Extreme Honor

by Piper J. Drake

  And have this snake at his back? Pass. “I’m not thinking too far in the future right now. I’m just interested in a trade and I’m still not convinced you even know where to find my girl.”

  “I do!” Evans leaned forward. “We’ve been using some warehouses down on the Philly waterfront as a base of operations. They were only supposed to retrieve the dog but when she got in the car, too, our guys took her along. When the dog got loose, I was sent to clean up the loose end.”

  And what would they do with Lyn?

  “But you don’t have the dog. I do.” Cruz didn’t dare let his concern for Lyn show on his face.

  Evans didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah. But they can’t have gotten all the way to the warehouse yet. I can call them.”

  “Or you could give me the number and I can call them.”

  Evans scowled. “No fucking way.”

  Well, Evans was caught up in the possibilities of a trade but he wasn’t quite out of his mind.

  Cruz kept the pressure going. “How many times do I need to explain to you how very expendable you are?”

  “Look. You give me the video and whatever the hell it was stored on, then I’ll give you everything you need to know about your girl. Where to find her, who’s there. Everything.” Evans coaxed. “If you give me the video, I can take it back to my bosses and everything will be right again. You can even keep the dog.”

  Cruz hadn’t planned to structure another course of action on the fly, but he hadn’t anticipated Evans being stupid enough to think Evans was going to remain valuable to this group either. They’d already been using Evans as their fetch and carry man. Somehow, the man still thought he was going to be in on the full deal whenever it came to fruition. This was an opportunity to make a trade for information that’d be way more accurate than what might come out of coercion.

  Time was short. And if Cruz managed things correctly, the video would still end up in the hands of the authorities. If he worked this right, he could get to Lyn, too—hopefully in time. Calhoun would agree Lyn’s life came first.

  “Deal. You tell me everything I need to know first, then I’ll give you the video. Start with the exact location of where they took Evelyn Jones and how many men are there.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Approaching the warehouse in question hadn’t been as much of a challenge as Cruz had initially thought it’d be. Once he’d gotten the location from Evans, it’d been a matter of driving close enough to park his car out of sight and approach on foot.

  Pedestrian traffic in the area had been easy to blend into and there were plenty of tiny side streets to duck into as they’d gotten closer. Now, there were just old crates stacked up in a maze between them and the warehouse itself.

  He’d waited in the shadows to observe as long as he dared, figuring a man and a dog caught the eye much more readily among normal pedestrians. Taking a moment now to be sure they hadn’t been watched on approach could make the difference between bringing Lyn home and none of them getting out of there at all.

  Atlas had settled down to wait next to Cruz, the big dog’s shoulder barely touching Cruz’s left leg in a heel position to keep Cruz’s strong-side clear. Atlas’s behavior was sliding more into the working attitude he’d been trained to adopt when out on a mission. No suspicious movement in or around the warehouse and no sign of anyone coming to investigate either of them.

  Both of them were embracing old habits better suited to action than to civilian life.

  In situations like this, Cruz wasn’t going to regret it. Of course, he hadn’t missed the hurry-up-and-wait aspect. Moving at the right moment was key. But recognizing the difference between patience and paranoia became better with practice and got rusty with disuse. His timing had to be on point today.

  He proceeded forward, keeping to cover as much as possible and taking calculated glimpses of the warehouse and its surroundings. The more he was able to see of it, the more likely someone was going to be able to spot him. Taking a full circuit around the building from a distance gave him a chance to choose his entrance and determine whether there were eyes on it.

  Atlas paused suddenly—rigid stance, his head up and weight forward—the dog’s attention directly ahead of them. His big ears had swiveled forward, catching sound too faint for Cruz to hear yet. Atlas had detected another human approaching, blocks away from normal foot traffic. The only people wandering this area were the ones he was looking for or predators of the streets. Based on information from Evans, accurate thus far, it was more likely to be one of a couple of guards on the perimeter of the warehouse area.

  Taking on a guard alone would be a challenge. If the other man spotted him approaching, an alarm could be sounded before Cruz could subdue him. A one-on-one, straight fight would take too long and potentially leave Cruz damaged. He couldn’t afford to take every guard head on, by himself.

  But Atlas was too fresh from overseas, the dog’s rehabilitation incomplete. Atlas hadn’t yet been retrained to bite to break instead of his fiercer combat training, bite to kill. Here, on US soil, Cruz didn’t want to risk Atlas killing a man.

  Torn, Cruz looked down at the dog, considering. Atlas gazed back up at him, waiting for a command. What he saw in the dog’s eyes wasn’t the ready eagerness of 100 percent obedience. Here, now, Atlas was waiting to see what he would do.

  Lyn’s safety, possibly her life, hung in the balance and trust had to begin with trust. There wasn’t time to wait for human backup and he had a partner right here with him, if he could time things right. Take the lead in this partnership and make himself understood.

  Dropping Atlas’s leash, Cruz crouched low and murmured a command he’d never taught Lyn to use with Atlas. “Reviere.”

  Atlas sprang forward and streaked around the corner. Cruz darted to the left and around stacked crates, listening as he did. Moving as quickly and safely as possible to circle around, Cruz pied the next corner in order to give himself a chance to bring his weapon to bear and got his eyes on the target as Atlas came around on the other side.

