Connor (In the Company of Snipers Book 5)

by Irish Winters

  He changed the subject. “Cassidy and I will take first watch. Then Rory and Morgan if needed. Not sure we’ll need to keep watch once the sun comes up.”

  “Sounds good.” Morgan yawned. “Where’s my bunk? I’m out of here.”

  Rory pointed into the trees. “Mine’s over there if you want to set up nearby.”

  “Will do.” Morgan lifted his sleeping bag and shuffled away.

  “You ready?” Connor asked Cassidy.

  “Sure. Let me grab a couple waters.”

  They sat in the sagebrush downhill from camp, listening and watching for cartel activity. The smells of the canyon swirled around them—fragrant sage, pine, and too many other pleasant scents to distinguish one from the other. Connor took a deep breath, and, as inconspicuously as possible, shifted his hand closer on the ground to hers. “Man, this place smells good tonight. You live in a beautiful state.”

  “It’s Utah. You gotta love it.” Cassidy took the hint, covering his hand with hers. “I meant what I said before. Good shooting.”

  “Someone had to take the shot. Good intel on your part, too. You didn’t back down one bit.”

  “What is her problem anyway?” Cassidy nodded back to their camp. “Agent Ramos acts like she hates me. I’ve never met her until today. What’d I ever do to her?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care.” The last person he wanted to discuss with Cassidy was Izza. He moved a little closer. “You have the brownest eyes.”

  She turned shy. “They came with the package. You know, two eyes, one nose, two lips—”

  “Good deal.” He leaned in with a whispered breath. “Too bad we’re not closer to the waterfall.”

  “Why’s that?” she whispered in the same conspiratorial tone as she scooted closer into his side. “What’s on your mind? Showering together under the moonlight?”

  His eyes twinkled down at hers. “Well, now that you mention—”

  “For hell’s sake!” A nasty screech rent the quiet night. “Will you two shut your pie holes so the rest of us can get to sleep?”

  Cassidy’s eyes widened. She covered her mouth with all eight fingertips and giggled like a little girl. “Oops. She’s closer than I thought.”

  And despite the wild woman in the trees behind them, Connor stole his first kiss. He would’ve settled for two, but some madman who worked twenty-four-seven on the East Coast decided he needed a sitrep in the middle of the night.

  Connor scrambled to get the sat phone before it woke everyone, but he was too late. Roy and Mark were still at the fire pit where a small blaze burned. The expressions on their faces made him look twice. They looked too serious for a couple old geezers.

  “I’ve got it,” Roy said quietly as he answered the call and set it to speaker.

  “Join us,” Mark ordered Connor. “Your girlfriend will be fine by herself for a couple minutes.”

  Ouch. Connor nodded, chagrined at the term Mark had used.

  “Just got off the phone with Tom Baxter,” Alex said. “He wants us to take the cartel down first thing tomorrow with DEA support or not. His Narcotics Task Force and the Utah National Guard will meet you at first light tomorrow. You’re to take the lead, Roy.”

  Roy’s answer was sure and quick. “The sooner the better.”

  “Boss, we’ve already decided the best plan is to sweep the workers and guards toward the mouth of the canyon,” Mark said. “We’ll divide the force Baxter sends to get it done. It sounds like we’ll finally have the right manpower to be effective against the cartel.”

  “Good answer. Look for them at 8 a.m. at your old location. Is that doable, given the increased activity you engaged in tonight?” Alex asked.

  “Not a problem. We’ll be at the RV by eight,” Roy replied. “Tell ’em to sit tight if we’re late. It’s a bit of a hike.”

  “Hey, Boss, we picked up a couple new hires,” Mark advised. “I thought you ought to know. DEA Agents Cassidy Dancer and Brigham Coltrane offered to assist at Beacon Point. They stand to lose their jobs because of it.”

  “They know how to shoot?”

  “Yes. They’re two sharp agents, extremely qualified by what I saw tonight, and they’re not afraid to step out when the going gets tough.”

  “I’ll talk with Scott,” Alex said. “He and I will work something out to keep them employed.

  You do know if we handle this right, you may be home by the weekend.”

  “Sounds good,” Roy answered solemnly.

  “Be safe. Talk with you soon.” Alex hung up.

