Devil's Deal

by Terri Lynn Coop

“We need to talk.”

  His tone didn’t leave room for even a hint of disagreement.

  “Baby, it wasn’t supposed to come to this. We probably have enough now to grab Rockhound and Joe and sweat information out of them. But if this has even one chance of being the real deal, then we also have an opportunity to expose sleepers. This could lead to the kind of information that would make a difference.”

  It took a second for his words to sink in.

  “What do you mean, ‘real deal’?”

  “Everything has clicked every step of the way. It started with the meet with Mike, to them getting my military records, to Rockhound, to that Fils de pute at the café. It’s like we’ve been led down a path.”

  I didn’t ask for a translation. Lawyers are experts in context. I also knew he was right. I started to speak, but he put up a hand to stop me.

  “Let me finish. I have to go in there. We’ve been playing outlaw, but I’m also a cop who may have stumbled into something way beyond the original scope of the mission. I could even have a chance to infiltrate their organization on the back of your introduction. That can’t be wasted. It’s my job and my oath and all that crap. You don’t have to take this risk. You can stay here and hide in these trees. If I don’t come out or call in an hour, you’re more than capable of hiking back to the highway and calling the cavalry. You don’t have to do this.”

  At this last, he put a finger under my chin and tilted my face up to meet his. His blue eyes held a hard glint, like a horse straining at the bit. The adrenaline rush. I remembered it well with my old boyfriend when his pager toned. Hell, I’d felt it myself before a big trial or a big deal. I took his hand.

  “Ethan, I do have to go. First, I signed on for this entire mission. I know better than you what these people are capable of. Second, we sold ourselves as a team and you are vouched through me. If I don’t get out of this car with you, it’s done, and could get you killed. Even if I was willing to live with that, which I’m not, do you really think they’d let me leave? With the dust we’ve kicked up, I’m sure they know where we are. Or did you park behind these trees because you thought I’d enjoy the shade? They’d be on me like white on rice before I could make it a mile, much less ten. I’m not sitting here and letting you go in with no backup. No.”

  I’m not sure what I expected, but as usual, Ethan surprised me. He kissed my hand.

  “I knew what your answer would be, but I had to give you the option. You’re a warrior. Okay, we’ll do this. But, there’s no reason not to tuck a card or two up our sleeve.”

  He got out of the car and opened the trunk. I knew what he was up to and opened my door. Ethan dropped the two weapons bags. Unzipping the first, he handed me the Cutter and ammo pouch. I gave it one final readiness check and arranged it so I could quickly sling it combat-style. The unmarked ammo pouch went over my shoulder. A casual glance would mistake it as a purse or tote bag. Next up was the Mossberg. I gave it the same once-over.

  “Ethan, what’s this loaded with?”

  He looked up from his pistol. “Low-recoil double-aught buck, because I care enough to shred the very best.”

  I laid it across the dashboard. Either Ethan or I could grab the compact bullpup and have it out the car window in a heartbeat. I left the pair of machine pistols in the bag at my feet.

  “Jewel, if I ask you something will you give me an honest answer? No bullshit about your immunity or anything like that? I mean it. I need a straight-up answer.”

  “Ask away.”

  “I’ve seen all the trophies, but have you ever shot anyone? I am not screwing around. I don’t mean hunting or target practice. I mean, have you ever taken a shot at a human being?”

  I understood the gravity of the question and why he was asking. That still didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. I’d lived the kind of life where that was a reasonable question.

  “No, Ethan I haven’t. But, to defend me and mine, I will, without a second thought.”

  “Good girl. Right now I can’t think of anybody I’d rather have as a partner.”

  “Then let’s go find out what their hole card is.”

  CHAPTER 60

  A mile beyond the triangle was a ranch gate with a cattle guard. Ethan turned right and guided the car up the rutted track.

  “How far up this road?”

  I looked at him over my laptop screen. “We’ve still got a good ten miles, according to your notes. It winds around and follows a dry wash. I know what you’re thinking. It’s a perfect fire sack with one way in and one way out.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  I swallowed, trying to knock down the grit in my throat.

