Angel: An SOBs Novel

by Irish Winters

  Finally across the street and in shadow once more, he followed Pagan’s distress call to the opposite end of the alley, dodging trash receptacles and storage sheds sandwiched between the two narrow office buildings.

  There he was, face down with one arm stretched forward. Missing? The rifle he wouldn’t be caught dead without. As much as Chance wanted to run to his injured brother, he took it slow and steady. Angling sideways, his back against the one building and his pistol up, all six senses reaching into the dark for the bastard who had Pagan’s piece, Chance sent another whispered, “Talk to me, Baby Brother. Give me a sign you’re still with me.”

  Pagan’s index finger on his left hand lifted. Just barely. Thank God!

  “Are you hurt bad?”

  Two finger taps and Chance blew out a measured breath. One meant yes. Two meant no. “How many were there?”

  One tap. Okay, good. One person as far as Pagan knew, but he could be wrong.

  “Where from? Your left?”

  Two taps. No.

  “Your right?”

  Two more taps.

  “Behind?”

  One tap. Some asshole shot Pagan from behind. There was no sense asking where he’d been hit. The list was too long and Chance hadn’t the patience. “I’m coming for you.”

  Two definite taps.

  No? “The shooter’s still here?”

  One tap.

  Shit. Then so be it. Chance dug two cans from his gear bag, peered out of the alley long enough to pop yellow smoke in both directions, then broke cover. Grabbing hold of Pagan’s waist, Chance had him undercover in the alley in seconds.

  “Shit,” Baby Brother spat when Chance eased him into the corner of a trash receptacle and the brick building. “I can’t sit here.”

  “You can and you will,” Chance growled as he bit the gloved tip of his index finger and pulled the glove off. “I’ve got my blowout kit. In a couple seconds, you’ll be fine.”

  “No,” Pagan ground out, his eyes squeezed tight and pain contorting his face. “You don’t understand.”

  Chance leveled a palm to Pagan’s heaving chest. “Trust me. I understand. Sit still and—”

  Pagan growled, shoving Chance’s hand off. He stuck one leg straight and rolled to his hip. “For Christ’s sake, let me roll over. She shot me in the ass.”

  “She?”

  Pagan pointed behind Chance. “Her, damn it.”

  Oh. Her. Damned if the she-devil in the game hadn’t just stepped clear from all that yellow smoke. Miss Vicki Hex. In the flesh.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Reveling in her new future, Suede was thrilled that the worst was behind her. She’d worked all night and the Sinclair’s freezer was now stocked with a hearty supply of Texas Meatballs, Greek Beef Kabobs, a tender, succulent barbecued venison shoulder, and enough chicken tamales to feed an army. Tension radiated down her neck to her lower back from standing too long, but she’d finally found her niche in the world, and it was definitely in Chance’s kitchen.

  Gallo whined at the door, poor baby. He’d been patient while she’d finished wiping the counter and loading the dishwasher, but those big brown eyes begged for relief.

  “You are the cutest baby boy,” she told him as she tossed her cloth into the sink and stretched her arms back, elbow to elbow. Hard work had transformed her worry into action and being busy eased her mind. Chance was no dummy. Wherever he’d gone, he’d be back before she knew it. No need to fret.

  Who was she kidding? Suede shook her head at that idiotic straight-out-of-the-fifties thought. She’d worry about that man until he was home again. “I’m coming,” she told Gallo.

  Big brown eyes followed her, his tail marking her progress with louder thumps the closer she came. But Chance had taught her proper protocol when opening any exterior door to his cabin. Check first. Deactivate second. When in doubt, stay put. One did not just swing this door open and invite the world in. The fact that no beacons had pinged the earpiece she now wore should’ve been enough, but she followed the rules.

  The monitor beside the door showed a complex grid of outside views. Sunlight bathed the snowy scenes as a mist of lightly falling snow sparkled like fairy dust in the air. “No one’s out there but Frosty the Snowman,” she told the anxious pup at her feet.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Suede pressed her palm to the pad beside the door. Chance had made sure her fingerprints and palm prints were in his security system days ago. His faith in her amazed Suede. They’d been together such a short time. She still needed to tell him how he’d boosted her confidence, trusting her like he did. It might seem like nothing to him, but it meant the world to her.

