Ripped Apart

by Miriam Minger

  “Anyone following us?”

  “A-a van, sir, white—”

  “How far?”

  “Thirty yards, sometimes closer.”

  “Lose them and I’ll let you live.”

  * * *

  “He’s speeding up, sir.”

  “I know, Pablo. Stay with him.”

  Jake shifted on his haunches between the two front bucket seats while Pablo veered the van in and out of traffic.

  One commando occupied the front passenger seat, his AK-47 braced on the dashboard. The other three men were behind Jake, two in the back seat and one next to Clare in the middle seat. She hadn’t said a word since they’d sped off after the limousine, but her agonized apologies as they had raced to get back into the van still echoed in Jake’s mind.

  He didn’t have to glance over his shoulder to imagine her face was still chalk white. They’d come so damned close to rescuing Tyler, so close.

  He’d been as surprised as any of them when Eduardo Ruiz and his wife had rushed out of the emergency room entrance toward a waiting limo, a hulking Latino whom Jake guessed was a bodyguard carrying Tyler. Jake had thought then Clare’s horrified gasp might have given them away. He’d had only a few seconds before the limo began to move to gesture to Pablo and the four commandos to change their positions and head into the street.

  A few precious seconds.

  He’d re-played them over and over in his mind, furious with himself now that he hadn’t signaled instead an immediate rush toward the ER entrance the moment he’d seen Ruiz step outside. Yet at the time his gut instincts had held him back.

  The area was too well lit. Tyler might be hit in the crossfire, or Clare. Jake had no doubt a gun battle would have erupted. A split second decision had to be made.

  They would quickly re-position and attempt to take out the limo at the bottom of the exit—but that tactic was just as dangerous for Tyler since the vehicle was probably armored. The tires would have to be hit and disabled first, then if the doors were flung open they’d fire a single shot for each bodyguard and one aimed directly at Eduardo Ruiz’s head. Quick. Fatal.

  The only thing he hadn’t counted on was Clare blowing their cover to dart out toward the moving limo, forcing Jake to tackle her from behind.

  She’d scraped her chin on the pavement, but at least she wasn’t dead. Eduardo had to have spotted her for the limo to speed up and careen into the street like a bat out of hell. Lucky thing for Clare he’d gone on the defensive and run instead of lowering a window to put a bullet between her eyes.

  “Don’t lose him, Pablo…damn!” Jake braced himself as the van mimicked the limo in a sharp left turn onto a main thoroughfare.

  Eduardo clearly knew they were in hot pursuit. The limo headed northeast now, and the airport lay in that direction. Damn. It wouldn’t take more than a phone call to have a private jet ready and waiting on a runway, the limo driver pushing the vehicle to its limit to outdistance them.

  Add to that their element of surprise was gone and the situation couldn’t look grimmer. They had to catch up to the limo and force it off the road. It wouldn’t be pretty but Eduardo and his bodyguards were outgunned and out-manned, one major advantage going for them. Some outside help would be nice, too, but that was far too much to hope for.

  “Keep it close, Pablo. Don’t let them get too far ahead.”

  It appeared a straight run now all the way to the airport, and the limo was going faster. Jake glanced behind him and wasn’t surprised that Clare’s gaze was focused on the speeding vehicle, her face pale as death. Blood from her chin had dripped onto the front of her T-shirt, but she looked oblivious to any pain.

  The van veered sharply into another lane and she grabbed Jake’s shoulder to keep from sliding off the seat. As if jolted out of a spell, she realized he stared at her and mouthed another apology. Her eyes glistened in the intermittent flashes from the streetlights.

  She’d been so brave, her hope so unshakable. Tyler had been only a few strides away from her when he’d been deposited into the limo. How could Jake blame her for reacting out of desperation when the vehicle had pulled away?

  Feeling a sudden tightness in his throat that he didn’t need right now, Jake swallowed it down. He turned back to the street at the same moment his cell phone signaled an incoming call.

