Operation Midnight

by Justine Davis

She had no choice, she was already in motion and knew she would fall if she tried to stop. Better to jump, and have some control.

  It was only a three-foot drop, but it seemed like more when she hit ground. She wobbled for a moment as one foot hit a rock and slid, but then Quinn was there, his strong arm steadying her even as he swore, words she hadn’t heard since the time her father had found her hiding in Toby Baxter’s tree house, hours after a fight with her mother. He’d been terrified for her; Quinn, she was sure, was just angry.

  He made a circular hand gesture toward the helicopter. It didn’t take much to guess what it meant; keep going. Hayley had never thought she’d be sorry to see the last of that black helicopter, but the reality of the situation began to sink in as the aircraft lifted out of reach.

  She didn’t have time to dwell on feelings of abandonment. In the moment that Quinn grabbed her arm and starting pulling her back toward the house, she heard odd popping sounds. She thought something had gone wrong with the helicopter, but it continued to rise, began to assume the angle she knew now meant they were about to start making speed.

  Quinn whipped up the rifle he held. Fired bursts of automatic fire to the west. She barely stifled a startled yelp at the sound. The helicopter kept rising. Quinn pushed her to the ground behind him. He went into a crouch, rifle still up. Little puffs of dust and pebbles kicked up from the dirt within inches of them.

  Gunshots. What she had heard before were gunshots, she finally realized. They were back.

  Quinn sent out another spray of fire, apparently knowing where the shots were coming from. Cutter stood beside him, barking angrily, as if he understood the threat. Who knows, Hayley thought numbly, maybe the uncannily smart dog had learned the danger of gunfire during that last heated battle.

  Quinn grabbed something out of his vest. He rose slightly. Her mind screamed “No, they’ll see you!” in the instant before his arm came back and he threw. Cutter jumped forward a little, wire-drawn and frighteningly intent. She grabbed the dog’s collar. She didn’t think even the sometimes amazingly strong Cutter could drag her deadweight with him. Not that that would stop him from trying.

  The explosion was deafening, even to ears still ringing from the sound of gunfire. The grenades, she thought, a little numbly, also belatedly realizing they had probably known exactly where he was from his return fire anyway.

  Quinn fired again and again, and she couldn’t even see who he was shooting at. But obviously he could, and since the helicopter seemed safely out of range now, he had clearly succeeded with his goal of covering their escape.

  He threw another grenade.

  And then she had no time to think at all; Quinn had her running. Another grenade exploded. She felt the shock through the ground, swore she could feel it rock the very air around her. But they kept going, so fast all she could think about was staying on her feet as he charted a dodging, crooked, crazy path back toward the cabin.

  Then they were inside, and Quinn slammed and secured the door behind them. She wasn’t sure what good it would do stopping bullets, but she hadn’t known about the armored bedroom, either.

  Quinn whirled on her.

  “Not many people do something that stupid and survive,” he snapped.

  “I know,” she admitted, and saw the surprise in his eyes at the ease of her capitulation. “But it was too late to stop. And I couldn’t just leave him.”

  Quinn glanced at Cutter. The dog looked from him back to her, and Hayley could have sworn there was a look of approval—even satisfaction—in his eyes.

  “I can see why sheep obey him,” she murmured.

  “Are you saying he made you do it, or that you’re a sheep?” Quinn asked. She wished there had been a bit more humor in the question.

  “Maybe both,” she said, suddenly weary.

  For a moment Quinn said nothing. When he did speak, his conciliatory tone—and his words—surprised her. “He does have a way.”

  “Yes. Yes, he does. And a powerful will.”

  “Must be how it works. The sheep.”

  She didn’t know if it was supposed to be another jab at her, but she felt the need to explain. “He does do it with people, too. I don’t know how, he just communicates.”

  Quinn nodded. “I’ve seen it.”

  She felt a little relieved, his anger seemed to have ebbed.

  “I could do without the smugness, though,” Quinn said.

  Hayley’s gaze shot to his face; had that been a joke? But he was looking at the dog, a wry expression on his face. Could he really see it? Usually it was only she who read such human emotions into Cutter’s expressions, and she kept the notion to herself.

  “He does seem a bit full of himself,” she said carefully.

  “He looks,” Quinn said drily, “like a guy whose plan has come together.”

  Hayley’s eyes widened. She never would have expected something so…fanciful from the cool, commanding and undeniably deadly man before her.

  “Make yourself useful, dog,” he said to Cutter. “Let me know if they decide to make another run. Guard,” he added, making a sweeping gesture around the cabin.

  The dog gave a low, whuffing sound, she supposed the canine equivalent of “Yes, sir,” and trotted off toward the front door and the single window. He began to pace, stopping now and then with his head cocked, clearly listening, or with his nose up, sniffing deeply.

  “I swear, sometimes I think he’s…” Quinn’s words trailed off.

  “Me, too,” Hayley agreed. “Sometimes I really wonder. And then he chews up a shoe, or digs a huge hole in the yard, or brings me a dead rat, and I realize he’s just a dog again.”

  “At least he’ll be a help.” Just like that, that softer Quinn vanished, and the professional was back. And none too happy with her.

