She stepped into the bedroom, dim now that the sun was setting. The gold bag Jake had brought with him sat on the bed next to her missing cell phone.
Nicole glared at the phone and reached for the bag, pulling out a silk nightgown in her favorite shade of pink. She’d always felt a bit like Anne of Green Gables when she wore pink, a secret only Jake knew. And remembered. The nightgown was edged in white lace, with pink flowers stitched into it and tiny stringlike straps that would crisscross in the back. A matching pair of panties and a golden cyber-skinned vibrator were in the bottom of the bag, complete with tags still on them.
Nicole pulled the panties out. The vibrator she’d think about later. She didn’t care if she washed the panties first, she pulled the silk and lace on and slipped into bed, wanting to savor the moment. Reality would come back to bite her in the ass. For now she wanted to cherish this.
Chapter Five
He waited until the sounds of rutting had ceased and the two retreated to the other side of the house. Then he waited some more. The woman was a simpleton and would never notice his presence, even in the same room. But the man would.
Jake Vant was an officer never to be underestimated. That mistake had been made once already, and the price was seven years in prison.
He didn’t dare move from the spare bedroom he’d hidden in, not yet. Not while the man and woman were here. The minutes crept on and he marked their progress through the bedroom, into the bathroom and back again by the squeak of the floors. He’d mapped out every creaking board early on so when the need arose he could avoid them.
For a while they remained in the bathroom. The sound of running water tickled his bladder but he remained where he was. The siren blare made him flinch but he was resolute in the decision to stay where he was.
Swift footsteps, a closing door and the answering rumble of the garage marked the exit of Officer Jake Vant from the premises.
The lovebirds weren’t as broken up as he’d first believed.
Good.
He could work with this.
Since the bath still ran, he tiptoed out of the bedroom to see the damage. Shoes, nylons and panties littered the kitchen. Fucking was all well and good, but he needed the man to return.
A plan stirred in his mind. It wasn’t a great plan, but he could play on the woman’s emotions. They were such petty, weak things after all.
He left the house through the back door, careful to make sure this time it closed all the way. He jumped the fence into the neighbors’ yard. They were out of town judging by their answering machine message and the pile of unopened mail under the slot in the front door, and so would never know of their guest. He filched a vase from the kitchen and used a pair of scissors to harvest a dozen rose blooms from the bushes behind the house. That done, he returned to the Vant house and left them on the kitchen counter.
Women loved flowers, and he loved making women cry. He bet the woman cried when he got his revenge on Jake Vant.
* * * * *
Jake set his gas gear bag on the concrete in front of a rolling dry-erase board kept in the garage for mission prep. Cole scrawled squares on the board and labeled them House, Barn One, Barn Two, Field One and so forth. Wherever they were headed, it was a big property. No wonder two teams had been called in for this one. Instead of the usual team of eight, sixteen men clustered in close, except for the two stragglers of the bunch, Aaron and Becca, who’d pulled in seconds apart. As much as Jake loved the thrill of the job, his heart wasn’t here tonight. It was sitting on the bathroom tile while his wife soaked away the day’s troubles.
“Circle up, everyone,” Cole said.
“Why can’t we get called to stuff during the day?” Aaron groused loud enough for the whole group to hear.
Jake was tempted to spout statistics to the golden boy but resisted. The faster they got through with this, the sooner he could get back to wooing his wife.
“Narcotics got a warrant for a rural property and we’ve been called in to help. Seems that an organic farm has been under watch for a while on suspicion of growing marijuana, but nothing has ever been found on the premises. Got a tip in today that they were getting a shipment of pot disguised as livestock hay bales. Officers on site have radioed in that the truck has arrived and it’s being unloaded here, behind Barn One.” He made a small rectangle to symbolize the truck.
“Bales are broken down and they’re packing cars. We need to get in there immediately and try to sting the rest of the delivery. The plan is for my Alpha Team to drive in unmarked vehicles to the loading point. Team Gamma will come in on foot from this tree line bordering the road, traverse Field One and together we will pinch the operation at the truck. Supporting officers on scene will move in and secure the house and outlying buildings until we can sweep them.” He continued making lines, arcing from location to location to show each team’s movements in differing colors.
“Once we have the location secured, we will assume the guise of the people running this operation and continue to take whoever comes to pick up their load into custody. It’s going to be a long night, so I hope you’re all ready. Any questions?” Cole snapped the cap back onto the marker.
“Any idea where these tips are coming from?” Jake had worked Narcotics for years after leaving patrol, several of them as undercover. While he was all for taking a truckload of pot off the market, something was off. Why all these last-second tips and busts? “Call me a skeptic, but we just busted Jose Garza. It’s unlikely that we should get another tip this big so soon.”
Cole nodded. “I agree, but we can’t look the gift horse in the mouth right now.”
“Gas?” Jake asked, switching gears.
“Bring it. We might need it for outlying buildings, but we aren’t going in with it.”
Jake nodded. It made sense since some of the gas canisters they shot out could get pretty damn hot and even burn whatever they landed on. If the canister landed on a bale of straw, hay or even pot, it would go up like tinder and then they’d have a whole other problem on their hands.
