by J. J. Cagney
“Where are they?” one of the men called.
“Might have run off,” the other said.
“Keep looking.”
Cici and Anton lay on the ground, shivering as the cold rain continued to beat against them.
A deep whooshing crack bit out of the dark night, causing everyone to startle. A thick, liquid howl built, getting louder.
Cici knew that sound, had lived through the torrential flash flooding that whipped through the arroyos in Santa Fe, destroying everything in its wake.
“What the hell was that?” One man asked.
“No idea. Keep looking.”
Anton stiffened against Cici, grappling in his attempt to keep her still. But Cici managed to shove him off. Her fear of the wall of water coming toward them made her strong. She lunged to her feet and grabbed Anton’s hand.
12
Sam
You will never know how sharp a sword is unless it’s drawn from its sheath.― Confucius
“I received the final go-ahead to call in the jets,” Jeannette crowed as she walked back into the conference room at the SFPD headquarters building she’d commandeered an hour or so ago.
Sam placed the phone back into its cradle. “Where are they coming from?” Sam asked.
“Colorado Springs. That’s even closer than Kirtland. To Chaco, I mean. We’re calling it a training exercise.”
Sam licked his dry lower lip. “Is it?”
Jeannette set her paper down on the conference table and held his gaze for a long moment—long enough for Sam’s heart rate to kick into double time and cause the back of his neck to prickle.
“Let’s hope so,” Jeannette said.
“And if there’s a problem?” Sam asked. “For the pilots, I mean. They don’t know what you’re having them fly into.”
Jeannette’s brows puckered into a deep V. This was where he tended to disagree with her methods. Sam had just gotten off the phone with one of his old buddies who still worked up in Denver. Thanks to Gil, Sam had a bit more information on the last group of operatives who’d flown into Denver—ones related to the Bratva-related ring Jeannette mentioned earlier. But he received that information by sharing what he knew about the situation with his contact—the way Sam preferred to operate.
At this moment, Jeannette’s sunny, approachable persona slid toward to the same angry, closed expression his former physics teacher had when Sam did not grasp the trigonometry necessary to complete the projectile assignment out on the soccer field at Santa Fe Prep.
“Um…” Jeannette tucked a few strands of hair that had loosened from the low ponytail back behind her ear and dropped her gaze. “Um. Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“Jeannette, you can’t assume everything is going to go the way you prefer,” Sam said. “We need a contingency to get Cici and the spy out of the area, especially if your boss has decided not to tell the pilots of these flights what they’re up against.”
“I never said the pilots didn’t know,” She crossed her arms and huffed, a petulant pout gracing her pretty pink lips. “I…we don’t need anyone to find out we’re handling an international incident.”
Sam cleared his throat even as he prayed to the God he’d promised he hated—hated for taking his best friend and making it impossible to set into motion the plan he’d concocted to win over the woman he loved. Yet, here he was, less than two years later, praying for Cici’s continued survival. More, for her to be safe, whole. Capable of…his fingernails dug into the tender flesh below his thumb.
“How many jets?”
“Two.”
“Not too threatening,” Sam said with a nod.
“We need to move out to the meet location now that they’re squared away.”
“When do they pass over?” Sam asked.
“First light. I want to be in the vicinity sooner, though. More of the task force will meet us there as they can trickle in.”
“We’re driving?” Sam asked.
Jeannette nodded, but her lips pursed like she’d sucked a sour lemon. “No other real choice. That’s why the baddies chose it, I’m sure. Chaco isn’t well-traveled or easy to get to.”
“No good place to stay nearby either.”
Jeannette made a face usually reserved for a whiff of fresh dog shit. “I know. We’ll go to Cuba. It’s about the best we can do.”
Sam grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone. He kept a bag with a couple of spare sets of clothes and hiking boots in his new SUV’s trunk. “You need to pick up anything?” he asked.
“Nope. My stuff’s in my car,” Jeannette said. She followed Sam from the building and beelined toward her sporty little Prius, waving off his offer to help. Once she collected a duffel bag, she slammed the trunk and trotted over to Sam’s personal car. Sam pressed the unlock button and waited for them both to get situated before he spoke again.
“All right. So, we head out there and get the lay of the land, give us an idea of where Cici and this spy-guy are on the plateau,” Sam said.
Jeannette opened her purse and grabbed a liter-size plastic bottle of water from its depths. She took a long drink, obviously stalling, concocting some answer to his question.
“If we’re lucky,” she said, her voice filled with concern. “I managed to get us some senior-level pilots. They’ll do a flyover, make visual contact with Cici and the man she’s with.”
“Simple,” Sam grumbled.
Jeannette scoffed. “If we’re lucky, they’re only into drugs.” She cleared her throat, her eyes taking on a far-away gleam.
“And if we’re not?”
“I don’t have all that intel, being a lowly DEA agent myself.”
“Then what’s the point of this supposed task force?” Sam asked. He pulled out of the parking lot and shot down Cerrillos Road toward I-25.
Jeannette shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable with whatever began running through her head. Sam’s stomach clenched again.
“You aren’t heading this group,” Sam said with absolute certainty. He punched the steering wheel, causing Jeannette to jump. “Not even close.”
