Wolfsbane

by Ronie Kendig

  “Unlike some people.”

  He shot a side glance to Navas. He referred to the man who had been a long-time conduit to access whatever Humberto needed—Senator Michael Roark. “And his resources seem to know what they’re doing. Your face is a mess.”

  Navas’s gaze narrowed. “Do not mistake a black eye as a sign that you are in danger. I will not let them get close to you.”

  “Oh, that I do not doubt. No, I am not worried here. I have more security, more guns than the president himself.” He smoothed his hair back. “Besides, if they get in, I will kill you myself.”

  “You can try.”

  Surprise pinned him to the ground. Humberto once again considered his man. Then laughed hard. “This—this is why I chose you, Navas; you are cold-blooded. Now …” Humberto clapped his hands, then sloughed them together. “I think I’d like to see Danielle now. A little fun, eh?”

  Smirking, Navas shook and lowered his head.

  “General.” The minister rushed toward them. “Come, we must confer about these border talks.”

  Humberto groaned. He wanted to visit the feisty American girl. He sighed. “Very well.” He had time—after all, her father had delivered her himself.

  “Oh, Navas?”

  The man met his gaze.

  “You know what to do, yes?”

  “Lambert will be dead by morning.”

  Canyon’s Condo, Virginia 21 May

  Rushing, Canyon stepped into the early morning sunshine as the beeping of his security alarm echoed through the day. He locked the doors and turned.

  Something shoved toward his face.

  Instinct drove his fist out—but he pulled it back just seconds before it hit a woman.

  “Captain Metcalfe,” she said as she held a microphone. “What do you know about Tres Kruces?”

  His pulse stuttered at her question, then launched through his veins as he recognized the female reporter who had made his life a living hell in the aftermath of TK.

  “Back off.” He ducked and hurried toward his Camaro, cursing whoever had unleashed the hounds of hell on his life again. He’d played by the rules—ones someone had apparently broken since they’d promised him it’d “all go away.”

  Right. Tell that to the nightmares.

  “Why won’t you talk to us? What are you hiding, Captain?”

  Canyon slid behind the wheel, started the engine.

  Tap! Tap! The reporter knocked on his window. “Is it true someone has come forward to clear your name? Or has that information proven your guilt?”

  Teeth ground, he pressed a foot on the brake and revved the gas.

  The reporter’s eyes widened and she scurried out of the way.

  Gut churning, he backed into the street and then slammed the gear into DRIVE. What on earth had set them off again? Why bother him? It was dead and buried. Like Chesa. Watching the reporter shrink in his rearview mirror gave him incredible pleasure. Still, he’d have to find out who did this. Who opened Pandora’s box?

  Canyon shook it off. First things first. He had to focus on the plan that had come to him in a dream. A glorious chance. But one that would really force him to put “it” on the line. As he drove, he plotted. Planned. Prepared.

  A half hour later, he stood on Croatan Beach, warm sand beneath his bare feet. He leaned against his red Camaro and squinted at the sparkling waters. Just sitting here, watching the waves, the tension seemed to lessen. But there was now an edge to this view because it held a new meaning for him with Roark.

  “This is a surfboard.”

  “Gee, really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  Grief siphoned strength from his muscles. It’d been four days since the team had returned. One since he’d gone to the airport and tried to buy a flight down to Venezuela. But at the ticket counter, the agent told him his passport had been placed under a no-fly status. Ticked, he stormed out. Everything he’d tried to date had failed. And with repercussions.

  Maybe that’s part of the problem. When was the last time he prayed—with a yielded heart?

  God … I need help. You know better than anyone. Help me get her back safely.

  “What do you want?”

  The urge to stand straight burst through Canyon, but he remained in position. Looking relaxed as his little brother stepped in front of him. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Well, like you said on the phone, you’ve never asked me for a favor in your life.” Range drew closer, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “What’s this about?”

