“We can’t tell where the shooter is. We’re hunkered down in a low spot, surrounded by brush.”
Noah and Rhyden raced in the direction of the gunfire. “We’re gonna come up behind them,” Rhyden radioed.
“Bennett County to all officers. DPS chopper is on the way.”
Noah slipped his pistol from the holster. He motioned for Rhyden to follow as he edged forward toward the shack. He pointed toward the back of the structure. “Muzzle flash,” he whispered as he corrected course. “We’re almost there.”
“This is DPS 107, airborne, we’re about seven mikes out. I’ll circle when we get there. We should be able to spot the shooter for you.”
“10-4, we just took three more shots. Seems to be coming from the northeast. Uncertain if we have one or more shooters.”
“Roger that. Heading northeast from your location. Five mikes out. Make sure all the good guys have their IR markers activated, please.”
Rhyden and Noah met up with a line of officers moving toward the structure. A rustling in the brush caused the officers to pause. As one, they all pointed flashlights and guns at the brush. The brush wriggled again. A member of the San Antonio Police Department’s special response team stumbled out. He threw his hands in the air. “Whoa! Hold fire. Hold fire. It’s me.”
A nervous chuckle swept through the group.
The SAPD officer quipped, “Man, give me the concrete jungle over this shit any day.”
Noah pointed to the northwest. “We’re gonna circle around this way.”
“This is DPS 107. I see your bad guys. Looks like two armed with ARs. I’ve got a line of seven good guys in a semi-circle and then two others moving west, northwest. Two more goodies hunkered down about five hundred yards to the east. Okay, your baddies are on the move. Heading back to the structure. Repeat, bad guys are on the move. I’ve got them pinned in the spotlight.”
A volley of rifle fire mixed with small arms fire split the night. The chopper pilot called out. “We’re taking fire. We’re taking fire.” The helicopter returned fire. “They’re down. I repeat, bad guys are down.”
Noah and Rhyden gave up all pretense of stealth and rushed toward the house.
****
Gunfire shattered the silence. Seamus dropped the child he was examining. Shit. He swept his eyes around the building. Where to hide?
****
Noah and Rhyden eased up to the fence surrounding the dilapidated house. Noah dropped to one knee and scanned the area with the night vision scope on his rifle. He couldn’t see much. Just another ramshackle structure. Trey’s home was in better condition but not by much. “Hendrickson, we’re getting close. What do you see?”
The drone buzzed overhead. It dropped low, waggling its wings at the rangers, before zooming off to circle the structure and surrounding area. “I’ve got nothing in the area outside the shack. Thermal imaging shows eleven, no twelve, no eleven… I’m not sure, they keep moving, huddling up, but eleven or twelve heat signatures inside.” A pause. “Good guys are joining you.”
Noah and Rhyden dropped back to the brush line and waited for the rest of the team. “Okay, who has the rakes?” Noah asked when the group had gathered.
Three men held up metal poles with pointed ends and teeth on them. Noah nodded in acknowledgement. “I need one of you on each team. Bravo team, take the back. Charlie, the left. Delta, the right.” Noah pointed where he wanted each team to go as he spoke. “Ranger Trammell and I are marching right in the front door.”
He glanced at the illuminated dial on his watch. “Fifteen seconds. Rake the windows. Toss in the flashbangs. We’ll make entry after that. Everyone ready?” Affirmative nods circled the group. “One more thing. We have a minimum of eleven children inside—children—possibly including Ranger Trammell’s daughter. Let’s take it easy. No unnecessary gun fire. Got it? Good. Go.”
The men split into three groups and approached their designated areas.
Where is Seamus? Patrick? The thought niggled at the back of Noah’s mind. It worried him. “Chief? Ranger Morgan here. Have EMS ready to roll. We go in five…four…three…two…”
Breaking glass and children’s screams echoed through the brush. Bright lights and loud explosions lit up the night sky. Rhyden and Noah charged the front door. Rhyden rushed through first, sweeping low. Noah swept high.
“Clear.” Rhyden stepped to the left.
Noah stepped past Rhyden, swinging his rifle from left to right. “Clear,” he said, pointing the rifle at the ceiling. They continued through the house, the pier-and-beam foundation creaking and groaning at every step.
