Dangerous Connections (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Odell, Terry

  “Follow the trail. Fozzie and I will be along.” Dalton disappeared into the smoke.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Jinx said.

  “Give me your socks,” Elle said.

  “Huh?”

  “Your socks. I am not hiking this trail in my bare feet. If I thought your boots would fit, I’d make you wear the socks, and I’d take the boots.”

  “Gotcha.” Jinx chalked up the irritation—which was an understatement—to their abrupt departure. He leaned against a tree trunk, unlaced his borrowed boots and yanked off his socks. The brief contact of bare feet against the pokes and prickles of the jungle floor made him understand Elle’s demand. While she slipped his socks over her feet and he retied his boots, he wondered how Fozzie had known which window to break through. Okay, he’d missed the one into their room, but he’d been damn close. Come to think of it, how had they pinpointed the house so quickly?

  His face flushed red hot as he contemplated the most plausible answer. “Damn.”

  “What?” Elle asked.

  Three explosions, in rapid succession, shook the ground. “Tell you later. Let’s go.” Out of deference to Elle’s lack of shoes, and a little because he wasn’t used to running in boots—okay, he wasn’t used to running, period, but when they got home he was definitely going to start hitting the gym—he set a slow jogging pace. Elle didn’t seem to be having any trouble keeping up, although he was already out of breath.

  All that sex depleted you.

  “Make sure the trail doesn’t fork off,” he said.

  “I didn’t get a chance to tell them about Crystal Montlake,” Elle said. “Was that why you said ‘Damn’ before? All this, and they didn’t get their target?”

  Jinx slowed to a fast walk. “Not that.”

  “Then what?”

  “Um… if there was something… embarrassing, would you want to know about it?”

  “You telling me Fozzie saw something he shouldn’t? I can handle it.”

  “No, not that.”

  She glared at him. “Then what? You’ve opened the box, so tell me.”

  “I was thinking about how they found us. We didn’t have a radio, or anything with GPS capabilities. We covered a bit of ground.”

  He waited, wondering if Elle’s thought processes followed his. She didn’t say anything. “I was thinking—”

  “Spit it out already. Before they catch up with us.”

  “Voice recognition. They probably heard us… you know…”

  She came to an abrupt halt. “Oh. My. God.”

  “Yeah, I think you shouted words to that effect.”

  “You think we can convince them we were faking it? You know, making noise our guards would believe to help the computer find us?”

  Footsteps thudded along the trail behind them. Jinx kissed Elle’s forehead. “You’re not that good of an actress, Sweetheart. I don’t think you even want to try to pull that one off.”

  Not much sunlight filtered through the overgrown trail, but Jinx knew Elle was pinking up.

  “In that case,” she said, “I think I’ll ignore the entire topic.” Her glare said she expected the same of him.

  The footfalls drew closer. Fozzie and Dalton jogged up behind them. “What are you waiting for?” Fozzie asked. “This isn’t a romantic stroll in the park.”

  Elle’s eyes widened. Jinx kept his head down and picked up his pace. About three minutes later they arrived at a clearing, the helo in its center. Fozzie chirped a remote and the door opened. “In you go.”

  “Wait,” Elle said. “I might have found Crystal Montlake. And I still don’t know where Trish is.”

  “We’ve got it covered. Get in. I’ll explain, but not down here,” Fozzie said, pushing Elle into the helo. He jumped in after her and started flipping switches. The rotors began to spin, slowly at first, then picking up speed. Jinx exchanged a glance with Dalton, who gestured him to the front seat. Harnesses clicked into place, the engine’s whine got louder, and then they were airborne.

  Jinx let Fozzie do his thing. Since Fozzie hadn’t given him any orders, Jinx took these few moments to let his brain catch up.

  “What about Trish and Crystal?” Elle shouted.

  “In a tick,” Fozzie said. He continued inspecting gauges and flipping switches.

  Jinx swiveled in his seat. Sweat beaded Dalton’s face. From the exertion, or was he in pain? Why wasn’t he in the hospital? Jinx drummed his fingers on the armrest, watched Fozzie concentrate on flying, and quelled his curiosity. There had to be a good reason for abandoning the cartel’s house.

