by Diana Duncan
This was one shot she couldn’t afford to miss.
“Walk toward us, McQuade,” Harper ordered. “Nice and easy. We’ll send Soledad to meet you halfway.”
As Dallas took several steps forward, Mia surged up out of the mist behind Soledad and the men, her pistol pointed at Soledad’s back. “Stop,” she demanded. “I have a Glock trained on Soledad. Don’t move.”
The trio in front of her froze. Then their heads cautiously swiveled far enough to verify her threat, and stunned fury seared her in triplicate.
Dallas also froze. “Mia?” he said very, very carefully. “What are you doing?”
“Grayson’s files started printing after you left. This is a trap. Soledad and Paul are lovers. They’re the ones who’ve been smuggling drugs, who tried to murder Esteban, and they set this all up to stage a coup. The Montoya name connected with drugs and terrorism is Soledad’s, not Esteban’s. She’s been killing people since she was twenty-three years old. And she plans to kill you as soon as you get her to safety.”
As Soledad spewed a string of invective in Spanish, Dallas’s eyes narrowed, darkened to nearly black. “Son of a bitch.”
Mia moved closer to her target. “Grayson, you and your buddy lay down your guns, and Soledad, I know you have one too … put it down. Or I’ll have to disintegrate your spine.”
“I’m afraid I cannot allow you to do that, Señora McQuade,” Esteban said quietly, stepping out from behind the SUV on Mia’s right—with a pistol aimed at her temple.
Dread paralyzed her as she watched every ounce of color leech from Dallas’ face.
Stark terror flashed in his dark cobalt irises, quickly extinguished by cold, flat steel. “Hurt my wife, and there’s nowhere on this earth you can run far enough. And I promise you won’t die fast … or easy.”
“I do not wish to hurt her. But I will, if she attempts to harm Soledad. I will ask you to put down your weapons, Señora Mia—both of them. But I will ask only once.”
“Oh, thank you, Papa,” Soledad breathed.
Unsure, Mia glanced at Dallas for guidance. When he gave her a nearly imperceptible nod, she bent to set her Glock in the mud, then cautiously removed the Ruger from her waistband and surrendered that as well. She straightened, vowing she and Dallas would both get out of this alive.
Somehow.
“Now you, Señor Harper, and your amigo. Then kick them aside. If I must choose someone to shoot at the moment, believe me, I will choose you over Señora Mia.”
Harper and the sniper obeyed.
“Papa,” Soledad cried, turning toward her father. “Gracias a Dios! You came! They are—”
“Please stay where you are, and be still, mi hija.. I will manage this. Señora Mia, step over here, closer to me, please.”
Keeping the pale, bandaged Esteban and the gun aimed at her temple in sight, Mia moved to stand beside him, centered on the sidelines between Grayson, Soledad, and the sniper on her left, and Dallas on the far side of the clearing on her right. A taut, thrumming triangle.
Mia willed her voice to steady. “Señor, I hate to be the one that has to tell you the truth, because I know it will hurt. But Soledad, Harper, and Paul have been trafficking drugs through your factory. They’re also behind the assassination attempts.”
“Sí, I have already reached the same conclusion. Do you think I built my empire from nothing by being a fool?” Grief softened his already quiet tone. “This is why I came here. Who else knows about the private ski lodge? Who else knows almost to the dollar how much cash I keep in my safe? Who else understands the inner workings of my organization well enough to embezzle millions and conceal it from me until now? Who oversees my every move, every step … but my beloved daughter?”
“Papa,” Soledad cooed. “You have it all wr—”
“It is not yet your moment to speak, mi hija … I will deal with you in due time.”
“Now, Esteban,” Harper boomed. “Surely you don’t—”
“Señor Grayson,” Montoya’s quiet intonation held a razored edge. “You and I have no blood tie. You are coasting on the fading traces of my goodwill.”
Harper clamped his mouth shut.
“You said you owed me for saving your life.” Mia swallowed hard, glanced again at Dallas and saw reluctant admiration in his gaze. “I risked my life for yours. Dallas has protected you. He willingly gambled his own life to ransom your daughter, and walked into a trap. I’m going to ask you to please repay that debt by allowing me, Dallas, and our unborn child, to leave unharmed.”
