by Paula Graves
Show me where they took you, son. Give me a sign, and I’ll follow as long as it takes.
IF MIKE COOPER HADN’T been in grave danger, Natalie might have felt sorry for Dusty Devlin. The young deputy cracked like an egg on the first question, clearly torn apart by what he’d done. “I swear, I didn’t know who he was. He just said his name was Tomás, and he needed someone to help him keep an eye on Doc Teague. I didn’t know why.”
“How much did he pay you?” Massey asked.
“Two thousand a month.” Devlin slanted a bleak look at Natalie. “I know it’s a small price to sell your soul—”
“It paid the hospital bills?” Massey asked.
Devlin nodded. “Things were so bad, we were talking about letting the state take our daughter—we couldn’t keep up with the bills, no matter how many hours I took on or how much the insurance covered. Janet can’t work—Nina needs to be watched twenty-four/seven, and the price of a private nurse would eat up anything Janet could make—” He buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just needed the money so badly—”
Natalie exchanged a look with Massey, who looked sick. She couldn’t blame him. Later, when she found Mike and knew he was safe, she’d find a way to help Dusty and his wife, but right now, she had to concentrate on J.D.’s son. “Does Tomás live here?”
“I don’t know. I meet him out on Route 8 near Hansbury, first Thursday every month. Since January.”
“What information have you given him?” Natalie asked.
“Nothing he couldn’t find out at Margo’s, I swear. I told him when the Teagues’ grandkids came to visit. I told him their daddy is in town—I told him about that shooting—” Devlin looked wildly from Natalie to Massey, alarm darkening in his eyes. “Was he behind the shooting? Oh, God, please tell me he wasn’t—”
“We don’t know,” Massey answered honestly. “But I think he’s behind the kidnapping of the Teagues’ grandson.”
Devlin turned pale. Natalie grabbed a nearby trash can and set it in front of Devlin just before he threw up.
“Route 8 near Hansbury—why does that sound familiar to me?” Massey murmured as they waited out Devlin’s nausea.
“It’s mostly wilderness from there to the county line, but—” Natalie cut off short, sucking in a quick gasp. “The abandoned Gray Trading Company warehouse is out there. Probably swallowed by kudzu by now, but if Hamilton Gray’s part of this whole mix—”
“That might be where he’d hide a bunch of South American, drug-cartel thugs,” Massey finished for her.
“I’ve got to go.” She waved at Devlin, who’d emptied his stomach and now sat moaning at the interview table. “See if you can get anything more out of him.”
“Don’t you dare go anywhere without backup, Becker!”
Natalie waved as she hurried from the room, not ready to promise anything.
She had a feeling extreme stealth might be the only thing that could help Mike Cooper now.
Chapter Eighteen
J.D.’s phone vibrated against his hip. He pulled it out and saw Natalie’s number in the display. “Anything from Gray?”
“No, but we have a new direction to look.” She told him about a deputy on the take named Devlin and the abandoned warehouse off Route 8. “Where are you now?”
“Hitting a dead end,” he admitted, glancing at the others. “Mike tried to leave us a trail to follow, but it ended on County Road 12. We’re pretty sure they had a vehicle waiting here.”
“Get in the car and go west on County Road 12—it’ll take you right to Hansbury Crossroads. Take a right on Route 8 and circle north until you reach the old entrance to Gray Trading Company. That was the old distribution center for Gray Global Partners before they went public and started expanding their territory. The place has been abandoned for years, but it may still have enough structures standing to be a pretty good hideout for a bunch of people used to living in the Sanselmo jungle.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Come in from the south.” Natalie lowered her voice to an intense half whisper. “Be careful. Don’t do anything to spook them. They’re holding a hell of a lot of cards.”
“They’re holding the only card that matters,” J.D. growled. “My son. I’ll be careful. But I want you out of this.”
“Hell, no.”
“Natalie, it’s done. You’ve been a great help to me, more than I can ever repay, but it’s time for you to go back to your life and stop worrying about mine.”
