by Tarah Scott
The only other entrances were the sliding glass door at the patio and the kitchen door. If they were both locked, he would break in, then beat R.W. for not answering his phone, then Hal for not carrying one.
He straightened from the side of the house and was forced to blink his surroundings into focus. Dammit, what was wrong with him? He hadn’t been this disoriented when he walked from the hospital or on the drive here. Ben checked an impulse to touch his wound to see if it was bleeding. Blood or rain, they’d both feel the same.
The open car door bothered him. So did the fact that the house was deathly quiet.
* * *
Liz’s phone rang. She jumped, then pulled the phone from her back pocket and fumbled it. She scooped it off the floor. The word ‘private’ flashed on the screen. The jingle that identified his call hadn’t rung, but what if he had a different phone? With a shaky hand, she tapped the screen.
“Hello? Ben?”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Monahan.”
Liz’s heart pounded wildly. Carlos Sanchez?
“Who is this?”
“I think you know who I am.”
Panic made the darkness swirl around her. She scrambled backwards to the farthest corner of the closet and yanked her knees up to her chest. How had Carlos Sanchez gotten her number? What should she do? A clap of thunder caused her to jump.
“I understand there was a fire at your Dallas office,” he said. “I hope no one was hurt.”
Liz began to shake. “You’re going to jail, Mr. Sanchez.”
“And who is going to put me there, your friend Ranger Hunter? I do not fear dead men.”
She started to say Ben wasn’t dead, he had called her only minutes ago, but stopped short. What if he’d killed Ben in the few minutes since she’d spoken with him? Tears burned the corners of her eyes.
“You will answer for the murder of the woman who died in the fire at the Remmeys’ home.”
“There was a fire there as well?” he said. “I am sorry to hear that.”
Dread wound in a cold thread through her. “How did you get this number? Why are you calling me?”
“I believe you and I can come to an agreement that will benefit us both.”
“I won’t agree to dying.”
He laughed. “I can kill you. However, I do not want to. But I must be sure you will not cause me any further trouble.”
What did he want? Liz didn’t believe for a moment he planned to let her live. “I just want to get on with my life.”
“Then I suggest we meet and talk.”
Her mind raced. Could she promise to meet the human traffics dealer and have the police there to apprehend him?
“How can I know you won’t kill me?” she said.
“Easy. I can, if I choose, kill you at any time. If you do not try to harm me, I will not hurt you. I simply needed Ranger Hunter was out of the way first.”
“Out of the way?” she blurted, then checked her panic. “The Juarez District Attorney promised to keep him safe.”
“Senor Gomez cannot keep him safe in an El Paso hospital. He died there only minutes ago.”
Shock rolled over Liz. How did Sanchez know Ben was in the hospital? That was the plan, she forcibly reminded herself. He was supposed to know Ben was there. But Ben wasn’t at the hospital. That meant Sanchez was lying. He was trying to rattle her. He couldn’t have killed Ben in the short space of time since Ben had called—and Captain Medina said Ben wasn’t at the hospital. They didn’t know where he was. Did that mean—more thunder clapped.
“Why do you care if he is dead?” Sanchez said.
“He’s a good man.”
“Good men die every day. Men like R.W. Hunter.”
Liz went cold.
“Don’t do anything, Liz!” R.W.’s shout reverberated through the phone.
She heard a grunt and realized he’d been hit.
“Do you want to be responsible for another good man’s death?” Sanchez said.
Liz closed her eyes. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk with you, face to face.”
“When?” she asked.
“Why not now?”
Her heart thudded. “Where?”
“How about here?”
“What?”
The door swung open and a flashlight beam blinded her. Liz yanked up the gun and fired.
* * *
A single gunshot roared. For an instant, Ben told himself the sound had been thunder. Then he broke into a sprint through the rain alongside the house. With each jolt, pain radiated down his arm. Lightning brightened the sky as he reached the corner. He forced himself to stop and peer around the edge at the balcony. His heart thundered and the rain pounded so hard on him and the siding that it seemed his ears roared. He heard nothing, saw nothing. He took the three steps to the balcony and vaulted the stone wall, landing in a crouch.