  “How’s Hotshot?” Jinx asked. Damn, why had it taken him so long to remember their medic was in critical condition? “And Manny? Harper?”

  Dalton shifted in his seat. Grimaced. “Manny’s got torn ligaments. Harper’s stitched up like my grandmother’s needlepoint. He said he’s fine, but I told him he’d slow us down. He’s on his way stateside. Where he belongs, with the people who need him.”

  “You?” Jinx asked, although it was a useless question. Dalton thought he had a bead on Rafael, and nothing short of being drugged and transported home could have kept him away.

  “Few dings. Had a lot worse.”

  Jinx let it drop. “Appreciate the rescue effort. Care to explain? Or, in your words, sitrep.”

  Dalton shrugged. “We picked up your location. Would have been easier if you’d kept the damn pack like I told you.”

  “What?” Jinx said. “The creeps took it. What was I supposed to do? If it’s such a big deal, I’ll pay for it.”

  Dalton hooked a thumb over his shoulder where he’d dropped the pack on the floor. “We recovered it. There’s a homing beacon in the lining of one of the pockets. And my butterscotch.”

  “Sorry,” Elle said. “I took the candy.”

  “I have more,” Dalton said, reaching into the seat pocket in front of him and extracting another pouch of sweets. He offered the bag around, then took one for himself. “We got the house, but pinpointing you was a bit more problematical.”

  “You were only a room off,” Jinx said.

  Dalton ducked his head. “Yeah, that one was empty. Didn’t want to barge in. We took care of the guard, set our ordnance, and got you out before everything hit the fan.”

  “You blew up the house?” Elle’s voice rose half an octave. “There were innocent people there. Maybe your target. And what about my sister?”

  There was a change in the pitch of the engine sounds, and then the helo grew quiet. Fozzie took off his headset and faced the group.

  “All right, gentlemen and gentle lady. Pull your heads in. First, we didn’t blow the house. We used flash bangs and cleverly placed smoke and gas. Flushed everyone out.”

  “But the women,” Elle said. “They keep them shackled to their beds. They couldn’t get out.”

  “Relax,” Fozzie said. “Blackthorne may be the best there is, but we know when it’s good to get others on board. The Mexican authorities were delighted to have a band of cartel dirtbags handed to them on a platter, especially when they’re going to get all the credit.”

  “In and out like the wind,” Dalton said, half under his breath.

  “What about the women?” Elle said.

  Fozzie grinned. “They’re going to fly them all to Slice of Heaven—at the resort’s expense. There will be a few heads rolling there, too, I imagine. A few days of R&R, and they’ll get a ticket to wherever they want to go.”

  “But weren’t you hired to bring Crystal home? Was she there?” Elle asked.

  “We’re getting a list of names,” Dalton said. “If Crystal Montlake is on it, she’ll get a first-class ride home.”

  “Technically, we were hired to find her and get her home. We don’t have to escort her,” Fozzie said. “If she isn’t on that list, we’ll keep looking.”

  Elle gnawed on her lower lip. “Trish?”

  “Working on that, too,” Fozzie said.

  Jinx saw a glimmer of hope flash a
cross Elle’s face, then die.

  “I lost her meds,” she said.

  “When we find her, we’ll get her to a top-notch medical facility,” Dalton said.

  “You’ll do that?” Elle’s eyes widened. “I can’t afford to hire you.”

  “You’ve earned our fee,” Fozzie said. “You kept Jinx alive, helped us round up a few cartel meanies. And did a fine job of it.”

  Was that a wink Jinx saw? Crap. The guys might not say anything in front of Elle, but he had a feeling there were going to be a lot of not-very-couched references to what they’d heard. Jinx grabbed the laptop and searched for files. He was good at finding things in computers, and he was equally as good at making them disappear.

  Trouble was, he’d have to hear it. He plugged a headset into the computer so he could listen in private. As if he was fooling anyone. Fozzie was busy with flying stuff again, clearly struggling not to laugh, and Dalton had his eyes closed.