A few of the other team members had some logistics questions Jake listened to, but he couldn’t deny the uneasy sensation gnawing at his stomach. It was too easy. Something wasn’t right, and he wasn’t thinking about his personal life either.
“Load up in the B.E.A.R.s,” Cole said when the questions were taken care of.
The B.E.A.R. trucks were large black armored vehicles. The name said it all—ballistic engineered armored response counterattack truck. The vehicles were designed for military and law enforcement in mind to be very fast tanks, complete with a turret dome in the top of the truck that could be opened to serve as a sniper or lookout point.
Jake climbed into the truck, hauling his gas gear, and stole a seat at the front instead of the back. Since the truck was also completely sealed to keep out such things as gas or other explosions, it was also airtight and could get as hot as the devil’s crotch. A small A/C unit pumped a pittance into the back that really only stirred the fragrant air, perfumed with SWAT gear used a few too many times without cleaning.
Becca slid in next to him and slanted a glance his way, but he ignored it. The whole team probably knew he was off his game, but it was hard to put his personal life aside after what he’d just shared with his wife.
Nicole had never shied from frenzied sex. She liked it rough and fast and slow and tender. But there’d been something else between them tonight, something he couldn’t name, not yet, but it was small and fragile.
For a few moments it had seemed as if they’d stepped back in time and nothing had changed. They were still madly in love and happy. Reality was a bitch. He didn’t think for a moment things were fixed because they got off and he gave her a present. They had to fall back in love. But how?
“Look alive, people,” Cole called from the back of the truck.
Voices of the other team chattered over the headset. Jake could track them in his mind across the whiteboard map.
“
We’re through the fence. Making our way through Field One. Not sure what this stuff is,” the other team leader muttered.
Jake snorted. About the only other person on the whole team who might know produce by the plant was Cole. The rest of these boys were citified, born and raised.
“Two cars just pulled in,” came another voice Jake recognized as a regular command center support officer. He didn’t know her name, but she’d narrated many a mission.
The set-up for this operation was standard. A mobile command center was parked a few blocks away where narcotics and patrol officers were held in reserve until SWAT took the scene. This provided them with a staging point for preparing, and chances were the truck Jake was in was there. He just couldn’t be bothered to look.
“We’ve reached the barn,” the other team leader announced.
The truck rumbled forward.
“We’re moving into position,” Cole replied.
This was it.
Jake sucked in a deep breath and pushed his personal problems aside. He pulled the bulletproof shield on his helmet down and ran his fingers over the assault rifle he’d use for this mission.
The truck took a few turns. The farm was quickly being surrounded by suburbs, which was why their operation had gone undetected. Until now.
“Going in,” the driver said.
“Let’s roll,” Cole replied.
The truck accelerated fast, or at least as fast as an eight-ton vehicle could, loaded down with eight people in tactical gear.
The unmistakable pop and rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire pinged off the sides of the truck.
“Get ready to return fire. Vant, gas.” Cole stood at the back of the truck and grabbed the handle for a gun port, small openings the team inside could shoot out of.
Great. They were going to have a lot of fun with this one.
Jake flung the top of his gas bag open and pulled out one of the grenade launcher-style guns that looked like a large-scale Gatling gun. He cracked the chamber open and dug out a couple canisters of gas, swaying with the movement of the truck.
“Sarge, ready,” Jake yelled over the clamor of external bullets.
“Team Gamma, hold your position. Gas incoming,” Cole yelled over the comm unit.
Jake grabbed hold of the vertical bar next to his seat. He rose and pivoted, planting his left knee on the bench. Becca grasped the handle for the port and nodded.
“Open it,” Jake said.
She twisted the handle and he plugged it with the nose of the launcher. Aiming the contraption was less about a direct shot and more about physics, working the weight of the canister, the arc of the shot and the location of the target, keeping in mind things like wind.
He had to aim looking out a window above the port, which made it difficult—for anyone else.
Jake squeezed the trigger and the canister whooshed out with a ka-chunk. It arced and hit the ground in front of a group of men with guns perfectly lit by headlights.
He quickly adjusted and fired a second shot.
Ka-chunk!
He tracked the silver glimmer through the air, sometimes on feel alone as he lost it against the inky dark sky.
“Gotcha,” he muttered as the canister landed behind the group, almost under the truck they were unloading.
Two clouds of gas bloomed around the primary group of suspects.
“Masks on. Go, Gamma Team,” Cole barked.
“Go, go, go,” the other team leader called over the headset.
Jake put the gas gun back in the bag, juggling his assault rifle and gear while everyone else pulled masks on.
“Vant, turret. Everyone else, go.” Cole opened the back of the truck and six men piled out. Someone paused long enough to secure the back door for him.
Jake hated being left in the truck, but the role of sniper was invaluable. Just not as in the line of fire as he liked.
He reached up and twisted the handle on the turret, then lowered a platform that folded flat to the wall. He worked fast, adrenaline kicking in. He scrambled up onto the platform and proceeded to sweep the area.
