Kill Zone (Danger in Arms, Book 2)

by Cindy Dees

  Someone had found them here. Someone with nerve gas and a desire to kill them. Someone who was probably still nearby, given how recently the cat had died. Her brain scrambled futilely for some idea of who the assailant might be.

  “We gotta get outta here, Amanda. Now.”

  He was right. They didn’t have time to lie here, staring at a dead cat. “All our critical gear’s already in the car,” she murmured. “Let’s crawl over to it and gun our way out of here. Do you want to drive or shoot?”

  He grinned briefly. “I better drive. You’re the best damned shooter I’ve ever seen.”

  Amanda couldn’t spare time to be pleased by the compliment right now, but she filed it away for later. “Let’s go.”

  They belly crawled over to the Land Rover. A nod to each other underneath it and they eased upright, climbing into the vehicle quietly.

  Amanda eased a pair of pistols and three of the four rifles out of their bags. She lay the spares on the floor of the Land Rover and propped the barrel of an AK-47 semiautomatic assault rifle out the window. It was modified to hold an extended clip and fully loaded, which it was, could fire two hundred rounds before needing a reload. She met Taylor’s gaze and was fiercely glad to see only determination in his crystalline gaze. Thank God he wasn’t buckling in fear.

  Taylor started the car. He drove around the well and slowly approached the gate. “Hang on, baby. Here we go,” he growled as he stomped on the gas.

  The Land Rover shot forward, flying through the gate like a bullet. It went airborne as it hit a rut and flung her up into the air. She slammed down hard, jarring her whole body. She barely managed to hang on to the rifle.

  And then a rattling sound came from her right. Machine gun fire. The metallic tear of bullets through the skin of the car. She pivoted and returned fire, spraying the whole section of woods just outside the monastery’s entrance. Another rut. They sailed through the air. And slammed back down to the ground.

  Amanda fired again. A burst of return fire and she adjusted her aim to the left. Maybe a second shooter, or she’d misjudged the first round of hostile fire. Either way, she raked the second position with a hail of lead. Taylor careened around the first turn down the mountain, and the rattle of gunfire stopped. The Land Rover began to slow.

  “Gun it,” Amanda shouted. “They’ll follow us!”

  Taylor slammed the accelerator down, and they flew down the mountain at a suicidal pace, even by her standards. How he managed to wrestle two tons of bucking, sliding machine down the mountain without flipping it over was beyond her. But soon, they shot out onto the main road.

  “Go right,” Amanda commanded as they reached the first intersection. Taylor screeched around the corner, pointing the Land Rover toward the village. Of course, they were leaving behind a plume of dust that guaranteed their pursuers would follow them accurately, but she had an idea.

  Amanda watched tensely behind them as Taylor kept the pedal to the metal and they flew away from their would-be killers. His mad rush down the mountain seemed to have bought them some time. That and their attackers would have to uncover their vehicle before they could give chase.

  “Where to?” Taylor asked as they approached a cluster of ramshackle stucco buildings.

  “The auto shop. It’s ahead on the right,” she directed.

  It was hard to miss. A dozen cars and trucks in various states of disrepair were parked haphazardly around it. Taylor pulled up and cut the engine. Amanda jumped out, purse in hand. A young man stepped outside, wiping his hands on a blue paper towel. Just the guy she was looking for. The owner’s son. If anybody in town was going to have a fast car, it was this kid.

  In Spanish she said, “I need to rent a car. The fastest one in town.”

  “No cars for rent here, lady,” the kid replied, surly.

  “Wanna bet?” she asked smoothly. She opened her purse and took out a fat wad of American greenbacks. The kid’s eyes bulged as she thumbed through the stack of hundred-dollar bills. “Two thousand dollars for the car for two days.”

  “Three grand,” the kid countered. “For one day.”

  “Done,” she answered promptly. She peeled off the money and tucked the rest back in her pocket. She held out her free hand. “Keys.”

