Red Zone

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  “There’s no need.” Striker checked his gun. Empty. He strode over to one of the dead men and relieved him of his laser gun. “I know where she’s heading. They’re going south on the highway out of the city.”

  “Did you put a tracker on her?”

  “No.” He looked up at his second-in-command, his gaze icy. “My diamondback is with her.”

  It took a second for his words to sink in before his partner’s eyes dropped to Striker’s neck where the diamondback’s head normally rested. “No way.”

  “It threw itself at her when she screamed my name. Damn near ripped me apart separating that fast. It’s in the van with her now.”

  He started jogging in the direction the kidnappers had taken Friday. Behind him, sirens blared, and he knew the cops were looking for them. With the number of cameras covering the area, it wouldn’t take long for them to be found. They needed to get Friday and get to the jet—Monterrey had become far too dangerous for them.

  They ducked around a building into a quiet street filled with businesses that hadn’t yet opened.

  “We need another vehicle.” He jogged to the end of the street, keeping his eyes peeled for anything they could take.

  “You can communicate with your animal? Even over distance? We’ve never tried that. We don’t know what happens if we get too far from each other.”

  “I don’t think my snake cares what might happen if we get too far apart. Right now, he’s pissed and planning to take out everybody who’s a threat to Friday.”

  “Hell, how fast-acting is its poison?”

  “Not fast enough. There’s a good chance they’ll kill the snake before it kills them.”

  The color drained from his best friend’s face. “If the snake dies…”

  There was no need to say anything more. His relationship with his animal half was symbiotic. If one went, the other went, too. They wouldn’t be able to live without each other.

  “I’m more worried about him striking the driver. They’re speeding. If they crash, we can say goodbye to my snake and to Friday.” He came to a halt and pointed to an old model delivery van. “There. It doesn’t have hover, but we should be able to hotwire it.”

  With his teammate watching his back, he slipped under the van and rewired the controls. A few seconds later they were heading out of town in the direction Friday’s captors had taken her.

  “They’re heading south, out of the city.” Striker sped through the early morning traffic.

  “Your animal can tell directions?”

  “No, dumbass, it can tell me what side of the vehicle the sun is on.”

  “Oh yeah.” Mace ran a hand through his hair, his go-to reaction when he was tense.

  “It’s also telling me that there are three men in the car. One is in the back with Friday and he has a gun pointed at her head.” He gripped the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

  “Have you told the snake to hold back?”

  “That’s another stupid question. I keep telling it to back off. To wait for me.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “It says it knows what it’s doing and I’m a screw-up for letting them take her in the first place.”

  Mace barked out a short, sharp laugh. “Looks like your animal has just as much attitude as you do. Does Friday know the diamondback is with her?”

  Striker glanced at his friend. “Not yet.”

  …

  Friday’s grand bid for freedom, such as it was, had ended. Her captors were taking her back to the Northern Territory, where she’d be killed, or else they’d remove the offending information from her head, wipe her memory of the past week, and put her to work in a lab. She wouldn’t remember Striker or his team. She wouldn’t remember her attempt to change her life. She’d just carry on, as she’d always done, working as a drone for CommTECH. If she lived.

  “Where are you taking me?” Not that it mattered, but as usual, her mind needed to question everything.

  The man facing her answered with a sneer. His wide shoulders were steady as he held the gun that pointed at her head. He sat with his back to the rear of the car, while Friday sat on the seat opposite, her back to the driver. Through the tinted rear window, she could see the lights of Monterrey disappearing into the distance. They were heading south, in the wrong direction for the airport.

  “Aren’t you taking me to back to CommTECH? I thought you were Northern Territory Enforcement.”

  “Do I look like a fucking cop?”

  No. He looked like someone who’d seen the inside of a cell and liked what he’d found there.

  “If you aren’t with Enforcement, who sent you?”

  “What do you care? You’re alive, ain’t ya.”

  “For how long?”

  “Don’t care. I get paid to deliver you. What happens after ain’t none of my concern.”

  “Quit talking to her.” The guy in the passenger seat turned around to glare at them. His eyes were dead, and the corner of his mouth was twisted by an ugly scar. “We don’t engage with the merchandise.”

  The guy with the gun grunted.

  “And you—” the scarred man stroked a finger down her cheek, making her cringe away from his touch. “One more word and I knock you out.” He laughed as he turned back around in his seat.

  They were amused by her helplessness. She let her eyes drop to the floor. Striker would have knocked his teeth out for that laugh. But then, by now he would probably have killed everyone in the car and freed himself. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the smuggler. There was no extensive combat training in her background. No special powers in her mutated DNA. She closed her eyes tight as she remembered his shout when she was taken. His promise that he would come for her. She trusted him. She believed in him. Which meant she had to stay alive long enough for him to get to her. Maybe, just maybe, her life wouldn’t end after all.

  Not yet, anyway.

  A movement under the seat across from her caught her attention. She studied the shadows. Something definitely moved. Slowly, the shape came into the light, and her heart almost stopped dead.

  Striker’s rattler had followed her.

