Deadly Aim (Bad Karma Special Ops Book 2)

by Tracy Brody

  Herrera struggled to his feet. He swayed at the side of the bed as he loomed over her, blood dripping from his chin. His arm went up, but before he could strike her, she kicked him in the knee with her good leg. He stumbled back toward the center of the room.

  A faint crack came from her right. Herrera’s head snapped to the side before he crumpled to the floor. His snarling mouth went slack, and a shocked stare replaced the demented hatred in his eyes. Had her blow somehow done that?

  Blood seeped from above his ear. What? Wait! “Oh, my God.”

  She tore her gaze away to survey the room. The door was still closed. She twisted her head toward the window where a round hole was surrounded by a web of shattered glass. Someone was coming to save her. It had to be Mack and the team. They’d found her despite her turning off the tracker. How?

  Mack had to be able to see her, or her outline, with his scope. She raised her hand to first give a thumbs-up, then, in sign language, an “I Love You.”

  Her surge of relief raced right into panic. Someone would find Herrera’s body. Maybe in minutes. How many men would hunt for her friends without the darkness for cover?

  She held her breath to listen. Other than her pounding heart, all she could make out was the background chatter of frogs and birds, and rain falling on the roof tiles and running down to plink on the window ledge inches from her head. No shouts or gunfire, but no one was going to waltz in the house unopposed.

  Herrera had locked the bedroom door. How long would that keep the guards or Hugo out?

  Pain shot through her leg as she grabbed the dirty blanket and tossed it over Herrera’s body. It might buy her and the team a few precious seconds when someone came to check on them, plus she could avoid his creepy death stare. “For you, karma’s a red-headed hunk with a sniper rifle, and you got off easy, you murderous bastard.”

  “I had to take Herrera out,” Mack relayed to the team.

  “We’re not in position yet,” Ray growled.

  “Couldn’t wait.”

  The sonofabitch had clearly lost his shit. Through the thermal scope, Mack hadn’t been able to tell with a hundred-percent certainty, but everything added up to the sonofabitch raping her. She was fighting him off, but no fucking way was he watching that happen.

  If saving Kristie from Herrera before he’d been cleared to fire got him kicked off the team, he’d accept that. That’d make two less obstacles standing in the way of having a future together.

  “Shit. Can you take out the front guard?”

  “Roger that,” Mack told Ray. He switched his focus to protecting his team—who he’d just put in greater jeopardy.

  “Rozanski, Dominguez, get in position to get those vehicles ready to go once we take out the guard at the front door,” Ray ordered.

  Forty-Three

  The urgent knocking on the door interrupted Kristie’s prayers for her rescuers. She cried out, then groaned in the hope of buying time.

  The knob rattled, followed by shouted Spanish, but so rapid-fire she couldn’t make out a single word. With a crash, the door burst open.

  Hugo stepped inside—then froze mid-sentence. His calculating gaze ran over the puddle of blood on the floor and the feet that stuck out from the blanket. His hand gripped his pistol at his side.

  She had begged Herrera to kill her. Taunted him to do it to protect Mack and the team. Now, Herrera was dead, and she wanted to live. Wanted to laugh with Mack and his girls. Wanted to love.

  Her body jerked at the crack of gunfire. The pain from moving her leg shot through her.

  It was Hugo who squawked. Instead of raising his arm to fire, he spun out of the room as another bullet impacted the wall. He barked commands, his voice growing distant. Within seconds, voices merged with pounding feet—then gunfire. The rapid tat-tat-tat of a fully automatic weapon cutting loose was interspersed with the softer pops of controlled fire.

  It ended abruptly.

  She rolled from the bed, on top of Herrera, then off him to her side. Clenching her teeth to get through the agony of dragging her broken leg, she grabbed the table leg and commando-crawled toward the door. You will not pass out, she ordered herself as she hid the door while more gunfire erupted.

  Glass shattered. Men shouted. Furniture crashed—all adding to the chaos she pictured happening on the floor below. It became eerily quiet, then the stairs creaked without the clumping of heavy footsteps. Her limbs tingled in anticipation, and she clutched the table leg like a bat, ready to strike.

