Protector Of Convenience (Rogue Protectors Book 2)

by Victoria Paige

  “On U.S. soil?” Bristow pressed.

  “Yes.”

  “Because we can’t let someone as dangerous as Charles Bennett fall into the hands of a megalomaniac arms dealer.” Migs was looking at Andrade.

  “I might cop to being a megalomaniac but I take issue with being labeled an arms dealer,” Andrade said mildly.

  Migs sighed. “I wasn’t referring to you. But we know South America is a hotbed for arms dealers right now given the situation in Venezuela. All I’m saying is you have an interest in seeing stability in the region. I’ll admit it’s even altruistic. So we call a truce and let’s roll.”

  Silence.

  He was the soldier, not the husband. He could overlook his competition with Andrade with regards to Ariana for the greater good.

  Even John was surprised given his brows had shot to his hairline, his jaw slackening.

  Andrade regarded him with disbelief as well, but he extended his arm. “Truce.”

  Their handshake was firm.

  No ego.

  No jealousy.

  As for Migs, hope in getting Ariana back was kindled.

  24

  “Just one more.”

  Ariana watched the top of Charly’s head as the doctor drew blood from her veins, hopefully for the last time. Then her gaze lifted to a mystery man standing in the shadows against a sheeting of plastic. He had on protective gear, so his features were not distinct. She’d finally figured out her surroundings this morning. She was in a makeshift structure made of several layers of plastic. Operating theater-like lights hung from above her. She certainly hoped they wouldn’t cut her open and do an autopsy on her body if she died.

  “What day is it?” she asked Charly when the virologist turned away to make notations in a chart.

  “You asked me that this morning.”

  “I feel like I’ve been here for days.”

  “Three.”

  The man against the wall moved forward, but Charly stopped him. “Enough with that. It’s interfering with my tests.”

  “You’re the one who kept dosing me,” Ariana accused the stranger. Her stomach lurched. “I feel nauseated.”

  “It’s the sedative.” Charly turned to Mystery Man again.

  He retreated several steps and took position against the opaque wall.

  “I don’t need you here, Silba. Can you leave us alone?”

  “Benito wants me to make sure that you are working ‘round the clock on this.”

  “I’ve hardly slept in the past twenty-four hours,” Charly retorted. “He shouldn’t have made promises to his buyers. I get nervous when you watch me and it’s delaying my work.”

  Silba crossed his arms and squared his stance.

  “I’m serious,” Charly snapped. “I’ll stop working and you can dose me with Etorphine. Then we’ll see how pleased your boss will be.”

  Ariana wanted to clap, but her hands were still cuffed to the hospital bed, but she held her breath as a wave of violence poured from the man.

  He turned around and ducked between the sheets. Then Ariana thought she heard whistling before something sounding like rain on sheets drowned out the melody.

  “Was he whistling the whole time I was unconscious?”

  Charly grinned. “Yes. Why? Did you like it?”

  “No, it’s like an annoying tune in your head that you can’t get rid of.”

  Ariana didn’t know why she shared a laugh with Charly. It was hard not to like her. She appeared to hate Benito and Silba, but maybe this was a ploy to win her cooperation, to get Ariana relaxed and trusting before she stabbed her in the neck and cut her open in the name of science.

  Ugh, her thoughts had turned morbid.

  It was this place. It reeked of the dead.

  “What will they do to me when you’re done?” she asked. Or pretend to be done. Charly whispered to her that she’d been using her blood to run through a virus simulator to fib the results. But the virologist could only delay for so long before Benito would have both their heads.

  Charly looked at the vials in front of her and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “I see.”

  “You’re very calm about this.” The virologist looked at her.

  “I always wondered if I deserved to be happy,” Ariana whispered.

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Raul destroyed so many lives and he didn’t get a chance to atone for them.”

  Understanding dawned in the other woman’s eyes and they hardened in rebuke. “You’re not blaming yourself for what your brother did, right?”

