Dangerous Connections (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Odell, Terry

  Jinx put the headset on. He appeared to be listening for another moment before he looped it around his neck and spoke. “Here’s the deal. We’ve picked up several convoys. Trouble is, they’re not all going in the same direction. It’s possible some are decoys. Or, they’re moving their hostages to different locations before getting them out of Mexico. Or, we’re already late, and none of these are the people we’re looking for.”

  “You can’t tell who’s inside the vehicles?” Elle realized she sounded desperate, but she couldn’t seem to edit what came out of her mouth.

  Fozzie shook his head. “Don’t blame Jinx. Even I wouldn’t be able to identify passengers.”

  Jinx looped his headset around his neck. “Since we can’t tell who is or isn’t down there, I’m relying on contacts. Aguilar has a second private jet. I’m trying to get info from the airport, but nobody dares to insist that Aguilar needs to file flight plans. Best estimate is he could carry twenty people as cargo, assuming he doesn’t give a damn about conditions. They’d be crammed in there like sardines.”

  Elle thought about Trish, confined and unable to move. Tears threatened, but she willed them away. “What are the other options?”

  “Too many,” Jinx said. “He could move his plane—or planes—to another airport and pick up the women there. He could hire a cargo ship. He could put them on a train. Or hold them until he feels it’s safe to move them to the Middle East.”

  “How sure are you that would be their destination?” Elle asked. “Why not hold them for a while, then move them right back? You know, the ‘once a place has been searched, you don’t look there again’ scenario?”

  “Until a deed’s been done, you can’t be positive about the outcome,” Fozzie said. “But Aguilar’s got a lot of contacts in the Middle East, and reliable intel says he sends women there regularly.”

  “All right, people.” Dalton’s voice cut through the rising heat. “We need to make a decision. Soon. Jinx, give us your take.”

  Jinx exhaled a long, breathy sigh. “Three contacts put them going to the local airport where Elle and I landed. Five others say they’re going to the coast.”

  “Reliability?” Fozzie asked.

  “That’s the issue. There’s not time—or the resources—to do a background check. He dragged a hand through his hair. “For all I know, they’re all feeding me a line of crap. Aguilar could be paying them. Or threatening them. I didn’t do so well trusting them the last time, remember.”

  Elle stretched her hand toward Jinx. “What does your gut say?”

  “The powdered milk this morning might not have been a wise choice.” He stared at Elle, holding her gaze. “If it was my sister, I’d go to the local airport. I think the creeps would want to get them on the plane and out of the country while the cops are dealing with the hostages they’ve already rescued.”

  “Let’s do it,” Dalton said.

  The helo swooped down and sped forward. Elle prayed they’d made the right decision. That they’d get there in time. And that Trish was among the hostages.

  Jinx fought rising nausea, and it had nothing to do with powdered milk. He stared at the laptop screen, blinking to keep it in focus. Ramon’s face stared back at him, along with the dossier Zeke had sent. He scanned the text. Not surprising, the man’s resemblance to Raphael was because they were brothers.

  Okay, half-brothers. Different mothers, but their paternal genes were strong. For whatever reason, Ramon had left the fold to work for—or with—Aguilar. However, they’d parted company years ago and were now less-than-friendly rivals.

  Jinx shifted the screen so Dalton couldn’t see it. All Dalton needed was another route to Rafael. But where Rafael dealt in drugs, Ramon dealt in women. Dalton’s grudges were deeply rooted, and if he thought getting his hands on Ramon would give him leverage against Raphael, Jinx was afraid Dalton might do it. And another episode of going cowboy might get him fired.

  He flipped the lip mic down and switched to the Blackthorne channel. “Zeke. Any confirmation on Ramon’s holdings? Is the Middle East still the most probable destination?”

  Keys clicked in the background. “Bringing it up now.” A low whistle. “Damn.”

  Jinx’s gut clenched. Maybe it was the milk. “Don’t damn me, damn it. What do you have?”

  “China. Africa. India. The list goes on. He sells brides as well as prostitutes.”

  “Can you see if he’s filling any orders? And if so, where? And in about three minutes?”

  “You don’t ask much, do you.” More clicking. “The boss has yanked in reinforcements on research here, but if it’s last-minute on your end, it’s not going to show up in our pipeline yet.”