  “Clear!”

  “Clear!”

  The familiar voices set off fireworks in her head. “Here. I’m in here,” she called out and stuck her good foot out for them to see.

  The barrel of an M-4 poked in first, sweeping the room. “Clear!” Ray’s voice boomed.

  The camouflage uniforms and faces smeared with greasepaint were the most beautiful sights of her life. Tony peeled the blanket off Herrera’s face. He removed his glove with his teeth, checked for a pulse, and gave a satisfied grunt.

  Ray knelt beside her. “Hope you don’t mind us crashing the party. Sorry we couldn’t get here sooner.”

  She squeezed his hand, unable to speak over the emotions choking her.

  He studied the way her foot flopped to the side. “How bad?”

  “Broken above the ankle. Herrera slammed it with a sledgehammer after I tried to escape.” She had no clue how many bones he’d smashed, but they could cut her foot off for all she cared.

  Ray’s malevolent glare might have killed Herrera if he weren’t already dead. Tony kicked him in the head anyway. “Bastard,” he muttered. He took a position near the window and surveyed the area outside.

  Ray keyed his comms mic. “Grant, we need a litter. Second room on the right.”

  Ray closed the door when Devin entered to give them access to her. Devin produced the rolled-up litter affixed to the top of his pack, and she winced as he and Ray slid her onto it.

  “We need to get the heck out of Dodge, so morphine will have to wait,” Ray apologized.

  “Just get us the hell out of here.”

  “As you wish.” He keyed his mic. “How we doin’ on the vehicles?” His eyes squinted at Herrera. “Be advised, we’re bringin’ out an extra body. Have doors open, and be ready to roll.” He nodded to Tony.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kristie blurted out. Devin paused while strapping her onto the stretcher, his eyes wide, too.

  Tony shot her a sly grin as he dropped to a knee next to Herrera. “His men are less likely to shoot me in the back if their boss is on it.” He cuffed the corpse’s hands together. “Better yet, they see he’s dead, they might go have lunch rather than mess with us—’cuz they aren’t getting any more paychecks.”

  It made sense, but she wanted as much distance between her and Herrera as possible, even dead.

  “Comin’ down now.” Ray and Devin lifted the stretcher holding her.

  Tony’s face telegraphed his distaste as he slung their dead enemy over his shoulder and shoved to his feet.

  In seconds, they were downstairs and outside, where AJ and Juan stood guard by the vehicles.

  Raindrops wet her face, but she was free.

  AJ motioned Ray to the white SUV she’d nearly escaped in. “Here. Steel plates and bulletproof glass.”

  “Thought we only found keys for this and the truck,” Ray said to Rozanski as they slid the stretcher into the back. More of the team appeared. Still no sign of Mack.

  “Hot-wired Saavedra’s. Insurance we won’t be followed, and if we lose a vehicle …”

  “Take lead with our other passenger.”

  “Great,” AJ said when Ray waved a hand to Tony, who loaded Herrera in the passenger seat of the mid-size black sedan.

  “Guard at the back took off into the jungle. Lost him,” Kyle said.

  Ray’s mouth tightened, and a growl rumbled out. “Can’t do anything about that. What about Saavedra and the woman?”

  “The woman wasn�
��t armed. We secured her in the kitchen,” Kyle said.

  “Saavedra locked himself in some kind of safe room—and he’s gonna be there a while. Rigged a grenade to the door,” Walt boasted.

  Ray nodded. “How’s it look, Punisher Six? Radio our ride to be on the ground, ready to load and roll. Plan on a hot exfil.” He waved his arm in a circle. “Gotta go! Gotta go! Quick reaction force is on its way.”

  “Mack!” Kristie exclaimed.

  “We don’t leave without him,” Ray promised, climbing into the front passenger seat.

  Juan and Devin slammed their doors.

  She trusted Ray Lundgren more than anyone else. As the vehicles pulled away from the hacienda, she had to trust him now—with her life and her future.

  They didn’t get far before gunfire rang out. A bullet tore through metal. The team in the commandeered truck returned fire. It was like déjà vu of her first time in Colombia. Except the roles were reversed.