  When the system came back with a lime green flash of ‘all clear’, Suede flipped the upper lock first, then the dead bolt. She waited the prerequisite number of seconds for it to slide out of locked position before turning the knob. Gallo was on his feet by then, his nose pointed at the door and ready to burst outside.

  Suede opened the door to a pristine winter wonderland that Gallo quickly defiled with his big feet. It took him a series of leg lifts to finish his job while Suede watched from the door. “Don’t run away, buddy,” she told him.

  Gallo cocked his head, those adorable puppy ears flopping and the cutest quizzical light in his eyes. He snapped up a mouthful of powder and tossed it as if he wanted to play.

  “You want me to come outside too?” she asked, tempted to let loose and just be a kid for the first time in a long time. Not since Chance and that snow angel baby had she wanted to play in the snow, but Gallo seemed to be coaxing her to join him.

  Stepping out onto the snow-covered porch, Suede bent over and grabbed a handful of snow to test its consistency. All powder. No staying power. “This stuff’s too light to make a snowman,” she told the dog, “but if you watch where you put those big feet of yours, I could make another snow angel.”

  Wouldn’t Chance get a laugh out of that when he came home? Did she dare?

  “Come,” Suede patted her knees to bring Gallo back into the house. “Let me get changed and we’ll play for awhile, okay?”

  Gallo lifted his snout to the sky and grumbled, but he came bounding back. “Good boy,” she told him at the door. Then, because she was a fast change artist when it came to having fun in the snow, she closed the door and didn’t reset the alarm. There was no need. This wouldn’t take long.

  *****

  Chance sucked in a gut full of angst as his weapon snapped automatically on his target. Every sniper’s wet dream. Miss Victoria Hex in all her killer glory.

  Dressed in thigh-high black leather boots with six-inch heels, her long legs ate up the distance. The matching leather skirt wrapped around her curvaceous hips looked more like a skimpy napkin from a stripper bar. Glossy black hair swung off her shoulders. She came at him like a mean girl strutting down freshman hall in high school, pink pistols holstered under her arms and that rifle in her hands on target. Him.

  The too small, black leather jacket clutching her shoulders didn’t stand a prayer of covering her catch-me-if-you-can cleavage, her girls highlighted by a bright white tiny T that damn near glowed in the dark and further accentuated by the pink pistols holstered under her arms. Thick dark lashes kissed her high cheekbones when she stared past his rifle and winked. “You going to shoot me with that little pop gun?”

  “Damn straight,” Chance growled, his weapon on target. “Give me one good reason not to. You shot my brother.”

  Vicki Hex was an anomaly in a career field filled with mercenaries, psychos, and cruelty. She played by rules. Granted they were her rules and just as cold-blooded as any other murderer’s, but the lady had class. And a helluva lot of nerve.

  With one last step, the butt stock of her piece landed on her hip, barrel pointed at the sky. Tendrils of yellow smoke licked up her boots and thighs, her long legs spread, her attitude as seductively misleading as the heroine out of a B movie. “I will give you two, Chief.” Her index finger
came up, along with a long black fingernail. “First, I only winged Pagan. I could’ve killed him, but I didn’t.”

  A cold finger of premonition streaked up his spine. Calling him Chief was no accident. She knew he was Navy property. What else did she know?

  “You did this on purpose,” Pagan muttered, his bloodied right hand on his ass. “A butt shot’s not a wing shot.”

  That bought him a subtle chin nod and a twitch of her nose. She tossed her head, her hair swirling over her kiss-me-killer-red lips. “But you’re still alive, aren’t you? To be honest, which I always am, I thought you were someone else. You Sinclair boys are fun to play with, but I’d never kill any of you three. If I’d known you were sneaking around behind Julio’s back, my love—”

  “I’m not your love,” he bit out. “I don’t do skank.”

  “Quiet,” Chance muttered, his weapon steady on the sassy dominatrix in his sights. “Who’d you think he was?”

  She shook her head, her index fingers waggling from side to side. “My brother speaks highly of you. What a delicious name, Chance.” She licked her lips as if savoring the taste of it. “It speaks to me of long sweaty nights in Palermo. Of many goblets of crisp, golden Marsala.” The tip of her tongue made a slow, wet pass over her already glistening bottom lip. “Of, what is it you American’s call it, do-overs?”

