Her Ranger Rescuers

by M J Adams

  She’d come here fresh out of law school, and the work she did to ensure people enjoyed their basic rights, especially those brought across the border the United States against their will. It always came back to the children, and Cimony hadn’t been able to move away from people who needed her help.

  A long exhale pulled through her as she sat up, the mattress certainly not the kind she was used to. She’d been bounced from place to place, hotel to hotel, safehouse to safehouse over the past several months. She had to be grateful for a place to lie down and air conditioning. She’d reduced her requirements to those two things, and she hadn’t always had them.

  Though it was nearly September, and some areas of the world would be enjoying cooler temperatures as autumn arrived, Cimony looked out the window to heat. So much heat, radiating off the dirt, the asphalt, the tightly packed buildings. Everything was brown or gray, and Cimony wondered what the mountains would look like right about now.

  It didn’t matter, because she didn’t leave the building anymore. Her apartment used to be a dentist’s office on the fifth floor, but her protection agent had brought in a couch, a bed, and a hotplate, and it had become her home.

  She went down five flights of stairs to a shared workspace on the first floor. Local artists, photographers, and a couple of other office workers like her rented desk space, and that was where she worked now.

  The space often smelled like paint or developing fluid, but she kept her head buried in her paperwork or her laptop at the third desk from the front windows. She still had women and children to help, and while she didn’t make much, her efforts were funded by a government program to ensure those coming in were treated fairly, secured the right documentation to become contributing citizens to the country, and to give them protection from the drug cartels that would use them as drug runners or sex slaves.

  Cimony couldn’t walk away from this place, though there was so much ugliness about it. She’d been here almost five years, and she didn’t have anywhere else to go anyway.

  She showered in lukewarm water, grateful this place had a private shower. Some of the places she’d stayed during the trial hadn’t, and she’d gotten very good at bathing in three minutes or less, sometimes wearing her underwear.

  She wondered what safety felt like. She hadn’t felt safe since the night she’d been walking her dog and seen the head of the Gulf-Juarez drug cartel. She didn’t have the pictures of Juan Diego Marquez anymore. Didn’t have the dog she’d been walking. Didn’t have the life she’d once had. The house. The car. Nothing.

  She was so tired, but she made coffee and buttered toast before going down those steps to her desk. “Morning, Miguel. How’s the piece coming?” She glanced into the space he rented, only to find dozens of soda cans in various pieces. “Oh, wow. New project?”

  “I finished the last one,” he said. “Sold it.” He smiled at her, his dark flop of hair tied back out of his face. He had several bandages on his fingers, and she didn’t envy him on this particular job.

  “Excellent,” she said, setting her coffee mug on her desk beside the one from yesterday. She wasn’t the neatest lawyer on the planet, but no one was suing her about it. She’d eventually take all the mugs upstairs to her apartment, put everything in the tiny sink, and wash it all at once.

  Dentist offices didn’t usually have dishwashers, and she missed some of the more modern luxuries she’d had before taking that walk all those months ago.

  Now that the trial was over, she was still struggling to find a routine. Get her head back in the game. She glanced at a picture of her parents, the single thing she’d brought with her when she’d entered Witness Protection after the first attempt on her life.

  She had one of her whole family, which included two older brothers, but she hadn’t had time to grab it. She hadn’t had time for anything, because she’d been shot and she herself hadn’t actually taken anything from her home.

  The agents had done that, and she felt lucky to have this picture at all. A keen sense of missing flowed through her, though her parents had passed away a decade ago now. She’d barely been an adult though, and with only one year of college under her belt at that time, she felt like she’d been floundering since.

  They’d be proud of you, she told herself, ignoring the little black card stuck in the bottom corner of the frame. The Witness Protection agents had given it to her once the verdict of guilty had come down.

  Terrance had said that the drug cartel didn’t usually just accept verdicts and move on, and that if she ever found herself in a situation where she needed to disappear, Parkwood Academy could help.

