Operation: Midnight Cowboy

by Linda Castillo

  “We can’t let that son of a bitch get away with this,” she said.

  “We won’t.” Giving her shoulders a final squeeze, Bo sprinted to the house. Inside, he grabbed the kitchen phone and hit the speed dial for Cutter’s secure line. The other man picked up on the first ring.

  “Where’s my chopper?” Cutter asked without preamble. “It disappeared off radar two minutes ago.”

  “The chopper is down,” Bo said.

  Cutter’s curse burned through the line. “What about my men?”

  “There were no survivors.”

  The silence that followed stung Bo’s ears, and he knew the other man was thinking about the agent and pilot he’d lost. About the families he would be notifying. And in that moment Bo didn’t envy him his job.

  “What the hell happened?” Cutter asked.

  “The chopper exploded just as it was about to touch down. There was no warning.”

  “Mechanical failure?”

  “Cutter, there’s too much damage to tell, but I’m betting there was either some type of explosive device on board or else Karas hit it with a rocket launcher or ground-to-air missile.”

  Cutter made a low sound in his throat. Bo felt the other man’s fury coming through the line. “If there was a bomb on board, you can bet there was GPS.”

  “Probably,” Bo agreed.

  “We have to assume Karas knows where you are. That he knows Rachael Armitage is there. Get the hell out of there, Bo. Now.”

  “We’re leaving now.”

  Bo heard muffled conversation between Cutter and someone else, then Cutter came back on the line. “We received a call less than two minutes ago from someone claiming to be part of Karas’s organization claiming responsibility for the crash.”

  Now it was Bo’s turn to curse. Brave and decent men had died today. Impotent rage coursed through him at the senselessness of their deaths. “Can you pick him up?”

  “We need proof. We’re watching him. He’s still in Moscow. We’re working with Interpol to try and get it done, but the Russian authorities aren’t known for being cooperative.”

  The thought of international red tape working in Karas’s favor infuriated him.

  “Don’t worry,” Cutter said. “We’ll get him.”

  Bo thought of Rachael and the lengths the kingpin would go to in order to get his hands on her. “Do you have a contingency plan for Armitage?”

  “We’ll come get her. But we’ll have to inspect all of our aircraft first. That’s going to take some time.” He paused. “You got somewhere to go? Somewhere out of sight?”

  “Yeah, but you know as well as I do he’ll find us sooner or later.”

  “Okay. Get the hell out of there. Stay out of sight from the air. We’ll find you via the GPS transmitter in your cell.”

  “Roger that.”

  An instant before Bo disconnected, Cutter surprised him by saying. “Be careful, man.”

  “I don’t do things any other way.”

  BO FOUND RACHAEL sitting in a plastic chair in the barn. She rose when he entered, but it wasn’t the female warrior that approached him. She looked shocked. Scared at best. He glanced at the wound on her thigh and grimaced. The blood had soaked through the fabric and now reached all the way to her knee.

  “I’m going to need to take a look at that,” he said.

  Squaring her shoulders, she looked down at the blood and shrugged as if the wound on her leg was nothing more than a scratch. “Tell me what Cutter said.”

  Bo strode briskly into the tack room and snagged the first-aid kit off the shelf. “He told us to get the hell out of here.”

  “Karas?” she asked.

  He didn’t want to answer; he knew if she found out Karas had just murdered two MIDNIGHT pilots, she would claim one more reason to go after him. But there was a part of him that knew he owed her the truth.

  “Someone claiming to be part of Karas’s organization called and claimed responsibility while I was on the phone with Cutter,” he said.

  “That bastard.” Striding away from him, she slammed the heel of her hand against the wall. “Did they pick him up? For God’s sake, they know where he is.”

  “They’re working on it.”

  “That’s bull.”

  “This has got to be by the book.”

  “The Russian authorities are protecting him.”

  Bo didn’t reply. Instead, he stood there for a moment, watching her pull herself together. “We’ve got to go, Rachael. Now.”