  Devin lowered his window and aimed his weapon toward the low palms ringing the compound. Josué’s warning about Herrera’s powerful weaponry played through her mind. This time Herrera had expected the men to come. He’d been gearing up, but so far, there were only automatic weapons.

  “Where’re you guys at?” Ray impatiently studied the dense curtain of green as the vehicles stopped short of the clearing around the compound. From the way he shook his head, he clearly didn’t get the answer he wanted.

  Fear crept in. This couldn’t happen. Life couldn’t be that cruel. Come on, Mack. Please. Please.

  “I’ve got a plan to buy us time, Chief,” AJ shouted. “Meet you at the split.” He revved the engine and tires spun in the mud as he peeled out.

  “Ray?” Her voice wobbled.

  He didn’t turn, but she knew damn well he’d heard her.

  “Here they come.” Finally, he looked at her.

  She strained against the stretcher bindings to lift her head. Mack was there, in one magnificent piece, sprinting with Porter from the rainforest to the truck. Tears flooded her eyes, making the pair a blur as they hurdled up and rolled into the bed of the truck.

  Juan floored it, and their vehicle lurched forward. Devin rocked sideways, gripping the handhold with his left hand and his M-4 with the other, as they sped away from the compound.

  Mack bumped around the back of the truck as Shuler sped over the rutted road through the jungle. He finally got a grip on the side and pulled up to his knees. Though he couldn’t see her, Kristie was alive. Herrera was dead. Bad Karma team: two; Herrera: zero.

  Simpson, Alpha team’s leader, reported there were two aggressor vehicles with ten or so men headed up the hill from the bunkhouse. Ten armed combatants. They were just getting into the woods, nowhere near out of them. If he never had to come back to this fuckin’ country, it’d be too soon.

  Tony tapped him on the shoulder and pointed ahead to where the two roads merged. The truck slowed. What the …? Rozanski, on foot, booked toward them at max speed. Behind him, a black sedan with its doors open blocked the narrow road. Was someone still in it? He gave a satisfied grunt when the pieces clicked together. Special delivery. One dead cartel boss.

  Armed men ran around the sedan, firing wildly.

  Rozanski dove into the back of the truck. “Son of a bitch! That hurts!”

  Mack shot the gunman leading the pack. The kid, who probably hadn’t hit his twenties, went down, but more were coming.

  “You hit?” Vincenti asked.

  “Bashed my head,” Rozanski complained.

  “Stay down a minute. You done good.” Vincenti gave him a fist bump to the leg.

  The thick canopy of trees blocked Mack’s view but didn’t drown out the noise of a low-flying plane. Salvation. They just had to get to the airfield first. What were the chances Herrera’s thugs would suddenly get smart enough to quit?

  “Bad Karma, this is Punisher Six. Be advised, QRF is past your obstacle.”

  Damn, that answered that question.

  He hung on as the truck barreled down the hillside, turn after turn after turn, occasionally sliding in the mud. They would not hit an IED. This was almost over. They’d be on the plane. He’d get home to Amber and Darcy. They’d be safe. He’d be with Kristie. God, he hoped they’d have a chance. Despite the thoughts bombarding him, his eyes watched their six.

  Alpha team continued to feed them updates from the drone. They had a three-minute advantage, at best.

  The incline grew less steep. The trees thinned out, and the rain picked up. The world shifted to slow motion the closer they got to the runway. Two trucks came into view as their own vehicles careened to a halt yards away from the aircraft.

  While every molecule in Mack’s body longed to jump out and get to Kristie, he couldn’t abandon his post. He had the weapon with the longest range.

  He fired a round into the front tire of Herrera’s jet, not that he expected them to give chase, but why chance it. He couldn’t bring himself to shoot up the expensive craft, though. A .50-caliber round through Herrera’s skull, his own vehicles, and airstrip used for their escape amounted to almost as much bad karma as the cartel head deserved.

  Behind Mack, the teamed boarded and loaded Kristie faster than any commercial flight in history. Through his rifle’s scope, he counted the number of combatants in the lead vehicle while he waited for his team’s signal.