The farm spread out in front of him, to the south and east, bordered by trees. The semi truck was to his right, officers lining up bad guys, some laying facedown and yelling. He would bet they’d gotten a good dose of the gas.
He shifted his rifle and used the sight to see farther away from the barn.
SWAT snipers, unlike military snipers, were not there to kill, at least not most of the time. Becca’s job was to provide invaluable tactical information back to the team. Of course if a situation arose where they needed to take someone out, they did. The safety of their team and citizens was their primary concern.
Movement in a small cornfield caught his eye.
“Two suspects at the front of the semi truck headed south into the fields,” he said.
“On it.” It sounded like Aaron.
Three officers peeled off and headed after the bad guys.
“Proceeding into the barn,” Cole announced.
Jake watched a small team of officers breach the main entry to the barn. He wasn’t any help there, so he pivoted, taking in the rest of the farm. The fields were laid out in well-defined plots, and even with just the moonlight he could guess what they were. Not a single crop was illegal.
He pivoted to face the farmhouse. Patrol cars lined the drive, blocking entry or exit. A handful of officers had the front of the house covered. According to the intel Cole had relayed to their team, the family were the only ones in the residence.
A window on the side of the house in a dark room shattered. Jake peered through his scope.
“Patrol, I’ve got activity in the western-facing windows of the house,” he said.
Other voices spoke over the line, but none acknowledged that he’d spoken.
The back door of the house was flung open. Jake swung his scope toward it in time to see a man and two women exit.
“Patrol, I’ve got one male suspect that appears to be taking two women out the back by force. I do not see a gun, but he is using force. Do you copy, patrol?”
The back-porch lights blossomed, spilling light on the unfolding tableau.
A man in overalls carrying a rifle exited just as the first man pivoted. The first man shoved a taller woman away from him and held the second, younger female to his chest. Light glinted off a handgun.
“Patrol, I have two shooters at the back of the house,” he yelled. Why wasn’t anyone responding?
“I’m on it, Vant,” Cole said over the comm.
“No time, Sarge.”
The young woman twisted, broke free and flung herself from the man.
Jake squeezed his trigger a second behind the boom of a shotgun discharging.
The first gunman flew back as SWAT took charge of the scene. The gunman didn’t get back up.
“Where’s patrol?” Jake asked, trying to keep a handle on his frustration.
“They’re on a different channel, Vant,” Cole replied.
Jake swallowed his irritation and shoved the clusterfuck aside. Since the house seemed to be under control, he turned his attention toward the fields, sweeping for any sign of movement or fleeing suspects, but they appeared to have taken everyone with minimal injuries, save the one downed shooter.
“Vant,” Cole said over the com.
“Yeah?”
“Come to the house.”
Glad to get out of the truck, he closed the turret and stowed the platform before stepping out into the cool embrace of the evening. He jogged the forty yards to the back of the farmhouse where officers and an EMT crew were taping off the scene.
Cole stood off to one side with a narcotics officer Jake recognized, though he’d joined the team after Jake had left.
“Guys.” Jake nodded and directed his attention to Cole.
Cole gestured to the narc officer. “This is Officer Dewan Tatum.”
“We want you to do a quick identification for us,” said Tatum. He was younger, with s
andy-brown hair and a no-nonsense altitude Jake could appreciate.
“You need me to ID someone?” Jake stilled. Who would he know that could possibly be mixed up with this business?
“This guy.” Tatum gestured to a sheet thrown over the downed body of the first shooter. He grabbed the edge of the sheet and folded it down to reveal a face, slack from death, eyes and mouth open.
Jake followed and peered down at the face of a middle-aged man. Fat had created folds in his face, though he didn’t appear to be grossly overweight. Jake breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know any Hispanic men that bore even a remote resemblance to the dead man.
“Who do you think he is?” Jake asked.
Tatum glanced at him, then Cole.
The pieces clicked.
“David Alvarez,” Jake said. Take off fifty pounds, give him some stubble and longer, greasy hair and you had the pot runner himself.
“That’s who I thought it was. Won’t know until we make a positive match,” Tatum said. They couldn’t rely on visual identification. They had to match fingerprints, dental records, something concrete, which would be done at the morgue.
Jake whirled to the three men. “We caught Jose Garza last night. Now we’re given a tip that takes us to Alvarez? Something’s just not right.” His brain whirled, internal sirens blaring a warning.
“We were hoping we could bring you in on this, get some of your insight. We’ve never gotten as close as you did to catching the old crew.” Tatum dusted off his hands and stood. “Look, between us, there’s a mole in Narcotics. Whenever we know something, the bad guys are five steps ahead of us. Someone’s tipping them off. We need to take these guys down, but figure out who the mole is.”
Jake nodded, his mind blown. A mole? Wasn’t the first time there’d been one.
He glanced at the body once more. One more file closed. He’d only ever caught Diego Cruz before this, and thank God for that. The man was a sick fuck.
* * * * *
Nicole picked through the handful of outfits hanging in the lonely closet. Her hands kept tracing the bruise on the back of her thigh. Between the purple blemish and the soreness between her legs, Jake had left his mark on her. She didn’t know how she should feel about that.
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