They entered the last room.
“Daddy!” Bree launched herself at her father, burying her face in his shirt. “You smell like gunpowder and sunshine.” Tears streamed down her face. Rhyden wrapped his arms tightly around her, clinging to her.
Noah slid deeper into room. “All clear.” He keyed his microphone. “Send in EMS now. We’ve got them.” Emotion colored his voice. “We’ve got the children.”
****
Noah approached the circle of flashing red-and-blue lights—cop cars surrounded ambulances. With the adrenaline fading, he was crashing. Pain rushed through him. Pulling the prescription bottle from his pocket, he dry-swallowed a couple of pain pills.
Relief filled the air. Officers roughly moved suspects—the ones still alive—into the back of marked police units. It still bugged Noah that he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Seamus or his son.
Paramedics tended to the children. Bree still clung to Rhyden. A tiny blonde child clung to Bree. When Noah joined the group, Bree wrapped her arms around his waist, but she never let go of her daddy’s hand. “Uncle Noah. I knew you and Daddy would find us. I knew it.”
Noah hugged Bree tightly, then released her. “Hey, jump off any cliffs lately?”
A delicate hand tugged on his arm. Bree smiled. “This is my friend, Sarah.”
Noah kneeled so he was on Sarah’s eye level. “Hello, Sarah. I’m Noah. How are you?”
Big, green eyes looked at him with an expression of awe. “Are you a Texas Ranger? Bree said you would find us.” She looked away, embarrassed. “I didn’t really believe her.”
“Yes, I am a ranger.” He ruffled her hair. Standing, he gestured to the children and asked Rhyden, “How are they?”
His partner gathered his daughter close again. “Physically? None the worse for wear. A little dehydrated, a few bruises. Hungry. Overall, not too bad.” He shrugged. “Emotionally? That’s a whole other ball of wax.”
Noah grasped Rhyden’s upper arm. He squeezed and released. “I’m glad she’s home, man.” His voice cracked. “I am so glad she’s home. I’m going to go try to talk to Cat.”
****
From his hiding spot, a seething Seamus watched Noah pass. How many lives does that son of a bitch have? Heat raced through his body. He gritted his teeth. What made you so special? Why did Grandda love you and not me?
With laser focus, he followed Noah with his gaze, searching for a weakness, a chance to attack. I wish Patrick were here. This would be easier with his help. He watched Noah approach the pretty paramedic, watched as he pleaded with her. Watched as she gave him the cold shoulder, turned him away.
So that’s how it is. Seamus bounced on his toes, felt his cheeks raise in a grin. He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out how to take advantage of his observations. He slipped out of hiding. Shoulders back, he swaggered toward the ambulances like he belonged there.
“Seamus!” A voice bellowed across the night.
He whirled about. Damn it! The pulsing roar in Seamus’s ears drowned out the background noise. His breath quickened.
Noah charged his cousin. He rammed a shoulder into Seamus’s chest, slamming him backward. Seamus gasped for breath, stumbled, and fell to one knee. Noah lashed out with his foot. Seamus dodged to the side. He grabbed the offending boot and snapped it upward. He swept Noah’s other foot out from under him, dropping him face
-first onto the ground. Seamus jumped back to his feet. He snapped his leg out, catching Noah in the side.
Noah rolled to safety. Scrambled to his hands and knees. Seamus kicked out again. This time, Noah jerked him to the ground. Wrapped his hands around Seamus’s throat and squeezed. Unrelenting pressure cut off his airway. Blackness swirled at the edges of his sight. His head pounded. He struggled to breathe. When did the broken toy get so strong? His lungs burned.
Seamus clawed at Noah’s hands, his arms. Reached up for his eyes. Noah pressed down harder. Tilted his head back out of Seamus’s grasp. Heels kicking on the ground, Seamus dropped his arms. Hands scrabbled against the ground, digging in the dirt, ripping his fingernails. He grabbed a rock. Picked it up. Slammed it against Noah’s temple. A heavy weight collapsed on top of him, the pressure on his throat thankfully released. He sucked in whooping gasps of air. Rolled Noah off him onto the ground. He delivered three brutal punches. Smiled as he felt the crunch and warm spurt of blood from Noah’s nose.