  “Can’t do over what never happened,” he growled. “Who were you following, damn it? Who’d you mean to kill when you shot my brother?”

  A sensual smile curved her mouth as one perfectly shaped brow lifted. “My friend from Brazil has something I want.”

  “Domingo Zapata? He’s here? Now?”

  “Stop talking in riddles! What’s he got that you want?” Pagan snapped. “A decent scope for that pea shooter you’re packing?”

  Chance shot his brother a quelling glance to shut up. Why the hell was he baiting Miss Hex?

  Lifting her slender fingers to her mouth, she blew Pagan a kiss. “I am sorry I had to shoot you. Poor baby.”

  “Wait,” Chance ordered. “You had to shoot Pagan? Why?”

  “Yeah, why shoot me? If you’re here after Zapata, who’s Julio after?”

  By then Miss Hex stood at the end of the alley. Another air-kiss drifted Pagan’s way. “Why, me, of course.”

  “Stop talking in circles!” Chance bellowed before he lost sight of her, his pistol still trained on her head. He had a clear shot. He could take it if he wanted to. Mafia hitmen and women enjoyed no mercy on American streets. He’d be doing a public service to end her, but damn. A rock weighed heavy in his gut. Something was different with this particular song and dance. He lowered his rifle and decided to trust. “What’s Zapata got that you want, Vicki? Who are you really working for?” What the fuck’s going on?

  Miss Hex pivoted, her butt stock still on her hip. She hesitated, her black eyes sharp and piercing, her lips suddenly thinned as if she had more to say. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  “I wouldn’t be asking if I did.” Extending one hand, he went for broke. “Listen, I’m tired of chasing the wind. How about a truce? You share what you know. We’ll help you get Zapata and Juarez.”

  Her chin came up and the calculating glare of a killer on the hunt was back. “Go home, Chief. Try not to worry. I don’t miss.” Like the smoke, Vicki Hex was gone.

  “Damn, she’s one crazy bitch,” Pagan muttered.

  Chance turned on his brother. “Did you hear what she said? She had to shoot you, not that she wanted to. Why? You were closing in on JJ, right?”

  Pagan chuffed. “Damned straight. If you hadn’t called, I’d have had him, too.”

  “If JJ’s after Zapata, and Hex is after JJ…” Chance took a knee beside his brother. “You were getting too close. That’s why she shot you, to keep you from killing JJ.”

  “They’re in on this together. They’re both after Zapata. Why? And who the hell’s with Suede, Chance? You left her alone?”

  Icy cold fear slammed into Chance. “Gallo.” My dog. My air-headed dog’s the only thing with her. His hand found his phone. “Pick up,” he ordered Suede. “Pick up!” But it never rang. He turned a bleak eye to his brother. “My phone’s dead.”

  “It can’t be. It’s a sat-phone. We’re…” Pagan’s brows climbed up his forehead. “Shit. Zapata’s in Montana.”

  Chance already had Woody on the line. “Need you now. Same location. Step on it.”

  “Copy that. You got our boy?” Woody asked.

  “Hurry! We’ve got trouble back home,” Chance explained, his gut twisted with the need to fly.

  “Roger that. ETA in ten.”

  Pagan dragged himself to his feet. He stood panting, his hands on his knees and as pale as Chance had never seen him before. “Sorry ’bout this.”

  Shouldering his rifle, Chance shook Pagan’s apology off, more worried what Hex knew. What Zapata knew. “She’s in league with Zapata. That’s why she’s after JJ. Can you move?” He hadn’t yet treated Pagan’s wound, and he wasn’t going to now. “Where’s your rifle?”

  “Last I knew, Hex took it.” Like the good troop he was, Pagan soldiered up. “I’m good. I can walk. Let’s roll.”

  Together they made it to the pick-up point at the same time Woody dipped low out of the gathering fog the Columbia River was known for. The chopper’s skids had no more than kissed the edge of the dock when Chance shoved Pagan aboard and climbed in behind him. “Go!” he shouted over the rotor slap. Go faster. Suede’s alone with nothing but my dumb dog. Step on it!