  She turned angry bright eyes on him. “Are you crazy? We can’t run. We can’t let him get away with this.”

  “We don’t have the resources here at the ranch to do much of anything.”

  “Why can’t Cutter send another chopper?”

  “He’s going to do just that. But every aircraft has to be inspected for bomb material first. You know protocol.”

  “What are we going to do?” she snapped. “Put our tails between our legs and run?”

  Bo motioned toward the two horses in the corral. “I’m going to saddle those two horses and we’re go ing to ride to an old homestead a few miles to the north and wait this thing out.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m sure you have a better idea,” he said dryly.

  “How about if we stay here and blow the hell out of Karas the moment he sets foot on the property?”

  Bo couldn’t help it; he smiled. But the moment of humor was short-lived. There had been a time long ago when he would have reacted much the same way. Back when he’d been a younger man and hungry to prove himself as an agent, he would have been champing at the bit for a go at a crime lord like Viktor Karas.

  Experience had taught him caution.

  He studied the woman standing across from him, annoyance warring with admiration. She was ready to take on the world all by herself if she had to. She might be a good agent—fast on her feet and brave as hell—but she was no match for Viktor Karas.

  How are you going to keep her safe when you can’t even bring yourself to pick up your weapon?

  The question was a brutal reminder of his limitations. He hadn’t picked up a rifle since the day he’d shot and killed his best friend. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he could.

  “I’m going to pack a few things.” He walked to the tack room and tossed her a bag. “I suggest you do the same.”

  Rachael held her ground in the barn. “You’re wrong about this, Bo.”

  “Not the first time,” he said and started for the door.

  SWEAT BROKE OUT on Bo’s neck as he pulled the long leather sheath from his bedroom closet. He laid it on the bed and unzipped the case. The Remington model 710 stared up at him like a steel snake full of venom and about to strike. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the rifle from its sleeve.

  For two years the weapon had sat untouched. He hadn’t been able to clean it or even look at it without getting cold chills. Viktor Karas was going to change everything.

  Damn Sean Cutter for putting him in this situation….

  A chill passed through Bo the instant his fingers came in contact with the synthetic stock. Setting the rifle on the bed, he ran his finger down the barrel and he couldn’t help but think that the last round that had passed through it had ended the life of a man who’d once been his best friend. The husband of a woman who had no idea what had gone down that night.

  Knowing better than to let his mind take him there, Bo went back to the closet and tugged out the ammo box. He sat it on the bed, opened it and removed an extra box of shells and two grenades. Tucking both into one of the saddlebags, he picked up the rifle, slid it into its sleeve and yanked the zipper tight. He slung it over his shoulder, picked up the saddlebag filled with supplies and headed back to the barn.

  He found Rachael standing in the aisle with the other saddlebag at her feet. She looked up when he approached and not for the first time he was taken aback by her beauty. Bo tried hard not to remember how good she’d felt beneath him just
over an hour earlier. He tried even harder not to imagine how she would react once she found out the truth.

  “All packed?” he asked.

  She lifted the dual saddlebags he’d given her. “Weapon. Ammo. Bottled water. Some food. And the first-aid kit.”

  Setting his saddlebag on the ground, he snagged two halters from the tack room and took them into the pen for two horses. He cross-tied the animals in the aisle, then proceeded to saddle them. Once they were saddled, he lashed the saddlebags to the saddle skirt, then buckled the rifle sheath in place.

  “What now?” Rachael asked.

  “We ride.” He crossed to the left side of the horse. “Come here.”

  She approached him with the caution of a young fox approaching a trap.

  “Put your left foot in the stirrup. Your right hand on the horn. And swing your leg over his rump.”

  She was an athletic woman and mounted without a problem. But athletic or not, he could see she was not an equestrian and made a mental note not to go too fast—unless he didn’t have a choice.

  “We’re going to ride at a fast clip,” he said.

  She looked at him skeptically. “I’m not a very good rider.”