“I’m a valued member,” Jeannette said, her voice less even than it had been before Sam’s show of temper.
“You’re the errand girl,” Sam said, his tone harsh. Jeannette’s flinch confirmed his assumption. “Why me?” he asked again. “Why did you involve me in this?”
She turned to face him, her scowl darker than the thunderheads gathering way to the north. Sam wasn’t sure if he wanted it to rain or not up there, where Cici strode across the high mesa, dodging bullets with a man who was a known killer.
The damnably sweet reverend managed to get herself into more hot messes than anyone. She always had.
“I’m more than a glorified secretary,” Jeannette snapped. She dropped her gaze, her shoulders rolling in, possibly in defeat or disappointment. “And I’m here because my boss ‘sees’ something in you.”
“Did you tell him you screwed me to advance your case?”
Jeannette bit her lip. Her long fingers were curled across each other, limp.
“I deserved that,” she said.
She did, but hurting her didn’t make Sam feel better or lessen his worry for Cici.
“Look,” Jeannette said, her voice soft but firm. “You’re a great detective. You have contacts across multiple states.”
Which he’d just used to get information. He’d even called a few of the high-powered, well-placed men and women he’d met over the years, thanks to his father’s multiple decades in defense litigation because apprehending criminals and putting them in jail was higher on his list of importance than his pride—or even his anger at his father.
Sam nodded to let Jeannette know he’d heard her, but he kept his gaze focused on the traffic in front of him. “My comments were uncalled for,” he muttered. “I won’t attack your personal choices again.”
They sat in a heavy silence. Sam caught Jeannette’s deep frown from the corner
of his eye.
“I have some intel to share with you,” he said.
Jeannette perked up.
“Denver PD and FBI were aware of three men who came through the airport yesterday. They were flagged out of the terminal and to a car dealership where they picked up a loaded Hummer.”
“Did your guy talk to the car dealer?” Jeannette asked.
“Yep. Fully loaded. The guys are Andrei Skripal, Jerkan Abers, and Artem Oleskander. At least, those are a recent set of aliases. They’re on the international terror watch list.”
“Why didn’t your guy call it in?” Jeannette asked.
“He did. To his boss—my old boss, who must have called it up the chain of command to your boss.”
“Now your boss, too, Sam,” Jeannette said. “Okay, so a loaded Hummer with three guys on our watch list. What happened?”
“They slipped past their minders and seemingly disappeared.”
“Then, how do you know they’re in Chaco?” Jeannette asked.
Sam rearranged his hands on the wheel. “Because their vehicle was pulled over for speeding at about three thirty this afternoon.”
Jeannette sucked in a breath. “The officer who called it in and tried to pull them over? They killed him, didn’t they?”
Sam nodded. A heavier silence filled the car.
“At least we have confirmation that we’re dealing with Bratva.”
Appeared so.
“Once we have a visual on their location,” Jeannette said, her voice going prim and professional, “we’ll come in on a chopper and haul out Cici and as many of the others as we can.”
“You think we’ll be able to?” Sam asked, his stomach once again bouncing around too low. Bratva. Russian mob. Islamic State connections. This was terrible news.
Jeannette’s face fell into bleak lines. “We have to hope for something,” she murmured.
Yeah. Yeah, they did.
13
Cici
Without feelings of respect, what is there to distinguish men from beasts?― Confucius
“Run!” Cici screamed.
One important detail about Anton: he was a man of action. He ran. Fast.
Cici dashed over the now-slick rocks, somehow managing to stay upright as her gaze darted around, looking for higher ground.
Behind them, the roar of water grew louder, all of it channeled into the narrow V of rock where they’d stood moments before. One of the men behind them shouted, only to be cut off mid-yell.
A quick glance back showed about five, maybe six feet of mud, mixed with tree branches and rocks—some as large as car tires—sliding toward them at a much faster rate than they could outrun. She glanced back, panting, in time to see the man who’d threatened Cici and Anton collapsed like a cardboard cut-out under the onslaught.
Rain fell in thick sheets, burning cold against Cici’s skin. She sputtered out a mouthful as she tried not to think of the horror she’d witnessed.
“There!” Cici yelled, veering toward another limestone rock face about fifteen feet higher than their current elevation. She leaped onto the first small ledge, grunting when the edge of the rock caught her stomach, gouging into the tender flesh there. No time to consider the pain—Anton was still below as the water rushed toward him, small tendrils licking outward as if ready to suck him into the thick, viscous mass.
She levered herself up onto the small outcropping, her pants shredding at the knees where she scuttled over the rocks.
“Get up here, now!” Cici yelled.
His face white with strain and maybe fear, he leaped upward, grabbed the ledge, and began to pull himself up. He grappled against the slick, wet stones, his hiking boots slipping and squeaking as he used them to continue working his way upward.
Rain slanted, pelting them with icy sprays from the left, biting against the skin on Cici’s face and neck. She spat a thick chunk of hair from her mouth as she reached for the next handhold. She caught it, but her hands were slick from the rain. Her fingers tensed, aching with effort as she slid backward. She scrabbled for purchase, wincing at the tug of pain in her knee. She gritted her teeth against the sob building in her throat.