Natalie was silent for a moment, and J.D. knew he’d hurt her. But if that’s what it took to make her go as far away from Los Tiburones and Eladio Cordero as possible, he could live with that.
“I have to go,” he added. “Stay out of it. You’ve done enough.” He hung up the phone.
“Harsh,” Luke murmured as they hiked quickly back to Rick’s Expedition.
“She wants to go after Cordero and his men. Probably without backup, since that seems to be her way.” J.D. pulled out his SIG and checked the clip. Full. One in the chamber. And three boxes of ammo stored in his lightweight backpack in the Expedition. “But I need her to stay safe.”
Rick followed his directions to Route 8. At the crossroads, his cousin looked at J.D. “We should split up. Surround them.”
J.D. nodded. “Jake, you and Gabe take the north entrance. It’ll be the most exposed, and you’re the best trackers. Luke and Sam, circle around from the west. Rick and I’ll come from the southeast. Keep your phones on vibrate and text as needed.”
“Wish I had a radio,” Rick grumbled as he handed the keys to Luke, who they agreed would park the SUV on the western edge of the woods before they hiked in. He and J.D. set off on foot toward the south, looking for a likely entrance spot to the dense piney woods. They reached a break in the underbrush growing like weeds along the edge of the roadside. “Quiet from here on,” J.D. warned. Rick answered with a nod.
They entered the woods, heading northwest.
MIKE WAS SO SCARED HE could barely think straight, but so far he hadn’t cried once. He considered that a victory. Cordero’s men hadn’t hidden their conversation from him, rattling off their plans in Spanish. He guessed they thought he didn’t know how to speak the language. He didn’t let them know he did.
His dad had taught him and Cissy both to speak the language when he was little, and then his Aunt Abby had taken his Spanish lessons to a whole new level when she moved to Gossamer Ridge last winter. She said he was a natural. He guessed he was, because even though the men holding him captive spoke rapid-fire Spanish with a thick accent, he was able to keep up with most of it.
They were using him to get to his Uncle Luke. After they had Luke, they’d kill everyone else they could get their hands on.
Mike couldn’t let that happen. He knew his dad thought he hadn’t been a good father to him and Cissy, but he was wrong. His dad had taught him the really important lessons. Like doing the right thing, no matter the cost. Taking care of your family, no matter what.
He had no doubt his father was already on the way to find him. Sooner or later, he’d show up. And he’d be killed on sight.
So Mike had to get away from the thug holding him captive before that happened.
He wasn’t sure where the rest of the men were—maybe in that crumbling building about a half mile through the woods. They seemed to be using it as a base of operations. But for some reason, they put Mike and his prison guard in a small tent deeper in the woods, away from Cordero and his men.
The thug’s name was Manuel. He looked slow-witted and sleepy. Mike guessed they’d stuck poor Manuel with Mike because they didn’t consider a thirteen-year-old kid any sort of threat, especially if he was bound hand and foot.
Another mistake.
Manuel’s eyes drifted shut. A second later, he left out a snuffling snore. Mike waited to see if the sound would wake him.
It didn’t. Mike quickly bent and pulled his legs through his arms, bringing his bo
und hands to the front of the body. From there, he twisted until he could reach his right pocket, where he kept his pocket knife. Idiots hadn’t even searched him for weapons. Apparently they didn’t have a high opinion of the resourcefulness of American youth.
He’d like to introduce them to his Boy Scout troop.
He pulled out the knife from the pocket and flicked it open, keeping his eyes on Manuel. The guard kept snoring lightly.
With a few strokes of the sharp blade, Mike made quick work of the plastic cuffs binding his hands. He cut the cuffs on his feet and stretched his limbs, wincing as they painfully tingled back to life. Manuel sat between him and the tent exit, but his knife would make quick work of the thin nylon. He just had to find a way to cut through without making a lot of noise.
He could slip out beneath the tent if he could just open about fifteen inches with his knife. It would be enough to allow him to shimmy under the nylon.
