Suarez licked his dry lips. Eric held him by the lapels of his shirt. His eyes darted nervously from Brad to Eric and back to Brad again. “Tell him to let me go. Tell Mr. Rain Dance there to get his hands off me!”
Eric’s laugh was harsh and bitter. “Rain Dance, Sitting Bull, yeah, you got the message, Suarez!” Brad hadn’t known that Eric carried a knife until he saw the flash of the steel blade pressed against Suarez’s throat. “Mr. McKenna asked you a question.”
“Please!” Suarez whined. He seemed afraid to even swallow. “Please, tell him to get the knife away. He’s going to kill me.”
Brad nodded to Eric. Eric sheathed the knife beneath the edge of his boot. “Hell,” he moaned. “And I thought I was going to get to see if a rat could live after it had been scalped.”
“Who knows you’re here? How did you find this place?” Brad asked. Suarez remained silent, his eyes wide with panic. Brad swore softly. “So help me, Suarez, start talking or I’ll just turn my back and let Rain Dance experiment on you.”
Suarez kept stalling, until Eric brandished the shiny blade of his knife once more. Ultimately, Suarez believed the threat. He started talking. No one knew where he was; he’d come out on his own. He’d been holed up in a hunter’s shack, but some hillbillies in an airboat had been hanging around all day, guzzling beers and trying to catch fish. He hadn’t dared go in anywhere close, so he’d done a little exploring on his own.
“Come on, Suarez, you weren’t out here alone.”
“Charlie Jenkins is supposed to be with me. He had to take a ride this morning. I’m alone, I swear it.”
“Okay, okay. You and Jenkins have been hanging out in a shack in the Everglades.” That rang more true. Charlie Jenkins had grown up in southern Georgia, in the Okefenokee swamp. He would know how to get around down here.
“Why are you guys staked out here?”
“We’re looking for you,” Suarez said.
“There’s more,” Brad told him.
“Yeah, all right, yeah. Michaelson has been using the Everglades. You knew that—hell, half the law enforcement in the state knows that.” He sneered, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. “Everyone knows that. But Michaelson is slick, real slick. He can’t be caught. Just like the water moccasin, he slinks away when he doesn’t want to be found.”
“When is the next shipment coming in?” Brad demanded.
“I don’t know—”
Quick as lightning, Eric pulled his knife out and pressed it against the man’s throat. The blade glinted even in the dim moonlight. “I swear it! I swear it!” Suarez screamed, looking apprehensively at the blade so near his jugular vein. “Charlie Jenkins is supposed to know, when he comes back.”
Convinced that Suarez was telling the truth, Brad nodded to Eric. Eric backed off, silent as the night.
“I’ve got to take him in,” Brad said.
“You mean we don’t get to kill him?” Eric sighed deeply in mock disappointment. When Suarez shivered, Brad was barely able to suppress a grin. “Not this time, Tonto. Sorry.”
Eric grinned. Suarez started blubbering again. “I swear, I’d tell you anything. I don’t know nothing else, honest.”
“Let’s go tell Wendy—” Eric began, but just then an explosion rent the darkness of the night.
“Hands up, everyone. All the way up.”
Apparently, Wendy had waited long enough. She had silently crept around the house, but the kick of the shotgun had announced her arrival and sent her stumbling backward. Fortunately she hadn’t lost her grip on the weapon; she still held it cocked and aimed.
“Wendy!” Brad snapped. “Dammit, I told you to stay in the house!”
“I told you she had definite problems,” Eric warned.
“I was worried when you didn’t come back.”
“But I told you to stay inside—”
“Like a sitting duck. You might have needed me.”
“Well, we didn’t! Everything is well in hand.” Or it had been, Brad thought. Now he was trembling again. Maybe it was a damned good thing that he had come here. Suarez had just been exploring in the night. He would have stumbled upon Wendy, and she would have been completely unaware. He would have attacked her in the night, and she could have screamed forever, and no one would have heard her....
