1606010948-Palace-of-the-Jaguar-Womack.doc

by Palace of the Jaguar (lit)

  The grinding scrape of the door being opened tore through Ali’s head. Ah, she had escaped the junk that made her float in and out of reality.

  Conteguez’s casual way of describing her murder didn’t alarm Ali. Survival instinct warned her to grab any straw to stay alive. The penetrating cold had become unbearable.

  Keeping quiet until the people left her alone was almost too much for Ali to pull off. She had to think, clearly and precisely if she was to see another day. At last, they were gone.

  She knotted herself into a ball, hiding under the disgusting square of cloth.

  In her misery, she recalled the arms of strength that were refuge and joy.

  Smells of cedar and sagebrush.

  * * * *

  Gun now had a starting point to take Donavon out of the viper’s hands. He was thrown from absolute euphoria to total desolation. She loved him and he loved her. The cloak of fear about what she was being put through was suffocating. If only she’d gone to the lobby with him. This was his fault, and he didn’t want to live if she didn’t make it.

  His thoughts raced crazily as he drove toward his last hope of finding Ali.

  Through his tired eyes, the docks were dismal stretches of windswept desolation.

  He targeted the building facades, exposing the fine work on the grimy buildings with the car’s searchlight, moving at a snails pace. He braked to a stop.

  No longer willing to hunker back and wait, he opened his door. “Hell with this. I’m walking.”

  He cursed the storm swirling around him. It disguised the crumbling buildings in a blanket of pristine white.

  Gun took off through the drifts, using the bleary light of his flashlight to read the names of the old buildings.

  The wind was merciless and he turned up his collar against the biting cold. Worry over their hastily formed ideas plagued him. Why the hell was he so afraid of calling in the local law? They asked too many questions and slowed things down. If this fizzled, he had to pull them into the mess.

  Time was seeping away. Too much time, and Donavon is probably becoming a problem for that slime bag, Conteguez. He’ll kill her.

  He felt it in his bones. She was near. He took off down the middle of the snow-packed street, trying to keep his pace steady.

  Don’t run. You can’t afford to mess up and bypass that building.

  The crunch of snow under his feet was the only sound. Snow fell light and clean, and cold. He picked up his pace.

  Doubt worked its ugly claws around his mind. Was this the right block? Was it a real address? That woman could have lied her ass off. Damn it! Why hadn’t he choked her a little more?

  Stop it! You have the right address. Okay. Now you run! You have to!

  His breath froze in the frigid air with each labored breath he took. He thought of Donavon and her need for him to warm her feet.

  Stop it, man.

  He stumbled and went down on his knees. The toe of his boot had collided with a discarded tire and thrown him down.

  He got to his feet, looking up in anger. That emotion dissolved in an instant. The Burton Furniture Storage Company building was looking down at him.

  He clenched his fists in silent gratitude. His heart hammered with a bit of trepidation. The few yards to the front entrance seemed more like miles.

  No one had used the front door for a while. The snow against the door was ass deep and pristine. The huge padlock meant nothing to Gun. He pulled his weapon and stepped back, firing twice. The lock and hinge dangled impotently. Gunfire wasn’t a new sound in the area and it roared through the valleys between the buildings.

  Before the thunderous echo stopped bouncing in the frigid air, he’d pushed the heavy door open and slipped inside. He stood still, listening to the sounds that the old building made. Cold and the moan of the wind through broken windows was all it had to offer.

  His small flashlight was minimal help, but the bleary light revealed most of the musty interior of the room. Crates and boxes took up most of the space and left a narrow aisle to walk through. The thick layer of dust was unspoiled. No one had been through here.

  Gun couldn’t ignore the fresh load of despair that rode his shoulders as he picked his way through the crates. Where to start? Which floor? He paused, trying to locate the source of cold air pouring through the hall.

  The light from his flashlight haloed a door that stood ajar. Snow blew in on the freezing draft and Gun shivered.

  Some damn fool left the door open.