  Her gaze flew to the man who held a gun on her. He was oblivious to the danger beneath him, too busy smirking at his captive to notice anything else. She glanced back down at the snake, her palms sweating as she struggled to keep from hyperventilating. If her captor saw the snake, he’d shoot it. Her stomach lurched. What happened to the man if the snake died? She didn’t know, but feared the worst. How could they possibly live independently of each other now that they were fused together?

  The snake peeked out at her from behind her captor’s feet, and she could have sworn it grinned. She shook her head at it, in what she hoped was a subtle, but clear, message that he was to lay low and do nothing. She blinked in shock when it narrowed its eyes in reply. Just like its human half, the snake would do exactly what it wanted to do.

  Its thin, forked tongue snuck out, tasting the air, scenting its prey. It was clear what it planned. But there were so many ways it could go badly wrong. If the snake bit the man with the gun, he wouldn’t die straight away. He’d have enough time to shoot her or the snake. And even if the snake did manage to take one man out, there were still two more to contend with. There was no way the diamondback could deal with all three of them before they struck back. Not unless the first man he bit stayed silent. An impossibility when diamondback venom caused agony.

  The snake opened its mouth, and those long fangs of his slipped down, ready to bite. Its eyes focused on her captor’s ankle.

  “Don’t,” she said, risking being drugged to warn the rattler.

  “Don’t what?” the guy in front of her asked.

  “I told you about talking,” the scarred man said. “This is your last warning.”

  She clenched her fists tight, helpless to stop the snake from striking without putting herself and the rattler in even more danger. The diamondback reared its head back. There w
as no stopping it now. She saw the split second it’d made its decision, and fast as lightning, it shot forward to strike at its target. She threw herself to the floor. The gunman screamed. The gun went off. The car’s tires screeched as it veered off the road.

  “Snake! It bit me!”

  “What the fuck? You shot our driver!”

  The car careened through the grassy wasteland beyond the road. Each bump tossing Friday around, banging her against the hard surfaces around her. She grasped for something, anything, to hold on to as the scarred man fought for control of the car. The driver slumped forward over the wheel, blood pouring from the back of his head. They bounced up in the air and came back down with a crash.

  The gunman screamed. The gun in his hand waved wildly. He pulled the trigger. A bullet hit the floor beside her head. Another gunshot. Two. He didn’t know he was firing and didn’t care who he hit. Friday tried to wedge her body under the seat to get out of the line of fire, but the car was moving around too much. The gunman’s screams reverberated around the tiny interior. The horror of his agony happening right in front of her—she felt like he would never stop screaming. And then, suddenly, there was silence. He slumped to the side, his gun falling to his feet.

  The car flew up in the air again. She grabbed hold of the seat beside her as the snake headed straight toward the last of her captors. It didn’t hesitate, striking over and over, hitting the scarred man’s neck with icy precision. The screams were chilling and endless, until they stopped, and all she could hear was the car’s engine and the banging of bushes and rocks hitting the undercarriage as it sped across the rough terrain.

  She felt the snake curl around her. Protecting her the best it could. The car hit something hard, jerked to the side, and rolled. Friday flew up to the roof and fell back down again with a thud that knocked the air out of her lungs. The world was tumbling, taking her along with it. She was thrown toward the narrow gap under the back seat. Desperately, she grasped for purchase, angling her body under the seat. Squeezing herself into that gap. Hoping she made it. There was an almighty crash. Followed by scraping. Bodies thudded around inside the car like rag dolls tossed about by a child. She made one last push toward that tiny space under the seat. Toward safety. Her head hit something hard. The pain was dizzying. She caught one last glimpse of the snake looking up at her. And then, she felt nothing at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “There!” Striker pointed at the smoke rising from the middle of a field beside the highway. He could just make out the wheels of a car pointing up to the sky.

  They’d rolled.

  “We can’t drive out to them. Not in this,” Mace said.

  Striker pulled the van over onto the hard shoulder and was out the door and running before the engine fully stopped.

  “Are they alive?” Mace shouted, bringing up the rear. “What’s your snake saying?”

  “Nothing. It’s saying nothing.” He jumped over a bush and sprang over some rocks, racing to get to them. To get to Friday.

  “No flames.” His partner had his gun ready in case they ran into trouble.

  No flames was good. It meant an explosion wasn’t likely. It meant anyone trapped in the vehicle had a chance of surviving.

  “If that damn snake is alive, I’m gonna kill it.” He knew he wasn’t making any sense, but he’d spent the better part of his time since Friday had been snatched arguing with the reptile telling it not to bite anyone and being ignored. Yeah, they were gonna have a long talk about who was in charge of their weird little duo. Right after he turned the reptile into a pair of boots.

  They slowed as they approached the crash site, aiming their guns, senses tuned to the environment, ready in case of attack. The body of a man was sprawled halfway out of the shattered window on the driver’s side of the car. Striker toed him with his boot. Dead. A gunshot to the back of the head. Carefully, he rounded the car. There was no movement. No sign of life.

  You there, you rat-eating bastard? he called to his other half. No answer.