Keeping one eye on Manuel, Mike sliced through the nylon, doing his best to muffle the sound with his body. He slit open about twelve inches without waking Manuel and decided it would be enough. Listening hard, he tried to hear if they had put any guards outside the tent. He heard nothing—no coughs, no breathing, no footsteps on the loamy forest floor.
Now or never, he thought.
In one swift movement, he slid under the tear in the tent and escaped into the woods. Outside, he paused, waiting to hear Manuel rumble to life inside. But all he heard was another soft snuffling sound.
He let himself breathe before the black spots forming behind his eyes started moving together into a void. Warm, humid air rushed into his lungs, breathing hope into him.
The warehouse and Eladio Cordero’s men lay north.
Mike headed south.
THERE WAS AN OLD DIRT track that led through Hansbury Woods from the south. Nobody used it anymore, now that the Gray Trading Company had become Gray Global Partners, moving their warehouse and distribution center to the port city of Mobile. But the faint footprint of the old access road remained to guide Natalie quickly north toward the warehouse.
They would have a perimeter set up. Something to warn them of intruders. She’d studied El Cambio and the cartels a bit when she was preparing for a Homeland Security drill. So she knew they believed strongly in eschewing high-tech security. They believed it created more problems than it solved—especially for the largely poor and uneducated street thugs who made up the bulk of their merry little band of killers and torturers. So she kept an eye out for human scouts, who’d probably make up the first line of defense against intruders.
She saw movement in her peripheral vision and froze, turning her head slowly. Someone was coming through the woods at a quick but furtive pace.
She could see only movement at first, a swish of a bush, the shimmy of a tree as someone passed close by. But after a few seconds, the person came into view for a brief moment. Her breath caught, hot and tight in her chest. Mike.
She started moving toward him, only to see him reverse course, moving in a zigzag to the southwest. She didn’t dare call out to halt his forward movement, but she was afraid that his sudden rush would send him headlong into a perimeter guard.
She ran to catch up, not bothering with stealth. She saw him turn his head for a second to see who was in pursuit. His eyes widened almost comically when he spotted her.
He stopped in place and let her catch up, throwing himself into her arms as soon as she was close enough.
She hugged him close, stroking his sweat-dampened hair. “Shh. I’ve got you.”
“They’re in a warehouse—they were keeping me in a tent, but the guard fell asleep—we have to get out of here!” He spoke in a rattling whisper, his eyes lifting to meet hers. “Now.”
She nodded, heading him south again. But they hadn’t gone twenty yards when a volley of shots rang out behind them, splintering a nearby tree. Natalie pushed Mike firmly in front of her and kept going, turning only long enough to return fire.
“There’ll be a dozen guys on us in seconds,” Mike gasped as he ran wildly in front of her.
She knew he was right. But there was no alternative to running. And as long as she kept herself—and the rifle plates in her Kevlar vest—between the shooter and Mike, he had a chance to escape.
“Just run,” she called to him, picking up speed.
GUNFIRE SPLIT THE AIR, a rat-a-tat volley that J.D. knew came from an AK-47. It came from surprisingly close by—no more than a couple of hundred yards.
Beside him, Rick spat out an answering round of profanities. J.D.’s pocket vibrated. He almost ignored it until he realized his brothers might know more about the gunfire than he did.
But it was Gabe, asking if he knew where the gunfire had come from. Close by, J.D. answered and sent the text.
“Someone’s coming,” Rick whispered.
A second later, J.D. heard crashing sounds in the woods nearby, and spotted a flash of blue streaking through the trees. Mike—that was his blue T-shirt, he realized, his heart rattling like a snare drum.
Without another thought, he dashed forward into the woods, uncaring whether or not his son’s pursuers spotted him. Running at an angle, he raced to intercept Mike before the unthinkable happened. As he ran, it sank in that his son was not alone.
Natalie was right behind him, her eyes wide with fear but her jaw set with the fierce determination of a mother bear protecting her young. She locked eyes with him for a brief, electric moment, stumbling a little as she hit a ragged patch of undergrowth.
