Blood Heat (Dangerous Ground 3)

by Josh Lanyon

  “No way. It’s your turn to change it.”

  “That’s not how I remember it. Come on, Brandt.”

  Will sighed, long suffering, and scissored his arm three times. Taylor followed suit.

  They both came up with fists.

  “I may kill you before the night is over,” Will said. “Just so you know.”

  Taylor laughed.

  Once again they sliced the air three times.

  Taylor came up rock again, but this time Will chose paper. He laughed at Taylor’s chagrin and grazed his chin with a friendly fist. “You’re getting predictable, sweetheart.”

  “Sweetheart?” Hedwig repeated curiously. Taylor had nearly forgotten about her. She leaned against the fender, catching her breath and watching them.

  Will tossed the car keys. Taylor caught them one-handed and walked around to the trunk.

  “What do you want to bet there’s no jack in here?”

  He didn’t catch Will’s muttered response. If there wasn’t a jack in the trunk, they were going to have to walk back up the road and borrow Ramirez’s pickup. He could just imagine how well that would go over with all concerned parties, but standing out here waiting for the AAA was not an option.

  He unlocked the trunk and raised it. It took his eyes a second to discern what he was seeing in the dark interior — and his brain a few seconds after that to make sense of it.

  For the second time that night he was staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

  Chapter Three

  “So are you gay?” Hedwig asked.

  The raised hood of the trunk blocked Taylor from Will’s view. He half turned, surveyed the mutable shadows ringing them: the jagged outline of mountains, the pale shifts of sand, the black outline of Joshua tree and yucca.

  Hedwig’s question refocused Will’s attention on her. “Because I called him ‘sweetheart’?” He infused his tone with amusement, although he wasn’t amused. His and Taylor’s sexual preferences were not a secret from Uncle Sam. His and Taylor’s relationship was. That was to protect their working partnership. Early in their…er…romance, they’d agreed they wanted to keep working together for as long as possible.

  Of course, that might be moot now. If he took the posting in Paris.

  It was a big if.

  Wet flicked his face. The first fat drops splattered the hood of the car. It was starting to rain. Naturally. Because a downpour was all that was keeping this from being the perfect evening. The drops came faster, plopping down, dimpling the dust at their feet.

  “Because of the way you are together,” the girl answered.

  Will shrugged. “We’ve been partners a long time.”

  She briefly weighed it. “If you weren’t together, you’d have just said so. You wouldn’t try to explain.”

  It was the first indication Will had that she might be smarter than the average bimbo.

  Motion behind the car caught his attention. Taylor stepped back from behind the slant of the raised lid. His hands were locked behind his head, and even in the poor light, Will could see enough of his profile to know they were in trouble.

  “Get down,” Will told Hedwig, drawing his pistol.

  She dropped into an awkward squat behind the fender.

  Will was already scrambling around to the far side of the car, watching as the figure unfolding from behind the trunk door kept getting taller.

  Jesus fucking Christ. Taylor was tall, but this guy was a monster. A giant of a man with a Mohawk and a sawed-off shotgun. Will could see his pitted profile in what little hazy light there was. His profile and Taylor’s.

  Taylor’s jaw could have been cut from stone as he said in a flat voice, “You’re making a big mistake.”

  “Shut up.” The guy had a very deep voice, distinctive even on those two chopped syllables. Maybe an accent?

  The lid of the trunk blocked Will’s view of the giant’s body. He could try for a head shot, but what he could see of the shotgun barrel was aimed directly at Taylor’s forehead. If the guy’s finger tightened on the trigger…

  Will’s palms felt damp. Not a chance he was willing to take if he didn’t have to.

  Without turning his head, the giant called, “Come around the other side, hombre, if you do not want your partner’s brains splattered all over those cactus. And you, milaya moyna. You can quit hyperventilating behind the fender and get your skinny ass over here.”

  “Don’t do it,” Taylor said.

  Will watched the shotgun barrel. It never wavered. The giant said, “You do not want to fuck with me.”

