"He's a coward. Hangs back and lets his men take all the risks. He'll try to bug out now," DJ said.
"I agree," Tara said. "He has to know we've called for backup."
"He can try to leave, but he's not going to get away." DJ stroked the barrel of the Remington. "Me and your trusty rifle will see to that. Oops, someone just sent me a text message." She checked her phone. "Hoo-rah. Ace says he and Price are only five-to-ten minutes out. They'll be coming in hot."
"Good. Uh-oh, looks like the fuckers are getting restless." Tara braced her assault rifle on the small lip of the roof.
DJ put her eye back to her scope. "Ugly-looking motherfuckers. Hairy and not in a good Jason Momoa way. Aww, they're so cute. They think they're gonna take one of the firefighters' choppers. Not gonna happen."
Tara laid down fire in two-shot bursts in between the men and the helicopters. The men shot back wildly. DJ shot one man in the arm, causing him to drop his weapon. Another guy picked it up and dragged the man back into the safety of the hangar.
DJ looked at Tara and gave her a fist bump. "So, what do you think they'll try next?"
Tara shrugged and checked her rifle's magazine. "Depends. They could go out the back of the hangar and try to escape across open ground to the main airport and steal a vehicle. But I imagine the Grangeville airport security has been alerted." She gave DJ an evil smile. "We just proved to them, that taking the helicopters is a deadly option. They could try to run out of here, but—"
"Their clock is getting shorter. Soon our guys, Ren and his team, and Dan and whatever other local law enforcement that was in the area will be covering the area like white on rice," DJ said. "Sounds like a win for the good guys is inevitable."
"Maybe." Tara frowned. "Or they could be hunkering down and planning a surprise for anyone responding to our call."
"What do you mean?" DJ asked.
"Not many are aware that the National Guard still stores weapons here—in a small armory in the hangar," Tara said. "Even now, Gaither could be breaking into it."
"Shit." DJ pulled out her phone and relayed that message to Ren so he could warn the other responders.
Tara texted Price. She wasn't sure she could keep the fear for him out of her voice if she called him.
* * * *
In the air
Price looked at the text Tara had sent him. "Our women chased the fuckers into one of the hangars. Hell. The hangar has some National Guard weapons stored in it."
"Ya think portable ground-to-air missiles?" Tweeter asked.
"Maybe. Not going to count that possibility out. Besides if they even find .50 caliber rifles, it'll be bad news."
"Price, get ready to shoot some assholes if they even think about messing up my brand-new Bell. Hell, I haven't even had the chance to wear off the new helicopter smell yet."
"Roger that." Price moved back to the passenger seats. He put on a harness and hooked onto the rigging SSI had added to their custom package. He put on goggles, made sure his assault rifle and extra magazines were within reach, then slid the door open. Over the intra-cabin com, he said, "I'm in place. If they aim anything more than a handgun at us, I'll take the fuckers out. You just get us on the roof."
"Roger that. Gonna take one wide swing around the Center grounds to get a lay of the land and to check out the roof's landing surface, so be ready for unfriendlies. Once I see what I have to work with as far as the roof, on my second pass I'll go in for a landing."
Price had full faith in Tweeter's ability to put this bird anywhere he needed it to go.
As far as Price was concerned, the sooner he could see that Tara was really all right, the better. Being in love with a strong, independent woman was going to give him gray hair and an ulcer. But he'd go white and take antacids happily for the rest of his life just as long as he had her in that life—alive and unhurt.
"Going in," Tweeter alerted. "Oh, yeah, there's our Hawk. And there's some butt-ugly morons poking their heads out of an open hanger door." Tweeter cursed. "Fuck—oh no you don't."
"I see the asshole. It's Gaither." Price took aim and sent a controlled sweep of bullets toward the man who'd dared to aim a rifle at the Bell. Gaither dropped his rifle and clutched his shoulder as he scurried back into the hanger. "Got him."
"Good." Tweeter flew the Bell over the top of the hangars and over the training areas, then circled back around to make the landing run. "Roof is more than big enough for the Bell. Get ready for a fast approach and landing."