  Did Mike possess some weird kind of telepathy? Jake pulled out the phone and ducked his head to hear more clearly over the noise of the speeding van. “Hell, Reed, you’re scaring me—”

  “Everything go okay?”

  “Negative. Whole damn thing turned on its head, but the airport’s straight ahead. We’re tailing Ruiz. He’s got the kid with him in a limo.”

  “Damn. You driving?”

  “No, Pablo.”

  “Let me talk to him. I’ve got a shortcut to the airport. You want to catch the bastard, right?”

  Jake didn’t argue but handed Pablo the phone and focused back on the limo. If Mike had a shortcut it took him about as little time to pass the information along to Pablo, whose hand shook when he handed the phone back to Jake.

  “You okay, Pablo?”

  Pablo nodded and drove his foot down onto the accelerator, while Jake brought the cell phone to his ear to hear the line was dead. He barely had the phone stuffed back into his pocket when Pablo shouted in Spanish that they were nearing their turn up ahead and for everyone to hold on.

  “Hold on, Clare!” Jake echoed over his shoulder. The van tilted on two left wheels as Pablo sharply veered the vehicle onto a dark side street lined with warehouses that ran diagonal to the main boulevard. A jarring bump told Jake they had regained traction with the opposite tires. Cursing, he glanced at Pablo to warn him not to take the next corner so fast when Clare screamed behind him.

  He saw the delivery truck ahead, too, and braced his hands against the console in front of him. The truck had pulled crosswise into the dimly lit intersection thirty yards away and stopped.

  “Pablo, veer right, veer right!” Jake grabbed for the wheel when Pablo appeared not to hear him but was thrown forward against the console amid the eardrum-piercing screech of tires. Pain speared through his left shoulder. His head throbbed. He thought he might have even blacked out for a split second. When he raised his head, the van had come to a dead stop.

  The first thing he thought about was Clare. He grimaced in pain when he tried to turn around to check on her and he met Pablo’s gaze.

  The younger man stared at him, an expression Jake couldn’t read on his face. His eyes looked hollow and haunted.

  The hair rose on the back of Jake’s neck. Out of the corner of his eye, the rear doors of the delivery truck swung open to reveal men dressed as police officers pointing assault rifles at the van.

  Holy shit.

  He didn’t waste a second to scream at Clare to take cover but dove sideways and pulled her bodily with him onto the van floor. “Keep your head down! Don’t move!” he shouted as he swept up his AK-47 and tucked it against his chest.

  Clare cried out his name but there was no time to answer. Jake scrambled for the van door and pulled it open, the four commandos following his lead to spill with him out into the street.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Jake? Oh, God, no, Jake!” Clare raised her head as the horrific rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire drowned out her voice. He’d told her to stay down but all she wanted to do was crawl out of the van and follow him.

  Why hadn’t she grabbed the revolver from Pablo’s car? Almost to the door, she froze when a man screamed close to the van, a terrible animal-like sound that told her someone had just been horribly wounded, or worse.

  “Jake, no, please…” She rose to her knees to jump out but someone grabbed her by the hair and yanked her backward. She glanced up in shock to find Pablo staring down at her. He reached past her and pulled the van door shut, then climbed back into the driver’s seat and started up the engine.

  “Pablo…no, stop!” Clare scrambled onto her hands and knees
but she was knocked to the floor again by a vicious blow to the head. A white flash blinded her and she rolled over onto her right shoulder, stunned.

  God help her, no, this couldn’t be happening. Several long bursts of automatic gunfire shattered the night and another man shrieked until the bone-chilling sound abruptly ended. The van shifted into reverse and then sped backward with a squeal of tires. Clare tried to sit up but was thrown against the front passenger seat when the van veered around in a half circle and then accelerated forward to roar down the street.

  The van’s mounting speed kept her pinned with her back against the seat. She glanced at Pablo to find him focused on his driving, which gave her the courage to try and claw her way up onto the middle seat.

  An instant later, she wished she hadn’t moved. She stared in horror out the rear window at the receding scene of carnage, at least five bodies lying on the ground. She tasted vomit but bit down on her lower lip to force it down.