“I taught you to fight, maggot. Remember? What made you think you could take me?”
Staggering to his feet, sides heaving as he caught his breath, Seamus rubbed his neck. Stance wide and stable, he glared down at Noah. “Stay down, why don’t you?” He kicked Noah in the temple.
****
Noah crawled to his feet. Nausea dropped him to his knees, retching. Blood flowed from the wound on his head, blurring his vision with a curtain of red. The stitches in his side were torn open. Blood soaked through his shirt, sticking it to his skin.
A sharp cry echoed through the night. Noah looked up in time to see Seamus shove Cat into an unattended police unit and peel away.
“No!” A primal roar tore from his throat. With the roar, inhuman adrenaline-fueled strength flooded his system, drowning out the pain. He climbed to his feet and limped to the nearest patrol unit. Falling in, he winced as his chest bounced against the steering wheel. He thrust the seat back to accommodate his height, jerked the door closed, and raced after Seamus and Cat.
“Morgan,” Sheriff Preston called over the radio, “where the hell are you going in my county unit?”
“He’s got Cat. I’m in pursuit.”
“Who’s got Cat? Pursuit of what?”
“That bastard, Seamus Gorman. Driving a marked PD unit.”
“We’re right behind you, son. Hang in there.”
Seamus cut into the radio traffic. “Ranger Morgan, is it? Or should I call you Ferrell—Ferrell Gorman? Come on, cuz. I’ve got someone you want…again. ’Course she doesn’t want a broken toy either, does she?” he taunted in a sing-song fashion. “But hey, catch me if you can.”
Noah dropped the mic and pulled in behind the marked unit. The throaty roar of the police package engine snarled into pursuit. The speedometer edged up over eighty, eighty-five, ninety. He pressed harder on the accelerator. Ninety-five, ninety-eight, one hundred. The speed kept climbing. The rear end of the unfamiliar vehicle fish-tailed in the loose gravel. Noah fought for control, fought to keep the old memories at bay.
Seamus reached the main drag, the red-and-blue lights on top of the car clearing a path for him. He wove in and out of traffic. Noah followed, passing cars like they were standing still. The radio chattered in the background. He ignored it. No one existed in his world except for himself, Seamus, and Cat. From the corner of his eye, the telephone poles were passing by so fast they looked like a picket fence.
Faster and faster, they raced on. Noah’s heart kept pace, revving with the car’s engine. His fingers clenched the steering wheel. All he could see were the red taillights of the PD unit just out of reach. Coming up on a dead man’s curve, Noah eased off the accelerator. Not enough! He clipped a pickup truck parked on the side of the road just past the turn. The steering wheel jerked in his hands. He fought tooth and nail to keep the car on the road. The rear end started sliding.
Noah steered into the skid. Slowed a little more. Regained control. Straightening out, he mashed the accelerator pedal back to the floor. The taillights grew larger. He was closing in on them.
Seamus took the next curve too fast. He lost control. Brake lights flared. Wheels locked up, squealing and burning rubber on the pavement. Black smoke filled the air. Too little, too late. The PD unit flew off the road. With a screech of crumpling metal, the car tumbled down the hill.
Noah slid to a stop on top of the embankment. He spotted Seamus crawling from the overturned vehicle. He gained his feet and noticed Noah watching him. He took off running. Noah scrambled down the incline to intercept him. Stumbling to the bottom, he raced to Cat trapped in the car.
Hanging upside down from the seatbelt, she struggled with the latch, trying to free herself. Blood dripped from a cut on her cheek and another above her eye. The red-and-blue strobes dug into the ground still fired, reflecting off the fog, adding a surreal feel to the situation.
Noah tugged on the crushed door. He tried to assess her injuries through the unbroken window. Concern for their unborn child filled him. The blood marring her face angered him. Well, we’ll have matching scars. He tugged harder on the door handle, but the door would not budge.
Cat pressed her palm against the window glass for a brief moment before she waved him off. “Go, get the son of a bitch,” she shouted.
Noah paused, uncertain.