A second later, J.D. spotted the gunman. He was only fifty yards behind them, his rifle aimed squarely at Natalie’s back.
J.D. whipped his SIG from the holster and fired, but a split second too late. By the time J.D.’s shot hit him square in the chest, the gunman had already fired two rapid shots toward Natalie and Mike. Natalie made a loud grunting noise and fell facedown in the underbrush.
J.D. scrambled to Natalie’s side, his heart filling his throat. Please God, please God, please God—
She groaned when he touched her, and he felt the thick shape of a vest under her blouse. Had it done its job?
“I’m okay. I’ll never breathe again, but I’m okay,” she murmured. “There’ll be more coming.”
A flurry of gunfire in the distance seemed to punctuate her words. J.D. looked at Rick, torn.
“Get them out of here. I’ll go help your brothers.” Rick headed into the woods. On the way, J.D. saw, he grabbed the AK-47 from the hands of the dead gunman.
“Can you walk?” J.D. asked Natalie.
She sat up, wincing. “The rifle plate stopped the shot. But man, it hurts.”
J.D. helped her up, taking a quick second to look his son up and down. Mike gazed up at him, his eyes bright with excitement and fear. “You okay, buddy?”
He nodded. “Let’s get her to a hospital.”
J.D. smiled at his son’s solemn words. Kid was growing up right before his eyes.
He called the sheriff’s department and found out that units were already on the way to the area. J.D. told them to make sure they had heavy weaponry—they were up against big guns.
They heard the sirens before they reached Route 8. “Is Uncle Luke gonna be okay?” Mike asked as they tried to flag down one of the cruisers zooming up the road.
“I wouldn’t want to be those bad guys,” J.D. said with a confident smile, though beneath the smile he pasted on for his son’s sake, he was terrified that his family was being slaughtered in the woods as they spoke.
“I’m fine,” Natalie said. “If you need to go—”
He turned to look at her. Her face was pale and pinched with pain, but her eyes met his with strength and understanding.
“No. I need to be with my son.” He lowered his voice. “I need to be with you.”
Her eyes melted, but one of the siren-blazing cars slowed to a stop beside them, keeping her from replying. It was Massey in a big black sedan.
“Get in.”
“She needs to go to a hospital,” J.D. said quickly. “She took a bullet in the vest.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re on the way to the hospital,” Massey said firmly.
J.D. helped her into the back of the car, trying not to look back at the woods where his family was carrying out the fight of their lives.
I’m where I have to be, he thought.
And knew it was true.
NO BROKEN RIBS. NO INTERNAL injuries. Just a massive bruise that would hurt for a few days but would do no lasting harm.
Natalie insisted on leaving the E.R. as soon as they gave her a clean bill of health, even though the doctors thought she should rest there overnight, just to be sure. She found J.D. and Mike huddled together in the E.R. waiting room, their eyes on Massey, who stood outside on the terrace, talking on the phone.
“Any news?” she asked.
J.D. whipped his head around. “The shooting’s over. We’re waiting to hear the casualty count.” He cocked his head. “Should you be out of bed?”
She smiled, wishing Mike weren’t in earshot. “Just a bruise. I’m fine. Why don’t we go to the scene and see what we can find?”
“No need—everyone at the scene is headed here.” Massey had come back inside now and crossed to where they sat. “Nobody’s giving me names, Cooper. Sorry. But the survivors should be here any minute.”
J.D.’s cell phone rang. He checked the display. “Luke,” he said with a soft sigh. He headed outside to the terrace. Natalie and Mike followed him.
“Luke?” J.D. listened for a second, his eyes fluttering shut. A smile crept over his face, and Natalie felt a weight lift from her chest. Opening his eyes again, he saw their interested looks and punched the speaker button.
“Cordero’s dead. I killed him myself,” Luke said. “We’re all fine—Jake twisted his ankle, but it should be fine by morning. Cordero and his crew didn’t seem to think we’d try an ambush of our own. Hell, maybe they bought their own hype.”