Wendy. His angel. She held the shotgun with poise and regal grace. Her hair gleamed in the dim moonlight with a splendor all its own. She seemed so small and slender, and yet so feminine. It was strange how something like denim work jeans could hug a woman’s figure, making her appear so sexy. And it was strange, too, how a simple cotton shirt could hang so evocatively upon a body.
Suarez inhaled sharply. Brad looked down at the man. He was watching Wendy with a sizzle in his eyes.
“Wendy, get back into the house, now!” Brad ordered.
“I am not your personal lackey!” she protested. “Damn you—”
“Break it up, break it up,” Eric interrupted. “We’ve got to deal with this guy. Brad, his hand is shot up badly.”
“You shot him?” Wendy accused Brad.
“Well, excuse the hell out of me!” Brad returned. “I shot him before he could shoot me, do you mind?”
When she rushed over to examine Suarez, Brad stopped her. “It’s not a pretty sight.”
She stared at him, then pushed his hand away. “I told you, I was a nurse. Trust me, I’ve seen worse.”
She hunched down on the balls of her feet and examined the man’s hand. Suarez stared at her in that same way that made Brad so uncomfortable, and yet he blessed her in Spanish and in English and told her that she was an angel of mercy.
She scowled at Brad. “This wound is serious. He needs to be in a hospital. You shouldn’t have kept him here so long.”
“So long!”
“I heard that shot a long time ago,” Wendy said.
He wanted to grab her and shake her. She didn’t realize that this sleaze might have friends, nor did she even seem to realize that he meant to break in through her window and...
“Don’t pull a Florence Nightingale act on me. This man meant to come through that window, and rape you. And hell, he might have even killed you.”
“C’mon, break it up for the moment, huh?” Eric suggested lightly. “Wendy, this guy isn’t exactly Mr. Rogers, you know, dropping in on the neighborhood. Let’s get him in—”
“I’ll take him—alone,” Brad said. He didn’t want Wendy along, and he wanted Eric to stay with her.
“That’s well and fine, but I’m not sure you can find your way around at night,” Eric reminded him.
That was true, Brad thought dismally. Although he’d become familiar with the swamp, he couldn’t safely navigate at night.
“What about the car?” he asked Eric.
Eric shrugged. “You still shouldn’t be venturing out alone. Why don’t you call your boss. I’ll turn this thug over to the tribal police. From there he can be transferred over to your people.”
Brad nodded. Eric’s plan made sense.
Wendy turned around. “I’m going to get some bandages.”
“I don’t want her left alone,” Brad said to Eric.
“Want me to take him in?”
Brad shook his head. “I’ll have to call Purdy and see what he wants to do with this scum.”
“That’s some chica,” Suarez said nastily.
“Shut up.” Brad kicked him, then turned away. “I don’t want her left alone, Eric.”
“Then we’ll all go. I’ll drive. Wendy can ride up front with me, and you can ride in the back with our friend here.”
Brad thought about it for a minute. He didn’t want Wendy anywhere within reach of Suarez, but Eric’s plan seemed like the best solution. Brad didn’t want her left alone, either. He d
efinitely didn’t want her alone. Jenkins was coming back somewhere along the line—according to Suarez—and Brad wasn’t going to take any chances.
“All right,” he told Eric.
Wendy returned with a bottle of antiseptic and white gauze bandages. A true professional, she knelt down by Suarez. In a no-nonsense tone, she warned him that it was going to sting like hell, then she poured the contents of the bottle over his hand. He screamed in pain, trying to clutch his hand away, but Wendy didn’t let him. Deftly, she wrapped the injured hand in clean gauze. She handed him a little white pill and told him to swallow it. “Percodan. It will help the pain.”
“Let’s get him a suite at the Biltmore,” Brad murmured sarcastically.
“Brad, you did put the man in pain,” Wendy said.
“Yeah. And he meant to put me six feet under.”
