Angel: An SOBs Novel

by Irish Winters

  Oh, my God! He hit! Her heart stopped beating then. There was no air on this cold, black mountain. No wind. No reason to live. Heartbreak poured out of her soul like a banshee, screaming, “Nooooooo!”

  “Baby, wake up. Suede, you’re dreaming.” She opened her eyes and found her teary cheek plastered flat against Chance’s broad chest, her ears craving the thunder of his heartbeat beneath her. One big hand cupped her head, his fingers in her hair holding her tight. “Breathe for me, Suede. God, you scared me, baby, just breathe. You’re okay.”

  She swallowed hard and tried to do as he asked, but her chest seemed tight. Too tight. The image of him falling clung to her like a shroud. Hyperventilation commanded her senses, but before she could scream, he murmured in her ear. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. Take a deep breath and let it go. Honest, you’re safe.”

  “But you… you...” She forced a torturous inhale into lungs that refused to relax, needing this panic attack to let go. “You fell,” she accused him, her voice incredibly tight and hoarse at what his death would mean. Without him, she was nothing, and her brain told her that wasn’t good enough. She wasn’t good enough. “I... I saw you fall. You d-died.”

  “S’okay, baby. It’s okay. I’m right here and I’m not dead.” He had her completely circled with his body, his arms around her shoulders and torso, his knees drawn beside her curled legs, and his nose in her neck. “Can I get you a drink or something? Another blanket? God, you’re so cold.”

  “N-no,” she told him. “I only need you. Just you.”

  “You’ve got me. Honest, baby. I’m not letting you go.”

  “G-g-good to know,” she breathed, finally catching a lungful that didn’t hurt when she inhaled. “I had a b-b ad dream, a really bad dream.”

  “Talk about it?”

  Wow. Where to start? Drawing in another gulp of air, she gave him what she could remember. The cold. Him slipping. The look in his eyes as he’d fallen. The way her heart shattered when he died. “I can’t live without you,” she confessed like a fool. What man in his right mind wanted to hear that?

  “Not happening, Suede. I’m here and you’re safe. No one can get to us. It was just a nightmare.”

  She rubbed her nose through his crisp chest hairs, sucking air in through her nostrils as she did. This was what she needed, the rich, masculine scent of Chance in her soul, his manly hands on her quivering body, holding her together like only he seemed to know how to do.

  “Never let me go,” she whimpered, ashamed she’d turned into that lost little girl again, that she needed him so desperately. As strong as he was, he must think her a weakling.

  Chance didn’t seem to notice. He gathered her onto his lap and settled against the headboard, rocking. Just rocking. Whispering, “I love you, Suede. I love you. And I’ve got to tell you, I don’t want to live without you, either.”

  “But I want to be strong again,” she cried.

  He kept rocking. “Trust me, you are. You are. I just hope there’s room for me when you turn into the strong woman you really are.”

  “Always,” Suede promised as she closed her eyes, and cried for all the things that had brought her here. The liars. The betrayers. Her own sins of commission and omission. Her stubborn head. Through it all, Chance never let go, just held on until her tears ceased. At last, her eyes grew heavy until, blink by blink, Suede succumbed to the bliss of being his.

  *****

  The beacon sounded at midnight, the witching hour. Already awake, Chance had been staring at the ceiling, talking himself out of getting up for the last hour. Suede slept soundly, tired from their lovemaking and her nightmare.

  He trailed a finger over her cheek, told Gallo to guard her, then soundlessly slipped out of bed and climbed into a pair of sweatpants, needing to know for certain that what he’d told her, that she was safe, was still true.

  Closing his bedroom door, he noticed the roll-down shutters were already sealed and the safety lights along the baseboards offered the only indoor illumination. Whatever had just set the beacons off could be nothing more than a large predator inside the safe zone, and that was okay. Animals ruled this part of Montana, but Chance needed to make sure.

  Once in the office, he palmed the wall switch, brought up the overhead light panels and dropped his ass to the nearest terminal. Multiple monitors relayed the outside drama in night vision clarity. On the south-by-southwest view, two wolves lingered at the perimeter of his property, their snouts lifted, testing the night air.