  She refused to believe any of those bodies might be Jake. Within seconds they were too far away for her to make out anything more than tiny figures crisscrossing the street, the gunfire now only a distant pop, pop, pop.

  She was alone, just her and Pablo Sosa.

  He had betrayed Jake. He had betrayed them all. It didn’t take a great jump from that sickening thought for Clare to sense that Pablo must be connected with Eduardo Ruiz and intended to kill her. Either that, or he was taking her where someone else would do the job while Ruiz had no doubt arrived at the airport with her son. Her son!

  Clare lurched toward the sliding door and groped for the handle. Pablo shouted at her and the van braked but she didn’t wait for the vehicle to come to a full stop. She pulled so hard upon the handle that her forefinger got caught in the mechanism, tearing away a strip of flesh. Every instinct screamed she had to get out of the van. The door slid open and she hurled herself into the street.

  Clare hit the ground so hard she jarred every bone, the wind knocked out of her. She gasped in terror when the van screeched into reverse as if Pablo meant to run her over.

  She scrambled to her feet and began to run along the dark street. A burst of gunfire sounded not far behind her but she didn’t stop. An image of Tyler burned in her mind and spurred her on.

  She sucked in great gasps of air and prayed for her son and for Jake and that she might live to see them both again. Her leg muscles screamed as she ducked down an alleyway reeking of rotting garbage and urine. She forced herself to keep running in the direction she hoped would take her back to the main road and the chance that someone might stop to help her.

  More gunfire made Clare cry out, but it sounded muffled and farther away this time. That realization made her run harder. The alleyway spilled out onto another street still a good distance from the yellow glow of the thoroughfare leading to the airport.

  She passed a trio of young men loitering in front of a doorway who eyed her with curiosity but she didn’t stop to ask them for help, the incident on the beach at Tampico still fresh in her mind. She ran on though she feared her lungs might burst and her legs fail her.

  The glow of streetlights grew brighter, the major road only a block or two away. In the narrowing distance cars and trucks whizzed by in both directions, Monterrey still bustling with traffic though it must be past midnight. Surely someone would stop and offer her a ride.

  She needed to find her way to the American consulate and let Mike Reed know what had happened. He’d been aware from that last call with Jake that they were pursuing Ruiz to the airport, and he’d obviously trusted Pablo enough to talk to him—but Pablo had betrayed him, too. Mike would know how to get some help for Jake. She had only to find him—

  Clare screamed as she tripped on the uneven sidewalk. Her rubbery legs gave way beneath her to leave her lying in a trembling heap in the gutter. Her breathing ragged, she tried to rise to her feet but a bolt of pain shot through her right knee.

  No, please, not an old jogging injury flaring up now. She had to keep running. She was so close to the main boulevard, the traffic growing louder.

  She gritted her teeth and rose, trying to put most of her weight on her left leg but with little success. Another jarring pain nearly doubled her over but the sound of a vehicle revving its engine behind her made her place one foot in front of the other at a lurching run.

  Jake would want her to get to safety, she repeated to herself, grimacing against the pain. Maybe he was on his way to the American consulate, too, guessing that she would head in that direction. He might have survived the ambush—no, he had to have survived.

  With a cry of relief she reached the boulevard and hobbled in the direction opposite to the airport. She was so intent on her purpose that she didn’t see a black sedan make a sharp U-turn at the stoplight and pull up beside her.

  “Ma’am, do you need some help?”

  Clare spun around toward the vehicle, as startled to hear an American accent as that someone had stopped to assist her so quickly. “Yes! Oh, God, yes!”

  The rear passenger door opened and she stepped out of the way, shaking so violently now that she thought her legs would buckle beneath her. A fit-looking man dressed in blue jeans and a casual shirt got out of the car and caught her just before she fell, his arm winding around her waist to support her.

  “Easy, ma’am, easy. You look like you’re having some trouble.”

  “My knee—I hurt it somehow. Thanks for stopping for me.“

  “No problem. Could I give you a lift somewhere?”