“Are you two going to take him into town?” Wendy asked, smoothing back a loose strand of her hair.
“No, we three are going to take him,” Brad said.
Her eyes widened. “I don’t want to go.”
“You’re going.”
“The hell—”
“You’re going.” His teeth were grating and his muscles were tightening. It had been such a damned explosive evening that he was ready to throw her over his shoulder and carry her into the car. Of all the damned times for the woman to be so stubborn!
“Okay, okay!” Eric stepped between them. “Wendy, give the guy a break, will you? He’s worried about you. Brad, I’m glad that you’re in law enforcement and not the diplomatic corp. Now, for God’s sake, let’s get this show on the road!”
“I’m all for that, Rain Dance,” Suarez agreed. The Percodan was working fast, Brad thought. The guy’s eyes were already glazing over. Suarez almost looked agreeable.
“Rain Dance?” Wendy’s eyes widened. Brad almost smiled. He could see her fury growing. She’d fight anytime for someone she loved, and she loved her brother-in-law. “Why, you slime mold!” She hissed to Suarez.
Her love was so fierce, so loyal. I want you to love me with that fury, that passion, Brad thought. But like a lover.
Eric groaned. “Wendy, I’ve got it under control, okay? Can we please go?”
“Let’s do it. Suarez, up,” Brad said.
Brad was holding the gun, so Eric gave the man a hand. He struggled to his feet. Brad stared at Wendy fiercely.
She returned his stare, then her rich lashes fell over her cheeks. “I’ll be just a moment,” she said, hurrying back into the house. When she returned, she was still carrying the shotgun. Brad was sure that she had more shells for it, too, probably packed away in her brown leather purse.
Suarez was convinced that they were trying to drown him when they told him to walk over the stones. Then, when Eric showed him how it was done, Suarez was convinced that Eric was an Indian god.
“What the hell did you give him?” Brad demanded of Wendy.
“I told you—Percodan!” She proceeded over the stones herself. “See? I swear, you’ll barely get your feet wet.”
Suarez followed her at last. He looked back longingly at the canoe, drawn up on the shore, that had brought him to the house in the woods. “I shouldn’t have come here. I should have shot those hillbillies in the airboat and drank up their beer.”
“Nothing like hindsight, is there, Suarez?” Brad said, prodding his prisoner with the barrel of the gun. “Let’s move.”
At last, Suarez gingerly walked over the stones. When they reached the car, Brad helped Wendy into the front seat, then pressed Suarez into the back. Eric asked Wendy for the keys, and she tossed them to him.
The car was eerily silent as they started out. Eric flicked on the car radio. A latino tune came on, and Suarez decided to sing along.
Brad was getting a horrible headache. He tried to watch the terrain as Eric drove, but the headlights of the small car didn’t alight upon any recognizable landmarks.
By car, it was a long trip. Brad understood Wendy’s affection for her airboat. It took less than forty-five minutes to reach Mac’s garage by way of the airboat. Now time seemed to drag horribly. They drove for more than an hour before they pulled up beside the garage.
“We’re going to have to wake up Mac,” Wendy said. Eric turned the car off, and she hopped out.
“I have to go,” Suarez said.
Eric and Brad exchanged looks of annoyance. Eric came out of the driver’s seat and opened the door. Brad followed Suarez out, keeping the gun trained on him at all times. He knew these people too well to trust even a simple call of nature.
Between them, they led Suarez over to a clump of bushes. Brad looked toward the station and saw that the office door was opening. Wendy had managed to rouse Mac from his bed in the back room of the office.
He handed the gun to Eric. “Don’t trust him.”
“He won’t pull anything,” Eric said, “if he values his life.”
Hurrying toward the station, Brad smiled, shaking his head slightly. Suarez was thoroughly convinced that Eric was probably worse than the entire Indian contingent at the battle of the Little Bighorn.
“Come on in, Mr. McKenna. Come in and make whatever calls you want,” Mac said, opening the glass door.