  The kid fished in his pocket and tossed her a set. “Silver Porsche Carrera. Around back. Don’t look like much, but she’s the fastest thing this side of the border.”

  “Thanks.” Amanda stuffed the wad of bills into his hand and called to Taylor, “Let’s go!”

  They grabbed their bags and raced behind the shop. The Porsche did look like it had run the Paris-Dakar road rally a few times. They managed to cram their gear into the back, and Taylor took the wheel. Amanda climbed in to the passenger seat while he jackknifed his long legs into the car.

  “Time to go,” she urged.

  “You got it, partner,” Taylor replied, grinning.

  “You’re having fun?” she asked in surprise.

  His grin broadened. “Didn’t you know driving a fast sports car gives a guy a hard-on?”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “No, I didn’t. I only knew they were the next best thing to a turbo-powered vibrator.”

  Taylor laughed as he turned the ignition. The motor rumbled to life, growling hungrily for speed. “Oh, yeah,” he commented. “This baby will fly.”

  “It better. Our lives depend on it.”

  He pulled out of the parking lot. “Where to?”

  “East. You drive while I make a phone call. Oh, and keep an eye out for a couple guys in a late-model SUV driving fast.”

  “Our attackers?” Taylor asked. “Why an SUV?”

  “Sarin is sensitive to extreme heat. Direct sunlight would heat it up too much, so it would have to be inside a vehicle, probably one with air conditioning. Canisters of nerve gas and a couple machine guns would take a fair bit of room, too, not to mention you wouldn’t want to be seen driving around with those kind of toys slung in the back of a truck.”

  Taylor guided the car out of town. “Makes sense. Are these guys likely to follow us?”

  Amanda shrugged. “Probably. But I highly doubt they can match the speed of this car. We’ll lose them in a couple hours. Long before we reach the coast and lose ourselves among the tourists.”

  She punched out a phone number from memory and prayed there was cell phone coverage in this remote area. It was scratchy, but the call went through. A female voice picked up the line. When Amanda identified herself and asked for Xavier, the woman said nastily, “You have caused my father a great deal of trouble.”

  But then the old man’s voice came on the line.

  “What’s up?” she asked. “What do you have for us on the guy in the picture I gave you?”

  Xavier answered with unaccustomed nervousness, “That picture has turned out to be—how do you say it?—a hot potato. I am afraid I have stirred up a hornet’s nest.”

  “Talk to me,” she urged. “Someone just tried to kill us and we’re running for our lives here.”

  “As am I, querida,” he murmured.

  She waited in grim silence for the rest of it.

  “I can get you what you need to know of this man. But it comes with a price. A high one.”

  Foreboding rolled over her. “How high?” she asked.

  “I can get you the information you need from a source of mine. However, he needs a favor done first. There’s a man in Cozumel he needs killed.”

  “Killed! We don’t do that sort of thing,” she exclaimed.

  “I am sorry. That is his price.”

  Desperation clawed at her. She had to know who was after her, and she knew the man in the spectacles was the key to it. “Isn’t there someone else you can talk to? Someone else who knows who this guy is?” she asked urgently.

  Xavier answered regretfully. “The fact that nobody knows of or will speak about this man is informative. His very anonymity tells me he is dangerous and powerful in the extreme. Be careful if you would tang
le with him, Amanda.”

  She laughed without humor. “That’s the idea. I need to find out who he is so I can get out of his way.”

  “Then you must pay the price my source demands.”

  She was silent for several seconds. “I’m not saying I’ll do it, but who does he want killed?”

  The car swerved as Taylor jerked spasmodically. Hell, she’d be rattled too if she heard him say something like that.

  “His name is Maldonado.”

  “Viktor Maldonado?” she asked in disbelief.

  “You know him?” Xavier replied in surprise.

  “Of course. He controls practically every drop of oil that leaves Mexico. Word has it he’s as corrupt as they come.”

  “Word is right,” Xavier commented sourly.

  “His security has to be outrageous,” she speculated.