Price kept an eye on the ground and watched for the unexpected. And he found it. Someone had exited the back of the hangar and was taking aim. "Bogie at two o'clock. Shit, a fucking RPG. Evasive action." He could almost feel the man on the ground's sense of triumph and glee as the asshole thought he had a slam dunk at taking them down.
Tweeter aborted the landing run and took the Bell up fast, taking evasive maneuvers to throw off the shooter's aim.
Moving with Tweeter's side-to-side maneuvers, Price trusted in the harness and leaned out to get a bead on the asshole with the RPG. This time he wasn't playing around. He went full-on automatic, pulled the trigger, and didn't let up until the danger to him and Tweeter was eliminated. The man and the RPG now lay on the ground—in pieces.
RIP, motherfucker.
"Good shooting, buddy." Tweeter took them out over the highway, made the wide turn, and lined them up with the barracks building.
Price used the scope on his rifle and found their women. They looked good and as safe as houses. But still, he'd feel better being there.
"Land before some other asshat comes out and tries to finish what the other guy started," Price said.
"That's the plan." Tweeter put the Bell on the roof, in the middle and slightly toward the backside of the building. "Get the gals inside. I'll be there as soon as I shut this bird down."
After unhooking the harness, Price grabbed the medical bag from where it was anchored to the wall of the chopper. Ren had told them there were injured in the building.
As the chopper powered down, he leapt out of the passenger door and ran, hunched down, under and away from the slowing rotors. Tara and DJ were crouched by the roof entrance, their heads down and covering their eyes to protect them from the flying dust and debris from the wash of the rotors.
Price went straight to Tara, knelt by her, and pulled her into his arms. She held onto him, burying her face in the angle where his neck met his shoulder.
Rubbing his cheek over the side of her head, he spoke into her ear. "Fuck, baby. You okay? Fuck me. I thought I'd die before I got to your side."
"Dahlia Jane Walsh. You're fucking bleeding. Again."
Tweeter's roar almost drowned out Price's pulse pounding like an air hammer in his ears.
Price lifted his head and scanned Tara's face. "You've been hit." He gently touched her cheek and her jaw. "Ren said nothing."
"DJ didn't tell him. And it's nothing." Tara covered his hand and held it against her face. "Just some plaster and cement shards. I've gotten worse shaving my legs."
"Bullshit." Price snorted. "Let's get inside and treat you and DJ."
He glanced over at Tweeter who had DJ on his lap. The man was rocking her back and forth as he lightly touched a bloody rip on her jeans with shaking hands.
Price shook his head. "Tweeter flew that chopper while a bad motherfucker aimed an RPG at us and didn't break a sweat. Look at him now. Shaking like an aspen in the wind."
"Price," Tara lifted her head and stroked his face, "DJ and I are fine," her breath hitched, "but there are ten good men who need Narcan and emergency care now."
"Ren told me." Price got up and pulled her up. "The field medical kit in the Bell has two doses of Narcan. We'll triage the worst two cases and inject them. Help should be here soon. I can hear the sirens now."
"Good. I couldn't rouse any of them." Tears filled her golden eyes. "I felt so helpless. They could die because—"
"Gaither's a low-life, scum-sucking sociopathic bastard."
Price gave her a quick kiss then glanced over at Tweeter and DJ who held each other as if they'd never let go. "Hell, he's never gonna let her out of the house until after she has their baby."
"Yes, he will," DJ replied. "I refuse to be a prisoner. Let's move." She pulled out her sat phone. "Ren—"
As DJ gave Ren an update on the status of the men hiding out in the hangar, Price placed Tara next to the roof doorway. "Stay back and let me clear the way. You two have done enough for the day. Let Tweeter and I take care of you now."
Leaning against the wall, Tara nodded. DJ came to stand next to her.
"It'll be all clear," Tara said. "Gaither and the men in the hangar never had a chance to get into the building once we'd set up on the roof. We made sure of that."
Price shot his warrior-woman a grin, then entered the stairwell.