  Clare hesitated, staring at his face. She didn’t know him, but she needed a ride so desperately—

  “I’m with the diplomatic corps, ma’am, if it will ease your mind. Just want to give you a hand. If you’d prefer, I’ll call you a cab and wait with you until it gets here—”

  “No, that’s okay. I appreciate your help.”

  “No problem. Let’s get you off that leg.”

  Clare nodded gratefully and hobbled alongside him to the side of the car where he helped her into the back seat. She slid over to make room for him, wincing when she put too much weight on her right knee.

  The sharp pain made her think of Jake. Was he lying somewhere wounded? Hurting? Bleeding? The car door slammed and she jumped beside her rescuer, grabbing his arm. “Please, I have to get to the American consulate as soon as possible.”

  “I think the first thing you need is a drink. Drive on, Hector.”

  Clare shook her head as the liveried driver steered the car into traffic, but her rescuer seemed not to be paying attention. He reached over and pushed a button on the back of the front seat, a small lighted compartment popping open to reveal a decanter full of dark amber liquid and several crystal tumblers.

  “One of the few perks of diplomatic service. Nice car, driver and Scotch whiskey. Helps on the days when I’m stuck in traffic.” He filled two tumblers with Scotch and then handed one to her. “Drink up. You’ve had quite a shock. You can tell me all about it on the way home.”

  Clare ignored the proffered glass and met his gaze, confused. “Home?”

  “My home. It’s not far from here. The consulate doesn’t open until nine tomorrow morning—”

  “But what about emergencies? Something terrible has happened and I need to find someone who works there.“

  “Like I said, you can tell me all about it. I might be able to help. Now drink. Always takes the edge off.”

  Clare started when he chinked the edge of his glass against hers and drained the tumbler in one swallow. Her hand trembled. Rising panic swamped her.

  He’d said he worked for the diplomatic corps, hadn’t he? He must know Mike Reed. She was certain when he heard about the ambush he’d understand why she needed to find Jake’s friend as quickly as possible. Trying to calm down, Clare took a tiny sip of the Scotch only to start coughing, the potent stuff burning all the way to her stomach.

  “Got a nice bite, doesn’t it?”

  Clare nodded and wiped the moisture from her li
ps. She winced when her fingers brushed against her bruised chin.

  “Nice scrape you got there. Mr. Ruiz told me you got tackled at the hospital.”

  Clare’s breath stopped. The glass slipped from her fingers but he caught it and drained that tumbler, too, while she stared at him, frozen to the seat.

  “Clare Carson. You’ve covered a lot of territory since you arrived in Mexico…that is, you and Jake Wyatt.”

  Clare swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe. “No…no, you’re wrong. I’m Kathy Fisher—”

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  He’d backhanded her so suddenly that Clare hadn’t seen it coming. She slumped against the seat, an explosion of brilliant white lights flashing in front of her eyes.

  “Stupid bitch. It wasn’t supposed to go this way but what the hell. I’ve gotten what I wanted either way—more than I wanted. Looks like we’ll get to have some fun, too.”

  Clare moaned and turned her head to face the opposite window, her right cheek throbbing. If the driver had witnessed in the rearview mirror what had happened, he gave no notice and focused on the street in front of them.

  They had turned off the main boulevard into a dimly lit residential area. She had barely registered that thought when strong fingers tunneled through her hair to jerk her head back around.

  “Jake Wyatt is dead, or he will be as soon as my people track him down. I got the call right before I spied you limping along the road. They’re sure he was wounded in the ambush”—Clare cried out as her captor dug his fingernails into her scalp—”so don’t think he’ll be coming to find you. It’s just you and me until I’ve had enough of you…and then you’ll be dead, too.”

  Clare stared unblinking into his eyes, her heart pounding as she realized the car had stopped.

  Her captor threw open the car door and hauled her out of the back seat like a limp doll, his arm once more winding around her waist. This time his hold was brutal as he dragged her along a lighted walkway to the front door of what appeared to be a villa-like house.