  They could’ve easily set off the beacon. They were big enough. Especially if they were tracking the bull moose hunkered down in the quakies to the west of them. Unless that moose was sick or injured, it’d be a stupid move for those two lanky-legged carnivores to take him on, but starving wolves did crazy things this time of year.

  Moose were the freight trains of the north, only they didn’t run on rails, and when disturbed, they carved their own tracks and they did it at lightning speed. This guy didn’t seem sick or wounded and he was big enough to mow those two wolves down if they got cocky.

  Chance’s fingertips tapped the keyboard as he brought up a display grid of all views on the big screen overhead. The cameras located with every beacon transmitted individually, but not one inch of Sinclair property went without twenty-four-seven surveillance. All other cameras reported nothing but moonlight and winter. The wolves had since disappeared, but Chance couldn’t shake the hyper-vigilance that had awakened him long before the beacons did.

  Something was wrong in his universe. He could feel it. One of his brothers in trouble might explain the sense of dread pooling in Chance’s gut. Swiveling to the extra cell phone he kept in his office, he tipped back in his chair and contacted Kruze first. No answer. Next call went to Pagan.

  “Yes?” snapped out of Baby Brother before Chance could get a word out. ‘I’m busy!’ came through loud and clear.

  “Status,” Chance snapped back.

  “I’m on Julio Juarez’s six off Harbor Drive near Terminal Twenty. The bastard never left Portland. He’s headed somewhere. What do you want?”

  Chance checked the time. Oh-two-hundred hours in Montana was oh-one-hundred on the West Coast. Pagan had been assigned to ensure Benito Garcia and his bodyguard boarded his flight and left the States. Why had Garcia left Julio behind? “You need an assist?”

  “For this pansy-assed wannabe?” Pagan grunted. “Hell no. I’ve had him in my sights on and off for an hour now. Could’ve taken him out any number of times. Is that why you called? To check up on me?”

  “No. You heard from Kruze?”

  Another grunt. “Don’t tell me. He’s not picking up.”

  Kruze’s greatest weakness: communication. He tended not to answer calls when he was with a lady, the dog. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll give him five, then ring him again.”

  “He doesn’t need that long. Give him two. He’s quick.”

  And irresponsible.

  “I’ve been checking out our dead buddy while waiting for Juarez to hook up with whoever’s he’s meeting.” Pagan loved hacking computers almost as much as he loved his new fifty-caliber rifle.

  “Which dead buddy?”

  A crackle sounded over the connection indicating a lightning strike between Montana and Oregon. Then another. Then…

  “Chance!” Pagan shrieked. “I’m hit, shit, brother, I’m—”

  The line went dead and Chance jumped to his feet. Those weren’t lightning strikes. They were shots fired. “Pagan? Come back to me. Pagan!” Not that he expected to reconnect with Baby Brother, but he hadn’t expected the cry for help either. “Pagan, do you copy?”

  Leaving the command station on a dead run, Chance headed for his bedroom. He could be on the ground in Portland inside of two hours, but if Kruze had been where he should’ve been, Chance wouldn’t need to leave Suede behind. “Answer me,” he hissed at the brother he hadn’t been able to reach. “Damn you, Kruze, pick up for once in your worthless life.”


  He stopped at his bedroom door, bile lifting up from his gut. Now that she knew how impregnable this cabin was, Suede would be plenty safe here alone, but the leaving would be hard.

  Ending the call to Kruze, he placed a quick call to Woody, the local chopper pilot who worked for McQueen and could get Chance to the West Coast in no time flat. Once he made contact and with Woody’s ETA in less than fifteen, Chance turned the doorknob and found the light next to his bed already on. Suede sat at the edge, fingering the buttons of his button-up shirt. What a sight. Long messy spirals cascaded over her shoulders, curling over her breasts like he wanted to, spiking his hunger for her. If he lived to be an old man, she’d always leave him breathless.

  “You’re leaving,” she said, her chin up and her eyes clear.

  Good girl. She’d guessed right and was taking this news like a trooper. “Yes. You’ll be safe here.”