* * * *
Later
Tara sat in Operations and watched the GAC operations staff that had come in to reestablish communications with the deployed firefighters. The crews out in the wild had reported the lack of communications with the Center and kept on fighting without the benefit of information on changing conditions. Luckily none of the fires had blown up.
Ren and the SSI crew backed up by Dan and some of his deputies had taken down Gaither and the three men with him after shooting tear gas into the hangar, then nabbing the men as they tried to escape.
"Darlin'—" DJ squeezed Tweeter's hand as they sat side-by-side on a small, ratty couch, often used by Operations' staff to take catnaps during a fire where all hands were on 24/7. "My stomach is growling. Our baby's hungry and so am I. Tara's granola bars only staved off the worst of the hunger pangs. I need real food."
"So do I." Tara looked at Price who sat on the arm of the chair in which she sat. "DJ and I left Sanctuary before lunchtime. We were going to put down near Ma's and have lunch there, but then we walked into a hornet's nest."
"Dan wants to talk to you both, as do the Feds and the State Police," Price said. "Ren wants us to head back to Sanctuary. The law enforcement types can come there to talk to you. Ren told them to wait about two hours. That should give you enough time to eat and get cleaned up."
Before the EMTs had arrived, Price had treated Tara's small wounds. DJ had refused to be transported to the Grangeville hospital, but had let Tweeter, who'd sworn like a Marine, clean and put a dressing on the bullet burn on her hip and steri-strips on her forehead.
"I, for one, would love a shower," Tara said, "after I eat. First, I want some of Scotty's chili and cornbread."
"Oh-h-h, yum, now I want that, too." DJ rubbed her stomach which made a loud growling sound.
Everyone laughed.
Price nuzzled Tara's ear. "We'll take that shower together so I can check you over more thoroughly, just to make sure there aren't any other wounds you forgot to tell me or the EMT about."
"There aren't. I swear." Tara shivered. "But I'll let you check me all over all you want—after we eat."
"Got that, baby. Not getting between you and your chili." Price's eyes heated even as he chuckled. He then kissed her ear before turning to look at Tweeter. "We'll take the Hawk the gals flew here."
Tweeter nodded. "Vanko can fly the Bell."
Price turned to Tara. "Let me help you with the gear from your locker, firefly."
"That would be nice." Tara sensed his need to do something.
Price picked up the duffle and used the straps to wear it like a backpack. He slung the assault rifle over his shoulder and grabbed the handle of the sniper rifle case.
"Come on, Tara. Let's go home." He held out his hand.
It was nice to be taken care of. She took his hand and they headed for the door where DJ stood with Tweeter. They exited Operations and walked toward the Hawk.
Off to one side of the heli-pad, a gurney bearing Gaither was being lifted onto an air ambulance. Price's shots had torn up his shoulder and he needed surgery. Gaither's wounded associates were being loaded into Grangeville Fire Department ambulances and were under guard. The non-wounded attackers had already been transported to the Idaho County Sheriff Department's holding cells until the Feds and the local prosecutors fought over who had ultimate jurisdiction.
Price leaned down and whispered into her ear. "Dan is having a hissy. We and his men did all the work—again—and the Feds are taking over because it happened on GAC grounds. He told me if the Idaho County Prosecutor didn't fight to try Gaither and his minions under Idaho law first, Dan's going to post signs with the prosecutor's picture, calling him a wussy-assed coward who doesn't stand up to get justice for the citizens who elected him. And I'll help him."
Tara laughed. Her life had looked up the day she decided to move to the middle-of-nowhere Idaho. Yeah, some serious shit had happened, and more could be on its way, but she wasn't alone anymore. She had a man she loved and who loved her—and she had a team. A gal couldn't ask for anything more than that.
Chapter 19
Tuesday, July 14th
The Lodge great room was filled with the sound of laughter and good-natured ribbing as Price was joined by Ren, Tweeter, Vanko, and Trey for a game of Seven Card Stud. The men had enjoyed steaks and grilled vegetables cooked by Scotty and now sipped single malt scotch or beer, depending on each man's preference. Tara and the other guys' wives were at Trey and Fee's house, having a girls' spa night with wine and snacks.
