attention, better sooner than later. Last guy? We both hit him in the chest. Heart and lung. He's gone."

  Tara wished she could feel bad about killing the man, but he'd have shot them. So, nope, she didn't feel bad. Later, maybe if…no, when she and DJ had survived.

  "You killed Ted, you bitches." The speaker was the guy Tara'd shot in the knee, thigh, and arm. "You're gonna pay. Pain and blood, cunts. Pain and blood."

  "Yeah, yeah." DJ whipped off the guy's belt and applied it above the bleeding in his thigh. "This charming soul is gonna need knee replacement and is bleeding badly." She zip-tied his hands together in front of him. "Tara, you have any extra zip ties?"

  "Yeah. You carry them around, too?" Tara turned and found DJ checking the other two men who had torso shots, but would survive with proper care. She tossed her friend a set of ties.

  "Never leave home without them." DJ pu
t her boot on one guy's arm. "Unh-uh."

  "Cunt. Dyke. Bitch." He tried to spit at DJ, but coughed instead. "God, I'm dying."

  "No, you're not. Whatcha got back there?" She reached under him and pulled a large knife. "Ooh, nice, a Fairburn-Sykes fighting knife. British SAS use these. Wanted one ever since I saw one in Afghanistan. I'll have to ask Ace to get me one for my birthday."

  DJ placed the blade on the reception desk with the other weapons she'd collected, then went back and zip-tied the blade guy's hands and ankles.

  Checking on the other torso-shot assailant. Tara found him to be unconscious with rapid heart rate and respirations and a blue tinge to his skin, all signs of a collapsed lung. And he was definitely bleeding. Since he'd dropped near a couch in the reception area, she placed a zip-tie around one wrist and then connected it to the leg of the couch. If he did manage to regain consciousness, he wouldn't be strong enough to move.

  "This guy needs surgery ASAP," Tara told DJ. "Once we get hunkered down, we can call Sanctuary and tell them we need a couple of ambulances."

  Tara then doublechecked the tourniquet DJ had applied to Tara's first victim. The bleeding had slowed. Since DJ had already secured his hands, she zip-tied his ankles together. "Try not to move too much. Okay?"

  The guy spit at her. "Bitch. Jeb's gonna tear you to pieces."

  "So this is about Gaither. Thanks for the intel." She patted his cuffed hands. "What did you do with the base manager and the other personnel?"

  "Fuck you," spitting guy replied.

  "I'll pass." She'd hunt for the missing personnel later, after the current situation was contained. She prayed they were all okay. Gaither and his crew really didn't have a reason to hurt them, but then he really didn't have a good reason to come after her or Fee, either, other than he was just crazy mean.

  A loud thud hit the metal entrance door. According to Tara's internal clock, from the time they'd entered and taken down the four assailants maybe six or seven minutes had passed.

  Tara looked at the accumulated weapons on the desktop, handguns and knives. "I have better firepower in my locker."

  DJ nodded as if everyone kept weaponry in their locker. "How long will the door hold?"

  "The door will hold. Though, they'll soon realize they can use one of the tractors to break through the walls. It'll take awhile, but eventually they'll get into the building. But I'd like some space and a more defensible position before that happens."

  "Yeah. Me, too." DJ looked at Tara. "The roof? It's worked for us before. Besides, I like looking down on the enemy."

  "Sort of a pilot-default mode." Tara's lips twisted into a wry smile. "Definitely, the roof. But first my locker. I have an assault rifle and a Remington sniper rifle and enough ammunition to hold off an assault until our backup arrives."

  Her weapon stash was one she'd created back in Montana in response to Miller's attack on her. It was bit of an overkill, but it had helped her cope. She brought them with her and stored them in her locker since a gal never knew when she was going to need some firepower. Like now.

  She led the way out of the reception area and then took the first hall to the right leading to the locker room. While no one had come in response to the shots in the lobby, she wouldn't bet there weren't any other bad guys lurking around her locker. That's what she would've done.

  Before they arrived at the open door to the locker room, she held up her fist and looked at DJ. Her friend looked grim and nodded. She smelled it, too. Blood. Lots of blood.

  Tara resisted the urge to rush in and check for survivors, but caution held her back. She turned and signaled she'd go in low again. DJ nodded. Her friend's grim expression indicated DJ also realized there could still be danger lurking inside. Getting shot or captured wouldn't help the survivors, if any.

  Weapons in hand, they entered the locker room as quickly and as quietly as they could. Shock-and-awe had worked in the lobby. But this time, no one waited just inside the door. There weren't any bodies, either.

  Only two ceiling lights were on, which was normal when no one was using the locker room. This meant there were lots of shadows in which to hide. The locker room was laid out with two aisles; lockers faced each other on both aisles with benches in the middle of the aisle for personnel to sit on to put on and take off their boots. Her locker was located at the far end of the farthest aisle from the door.

  She signaled she'd take the farthest aisle. DJ nodded and headed for the first aisle.

  Leading with her gun hand, arm braced, Tara moved slowly, listening for any tell-tale sounds or movement. Her rapid pulse sounded loud in her ears. Adrenaline and fear shot a primordial soupcon of hormones into her bloodstream. Her sight went hazy and she realized she needed to—

  Breathe, stupid.