  “You’re right. Gallo and I will be fine.” She pushed off the edge of the bed. Her tongue slid over her bottom lip and Chance knew she had questions for which he could give no answers. “I’ll, umm, keep the home fires burning while you’re gone. Be safe out there, okay?”

  Another point in her favor. She hadn’t pried. “Intend to,” he said as he opened his closet and lifted three pre-packed gear bags for the trip. Packing beforehand made leaving quicker if not easier. He donned green and black jungle cammies, laced up his boots, and tucked a knife into his boot sheath. Holsters went next. Arming himself for the trip would happen at the front door before he broke cover. Binocs. Rangefinder. Blowout kit. Check, check and double check. Time to move out.

  Suede took a seat on the end of the bed, watching. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Don’t know,” he replied, closing the closet door. Please don’t ask.

  “Is anyone hurt?”

  “Don’t know that, either. The less you ask, the better. It’s bad enough that you already know what you know about the SOBs.”

  “I don’t know anything.” She patted her leg and Gallo lifted from his mat by her side of the bed and joined her. “Come back to me,” she murmured.

  Chance nodded curtly, then took a second look. He wanted more time with this woman, especially now when she was soft from having been loved. Her lips were pink and swollen, and, yeah, leaving was damned nigh impossible. But leave he would. That was what he did when duty called.

  “Do me a favor while I’m gone,” he said. “Stick close to the cabin, but if you go out, always take Gallo. He listens better to you anyway.”

  She nodded, her eyes big and luminous.

  “Don’t cry,” he told her firmly. “This will be our life from now on. Give it a chance. Give me a chance.”

  That earned a meager smile. “That’s your name. Don’t wear it out.”

  There she was, frightened, but putting on a brave front. Being courageous. In one long stride he had her in his arms, his face at her ear. “Take care of yourself while I’m gone and try not to worry,” he ground out.

  She nodded against his jaw, her heartbeat a quiet thunder in her chest. “You can count on me. I’ll be here waiting for you.”

  He kissed her deeply. Passionately. Lovingly. Then he walked away, but this time, he didn’t look back.

  *****

  Suede couldn’t sleep after she told Chance goodbye. Her eyes wouldn’t stop tearing up and her heart hurt like it had never hurt before. Love, she was finding out, was a painful, treacherous thing. As whole as she’d felt in bed with Chance, she felt a resounding emptiness now, as if half her heart had gone with him. Her chest physically hurt as if someone had torn her heart out by its bloody roots.

  She couldn’t sit still, not with her ears already tuned to the front door, waiting for his return. Wouldn’t it be grand if he came through that door right now? If the mission was cancelled? They could go back to bed and all would be right with her world again. Was that asking too much?

  Apparently.

  When wishing didn’t produce the desired, albeit wishful effect, and when the doorknob didn’t turn like she willed it to, when Suede heard the rotor slap of his ride away from Old Man Mountain, she did what she did best. She planned for the moment he returned.

  He’d be hungry, and she’d spied a large freezer chest in the basement the other day. If it wasn’t full now, it would be by the time Chance, Pagan, and Kruze were back safe and sound. That was the only scenario she allowed herself to imagine. Them, home. Joking with each other. Teasing. Eating.

  “Come, Gallo,” she said as she pushed her sleeves up to her elbows. “We have work to do.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Helo rides could be cold sons-of-guns. Chance was glad for the woolen beanie he’d topped off with on his way out the door. His spacious log cabin grew smaller the higher Woody took the chopper until the forests welling up around the massive wooden structure swallowed it whole. There was no sense looking back then. Suede would be safe. Gallo would see to that.

  In no time, the dark snake that was the mighty Columbia River wound below. Bright lights to the south meant touchdown on one of Portland’s two riverfronts was imminent. Nestled at the confluence of the mighty Columbia and Willamette Rivers, metropolitan Portland boasted a population of nearly two and a half million. It’d be damned hard locating Pagan in that crowd, but Chance didn’t plan to search for him. He activated the homing beacon transmitting from the microchip inserted at the base of his brother’s skull. Black ops got all the latest and greatest toys, but this particular one was a lifesaver. A man didn’t have to be conscious to ‘call a cab.’ It had better work tonight.