There, baby card played.
Dallas nodded. “Then we’ll let you be. Nobody has to die here today.”
A long, shaky pause while hawks cried overhead and Mia’s pulse thundered in her ears. She held Dallas’ unwavering gaze, striving to tell him without words how much he meant to her.
His impassive expression flickered, warmed, then was quickly shuttered. She understood he couldn’t allow any emotion, any weakness to show.
Finally, Esteban nodded. “Sí. I will handle the family business within the family. Be satisfied in knowing that Soledad’s duplicity will earn her nothing.” He lowered his gun. “Señor Dallas, take your courageous, loyal wife home. And value the great treasure you possess.”
Relief turned Mia’s knees to water as Dallas strode across the clearing toward her.
Soledad shrieked, “No!” Yanking a pistol from inside her jacket, she aimed it at Dallas’ forehead. “Mia, you spoiled everything! Cost me everything! And I will take everything from you!”
The fear Mia thought she’d known before paled against the terror stabbing cold, slippery blades into her chest.
The universe spun into the whirlwind of hell as everything imploded at once.
“Don’t,” Mia screamed, rushing forward in a desperate attempt to throw herself between Dallas and the bullet.
Dallas weaved, dodged, made a chillingly futile lunge toward one of the massive stumps.
Mia screamed again. Not going to make it.
The whirlwind ground into slow-motion.
Two gunshots boomed in rapid succession. Dallas jerked, his body driven backward by the force of the blows, and he crumpled to the ground.
Shock and horror crashed over Mia, and she stumbled, fell.
“But …” Soledad gasped. “I did not—”
Zane stepped out of the tree-line, carrying his Beretta. “What a clusterfuck. Can’t you people do anything right?” He uttered a disdainful snort. “McQuade was mine. I owed him. Bastard’s been riding my ass and making my life miserable since the minute he stole what should’ve been my job.” He strode to Dallas, kicked him over onto his back.
Mia couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe … could only stare in disbelieving horror at the two bullet holes that had pierced her husband’s chest through his jacket. She knew he wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest—she’d watched him dress.
Zane bent and pressed his fingers to Dallas’s neck. Then he looked up at Soledad, dark eyes flat and cold. “He’s dead.”
Chapter 17
Frozen and dazed on her belly in the mud, Mia went numb. Her mind ripped away from her body and floated above her head.
Nothing else mattered.
Dallas was dead.
Zane stepped between her and the others. Dimly, she registered his feral smile aimed at her. “I owe her, too.”
Beretta at the ready, he jerked his head at Esteban. “You clean up your end of the business, Señor, and I’ll clean up mine. With the cops already sniffing around your organization, you can’t afford to get dragged into this. Or your precious progeny there is going to prison for the rest of her life.”
Esteban glanced at Mia, the sorrow swimming in his eyes aging him a decade. His lips moved, but she could barely hear him through the ringing in her ears. “I am so sorry, Señora,” he whispered. “Soledad has made grave mistakes, but I must choose … and she is my flesh and blood.” He waved tiredly at the SUV. “Señor Grayson, you drive.”
>
Mia couldn’t draw in any oxygen. Didn’t care.
Breathing had no meaning.
Nothing could hurt more than watching Dallas die.
Two more gunshots made her flinch. She waited for the pain, for her vision to gray.
But nothing happened. She slowly turned her head to see Esteban tuck his gun away after shooting Dallas’ Jeep tires.
The SUV rumbled off, and the dark woods went eerily silent. Zane strode over, squatted beside her. She stared dully into his shadowed eyes. He’d murdered Dallas in cold blood. Was going to murder her, too.
But probably not fast enough.
“Come here, Mia.” The intense command quiet, he tugged her upright to face him.
Over his shoulder she caught a glimpse of Dallas’s crumpled body. A burst of red-hot anger blistered her veins, burning away the shock. This traitor had killed the man she loved.
“You lying, murdering sack of shit!” She launched herself at him.
Swearing, he fought to subdue her … but she fought back with fury and pain, landing a blow to the side of his head, then another to his solar plexus.
“Listen.” He grabbed her and held her tight against him. “I need—”
“You need killing!” She head-butted his face, rolled away from his loosened grip.