  Roy didn’t break eye contact with Connor. “Mark and I have reorganized. Team One is me, you, Morgan, and Izza. Team Two is Mark, Rory, Cassidy, and Brigham. Any questions?”

  “Nope,” Connor replied quickly. “Totally your call.”

  “First order of business tomorrow will be what you just heard. Team Two will proceed to the mouth of the canyon and maintain eyes on cartel activity. If Ramirez shows, they will apprehend. Team One will meet the Governor’s Task Force at the RV. Once we divide up our additional manpower, Team One will hit the brush to move the cartel westward and out of the canyon. Team Two will take whatever means necessary to apprehend. You will command Team One; Mark, Team Two, while I oversee both maneuvers and keep the Governor apprised. Any questions?”

  “No.” Connor relaxed. Finally. Direct contact with the cartel that meant something. “It’s about time.”

  “It’s also time you stopped to think about what you’re doing, son,” Roy said softly. The man did not blink, but Connor got the hint. He’d been caught walking a fine line called fraternization.

  “You’re right,” he admitted, ready to get back downhill to Cassidy. “Anything else?”

  “Yes.” Mark stood to leave. “Hit the sack, junior agent. I’m taking this watch with your girlfriend.”

  Izza lay wide-awake and listening. Seemed like everyone was getting their butts reamed tonight, not just her. Connor took his chastisement much easier than she had, but why not? He’d be in charge tomorrow. She’d be just another one of the guys. At least Cassidy was on Mark’s team instead of Connor’s. That helped.

  Her mind drifted to her brother. Before Jamie died, he had a way of looking at life like it was one big game. Nothing got him down, not the abuse he and she had suffered at the hands of their father, or any USMC drill sergeant. He made everything fun, even in the worst of times, and Izza missed him now more than ever. He’d never get to hold the baby in her belly. Uncle Jamie would never get to be proud of his big sister anymore, either.

  She sniffed back her ragged emotions. She’d placed her sleeping bag at the farthest point from Connor’s. She didn’t need to see him now or first thing in the morning, Cassidy either. The stars blinked through the pine branches overhead. With the night came a chill she’d not expected. This damn state was hot as an oven one minute and cold the next. She couldn’t keep up.

  Connor’s soft deep voice drifted across the clearing. “Goodnight, Izza.”

  She rolled to her side and blocked the unexpected kindness with her palm to her ear. Go to hell, Boston.

  Nine

  “I got you in trouble, huh?” Cassidy asked the minute she saw him.

  Connor couldn’t help but grin. “It was worth it.”

  They’d both rolled out of their bedrolls at the same time everyone else did after a few hours of not enough sleep. Mark and Roy had prepared a quick breakfast of the last of the eggs and the slab of bacon from the RV. From now on, food would be dehydrated or meals-ready-to-eat. Living high on the canyon wall made everything simple. Tough and chewy maybe, but simple.

  “What a bunch of bullshit,” Izza murmured under her breath.

  Connor shot her a quick glance, not sure if she was talking about the breakfast or him. She looked tired, but something else was going on with her. He could see it in her eyes as they stood nearly side-by-side strapping into their tactical gear. She looked—off. Pale. Fragile.

  “Today’s the day,” he offered just
to keep things friendly. “We finally get to do something right.”

  She grunted and turned away. Poor Izza It had to be Jamie’s death. Her brother had been her only family. Connor couldn’t imagine being alone in the world. He’d always had more brothers than he knew what to do with.

  By the time Roy said, “Head out,” Connor was armed, geared up and ready. He’d double-checked the Tattle Tales he’d planted at the RV. The coast was clear. All systems go. Every team member held a loaded AR to their chest with the barrel down. Working team ops was as close to military as he wanted to get anymore. He nodded to Cassidy when she left with Team Two. There would be time later for the two of them. No doubt about it.

  Team Two headed west while Team One dropped quickly to the canyon floor. Before long, they’d crossed the river and next the road. Connor checked his cell phone for the time. Right on schedule. The new order from Alex energized him. Today was the day he would get to do what he was trained for. Fight back. About damned time.

  “Comm check,” Roy’s voice came through Connor’s headset loud and clear.

  “Copy,” Connor replied, followed quickly by Morgan and Izza.