  Sure enough. A steady blink lit the handheld device in his palm. “Take her in as near to Terminal Twenty as you can land without attracting attention, on the water if you need to. I can swim.”

  “No can do, amigo,” Woody drawled. “I never dump my guys in the drink unless I have to. It’s the docks for you.” He switched the chopper to stealth mode and killed the running lights. Stealth mode these days meant the aircraft was damned near invisible to a person on the ground. “You fast roping in or should I set her down?”

  “Rope,” Chance replied. “Short rope.”

  “Copy that.” Woody cut to the left and zeroed in on Terminal Twenty, a cavernous warehouse that opened onto the dock as well as at the frontage road on its opposite end. Portland’s waterfront was a modern day miracle of conveyor belts, hoppers, and silos for dry bulk cargoes of grains, grabbers, and railway cars on standby for coal and other ores, plus a mixture of loading booms, gantry cranes, and stacking cranes.

  Tugboats escorted the dry cargo ship alongside Terminal Twenty-One while the deck crew prepared to unload. Spotlights lit the entire area. That there was still plenty of dock left at either end of the massive ship belied the monstrous length and depth of the terminals. They were built to accommodate not one, but several inventories the size of the mammoth one they were preparing to unload. A small third world country could live inside one of those terminals. Why Zapata rented Terminal Twenty nagged at Chance. It had to be a cover, but for what? Just to stash the nine bodies the FBI had found? Didn’t make sense, but then, dealing with a killer like Zapata, rarely did.

  Neither Terminals Nineteen nor Twenty had activity dockside tonight. Woody leveled out and hovered closer to Nineteen. “Leave your tips in the tip jar on your way out.”

  “Stay close. I’ll be in touch,” Chance said as he stepped off the chopper skid and began his descent. His hands warmed beneath the heavy-duty gloves he wore, but the drop was short and sweet. In ten seconds he was on the ground with the smells of the busy riverfront in his nose: diesel exhaust fumes, fish, and the pungent odor of creosote coated timbers.

  Woody’s chopper blades barely made a sound as he headed east, another stealth enhancement. Chance ducked low but kept his head on a swivel, quartering the scenery with eyes that had seen too much.

  Pagan’s alert hadn’t slowed and it was stationary, both good signs. The chip monitored his pulse. Its s
teady beat meant Pagan was still alive and the stationary blip meant he was nearby. Chance jogged the narrow shadow between Terminals Twenty and Nineteen, a path that would put him street-side and directly across from Pagan’s location, but could also get him killed.

  Moving fast, he cleared the alley, but halted street side, still in shadows. The way across looked clear, but Chance wouldn’t venture forth until he could be sure. The storage warehouses, offices, and equipment garages opposite his twenty were quiet and dark. Several big rigs idled to his far left at Twenty-One, the night air thick with diesel fumes.

  The swing shift had dwindled to very few men at his right, where five-high stacks of twenty-some rows of shipping containers lined the wharf, no doubt pending incoming transport. He counted five men, four standing alongside the semi, the other seated inside.

  No traffic blocked Chance’s way forward, but the yellowish light cast from tungsten halogen industrial lights was the problem, that, and the long empty space between Chance and Pagan.

  Chance flipped his jacket collar up, pulled a baseball cap out of an inner pocket, and beelined to Pagan’s twenty, his eyes and ears on high alert. No one called him out, but the very real probability of ambush niggled every step of the way. His last op in South America replayed through his head. Everything could go to hell before a guy knew what happened.

  Hyper-vigilance sucked. It made a man paranoid, jumpy and prone to make mistakes. To over calculate. To second-guess every damned decision. It amplified every wrong scenario in a man’s playbook, and it just plain ate away at his confidence.

  Flinching at the sound of his boots against the pea gravel underfoot, Chance kept going, his eyes straight ahead, dodging the imaginary army of what-ifs that had plagued him since South America. The tremendous loss of good men that day wouldn’t be as painful today if they’d gone down protecting their package. But everyone had died for nothing. Even Gillian Enright.

  In the end, he knew he was one lucky SOB to have survived. Still sucked rocks to know he’d failed his men and that woman. Chance shook the ghosts off his shoulders, needing that day behind him, not crapping all over the mission ahead.