“At the risk of offending Sammy, can I give you a hand?” Mace had noticed she favored her right shoulder.
“Sure.”
“What happened to your shoulder?” he asked as she winced when reaching for her seat belt.
“I took shrapnel from an IED.” When she didn’t say anything more, he took the hint to back off from further questions.
On their way again, they talked little except to exchange ideas for the best route to Atlanta. He gave the lady credit for keeping conversation to a minimum. Small talk was not part of his skill set. It was the same for most of the soldiers in spec-ops. You want polite chitchat, you join a ladies’ garden society. You want results, you get yourself a Ranger.
He eyed the Sig Sauer P226 that showed beneath her jacket. “Nice toy you got there.”
“Thanks.” She glanced at the Glock 17 he carried in a shoulder holster. “Same goes.”
“It does the job.”
Right now the job meant getting the client out of harm’s way. He had no doubt that other men would pick up their tail quickly enough. With that in mind, he sifted through the choices. Keep to the back roads, hoping to fly under the radar. Or hit the freeway with the idea of losing themselves in the mix of vehicles heading east. Each came with a risk.
Part of his Ranger training was evaluating risks. A county road or the freeway? A county road was less likely to be patrolled by the tangos. On the other hand, there was safety in being able to lose themselves in the hundreds of vehicles that filled the freeway like an army of ants.
The freeway it was.
He took the ramp and merged into the steady stream of impatient drivers. Middle-of-the day traffic was only slightly less congested than that of early morning or late afternoon. He switched lanes, moving into the right where slower vehicles were directed. He had no problem going fast—none at all—but the slower pace would make it easier to spot a tail.
“You’re pretty cool for having been chased by thugs,” he said.
“Getting upset isn’t going to change things. Besides, it uses energy I may need on down the road.”
She was right about that. They weren’t out of the woods yet, and despite her calm words, he knew she was wound tightly. He saw it in the compressed lips and tightly clenched hands. She was likely running on fumes. When they gave out...
He shook his head at the probable outcome. Even a Ranger could go only so far without refueling. Adrenaline layered upon danger would have her crashing in an hour or so. He needed to get her somewhere safe, somewhere she could rest.
He glanced at her, noted the grayness of her skin that spoke of exhaustion. Even with that and the shadows beneath her eyes, energy vibrated from her. “You don’t say much.”
“I figured you as the type who didn’t appreciate idle talk.”
“You figured right.”
She lifted a brow. “Then what’s the problem?”
“No problem. Just wondering what you did to make those yahoos so mad.”
“Let’s just say they woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
While he appreciated a woman who didn’t chatter all the time, he was looking for answers. “What do you know about the Collective?”
“Not as much as I’d like. I know Ronnie Winston’s been in federal lockup for the last year.”
“You came prepared,” he noted.
“When someone’s killed my mother and chasing me, I tend to take it personally.”
“How’d your mother get involved with the Collective?”
Laurel didn’t answer and, instead, asked a question of her own. “Jake Rabb and Shelley Judd, they’re brother and sister, right?”
He gave her credit for having done her homework on S&J. “Right. Shelley and Jake are good people. If anybody can help you, they can.”
“And you?”
“And me.” When she yawned widely, he said, “Why don’t you close your eyes for a while?”
“Why don’t I?” She made a half turn to the back seat. “Sammy, time for rest.”
Mace watched the exchange in the rearview mirror. Sammy relaxed his vigilant posture and stretched out on the seat, taking up the full length of it. A soft expression stole over Laurel’s face as she gazed at the dog.
“He’s special to you.”
“Sammy’s been through a lot and seen me through more. He’s the best. There were some who said he ought to be put down after he lost his leg.”
“Guess that didn’t sit well with you.”
Her partially closed eyes snapped open. Mace studied her. Weariness shrouded her, the lines fanning from the corners of her eyes deep, her smile there by an effort of will and little else.
“You guessed right. Sammy deserved better than that. He saved a lot of lives. In my book, that makes him a hero.”
“In mine, too,” Mace said, but her eyelids had drifted shut once more. He glanced over his shoulder at Sammy. “Don’t worry, boy. We’ll keep her safe.”
If Mace hadn’t known better, he’d have said that Sammy nodded his assent.
Mace maneuvered through traffic and considered S&J’s newest client. Beautiful. Intelligent. Courageous. A woman who was being hunted.
Laurel Landry was an intriguing woman, but she was a client and, as such, hands-off, even if he was attracted to her.
While in Jalal-Abad, he’d met an American woman working as a schoolteacher. Teachers were often in danger in Afghanistan and he’d admired her dedication to her students. Attraction had bloomed between them and, for the first time in his life, he’d found himself falling in love. It was a heady sensation, and he savored it.
He’d thought she returned his feelings, that is until he learned that teaching was a cover for her CIA job. Though the Army and the CIA occasionally worked together, their goals were often opposed. Any feelings for her had died when he discovered that she was using their relationship to advance her own agenda.