“Go! I’m okay. Just go.” She returned to trying to unlatch the seatbelt holding her suspended above the caved-in roof.
Noah raced across the river’s muddy bank, boots slipping on the damp rocks, chasing Seamus. Fog rolled off the river, obscuring his view.
The edge of a palm knifed at Noah’s throat. He glimpsed the calloused hand rushing at him and shifted back. It flashed past in front of him. He roared and charged Seamus, all the hate and anger and frustration of the past days powering his forward momentum. Both men hit the ground hard. Noah pounded a fist into Seamus’ side. And did it again. And again.
Gasping for air, Seamus threw Noah off and rolled to his feet. He spat blood on the ground. “That all you got? My boy hits harder than you.” He punched Noah, a powerful blow to the jaw.
Noah’s head snapped back. Crack! A tooth loosened. The two men circled one another. “Where is your son? Hiding behind his mama’s skirts?”
Seamus surged forward, throwing blow after blow. “Far away from here. You’ll never find him.”
Noah danced backward, dodging the blows. Seeing Seamus tire, the ranger rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Seamus’s waist and lifting him from the ground, ignoring the screaming pain from his ribs. Rolling the older man over his hip, Noah slammed his cousin onto the rocky ground. He trapped Seamus in a choke hold and said, “You may have taught me to fight way back then, but I’ve learned a new trick or two along the way.”
Seamus struggled, squirming and kicking, trying to break free. His motions became increasingly feeble.
Noah fought to hang on as his own strength waned. He ignored the warm, wet rush of blood running down his side. His pulse boomed in his ears.
More red-and-blue lights squalled to a stop on the road above the field. Officers swarmed down the embankment.
Noah released the choke hold, dropping the barely conscious man to the ground. A final kick to the side of Seamus’ head rendered him unconscious.
The first officers reached Noah. He gestured at his cousin. “Cuff him and stuff him.”
He rushed to the crumpled car, brushing first responders aside. “Are you okay? Cat? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” Noah tugged on the door. Still jammed. Flames flickered beneath the hood. The acrid smell of burned wires filled the air. No! I will not lose you like this.
She sawed at the seatbelt with her pocketknife. The webbed fabric stubbornly resisted her attempts to cut through it. Finally, it parted, releasing Cat from its deadly embrace. She shoved against the door from the inside. Nothing. She tried to scramble across the center console and escape out the driver’s side door, but the crushed roof and piles of police equi
pment blocked her path.
The flames danced higher. Smoke filled the interior of the car. Every sight, sound, and scent magnified in Noah’s brain. The rescue truck with the Jaws of Life was en route, but as the flames grew, time shrank. The firefighters would not arrive in time. His hands shook. He struck at the car window. Nothing.
“Hurry.” She coughed as she struggled to breathe. She fought against the door, trying to open it from the inside.
Think, Noah, think.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out his lucky spark plug. He slammed it against the glass, shattering the window. He raked it around the edges of the window, scraping out the broken glass. Reaching in, he grabbed Cat with both hands and tugged her free of the car. Together, they collapsed in a heap on the ground. Heat from the growing flames urged them back to their feet. They stumbled away from the vehicle. First responders rushed to them, helping them walk, wrapping them in blankets. Others sprayed the burning vehicle with fire extinguishers.
Noah wrapped her in his embrace, burying his face in her neck. He inhaled her scent—the jasmine sandalwood that always reminded him of her was wrapped in the smoky sulfur-ish tang of burning rubber. He clung to her so tight he couldn’t tell her trembling from his own. Without warning, he released her and dropped to his knees.
Alarmed, she dropped to her knees beside him. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” She ran her hands over his body, assessing him for trauma.
Noah took her hands in his own and gazed deeply into her eyes. “Catalina Maria Ramos,” he said, “my name is Noah Ferrell Gorman Morgan. I love you more than life itself. Will you marry me?”
A word about the author…
A sixth-generation Texan with Scottish roots, Glenda Thompson can “bless your heart” with the best of them.
As a former emergency medical technician married to a South Texas lawman, she’s used insider information from both their careers as inspiration to build her Broken world of Texas Rangers with hidden pasts and dark secrets.
Broken Toys Page 25