  Cimony had no plans to use the card, but she hadn’t been able to throw it away yet. One day, she would.

  She pulled her laptop out of her bag and set about getting it open, connected to the WiFi, and plugged in so she could work for the day. Every time the door opened, she glanced up, but only the three other people who rented space in this office entered, each of them looking as run-down as she felt inside.

  They carried coffee, and she sipped hers as the morning wore on, and she prepared for the meeting she had that afternoon with Luz and her son Antonio. They were only a few days away from getting their visas, and Cimony would be ready for a couple of new cases.

  The sound of breaking glass sent shockwaves through her, and because of her past experiences, she ducked under her desk instead of looking toward the windows to see what had happened. The loud popping of gunfire made her scream, and she covered her head with her hands, her pulse bobbing around in the back of her throat.

  Shouts happened in English and Spanish while she pushed herself further beneath her desk. As quickly as everything had happened, it ended, leaving only silence in its wake.

  Then she heard the moaning, and another office worker, Peter, yelling for someone to call nine-one-one. Cimony crawled out from under her desk, unsure of where her phone was at the moment.

  The scent of gunpowder and heat and dust—and blood—filled the air, and Peter continued to talk. “You’re okay,” he was saying. “Cimony, call for help.”

  “My phone,” she said, her eyes finally landing on the prone form of Miguel. Blood inched out from behind where Peter knelt, and Cimony turned away, knowing those bullets had been meant for her.

  She found her phone on her desk, and she made the required call. She snatched the picture frame, her hands shaking, and made a second call too.

  “Parkwood Academy, this is Linda,” a woman said, and Cimony had no idea what to say after that.

  “I have you in El Paso, Texas, is that right?” Linda asked.

  “Yes,” Cimony said, her voice filled with horror as Peter leaned back on his haunches, the tension in his back and shoulders releasing. She knew that that meant. There was no reason to keep talking to Miguel. Keep pressing against the life as it flowed out of him.

  Miguel was dead.

  #

  Cimony paced in her apartment, watching the road below. Linda from Parkwood Academy had talked to her for several minutes, four days ago. Her parting words had been, “We’ll be in touch soon.”

  Yet Cimony hadn’t heard a single word from the organization. She hadn’t reached out to anyone at Witness Protection, as Terrance had made it very clear he couldn’t do anything else for her. She’d refused a new name, a new location, a new job. He’d given her the card and wished her luck.

  She had no idea what Parkwood Academy could do for her, or what her future held, but she could not stay in that apartment for one more minute. She hadn’t been back downstairs to her office space, as it was still roped off with police tape, though the authorities hadn’t been back in days now.

  A blue van turned the corner, and she gasped and stepped away from the window. That same vehicle had already driven down this street. Panic clawed at her, and she spun toward the bed in the corner of the room.

  She’d been living out of a suitcase for months, and she could do it again. What she couldn’t do was wait here for
someone to come kill her. Tears flowed down her face as she threw her clothes in the bag and hurried into the bathroom for toiletries. She’d just zipped the bag and shouldered her purse when the front of the building exploded.

  A scream ripped from her throat as she flew backward. Pain stabbed through her, but she couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Her head hit the wall, and things went fuzzy. Shouting filled her ears, but it could’ve been her yelling.

  All at once, she realized it was in Spanish, and while she knew the language, the voices were all deep. Definitely not hers.

  Help, she wanted to say, but her voice wouldn’t work.

  Gunfire filled the air, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t roll. Just like last week, when the front windows of her office space had been sprayed with bullets, silence followed.

  Her lungs continued to expand, and Cimony held onto that fact. She was alive.

  The thudding of boots came toward her, and a man’s deep voice said, “She’s here, and she’s alive. Let’s get her out of here, boys.”

  Strong hands lifted her, and stronger arms held her. She was aware of movement, aware of sound around her. Everything was so, so hot, and the very air itself smelled and tasted like death.