He’d learned his lesson and learned it well. He had no time for women now. Everything he had, everything he was, he gave to the job.
The job came first. Always.
THREE
Laurel awoke with a start, her thinking fuzzy as she tried to recall where she was. A glance at her watch had her groaning. She’d slept two hours.
Sammy! A shot of fear cleared her mind, and she started to turn around in the seat when Mace’s voice stopped her.
“He’s fine. He’s been snoring.” A pause. “Same as you.”
Her denial was instinctive. “I don’t snore.”
Mace flashed a grin. “Have it your way.”
“I never sleep in the middle of the day.” She needed to make that clear.
“You’ve probably never had members of the Collective on your tail either.”
“There is that.” She stretched. “I didn’t realize how tired I was until...”
“Until now. I get it. Adrenaline got you so far, then you crashed. It happens.”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For not making a big deal of it.”
Another flash of that grin. “You’re the one doing that.”
He was right. There was no need to apologize for her body’s need for rest. “Still, thanks.”
He waved that off. “We need to stop and gas up.”
Her stomach rumbled. “I could go for some food.”
“You got it.” He jerked the steering wheel to the right and exited the freeway.
It was then she noticed the men following them. “Got company,” she said.
Mace didn’t take his eyes from the road. “Let’s see how good you really are with that Sig.”
She drew herself up as far as possible in the limited confines of the truck. “I can shoot the wings from a gnat and send them flying.”
“Well, then, is your arm
broken?”
Laurel grabbed her Sig, the feel of it as familiar as her own hand.
She turned in her seat, rolled down the window. There was still the possibility that the driver wasn’t part of the Collective, just an innocent man who happened to be going the same direction they were, so she held her fire.
A bullet found its way into the upholstery, putting to rest any doubts. Firing from a moving vehicle took precision and timing. Television shows and movies made it look ridiculously easy. The truth was that only one in twenty marksmen could take out a tire in such circumstances.
Though she was a crack shot, she didn’t go for a tire but the engine. A bigger target increased the success rate exponentially, and a bullet hitting the engine could start a nice little fire, enough to keep the tangos busy for a time. She lined up her target and fired.
The ping of metal against metal told her she’d hit her mark. Seconds later, flames burst from the engine. “Nailed it.”
“Not bad.”
Laurel noted that Mace didn’t drive directly to a restaurant but took several detours as the two of them looked for any additional tails. Forty-five minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of a diner that had seen better days but was still trying. The pockmarked parking lot, where enthusiastic weeds grew between the cracks and a tired-looking sign promised home cooking, spoke of hard times.
Mace circled the lot. Laurel approved the precaution and paid attention to the location of windows and exits.
Sammy whined.
“Just a minute, boy, and I’ll take you on a walk and get you some food and water.”
Mace parked the truck by the rear door. “Might as well not advertise that we’re here.”
She nodded in approval. It wouldn’t take much deductive reasoning to figure that she and Mace would be looking for food and fuel. Mace at her side, Laurel took Sammy for a short walk, then set out a bowl and put food in it. She opened a bottle of water and filled his water bowl.
When Sammy finished, the three of them walked into the diner. She paused to talk to the man behind the counter. “Okay if I bring my dog with me?”
The man darted an impatient expression her way until he saw Sammy wearing his service dog vest, and whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips. “No problem. I recognize a soldier when I see one.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
He tapped his chest. “Marines. First Gulf War.”
“Rangers,” she said, pointing to Sammy and herself.
As though she and Mace had rehearsed it, each performed a grid search, doing a threat assessment. Laurel took the right half, noting a pair of teenage girls who couldn’t take their eyes off the boys in the next booth, an older couple who reached across the table to hold hands, a young woman nursing a cup of coffee. No one appeared menacing, and Laurel relaxed fractionally.
She watched as Mace performed his own search. Apparently he, too, didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary for he took her elbow and steered her to a booth at the back.
They vied for the coveted position of back-to-the-wall. The wry grin he gave her told her he knew what she was thinking and was amused by it. In the end, they sat side by side so that they both had their backs to the wall. Sammy took position at Laurel’s feet.
The smell of deep fat frying filled the air.
Mace opened a grease-stained menu. She did the same and eyed the limited choices. They both ordered meatloaf sandwiches and mashed potatoes with gravy. The food was plentiful and surprisingly good. Laurel ate every bite and considered ordering a slab of pie as well. She hadn’t eaten since last night and discovered she was ravenous.
“You’re sure you’ve had enough?” The quirk of his lips caused her own to twitch.
“I’m thinking of getting a piece of apple pie.”
“Go for it.”
She did, washing down the warm pastry and fruit with a chocolate shake. Fifteen minutes later, she sat back, lips curved in satisfaction.
“A full belly makes the world look brighter,” he observed, an appreciative smile breaking over his features.