  Canyon tilted his head. “In the Coast Guard, there are things you see and do that you’re not allowed to talk about, right?”

  “Of all the—” Range scratched the side of his face. “If you needed a blinding flash of the obvious, Google it.”

  “Am I right?”

  He threw a hand up. “Of course. We encounter things all the time that go no further than our reports.”

  Canyon nodded. “Then you’ll appreciate it when I say that what I’m telling you could not only end my career, but could put me in jail or get me killed.”

  Snorting, Range shifted around, as if looking for a reason to leave. “I don’t believe this. Do you still have some hero complex? You’re not a Green Beret anymore.”

  “You’re right, I’m not.” Canyon looked to the waters, squinting again. “Two years ago, I was recruited into an organization. My missions range in variety, but they’re all deadly and insanely sensitive.”

  The condescension lessened as Range eyed him and the bruises still evident on his face. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Here goes nothing. Or everything.

  Canyon pushed off the car and stood in front of Range. “I was on the team that took Roark back to Venezuela.”

  Color leeched from Range’s face. “Wh–what happened?”

  “Someone betrayed her. We got ambushed and captured. A team extracted me but left her behind—intentionally.”

  Range’s expression hardened.

  “You were there, at the hearing.” Canyon inched closer to his brother. “You heard from her own mouth what that brute did to her.”

  Swallowing, Range tore his eyes from Canyon and started walking. “How do you know she was left intentionally?”

  “The people who captured us knew exactly where we were, at every turn.”

  “A tracking device?”

  Canyon’s mind spun. He hadn’t thought through it. But that made sense. “Look, we don’t have time for questions. She’s down there, in Bruzon’s hands again.” He tugged on Range’s shoulder and brought him around. “Think about what you found when you pulled her from that yacht. Remember …”

  His brother shoved him back, face contorted. “I don’t need you to tell me what I saw!”

  Hands up, Canyon paused. Good. Good. His little brother’s anger meant he cared, meant his heart was engaged. Passion would take them far. Then Canyon’s skill in the jungle would get them the rest of the way.

  Range whipped back toward the lapping waters and huffed. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I need to get back down there, to find her and bring her home.”

  “Have your team take you.”

  “I can’t. We’ve been grounded.”

  “Like that would stop a black-ops group.”

  Canyon glanced down.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I was kicked off the team. Even if we weren’t grounded, I’m on my own.”

  Range blinked. “Kicked you—why?”

  Teeth grinding, Canyon tried to work down his frustration. “We’re wasting time.”

  “Then tell me why they kicked you off.”

  With a grunt, Canyon said, “I tried to steal a chopper to go after Roark when I found out what happened. The base commander sent us packing. They blame me for the mission failure.”

  His brother’s disapproving gaze raked over him for several long minutes. Gulls squawked and laughter drifted on the air thickened by the scent of
the ocean and carried with it the laughter of families from the crowded hot spot. “What do I have to do with this?”

  Finally. Progress. “You’re assigned to the U.S. Virgin Islands territory, right?”

  “Sector San Juan,” Range corrected then frowned. “Actually, no. After Danielle left, I got promoted and offered my choice of stations. I wanted to stay closer, so I work Baltimore now.”

  Stay closer … to Roark.

  Biting back a curse, Canyon spun away. God, where are You? I screwed up and I’m trying to make it right. “She’s down there, Range. With Bruzon. He’ll rape her till she’s dead.”

  His brother’s gaze darkened.

  “Put aside this stuff between us. Please. Help me get her back here.”

  Range’s lips flattened as he stared at Canyon for several long minutes. Finally, “I know the lieutenant in command over that sector. He’s a friend.”

  Relief dumped the angst from his body.

  “I’ll do this—on one condition, Canyon.”

  Did anything matter besides getting her back? “Go on.”

  “If I go down there, if I put my career on the line—because that’s what it’s going to take to get you on that cutter—I’m going with you. When we return, you back off. Let her recover.”

