by Odell, Terry
“And Trish. I’m not leaving without her.” Elle fisted her hands at her hips.
“Don’t forget Crystal Montlake.” Dalton was back, dressed like Fozzie, complete with backpack and weaponry.
“Dalton, did you see any women at all while you were… detained?” Elle asked.
Dalton shook his head.
“I wonder if the river separates the males from the females. Aguilar has strange ideas about propriety,” Elle said. “How far from here to the river?”
“You are not hiking through the jungle in the middle of the night.” Jinx’s tone carried a hint of protectiveness.
“I’m probably more equipped for survival than you are,” Elle said.
“Now, now, boys and girls.” Fozzie’s voice carried over an internal speaker. “First order of business is to assess Hotshot’s condition. If it’s true the women are housed in the other two units, we’ll cross that river when we come to it.”
“Fozzie’s right,” Dalton said. “We don’t know where Crystal and your sister are.”
Elle nodded, hearing the words Dalton hadn’t spoken. That Aguilar had already shipped them off to some brothel. Or sold them to the highest bidder.
And if he had, Elle would tear the country—the planet, if she had to—upside down until she found her sister.
Fozzie and Dalton left without another word. She moved into Fozzie’s seat and stared out the windshield into the clearing. External lights on the helo gave the jungle floor a golden glow. The slow whup whup of the rotors provided a white noise background.
“They do this all the time?” she asked.
Jinx exhaled a slow breath. “It’s not a nine-to-five job. But when they work, they do this a lot. The boss rotates them out of covert ops, makes them pull security detail. But honestly, I think they prefer this. Except—”
“Except what?”
“It’s tough on a relationship. Fozzie, Dalton, and Harper—you haven’t met him yet—found amazing women on some of those non-secret covert ops assignments.”
“Amazing, as in they married them?”
“Harper, yes. Fozzie and Torie—they have a long-distance thing going, but I’m betting they make it official and permanent pretty soon. Dalton’s girlfriend runs a halfway house in San Francisco, and he spends an awful lot of his free time there. My money says he’ll pop the question pretty soon himself.”
“You think there’s hope for permanent?”
Now that was brilliant, you idiot.
What would Jinx think—she was talking about the two of them? Sheesh—nothing like bringing up commitment with a man you’ve known less than a day. “I mean in general, you know. Cops have astronomically high divorce rates. Military spouses have it rough, too. I’d think people who do what these guys do would be the loner type.”
“Dunno,” Jinx said. “You’ll have to ask them. I’m not a nine-to-fiver when there’s an op in progress, but I’m grounded—under-grounded, actually—in Blackthorne's compound.”
Jinx went to the computer. “Let’s see if we can hear anything.”
She put on Fozzie’s headset. Static. “Am I on the right frequency?”
“Hang on. The headsets are still hooked to the cameras, which aren’t aimed at the building.” He fussed with dials on the console. The static disappeared, replaced by breathing. Footfalls. A crash, like someone kicked in a door. A gunshot. Then silence.
“What? Where did they go?” Elle tapped her headset.
Jinx messed with dials and switches. Frowned. “Guess they don’t want us to hear the rest.”
“You don’t think they were shot?”
“One shot. I’m thinking it was a guard. An ex-guard.”
Elle tried to internalize that. She’d never fired a weapon at another human being. Hoped she never had to.
She thought about what she’d do if she found Trish being held prisoner. She imagined herself coming face to face with an armed guard. Would she pull the trigger? Would she hesitate if he wasn’t pointing his weapon at her? Would the guard be the sort of person who’d kill her on sight, or some poor schmuck Aguilar had under his thumb who was sitting there, watching over a room of people, hoping he’d never see any action. Trying to keep his family safe.
Her headset came to life. “Hope you two are decent. We’ll be departing for our next destination shortly. Have the welcoming committee meet us at the door.”
Jinx went to the rear door and reached for the handle.
“Wait,” Elle said. “Don’t you guys have a code word so you know they’re not being forced to say something?”
“You are bordering on paranoid. I’m not part of the field team. Nobody gave me a password. But no way these cartel guys could match Fozzie’s accent.”