  “Okay, if you were Ramon, where would you hide these women? In a temporary safe house, or get your money and cut your losses?”

  “Crap, Jinx, I’m not like Ramon.”

  “Pretend you are. That’s part of the job.” While Jinx waited on Zeke, he continued to scan Ramon’s dossier. The man didn’t have a lot of patience. Everything they had on him indicated he moved quickly.

  Jinx gritted his teeth. Counted to five. Sometimes your gut was that last piece of intel, the piece you had to go with. “We’re on our way to the local airport. If you find anything otherwise, call.”

  “Want me to alert the authorities to cover the other possible venues?” Zeke asked.

  Jinx had already considered that. “We don’t know how many of the locals are in the cartels’ pockets. We don’t want to tip our hand yet.”

  “I’ll await your word.”

  “Any progress on that list?” Jinx asked.

  “You’re talking about Patricia Sheridan, right?”

  “Right. Trish.”

  “Only have ten names,” Zeke said, “and there are no Sheridans. I’m waiting on the rest. Our contacts are reluctant to part with information without what they consider appropriate compensation.”

  “Light a few damn fires, would you? Grease the damn skids. I’ll make good if the boss objects.”

  Zeke didn’t come back with a snappy retort. He must have sensed the underlying personal commitment in Jinx’s tone. “On it.”

  Jinx spun his chair to face Dalton and Elle, who gazed at him with expectant expressions. “Zeke’s still working on the lists. He’ll keep us updated.”

  Dalton nodded. He hadn’t said anything about Ramon—yet. Jinx hoped he’d be busy with rescuing the women, and they’d be hauling ass out of Mexico before Dalton made any career-jeopardizing moves.

  Elle looked ready to burst out of her skin, but she didn’t say anything. Her fingers tapped the buckle on her harness. She turned and faced the window, as if watching could urge the helo to fly faster.

  Jinx checked the surveillance cameras. He couldn’t see anything through the canopy, but the heat-sensitive equipment picked up signatures. Four blobs moved beneath the treetops. He said a silent prayer they were the right blobs.

  Dalton leaned around the seatback. “Anyplace we can set down and intercept?”

  Fozzie took the helo upward, expanding the camera’s field of vision. Jinx scanned, seeking clear spots. “Nothing I can see. Yet. On the bright side, they’re on the ground, which means we can outrun them, and if there’s anything open, we’ll find it.”

  “Assuming it’s close enough to their route for us to ambush them.” Dalton’s clenched fists and almost-eager expression said he wanted a chance to do just that.

  “Ambush or airport?” Fozzie said.

  “Both,” Dalton said. “A ground party to intercept while you take the helo to the airport.”

  Fozzie circled the helo, and Jinx switched imagery, hoping to find a clearing so he wouldn’t have to do the rope ride again. Or would he? Fozzie would have to stay with the helo. Dalton swore his injuries wouldn’t inhibit his ability to do his job. If Jinx was better suited to surveillance, that left Elle as the sensible choice to help on the ground.

  He tried to stop thinking about her strapped belly-to-b
elly with Dalton. Logically, it was a ridiculous thought. Dalton had Miri, and that's what his working with Elle would be. Working.

  So why were Jinx's shorts in a twist?

  You’ve known her a day. Maybe two by now. You can’t possibly have real feelings for her. Can you?

  Shit. He could. He did. Maybe they’d drift apart once they got to the real world again, but right now, his caveman instincts were kicking in. Protect your woman. Even if she could do a better job of protecting him.

  “Jinx stays topside,” Fozzie said. “I need him here.”

  Ten minutes later, as Jinx helped Dalton and Elle into the harness, his shorts were even more twisted. No matter that Elle was looking at him, not Dalton. No matter that Dalton was all business. In a matter of seconds, they would be working together. Risking their lives. Covering each other’s sixes. And Dalton had damn well better keep his hands off Elle’s six. He tested the fastenings, made sure their packs were secure, before stepping to the winch.

  “Wait,” Elle said as they stood at the open bay of the helo. Eyes glistening—with excitement or fear?—she motioned him to her.

