by Mandy Baxter
“R-right.”
Several tense minutes passed. He’d essentially fucked them over with his rash behavior, but it was too late to worry about it now. He wasn’t returning the gun to Damien, either. They could pry it out of his cold, dead hands.
“Done!” Emma pushed herself away from the desk, her chest heaving with rushed breath. “It’s done. Look for yourself. Every last penny is back in your account.”
Sousa raised a questioning brow to Landon in lieu of asking for permission to approach. Landon backed away and gave a single nod of his head. The only sound in the room was the tap, tap, tap of Sousa’s overpriced loafers on the concrete floor. He stopped at Emma’s left shoulder and peered at the computer screen. “Cesar, call our people in Jalisco. Tell them we’re ready to move forward.”
Cesar went for the door and Landon said, “I think it might be a better idea for you to conduct whatever business you have right here.” Cesar looked at his boss as if to say, Can you believe the balls on this guy?
Believe it, buddy. They’re big. And brass.
“I allowed your macho display for the benefit of keeping Emma on task,” Sousa said, “but we’re done here. Cesar, tener cuidado de ellos.”
Landon didn’t know what he’d said, but the shit-eating grin on Cesar’s face didn’t fill him with hope that they’d be allowed to walk out of there. He leveled the gun on Sousa only to hear the distinctive click of a hammer behind him. Damn it. He’d lost sight of Damien and the bastard wasn’t ready to blow his cover yet.
“I’ll take my piece back, if you don’t mind.” The menace in his tone sent a chill down Landon’s spine. Undercover guys like Damien went above and beyond codes and morals to protect their covers and operations. Sousa was a big fish and Damien would do anything in his power to keep him on the hook.
Even if that meant putting a bullet in Landon’s head.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Emma’s blood turned to ice in her veins.
Landon stood ramrod straight, a gun leveled at Sousa’s head. Behind him, Damien shoved the long barrel of a nasty-looking revolver into the top of Landon’s neck, his eyes devoid of emotion and his lips thinned into a hard line. He was supposed to be on their side, damn it! Not helping the bad guys. What was going on? Why? Didn’t Damien realize that they were all going to die?
Take care of them, Sousa had said to Cesar. Whether or not the undercover marshal could speak Spanish, he should have heard the threat inherent in Sousa’s ominous tone. Because Emma was pretty damned sure Cesar wasn’t about to escort them to a hospitality suite.
Emma didn’t want to die. Not before she told Landon how she felt about him.
“What about our deal?” she asked in an effort to buy time. She knew that Sousa would kill her the first opportunity he got. No honor among thieves—or arms dealers—and all that. But if she could get the people she cared about out of the building alive, at least her death wouldn’t be for nothing. “You’re still going to need someone to help cover your tracks. Erase your financial and digital footprints. I can do that for you. You know I can get it done.”
“Teyo.” Emma’s dad rose slowly from his chair, and it tore at her heart to see how much effort the simple act took. “Does the past mean nothing to you? Usted no es un hombre malo. Emma did what you asked of her and the boy is only trying to protect her. Let us go. Your secrets will be safe.”
Not an evil man? Emma swallowed down a burst of hysterical laughter. She wanted to tell her dad he was wasting his breath trying to appeal to Sousa’s softer sensibilities. The man had none.
“Te equivocas. I am this man. I can’t afford the high price of your morals, Javier. Good-bye.”
Javier’s expression fell with disappointment at Sousa’s words. You’re wrong. With the words spoken solely for her dad’s benefit, he’d made it quite apparent that there would be no redemption, and no quarter given. They were all going to die. He headed for the door and Emma lunged for him, grabbing onto the sleeve of his overpriced suit jacket. “Please, don’t do this. Let my father and Jeremy leave here. They haven’t done anything.” He stared down at her, his eyes so cold and emotionless that she shivered from the chill. “Let Landon go. I’m the one who stole from you. I’m the one who disrespected you. Make an example of me and me alone. Te lo suplico.” Please.