  It took no time for Jinx to find what he was listening for. Hearing Elle’s voice, husky with arousal, was a total turn on. Which was not a good thing right now.

  He made sure he erased each record of his lovemaking with Elle. Which meant he had to listen to verify he had the right files. Rather than her voice—or his—which was even worse to deal with, he concentrated on the computer’s identification messages. Then it hit him.

  Jinx shoved off the headset. Fozzie was still playing with the controls. “It’s Torie.” Jinx said. “She’s reporting the voice recognition. You programmed her voice into the computer. Aren’t you clever.”

  Fozzie shrugged. “Keeps me grounded, although that’s not the best term for a man who needs to keep a bird in the air.” But he was blushing.

  Jinx wondered whether the voice recognition notifications were the only bit of Torie’s voice Fozzie had programmed into the computer. Or if there was more, for those long, lonely nights on ops. He resumed his quest, finding what he hoped was the last of the files and erased it. He unplugged the headset and flipped channels until he heard what Fozzie was listening to.

  Jinx caught the tail end of what sounded like GPS coordinates.

  Fozzie Rogered his understanding, messed with the console, and grabbed the stick. He waggled his eyebrows. “And we’re off like a bride’s nightie.”

  Chapter 29

  Elle’s stomach filled with butterflies, and it wasn’t because of the helo’s motion. Fozzie had said they were going to include searching for Trish in their mission. She burned to ask Fozzie what he’d found out, whether he had the list of names, whether Trish was on it, but he was totally focused on flying—and behind his headset barrier.

  Praising whatever powers were watching over her, Elle discovered someone had stuffed her and Jinx’s clothes into the pack. She grabbed them, sorted out hers—found the butterscotch and returned it to Dalton—and worked her way to the rear of the helo to change.

  Fozzie spun around. She held up the clothes. He nodded. “But back to your seat quick as a flash.”

  When she got back, Dalton had his seat reclined, his eyes closed, but tension lines furrowed his brow. The swelling around his eye wasn’t as bad, but he was sporting a Technicolor shiner. She suspected there were more injuries. Why hadn’t he gone to the hospital with the others? Or was he closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to talk to her?

  Avoiding conversation. Dalton and Fozzie. The voice recognition incident filled the helo like the proverbial elephant in the room.

  Her view of Jinx was obstructed by the seatbacks, but he was wearing a headset. And busy on the laptop. Did he have the list of names? Her heart sank as she realized if he did, and Trish’s name was on it, he’d have told her.

  No jumping to conclusions. Patience. Maybe it’s a long list.

  She thought she ought to take a cue from Dalton, so she reclined her seat and closed her eyes. Of course, all that did was provide a screen for all the worst-case scenarios to play inside her eyelids.

  Trish, bound and immobilized. Nobody understanding she had to be allowed to move around to avoid clots. Her fists clenched at the thought it might already be too late, that Trish had already succumbed to a pulmonary or aortic clot.

  Elle had tried to convince Trish not to take this vacation, but her sister had her heart set on the getaway.

  “Will you quit treating me like you’re my keeper? I’m not a kid anymore, and I don’t need you watching over me. The flight to Mexico is only a little over an hour. I’m not flying to Africa,” Trish had said. “Nothing to worry about. And it’s a free trip. Luxury resort. What could go wrong?”

  How about everything?

  Elle sensed a shift in the engine sounds. Her eyes popped open. So did Dalton’s. He flipped his seatback upright. She followed his lead.

  “What?” she asked.

  Dalton shook his head. Winced. Rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t know.” He reached under his seat and grabbed a headset. The kind with the mic.

  She groped under her seat, but the headset there was the noise-cancelling variety, not the radio equipped kind. Quashing her frustration, which was rapidly morphing into anger, she strained against her harness and managed to poke Jinx in the shoulder. He swiveled in his seat. She waved her next-to-useless headset and pointed to her ears. He lifted an earpiece on his own headset.

  “If I’ve proven myself worthy,” she said, “then I want to be in the loop. What’s going on?”

  Jinx shrugged, glanced in Fozzie’s direction.