  She forced herself to take slow, quiet breaths when what she really wanted to do was pant in time with her rapid heart rate. The only good thing about the potent hormonal cocktail flowing into her bloodstream was her senses had now become hyper-vigilant.

  As she approached the end of the aisle where her locker was located, she had a view into the outermost part of the shower room. Like the locker room it was mostly dark, with only one set of ceiling lights on for safety purposes. But there was enough light to see several pairs of legs, unmoving and restrained at the ankles. The urge to check on the Center personnel she'd worked alongside of was strong.

  The smell of blood was stronger here, so potent she could taste its coppery tang. Someone or several someones had bled or were still bleeding badly and needed help—but she and DJ still needed to clear the room first.

  Priorities established, she focused on the job at hand. She stood at the end of the row of lockers, protected by their metal bulk, and listened. She couldn't hear DJ, but really hadn't expected to. Both women had grown up in wild parts of the country and knew how to hunt; their childhood skills had then been reinforced in the military and through SERE training.

  Time ticked slowly as Tara waited for a sound that someone besides her and DJ was moving among the shadows. She'd learned patience on the hunt while growing up in Montana. Hunting was life for the Blackfoot. Of course, if the hunt for game had been unsuccessful, Tara would merely have had a hungry belly; whereas now, an unsuccessful hunt could kill her.

  The quiet felt menacing. Tara had gooseflesh and resisted the urge to rub her arms. She imagined DJ standing just as motionless as she was, waiting for their prey to make a mistake.

  There. Finally. A cough. And there. A shuffle of feet. A mere wisp of a sound. One man? Or more?

  If Tara had heard the telltale sounds, so had DJ.

  Tara shoved her gun down the back of her jeans, then pulled her throwing knife, one made for her by her father. She didn't want to take the chance of shooting DJ in a crossfire.

  Another stifled cough. Whoever it was, was closer to her locker.

  Taking a chance, she peeked around the end of the row of lockers, then quickly withdrew and placed her back against lockers' metal bulk.

  Her brief glance had revealed a tall man with shaggy, dirty-blond hair. His head had been turned away from her; he'd been looking in DJ's direction. The man's gun had been pointed in her friend's direction also.

  Tara sent a prayer to the Old Man, the Blackfoot's name for the creator, to make her aim true. She slid around the corner and threw her knife just as the man turned, his gun raised.

  Chapter 18

  Earlier, in the air en route to Sanctuary

  "You really geeked out on the clients, buddy."

  Tweeter snorted.

  "Why?" Price turned to look at his friend who currently piloted SSI's new Bell Jet Ranger with custom modifications added just for SSI. Tweeter had wanted to take it for a shakedown flight.

  "Why not?" He looked at Price. "We got the contract, didn't we?"

  "Yeah, but you made the bank president's tech guy look like a moron."

  "He is a moron." Tweeter frowned. "Asshole got the job due to nepotism. He's the bank pre
sident's nephew. Keely and I always do first-and second-level runs on all potential clients and key employees to make sure we know to whom we're providing top-notch security." Tweeter shook his head. "The supposed tech guru I just insulted didn't finish his degree and the classes he did take, he flunked. He might have some self-taught basic skills to fool his daddy, but he doesn't have the skill set to run our software, let alone tell me how to secure their computers. And his uncle knows it. The old man winked at me."

  "He did?" Price grinned. "I didn't catch that. Okay, so what do you think his uncle—"

  "Price. Tweeter. Location?"

  Ren's voice was terse. Something was up.

  "We just took off. Maybe an hour out from Sanctuary," Tweeter replied. "What's up?"

  "Need you two at Grangeville Air Center, ASAP. DJ took the Hawk to transport Tara in response to a call from the base manager. We just received an emergency signal from DJ's phone. No other communications yet. Neither of them are responding to our calls. Go in locked and loaded. My team's getting ready to take off. How's your range?"

  "We can make it easily," Tweeter said as he programmed in a new route and began to make the turn to head southwest from their current position. "I can be on site in a half hour, twenty minutes if I push it."

  "Push it. We're not getting any response from GAC Operations, either. State police and sheriff deputies are on their way, but they're spread thin as always. We're closer," Ren said.

  "Roger that. Out," Tweeter replied.

  Price looked at his friend. Tweeter's jaw clenched and unclenched, but his hand was steady on the cyclic. He knew how the man felt. Their women were in some kind of danger and they weren't close enough to protect them.

  "They'll be fine." Price said it out loud as if the words would make it so.

  "I told her to take a nap." Tweeter blew out two breaths for every one he took in. "Fuck."

  "At least they're together," Price said.

  While Tara had done as asked and had someone with her, he couldn't think of a good enough reason for her not to wait for him so he could go with her. Of course, what he considered a good reason and what she considered a good reason might not align. He'd been highly aware the limits on her movements while Gaither and Miller were at large were frustrating for her. She'd understood why the restrictions had been put in place and hadn't tested them. So, whatever reason she'd left Sanctuary with DJ as backup had to be a good one.