  “No, not anymore. I think I’ve paid more than enough,” she replied. Her feelings about Raul were at peace. Because of her brother she’d been shunned, kidnapped, poked, and prodded. She’d more than atoned for her brother’s sins. But the missing piece was wondering whether her brother loved her at all, and now she knew. In his own twisted way, he’d been protecting her in the end. Ariana would take that as a sign of love. Her heart was free to trust the emotion again. “I may still have a chance at happiness. I found people who are willing to accept me even being the sister of the most notorious crime lord who ever lived.” Her thoughts strayed to Migs and Abbi Mena. “But I need you to help me. Give me this chance.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean?”

  A vehicle screeched in the distance.

  Then the ground shook as a thunderous boom sounded like a train smashed into a wall.

  Faint pops of rifles followed, growing louder and louder until a full-blown firefight erupted in the background.

  Ariana smiled. “You asked me why I was calm about this? Because I knew my husband would come for me.”

  “East wall,” Nadia said over comms.

  “I’m over the fucking east wall,” Migs growled. “There’s no fucking window.” His eyes scanned the walls of the Carillo mansion. It was built in the golden age of the roaring twenties but had obviously fallen behind in its upkeep. The grass was tall and jungle-like vines hung from the trees.

  “The blueprint says you should be staring at a wall with a window.”

  “There’s no window, Powell.” Bristow replied more calmly than Miguel. Their team deplaned in Poza Rica, thirty miles from their target in Venustiano Carranza. They were met by a team of Special Activities Division forces operating in the area against the cartels. Ponce-Neto had provided some intel on the ground, but it was the first time anyone had infiltrated the mansion.

  Satellite images couldn’t see past the thick growth of trees.

  But as Migs studied the length of the wall, he saw exactly what had happened. “They filled the windows with cinder blocks so no one could see in. In its place, there’s an exhaust fan.”

  “Does it look recent?”

  “No, they restored it pretty good. Couldn’t tell.” Narcos were experts at concealment. “How many guards are circulating in this section?”

  “You’ve got two outside that wall.”

  “And you’re certain Ariana is in this wing?”

  “I’m showing constant heat signatures in the middle of a big room, could have been the drawing room. There’s some movement, maybe three to four people at a time, but there is always one.”

  Nadia had already told Migs it looked like she was elevated on a bed. As much as he wanted to rush in and grab his wife, going all Rambo wasn’t going to work. They needed a coordinated attack so no one could get to her before they grabbed her.

  Migs and Bristow dropped to the ground and lowered their night vision goggles. He immediately saw the two guards Nadia pointed out. They crouch-walked through the shrubs and lush trees, careful to step lightly and not snap dried branches.

  “Don’t act yet,” John warned through comms. He was leading a team of special ops on the other side of the mansion to retrieve the virus samples that—according to their intel—were stored in the basement. In what form, no one knew.

  Levi and another team were providing the distraction.
/>   “Wasn’t going to.”

  “Just reminding you about the last time.”

  Migs grunted. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really, but now they were aware that the criminal underbelly was using high technology as well. The last time Migs slit the throat of a hostile, that person was hooked up to biometric sensors that alerted of death. So now, any approach needed to be coordinated, the assault simultaneous.

  “I’m in position,” Levi said. “You guys ready?”

  The teams checked in, and all were set to go.

  A screaming of tires pierced the darkness. The guards in front of them started running toward the gate until a military personnel carrier smashed through the barrier and judging from the inhuman screams, it took down some cartel thugs too.

  Migs and Bristow sprung out of their concealment and sprinted toward the mansion. Bristow unloaded a personal battering ram and did quick work of splintering the door. He gave it a kick until it crashed open.

  “Two tangoes coming at you, East team,” Nadia called them by their mission call signs. Migs was East One, Bristow was East Two. “West One,” she addressed Garrison. “Six coming your way.”

  If indeed Nadia’s assumptions were correct, most of the hostiles were congregated in an area on the opposite side of where Ariana was being kept. Because of the packed heat signatures, it was difficult to tell how many men Carillo had on premises.

