Double Down

by Carolina Mac

  Standing in front of the sink, she rinsed the carafe and was about to measure out the Panamanian coffee when she felt arms slip around her waist. Thinking Jesse was up, she leaned back and turned her face to kiss him.

  Race took full advantage, spun her around and locked her in a heated kiss. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, shoved her against the counter and wedged his erection solidly into her crotch.

  “Don’t, Race.” Startled by her mistake, Annie called out too loudly. She lowered her voice and whispered. “Don’t do that. I’m telling you, don’t do that again.”

  Race stood in front of her grinning, wearing only a pair of snug-fitting jeans, his entire upper body covered in ink. “That was fantastic, girl. I know you liked it too.”

  Annie pointed to the other end of the cavernous kitchen. “Go, sit down and let me get the coffee ready.”

  Race took a step closer and pulled her close to him. “Why would I want coffee, when I have you?”

  “What’s going on here, Race?” Jesse stomped into the kitchen in his boxers, color high on his face. “Get your hands off my wife.”

  Race planted his feet and took the stance all too familiar to Annie. “Make me.”

  “All right, I will.” Jesse made a fist and charged around the island. Annie stepped in front of him.

  “Stop it. Both of you.”

  “Why are you yelling, Mommy?” Jackson ran into the kitchen in his pajamas. “Is Jesse being mean to Daddy?”

  Annie scooped Jackson up and hugged him. “No. Jesse would never be mean to Daddy.” She carried him over to the harvest table. “Sit down here and I’ll get you some juice.”

  “Sit beside Daddy,” said Race, pulling out a chair. “Don’t sit near that mean old Jesse Quantrall.” Race tossed his long hair and laughed.

  Jesse pointed at Race and said, “We’re not done.”

  TRAVIS EASED the chopper lower, closer to the canopy in hopes of obtaining better visibility. “Can hardly see through the mist rising off the vegetation,” said Enright, “to get a fix on the compound.”

  Blaine sat in the seat behind with a map spread out on his lap. “Must be directly below us, according to the coordinates.”

  Farrell was glued to the window on the right side of the chopper, “There,” he pointed, “I can see a row of trucks.”

  “Yep,” said Enright, “I see the old house. We’re over top now.”

  Blaine made a quick sketch of the layout with approximate distances between the house, storage sheds, bunk houses, and other buildings.

  “Getting all of it, Blacky?” hollered Travis over the noise of the engine.

  “Yep, it’s rough, but I’ve got it down.”

  Farrell clicked off frames on the Nikon.

  “The trees are too thick now,” said Enright. “That was our one chance.”

  Travis circled away from the compound and headed back to the airstrip.

  FABIANA CREPT down the back stairway that led to the kitchen. During the roaring twenties, the house had been custom built for a coffee magnate, his wife and six children. The third floor, with its separate stairway, housed a large domestic staff.

  Sanchez took pride in bragging about his house to all who would listen. And he told the tale with relish about how he had murdered the present-day owners and taken the place for himself.

  Fabiana’s heart beat double time as she pushed the door open at the bottom of the stairway and peered into the kitchen. The smell of meat roasting in the oven hung heavy on the air and reminded her how hungry she was.

  Through the open lace curtains on the other side of the room, she could see Angelique on the back porch chatting up the guard as he sipped his coffee. He smiled as Angelique told him a long story, waving her arms and using elaborate

  gestures to hold his attention.

  Fabiana took a deep breath, and another, then crossed the kitchen as silently as possible. She slipped out the door and without looking to right or left, she ran. Over the porch, down the steps, through the vegetable garden, behind the tool shed and into the trees beyond.

  Monkeys screamed overhead, trying their best to give her away. She hated monkeys and they hated her back. They would be the death of her. The rainforest closed around her with a damp heat—humid and breathless—but she didn’t care. Not pausing for a moment to give into the all-encompassing fear that filled her gut, she ran. Branches caught at her, roots tripped her up and she kept going and going, pushing herself until she was unable to breathe.

  She collapsed onto a fallen log and rested, wondering where she was in the larger scheme of things. How far had she run from the compound? How far was the road? Was she going in the right direction?