“Ow! Christ, not again!” Blood trickled down his chin from a split lip, and he barely avoided a kick to the temple. “I hate to do this rough, but if I have to—” He wrestled her down and flung himself on top of her, his lean, hard-muscled body pinning her to the ground. “Stop fighting, and listen to me, dammit!”
She cried out. In spite of her training, in spite of her desire to tear him limb from limb, she was losing to his superior strength. And to grief. “You killed him.” Sobs wrenched from her chest and burst from her throat. “I love him, God, I love him, and I didn’t get the chance to tell him.”
Zane pressed her down harder. “Mia, he’s—”
“Zane…” Dallas’s deep, shaky voice drawled. “You want to get off my wife?”
Paralyzed by shocked disbelief, Mia went utterly, completely still.
“Gladly,” Zane panted. “But only if you guarantee she won’t maim me.”
Dallas appeared above her, blue eyes blazing with fierce intensity in his grim, white face. “I’m okay, darlin’.” He shoved at Zane’s shoulder, then winced. “Let her up.”
“I’ve been trying to tell her you were only unconscious, but nobody tells Mia anything.” Zane levered off her.
Her stunned gaze traveled over Dallas. There was no blood seeping from the bullet holes in his jacket.
There should be blood. Why isn’t there blood?
“Dallas?” she whispered. “How?”
He knelt, gathered her into his arms. “Body armor.”
“But you … I s-saw … no vest.”
“My blazers are specially made. The best but lightest, toughest Kevlar is concealed within the lining. It helped protect us in the factory fire, too.”
“Oh. Oh … I … oh, Dallas. I thought …”
“I know, sweetheart.” He hugged her tight. “I’m sorry.”
Dallas stood, lifting her up with him. Keeping an arm around her, he winced again, rubbed his chest. “Lord have mercy, that smarts.”
Her legs threatening to collapse, she inhaled a quivering breath. Choked back threatening tears. “Y-you’re not hurt, though?”
“Nope. The only injury I’ll have are some colorful bruises.” He grimaced at Zane. “Inventive ad lib, Wolfe.”
Zane snorted. “Saved your Nancy quarterback ass—and your wife’s, too—didn’t it? A hit to the chest wearing body armor trumps a bullet through the brain any day.”
“Remind me to thank you later.”
Zane grinned. “I wasn’t about to let you die, McQuade. You still owe me fifty bucks from poker night.”
Mia struggled to comprehend her personal miracle. She reverently touched the ragged holes over his chest. “You’re alive.”
“I am, and we’re not done.” He cast a look at Zane. “Our double-crossing, drug-dealing, dysfunctional family terrorists?”
“My best guess would be heading for Esteban’s private jet at the airport, then it’s hasta la vista, baby.”
“Then why the hell are we still standing around jawing?”
“Because your tires are pancakes, and my rig is half a mile down where I had to park in order to haul my ass through the woods to back you up. And who the hell knows where Esteban left his Mercedes?”
“I … um …” Mia blinked, trying to right her tilted equilibrium. “I have Paul’s Bentley. Not very far … She gestured vaguely.
“Yee haw, let’s roll.” Dallas grabbed up Harper’s and the sniper’s fallen weapons, plus the two guns Mia had brought, then hustled her toward the road with Zane hot on their heels.
Mia blinked again. “I have … extra clips. Pocket.”
Dallas dropped a fast kiss on the top of her head. “That’s my girl.”
“Wh-what just happened here?”
“I’ll explain in the car, darlin’.” Dallas was panting harshly, but plenty strong enough to half-carry her along.
When they reached the Bentley, Paul’s muffled thumps and pleas for help resounded from inside the trunk.
Both men’s gazes locked on the trunk. Zane barked a laugh. “I see Hurricane Mia has blown through.”
“Get him out, Wolfe,” Dallas gritted. “Asshole Junior might be able to contribute helpful intel if we need it, but if I lay hands on him, I’ll kill him.”
Mia passed Zane the keys. He popped the trunk and muscled a disheveled, bleeding Paul to the car’s back door.
Paul whimpered. “Keep her away from me.” Shaking, he jerked his chin toward Mia. “She shot me in the foot!”