  “Take it slow,” Roy cautioned as they approached the campground where the RV was parked. The police had cleared out all the other campers, making the grounds eerily quiet.

  “Watch for trip wires,” Connor advised. The hair on the back of his neck lifted. He glanced over his shoulder at Morgan. “You good?”

  Morgan’s eyes widened. He must’ve felt it too, but he’d no more than nodded when—

  WHOOSH!

  As soon as Connor heard it he knew. They’d been ambushed. The RPG blast kicked all four agents to the ground. One second he was standing, the next minute he was flat on his back and watching the smoking roof of the RV fall lazily back to earth. Bat wings. The dammed thing looked like bat wings.

  Another whoosh and the ground trembled. He rolled to his side and pushed to his knees, crouching while he caught his breath. Holy crap. The entire RV had exploded outward and up. Shrapnel still whistled in flight through the surrounding shrubbery. Smoke made it impossible to see clearly.

  His heart pounded. It hadn’t been too long since he’d survived a very similar explosion in Washington D.C. and lived to talk about it. Morgan had already recovered his footing but Roy and Izza were slow coming around. Morgan knelt, his pistol gripped between both hands, aiming at the rear of the RV.

  Connor started toward the same direction when he saw the hit out of the corner of his eye. One minute focused and aiming, the next, Morgan’s face disappeared into foamy pink spray.

  “Morgan! No!” Connor bellowed.

  The bowels of the RV carcass exploded, forcing another riptide of shooting embers and sparking debris outward, covering everyone with the stench of burning diesel. A fragment of what had once been a propane tank thudded to earth with a tremendous thud.

  “Connor?” Roy yelled from within the cloud of smoke.

  “Here,” Connor replied. Gunfire erupted from where he couldn’t tell. Bullets zinged all around. He dropped to the ground, unable to get to his friend, Morgan. Crossfire. They were dead center of an ambush. The veil of smoke lifted in one gigantic sheet from the ground. Roy came into view. Already bleeding from his upper thigh, he pushed to one knee. Another shot to his chest bulldozed him backward and down.

  “Roy!” Connor screamed, his boots propelling him forward. The sonic boom of another explosion reverberated in the air around him, sucking what little oxygen was left out of his lungs.

  “Connor! Where’s Morgan? Izza?” Roy bellowed.

  Connor never got the chance to answer. Hell slammed into his tactical vest, knocking the life out of him. Another dug into his gut just above his belt. The world pitched him into blackness.

  And he fell.

  “No! No! No!” Mark bellowed as he knelt over Roy’s prone body, his hand pressed hard into his friend’s chest to slow the bleeding.

  Cassidy had already wrapped her belt around Roy’s leg, a quick tourniquet to slow the blood flow. Team Two had raced to the scene within minutes of the explosion, but the damage was done. Roy was down with two gunshots. Morgan was dead. Connor and Izza had yet to be located, but worse, the Narcotics Task Force was nowhere in sight. The whole damned thing was a set up!

  “They missed his femoral,” Cassidy muttered as she pushed harder on the bloody leg wound. “Keep him flat to the ground, Mark. Don’t let him get up.”

  As much as Roy moaned from the pain and pressure, Mark didn’t back off with his first-aid measures. Roy would not die on his watch.

  He peered up at Mark with shock and disbelief etched on his face. Blood trickled from his mouth to his neck in a steady drip. “Where’s my... my kids? Where’s Connor? Morgan? Izza?”

  “Not here, buddy. Where’d they go?” Mark needed to know everything. Roy was fading fast.

  “Exploded....” Roy tried to point to what was left of the RV, but his arm flopped uselessly to the ground.

  “Right. The RV exploded. The cartel has RPGs. I get that,” Mark said. “Help is on its way, but where’s Connor? Where’d he and Izza go? Were they inside when it blew?”

  Roy shook his head. It took longer for him to reply, his eyelids blinking heavily as he tried to focus. He only repeated Mark’s question. “Where... are... they?”

  “Come on, man. Stay with me. Talk to me. Where are Izza and Connor?”

  “M-m-mark?” Roy’s voice slurred as a stream of blood gushed over his teeth.

  “What, man?”

  “Where’s my boy... Where’s Morgan?”