Emma released her grip on his arm as fingers of dread speared her chest and tightened her lungs. Teyo Sousa had not one ounce of mercy to spare for her or anyone. Without a word, he walked through the door, shutting it soundlessly behind him. In trying to help her father, she’d condemned him. By simply being his friend, she’d signed Jeremy’s death warrant. And in cleaving to Landon—falling hopelessly in love with him—she’d destroyed him. Oh, God.
“Get them in the van.” Damien instructed Cesar with the same cruel indifference as the rest of Sousa’s band of murderers. “And grab a couple of guys to help you.” He jerked his chin toward Emma. “I don’t want them anywhere near this facility.” He tossed Cesar the gun he’d taken from Landon. “When you’re done, meet me at the buy location.”
Emma’s attention split, divided among the three other hostages in the room. As Cesar holstered one gun in exchange for the other, Damien leaned in toward Landon’s ear. Who knew what shitty sentiments that traitor was whispering? She hoped that Crawford found him and nailed his ass to the wall. Her father looked at her with resignation, sadness pulling at his already gaunt features. And Jeremy . . . shit. He bounced on the balls of his feet, his arms loose as though getting ready to go in for a touchdown. He’d promised her, damn it! No hero crap.
Jeremy lunged for Cesar, his over six and a half feet of height towering over the shorter man, and one of Jeremy’s hands almost big enough to palm Cesar’s head and twist it right off. Emma’s heart leapt into her throat, and her pulse raced at the same time her lungs seized up. Jeremy had the advantage size-wise, but would it be enough to wrestle the gun from Cesar’s hand? The report of the shot rang out, too loud in the enclosed space. Emma’s ears rang and her head swam. Focus seemed impossible with the amount of blood pumping into her head and her vision blurred. Jeremy listed backward as though in slow motion and a scream lodged itself in Emma’s chest.
“Jesus Christ, Cesar!” Damien growled from between clenched teeth. “We’re trying to lay low, not bring every cop in the Industrial District down here. You fucking idiot.”
Jeremy crashed down onto the floor like a felled tree. Blood welled from his right shoulder, a bright crimson bloom that made Emma’s stomach turn. In a heartbeat, she was beside him, cradling his head against her shoulder as she tore open the buttons of his shirt to assess the damage. Good God, as if she even knew what she was looking for.
“Maybe I should have just given the hijo de puta my piece,” Cesar spat. “You know, to keep things quiet?” He gave a derisive snort, waving the gun around as he barked out orders. “You. Help him up,” he said to Landon. “And you, old man, give him a hand.” He hauled Emma up by her arm, his fingers biting uncomfortably into her skin. “You’re sticking close to me.” His sour breath caressed her cheek as Cesar sneered close to her face. “Ain’t no one gonna jump me if they think you might get shot in the process, eh, chica ?”
Damien gave Landon a rough shove toward Jeremy, who was now sprawled out on the floor, his loud moan of pain slicing through Emma’s chest. “I-is he going to be okay, Landon?” Emma spoke around the tears, willing herself to be strong.
Landon examined the bullet wound, his jaw set with anger and the muscle there flexing. Fire sparked in his eyes, blue gas flames that wouldn’t be quenched. Landon was the comeback king, the guy who had a response for everything, most of the time accented by his trademark snark. But the quiet that had settled over him since he’d pulled Damien’s gun on Sousa rattled Emma. Yet another side of Landon she hadn’t known existed. She could almost see the gears turning in his mind. The plans forming. Landon McCabe could be a dangerous man too, it seemed. And thank God for it.
/> “All right, get him up and get moving.”
Emma shot a glare Damien’s way, cursing him to a thousand tortures, none of which would leave him with a single limb still attached. Cesar held Emma close to his body, taking several steps back to let Landon and her father help Jeremy to walk through the doorway. Damien followed, his gun trained on the back of Landon’s head, and Cesar dragged Emma out last with a sick whisper in her ear. “I’m going to gut your pendejo boyfriend while you watch.”
Emma mustered every ounce of bravado she had and laughed. She looked Cesar straight in the eye and said, “No si te destripa primero.” Not if he guts you first.