Still—one of her boot camp buddies had bought it when he’d trusted an all clear signal on a raid. “Am I transmitting?” she asked.
When Jinx said yes, Elle used her off hand to adjust the mic. “Anyone on your six?”
Fozzie’s voice came through. “Nuh. Clear as crystal.” There was no hesitation, nothing to indicate anyone else was telling Fozzie what to say—or asking what she’d meant. “Do the Sesame thing.”
She tipped her chin toward Jinx who pulled the door open. Shadowed figures crossed the clearing.
Jinx peered into the night. Five figures approached. He recognized them, even in the deep shadows. He’d seen this scenario before, but only on video transmissions. Manny, hobbling, had the lead, followed by Fozzie and Dalton. Jinx felt a surge of relief when he saw Fozzie and Dalton supporting Hotshot between them, not carrying him, although Hotshot didn’t seem to be bearing much of his own weight. Still, it beat being brought in on a stretcher. Harper brought up the rear. He didn’t seem to be running well, either. His bum knee, or new injuries?
“Hey, Mom, we’re home.” Dalton’s Texas accent came through Jinx’s headset. “Are there cookies?”
Jinx stepped aside as Manny pulled himself into the helo. Working as if they’d rehearsed the moves countless times, the team lifted Hotshot inside. Jinx closed the door, Fozzie flipped on lights. Harper and Dalton unfolded a gurney and helped Hotshot lie down. Harper grabbed a medical kit. Jinx realized he was standing with his mouth open. The engine revved, and they were in the air again.
“Is it always like this?” Jinx asked, once he’d taken his seat beside Fozzie.
“You know us. In and out like the wind,” Fozzie said.
“How’s Hotshot?” Elle asked. “Can I help? I’ve had First Aid training.”
“Go ask,” Fozzie said. “Jinx, I need you to run surveillance on the other two structures. Boost gain to max. Fast.”
“On it.” Jinx made the adjustments. “How are we going to know if Crystal or Trish are down there? We don’t have voice recognition for them.”
“Tell me something useful.” The curses Fozzie muttered as he worked the controls erased most of the relief Jinx had felt when the team returned to the helo.
“I will as soon as you fill me in. Like it or not, I’m part of the team, and I’m in better shape than most of them are now.”
Fozzie hunched his shoulders, then lowered them. “Manny and Harper escaped. They went after Crystal.”
“Did they find her?”
“No, but they verified Elle was right about the women being in the structures across the river.” Fozzie glanced around, as if to make sure Elle was occupied. Lowered his voice. “It’s not pretty. Aguilar keeps a stable of women—of ones he either can’t sell, or he’s waiting for the right match. Uses them as a reward for his henchmen.”
Jinx shuddered. His stomach roiled, and he was glad dinner had been hours ago. “Did they confirm whether our targets are there?” Purposely using the plural. Trish was part of the game now.
Fozzie shook his head. “The people they… encouraged… to talk were evasive about specific individuals.” He flicked his chin toward the rear of the helo. Busied himself with his instruments.
Jinx turned to see Ell
e striding toward them. She crouched in the space between his and Fozzie’s seats. “I’m worried about them. Hotshot’s in shock, and he’s trying to be all manly, but I think he’s got internal injuries. He keeps saying he’ll be fine, to go ahead with the op, but you really need to get him to a hospital. Given the supplies on hand, I’ve done all I can.”
One crisis at a time. “How can you be sure?” Jinx asked. “It’s a little beyond routine First Aid training, isn’t it?” Because if they took the time to get Hotshot to a hospital, Elle might not find her sister. From the anguish in her eyes when she’d delivered her message, Jinx knew she understood.
Elle went on. “Cop First Aid training is a little more than routine. Also, your other guys aren’t in great shape. Manny’s not saying anything, but his ankle might be broken. He’s not putting any weight on it. Harper’s bleeding. Says it’s only a flesh wound, but I think he just liked saying that.”
“Bloody clusterfuck,” Fozzie muttered.