“Spoken like a true soldier.” Her smile died as she considered the fact that she might no longer be a Ranger, not if the rehab for her shoulder failed.
“Now suppose you tell me what you did to get someone so riled up at you.”
She leaned forward, braced her elbows on the table and propped her chin on her hands. “I was home on medical leave when I got word that Bernice—my mother—had been killed.”
* * *
Mace listened, saying little, only nodding occasionally. All the while, he was processing what she told him, fitting it in with what he already knew about the Collective.
“Why your mother?”
“Bernice is...was...an attractive woman. In addition, she knew her way around a spreadsheet. She didn’t have much in the way of formal schooling, but she could work wonders with numbers. It’s likely she caught some man’s attention, and he discovered she could keep books and keep her mouth shut at the same time.” Her lips twisted at the last.
Mace noted that she referred to her mother by her first name. He filed that away, to be taken out and examined later.
“When she stole the ledger and the money, she sealed her fate.” The lack of emotion in Laurel’s voice as she spoke of her mother’s murder intrigued him almost as much as did the fact that the woman had worked for the Collective.
“How did you find the ledger and money? It makes sense that whoever killed her went through her things to find them.”
“I think they did. The trailer was a mess when I arrived. Bernice wasn’t the world’s best housekeeper, but she’d have never left flour on the counter the way I found it. She couldn’t abide weevils and that’s a sure way to attract them. I think the people who killed her looked for the ledger and money, then ran out of time when I showed up at the trailer for the funeral.”
“Still doesn’t tell me how you found them.”
“There was a receipt and a key for a storage locker in the pocket of a dress. I almost missed it. I went to the storage place and found her go-bag in the locker.”
At his raised brow, Laurel explained, “Bernice always kept anything of value in an old suitcase, her go-bag. No matter how many times we moved when I was growing up—and there were a lot—she took that suitcase with her. It was ugly as all get-out. I remember asking one time why she kept it and she told me that it wasn’t any of my business.
“I had to wonder what made that suitcase so important that she had to rent a storage locker for it when she barely had two nickels to put together.” Laurel rubbed her arms, as though suddenly cold. “That was when I discovered the ledger and money.”
“You made sure you weren’t followed?”
She gave him a what-do-you-think look. “By that time, I was feeling pretty paranoid. So, yeah, I made sure I wasn’t followed to the locker. Or I thought I did.” Her face scrunched into a frown. “But I guess I wasn’t as careful as I thought because a man was waiting for me when I started to leave. I took care of him, but Homer and his buddy picked up my tail. You know the rest.”
Considering she had narrowly escaped two sets of gunmen intent on killing her, the lady looked remarkably calm. “Tell me about making the Rangers.”
If she was confused by the change of subjects, she didn’t let on. “I earned my place like any other soldier. But nobody could leave it at that. They had to make a big to-do over it.”
“You have to admit that a female Ranger is news.”
“I wanted to be a Ranger. Just that. Not a female Ranger. Just a Ranger.”
He could all but see the impatience chafing at her. “Why does everyone have to goggle? I’m a woman. I’m also an Army Ranger. In my mind, the two fit just fine. The fuss the bigwigs in the Pentagon, not to mention the idiots in the media, make of it makes me see
red.”
Mace respected that, even admired it, but she was being naive if she thought women in the Rangers weren’t going to attract attention. “Get over it. You’re news.”
“Yesterday’s news.” Her shrug belied the annoyance in her eyes. “Can we talk about how we’re going to get out of here without taking company with us?”
“Company?”
She lifted her chin at the two men who’d just walked into the diner. There wasn’t anything about them to attract attention unless you looked closely and saw the way they carried themselves, their arms held slightly away from their bodies to accommodate the weapons that were no doubt holstered at their shoulders.
He should have spotted it. Would have, but he’d been engrossed in Laurel and the puzzle she presented.
“Get up and act like you’re going to the ladies’ room. Then wait outside the door.”
She didn’t bother asking questions, only did as he said, Sammy trotting at her heels. When she’d exited the room, Mace signaled for the check. He paid it, added a generous tip, and then casually inquired about the shortest route to Washington, DC. The young waitress gave directions to the freeway. He nodded and thanked her.
He made his way to where the restrooms were located and found Laurel. Pushing open the door to the men’s room, he made certain it was empty, then gestured for her to follow him inside.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“We wait.”
It didn’t take long.
The larger man came in first. Mace grabbed him by the arm, twisted him around so that he fell heavily against the sink. The thug reared back, but Mace was ready and slammed the man’s head into the stained porcelain. The man gave a single grunt, then made a “no more” gesture. Mace whipped out flexi-cuffs from his back pocket and quickly bound the assailant’s hands together.
Sammy growled, and Laurel smoothed her hand over his hackles. “Next one’s mine.”
“Go for it.”
When his buddy didn’t return from the restroom, the second man showed up. “Virgil?” He gave the door a cautious push. “Virge, you there?”
Inherited Threat Page 3