  “Unlike me?”

  He looked at her then. “You held them off with that shotgun, even if you did miss.”

  “I didn’t miss. I wasn’t aiming at them.”

  Quinn drew back slightly. “Are you saying you could have hit them, but you didn’t?”

  “I didn’t want to kill anybody—”

  “There is a time for mercy,” Quinn said, his voice suddenly like ice. “When the men trying to kill you don’t know the meaning of the word is not it.”

  He didn’t point out that her qualms had left them with more men to deal with now, and for that she was grateful.

  “You’d better believe this now, Hayley. Those men out there are beyond ruthless. They are the kind of men who kill for revenge, to make a point, to teach a lesson and simply because they enjoy it. And your innocence will not protect you. You are in their way, and that’s all it takes.”

  “But so many of them have died—”

  “They’re as ruthless with their own as they are their enemies. They’ll keep coming to the last man. My team will come back with help, but until then we’re on our own. And we, in case you hadn’t noticed, are pinned down here.”

  She felt shaken, but she couldn’t deny the truth of what he’d said, she’d seen it for herself. She drew in a deep, steadying breath, and let it out in a quick gust. She walked to table where she’d dropped the shotgun when she’d come back inside. She picked up the powerful, reliable weapon and methodically reloaded it.

  Then she turned to face Quinn.

  “What else can I do?” she asked, working to keep her voice calm, although inside she was scared to death.

  He looked at her, assessingly. His gaze flicked to the shotgun, then back to her face. He gave her a short, sharp nod of approval, and she was stunned at how good it made her feel.

  “We may need to retreat to the armored room. Move any food that doesn’t require cooking in there. There’s also a cache of freeze-dried food in the closet.”

  She nodded. “What about water?”

  “There’s a tap in there. And bottles we filled when we first got here.”

  “Somebody thought of everything,” she said.

  “Charli
e,” he said, already moving before she began to walk toward the kitchen. He was rechecking all the places where he’d left weapons earlier. Then he started carrying what was left in the weapons locker into the bedroom.

  By the time she was done, the locker was mostly empty, everything that wasn’t out and within reach of various parts of the room was moved into the safe room.

  Including all but one of the boxes of shells for her shotgun.

  “What if I need more?” she asked, eying the box.

  “If you need more than that,” he said, “you’ll be heading in there.” He gestured toward the bedroom. “Shotgun’s best at shorter range. If they get close, your job is to just keep them back until you can get into that room and lock it.”

  “You say that like I’ll be alone.”

  Even as she spoke she already knew the answer. He’d given it to Vicente, barely an hour ago.

  If they get to you, I’ll be dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  She was holding up remarkably well, considering.

  Quinn made another circuit, checking the carefully placed windows. As with everything else here at this site and all their others, Charlie had sited them personally, at the best possible observation points. And before long Vicente would be tucked away at their most impenetrable and unassailable stronghold, one rarely used for various reasons, but in this case he’d not hesitated to give the order.

  One of those reasons was at this moment in the kitchen, and his nose had just told him why; the enticing aroma of fresh coffee had wafted his way.

  Good thinking, he told her silently. But then he’d come to know she was good at that. She never stopped thinking.

  Except for that moment when she’d come after her blessed dog. Again. He’d intended for her—and Cutter, for that matter—to be out of here and safe before the next attack.

  And yet he, the cool, unemotional pragmatist, understood. And that surprised him. But Cutter was an amazing dog. Like now, for instance; instead of being at Quinn’s heels, he was on the opposite side of the cabin, obviously alert and on guard, nose twitching, ears swiveling. And every time Quinn moved to another viewing post, Cutter moved in turn, so at least two sides of the cabin were always covered.

  In other words, Quinn thought in amazement, the dog was doing exactly what he would have ordered one of his men to do. Oh, he wouldn’t have picked those particular places, but the animal apparently knew what spots gave him the best audio or olfactory reception. Amazing indeed.

  Hayley approached him with a mug of hot coffee.

  “Thanks for thinking of this,” he said, accepting it and taking a sip. It was exactly as he liked it. Obviously she’d seen him do it enough times to get it just right.

  “Don’t know if there’ll be a chance later,” she said.

  Her voice was low, quiet, and he didn’t miss the undercurrent of strain. He would have been amazed if she was calm, indeed would have assumed she didn’t understand the severity of their situation. But she obviously did.

  “They’ll be coming back soon,” he said between sips.

  “Why didn’t they just keep coming now?”

  “We were in the open, now we’re not. Their first plan of attack here didn’t work, now they need a new one. And it’s getting dark.”

  “You think they won’t come in the dark?”

  “No idea. Depends how desperate they are.”

  He took another gulp of coffee then set the mug down. There was no point in sugarcoating this for her. And it seemed she was able to handle reality better than most in her position would be, so he gave it to her.

  “If they have enough ammo, they may just open fire and try to tear the place down with bullets. If that happens, you run for the bedroom.”

  “And leave you out here to do…what?”

  “My job.”

  “I thought your job just left on that helicopter.”

  Like I said, she never stops thinking, Quinn thought wryly.

  “And you should have, too.”