  Mark shook his head. He didn’t want to say the words. All of the junior agents were Roy’s boys and girls. Morgan Humphries, a kid of twenty-six and a junior agent of less than a year, lay twenty feet away, his head blown apart by what Mark suspected was a large caliber round.

  Rory and Brigham still searched the area for any sign of Connor and Izza. The two disgruntled DEA agents, Randy Burkhouse and his sidekick, Harold Denton, had finally shown up to offer assistance, but all they could do was establish a perimeter to ensure the cartel didn’t strike again. Even that was futile. The cartel had vanished, their dirty deed done.

  Roy clutched Mark’s hand, his breathing labored and weak, his eyes half-closed. “Mark. Tell my kid... tell Stevie... I’m proud as hell.”

  “Knock it off, Hudson. Tell him yourself, you hear me?”

  “And tell Colette... I never stopped loving—” Roy’s head slumped to his shoulder, the fight knocked right out of him. He’d survived hell in Vietnam and numerous operations the world over, only to die at the hand of a two-bit drug lord in the state Mormons called Zion. Land of milk and honey? Heaven?

  Mark gulped his fears back as he tried to save his mentor and senior agent, his friend. It felt more like the land of hell. “Where’s the sonofabitchin medic?” he bellowed at Rory.

  Rory pointed straight up with a bloody index finger. The whirring chop of a helicopter blade sounded through the trees. Mark hollered into Roy’s unconscious face even as tears drenched his own. “You hang in there, damn you! You hear me? Help is here. You’ve got a grandson. Jacob Roy, you remember? And you got Stevie. You got everything to live for!”

  Roy no longer responded. The blue and white life-flight helicopter hovered overhead, then landed on the road. Mark watched as the medics moved in what seemed like torturously slow motion. They’d done this before, but Mark couldn’t wait. They walked too slow.

  “Get the hell over here!” he yelled, waving frantically.

  And then everything fast-forwarded when the medics lifted Roy onto a gurney and whisked him away. The helicopter took off with them hard at work on Roy, the body bag that carried Morgan Humphries stowed onboard as well. All Mark had left was the blood of his friend all over his hands and shirt, and a ragged hole in his chest where his heart used to be.

  A caravan of ten black SUVs roared into the campground. The Utah Narcotics Task Force had finally arrived
, a conspicuous one hour late.

  Mark looked back at the rubble of the RV. Smoke billowed off the still burning remains while the cottonwoods around it burned a crackling symphony. Other emergency vehicles could be heard screaming their way up the canyon, but for nothing. They were too late.

  “Mark,” Rory said gently, his hand to Mark’s bicep. “We’re still here.”

  Cassidy, Rory, and Brigham stood waiting on him, expectation clear in their eyes. For what? He wasn’t the team lead. Roy was. These people weren’t his to command, but they were ready and waiting. He saw it in their eyes. All he had to do was bark an order, and they’d obey.

  He stared at them, his gut churning with indecision. In a flash, his trusted friend was dead and another at death’s door. Mark didn’t know what to feel or think anymore, and he didn’t know where Connor and Izza were, either. The cartel could have them or they might be in the RV, dead for sure.

  The odds seemed extremely stack against The TEAM. He took a deep breath. Leadership kicked in. His brain remembered what needed to happen next, even if his heart didn’t want to.

  “Team,” he ground out. “We can’t help Roy or Morgan.”

  His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else, someone strong and confident. It sure wasn’t him. He looked from agent to agent. Rory nodded back at him, ready and willing as always to follow and obey. Cassidy’s jaw was set in hard determination. Brigham still looked shocked and concerned as if he wanted to cry.

  Mark knew the feeling. He pulled the only rule he had left out of his mental playbook. When you can’t do what you want to do, do what the hell you can.

  “I don’t know where Connor and Izza are, but it’s time we kick some cartel ass and find out. Who’s with me?”

  “Oo-rah!” Rory’s deep baritone declared with typical jarhead emphasis. Tears streamed down Cassidy’s cheek, but her’s and Brigham’s hands were fisted and raised high over their heads in some kind of a silent battle cry. Another roar went up around them. Mark finally saw beyond his shattered team. Thirty members of the Utah Narcotics Task Force had circled them, their fists lifted in the same somber tribute.