Ben stared into the darkened room and discerned no movement. Still crouching, he scurried to the door, then tried pulling back the heavy glass. It didn’t give. Fear rammed through him, causing his heart to work overtime. Liz was inside. He had to get to her. Had to find out what was going on. Who had fired that shot? And where the hell were R.W. and Hal? He checked the desire—compulsion—to pull the Bullpup off his shoulder and shoot his way in.
“Use your head,” he muttered.
There had to be another way inside. Something that wouldn’t give away his presence. Then he remembered a window in the half bath off the hallway. The window overlooked this same side of the mountain.
Ben reached the wall in two strides. He wanted to jump this side of the balcony as he had the other, but couldn’t be sure where he would land. He swung one leg over, then the other, and dropped to the ground. Stinging rain caused him to grimace, but he crept forward in the dark, afraid to turn on the flashlight. He reached the place he estimated the window to be and reached up, feeling along the wood. His fingers contacted a screen.
Lightning flashed. Ben swung the Bullpup from his shoulder then poised the butt inches from the window and waited. When thunder boomed, he smashed the window. He barely heard the glass break and hoped no one inside heard. Carefully, he reached up, felt the window, found the screen, then yanked it free of the sill. Glass tumbled down on him. He turned his head aside, and a piece grazed his neck. He tossed the screen, then knocked the remaining glass free and onto the ground.
He hoisted himself up and forced back the pain that seared through his left shoulder where the bullet had passed through. Up and over, he dropped, twisting so that he landed on his right shoulder. He hit with a thud and the Bullpup clattered on the tile floor. Ben felt as if he’d been rammed with a bat to the solar plexus and lay, drawing in half a dozen deep breaths.
The pain subsided to a dull roar and his eyes adjusted enough that he could discern shadows in the room. Ben groped for the Bullpup and found it. He shoved to his feet, then crept to the door. Slowly, he turned the knob and eased the door open, then peered into the hallway.
None of the shadows moved. The house was too quiet. There should be candles or hurricane lamps, even flashlight beams, something to show the occupants were alive. Fear rammed through him like a drug. It wasn’t possible that something had happened. No one knew Liz was here. R.W. and Hal were two of the toughest men he knew.
So was Carlos Sanchez.
* * *
Liz shoved to her feet and hurled herself past the fallen figure straight into what felt like a brick wall. One iron arm locked her in a bear hug while a large hand seized the gun and twisted. She cried out in pain and lost her grip. He ripped the gun from her grasps and clamped a hand over her mouth. Liz twisted and kicked while clawing at the hand covering her mouth. She screamed through the hand, but the pounding of the rain against the house swallowed the sound.
“Fuck,” snarled a familiar voice in her ear. “Keep up this shit and I’ll gut you before I fuck you.”
Fear froze Liz. Sanchez’s American thug.
“You shot me, bitch,” another male voice said.
The man also spoke with an American accent, but she didn’t recognize the voice. A flashlight beam swept across the room and the man holding the flashlight stepped into view.
“She got my arm,” he growled.
He shifted and looked in her direction. Liz couldn’t discern his features in the dark. She lunged toward the door. The American’s grip slipped and she broke free.
“Dumb bitch,” he cursed.
Her hair suddenly yanked her hair and she twisted aside. The American seized her shoulders and drove her backwards. She hit the wall and he slammed into her, crushing the air from her lungs. Liz gasped for breath.
“I’ve been thinking about you.” He ground his groin against her.
Her stomach took a sickening turn.
“This time, I get to do anything to you I want,” he said. “All Sanchez wants is you alive.”
He fisted her blouse and yanked. Liz cried out as the top buttons ripped free. He grabbed a breast and she clawed at the hand that painfully kneaded the tender flesh. Her head spun. Where was R.W.? What about Agent Masters? A sob filled her throat. What about Hal? He must have heard the gunfire.