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Getting back outside took longer than Suede expected. After a short nap, a shower, and toast with coffee, the sun made a weak appearance. Buttoned up in the same snowsuit and gear she’d worn when she climbed Old Man Mountain with Chance, Suede closed the cabin’s front door behind her and faced her brand new day. The fresh scent of pine filled the air as Gallo bounded down the steps and through the snow.

  She stood there drinking in the cold, fresh air, pulling its pine-fresh scent deep into her lungs. Delicious, that was what it was. Utterly delicious. If this day were a cake, she’d take a slice of it now to save for later.

  The light snow that had fallen earlier left the evergreen forest at her right dusted, turning the pines festive despite their missing branches and the raw bark on some of their trunks. Wasn’t Chance clever to have pre-planned for an attack like he had? It was awesomely scary, but Suede understood. They both seemed to have some pretty lethal enemies.

  “Arff!” Gallo barked at her from the shade of a stately pine, his nose in the snow and his bright eyes on her.

  “Work first,” she told him. “This won’t take long.”

  Energized after her nap, Suede looked the porch over. The snow shovel stood in the far corner at her left, just as buried in fluffy white as everything else. By the time Chance returned, she’d have the porch and steps cleared, maybe a path into the woods as well. He’d warned her to stay close to the cabin. That didn’t mean she couldn’t get a little exercise.

  Funny dog. With each shovel of the white stuff, Gallo attacked, grabbed a jaw full, slapping his paws when it settled to the pile accumulating beside the porch, just generally being a kid at heart. Suede tossed a shovel of snow over him, tickled when he lifted to his haunches and batted it. “You’re such a goofy guy,” she told him. Setting the shovel aside, she ducked down for a big handful and cancelled the project. Time to play ball.

  “Catch!” she squealed, tossing the snowball in an arc over Gallo’s head. He pushed off like a deer. His powerful hind feet dug into the frozen ground and up, up, up he went, twisting in the air like a snake to catch that prize. And he did! A laugh burst out of Suede when his powerful jaws snapped his plaything into nothing. Gallo hit the ground perplexed, rooting through the snow for the ball that had disappeared. So funny!

  While he pawed the snow, Suede packed another, mentally adding dog toys to the next drone order. She hadn’t had this much fun in forever. Every sn
owball Gallo crunched earned a giggle she couldn’t suppress. He looked so cute!

  Suede spread her arms and dropped backward onto the snow, sweating, but content with the way her life had turned out. Snow angel baby, here I come!

  Swooshing her hands over her head, she stretched her legs wide and flapped all fours, smiling at the delightful picture of clouds and evergreen branches overhead. But she should’ve known Gallo would be up for this fun new game. As quick as a jackrabbit, he pounced on her. Hugging his neck, Suede rolled to her side, giggling. This wasn’t Montana. This was heaven.

  “You’re as crazy as I am,” she told him sincerely as a cold, wet nose slid along her cheek. “But no kisses.”

  By then, the snow angel baby was officially an unrecognizable mess. Excited by who knew what, Gallo tucked his tail under his haunches and launched into a wide lap that took him around the nearest trees, to the opposite edge of the cabin and back to Suede.

  “Go, Gallo, go,” she chanted, urging him as he gathered speed, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Wasn’t that cool, a dog smiling just because of snow?

  Out of breath, Suede eased to her butt on the still un-shoveled steps. The marvel of being alive on this fresh and beautiful new day hit her hard. She owed everything to this happy-go-lucky dog. She didn’t know what had possessed him that night, but he’d come for her, and because his owner loved him, Chance had rescued her. Talk about Karma.

  The miracle of it brought tears to her eyes. “Thank you, God,” she said sincerely, from the bottom of a heart that had once been sullied and cynical, full of despair. Suede wiped the back of her gloved hand over her cheek. Nobody got second chances in this life, but here she was, living a perfect day in the most beautiful place on Earth.

  “It’s time to go in,” she called to Gallo before she turned melancholy. Too much introspection encouraged depression. She needed to bake something. Anything! Soon. Lifting to her feet, she slapped her knees and called again, “Gallo! Let’s go!”