  Migs quickly fired off a shot. Bristow took down another.

  “Watch out!” Nadia said.

  Miguel managed to duck, and went under the hostile, getting in behind the man and breaking his neck.

  “Damn, where did that guy come from?” Nadia muttered. “They’re swarming back into the house,” she said urgently. Static noises filled the airwaves and when her voice came on, she said, “They know you’re after Ariana.”

  “Shit.”

  Migs and Bristow ran in the direction of the drawing room and stopped at the sight of sheets of plastic hanging from the ceiling forming a containment in the middle of the room. There was a tube leading into the room with pipes overhead. A decontamination chamber, if he were to guess.

  He looked at Bristow, who nodded, and they pulled up their respirator masks. Migs led with the barrel of his rifle, finding and splitting the slit where the plastic sheets met. A spray activated and rained down on them. It smelled of bleach and antiseptic.

  When they made it through, a woman in PPE already had her arms up, but it was the sight of Ariana, sitting up and thrilled to see him that captivated his attention. It was a split second before fury took over and he saw her wrist cuffed to the bed rails.

  He stalked into the room, keeping his weapon trained on the lab woman. “Name.”

  “Charly Bennett.”

  “Charles Bennett?” Migs did a double take.

  “I guess.”

  “What do you mean you guess?” Bristow barked and gestured to Migs that he had the other woman. He rushed to Ariana’s side and knocked off the cuff with the butt of his rifle. “Are you okay?”

  Her lips tipped up. “I am now.”

  He bent over to lift but she twisted away. “Don’t!”

  “What the fuck,” he growled.

  Ariana’s eyes frantically sought the other woman’s. “You’re certain I’m not contagious?”

  “Yes,” Doctor Bennett said as Bristow patted her down. “I didn’t lie when I said I was giving you a placebo.”

  Migs didn’t wait for another second and yanked his respirator down and gave his wife a brief, but fierce kiss. He helped her down, noting she was wearing scrubs and there were slippers at the bottom of the bed.

  “We’re in the basement!” Garrison barked through their comm channel. “The virus containment chamber has a code.”

  “What’s the code?” Migs snapped at the virologist.

  The doctor hesitated.

  “Now!” he pressed.

  The doctor rattled off an alpha-numeric code. Migs repeated it to Garrison.

  “Got it. We’re in,” John said.

  Turning to Ariana, he said. “Can you walk?”

  “Yes.”

  Hitching his rifle over his right shoulder, he took her hand.

  “Hostiles are almost on you! Find cover!” Nadia said.

  He split the plastic sheets with his rifle and looked back at Bristow, patiently waiting for the doctor to pack up shit in a pelican case.

  “Sure that’s safe?” Migs called to Doctor Bennett.

  “I’m not an idiot,” she snapped.

  Bristow shot him a long-suffering look. “Garrison ordered we pack everything possible.”

  Of course he did. Andrade would probably be ecstatic, too.

  He pulled Ariana forward and hesitated before the sterilization tube.

  “She doesn’t need it and you can cover her,” Charly said. “But if it would make everyone feel better”—she nodded to a stack of towels—“just dry her afterward.”

  “Just get me out of here,” Ariana said.

  He lifted Ariana and ran quickly through the tube, rushing with her behind the nearest wall and quickly toweled her dry. Then he leaned forward to take a peek around the wall, and quickly retracted when a bullet splintered its wooden frame.

  Benito Carillo.

  His cowboy hat was a dead giveaway.

  He and a group of men were barricaded behind a sweeping staircase and the massive pedestal table at the center of the foyer. Cartel bosses were usually in the thick of the fight with their men which explained the loyalties they had for their leader. Benito obviously was no different.

  And they were standing between Migs and his group and freedom.

  “Where the hell is Garrison?”

  “Three minutes,” the spook muttered. “Taking heavy fire.”