  “Hang on to the horn with your right hand. Keep him on a loose rein. This gelding is a solid mount and knows what to do. He’ll take care of you.”

  Bo mounted. “I’ll take a look at your leg once we get where we’re going.”

  She nodded. “And where’s that?”

  “There’s an old homestead a few miles from here. We’ll ride along a dry creek bed where the trees will give us cover.”

  “You think Karas or his men are in the area? With a chopper or what?”

  “Could be.”

  He nudged his horse forward, and they left the barn and entered a small corral. Bo carefully maneuvered the horse alongside the gate and opened it without having to dismount.

  “You’re good at that,” Rachael said.

  “You train horses the right way and they give it all back to you when you ride.” He glanced out at the land beyond, listening. “Keep your eyes open for aircraft.”

  “All right.”

  “Ready?”

  She gripped the horn and gave a nod. “Now I know how you must have felt when you rode that bull.”

  “Let’s go.” He nudged the horse into an easy lope.

  He could hear Rachael’s horse behind him. He’d chosen the most reliable and steady mounts he had. He only hoped that made up for her lack of riding skills. The ride to the dry creek bed was over open country; they would be sitting ducks. He had a terrible feeling the ride wasn’t going to be leisurely.

  He led the way at a fast clip. His horse moved like a finely oiled machine beneath him, his gait as smooth as a rocking chair. He glanced at Rachael. Her concentration was wholly on the horse beneath her. She wasn’t a bad rider, but he could tell she was struggling to maintain her balance and keep a solid seat.

  There was nothing he could do. One of the most violent and powerful kingpins in the world wanted her dead. Bo wasn’t in any shape to protect her. All they could do was run….

  “You okay?” he yelled at her.

  She gave him a dark look. “How much farther?”

  “Three miles, give or take.”

  “Lovely.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth when the low rumble of an engine rose above the roar of wind in his ears. Bo glanced over his shoulder. Disbelief slammed into him when he saw a chopper hovering over the house. Disbelief transformed into horror when the house erupted into a massive orange fireball that billowed thirty feet into the air. Debris flew in all directions. Thick, black smoke darkened the sky.

  “They’re behind us!”

  Rachael’s shout came to him as if from a great distance. He couldn’t take his eyes off the destruction of the place he’d called home for the last two years. It had been his sanctuary. His refuge. Now it was gone.

  “Bo!”

  Her scream yanked him from his reverie. Only then did it register that the chopper was swinging around as if to come toward them. Shock transformed into cold stark terror. The horses were running all-out now, but they were no match for a chopper. With the line of cottonwood trees still two hundred yards away, he and Rachael were as good as dead.

  He veered toward Rachael. For the first time he saw fear in her eyes. He felt that same fear jumping through him with every wild pound of his heart.

  “Hang on!” he shouted. “Give him some rein! Let him run!”

  Knowing her horse would follow his, he pushed his gelding faster. He could hear the chopper behind him now. The ground blurred by. Wind roared in his ears. He glanced at Rachael, saw her leaning low against the horse, hanging on for dear life. If she fell now it would be bad. He prayed that didn’t happen.

  Rifle fire punctuated the thought.

  Two years ago, Bo would have unsheathed his rifle and taken a few potshots at them, just for good measure. Now, the thought froze him with fear. That he couldn’t make himself do it shamed him. Made him realize he was not capable of keeping this woman safe. He should have told Cutter he was suffering with hoplophobia. Fear of firearms. Had been since the day he shot and killed his best friend….

  The chopper blew past. Dirt kicked up around both horses as the sniper on board tried to take them out.

  “Son of a bitch!” Bo yelled, furious at the thought of them shooting one of the horses.

  They were twenty yards from the trees when the chopper swung around for a second pass. Bo scanned the tree line. He searched his memory for a place they could hide. In the rainy season, flash floods cut a deep grove in the sandy soil, forming temporary caves. Some were twenty or so feet deep. Enough to give them temporary cover from a sniper’s bullet.