Mia slowly lifted a shoulder at Dallas’ sudden grin. “I was actually aiming for his kneecap.”
Zane laughed again. “I think you’re starting to grow on me, lady.” He unhooked handcuffs from the back belt loop of his jeans, cuffed Paul, then stuffed him into the backseat. “My buddy isn’t too happy with you, and I don’t blame him. Don’t move a hair. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t even breathe loud. Or we’ll turn Mia loose on you again.”
Zane slid behind the wheel, and Dallas commandeered the passenger seat, holding Mia on his lap.
The car rocketed down the road, mud spraying up on both sides. Dallas’s embrace tightened. “You all right?”
“Yes,” she answered automatically, not really sure if she was or not. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now, except that Dallas was here.
“God Almighty, Mia …” He inhaled. “You scared two decades off my life.” He ran his hands over her as if seeking reassurance. “I distinctly remember the last thing I told you was to stay put.”
She was trembling. “And where would you be if I had? Even having backup wouldn’t have saved you from— From—” The nightmare of seeing Soledad’s gun pointed at his forehead blazed across her mind, followed by the meaty thunk of bullets slamming into his chest, then his limp body crumpling to the ground. Nausea churned and her vision blackened around the edges. She swayed in his grasp.
“Whoa, hang on, darlin’.” Dallas gently pushed her head toward her knees. “Easy. Take it easy.”
Zane’s worried voice came from a great distance. “She okay?”
“Yeah. Aftershock setting in.” Dallas rubbed her back. “Breathe, baby,” he murmured. “Everything is okay.”
As the car sped along the bumpy, twisting roads, she sat up, woozy and disoriented. She leaned into Dallas, let him stroke her hair while time ceased to exist.
Finally, Dallas said, “Wolfe, hand me your phone so I can check if we have cell service. Bastards confiscated mine along with my weapons.”
Zane passed it over. “Don’t know if we’ll get any yet.”
“Oh,” Mia said dazedly. “Forgot Isabel. In the lodge. Tied up.”
Dallas thumbed a button. “Ju
st barely a signal, and faint as gnat piss. I’ll send someone to fetch Isabel, Mia.” He stabbed in numbers. “Yeah, this Special Agent Dallas McQuade, DEA. Badge number 434972. Scramble your SWAT Team to Portland International—”
The buzzing in Mia’s ears drowned out the rest. DEA? Dallas worked for the Drug Enforcement Agency?
She speared Zane with a confused glare. “You DEA too?”
“FBI.” He tossed her a contrite smile, dark eyes intense. “Sorry I was so rough on you these last couple weeks. I’m not usually such a major asshole, and I don’t hurt women … ever. But I couldn’t burn my cover.” A grin relaxed his sharp features. “Although I admit, I was pretty fried over that incident at the Phoenix airport, but once I cooled down, McQuade and I had a good laugh over it.”
“You laughed— Poker night— You … you’re friends?”
Dallas nodded. “Since college, when Wolfe was my wide-receiver. There’s no man on this earth I feel more confident lobbing a pass to. Those unspoken signals came in mighty handy today.” He touched the bullet holes in his coat. “We belong to a multi-agency task force working this case.”
“Well, that’s perfect. Just perfect. DE-friggin’-A. And all this time, you never told me— Never mentioned—” Then Mia horrified herself by bursting into sobs.
“Hey.” Dallas patted her back. “Okay. Okay, honey, just go ahead and cry it out, you’ll feel better.”
Unable to stop sobbing, she clung to him, burrowed into the warm, solid comfort of his chest. “I’m n-not crying. I d-don’t c-cry.”
“I know.” His palm stroked her quaking spine. “My strong, brave, smart wife … I would’ve been a goner without you.”
That made her sob harder. “I w-watched you d-die.”
He kissed her temple. “I’m sorry. So sorry, sweetheart. I’d have spared you that if I could.”
“So would I,” Zane said, his deep voice low and strained.
“Let it out, Mia,” Dallas soothed. “Let go, and let it all out.”
She purged her hurt and rage and grief, crying during the entire forty minute drive toward the airport—while Dallas held her, rocked her, passed her tissues, and murmured soothing reassurances in her ear.