  Definitely an accent. Eastern European? Surely not Russian? The guy had one of those basso profundo voices all these oversize dudes seemed to possess. Was that anatomy or showmanship?

  “We’re federal agents, asshole.”

  Taylor’s voice was cold and clear. Would it kill him to soft-pedal once in a while? As dearly as Will loved his toughness, his sheer…grit, sometimes he wondered whether Taylor secretly had a death wish.

  “I know. I know you are Feds. I am a Fugitive Recovery Agent.”

  “You’re a what?”

  “Bounty hunter,” Will supplied automatically.

  “That is right. Ioakim Nemov. Licensed by the Colorado Insurance Division of the Department of Regulatory Agencies.”

  “Colorado? You’ve been following us since Colorado?”

  “That is right. That is exactly right. I followed you, and you led me straight to little Kelila.”

  Little Kelila sounded like she was getting ready to give birth any second.

  “Show some ID,” Will said.

  “I don’t care if you’re licensed by the Better Business Bureau,” Taylor cut in. “You’re going to be under arrest yourself in a minute for interfering in a federal —”

  “No. I do not think so,” Nemov interrupted. “I have been watching you two hombres. I have been wondering why there are no cops around. No FBI. No one but you two. You know what I think? I think this is a black op.”

  For the life of him, Will couldn’t think of an answer. For once, even Taylor seemed to choose discretion over valor.

  Nemov laughed. “I am right! I knew it. When I watched you scale the perimeter wall of the Ramirez property, I knew. Very smooth, that was. Textbook.”

  “You’re Russian mob,” Taylor guessed.

  “No. Certainly not. What interest would the bratva have in this little girl? I have told you who and what I am. Here. I have identification.” After a moment, ID was proffered, a wallet being shown to first Taylor, then flashed in Will’s direction.

  Not that Will could make a damn thing out at this distance, and not that it mattered anyway. ID or not, this guy was flirting with charges for everything from interfering with law enforcement officers to kidnapping. “If you’re legitimate, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Taylor said slowly, “He’s after the RFJ.”

  The Rewards for Justice Program. That’s what Taylor meant. Nemov was after the five million dollar reward the Bureau of Diplomatic Security offered to those with information leading to the arrest or conviction of anyone who planned, committed, or attempted terrorist acts against US persons or property.

  One problem with that plan: the RFJ program was designed to prevent international attacks. Not domestic.

  Maybe not the best time to bring that up.

  “That’s only for international terrorist acts, dumb shit,” Taylor said.

  “But Kelila is married to a Russian national,” Nemov said, unperturbed. “Her strike against the DSS was masterminded by none other than Mikhail Bashnakov.”

  “That’s not true!” Hedwig said shrilly. “That’s insane. None of it is true.”

  Will turned on her. “You’re not married to Bashnakov?”

  “Yes. All right, that part is correct, but —”

  “That’s something you left off the CV.” He hadn’t thought that drug lords bothered with polite conventions like marriage.

  “No way are
you collecting that reward,” Taylor said. “She’s already in federal custody.”

  “She was. Now she’s in my custody. Get over here, milaya moyna. I won’t ask so nicely again.”

  If only the bastard would look away from Taylor long enough for Taylor to make a move for cover. But Nemov was too experienced.

  “Don’t let him…take me,” Hedwig panted, clinging to the front bumper like an old-fashioned suffragette.

  “He’s not taking you anywhere,” Taylor said.

  He had to speak up to be heard over the rain now rattling loudly off the surface of the car and pouring to the ground. At this rate, they were going to be mired in mud.

  “Let me explain your options,” Nemov said. “Or rather my options. Option one. I give up and go home. That is not going to happen. Option two —”

  “My partner blows your head off while we’re standing here shooting the breeze.”

  That was Will’s order to shoot. That was Taylor telling him as clearly as he could to take the shot. And Will could do it. He had about as clear a shot as he was going to get, and he was an excellent marksman. But there was still the chance that Nemov’s dying reflex would be to blow Taylor’s head off.