  Jinx made sure the winch was locked and hurried to her side. “Something wrong? Are the boots too big? Maybe you need to stay here. I can help Dalton.”

  “They’re fine. I’ll be fine. But I forgot one thing,” she said. She reached for him, pulled his face to hers and gave him a kiss he’d remember forever. “For luck.”

  It surprised him that she wasn’t the least bit pink. Until he remembered their lovemaking had been recorded, so what was the point of hiding the fact they had something going?

  “You watch yourself.” He smiled. “And remember, I’ll be listening.”

  “Are you two finished?” Dalton said. “We have work to do.”

  Jinx tugged the harness, then set the winch in motion. Watching, waiting as they disappeared beneath the trees. Holding his breath. Visualizing Elle in full-blown cop mode as he wound up the cable.

  “Get your arse in your seat, loverboy.” Fozzie’s voice penetrated Jinx’s reverie.

  Jinx snapped to attention. He secured the cable and the helo door, then went to his laptop and headset. Listening for Zeke, and watching the monitor for Elle and Dalton’s heat signatures, he told himself they would get the job done. Relief flooded over him when he saw the two blobs moving through the jungle. Dalton and Elle.

  Whether she knew it or not, Elle was Blackthorne now. He wondered if she’d consider quitting the Riverside PD to work full-time for Blackthorne. He shoved that thought aside like yesterday’s garbage. No way could he stand relying on long-distance communication and gathering intel which might end up getting her killed.

  “How does Torie handle your disappearing and putting your life on the line?” he asked Fozzie.

  Fozzie gave him an eyebrow raise. “Thinking about Elle down there, are you? Feeling helpless?”

  Jinx tried to shrug it off, but Fozzie had him pegged.

  “It’s harder on Torie than me,” Fozzie went on. “I’m here and I know what’s going on. She has to deal with not knowing. But she knows I’ll come out on top because I have her to get back to. We’re still living the long-distance relationship. You should ask Harper. He’s got Frankie and Molly. Maybe Frankie’ll let you into the Blackthorne’s Women Club.”

  “The what?”

  “The women in our lives. They stay in touch. Support each other. Understand. But this is a one-time deal for Elle. You’ll manage.”

  Tell that to his gut.

  His radio crackled. Dalton’s voice. “In position. Estimate contact in five to ten.” Then Elle’s. “Get down!” Then silence.

  Jinx frantically searched the heat signatures. A third blob approached the other two. Slowly. Stealthily. How had he missed it when they’d determined this was a safe place to drop Elle and Dalton?

  Chapter 30

  Elle dove for cover, assuming Dalton would do the same. “Did you hear that?” she whispered. The subtle rustling in the brush was getting closer. “Someone’s coming.”

  “Something,” Dalton said. “Jinx would have picked up any humans before we chose this spot.”

  “Okay, so it’s a something and not a someone. Any ideas?”

  Dalton raised himself onto his elbows. Cocked his head. “Down. Jaguar, I think. Don’t move.”

  Elle froze. Dropped to her belly beside Dalton. The sounds moved closer, then kept going. She and Dalton lay there for another minute or two, then Dalton lifted to his knees, raised his binoculars, and peered around.

  “Yep,” he said. “Jaguar. With a late breakfast. Howler monkey, I think.”

  “Do howler monkeys sound like banshees?”

  He chuckled. “You could say that. Loudest creature in the jungle. You can hear them for miles.”

  She’d have to let Jinx know she’d been right about the monkey part, even if she hadn’t known what kind.

  Dalton keyed his radio. “Jaguar just went past. Anything else we need to know about?”

  Jinx’s voice came through the radio headset they’d given her. “Negative. Convoy is still en route. Should be at your twenty in five.”

  “Roger,” Dalton said. He shifted to Elle. “I’ll take the left, you take the right. Let the first vehicle go past before engaging.”

  Elle felt a brief surge of pride. No questions about whether she could handle it. No mollycoddling. He’d accepted her abilities despite her being a total stranger with little experience in this kind of work.

  “Take out the tires?” she asked.

  “Good plan. I’ve got smoke grenades and flashbangs, but those won’t stop them. I’m counting on you for that. When you take out the first vehicle, I’ll smoke ’em, then take out the last one. That way, the two in the middle won’t be able to get away. We need them to think there are a lot more of us and we’ve got them surrounded.”