  Her heart beat faster than it ever had in her entire life, and she tried to calm her fear. That’s when she heard it. A helicopter. She looked up, but of course couldn’t see the sky. The canopy was dense—almost solid green overhead, and full of jungle life. Almost as many species lived up in the treetops as on the jungle floor. Poking through here and there were fingers of sun, giving assurance that the sky was indeed up there somewhere.

  Who is it? Is Enright looking for me? Please find me, Jacko. Please.

  BLAINE PICKED up a couple of pizzas and a case of beer for the strategy meeting in their hotel room. Settled around the table in the corner, they were about to start kicking ideas around when Blaine’s cell rang.

  He checked the screen, held up a finger and stepped away from the table. “Mrs. Flores, sorry I haven’t been in touch. Are you well?”

  She talked so fast in Spanish, he missed most of it and adlibbed an answer. “I haven’t found her yet, but I know where she is, if that’s any comfort. I’ll call as soon as I have something solid to tell you.”

  He walked back to the table shaking his head. “Shit, what if I have to go back to Austin… never mind.”

  “Was that Mrs. Flores, boss?” asked Farrell. “She must be worried.”

  “She’s crying again. The poor woman.”

  “Remind me not to do that to our mom,” said Farrell. “I don’t want her crying.”

  Enright looked puzzled as he studied Farrell’s straw-colored hair and fair skin and Blaine’s black eyes and hair and his Latino complexion. “Are you two brothers?”

  Blaine smiled. “Foster brothers. We have the same mom.”

  “Cool.”

  Blaine sat down and picked up a can of beer. He shoved his rough drawing of the compound across the table. “Go, Travis, show me where Sanchez is the most vulnerable.”

  TRYING TO KEEP the sun behind her left shoulder, Fabiana fought her way through the undergrowth. Thicker and denser as she trod deeper into the jungle. Mid-day temperatures were on the rise. Could be over a hundred already, and she’d run from the house without any water. Stupid. Stupid girl.

  “Wish I had a machete,” she mumbled to the monkeys who continued to screech overheard.

  Something slithered close to her right foot and she jumped back, her heart pounding triple time. She covered her mouth to stifle a scream, not knowing if anyone was pursuing her. She glanced down in time to see the tip of its tail disappear under a rock. “I hate snakes.”

  Nobody is as bad as Blaine with his snake phobia.

  An animal roar in the distance made her cringe.

  Lucho and I saw Jaguars near his place.

  She came to a spot where the undergrowth between tree trunks was so dense she couldn’t get through. “I’ve got to go around. Which way should I go?” Fabiana started off to her left and after she’d walked about half a mile she could hear water running.

  If it’s a stream, I hope it’s clean enough to drink.

  Following the sound of the water, she found it. A narrow, fast-moving rivulet. She knelt at the edge, cupped her hand and drank until she was satisfied. A few small fish circled

  lazily through the clear, cold water as the tiny stream tumbled over the rocks. Going where? Which way did the water flow in Columbia? At home in Texas, it flowed south to
the Gulf.

  Movement on the opposite bank caught her eye and she tried to sort out the shades of green. It moved again, and she held her breath until her brain sorted out the outline of the well-camouflaged caiman.

  Better get moving.

  JESSE POINTED DOWN the hall towards the bedroom, “Ace, can I talk to you, please?” He had stewed all morning after the confrontation with Race in the kitchen. When he married Annie and moved in, he thought he could handle the Race situation, or at least, he hoped he could, but things were changing with Race, and rapidly it seemed. The withdrawn and disoriented Race was being replaced by the more

  aggressive facets of his former personality.

  Jesse needed to say his piece.

  Annie followed him into the master suite and closed the door. “Let’s sit over here by the window,” she steered him towards the oak pedestal table in the alcove. “Race upset you this morning, sweetheart. I realize that, and I’m trying to fix it. He can’t behave like that and live in the same house with us. It can’t happen.”

  Jesse nodded. “That’s about the same thing I was going to say, Ace, and I’m glad you realize it. I can’t do it. I can’t.”