  “Got one over here,” Mace said from the other side of the car. “Dead. Looks like a collision between the windscreen and his head took him out, but there are bite marks on his neck.”

  Striker cursed a streak in English and French. He was seriously going to kill that rattler. He bent to look through the back window. It was tinted. He could make out shapes, nothing else. “You see anything in back?”

  “No. Don’t hear anything, either.”

  “Cover me, I’m gonna pop the door.”

  Mace came around to point his gun at the vehicle. Striker yanked at the door, but it was wedged in tight against the foliage. And there was no movement inside.

  “I don’t think anybody’s gonna shoot at us.” He tried to keep his mind away from thinking what that meant. Friday couldn’t be dead. To hell with his snake—he was wishing the asshole gone. But Friday… “Push on the wheels. See if we can get it up off the ground so I can open the door.”

  Mace slipped his gun into the holster strapped to this thigh and pushed against the wheels. The car rocked under his strength, and Striker managed to yank the door free. He crouched to look inside. The massive body of the man who’d snatched Friday from him was sprawled over the roof of the car.

  But there was no sign of the little scientist.

  “What the hell? Where is she?”

  “You think she was thrown from the car?”

  “Better look around.” He put his hand on the door to pull himself up. That’s when he heard it. A slight rattling noise.

  Dumbass? he snapped at his other half. You there?

  Every muscle within him clenched tight as he waited for an answer.

  Sore.

  That one word almost brought him to his knees.

  Where the hell are you? Is Friday with you?

  Small space. Dark. She’s mine.

  Striker breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Damn possessive reptile. He crouched down and examined the interior of the large car. It was the modern equivalent of a twenty-first century SUV, only it was fitted with adjustable seating and plenty of tech. He examined the seats. Of course. There was a gap under the back seat. He stuck his head into the car to get a better look and almost collapsed with relief at the sight before him. Friday was wedged into the narrow space, his snake curled around her.

  “They’re here!”

  He heard a moan. Friday’s moan. “I’m coming, bébé. Hold tight. We’ll get you out of there.”

  Mace had been scanning their surroundings. He came jogging over. “How the hell did they get in there?”

  He was damned if he knew. But their hiding spot had probably saved their lives.

  Stuck. Sore. His other half complained.

  Is Friday okay?

  She’s waking up. She’s mine.

  “The talking handbag says Friday was unconscious, but she rousing now, and he’s in pain.”

  “We need to get them out of there if you plan to make accessories from your animal.”

  Another slight moan emanated from the car, and he had to fight panic. He had to stay clear-headed. He had to make sure he got her out without causing her any further damage. He swallowed hard at the thought. How badly hurt was she?

  Is she bleeding? he asked the rattler.

  Sore. We both sore.

  Yeah, that didn’t help at all. He eyed the dead man taking up all the space inside the car. “Help me haul him out.”

  They took an arm each and dragged him out onto the grass. There was no need to be gentle. He couldn’t feel anything. And from the number of bites on the man, it was a fast death—although not painless. A fact that warmed his heart.

  They dropped him like trash beside the car, before Striker crawled into the interior to get to Friday. He wanted his hands on her. He wanted to reassure himself that she was breathing. That she was alive. He reached into the space under the seat and gently stroked her cheek. Warm. Alive. His. She moaned again and turned her face toward him. Her eyes
still closed.

  “It’s okay, bébé. You’re gonna be fine.”

  A hand clasped on his shoulder, and he looked up to see understanding in his best friend’s eyes. “Her feet are facing the open door. If I get her legs out, you can support the rest of her while we ease her out of the car. You want to hand your snake to me first, before we move Friday?”

  “To hell with him. He can damn well crawl out of there on his own steam.”

  There was furious rattling in reply. He ignored the reptile and reached for the woman. She groaned as he took her weight in his arms and they maneuvered her out of the car. Pain, she was in pain. His stomach roiled at the sound.

  “I’ve got you,” he soothed, hoping like hell he wasn’t causing more damage by moving her.

  “Striker?” The whispered word sent relief flooding through his system.

  “Who else, bébé? Don’t you worry none, we got you.”

  He cradled her head. Bruises marred her pale skin. He hated the sight of them and wanted them gone before she felt the effect of them. His diamondback slithered around until it was curled on Friday’s stomach, hitching a ride out of the car. He fought the urge to knock the damn snake from his perch.

  Slowly, carefully, the two men lifted her out of the upturned car. Mace cradled her in his arms while Striker got to his feet. As soon as he did, he took the fragile bundle from his friend. If she was going to be in anyone’s arms, it would be his. The urge to lock her away and ensure she never hurt again was almost overwhelming.

  “Striker?” She sounded less disorientated this time. “The car crashed.”

  He kissed her hair. “I know. But we’ve got you now.”

  “My head hurts.” It was barely a whisper.

  “We’re taking you to the jet. We’ll get it sorted as soon as we’re on board.” He looked at his partner. “Is there a medic nearby we can use if we need one?”

  “I’ll make some calls, see who we can trust.” Mace fished his satellite phone out of his pocket and did just that.

  “Your snake saved me,” Friday said softly.