  It was the perfect opening and critical moment. Cruz charged forward as the other man began to lift his weapon to take aim on Atlas, oblivious to the danger from behind. Before the man could fire, Cruz threw his left arm around the man’s neck in a choke hold and brought up his right arm to throw off the man’s aim.

  Atlas streaked across the remaining distance and leaped up, taking the man’s right arm in his jaws. The man dropped his weapon as the dog’s momentum took them all to the ground in a nearly silent struggle. But Cruz’s choke hold was tight and in moments the other man’s struggles weakened as his air supply was cut off.

  A dog like Atlas could exert something close to triple the bite strength of a human. Once the other man began to go slack, it was time to stop the dog before he broke the man’s forearm.

  “Los.” Cruz scowled when Atlas didn’t release the man. The dog wasn’t throwing his head back and forth to rip and tear, but Atlas wasn’t letting go either. Cruz stared into Atlas’s eyes, refusing to let go of the man between them.

  Atlas stared back.

  Cruz set his jaw and it wasn’t anger but determination that filled him. Drove him. There wasn’t time for this. Lyn didn’t have time for this. “Los.”

  Something changed in Atlas’s stare. The challenge in his eyes flickered out, a decision made, and the big dog released the man.

  Laying the poor bastard down on the pavement, Cruz reached into his back pocket and pulled out a few zip ties to bind and some duct tape to cover the man’s mouth. Securing any guards as he took them out was better than having them come after him again if they came to. And he didn’t plan to kill if he didn’t have to.

  Picking up Atlas’s lead, Cruz straightened and ran his hand along Atlas’s flank. “Braafy.”

  Good dog.

  With one man down, he needed to move even more quickly. It’d be just him and Atlas. Both Forte and Rojas were holding down the fort back at the kennels—For
te handling the police report and their intruder, Rojas seeing to his daughter as she came home from school. Both would be following to provide backup as soon as he could but it was a toss-up as to which of them could get free first.

  He couldn’t afford to wait. The situation wasn’t optimal but he and Atlas needed to move quickly.

  Cruz studied the warehouse and a door tucked away in an alcove set in the side of the building. Security camera was hanging by a hinge and obviously not operational. Could be the best entry point.

  He headed for the entrance, pausing to hug the wall and study a large ventilation grate in the same alcove. Cover was rusted almost completely off. The ventilation shaft behind it was big enough to accommodate a full-grown man. But hell, he was heavy. Atlas might be lighter than his German shepherd counterparts but the dog wasn’t tiny either. The two of them in a rusted-out metal shaft were not going to get far without making a shit-ton of noise. They were not ninjas.

  But he didn’t have to pass it by completely. Taking out his pocketknife, he pried the cover the rest of the way off and set it on the ground against the opening to the ventilation shaft.

  Then he and Atlas stepped over to the door.

  They stayed to one side and listened. Atlas sniffed along the bottom edge. No sign of danger around or on the other side. No indicators from Atlas that there was either person or improvised explosive device waiting to surprise them.

  And Atlas would’ve scented either.

  It took more precious minutes to quietly pick the lock. Not his favorite activity but luckily it was a simple one, old and not particularly secure. This entrance had definitely been overlooked while the hostiles were securing the location.

  Once inside, Cruz eased the door closed behind them and immediately took them to one side to crouch under the cover of a set of stairs. He drew in a breath, deliberate and slow. The air was musty, thick with dust and stale. No one had opened any windows or doors on this level for a sufficient length of time to ventilate the place.

  What he could see of the warehouse’s ground level was covered in more dust. It was a wide open space with random clutter along the outer walls. No places to hide and no places for hostiles to pop out and surprise him.

  Atlas turned his nose upward, sniffing, and his big ears swiveled as the big dog studied the ceiling. Cruz strained hard to identify whatever Atlas was hearing in the quiet stillness.

  It wasn’t complete silence, though. Now that he knew to listen more closely, there was a faint murmur coming from above. Not loud enough to identify voices or what was being said, only enough to recognize the rhythm of conversation.

  Up they would go.

  Cruz unhooked Atlas’s leash. Inside the warehouse with all the crap scattered everywhere, the leash could snag and it’d be best to let Atlas go ahead to react as necessary. In the meantime, letting the big dog loose freed up both of Cruz’s hands.

  The two of them proceeded out from under the cover of the stairs and along the near edge of the room. Atlas was ranging forward, the way he’d been trained, nose to the ground and weaving back and forth in a snakelike path. Every few steps, the big dog would lift his head to catch any target odors in the air before returning his focus to the floor.

  For his part, Cruz scanned the room and listened hard as he followed Atlas. Once they reached the far wall, Cruz put his back to the wall and considered their options for going up to the next level: stairs or a freight elevator.

  Thus far, they’d managed not to pause in hallways, doorways, or windows. Riding up in an elevator was asking for attention and unless they both could climb out quickly, it was a kill box. Stairs weren’t easy either. In his experience, stairs were where men died.