  The old combative nature rose up. “You mean back off so you can have a go at her?”

  Range held fast.

  There had to be another way.

  No. There wasn’t. To bring back the girl he loved, he’d have to surrender everything he felt for her. “Her life is in danger and you’re going to blackmail me?”

  Suddenly, his brother seemed like he was twelve years old again, his expression vulnerable and innocent. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

  Neither have I. And God help him if Range found out about him and Roark.

  “What, do you have a ring picked out already?” Canyon tried to laugh it off, but he saw the answer in his brother’s deadpann expression. Canyon grunted. “You’re unbelievable.”

  But nothing mattered except getting her back. “Are you really going to stand there and say you won’t help her if I don’t agree? Is that how much you care about her?”

  “You know I won’t do that.”

  Innards coiled and poised to erupt, Canyon tamped down his frustration. It was futile to argue with Range—they’d gone in circles all their lives. “We have to put this aside and focus on getting her back. Her safety is all that matters.”

  “Agreed.” Range stood resolute. “Just give me your word you’ll stop trying to sabotage my relationship with her.”

  “Sabotage?!” Relationship? Was the dude kidding? Who did Roark kiss? Who did she say made her feel safe? Who did she make love to? He blinked.

  Now who seemed like he was twelve? “This is asinine. It isn’t for us to decide—it’s up to her.” He wanted to curse. “We might as well treat her like a dog and throw bones to see who can get her to kiss him first.”

  “I think you already won that contest. I saw you kiss her on the back porch.”

  Heart rammed into his throat, Canyon looked at his brother.

  The hurt was clear and loud. “Now, agree to back off.”

  Canyon shoved his hands against the sides of his head. “Is that—?” Minutes were ticking off Roark’s life. “Fine.” Everything in him collapsed as he agreed. “Let’s just get her back.”

  Jacobs Residence, Richmond, Virginia 22 May

  “You were right.”

  Cell phone to his ear, Max rolled away from the warmth of his sleeping wife. Sitting on the edge of the mattress gave him a second to weave through his mental banks of information. “What’d you find?”

  “He contacted his brother,” Squirt said. “They agreed to go after the girl.”

  Max groaned and pushed to his feet. “Scramble the team. Let’s stop him before he gets in trouble again.”

  “I think it might be too late.”

  Hand on a pair of jeans, Max froze. “Why?”

  “They just boarded a Cessna bound for the Virgin Islands.”

  CHAPTER 27

  USCGC Fallon, Somewhere in the Caribbean

  22 May

  A river of mud raced down the angry mountain straight for him. Canyon braced himself, holding Roark tightly. She turned to him, eyes wide as a tree joined the rampage. “I can’t do this.”

  “You can,” he shouted over the raging elements.

  “I’m tired of fighting. It’s no use. I told you what I’d do if I got caught again.”

  “But you’re not caught. You’re here, with me. You’re safe.”

  “I’m not—look.”

  Canyon glanced over his shoulder. Hundreds of VFA poured out of the trees, weapons pointed at them. “We’re going to get away.” Something shifted in his hands. He jerked back to Roark—the line that tethered them hung limp, slapping against the churning earth.

  Roark had cut it. She cut the tether! Feet perched on the edge of the river, she jumped.

  “No!” Canyon jolted upright.

  Thunk!

  “Augh!” Holding his head, he slumped back on the thin mattress and let his breathing even out. “Just a dream,” he whispered to the gray ceiling lurking less than twelve inches above. The same ceiling he’d bonked his head against.

  The dream—nightmare was more like it—tormented him. She’d jumped to her death in the dream. And she’d vowed in real life to kill herself if Bruzon took her again.

  “God, please … don’t let her.” Ragged, he covered his eyes with his hand. “Keep her safe. Give me a chance to redeem myself.”

  Tight and confined, the enclosed bunk suffocated him, right along with the thought of what Bruzon would do to Roark. Canyon slid from the bunk and dropped to the steel floor.