  “Oh, it is. The standard techniques for assassination have all failed on him. He wears head-to-toe body armor at all times, surrounds himself with a mob of the best mercenaries money can buy, and he all but owns the Mexican police.”

  “And your source thinks we can take him out?”

  “No. But I do,” Xavier answered quietly.

  “We’ll have to think about this,” she told him.

  “Time is short, Amanda. My contact is very nervous.”

  She answered grimly, “We’ll be in touch.”

  Thirteen

  Amanda stared at the moonlit waves lapping gently upon the wide strip of white beach. She buried her toes in the still warm sand and looked down at Taylor, stretched out beside her on a blanket. There was nothing like a good moral crisis to ruin a perfectly beautiful evening. “What are you thinking?” she asked him.

  Taylor half smiled. “Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to ask that question?”

  “Not this time.” Amanda wasn’t about to let him duck answering her. “Should we do the job?”

  He shrugged. “I’m sure that between us we could pull it off.”

  “That’s not the issue and you know it,” she snapped.

  He sat up, his big shoulders blocking the moon hanging low on the horizon. “No, it isn’t,” he answered evenly. “The issue is whether or not to kill someone else to save your life.”

  She stared at him in frustration. “So? What do you think?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m not the one whose neck is on the line. You’re going to have to make this decision by yourself. What do you think?”

  She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Stop doing that answer-a-question-with-a-question psychologist thing with me! If I decide to go ahead with it, will you help me or bail out on the job?”

  Taylor looked keenly at her, his eye sockets fathomless black caverns in his shadowed face. He looked like a mask of death. She shuddered, blinking away the image. “Amanda, I decided a long time ago that I wouldn’t abandon you, regardless of what happened. I haven’t changed my mind.”

  A flood of old emotions rushed over her. The crushing loneliness after her mother died, the creeping helplessness of watching her father slip away from her into his own private hell. The agony of standing on the steps of her boarding school, watching her father drive away into the gray rain, knowing in her heart that he was never coming back. Her heart welcomed Taylor’s words, but her mind doubted his sincerity. “Does that mean you’ll help me with the job?” she challenged.

  “It means that I won’t leave no matter what decision you make. Whether I do or don’t agree with what you do is irrelevant. I’m in this with you for the long haul.”

  A nonanswer in the current context, but maybe enough. A lot more than enough in the larger sense. But still, her disquiet remained. She realized she’d been hoping he’d lose the stomach for descending into her world. That he’d take the high ground. Tell her flatly not to even consider killing Maldonado. Disappointment coursed through her. She stood up abruptly and slogged through the sand to their hotel. The night air was cooling off fast, and a chill danced across her skin.

  It was done. Taylor’s corruption was complete. She had led a decent man into lawlessness. She had to give him credit for coming up with a clever way to avoid actually hurting his victim in Mexico City, but he’d stepped across the line.

  At her prodding, he’d gone to a mental place where he’d seriously consider taking another human being’s life. She’d made him a criminal. She’d never allowed herself to call it that before, but crime it was. Why, in all the jobs she’d done for Devereaux, had she never seen it for what it was? The revelation struck her like a physical blow.

  How could this one man’s noncommittal attitude about her current dilemma bring remorse to her when all those reprehensible acts in her past could not? Because Taylor’s eyes had become a silver-blue mirror reflecting the emptiness in her own soul.

  She stopped in her tracks. Had she taught him that coldness? She closed her eyes, her father’s harsh code filling her mind. Be hard. Do not feel. Survive at all costs. But a corner of her heart rebelled. Was the price of survival too high?

  She squelched the feeling and took several deep breaths, concentrating on blanking her mind of all thought. She resumed walking toward the hotel, her mental balance precariously restored. Pleading a headache, she retired early, unable to bear the strain of hiding her ravaged emotions from Taylor’s discerning eyes any longer.

  Taylor looked up from breakfast as Amanda came into the room, red faced and panting. His gut churned with apprehension. He had to let her fight her way through this choice alone. “Work anything out on your run?” he asked casually.