The vans that had followed them into the warehouse were gone now, and an eerie silence settled as the only sound was their shuffling feet and Jeremy’s labored breath. That nasty bastard Luis and another guy with an automatic weapon waited for them by the van, the sliding door open and ready to accept their prisoners. And not a scrap of morality between them.
Landon helped Jeremy into the long middle bench seat so he could sprawl out, and Emma’s dad climbed in beside him. Cesar and one of his pals hopped in the front seat, leaving Emma and Landon to squeeze into the shorter third-row seat with the remaining guard. Nice and cozy. Damien walked up to the driver’s-side window and exchanged a few low words with Cesar that she couldn’t quite make out. Damien gave Landon one last pointed look and then turned his back on them, heading for where, Emma had no idea.
As the van pulled out from the warehouse and to wherever it was Cesar was taking them, Emma realized that this might be her one chance to say good-bye to Landon. The only opportunity she might ever get to tell him how she felt. She leaned in close—it wasn’t tough considering how tightly they were jammed into the seat—but the words wouldn’t move past the knot that formed in her throat.
I love you. So much it hurts. So much that the thought of losing you now makes me want to scream and fight and hurt anyone who might try to keep us apart. I love you more than I thought I could love anyone or anything. And I know that our time together has been short, but I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you. And even that bitter, angry, spiteful eighteen-year-old girl knew that you were a good man. You are the love of my life, Landon McCabe.
Emma pressed her forehead into Landon’s shoulder. He didn’t reach out to take her hand. Didn’t put his arm around her or whisper words of comfort in her ear. He simply stared straight ahead, every muscle in his body solid with tension. Landon didn’t want to have anything to do with her and really, she couldn’t blame him. She’d got him into this mess, after all. And whereas she craved any physical contact she could get: the solid comfort of his shoulder, even a glancing touch of his finger, he seemed content to pretend she wasn’t even there. Not even dead and I’m already a ghost.
“Don’t touch me.”
Emma’s head snapped up from Landon’s shoulder, at first thinking she’d imagined the callousness of his voice. His eyes settled on her, those blue flames now nothing more than ice. “Landon?” She knew he was angry with her, but . . .
“I saw how you looked at him.” Landon’s accusation stung her like a thousand needles, his voice loud enough for everyone in the van to hear. “You think you can sit here and put your head on my shoulder after you played me like that? Jesus, Emma, you went to him. Put your arms around him. I should have known better than to trust you. I don’t want you to touch me again. Ever. Don’t even look at me. I can’t stand the sight of you for another second.”
Landon watched as something inside of Emma broke with his words. Tears welled in her deep brown eyes, spilling in rivulets down her cheeks. The raw hurt in her soft features cleaved him in two, his own pain so intense that he felt the urge to wrap his arms around himself to keep his halves intact.
He’d done what he had to.
He hoped she’d understand, that somehow she’d remember what he’d told her a few days ago. That men like these only respected ruthlessness. And if he was going to get them all out of this alive, he had to be every bit as heartless and uncaring as the bastards preparing to kill them. He leaned forward in his seat as though trying to put distance between himself and Emma, careful not to draw too much attention. “Put pressure on the wound,” he murmured to Javier. “As much as you can.”
He didn’t acknowledge Landon with so much as a twitch, but who could blame him? He’d just publicly humiliated the man’s daughter and treated her with cruelty and indifference when he’d made a promise to take care of her. He watched, though, as Javier pushed the heel of his palm against Jeremy’s shoulder, eliciting a grunt of pain from the football star as he did as Landon instructed.
Emma sat up straight, the gentle sound of her tears stoking the fire of Landon’s rage. It was a necessary hurt, one that would buy him the distraction he needed to save their lives. He prayed that she’d understand when everything was said and done, because even now, Landon wasn’t sure he could forgive himself for dealing such a low blow. A lover’s rift was the distraction that he needed, however, to get to the gun that Damien had left for him under the middle bench seat.
The undercover marshal hadn’t left him completely in the lurch, but Jesus Christ, he was one armed man against three. His chances of getting the upper hand weren’t exactly stellar. Damien had his hands full, though, and with any luck, in a few short hours, the Department of Homeland Security and the FBI would be busting Sousa’s ass and confiscating the dirty bomb he was about to buy before the son of a bitch could arrange to deliver it to his associates in Mexico.