  “What’s the matter?” Benito screamed. “Scared to come out? Come on, puta. Let’s see what you’re made of.”

  Migs looked at Bristow. Did they have three minutes?

  “Come on, you cowards.” A barrage of automatic fire sprayed the wall they were hiding behind. Ariana cowered against Migs. What protected them was the lower portion of the structure that was made of concrete or marble, but the wood paneling above them was disintegrating with the gunfire.

  “Where the fuck are you, John?”

  “Pinned down.” Was the response.

  “Walker,” Bristow nodded to the chandelier above the heavy foyer table that was the lone source of light for Benito and his men. Migs nodded.

  His partner aimed and shot at the fixture, instantly plunging the room in darkness followed in a split second by the shattering of glass. Migs lowered his NVGs and swept into the room, a burn ripped through his side, but he capped two hostiles in the head. Others fell from Bristow’s shots. Head on a swivel, he swung his scope right and left and picked off another man behind the stairwell. That man screamed and fired blindly. A force slammed into Mig’s chest, knocking him on his back, but adrenaline fueled his muscles and he managed to lever up on his side, and, balancing on an elbow, pumped two successive rounds into the hostile’s body.

  The almighty searing in his chest finally stole his strength and he found himself staring at the ceiling.

  Silence.

  “Migs!” Ariana screamed.

  “I’m okay,” he forced out. “Stand back.”

  Bristow rushed to his side. “You okay, man?”

  Migs, unable to speak another word, waved him forward to check the last man he shot.

  “None of these are Benito.”

  What?

  Migs needed to see it for himself. Taking superhuman effort to rise to his feet, he staggered over, every pull from his lungs an effort as a bullet most likely bruised his ribs. He just prayed none of them were broken. Thank God for the SAPI plates.

  A cowboy hat sat a few feet away, but the body beside it wasn’t the cartel boss.

  A pained cry had him swinging around and he saw Ariana frozen near the table. Migs cursed as he stalked back to her, igno
ring the protest in his ribs. “There’s broken glass!” he growled as he sank to his knees and inspected her foot. Big shards of glass had pierced through her thin slipper.

  “I wasn’t thinking, and I couldn’t see,” Ariana whispered. “I was worried.”

  “I have first aid in my case,” Doctor Bennett said.

  “We’re good,” Bristow countered. “I have one in mine too.”

  With two medical personnel on their team, he felt better. It was just a cut, but Migs was more concerned with what was done to Ariana in that makeshift lab.

  Movement at the door had them tensing and raising their weapons.

  “Looks like we’re late to the party,” Garrison announced, but his eyes were on Doctor Bennett. Before he could say anything, a blast rocked the courtyard.

  “What the … ?” Migs sprung to his feet and instinctively tucked Ariana closer to him.

  “It came from the hillside,” Nadia said. “Hit our vehicle. Levi, are you okay?”

  No answer.

  “James, do you copy?” Garrison yelled, hurrying back outside with a few of the special ops team.

  “Guys, we’ve got another problem,” their analyst announced. “Jeeps are rolling in. Looks like Mexican Army.”

  “Goddammit,” Migs growled. “This just keeps getting better.” He was about to lift Ariana when she resisted. “I’m okay.”

  “Your foot is bleeding.”

  “I can hop,” she insisted. “If I slow you down, then you can carry me.”

  “Wait for my signal to come out,” he ordered.

  Just as he and Bristow cleared the door, renewed heavy arms fire erupted in the courtyard. The truck that Levi used to plow the gates was in front of them. Migs gestured for the women to come out. Ariana and the doctor darted past the team to hunker down behind the truck’s engine block and giant tire. Garrison rounded the front of the vehicle, dragging an unconscious Levi with him.

  “Mexican Army,” Garrison informed them through the din of artillery blasts.

  “Think you could bargain with them?” Migs shouted back.

  John shook his head. “Carillo has them on payroll. At least in this part of town.”

  “The entrance is blocked.” Nadia said.