While he missed the intimacy of preparing supper and the clean up afterwards with Tara, it was nice to relax and shoot the shit with his friends. The two weeks since Gaither had been taken down had been hectic. Between SSI missions and fighting small fires with the Grangeville crew and being on alert for Miller to rear his ugly head, everyone needed a break.
Taking a peek at his cards once again, he eyed Ren. "I'll see you and raise you another ten." He threw in some chips. "Whatcha gonna do, buddy?"
Ren eyed him. "You're bluffing."
"It's gonna cost you to find out." Price had played many a game of poker with Ren when they served on the same SEAL team and lots more since Price had come to work for SSI. And Price would swear Ren had shit cards.
Grumbling, Ren threw in some chips. "I call, you asshole."
Price spread his cards. "Full house. Aces and tens."
"You suck." Ren took a drink of beer as Price raked in his winnings.
"You both suck." Trey sat next to his brother. "Vanko, Tweeter, and I have barely won ten hands between us.
"Yeah, Vanko and I want to challenge you to a chess match and put money on it," Tweeter said.
"Not stupid here, Tweeter," Price said. "You two would clean the floor with me on chess. Plus, it's boring."
Tweeter threw a corn chip at Price who snagged it out of the air and ate it. "Thanks, I was hungry."
Ren shuffled and began to deal. "So, how's it going co-habbing with Tara? You guys finding a rhythm?"
"It's great." Price smiled. "I can see why all you married guys took the plunge."
"So? Have you talked about wedding dates yet?" Trey asked. "Also when are you going to tell your parents? Fee wants to know."
"Fee can damn well ask me herself."
"Tone, Price," Trey warned. "Fee loves you both. She wants to help with the wedding plans."
Price blew out a breath. "Sorry, that's my insecurity talking, making me act like an asshole."
"What the fuck do you have to be insecure about?" Tweeter said. "DJ said Tara's all kittens and roses about your life together. The woman is crazy about you. Plus, you're crazy about her. I've never seen you like this about any woman you've been with in the past."
That's because he hadn't ever loved any woman before, just wanted them.
"I'm worried about her. She's still having nightmares about Miller. Some of the dreams overlap with shit that happened in Afghanistan." Price sorted his hand and anted up two chips. "When I try to talk about setting a date, about our future, she changes the subject. So that's where my insecurity is coming from. I'm trying to be patient and not mov
e any faster than I already have. But I want to marry her and start a family. Then I look at the fact I met her two and a half months ago, and she only agreed to marry me about a month ago. Plus"—he blew out a frustrated breath—"a lot of serious shit has happened in the time since we've met and I don't want to add to her stress."
"That seems to be an SSI tradition," Vanko said. "Elana and I met under dangerous circumstances that moved our relationship forward a lot faster than most couples." Vanko paused to bet, then added, "I think you'll find that Tara, like the other SSI women, will process the general stress in her life much better if she's not also stressing about her future with you."
"So, you're saying I should suggest we marry now." Price glanced over at Tweeter and could tell the tech whiz kid had a good hand, so he threw his in. "I bought a ring. Got it last week when I had to fly to Coeur d'Alene to follow up on the bank security job."
"Do it," Ren urged as he called Tweeter's raise. "And Price, it's understandable she's having nightmares. Miller is still at large."
"You're right. She says it helps that I'm there to support her through them, but I still hate it." The others rumbled their agreement. Each of their wives had their own nightmares and the men had dealt with them. Now it was Price's turn. "What's the latest on the man I'm gonna kill, but only after I cut off his balls?"
Trey whistled. "What brought that on? The last few times we discussed Miller you weren't quite so feral. Not that I'm saying you shouldn't want to emasculate the fucker."
Riffling through his impressive stack of chips, Price pondered how much to share. Landing on the side of being just informative enough, but still protecting Tara's privacy, he finally answered, "Tara's shared more about her time spent under Miller's abuse. I'm amazed she even lets me near her, let alone make love with her. I'm still not sure how she found the strength to overcome the sex slavers, rescue the other women on the ship, and get them all to safety." He growled. "So, cutting off Miller's balls is the least of what I'd like to do."
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