  “Okay, okay. I get it,” Elle said. “Fozzie is the man in charge. Since you seem to have a pipeline to his ear, would you kindly tell him his passenger, who has a vested interest in the outcome of this op, would greatly appreciate an update.”

  Dalton tapped her thigh. Flipped his mic away from his mouth. Motioned her closer. She glared at Jinx before complying.

  “Fozzie knows,” Dalton said. “He’s not usually the pilot. Surveillance is his specialty. But this was a minimum personnel op, and he’s doing double-duty. He’s shouldering more blame than he ought to.”

  Like Jinx. These guys definitely went all in when they were on the job.

  “Can you monitor their transmissions?” she asked.

  Dalton nodded. Holding up a finger, he flipped down his mic. Elle heard him say “Sitrep.” After that he was listening, with an occasional nod. His lips flattened and his eyes narrowed.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. At the same time, she was thrown against her seat as the helo climbed and picked up speed.

  Dalton held up his finger again. “Wait.”

  Chain of command, she reminded herself, and here, she was definitely the last link. She tapped her foot on the floor. They were going somewhere, and going fast. The jitters that accompanied setting out on a sting made themselves known. But at least on a sting, she knew her role.

  What role? Would they even let her participate? She was not going to sit here with her thumb up her ass while everyone else went on the rescue. She had more experience and training than Jinx—with weapons, with raids, with almost anything that could happen in a hostage situation. Let him do what he was good at. Gather intel and relay information.

  She watched him, clattering keys, flipping his mic up and down. Sweat trickled down his face. Although she couldn’t hear him, his lips moved, almost as if he were talking to himself. She recognized the occasional f-bomb. So, she wasn’t the only one dealing with stress. Only difference was, Jinx was doing something, and she wasn’t. Waiting didn’t count as doing something no matter what Dalton said. Her fingernails tapped against the harness release in counterpoint to her feet.

  After what seemed an eternity, the forward motion of the helo stopped. Fozzie yanked off his headset and swiveled his chair to face the group. His grim expression sent knots to her belly.

  “Here’s what we have,” Fozzie said. “First, the good news. Crystal Montlake was one of the prisoners at the house where you two—” he nodded toward Jinx and Elle— “were taken. Blackthorne’s arrangin
g her transport home. The not-so-good news. According to Jinx’s intel, the cartel mobilized as soon as the cops closed in. The women are safe, but they’re moving the ones from their other locations.”

  “Where are they taking them?” Elle asked, almost ashamed for not feeling any joy that Crystal Montlake and the other women were safe.

  “Ultimately, outside of Mexico. Best guess—” another nod at Jinx— “is they’re going to the Middle East.”

  Elle’s mouth went dry. “Best guess? Trish?” She managed to get the words out, although her voice was a croak.

  “Jinx is still checking.” Fozzie rested a hand on Jinx’s shoulder, as if trying to reassure him.

  “Not just me,” Jinx said. “Zeke is all over this, too.”

  “What if Trish isn’t there?” Elle asked. “What if it’s a red herring? Won’t we be wasting time? What are the odds we’re right?”

  Jinx stared at the computer, pulled off his headset and wiped his brow. “Weren’t you the one who said, ‘Never tell me the odds?’”

  Dalton interrupted. “Given how last-minute this is, I think we have to trust Jinx’s skill.”

  “What if it was your sister,” Elle said, switching her gaze from Fozzie to Dalton. “Or someone you loved? Would you follow the lead based on what you have now? Or wait and make sure you were right?”

  She’d uttered the words straight from her gut, without thinking. Jinx’s hands trembled. He ducked his head, rubbed his neck. She’d hit a tender spot, but there was no unsaying what she’d put out there. That she wasn’t sure she could trust the way he was doing his job.

  Elle lifted her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

  “Of course you did,” Jinx said, bitterness in his tone. “If I’ve screwed up again, we might not find your sister.”

  “You didn’t screw up,” Dalton said, his voice harsh. “Intel isn’t perfect. Ever. Shit happens. We deal with it. Fozzie. How long before we’re at the target?”

  Fozzie glanced at his instrument panel. “If we go now, about fifteen minutes. But if we’re going the wrong way, we’re that much farther away from where we might need to be.”