  Cruz approached the foot of the stairs and listened hard, peering up into the darkness. Atlas wasn’t any more enthusiastic but both of them could hear the murmurs of conversation more clearly.

  Atlas gave a low, eager whine with an upward lilt, his head slightly tilted.

  Up was where Lyn was.

  A trickle of relief flooded through Cruz. Atlas must’ve recognized Lyn’s voice among the murmurs. The eagerness would only be for her. She was still alive and able to talk then. Which meant she was conscious. Hopefully, she wasn’t hurt.

  Hang on, Lyn. We’re on our way.

  They were halfway up the stairs when Atlas froze again, his posture tense. A low, almost inaudible growl rumbled in the big dog’s chest. Another guard approaching.

  For the second time, Cruz gave Atlas the command to search out a human target.

  * * *

  “I’m guessing you’re not going to share the full scope of your nefarious plans with me.” Actually, she was torn between wanting to know what could possibly have possessed her stepfather and being too disgusted with his involvement to listen.

  He shook his head. “The more you know, the less likely it’ll be possible to convince my business partner to let you move on with your life.”

  “Promises to forget everything I’ve seen so far aren’t believable either, huh?” Rolling her eyes might be too much attitude.

  Talking was good. Drawing things out. Buying time. And well, this was probably the longest conversation she’d ever had with her stepfather.

  Her stepfather sighed. At least that was familiar. “Don’t insult either of us by playing stupid. Sarcasm will only shorten what patience I have.”

  Zuccolin snorted.

  Jones slanted an irritated look at the other soldier. “Isn’t it about time for you to check in with the rest of your team, Sergeant?”

  Zuccolin stiffened but walked away, his footsteps striking the floor in measured cadence. Only marginally comparable to a toddler sulking and stomping his way out of the room.

  “America’s finest?” She raised her eyebrow at her stepfather.

  No. She hadn’t caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Had she? Nah. “All this for a choppy video hidden on a dog?”

  “The problem with any shred of evidence is that it is still evidence.” Her stepfather strode over to a window and gazed out. “However, the canine is not the only reason we are here or even the primary objective. I placed what should have been sufficient resources on surveillance in order to ensure the dog would present no threat to our plans.”

  “Sufficient might not be the correct term.” She bit her lip.

  He turned and glared at her. “Over the years, you have made antagonizing me an art form. I assure you, it’s not as effective a tactic as you might believe.”

  “Force of habit.” Keeping her responses shorter might be wise but she was running out of conversational cues.

  He huffed. Then he continued to talk, surprisingly. “I’ve had interviews with several local candidates. There’s a land-bound military ship just over the bridge in New Jersey used as a training and testing facility. Many IT contractors with appropriate security clearances have gained relevant communications experience there but are dissatisfied with the temporary nature of their contract work. They’re looking for more exciting projects with better pay. Not a single one of them displayed the nimble intelligence you exercise just to deliver a witty comeback.”

  A compliment. Sort of. “I’m guessing social interaction wasn’t exactly a part of any of their skill sets either.”

  Her stepfather tipped his head to one side, considering. “Enough to communicate in a professional capacity, but you make a valid point. Cultural fit isn’t a high priority in our search but perhaps it should be. The teams we’re assembling will be isolated on occasion.”

  “And you have to be able to trust the men who are supposed to have your back.” David had taught her that.

  Jones frowned.

  Oh, had she said that last bit out loud? Maybe. Though Captain Jones had always seemed to read her mind as a teenager. She’d like to think her adult mind was less transparent but around him, the temptation to succumb to petty immaturity was about as irresistible as a chocolate cupcake with fudge frosting and salted carame
l.

  “Building the right teams takes patience and time.” Her stepfather clasped his hands behind his back. “Sometimes you need to make do with what’s available and cherry pick when opportunity arises.”

  Whatever he was getting at, they’d gone so far into the abstract she was wondering if maybe she had a concussion because she wasn’t tracking anymore.

  A shout cut through her sluggish thoughts. A dog’s growl followed, loud and deep. It sounded familiar and she was hoping she wasn’t going crazy.

  Atlas.

  Hope shot through her—or adrenaline—she’d take either. She continued to wiggle in her duct tape bindings while her stepfather and the one remaining soldier focused their attention on the approaching chaos.

  Sergeant Zuccolin was backpedaling, crossing past the doorway and back out of view in the hallway. A black and tan blur streaked past and a shot rang out.

  A dog yelped in pain.

  “No!” she screamed, jerking in her chair and tipping over. Her shoulder crashed into the floor. Lifting her head, she craned her neck to see the doorway. “Atlas! Atlas?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Cruz advanced through the doorway, his handgun at the ready, focusing on the armed threat and relying on his peripherals to catch any other threats in the room. Farthest from the ideal situation, but based on conversation he’d identified Lyn and someone she knew. She was smart to keep up the conversation and distract her captors. Her discussion had covered the majority of their approach and the exchange let him get a basic idea of location, at least for the two speakers.

  Only the asshole, Zuccolin, had the timing to encounter them when there’d been no cover. Only choice had been to engage without the advantage of surprise or any chance of stealth. Atlas had stayed true to his training and taken point.