  A smart mercenary would have thrown in an ice chest.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “Nothing.”

  A final long slow curve and we arrived at our destination. The low hills and rocks created a flat-bottomed oval lined with verdant green. At one end stood a barn with a set of interlocking pens and corrals around it. At the other were jeeps and pickups parked ass-in. There was a small ragtag group sitting by the fence in the shade. All looked up at the growl of the Challenger.

  “Jewel, what’s your take? You know these people better than I do.”

  “This isn’t what I expected. Not with who’s supposed to be here. Security is way too loose and sloppy. These guys look like punks. I guess the A-Team could be in the barn. I see some Tec-9s and sidearms, but nobody is carrying them like a professional. This is weird.”

  As if on cue, the barn doors opened and a jeep crept out. The driver wore fatigues, a black beret, and mirrored sunglasses. There was an air of authority, but I couldn’t shake the feeling we were in a low-budget movie. My sigh must have broadcast my suspicion and frustration.

  “Baby, I know what you’re thinking. On these roads, if we flipped a U and made a run for it, those jeeps could put us in the riverbed before we got to the first turn. Let’s see what he has to say. Stay to my right, slightly behind me, and if I tell you to do something, do it without question or a second thought. If something happens to me, do anything you can to get the hell out of here. You got me?”

  I nodded.

  The jeep stopped in front of the Challenger. The driver stayed in his vehicle and gestured to us. The men by the fence stood watching, but no one had their weapon at the ready.

  “Jewel, it’s showtime. These guys are Congolese, correct?”

  “Yes, from the east if that makes any difference.”

  “Any difference to what?”

  “To the linguistic razzle-dazzle you’re about to execute. You know, you really are wasting your potential.”

  The middle finger came up fast and out of sight of our visitor. We both opened our doors and I met Ethan at the front of the car. As instructed, I stayed to his right and a step behind him.

  As expected, Ethan greeted the driver in rapid French. The driver nodded his head and said in English, “They are waiting. Get in.”

  I waited for my cue. Ethan crossed his arms and did a silent stare-down with the driver. Then he turned to me and said, “Jewel, we forgot the gift. It’s under my seat. You’ll have to reach all the way to the back to get the box. Get it, please. My door is locked. Use yours.”

  Confused, I did as I was told. As soon as I got into the car, it came to me. He wanted me to lie across the seat, out of sight.

  Crap. This was going down.

  I made a fuss in the car, like I was looking for something and slid the Mossberg off the dashboard. Staying down, I also slung the Cutter over my shoulder. Through my open door, I heard a few words exchanged in English before Ethan uttered a single phrase.

  “Va te faire foutre.”

  Silence.

  Then the sound of pounding feet.

  Peeking over the dashboard, I got a glimpse of Ethan running toward the row of jeeps. Shouts, then shots, sounded from the men by the fence. For a moment, I was tempted to come up shooting, but waited for a signal. A
few seconds later I heard the roar of an engine on my side. The jeep driven by Ethan skidded to a halt.

  “Jewel, get in.”

  If I had any lingering doubts, the bullets stitching the windshield made the decision for me. Moving with adrenaline-jacked speed, I scooted backward off the seat and Ethan hit the accelerator the moment I had both feet off the ground.

  “Get down” was all he said as he worked the jeep through its gears as fast as he dared.

  I snuck a peek back and saw the men swarming over the vehicles. The Challenger sat tilted on punctured tires. All of its glass was shattered.

  We hit the entrance of the small valley at top speed, the big tires of the jeep jouncing over the ruts. At the first S-turn, Ethan looked in the rearview mirror and swore.

  He shouted over the whine of the engine. “Baby, they’re gaining. It’s me-and-mine time.”

  Risking another look, I saw what he was talking about. In the roiling dust, a sport truck was closing the gap on the narrow road.