  “I can throw smoke, too,” she said. “You can stay back, catch the last car.”

  “I’ve only got three grenades.”

  Elle managed a brief smile. “One’s all I’ll need.”

  He handed her a grenade, casually, as if it were nothing more than a can of soup. “We’re going to be outnumbered and outgunned. Stay under cover.” His expression grew somber. “Might have to take these guys out. Permanently. Is that a problem?”

  “Kind of late to ask,” she said, “but no. They’re helping sell people, for God’s sake. I can pull the trigger if I have to. It’s what I’m trained to do if conditions warrant. And if these guys are even remotely involved with kidnapping my sister, then conditions warrant.” She paused. “Does it bother you to kill people?”

  “Do I like it? Hell, no. But when it’s me or them, I prefer to make sure it’s them.”

  “Jinx said you have a serious relationship. How does she deal with your job—that you might have to kill people?”

  He seemed to be reflecting on that. “Miri runs Galloway House in San Francisco—a combination shelter and halfway house. She’s seen too many people whose lives have been torn apart by abuse, by drugs, by sheer bad luck. I think she understands my job here can mean fewer people will need her help.”

  Elle was processing that when the sound of vehicle engines approached.

  “Showtime,” Dalton said. “Let’s do it.”

  Elle watched Dalton conceal himself on the other side of the trail. If she hadn’t known he was there, she’d never have seen him. She found her own cover and dropped to her belly behind a tree, propped her weapon on a protruding root. Sniper position. She took a few cleansing breaths. Riverside used MP-5s, but thanks to Derek, she’d had experience with a lot of weapons, including the AK-47. She imagined she was on the range with Derek. Hitting the ten ring every time, just to make him mad. A tire should be easy. So what if it was moving. She could do this. She had to do this. She would do this. For Trish.

  Her focus narrowed to the road. Tunnel vision. Her ears tuned out everything but the sound of the vehicles. Her universe shrank
to that slice of jungle where the first vehicle would appear. She visualized it approaching. Crossing into her target zone. She saw herself pulling the trigger. Front tires first, then rear. Pull the pin on the grenade. She envisioned the toss, the spot on the ground where it would land.

  For a half second, she thought about joining SWAT. For another half second, she thought about becoming a librarian. Then she spotted the first vehicle. A Jeep Wrangler.

  Patience. Wait for it.

  Her finger moved to the trigger. As the Wrangler passed in front of her, she fired. Two shots. BangBang. Elle got to her knees and tossed the grenade into the road in front of the convoy. Without waiting, she swung the muzzle, her aim reflexive. Squeezed off two more rounds. BangBang. Then a Boom. The grenade. Smoke filled the air. Four more shots. Dalton taking out the rear vehicle. Boom. Another grenade.

  Metal crashed against metal.

  Elle jumped to her feet. Hurtled over roots and shrubs, covering the short distance to the road. Engulfed by smoke. Coughing. Eyes watering. Heart drumming. Ears ringing.

  “Out! Hands up!” Dalton’s voice boomed through the confusion. “Weapons on the ground! Now!”

  She backed toward the edge of the road, ahead of the first Wrangler. Took cover in the vegetation. Kept her weapon trained on the line of Wranglers. Not wanting to shoot. Too many innocents. What if Trish was in there?

  Sweat trickled down her neck.

  Dalton’s voice rang out again, uttering what she assumed were the same commands he’d given before, but this time in Spanish. Then more rapid-fire Spanish. She heard Aguilar’s name. Would they surrender?

  Breathe. Remember to breathe.

  She exhaled. Inhaled. Movement from the front window of the third Wrangler. Something thumped to the ground. She blinked. A rifle. Was their plan working?

  The Wrangler’s driver-side door opened. Elle’s side of the road. Swallowing, she trained her weapon at the spot. A hand—empty—waved. “No shoot, por favor.”

  She’d see about that. “Step out. Slowly. Hands up.” If he worked at Aguilar’s compound, or with Ramon’s women, he probably had a rudimentary command of English. Apparently he did, because he hopped out of the Wrangler, his hands clasped behind his head.