  But if the chopper landed they would be pinned. Once they ran out of ammo, Karas’s men would be on them like wolves on lambs….

  The chopper bore down like a giant bird of prey. Dust billowed all around. Bo urged his horse faster and glanced up. The aircraft was so close he could see the muzzle of the sniper’s rifle sticking out of the hatch.

  He risked a look at Rachael. She was riding low, hanging on for her life. A volley of gunfire erupted. Bo saw her horse shudder. Rachael’s scream tore through the air when the animal stumbled. Bo caught a glimpse of blood on the gelding’s shoulder. He watched helplessly as horse and rider went down.

  “Rachael!”

  The horse went to its knees with such force that its nose plowed into the earth. Rachael went over its head and landed hard on her stomach. Bo swung his mount around and streaked toward them. A few feet away from her he vaulted from the horse. But he knew the chopper would be back to finish the job.

  He looked toward the horizon. Sure enough the chopper was bearing down on them at a stunning rate of speed. Digging into the saddlebag, Bo removed one of the grenades. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when he faced the chopper. He could practically feel the crosshairs burning into his chest. The urge to toss the grenade was strong, but still he waited. In his peripheral vision he saw Rachael crawling toward him. Relief slid through him when the fallen horse got up and shook himself.

  Still, Bo didn’t move. He gauged the speed of the chopper and the distance between them. Mentally he counted the seconds. He wondered if the pilot would make another pass and try to shoot them down or if they would land the craft and try to take Rachael to Karas. The thought sickened him.

  In the next instant it was clear the pilot was going to stop and hover over them. Dust and small debris kicked up as the chopper got closer. The horses grew restless. Bo tightened his grip on the grenade.

  “Toss your weapons and no one gets hurt!” a voice called out from a loudspeaker.

  Bo didn’t hesitate. Turning back to his horse, he unsheathed the rifle and tossed it to the ground five feet away.

  “Put your hands up and walk away from the woman.”

  He knew once he put some distance between him and
Rachael, the sniper on board would take him out. They wanted her alive and wouldn’t dare risk shooting her or face the wrath of Viktor Karas. In that instant Bo decided he would die before he let them take her.

  Concealing the grenade in his palm, Bo put up his hands and backed away from her. The chopper shifted and he knew the pilot was listening to the sniper on board and lining up for a shot. He’d done the very same thing himself too many times to count in the years he’d worked for the MIDNIGHTAgency.

  “Come closer, you son of a bitch,” Bo whispered.

  The chopper hovered twenty feet off the ground, about fifty feet away. Slowly, the pilot maneuvered the aircraft closer. Forty feet. Thirty. At twenty feet, the aircraft began to slowly rotate. The hatch came into view. It was open; Bo saw the black steel of the sniper’s rifle. I used to be you, he thought, and took his one and only chance.

  Chapter Seven

  Bo pulled the safety pin and threw the grenade with everything he had. The sniper spotted the grenade as it sailed into the hatch. He yelled something to the pilot, but it was too late. The sniper dropped his rifle and scrambled for the grenade. The chopper began to regain altitude.

  The explosion sent the craft into a wild spin. It tilted at a precarious angle. One of the rotors struck the ground, kicking up debris and dust. Pieces of shrapnel and steel flew at them like hot, flaming missiles. Ever aware of Rachael just a few feet away, possibly injured, Bo rushed toward her.

  To his surprise, he found her in a shooter’s stance, gripping her pistol in both hands, her eyes on the faltering aircraft. She never got the opportunity to shoot.

  “Get down!” he yelled.

  She looked at him just as he reached her. “What—”

  Bo took her down in a protective tackle, turning just in time to ensure she landed on top of him. Pieces of smoldering steel and plastic landed all around as he rolled to cover her body with his.

  As suddenly as the situation had exploded out of control, everything went stone still. Bo was aware of her beneath him. Trembling violently, but undeniably alive. Twenty feet away, the horses snorted and jigged, but showed no sign of running away. The chopper had been reduced to a smoldering heap of twisted steel.