A cool breeze—the one Cici associated with her sister—wrapped around her, stabilizing her so she could scramble upward. The rain slowed enough for Cici to see the rock in front of her and find the next place to grab on to, though it was as slick and dangerous as the first. She slipped again but this time Anton used his shoulder to brace the back of her thighs, pinning her skinned knees to the gritty surface. Her arms quivered as she reached the top of this newest rock.
She rolled onto the level area at the top of this mesa, panting and trying hard not to groan as her calf muscles cramped.
“What the hell was that?” Anton asked, collapsing next to her, breathing harder than most athletes who’d run a marathon.
That’s what fear and adrenaline on top of physical exertion did to the body.
“Which part?”
“All of that. Like an act of God,” Anton peered over the edge, studying the thick flow of muddy water and debris flowing below them.
“That,” Cici managed to say. She sat up, putting her elbows on her knees, wincing at the scratches she’d accrued. Her racing heart pulsed hard against her ribs. “That was my sister.”
Anton turned toward her, eyes wide even as a scowl built on his face. “Are you trying to tell me you’re so connected with the big guy upstairs that you can create natural phenomena at will? And you call that your sister?”
Cici glared. “That’s stupid.”
“Or insane,” Anton replied, his tone harsher than acid.
“Holy Jeez…” Cici smashed her lips together. She was angry, tired, scared but she did not use the Lord’s name in vain. Rule number one of divinity school. Not really—it was Cici’s number one rule because she struggled to keep a lid on her potty mouth.
“That, Reverend, was a miracle. Lightning in a bottle. And I’d like to know what the hell you did to make it happen.”
She unzipped her backpack and opened the Camelbak’s bladder, tipping it to collect as much of the rainwater as possible.
“Fill up,” Cici said.
Anton opened his empty bottle and watched the water fill the plastic. “Sister?” he prompted.
Cici tilted her face up to the rain, needing a moment to catch her breath. She wished she could rinse her mind clean of the horror she’d experienced. “You won’t believe me.”
“Can’t be any stranger than what I’ve managed to live through. Or chasing off a mountain lion.”
Cici snorted. “Yes, it can. Fine.” She sighed. “My dead identical-twin sister doesn’t like me in mortal danger.” Cici ran her hand over her neck, wincing at the ache still in her muscles. “I guess it makes her a little…ah…angry.”
“So, your ghost twin created a rainstorm and flash flood?”
“I don’t think she can do that, but it’s not like I know for sure.” Cici’s heart slowed to a more manageable pace—one that should help keep it inside her chest. “My guess is she directed an existing storm toward us to give us a chance to escape.”
Anton eyed her again. “You do realize you sound insane.”
Cici raised an eyebrow even as her lips thinned. She held on to the annoyance, which burned through her fear. “First off, I never said I was sane. Second, my sister made sure I didn’t die earlier when that guy shot at me as I ran toward the car.”
“When you leaped left and he hit the cactus?”
Anton missed little, which was why Cici offered him her truth.
“That wasn’t the first time she saved my life.” Cici studied the man in front of her, but he was good at maintaining a neutral face and closed-off eyes. “Do you have a better suggestion for the freak winds, rain, flood, and mud?” she asked, voice quiet. “Especially in a place that’s been without moisture of any kind for months?”
Anton scowled, but something moved in his eyes that gave Cici pause. Som
ething in there flickered. Something that looked like…well, like fear.
He didn’t answer.
Cici turned her head and looked up at the sky. The stars were blotted out behind the thick haze of clouds. Rain dripped into her eyes and mud seeped into her clothes and hair. Exhaustion pulled at her muscles, telling her to give up—quit and lay right here until the bad guys or some large predator found her. Maybe…if she was lucky…Sam would find her first.
The longer she remained out here in the wilderness, the more times and more men who came after her, the less likely any type of rescue seemed.
She should have told Sam about the reverend position in Portland. She’d planned to, a couple of days ago at his house over dinner, to get his take on the situation. See if…whatever Cici felt budding between them Sam felt, too. If it was worth exploring.
But seeing Jeannette there, seated on his back porch, just as she had when she and Sam were dating, as if the whole situation with Anna Carmen’s death, with Cici almost dying…something in that moment broke Cici’s heart. She wasn’t sure what, exactly, except that it felt like…
Cici swallowed down the bitter taste that kept filling her mouth when she thought of that moment—the hard, almost angry look in Sam’s eyes when he met her gaze across the expanse of flagstone patio.
She’d felt hurt. Unsure of her place in Sam’s life.
Cici tried to tell herself her reaction was over the top—but between her overreaction to Sam and Jeannette and her need to think through the opportunity at the large church in Portland, Cici skedaddled from town at the first opportunity, landing herself here, talking to ghosts and handling supernatural phenomena. None of which was anywhere near as delightful as one might anticipate.
Lightning continued to flick through the clouds as rain fell in a thick, cold sheet. Like the beings here—if she believed in Aci on this plane, helping to protect her, then Cici must believe in others remaining on this plane, too—were not happy with the current situation.