  “I decided I like being alive.”

  “That’s a start,” he commented. In fact, it was much more than that. Time was, when he first met her, he wasn’t sure she did want to live. “Any other revelations?”

  “I was wondering if there’s another solution, like your note on that guy’s chest. Something that might stop Maldonado without my having to kill him.”

  Taylor nodded thoughtfully. “It’s worth a try. Did you have anything in mind?”

  “Not yet. I thought I’d set up surveillance on him and see what I can come up with. Maybe he’s got a weakness somewhere.”

  He asked quietly, “Need any help?”

  Amanda’s smile unfolded like a flower, grateful for the touch of the sun. “Absolutely.”

  Their gazes met in warm communication. She’d passed the test on her own and he’d acknowledged her breakthrough. He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. She returned the pressure.

  Breaking the spell of the moment, she said briskly, “We’d better get to work, then, partner.”

  Damn, it felt good to hear her call him that.

  Maldonado was easy to find. The guy flashed his wealth and power all over Cancun, where he had a winter home. That, and he never went out without a veritable army of security. The phalanx of thugs around their target made Amanda nervous. She had a bad feeling about messing with this guy. But her neck was on the line here.

  She pressed past her intuition, searching for some chink in this guy’s armor where she could get a hook into him and make him stop his illegal activities. Without killing him, of course. Had she still been operating alone, she might have seriously considered taking up the offer from Xavier’s contact.

  But when she thought about looking Taylor in the eye after she took a contract for cold-blooded murder—there was nothing to think about. She could never face him if she did something like that. Unfortunately, she needed the contact’s information if they were going to pick up the trail of diamonds again.

  They’d been following Maldonado for about a week when, for a second time, she found herself lying on the roof of an apartment building across the street from the Hotel Coronado. It was an outrageously swanky resort, rumored to run a high-stakes, illegal casino operation that was politely ignored by the very well-compensated local police.

  “What’s he’s doing in there, do you suppose?” Taylor murmured.

  Amanda
glanced over at him, relishing the heat of his hard body against hers. “I’d guess gambling. But I expect we’d do well to find out for certain,” she replied.

  “There,” Taylor announced. “He’s coming out.”

  She glanced at her watch. Same time as last week. He’d arrived in the hotel at about 8:00 p.m. and stayed till 1:00 a.m. sharp. She put the binoculars to her eyes, tweaking the focus to bring the hotel entrance into view. And lurched violently. A man, one of Maldonado’s thugs, was staring straight back at her through a pair of his own binoculars. She watched in horror as he said something and pointed up at their position. She swore and barked, “We’ve been made!”

  Taylor jumped up, yanking her to her feet. “Plan B?” he grunted as he took off running.

  “Oh, yeah,” she ground out as she sprinted beside him.

  They raced past the stairwell leading down from the roof and headed for the back of the building. They slammed clips onto the climbing harnesses they already wore and, as one, leaped off the side of the building.

  Amanda fell for a good thirty feet before the brake on her rope engaged, yanking her down against the side of the building. She flipped over and rappelled downward with a low, zinging hum of nylon rope on metal. Taking huge, multistory leaps way outside the boundaries of safety, her feet hit the ground a split second after Taylor’s. She ripped the clip off her harness and turned to run for her life. And came face-to-face with a pair of Uzi machine guns and two seriously pissed-off-looking bodyguards. She flailed her arms for a moment, screeching to an abrupt halt beside Taylor.

  A man in a gray wool suit walked forward out of the shadows behind the two thugs. Maldonado. He said in Spanish, “Perhaps you would like to tell me why you’ve been following me. Give me a good story,” he purred, “or you won’t walk out of this alley alive.”

  Oh, Lord. Taylor didn’t speak more than a few words of Spanish. It was up to her to save their skins. She thought fast. “We’re photojournalists. We’ve been trying to get a story on you.”

  “Who do you work for?” Maldonado demanded around a fat, smelly cigar.