“Did you hear that?” the other man hissed.
The American stilled.
“Sounded like broken glass,” the other man whispered.
“You’re hearing things. It’s the rain.” The American crushed his mouth against Liz’s. She wrenched her head aside.
“Come on,” the other man said. “I don’t like this. Let’s go.” He shined the light on the American’s face.
The American cursed, but yanked her so close she could taste his breath. “Make a peep and I’ll beat you so hard even your own mother wouldn’t recognize you. Then I’ll kill your R.W. friend.”
Liz gave a small gasp.
“That’s right,” he said. “He’s alive. But only if you do what I say.”
The other man started for the door and he followed, dragging her alongside. Her heart raced. R.W. wasn’t dead? Where was he? With Sanchez. Sanchez had R.W. Why keep him alive, why not kill him? And what about Hal? No one had mentioned Hal.
The thug railroaded her out the door and down the hall to the stairs. She stumbled on the stairs and he held her upright. They reached the first floor and started around the stairs toward the kitchen. Liz swallowed against a throat that felt like sandpaper. How many men did Carlos Sanchez have at the house? She wished Ben was there, then wished he wasn’t. He was far away, safe. Right? Tears pressed against her eyelids. She didn’t know if anyone was dead. Maybe—God, they couldn’t be dead.
They reached the kitchen and she realized they were taking her outside. Where were they going? Where was Carlos Sanchez? He’d been with R.W.. What had they done to R.W.? They went through the pantry and the American’s companion hurried through the outside door. The American followed. Liz stiffened.
“Remember what I said,” he growled.
“How do I know you haven’t already killed R.W.?” she demanded.
He gave a gritty laugh. “You don’t.”
They stepped off the porch and rain pelted her.
Liz dug her heels into the sod. “Then why should I go with you?” she shouted over the rain.
He began dragging her. In seconds, her hair plastered across her face. Up ahead, the flashlight bobbed in the darkness. In the far distance, lights dotted the mountainside. Not everyone had lost power. Was it possible Sanchez and his goons had cut their powerline? No, not unless they could climb power poles.
Liz became aware that she was slipping from her captor’s grasp and realized the rain made her arms slick. He jerked and, in the next instant, they went down. Her head hit the ground. Stars burst before her eyes. She shook her head, then vaguely realized she was free of her captor. Liz pushed up onto an elbow. Lightning flashed, then left her in dizzying darkness.
A weight clamped around her waist and large hands shoved her shoulders against the ground. Rain beat down on her face. He released her shoulders and yanked on buttons of her jeans. Liz struck his back with a knee. He grunted but didn’t stop. Rain and terror blinded her. She flailed, body twisting, fists pounding. Her right fist smashed his ear and her self-defense instructor’s voice played in her head. “A knee to the groin will stop every men. But if you can do that, can rip off the man’s ear. Grab that ear and don’t let go.”
Liz latched onto his right ear and yanked as hard as she could. He released her jeans with a howl of pain and slid sideways. The ear slipped from her grasp. Her heart thundered. She went for the ear again but his hand covered it.
“Motherfuck. You fucking cunt.”
Instructor Wo must have been wrong. She caught his other ear in her right hand.
He gave a feral growl. Her grip started to slip at the first pull. “Don’t let go, and pull like you’re zipping up those tight jeans.” She threw all her strength into zipping up that ear. It seemed to slip more, then the ear ripped free. Her hand banged against the ground with the force of her yank.
A clap of thunder drowned out the incessant pounding of the rain along with the American’s scream. He rolled off her, and her stomach churned when she realized his ear lay wet and limp in her hand like raw bacon. She dropped the ear, then shoved to her feet.
Wo said it only took five pounds of force to rip off an ear. She thought him crazy—until now. The American moaned. Adrenaline pumped through her. Wo had also told them to flee an attacker, but this attacker had come back too many times. She distinguished his outline in the dark. He rocked on his knees. Liz drew back a leg and kicked his head. He cried out, then went silent.