  He walked a few paces before the meaning of what he’d seen registered. Open door. People leave doors open.

  Blood rampaged through his veins, the flood deafening him. This could be right. Careful now. Don’t screw this up.

  Gun hunkered down to check out the footprints. They had been made by several people. A male with smallish feet and women. One—no two. Were they coming in or leaving? He shined the light over the entryway. No snow or puddles of water. They had just left.

  His hair bristled as he digested the idea that the man he hated most could be in the building. Killing wasn’t something he enjoyed. But this was one he’d have no second thoughts about.

  Extinguishing the flashlight, he slid along the wall, paused to listen, then moved ahead. Which way? Up the wide flight of wooden stairs, or down into the inky darkness of the musky smelling basement?

  He chose to take the least likely and climbed the stairs, slowly gripping his forty-five as if it were a life-preserver in a stormy sea.

  At the top, he stood on the landing and took a breath. The place had been cleaned out. From nowhere, something swarmed him in a ghostly frenzy. He threw up his arms and leaned over to escape the fluttering that whipped about his head and shoulders.

  Feathers flew and his lungs screamed for oxygen. Fucking pigeons!

  He squatted down to get away from the frenzy of flapping and terrified birds. His heart had stopped and restarted, causing his ears to pop with pressure.

  The furor had almost made him fire his weapon. How close had he come to getting Donavon killed with his stupidity?

  Lord. Just let me find her and I’ll give up everything. I mean everything. Nothing held back. I give it all to you for her life.

  Seconds passed before he regained control and got to his feet. Checking his weapon he worked the safety. Off.

  He walked as quietly as he could across the floor and hesitated on the landing. Hell yes. He climbed on the thick oak stair railing and glided noiselessly to the bottom.

  The floor didn’t squeak underfoot, and he crossed the floor quickly. The door to the lower floor was closed, but the doorknob turned easily. The door opened, and he held it steady, pushing it open by degrees. He couldn’t afford to let a squeak or crash alert whoever was down there.

  Being cautious was so foreign to Gun that he sweat blood to control the urge to storm in.

  One foot, then the other. Step lightly, step slowly. Lord, this can’t be real. He couldn’t see much of anything. He had to chance the light being seen. Now, he could see a small boot tossed to the side. Donavon’s boot!

  The world had turned blood-red. Fury ripped through Gun and exploded over him like a phosphorous bomb. In two strides he found the heavy iron door to the basement and yanked it open.

  There were no lights, just the smell of mold and old newspaper.

  “Donavon!”

  Nothing. He flipped the light around the stinking place and tried to pick out anything along the walls. Then, he heard it, movement coming from somewhere the darkness.

  To his left, low, on the floor. No, that couldn’t be Donavon huddled on the floor. He choked on remorse, running to where she lay.

  “Donavon, baby.” He didn’t care about the stink, just the woman that was too defiant to knuckle under Contegueze fist. “Are you okay?” He kept his senses, making sure they were alone. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  She turned her head, trying to see him. “Gun, I can make it.” She pushed the makeshift blanket aside
and got to her feet. “But not before I blow him away.”

  He swallowed his curse of anger. Her eyes were swollen into slits and her nose, probably broken. “I found you, babe. You’ll be okay now. I’m taking you home.”

  He gripped her arms, trying to see how badly she was hurt. Most obvious was the way her nose, and the dried blood on her chin. She shook violently. Working his arms from the sleeves of his jacket, he blanketed her securely in its warmth.

  “Donavon, did you hear me?”

  She put her hand over his mouth, clutching the pocket of her filthy coat. “Quiet.” She steadied herself, reaching to the bottom of the coat lining through the pocket. “I can’t leave yet.” A putrid piece of tarp dangled from her hand.

  “Yes, you can.” He took the rag from her, trying to turn her toward the door.

  “You don’t understand.” She pointed to the door leading to the stairs. “He’s coming back. I hear him.”

  She had a twenty-two in her fist, gripping it in both hands, damn sure of hitting what she aimed at.