  “I don’t think we have the time to waste going over that again.”

  He couldn’t stop his mouth from quirking upward. “Point taken,” he said.

  He glanced at the items he’d selected from the weapons locker. As soon as it was fully dark, he’d go out and set some booby traps. There were some land mines which, if put in the right place, could give the illusion of an entire minefield. Trip wires, portable laser beams that sent up a shrieking alarm, he had many options.

  And he might be using them all tonight.

  “Who are you? Who’s Vicente, really?”

  He hesitated. Her chin came up. She stared him down in a way few men had the nerve to do.

  “If I’m going to die out here because of all this,” she said, “I damned well want to know why.”

  “You’re not going to—”

  “You can’t guarantee that. They found us here, didn’t they?”

  She had a point, and one he couldn’t deny. A couple of points, actually.

  He chose to give her the answer that would come out eventually anyway.

  “Vicente Reynosa is going to be the prize witness in hearings about a drug cartel that’s murdered hundreds, maybe thousands of people along the Mexican border. Including nearly two dozen American citizens.”

  Her eyes widened. “The man they’ve been talking about on the news?”

  He should have guessed she’d probably heard the blaring news reports about the investigation. Hard to miss, given the fury over how long, and how many deaths it had taken to get the bureaucracy moving. Vicente was the only person they’d found willing to give evidence against the huge, well-armed and utterly ruthless cartel.

  “He’s…a drug dealer?” She sounded astonished.

  “Not really. He was coerced. Forced to cooperate with the drug lord. They hold his family. His wife, three children and his sister. They’ve already tortured and brutally murdered his only son.”

  He saw the expressions cross her face, and found them as readable as if she’d spoken every stage, from shock, to the realization that her neighbor was in fact a hero of sorts, to anger.

  “Those bastards,” she exclaimed.

  “Exactly.”

  “And good for Vicente. No wonder you respect him.”

  “Yes. He’s a brave man.”

  “What about his family, when he testifies?”

  “We’re working on that.” He gave her a sideways look. “If it makes you feel any better, the guy I killed with my bare hands, as you said? He was the one who tortured and murdered Vicente’s son.”

  He saw something spark in her green eyes, a flash of satisfaction that warmed him. It was a moment before she said, “Which brings me back to my other question.”

  No, she never stopped. He let out a compressed breath.

  “Hayley,” he began.

  “Are you government agents?”

  “No.”

  “But I thought that’s who protected witnesses.”

  “Normally, it is.”

  “But?”

  He opened his mouth to say something diverting, one of the usual answers given to anyone who got too curious. But what she’d said before stopped him cold.

  If I’m going to die out here because of all this, I damned well want to know why.

  It was a very grim, very real possibility. When he coupled that with how she’d handled all this, keeping what had to be extraordinary fear under control, and dragging up enough courage to not only confront him at every turn, snipe at him, argue with him, but when the chips were down to take a shotgun and hold armed men at bay to help him—better that she’d eliminated them, but even what she’d done had been incredibly brave and unexpected, and had probably been what had allowed him to escape that fracas without even a scratch.

  “Vicente asked for us,” he finally said.

  That seemed to surprise her. “He did? Why?”

  Quinn’s mouth quirked. “He apparently lost his trust in the government
of his own country long ago, and now he’s lost trust in ours, as well. He knows where the cartel got many of their weapons.”

  “So he doesn’t trust either to protect him?”

  “No.”

  “So you are a private operation.”

  “Yes. Very private.”

  “Contracted by the government?”

  “No. They called us in this time, at Vicente’s demand, but we’ve never worked for them.”

  “But…how did he even know you existed?”

  “We retrieved an American citizen and her daughter last year, out from under his particular drug lord’s nose.”

  “Did the government call you in then, too?”

  He grimaced. “No. And they weren’t too happy when her husband did.”

  “You’d think they’d take all the help they could get.”

  “They have a tendency to be very territorial. And to think they do things best.”

  “Right,” Hayley said, with a grimace that nearly matched his own. Then she looked about to ask another question, hesitated and asked something else. “So that’s why Vicente trusted you? Because he knew you got that woman and her daughter out?”

  Quinn nodded. “One of law enforcement’s main focuses is their legal case, and convictions. They’re spread thin that way.”

  “And you’re different.”

  He nodded. “We focus on only one thing. Keeping our target alive.”

  She was quiet for a moment, and he could almost hear her mind working, absorbing, processing. He jumped at the chance to stop talking and start doing; he’d told her enough, and more than he ever told most people not directly involved in a case.

  But then, right now she was about as involved as anybody could get. And now that Vicente’s safety was out of his hands, her safety, as an innocent bystander, became paramount.

  He went to work, preparing his booby traps and early-warning devices for deployment as soon as he had full cover of darkness. He’s have to work fast, just in case they were also waiting for dark to attack. He’d like to think they were a bit cowed, and would take longer to regroup, but he couldn’t assume that.

  Hayley stood quietly, in fact handing him things as he worked. He noticed that after the first mine he didn’t have to ask, she knew exactly what to give him when. If she’d been an applicant, he’d have given her a serious look, just based on how she’d handled all this.