  Nemov laughed. “I think your partner is not so reckless as you, little man. He knows it will be very hard to explain away two bodies — especially if one of them is yours. I think he will wait to hear option three.”

  Will said, “Which is?”

  Taylor was apparently still trying to absorb “little man.”

  “I take the girl and deliver her safely to Los Angeles, and we all forget about this unpleasantness. No good can come to any of us if word of tonight’s showdown gets out. True?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Taylor said. “You think we’re going to hand her over and let you walk away?”

  “Yes. Why not?”

  “No. Way.”

  But Will was already convinced. They had to end this standoff. Get themselves into strategic position. Let Nemov take Hedwig. Worst-case scenario, they’d have the cops pick them both up at Sierra Blanca. But better yet, they’d overtake them on the way to the airport, retrieve Hedwig, and continue on to LA. If it was true that he and Taylor couldn’t afford to let anyone know about this evening’s activities, it was equally true Nemov couldn’t.

  “Deal,” Will said.

  Hedwig cried out. Taylor looked his way in disbelief.

  Nemov laughed. “What did I tell you? Your partner is a practical man.”

  “Brandt —”

  “He’s got a fucking gun to your head, MacAllister. Now is not the time.”

  Nemov said, “Throw your weapon away, Agent Brent.”

  Will tossed his weapon to the sand.

  Nemov made a sound of disgust. “Now kick it away where you cannot grab it quickly.”

  Will kicked his piece farther away.

  “Now clasp your hands behind your head and stand up slowly.”

  “You can’t let him just take me!” Hedwig cried as Will complied.

  Will spared her a look. He’d lost whatever sympathy he had for her — pretty much nil — at the news that she’d been married to the Technician, but she was his prisoner and he had a sworn duty to protect her. He reassured himself he was only temporarily relinquishing custody, but he didn’t like what he was doing. He was furious at being placed in the position of having to choose between her and his partner, but there was no question in his mind whose life was more important.

  “Just calm down and do what he says. You’ll be fine.”

  “I won’t be fine. He’s been sent to kill me.”

  “If that was the case, I’d have shot this agent when he opened the trunk,” Nemov pointed out. “Then I’d have shot Agent Brent, and then I’d have shot you.”

  Was that option four? Judging by the way he trotted out the scenario, Nemov had clearly been considering wholesale slaughter as a possible game plan.

  Of course, if Nemov believed Will and Taylor would be willing to sacrifice one terrorist skank to preserve their careers, he might plan on executing Hedwig once he had her on his own. That saved him a potential gun battle and the risk of the DSS coming after him following the inevitable full-scale manhunt that would result from the murder of two agents.

  “Now you,” Nemov told Taylor. “Slowly.”

  Taylor obeyed, unspeaking. The fact that he was unspeaking was a very bad sign, but there was nothing Will could do about that now. In some ways Taylor was as direct as an arrow to the heart. It was possible he was never going to understand — Will wasn’t sure he understood — the choice Will had just made. But Will couldn’t stand by and see Taylor die. Not if there was any chance in hell of avoiding it.

  “Get your cuffs out.”

  “They’re on the girl.”

  “Oh? Agent Brent. Take your cuffs out and walk over here. The right side of the car, please.”

  “My right or yours?”

  Nemov chuckled. “I like you, Agent Brent. You are of a pragmatic nature. As is Nemov.”

  Will walked around the front of the car, passing Hedwig, who was crying quietly. He joined Taylor in front of the sawed-off shotgun.

  Taylor didn’t look at him. Will clenched his jaw against the protest, the explanations. In the end there was nothing to say, no excuse, and — for him — no choice.

  “Cuff yourself to your partner.”

  Still not looking at Will, Taylor shoved his arm forward, offering the lower part of his forearm.

  Good thinking, MacAllister.

  But it was a no-go. Nemov said, “Uh-uh. I know that trick. He has skinny arms, your partner. Make sure the cuff is tight around the wrist.”