  “Where?” Gun felt like a fool, not sure where she was looking. Sounds were her direction guide now. “All he could think of was getting her out. “Lets get out, now!”

  He tightened the coat around her and reached for his weapon.

  “Hey, cavrone. That is my woman.”

  Gun jerked his head around to see Conteguez. He stared at the cocky little man with cold control for several seconds. “You didn’t take very good care of her, Conteguez.”

  Laughter rattled through the stinking semi-light and stopped abruptly as Conteguez hissed like a serpent. “She’s your whore, cop. You don’t take care of her.”

  Gun closed his hand around the forty-five, pulling Donavon closer when she struggling to free herself. “Okay, honey,” he whispered to her. “Just one more thing to do, and we’ll get out of here.”

  Her struggles took his attention, and Gun looked away long enough to lose sight of his target. When he looked up, Conteguez was pointing an automatic weapon at him.

  The next second, Conteguez postured in a courtly salute, tapping the barrel of his pistol to his forehead before pointing it at his adversary. His theatrics ended in a spray of blood. His own.

  The first slug went into his forehead, sending his arms out to his sides like a rag doll, flopping crazily. The second slug blew through his heart and left him with no expression on his dead face.

  Ali didn’t speak after putting out Conteguez lights. She dropped the weapon and hopped on one foot. “Take me someplace warm, Gun.”

  Chapter 48

  Gun couldn’t take time to enjoy seeing Conteguez fall and die. His sole concern was his amazing partner.

  He lifted her up in his arms and quickly carried her to the door.

  Relief flooded over him when he saw bobbing light coming down the steps and the crackle of radios. A pair of burly police officers called out to him.

  “You the one needing help?”

  “Agent Donavon has taken a hell of a beating and is nearly frozen.” He was too worried to be strong. “Man. Where’s the EMT crew?”

  One officer looked Gun over. “They’re right behind me.” He turned his flash beam on Conteguez.

  Gun grimaced, feeling no remorse as he spoke. “That guy don’t need any thing.”

  He took Ali’s weapon, dropping it in his coat pocket. “I’m sorry, babe. I’ll never let you down again.”

  He was barely aware of the sirens or the tramping of feet on the stairs, and finally the EMTs rushed in to take Donavon from that tomb of a building.

  The ride to the hospital was a long, dangerous one. Snow and ice, plus vehicle accidents, slowed the ambulance and caused several delays. Every snag added to Gun’s anxiety of knowing he could still lose Donavon.

  He looked out the frosty window after the siren stopped. The ambulance ran over the curb with a jarring bump as it turned into the driveway of the emergency room.

  Everything went warp speed after that.

  A crash team whisked Ram off to surgery, and Donavon was taken to a room where a team of doctors and nurses worked to stabilize her.

  There was nothing for Gun to do but pace the hall and wait for information.

  Several hours later, a doctor in green scrubs approached him.

  “Mr. Gunnison.”

  Gun tried to swallow. His throat was parched. “How is she? My partner, Agent Donavon?” This was no time to hide his emotions. He couldn’t anyway. He’d never been so scared.

  The doctor led him into a small waiting room. “Ms. Donavon was badly beaten. The massive amounts she was given of the drug known as scopolamine very nearly killed her. She’s suffering from hypothermia and dehydration.” He paused and pulled the mask from around his neck. “She’s very lucky she didn’t get more of the drug. Administered like that can kill. Her broken bones will heal, but she needs time. A complete time of rest.”

  Gun nodded. “I’ll see to it.”

  * * * *

  Ali stared at her reflection in the hand mirror a nurse held up for her. She got constant attention from the staff of the posh convalescent facility Gun had brought her to. She touched the discolored skin around her eyes and grimaced. The blue and green would be with her for a while longer.

  All this because she had not been vigilant and had let her pie-in-the-sky emotions make her careless and an easy mark. The cost of her hormone-driven mistake had been too much to fathom.