And no matter what Dalton had said, a lead shroud of blame settled over Jinx. He had to fix something. “Drop us off,” he said.
“What?” Fozzie’s bushy eyebrows winged upward. His eyes popped wide.
“Jinx is right,” Elle said. “I have to get to my sister. And soon. Hotshot’s medical kit has a drug that will help Trish. If she’s tied up, she’s at risk for a pulmonary embolism, and she could die. I couldn’t live with myself if I got this close and missed her.”
“You’re out of your bloody minds,” Fozzie said.
Elle fisted her hands at her waist. “Listen to me. You’ve got plenty of stores—enough to last us a few days, easy. Plenty of time for you to get medical attention for everyone, and then you can come back for us. Meanwhile, we find Crystal and Trish.”
“You’re abso-fucking-lutely nuts,” Fozzie said. “You’ve got no training. No survival skills. What are you going to do if the cartel finds you? And you’d bloody well believe they’re going to be looking.”
“In that case, hiding becomes the better part of valor,” Elle said. “And I do have survival skills. I understand Jinx isn’t as experienced—”
“As experienced?” Fozzie glared at her, then at Jinx. “You have any experience in the jungle, geek man? Staying out of sight? How far can you hike? What do you do if a jaguar decides you’re on his dinner menu?”
“Then I’ll go alone,” Elle said before Jinx could answer. “I’m not leaving without finding my sister.”
“Plus, there’s the matter of the client’s daughter,” Jinx added. “Why waste resources? You’ll be back within twenty-four hours, right? We can handle things until then.”
“Look at them.” Elle gestured toward the rear of the helo. “The adrenaline rush is gone. Manny’s about to pass out.”
Manny sat on a jump seat, his head between his knees. Harper was working one-handed, the other clutching his midsection. Which left Dalton to play medic. “She’s right,” Jinx said.
Dalton approached. “Hotshot’s going downhill. We need to bug out.”
Jinx explained his plan—Elle’s plan. Dalton dragged a hand through his hair. “I see two choices. One sucks, the other’s suckier.”
“We have to leave,” Fozzie said. “It’s becoming a fuel issue.”
Dalton gave Jinx a long, solemn stare that seemed to reach the depths of Jinx’s fears, insecurities, and determination. “You really think you can manage on your own?”
“He’s not on his own,” Elle said. “I’ve got his back. We can pull it off. Now, how are you going to get us on the ground and how fast can you do it?”
Within minutes, Jinx and Elle were strapped belly-to-belly in a harness and standing at the edge of the open helo bay, Jinx in hastily donned field dress. Under other circumstances, Jinx thought he might enjoy being in forced proximity, but now he was hoping he didn’t embarrass himself by peeing his pants. What the hell had possessed him to agree to be winched from an effing helicopter into the jungle? The dark jungle, because of course they couldn’t advertise to everyone they were coming. The only illumination they had for the descent was from glow sticks, so Fozzie could track them.
Fozzie and Dalton adjusted the straps and went over the instructions one last time. “I’ve got it,” Jinx said with as much confidence as he could muster. “Let’s get the show on the road. Or into the air, as the case may be.”
Elle moved even closer, wrapped her arms around him. “Ready.”
Holy crap. She looked like she was enjoying this. Big honkin’ automatic rifle across her shoulder, the Glock at her side. Like a Rambino. Rambette? Her eyes sparkled, and damned if there wasn’t a smile on her face. If she could do it, he sure as hell could. He swallowed.
“Ready.”
Chapter 21
As the winch whined above her, Elle secured her grip on the harness. When Hotshot had told her he had medication for Trish’s condition, she’d almost kissed him. Probably would have, if he hadn’t been in so much pain. She had the meds in her pants pocket, and she was going to find Trish. For the first time since she’d left the resort, she felt like she was doing something.
“You ever done this?” Jinx asked.
“No. It’s cool, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, right. Cool.” Jinx’s face had a green tinge. From the glow stick, she figured, although she wouldn't put money on it.
Elle fixed him with a stare. “You are not going to get sick, understand. We’ll be down in nothing flat.”