  “In more ways than one, you cannot, sugar. Too much stress for you—for all of us. You’re barely over your coronary and you haven’t regained your strength. You need time and a peaceful environment. Avoidance is your byword, according to Brian.”

  Jesse reached across the table for her hand. “I’m not in a good place right now, sweetheart. I’m slow. I’m bitchy and irritable. I’m no hell in bed and I feel like I’m a hundred years old, Ace. I truly do.”

  Annie ran her hand through his chocolate mop of hair. “I love you, cowboy. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  The bedroom door burst open and Jackson came in on the run. “Me and Daddy are going riding in the pine woods, Mommy. Will you come with us?”

  Race, holding his huge black cat in his arms, filled the doorway with his presence. He smirked at Jesse.

  “I’m talking to Jesse right now, honey. You go ahead and saddle up.”

  “You’re always talking to Jesse, Mommy. I want you to do stuff with me and Daddy. We’re a family. Not Jesse.”

  Jesse stood up and shoved his chair out of the way. “That the kind of thing you’re feeding him, Ogilvie?”

  Race chuckled. “I might have mentioned it.”

  Jesse pointed. “Pack your stuff. You’re moving out. I’m not living in the same house as you any longer.”

  “Daddy can’t move out. I won’t let him.” Jackson began sobbing. He clung onto Race’s pant leg for a moment, then took off on the run.

  “Look what you’ve done, Race. You made Jackson cry.”

  “Wasn’t me, it was your so-called husband. Don’t worry about it, he’ll get over it.” Race tossed his long dark hair and laughed. “He’s a strong kid. Has to be—he has my genes.”

  Annie brushed past Race, ran through the kitchen and

  followed Jackson outside. He was running through the barn door when she caught sight of him. She hollered as she

  sprinted off the porch, “Wait for me, Jacks.”

  Annie reached the barn and opened the door in time to hear the scream. Monroe charged out of Cochise’s stall with a wailing Jackson in his arms, his little jeans ripped open and the denim covered in blood.

  “What happened?” Annie yelled at Monroe.

  “Pitchfork. He tripped.”

  “Get him to my truck,” said Annie. “I can get him to the hospital quicker than I can find Declan.”

  Race bolted off the porch and ran for the truck. “What happened?”

  “Drive, Race. Just drive to the hospital.” She jumped into the shotgun seat and Monroe jumped into the back, holding Jackson.

  Jesse stood on the porch and watched them drive away. “I was wrong to think it could be any other way. Race is right. They are a family.”

  He went back inside and packed his clothes. Without a backward glance at the bed he and Annie had shared for such a short time, Jesse left with his duffel. He tossed it into his truck, rounded up Red and Bluebelle and went home to his ranch.

  THE EMERGENCY ROOM doctor pushed Race, Annie and Monroe outside the treatment room. Annie sobbed in Race’s arms. “He’s so little.”

  “He’ll be okay, baby. He’s a healthy boy.”

  “I can’t believe this happened. He’s always so careful in the barn. The boys make sure of it. He was so upset, he wasn’t being careful.”

  Monroe sat in one of the vinyl chairs with his head in his hands. He had been with Annie since before Jackson was born and had taught him to speak Apache as soon as he could talk. They were as close as brothers.

  “My fault,” said Race, shoving a big hand through his long hair. “My fault. I want him to love me. I only want him to have one father. I accept total responsibility.”

  I get you, Race. Millions wouldn’t.

  Moments later a nurse approached them in the waiting

  area. “Y’all are Jackson Coulter’s parents? Which one of y’all is AB-neg?”

  Race held up his wrist and showed her his bracelet.

  “Would you give blood for your son, sir? We don’t have any in stock. So rare we seldom need it.”

  “Sure. Show me where to go.”

  “Oh, my God,” said Annie. “He needs blood.”

  Race gave Annie’s hand a squeeze and followed the nurse out of the room. While he was away giving blood, Annie called Jesse. “Where are you, sugar? Why didn’t you come to the hospital?”

  “You have Race with you, Annie. You don’t need me.”

  JESSE DROVE down the quarter-mile laneway into Quantrall, past the Spanish-style mansion where he’d been raised with his four brothers, made an easy left turn through the cattle guard next to the corral fence, and drove a half mile across the pasture to his trailer.