  She touched her nose cautiously. It was pretty much back in its original shape. The nurse who watched over her during the day left the room to answer another patient’s call.

  “My God.” She looked up to see Gun strolling into her room. “I must have scared everyone for miles around when you brought me in here.” She released the breath that had stopped just above her heart. What was he thinking when he looked at her now?

  He leaned in to press his lips to hers. “Baby, you looked damned good to me.”

  Was his passion the mission or the relationship? She loved him so much she shook and covered her telltale tremble while touching his hair. “You should start wearing a hat, Gun.”

  The melting snow on his jacket reminded her of the hell she’d been through. She shivered and pulled her blanket up to her chin.

  Gun took off his jacket and laid it over her legs. “I’ll warm you up.”

  Ali smiled and patted the mattress. “I’ll make room for you.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss her. “Donavon, hurry up and get out of this bed. We have a vacation to take.”

  “Vacation?” She welcomed his kiss and the touch of his hands, but couldn’t stop her soft moan of pain after he pressed a mending rib.

  He pulled away and looked nervous. “Aw, hell. I’m sorry, Donavon. I’m a horse’s ass.” He moved to the chair near her bed. “Well, yeah. Texas. Remember?”

  “That’s okay, Gun.” Her heart thumped noisily in her ears. “I need to toughen up.”

  He held her gaze with his. “You’re plenty tough, Donavon.” He looked away for a second, then centered his attention on her face. “Am I imagining it, or are you evading talk of going home with me?”

  Why did he want to talk about something that was not for them? “Not at all.” She closed her eyes to hide from his steady gaze. “I’m just tired.”

  In the middle of her morose thoughts, Gun forced the issue. “I’m calling to make reservations for our flight to Dallas.”

  “No.”

  Fine lines of suspicion set in at the corners of his eyes. “No? What the hell does that mean?”

  She laughed, hoping it sounded genuine. “I have a wonderful town house in Atlanta.”

  “Texas is better.”

  “Texas is too dry.”

  “It’s not moldy.”

  “You need me to take care of you.”

  “I’m a grown woman. I can handle myself.”

  He had a comeback for everything, but, not this time. “I’m going home. It’s time I s
ettled in somewhere and figured out what direction I have to take.”

  The silence closed in around them. His stare was direct and calculating when she managed to look at him.

  He slapped his phone shut. “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

  Why did he have to gaze at her as if he could see into her heart? “Yeah, I have to.”

  He stood by her bed and appeared uncertain of himself. “Donavon. Are you sure about this?”

  “If you mean, try for a real life, then yes. I’m sure.” She picked at the satin edging of her blanket.

  He grabbed his jacket off the bed. “I’m not.” His kiss was soft and impersonal. “I’m sure you won’t find what you’re looking for alone.”

  Her damned lower lip quivered, and she almost choked on her tongue. The words that would have made it all worthwhile would be forever lost. Just as well. He was gone.

  Chapter 49

  Gun sprawled in naked relaxation near the lazy surf. The South of France was perfect for watching a parade of nice ass and mega-sized tits. Perfect, except he was bored and buck-naked with a bunch of people he didn’t give a fuck about.

  He couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been, letting Hamm set him up in this mess. Vacation alone, Damn it!

  The thought hit him that Hamm might not be too happy with his work. This crap freebie nude-beach trip wasn’t going to make him look any better. Jesus, his life had gone to hell on a fucking toboggan.

  He looked around at the selection of nude sunbathers, showing their goods to the world, and decided that some of them should have stayed covered.

  Glancing down at his own body, he had no fear of showing his stuff. Buff is what Donavon had called it. He shrugged. The only thing bugging him about being naked was Fantasia, an over-endowed, over-pampered guest at the hotel. The chick was doing any guy who had time and had to be the horniest trick he’d ever met. She had become a nuisance. She wanted to be oiled — and often. By him.

  Too bad he couldn’t get it up for her. Gun was carrying four months of pressure, and it was getting tougher to play handball by himself. That no longer satisfied him.