The descent was short, and she scrambled out of her harness, helping Jinx, whose fingers shook as he worked at the fasteners. Once they were free, she drew rapid glow-light circles above her head. The harness assembly rose toward the hovering helo. Jinx stood there, staring upward as it disappeared.
She grabbed his hand. “Come on,” she whispered. She flipped on the flashlight and dragged him about ten paces before he seemed to come to his senses and trot behind her.
After taking cover behind a cluster of trees and forest vegetation, she paused. “You okay?”
Jinx exhaled a deep sigh. “Sure.”
She doubted it. “Get your flashlight.”
Like a puppy obeying its master, he complied.
“Um… turn it on?”
“Yeah, right.” A yellow-gold circle of light appeared at his feet.
“Take off the pack.”
A little faster with his response this time, he shrugged out of it and dropped it to the ground. She crouched, unfastened the pack and pulled out the gear. Radios. She handed one to Jinx. “You remember how to use it?”
“Yeah. Push to talk. Let go to listen.”
She inspected the rest of their equipment, which Dalton had assured her would be more than they’d need. He’d simply grabbed a pack from a locker in the helo and handed it to Jinx, with a strict admonition that it was expensive Blackthorne property and not to lose it.
GPS. Night vision goggles. KA-BAR. “You comfortable with a knife?” she asked.
“I’m not comfortable with weapons. Period. But I’ll use them if I have to.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to. But this might come in handy for breaking trail.” She handed him the sheathed KA-BAR, and he worked the knife onto his belt. She continued going through the pack. Compass. First aid kit. Ammo. Field rations. Two liters of water. Camelbak. Water purification tablets. Rain gear. Signaling mirror. Wire saw. Solar blanket, although she didn’t think they’d need it in this climate. Sunscreen—that they’d probably need come daylight. Typical survival gear, with the exception of a plastic bag of wrapped butterscotch candies. Someone had a sweet tooth, she guessed.
“More light over here, please,” she said.
Jinx aimed the beam into the pack. “Shit. Are those grenades?”
Elle looked more closely. “Flash bangs.” She grabbed a spare magazine for the Glock and put it in her pocket.
“Do we really need all this stuff? We’re only here for a day, right?”
“We shouldn’t, but apparently this i
s standard equipment for your Blackthorne boys. We can split the weight.”
Jinx hefted the pack. “I’m fine with it.”
Elle patted her other pocket, taking comfort in the feel of the small padded case containing Trish’s meds. “Then let’s go.”
They’d been deposited on the proper side of the river, so it was one less obstacle to deal with. Elle checked the GPS, which Fozzie had programmed with the locations of the structures, and pointed. “That way. You want the rifle or the Glock?”
“What? I’ve got the pack.”
“You can either go ahead and break trail with the knife if we need to, or stay behind and use the Glock in case we run into trouble. You have any experience with handguns?”
“No, I told you I’m a peaceful kind of guy.”
Who works with people who aren’t afraid to use force when necessary.
An oxymoron kind of guy. But, she admitted, there was a difference between understanding the need for weapons and using them oneself. “Then you’ll be better off with the rifle. It has a longer range, and you can take down a wider target field on automatic. It wastes bullets, but it generally sends the bad guys running for cover.”
Jinx rested a hand on the knife at his hip. Eyed the AK-47. His head tilted, his mouth curved up. “You are one hell of a surprise, Elle Sheridan.” He unsheathed the knife. Tested the hilt. Bounced it in his hand a couple of times. “I think we’re both safer if you’re handling the firepower. But I’ll carry the rifle. And try not to shoot you.”
“Sounds reasonable. We’re half a mile from the first structure.” Elle moved along the navigable trail.
Jinx followed close behind. “That’s the one with five life forms, right?”
Life forms? “Yes, Captain. Are you Kirk or Picard?”
“I always wondered why the captain would be part of a landing party. His job was on the ship. I think I’m the Science Officer. Be glad you’re not wearing a red shirt.”
Elle laughed, glad Jinx had returned to normal. She slowed. “You’ve got the knife. You’re on point.”
“You know, you could just tell me to go in front.”