  His blood went cold when he spotted the rocket launcher pointed in their direction.

  “Load up, Mack!” the chief called over the plane’s engines.

  Shit. Shit! SHIT!

  No can do.

  He didn’t have time to calculate their speed and trajectory or account for wind resistance to map out his shot. His body operated on instinct and years of training. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled, slowly and steadily, with his eyes locked on his target. His finger squeezed the trigger.

  And missed the mark. Fuck!

  He blinked away the failure, took another steadying breath, and set up his next shot.

  His targets ducked when the Raven drone dive-bombed them.

  “How do ya like that?” Simpson cackled with glee at his inference.

  Aw, screw it. Mack switched the Barrett to semi-automatic and fired repeatedly. The front tire exploded, making the truck swerve. The rocket launched—up and away from their position. One last shot took out the shooter before Mack raced to the plane.

  The aircraft taxied as Ray pulled up the steps behind Mack. He grabbed a seatback to keep from landing on his ass or Kristie, where her stretcher filled the space on the floor at the rear of the plane.

  He could finally lay eyes on her. The way she smiled at him made his racing heart skip a beat or two, maybe three, before he plopped into the empty seat by her head and buckled up. The tension in his limbs de-escalated the further and faster the jet hurtled down the runway.

  The craft lifted off and rose sharply.

  “Hoo-ah!” Ray broke the silence.

  A chorus of replies followed, including Grant’s “Hot damn, Hoo-ah!”

  Newbie.

  As soon as the plane leveled out, Grant slipped out of his seat. He knelt next to Kristie and opened his medical pack. “I’m going to start an IV and get you meds that’ll make you more comfortable.”

  Mack leaned over to unfasten the straps binding Kristie to the stretcher.

  “Other hand, please,” she requested, drawing her right hand free and offering her left to Grant.

  Though difficult to reach her, he complied with her wishes, working efficiently in the cramped space. When he moved down to her feet to examine her, she extended her right hand to Mack.

  Finally, he got to touch her—really touch her. The surge of emotions that accompanied her grip on his hand choked him so tightly he couldn’t speak. He squeezed back with a shaky hand, trying to keep his shit together in front of his team.

  “I’ve got a pulse in her foot. That’s good.”

  Mack winced, getting a good look at her swollen and br
uised leg, her foot flopping unnaturally.

  “Can you feel this?” Grant tapped each of her toes.

  “Yes.”

  “They’ll have to do x-rays, but I’m thinking you’re going to need surgery to get you fixed up.” He snapped a cold pack to activate it and carefully secured it to her leg.

  She whimpered when he moved her foot.

  “Sorry. Almost done.”

  Mack leaned close. “You know, with your injuries, you can’t deploy.” She focused on him, and he continued, “With Herrera dead”—Satan, torture his soul—“you won’t need to transfer at all.”

  “Actually, I do need to transfer.”

  What! “But—”

  “To the Guard,” she cut him off before panic got its hooks in him. “Then I can date any badass operator I want.”

  Dominguez whipped around. “Say what?”

  “She ain’t talking about you, Dominguez,” Tony scoffed.

  “I think the morphine is kicking in.” Mack still gave Dominguez a look that said: You lose, buddy.

  “Not yet. I don’t care who knows. About us.”

  “Thought you had rules against dating Special Operations guys.” If she transferred, he wouldn’t have to get through WOCS. They could date, then if she wanted him to leave the team, he’d do what it took.

  “I did. But I fell in love with one. Again. I can’t seem to help myself.”

  Blurting this out in front of his team? Maybe the morphine was kicking in. But she’d said that she’d fallen in love with him. “I love you, too.”

  “I know. And having to let you go, hurt more than this. I’m willing to take the chance.” She kissed his hand.

  He returned the gesture since he couldn’t exactly take her into his arms and kiss the hell out of her. “What about flying MEDEVAC? That’s your dream.” And he couldn’t ask her to give it up. They could find another way.

  “One of my dreams. Family is a bigger one.” Tears made her eyes shine.

  Another huge step forward. Her lids were getting heavy, blinking sleepily. They were so close. Did she have to go to sleep now?