  The cutter pitched to one side. And so did his stomach. He balanced himself as he maneuvered away from the fold-down guest berth. From the galley he grabbed some coffee and slipped up to a table in the mess. Cradling the foam cup, he stared into the steaming black pool.

  Would he get her out? What if they didn’t get there in time?

  Please, Roark … hold on.

  The cutter pitched again, sloshing hot coffee over his hand. Canyon shook it out and gave up. He tossed the cup in the trash and climbed the almost vertical steel steps to the upper level. Stuffing his arms through the black jacket, he skirted the pilothouse and moved to the side of the ship where he could watch the waves tumble over one another, as if fighting to be the first to devour the cutter.

  Sort of like him and Range fighting over Roark. His brother had worked miracles, convincing a buddy who owed him a favor to run them down to San Juan in his small plane, where Range’s longtime friend Lieutenant Browne allowed them to board the cutter, which was patrolling the coastline—coincidentally the same route that would take them toward Venezuelan waters. Which just so happened to be where Canyon would rendezvous with a Special Forces buddy who’d moved there with his wife. The guy would get Canyon and Range to Piñago, the city outside Bruzon’s estate and roughly twenty klicks from Caracas. A lot of steps that meant a lot could go wrong.

  What’s new?

  Churning waters rose and fell, crashing into the hull of the Fallon. Canyon gripped the rail. Salty spray misted his face. And with it, the choking sensation of hopelessness doused him. Everything had already gone wrong. What did he expect to find when he got there? Was Roark even alive still? It hit him then that Roark had been in these waters, clinging to a makeshift raft.

  He shook his head, amazed once again at her incredible bravery. No wonder I love her.

  His heart chugged.

  Love? He didn’t know the first thing about love. Didn’t want to. Yeah, she’d declared her love for him, denied her love for his brother, and he’d taken her innocence, but love? Love … what was love?

  “I am love.”

  Canyon swallowed.

  “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s frie
nds.”

  He’d give anything for her. His own life, if needed. Was that love? No. He’d screwed it up. The one chance to do right and he’d failed. Roark deserved Range. He was a hero.

  Yet … everything in Canyon surged and railed at the idea.

  A swish startled him and jerked his attention to his right. Range stood in a USCG jacket, hands in the pockets. Feet apart, his brother seemed at home on the tumultuous waters.

  “I’m impressed,” Range said.

  Canyon eyed him but not for long. Too many accusations. Too many fights.

  “Most people would puke up their guts on a day like this.” His gaze rose to the sky. “It’s going to get nasty.”

  Small talk. Canyon wasn’t in the mood. His brother had forced him to relinquish all claim to Roark to save her life. The thought infuriated him.

  “Browne pulled me into the pilothouse.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Before I got promoted, we were constantly picking illegals out of the water. They were fleeing the border wars between Colombia and Venezuela. There’s been an unusual show of force, skilled force, among the VFA.” Range sighed. “Anyway, with the area being in a lockdown due to border talks and an apparent attempt by some rogue group to insert into the area”—Range didn’t divert his attention from the waters but Canyon felt the implication—“Browne’s a bit nervous. It’d be a bad idea if one of those rogue warriors was on his boat.”

  Canyon smirked at the doublespeak. “No kidding. Really bad idea.”

  “That’s what Browne said.”

  The smile in his brother’s voice brought Canyon’s gaze to him. Then to the pilothouse that had a 360-degree tinted window well that allowed the crew uninhibited views of the surrounding area.

  “He also said you seem haunted. I tried to tell him it was just the telltale green hue of the broken nose someone gave you, but he didn’t agree.”

  Canyon pushed his gaze back to the water.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Besides the fact I was doped out of my mind and made love to Roark? “I told you everything I know: Roark was taken captive and is with Bruzon again.” All at the hands of a man he’d trained. What was Navas doing in the service of a dictator-seeking general like Bruzon? How had an American-trained SF guy ended up …