  The man put her in a vehicle that smelled like fresh leather and oranges, where air conditioning blew, and she tried to open her eyes to see what was going on.

  “Go,” the man said, and the vehicle started moving. Cimony tried to hang onto consciousness, but it was impossible, and she drifted into blackness.

  Chapter 28

  Jonas

  Jonas Lyons kept one palm on Cimony’s shoulder just to make sure she didn’t die on him. She was a beautiful woman, and the last thing he needed was a corpse on his hands.

  This city was already in chaos, and he and his team hadn’t even set the bomb that had blown off the front of her apartment.

  The Gulf-Juarez drug cartel in El Paso was not to be trifled with. The line in the Witness Protection file should’ve been in bold and red letters.

  He’d assembled this team as quickly as he could, and he hadn’t had to put together a dossier on Cimony Woods. She’d been in Witness Protection before, and that file had detailed everything.

  But getting a crew that wasn’t assigned to a charge had taken an extra day, as had the drive down to this border town. His skin felt like it was melting off his bones, and he adjusted the vent so it was blowing more in his face.

  On the other end of the seat, Cimony’s feet rested in Nathan Blackburn’s lap. The Air Force Pilot had literally dropped off his last charge three hours before climbing into the SUV with his teammate—Miles Glenn and Claton Massey, who drove—and joining Jonas for the jaunt down to Texas.

  He hated Texas with a passion and wasn’t quite sure how anyone could survive down there. He wanted somewhere with trees and mountains and all four seasons to experience. His thoughts turned sour, because he knew his life was no longer about what he wanted.

  Since Max, Luke, and Isaac had disappeared, everything at Parkwood Academy had been blown open. Not as much as the building he’d just rescued Cimony from, but enough of a tear to know what was inside was rotten.

  The Grand Master had been replaced with the General, a man Jonas only spoke to on the phone. He hadn’t wanted to take on another charge, but Cimony’s case had come up red flagged and in emergency status, and he and his brothers didn’t have a charge.

  It’ll be my last one, he thought, glancing from the window to her sleeping face. She had high cheekbones and full, red lips though surely she hadn’t put lipstick on this morning. He hadn’t had time to monitor her movement, figure out her routine.

  Linda had said there was no routine, that another attempt on her life had happened, and she needed immediate extraction. Too bad the drug lords thought the same thing—only they wanted to extract her from life on this planet.

  On the drive down, he’d read the rest of her file, and he knew she’d lost both of her parents in a motorcycle accident. Her father had been driving, and motorcycles didn’t fare well when they came into head-on collisions with semi trucks.

  Absently, he stroked her hair, marveling at the depth of blackness in it. That surely had to come from a bottle, and he wondered if she’d disguised herself while in protection—or since the latest attack on her.

  “Jonas,” Nathan said, and he snatched his hand back from Cimony’s hair at the same time he looked at Nathan.

  He raised his eyebrows and nodded toward the front seat, where Jonas found Clay looking at him. “I’m sorry. What?” He crossed his arms, wishing it was a more natural position for him.

  “We’ll need gas in a couple of hours. Should we wake her up?” Clay asked.

  Jonas looked at the sleeping form of Cimony. “No, let’s go as far as we can before we do that.” He wanted to get as far from El Paso as he could before they had to stop. “Hopefully she’ll wake up on her own.”

  He kept his hands to himself after that, though he craved the human touch. His mother had been a big hugger, and he’d give anything to be able to embrace her again.

  Grinding his teeth together, he tried to find a way out of his current situation. He, James, and Miah had been talking about leaving Parkwood, but with the increased security and all the new procedures, Jonas had to practically file paperwork to use the bathroom.

  And now they had Cimony, which meant three more weeks with a charge, as well as a week of travel to get her to her new life, even if that was only an hour from Parkwood Academy.