  When I turned fully backwards on my seat, the wind whipped my braid around my face. Nothing I could do about that except be aware of it. Bracing with my knees, I shouldered the Cutter and looked down the sights at the truck. I drew a bead on the center mass of the grille.

  Squeeze the trigger.

  It was a clean miss and the truck drew nearer.

  Damn it. Slow down.

  Verify magazine switch.

  Chamber a round.

  Sight on the grille.

  Lead high and to the left of center.

  Fire.

  This time a perfect hole appeared in the metal, and fluids and broken metal spewed from the undercarriage. I’d taken out the fan and the radiator. The truck swerved, but still had enough momentum to stay on the road.

  Squinting in the dust thrown up from the road, I hit the switch to change the round to buckshot and repeated the firing sequence, this time with the windshield as my target. A round pattern, the size of a dinner plate, appeared in the driver’s side glass. Immediately, the truck veered wildly and ran down the bank into the riverbed.

  Glancing over at Ethan, I was rewarded with a slight upturn of the corner of his mouth. I had only a moment to savor my victory before the chatter of automatic gunfire announced two jeeps gaining on us. We were entering a rough stretch of road and Ethan had to slow to make the turns.

  Luckily, unskilled shooters with Tec-9s on full rock and roll are about as likely to hit the broad side of a barn as the barn is to hit them. The wild shots chewed up the gravel between us, but other than a few pings on the tailgate, inflicted no real damage. It also left them unarmed after a few seconds. As they fumbled with their weapons, I dispatched both jeeps with the same combo of slugs through the grille and buckshot through the glass. The second one spun out and blocked the road, giving us a moment’s respite.

  Until glass shattered and star cracks blossomed across our windshield as shrapnel ricocheted off the hood.

  The rounds passed so close that I felt as much as heard the snap and tumble of angry bees. Ethan moaned and for a moment we veered toward the ditch on the right. The wind whipped blood into the seat behind him and my heart constricted with fear.

  “I’m okay. Get them” was all that I could make out.

  Whipping around, I zeroed in on where the shots came from. One of the jeeps had managed to get to the other side of the dry wash and was speeding toward us, closing the distance fast.

  I balanced the Cutter on top of the windshield frame and let off two quick rounds of buckshot. The driver’s head exploded into red mist and the jeep, too close to the riverbed, tumbled sideways, crushing the occupants as it rolled.

  A ninety-degree turn by a large rock announced we were in the final run before the cattle guard that marked the end of the ranch. My mental count said there was one jeep left, driven by the man in camo. Turning back around, I scanned my one-eighty field of vision, but didn’t see him. A few more seconds and we’d be on the county road. Still gravel, but much better maintained. We’d be able to pick up some real speed.

  A swerve and teeth-clattering lurch. I only had a moment to register the ripping pain of the skin on my knees separating from the hot sweaty vinyl as the jeep fell away. This quickly paled in comparison to the vertigo of the blurred ground rushing up to meet me as I arched over my side of the jeep.

  My downward movement jerked to a stop and pain blossomed as the shotgun snapped tight against my throat and shoulder. I flailed to regain my grip on the seat as I was kept from flying farther forward only by the rifle strap cutting off my breath.

  Ethan.

  He grunted and yanked me toward him. Ground turned into sky until I was on my back panting for air. I started to close my eyes when a shadow cut off the sun on my side.

  Shit.

  While Ethan was hauling me back into the jeep, the last vehicle had caught up with us. The camo-clad driver leaned back as his passenger raised an Uzi. I whipped the Cutter across my chest, sighted between my feet, and pulled the trigger, silently praying it was chambered.

  The slug tore through the driver’s right arm and shoulder before punching into the other man’s chest. As I struggled to pump a new shell into the chamber, the driver, blood gouting from his mouth, slumped over the steering wheel. The jeep skewed straight into us, the headlight hanging up inside my door. The dying driver’s foot must have still been on the accelerator because Ethan couldn’t dislodge it and we were pushed inexorably toward the edge.