  In stony silence, Will snapped the cuff around Taylor’s bony wrist. Will clicked the metal circlet around his own wrist, joining them.

  “Keys to the handcuffs?”

  Will handed them over.

  Nemov smiled at Taylor. With tight, quick movements, Taylor used his free hand to pull his ID out and awkwardly remove the key from behind his badge.

  “You are the wily one, yes? Not so wily as Nemov, though.” Nemov took the key with every appearance of good humor. “Throw the car keys as far as you can. And do not throw like a little girl.”

  Taylor gave Nemov a baleful look, felt around for the keys in his Levi’s, dangled them fleetingly in front of Nemov’s long nose, and then hurled them with ferocious energy across the yucca and Spanish bayonet. They glinted as they fell like a shooting star.

  “Nice. You play baseball, I bet. All right, milaya moyna. Time to go.”

  Footsteps dragging, Hedwig came slowly around the car.

  “Just do what he says,” Will told her. “You’ll be okay.” He felt he was speaking as much to Taylor as Hedwig.

  “Listen to Agent Brent. He is a smart man.”

  Will couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from Taylor’s averted face.

  “Start walking,” Nemov ordered. “I will be right behind you.”

  Hedwig stumbled past them and started up the increasingly muddy dirt trail.

  Nemov said quietly, “Now, my young friends, you find out what teamwork is really about. Take my advice. Forget about Kelila Hedwig. If anyone asks, tell them you followed a cold trail. She was gone by the time you found Ramirez’s. No need to wreck your careers over this, you will agree.”

  A pulse jumped in Taylor’s temple, but to Will’s relief, he restrained himself.

  Nemov backed away, keeping the shotgun trained on them until his tall figure dissolved into the darkness. They could hear his quick stride down the road as he followed Hedwig.

  Taylor swung on Will. “What the hell were you thinking?” he half whispered. “For God’s sake, Will. You surrendered your weapon —”

  “I know what I did.”

  “You let him take our prisoner.”

  “I know.”

  “You allowed him to take you hostage.”

  “I know.”

  Will’s quiet response s
eemed to confuse Taylor. He peered at Will through the rain-swept gloom. “I don’t get it. Help me understand. How could you do that?”

  Will shook his head.

  Taylor’s voice rose again. “Goddamn it. It’s not only against agency policy and training, it’s against common sense.”

  “I don’t need to hear this from you. Not right now.”

  “Will…” Will could practically see the wheels turning. Taylor said, “He was not going to shoot me.”

  Despite Will’s determination not to defend his decision, he heard himself arguing, “You don’t know that. My instinct is he would have shot you. Maybe he wouldn’t have killed you, but he was ready to shoot you.”

  “Then you’d have shot him, right?”

  It took a second to work past the sweeping obliviousness of that. “Right. You’d still be dead.”

  “Your way, we both could have been dead. And the girl too. It’s totally against policy, and you damn well know it.”

  “Don’t you throw policy at me.”

  “Anyway, there’s no way he’d have shot a federal officer.”

  “Of course not. That never happens.”

  “For Christ sake, Will. The fact that I got shot once —”

  “Twice.” Will said fiercely, “I’ve seen you take a bullet twice.”

  “You didn’t even see it the first time!”

  “What the…? Like that makes a difference? I saw the result, Taylor. I saw you lying there in what looked like a lake of your own blood. I saw you choking, trying to breathe with a hole in your lung.”

  The anger drained out of Taylor. “Will,” he said helplessly. “You’ve got to let it go. We’ve talked about this. You can’t make decisions in the field based on my safety.”

  He was right. About all of it. Which was one reason Will had never wanted their relationship to move from friends to lovers. But that was ancient history. They were lovers, and there was no going back from it. Not for Will. Not now.

  “Like you wouldn’t have done the same goddamned thing?”

  Taylor’s expression — what Will could see of it — was decidedly weird. “No. I wouldn’t have.”

  He could hear the rain pattering off the stiff material of their vests. “You don’t —” Will stopped. “Look. This isn’t the time.”