That was a hell of a lot of loose ends to tie up.
The drive was one of the longest of Landon’s life, the minutes stretching into years as the distance between him and Emma grew wider and wider with each passing mile. Unspent adrenaline pooled in his gut and his brain buzzed with anticipation. Every thought in his head was crystal clear, his senses heightened and sensitive to every shift of each individual body in the van. Beside him, that son of a bitch Luis said something in Spanish to his buddies in the front seats that elicited their mutual laughter and Landon vowed that he’d be the first one to go down.
Thirty minutes later, Cesar pulled off the highway onto a dirt road that led them farther away from the city and out into a secluded, wooded area. No doubt he planned to execute them and dump their bodies in the woods. Cesar must have assumed it would take a week or so before anyone stumbled upon the bodies out here. And by then, Sousa and his entire crew would be long gone.
Landon peeked over the seat to check on Jeremy, trying not to be too obvious about it. Javier was still applying pressure to the wound, and from the looks of Jeremy’s bloodied back, the bullet had gone through his shoulder. A favorable wound as gunshots went, but it wasn’t going to help Javier in his effort to slow the bleeding. Jeremy’s brow knitted tight as the van jostled them over a bumpy backwoods road, and Landon took in their surroundings, which grew more remote by the second.
Another ten minutes passed before Cesar pulled the van off the main road and into a stand of trees. He cut the engine and looked back at his prisoners, a sick anticipation twisting his dark features. Landon took a deep breath, readied himself for what was going to be one hell of a feat. This was some serious cowboy shit he was about to pull. Galen would be so proud. Yee-haw.
“Get out.” Cesar barked out the order before hopping out of the van along with his companion in the passenger seat. The side door growled open, letting in the chill afternoon air. The forest smelled of rain and evergreens. Clean. It helped to clear Landon’s mind until it was as sharp as a freaking razor. His limbs shook with the energy he’d stored, waiting to explode in a rush. His muscles ached from remaining inert, but it wouldn’t be much longer before he put them to good use.
Luis and his buddy exited the van next. It pained Landon to sit by and not react as Luis grabbed Emma by the arm and hauled her bodily from the van, jerking her body against his, his dark eyes sparking with lust. Bastard. Javier was next, and Landon breathed a sig
h of relief. So far, so good.
While Cesar dealt with Emma and Javier, Landon launched himself over the bench seat onto Jeremy. He made a show of grabbing him by the shirt and hauling him up, shaking him roughly before rolling them both onto the floor of the van as though Jeremy had flipped him over, making sure the football star was positioned on top of him.
“You and Emma thought you could play me?” Landon shouted as Jeremy struggled to free himself from Landon’s grasp. “You were sneaking around behind my back. Admit it, you motherfucker!”
Their quarters were close, but Landon managed to free his right hand. He reached under the seat, groping until his fist made contact with cold steel. Grabbing the gun, Landon prayed the damned thing wouldn’t go off accidentally, and he reached between them again, stuffing the weapon into his waistband at his hip. Jeremy let out a shout of pain as one of Sousa’s men hauled him off of Landon, wrenching his injured shoulder in the process. Shit, he hoped it wouldn’t fuck up his shoulder too bad. The last thing the guy needed was a bad throwing arm. If they lived, Landon could probably expect a hefty lawsuit out of this.
Eh, what the hell. He’d worry about that complication later.
“I’m gonna kill you, you son of a bitch!”
Once Jeremy was clear of the van, Cesar leaned in, leveling his weapon on Landon. “Maybe we ought to let the deputy here take care of Sancho for us, huh, Luis?”
Luis snickered in response, and Cesar waved the gun in front of Landon, urging him to get up and out of the van. “You want to off Sancho?” he sneered as Landon crept out of the van.
He made sure to appear winded, resting his palms on his knees once he was on solid ground. “What are you talking about?” he said between breaths. “Who the hell is Sancho?”
“It means the guy who’s running around with your lady. ’Prendé? You want a piece of him or not, cop?”