  After he’d been given the slip by Isaac at the bus station, and Miah had lost Luke at the airport, the General had instituted new relocation procedures, and two teams completed the activity, one following the other.

  Jonas often thought of Max, Luke, and Isaac, and he hoped they’d made it somewhere safe. He wasn’t sure if they were together or had just bailed separately. Either way, they were out of a world Jonas wanted out of.

  Isaac had told him to come with him, but Jonas couldn’t leave his younger brothers alone at Parkwood. Not with things as they were now. That, and he felt a sense of loyalty to the place he couldn’t explain.

  The Grand Master had taken Jonas, Miah, and James with only three questions. And the three of them needed a home after the death of their parents and their discharge from the Army. James especially had benefitted from having a place to belong—and access to a counselor.

  Jonas needed to get into therapy when he returned to Parkwood, but he didn’t want anyone to know he was dealing with his old anger issues again. Didn’t want anyone to know he felt so helpless. Him, a big, strong Army man who’d led men into tough situations.

  His jaw loosened, and he worked through his muscles one by one, getting them to release too. It was something his previous therapist had helped him learn how to do, and he used the technique more than he would’ve liked.

  He finally drew in one last deep breath and then pushed all the air out. Just then, Cimony jerked, a wail coming from her throat. Nathan grunted as she kicked him, and Jonas said, “Hey, you’re okay.”

  She shoved against his leg as she tried to sit up, and she looked wild and dark. Beautiful, wild, and dark, like a black stallion with too much spirit. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “Where am I? Pull this car over immediately.”

  Jonas wanted to smile, but he contained the urge. “Cimony Woods,” he said. “I’m Jonas Lyons. You called Parkwood Academy for help.” He looked right at her, hoping to establish trust with her before they made it to the Academy.

  The bruised, battered, and beaten charges were much easier in that regard. He’d spent most of the drive reading Cimony’s file, and she was a sharp-as-a-whip lawyer. She had a passion for helping women and children, and she hadn’t backed down from one of the most lethal drug cartels on the North American continent.

  “There was an explosion,” she said.

  “Yes,” Jonas said. “We were already in the building when that happened. There were some unsavory men t
here to kill you.”

  Cimony ran her hands through her hair, smoothing it into a less nest-like condition. “I remember gunshots.”

  Of course she did. Jonas had a feeling Cimony Woods didn’t miss much. “That was my team,” he said. “I mean, they’re not really my team, but the extraction team. Clayton Massey.” He indicated the driver. “Miles Glenn, and Nathan Blackburn, who you kicked.”

  She looked around at all the men guarding the doors, swallowing as she looked at Nathan. He did have quite a severe haircut, and he nodded at her.

  “Sorry about the kicking,” she said. She hugged herself and glanced back at Jonas. “They aren’t your team?”

  “We always take a second team on extractions,” he said. “Your new team consists of three men too. Me, and both of my brothers, Jeremiah and James. They’ll be waiting for us at Parkwood Academy.”

  “And what does Parkwood Academy do?” she asked.

  “We provide new lives for those who need them,” Jonas said, the words right there. Oh, how he’d believed them once too. He and his brothers had gotten a new life at Parkwood, and they’d helped nine other women get them too.

  All of his audits showed his former charges were living happy, productive lives. Now, if only he and his brothers could find a way out of Parkwood, maybe they could too.

  “I’m sure you have questions,” he said. “I can answer as many as I can on the drive there.”

  “How long until we get there?” she asked.

  “Eight hours or so,” he said, mentally crossing New Mexico off the list of places he ever wanted to visit again. Everything about it felt so barren. So dry.

  “Where is Parkwood Academy?” she asked.

  “It’s in the little town of Parkwood, Colorado,” he said. “Just west of Colorado Springs, up in the mountains.”

  “How long will I be there?”

  “Three weeks,” he said, thinking each day was going to be a lifetime for him. She continued to throw questions at him, and he answered them in an even voice while Clay and Miles nearly burst out laughing.