“Thanks, Mac,” Brad said.
“Wendy, you want some tea or something?”
“Sure, I’d love some tea,” Wendy murmured. It would give her something to do while Brad started dialing numbers.
Brad phoned Purdy, who agreed that it was a good idea to bring in the tribal police. His people would meet them at the entrance to the swamp and extradite Suarez. Purdy planned to interrogate Suarez as soon as he had received medical attention.
Brad glanced over at Wendy. “I—I can’t come in now.”
Purdy was quick, Brad gave him that. He hadn’t gotten where he was by being stupid.
“You don’t want to talk? You’re worried about your friend? The girl you’re staying with?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Fine. Hand Suarez over to the tribal police and go back with her. Call me tomorrow at noon. Maybe it’s time to get some backup out there.”
“Yeah. I think it might be.”
“But play it smooth, huh? You’ve got a nice trap sitting out there. Maybe we can bag something else.”
“Carefully.”
“Carefully, beyond a doubt. We won’t let the woman get hurt, Brad.”
“Thanks.” He dared another glance at Wendy. She was talking to Mac, but he was sure that she had heard everything he had said. He was glad that he had kept it simple, glad that Purdy was perceptive.
He hung up. Purdy was going to contact the tribal police.
“Everything taken care of?” Mac asked.
“Yes, thanks. Thanks a lot,” Brad told the old man.
Mac smiled. “Tea?”
“No, thanks just the same.” He shook Mac’s hand. He wondered if there was any way that he could repay the old guy, if there was anything that Mac wanted. In many ways, Mac had helped keep Brad—and Wendy safe.
When Brad left the office, Wendy started to follow him.
“Stay inside with Mac,” he told her.
“Don’t you—”
“Please! Stay with Mac.”
Wendy looked into his eyes, so fiercely gold, so powerful. Her rebellious nature balked at the order, but she swallowed her pride and went back inside to wait with Mac. It had been such a rough day! She’d been trying so hard to pretend that her life was entirely normal.
But life wasn’t normal anymore. Brad had entered into her world, and she had fallen in love with him. She had cried as she’d strolled down the aisle in the grocery store, and despite herself, she’d bought enough food for two. She’d burst into tears in the drugstore, and again, she�
��d bought supplies for two.
And at first she hadn’t been able to go home to her empty house. She’d gone to see the family, because she had needed them so badly. She’d needed Grandfather’s wisdom, and Grandmother’s support. Willie had held her when she cried, and she’d known with an even greater strength than ever before just how much they loved her. Leif was dead, but the Hawks still loved her. They were such good people. Blood was a strong tie to them, but love was even stronger. She was Willie’s granddaughter, blood or no, for he claimed her as so. He knew that she had loved Leif.
And he knew that she loved Brad now.
“He is a good man,” Grandfather had told her.
“He is gone.”
“Go home. Wait for him. He will come back.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Then you will cry, but life will go on. And you will be richer for the time that you have shared.”
And now, looking out the window at Brad, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He had returned to her house, he had returned to her arms. But danger had come between them.
She was a fool. Brad McKenna lived with danger—it was an occupational hazard.
And yet she loved him anyway.
* * *
A while later, Wendy saw the flash of headlights. When the car parked outside, she recognized the emblem of the tribal police. After a very brief conversation with Brad and Eric, the tribal police took Suarez away.
Then Brad opened the door and stretched out a hand to her. “Wendy, it’s time to go back home.”
Back home. Yes, it was time to return to her home—with him.
Eric drove again. Wendy sat in front with him; Brad sat silently in the back. The only sound was the music from the radio, though Eric switched the station a dozen times.
At last, they were home. Still in silence, they parked and locked the car, then traveled over the stones to reach the house.
“You need to give Brad a decent pair of boots,” Eric commented. “He’s soaking his shoes on those things.”
Angel of Mercy & Standoff at Mustang Ridge Page 17