  Besides being his home away from home, in times of emotional or physical struggles, the trailer had become his sanctuary. Perhaps he had become a little too attached to it, but too late now. It had become one of the few places he could relax.

  He parked in front of the deck, released the hounds and went inside with his baggage. Baggage. That’s what it’s all about. I have too much baggage to be a good husband. Better off on my own.

  He heaved the duffel through the bedroom door and it landed on the bed. “I’ll put my clothes away later.” He checked the fridge on the off-chance he’d left a Lone Star or two in there for a rainy day. This was one of those rainy days if ever there was one. He pulled out an ice-cold can, popped the top and chugged half of it down.

  How many years had he been absolutely certain he wanted to be married to Annie? Five, six or was it seven? And now, today, he was absolutely certain it was a mistake.

  I’m a fuckin whacko. I admit it.

  He finished his beer, vowing to stock up on groceries later. He whistled for the dogs, called them in, then lay down on his bed. Never had he felt so exhausted and so unable to cope with the stresses of day to day living. Maybe things would look better when he woke up. He rested his hand on Red’s big head and closed his eyes.

  ANNIE SAT BESIDE the crib in pediatrics where Jackson slept peacefully after his stitches and his blood transfusion. Race dozed in the easy chair on the other side of the room.

  Thank God, Race was here when Jackson needed him. Jesse is pissed, and I can see why.

  She pulled up her contacts and texted Tyler.

  “Jesse and Race had words. Check on him, will you?”

  “Yep. Saw his truck go by. He’s at the trailer.”

  “Okay, good. Is Brian around?”

  “How upset is he?”

  “Major.”

  “Fuck.”

  JESSE WOKE when he heard the door open and the dogs barking. “Who is it?” He couldn’t even make himself get up off the fucking bed he was so wiped.

  “Me. Ty.”

  He heard the fridge open and the sound of a beer top popping
. “Bring me one of those, will you?”

  Ty walked through the door with two beers. “You drink beer in bed?”

  Jesse struggled to sit up and felt Tyler’s eyes on him. “Drink it anywhere. Think I’ll go to Boots tonight and tie one on.”

  “Sounds like something I’d be interested in.”

  Jesse took the beer Tyler offered and tipped it up for a long pull. “How’d you know I was here?”

  “Saw your truck go through the cattle guard. My office in the barn has a window and I ain’t blind.”

  Jesse chuckled. He always felt better when he was with his younger brother. Ty had that effect on him.

  Ty pointed to the duffle bag. “You going somewhere?”

  “Nope. I’m already here.”

  “You brought your stuff from Annie’s?” Tyler made a face. “Come on, Jesse. What’s it been, a fuckin month? After all the years you waited for it to happen, tell me you haven’t given up on your new marriage.”

  Jesse nodded. “Can’t live with Race. He’s becoming too much like his old self, and I hated the old Race with a passion.”

  “He’s a fuckin killer,” said Ty. “They should have given him the needle when they had him in Huntsville the last time.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Saturday, March 11th.

  AT MIDNIGHT in Rionegro, the Cayuse lifted off the tarmac. Travis and Farrell were on a mission. They’d fly over Sanchez’ compound and lay down cover for Blaine and

  Enright and all the men Enright had rounded up.

  “Ready for this, partner?” shouted Travis over the noise of the blades. “This could be a big one.”

  “Yeah, I’m ready,” said Farrell. “Always wanted to shoot out of a bird.”

  Travis chuckled.

  “Think Fab is alive?” asked Farrell.

  “Nope. Do you?”

  “Hope the boss doesn’t get himself fuckin killed finding out she’s already dead.”

  “Yeah, I’d hate for that to happen too.”

  ENRIGHT BORROWED a cattle truck big enough to haul his two dozen men in the back. Blaine followed in the Rubicon with another four. Not nearly enough to his way of thinking, but with the air coverage and the mayhem Travis intended to throw down on the storage sheds, they might be able to search the house. If Fab wasn’t there, they’d torch it. Sanchez might not be stopped, but he’d suffer a huge setback.