* * *
A man screamed. No doubt about it. Ben had heard a man scream—outside. Dammit. First a shot inside the house, now a man’s scream outside. What the hell was going on? Pistol in his right hand, he extended his left hand forward and hurried as best he could through the kitchen to the mudroom. He stopped short two paces into the room when the sound of rain and the rush of wind told him the door stood open.
He crept forward, reached the door, then slowly edged down the two stairs to the ground. Rain hit in big drops, but Ben was certain the storm had eased. Movement up ahead caught his attention. Weapon at ready, Ben shook rain from his eyes in an effort to better make out shapes in the darkness.
Something made hard contact with his belly. The wind rushed from his lungs. He swung his gun left, half doubled over, wheezing in a painful breath. Something rammed into his shoulder. He stumbled right—thankful it was his left shoulder that had taken the blow—then dove to the left and tackled his attacker.
They hit the ground. The pistol flew from his hand as they rolled in the mud. His attacker struck out at his face and Ben realized he had his arms around a woman.
Liz.
Ben clamped his arms around her and hugged her tightly to him. “Liz.” It really was her. Finally. “Liz.”
She twisted and grunted, still trying to break free. A kick to his knee proved it.
“Liz,” he said more firmly.
She stilled, then threw her arms around him. His head pounded and his shoulder ached, but he felt as if the weight of the world had lifted from him. She began shaking.
“Are you injured?” he demanded, then regretted how ingrained training had forced such a clinical question.
She shook her head. They both were soaking wet. He had to get up and get her into the house.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“How sweet,” said a male voice over the rain.
Liz stiffened and Ben’s eyes flew open. A flashlight beam captured them in its circle of light.
“Finding you two together makes being in this pouring rain worth the trouble,” Carlos Sanchez said.
A whimper sounded in the darkness somewhere to their right.
“Get up,” Sanchez ordered.
“Easy,” Ben whispered to Liz.
He pushed to his feet, pulling her with him. In
the shadow cast by the flashlight beam, Ben glimpsed the barrel of the Bullpup lying on the ground to his left. The weapon must have fallen off when Liz attacked him. Sanchez held a large-barreled pistol aimed at them. No way he could dive for the Bullpup before Sanchez shot Liz or him. Had Liz been his partner, the one closest to rifle would go for the weapon while the other took out the thug. But Liz wasn’t trained for combat. In a hostage situation with a civilian, the book said, talk first and look for an opening. Don’t risk innocent lives.
A shadow shifted behind Sanchez. Friend or foe? Friend. One of Sanchez’s goons wouldn’t skulk behind his boss.
“You lied, you bastard,” Liz snapped.
Ben startled at her outburst, then realized she, too, had seen the shadow. Where had she gotten a copy of the Ranger training book?
“You said he was dead.” She took a step forward as if to confront Sanchez.
Ben grasped her arm and pulled her back. “What did you expect, Liz? He’s a liar.”
The hand holding the flashlight shifted to illuminate the Bullpup. “Do not try to grab your weapon,” Sanchez said.
The shadow figure held an arm raised as if to strike. Then the figure took shape, arm not raised in a strike as Ben had thought, but pressing a hand to his head.
“Shoot her. That cunt ripped off my ear,” the man said.
Sanchez spun.
Ben yanked Liz to him and dove for the ground. They hit the slippery grass and slid. Pain from his wound stuttered his breath. She screamed. Ben shoved her away and grabbed the Bullpup. Sanchez whirled and fired. The bullet pounded into the ground inches from Ben’s face.
Ben rolled away from Liz, the light beam tracking his movement. Pain and anger tunneled his vision. Another report boomed from Sanchez and a round zinged past Ben’s head.
Liz screamed his name as Ben brought the rifle to bear on the blurry form holding the light. He squeezed off one round. Missed, but the man with no ear doubled over.