  The sickening sensation of floating lasted a second or two before we landed hard. Our hitchhiker fell away and Ethan ricocheted off the steering wheel as he struggled to keep us from rolling over. The jeep bounced and swayed across the riverbed before coming to a hard metallic stop that almost threw me off Ethan’s lap. A high-rev whine and the engine clanked into silence.

  Birds. In the quiet broken only by Ethan’s rasping breath and the ticking of the cooling motor, I could hear birds. Strange though, that innocent sound is what snapped me out of my daze. I struggled to sit up, but my head was pinned between his leg and the bottom of the steering wheel.

  “Ethan, are you okay? Let me up.”

  “Baby, I’m a world away from okay, but I’ll live.”

  He shifted in his seat enough to let me wriggle out and sit up.

  The other jeep was on its side about thirty feet from us and the driver and passenger were nowhere to be seen. I raised my shotgun and scanned the area.

  “They’re dead. I saw them fly out before their jeep rolled. Thanks to you, they’re all dead.”

  I didn’t like the breathy tone of his voice. He was holding his left thigh and blood oozed onto the seat.

  “Ethan, you’re hurt, are you shot?”

  “No, I’m not shot. I took a piece of the side mirror when it shattered.” He ran his fingers across the inside of the pocked ruined windshield. “I can’t believe we weren’t hit. I don’t think my leg is too bad, but it hurts like a son of a bitch.”

  A large piece of jagged shining glass protruded from between his fingers.

  I swallowed hard and said, “We need to get that wrapped up. Odds are you need stitches. Sit still.”

  “I think I can handle that.” He gritted his teeth.

  I ran around to his side and pried his hand away. Despite all the splatter, the bleeding was already slowing.

  “I don’t think it hit anything vital, but let’s get you out of here and get your leg elevated.”

  To my surprise, he didn’t argue.

  “Help me get my foot free. If I collapse, get out of the way.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  He scowled. “I’m worried about us. If I fall and hurt you, we are good and truly screwed. You’re our ticket out of here.”

  There was no easy way to do this and Ethan let out a cry as I manhandled his injured leg out of the jeep. He turned in the seat and eased himself to the ground. When his leg buckled, I threw my arms around him and pinned him against
the jeep until he caught his breath and balance.

  He caught me around the shoulders and let me prop up his weight. “I thought I told you to let me fall.”

  “And miss this chance? Not in a million years.”

  The laugh was weak, but showed me he was okay.

  “That’s true. I can’t believe I actually suggested that I didn’t want to fall on you. I blame shock and blood loss.”

  I kept both arms around his waist as I helped him over to the dubious shade of some scraggly trees barely hanging on in the rocky soil. A handy flat rock made a good prop for his injured leg while I used my multi-tool to carefully trim back the blood-soaked fabric of his jeans.

  “I think we can safely pull it. It’ll bleed like a mofo, but getting it out of there should knock down a lot of the pain. If you’d severed anything mission-critical, face it, you’d be dead by now.”

  “You’re too kind and I’m bathing in the glow of your empathy. I sincerely hope your bedside manner is better in court. I agree. No matter what happens, I have to get it out.”

  He reached for the glass, but I stopped him.

  “Ethan, use this.” I twisted my tool to reveal the grips and helped him get firm purchase on the shard.

  “Hold my leg steady and I apologize in advance for anything I might say.”

  I grabbed his calf, met his eyes, and nodded.

  Even with my full weight, it was hard to keep his leg braced as he yelled and bucked. Fresh blood gushed from the cut. I needed to get pressure on it. Now.

  “Ethan, give me your hand.”

  He still wasn’t tracking, so I grabbed his hand and covered the wound.

  “You need to press hard. Please.”

  He got it this time and his knuckles went white as he clamped down.

  I peeled off my tank top and slit the seams with my knife. Half the fabric made a soft thick pad and I cut the other half into strips and bound it up neat and snug. A stain bloomed through the cloth, but after a few minutes, it didn’t get any bigger. It looked like we had it staunched for right now. Ethan relaxed. His expression was still pained, but his breathing had eased.

  “How are you doing?”