Chapter Two
She wasn’t even sure if she was headed in the right direction.
It was hard to see through the swelling in her right eye, and even then, driving at night had always been dicey. Maggie tightened her aching hands on the steering wheel. The split over her middle knuckle protested with the change in grip, but it felt as though the SUV would rock backward from the uneven landscape at this speed.
Maggie checked the rearview mirror. Dirt kicked up in the back window. She couldn’t see anything. That didn’t matter. She’d escaped. She’d survived against the odds. She didn’t know how. Licking at dry lips, she directed her attention out the windshield. Served the cartel right for keeping the keys in the vehicle. She only hoped there wasn’t some kind of locater device they could use to track her down. Because this wasn’t over. El Capitan wouldn’t stop until she took his secret to her grave.
“You can ditch the car when you get back to the city.” Verbally guiding herself through overwhelming to-do lists had always helped. Though some pep talks didn’t work as well as others, so she had to act logically. “Okay. A plan. You need a plan. You can’t go back to the apartment. Can’t use your cards or phone. Don’t make this easy for them.”
She had to get a hold of Bodhi. Her editor at American Military News would know what to do, who to contact. How to get the story out. She could tell him where she’d hidden the photos of the ambush. Once they went public, the cartel wouldn’t have any reason to keep coming after her. They’d be trying to cover their own asses. “It’s a start.”
If the cartel had left the keys in the ignition, maybe they’d left a phone, too. She kept her attention on the minimal spread of landscape ahead and searched for the latch on the middle console. The lid popped back on its hinges, but from what she could feel with one hand, there was nothing but a pistol and a plastic baggie of something that smelled like death.
The gun would at least come in handy, though she’d never handled one in her life.
Maggie blinked through the burn of tears. Endless days of torture should’ve left her dehydrated, but it seemed she still had a bit left to give. Flashes of pain, of not being able to breathe, of the feeling her stomach was eating itself echoed through her. Swiping at her face, she straightened as dim lighting peppered through the lower corner of the windshield.
What was that? A town? For as much as fourth grade geography taught her about her home state, she didn’t have a clue as to what was out here in the middle of the desert. “Pull it together, Caddel. You’re not out of the woods yet.”
Heading straight for the nearest town was a rookie move. But the promise of food, water, a change of clothes and maybe a shower gutted her from the inside. Hotels would be the first place El Capitan and his merry band of assholes would look when they realized she wasn’t dead.
Why wasn’t she dead?
She let the question dissipate as she angled the SUV toward the lights. A road would appear sooner or later. Right? The town—she didn’t know its name—seemed to sit between two large walls of cliffs. Protected from outsiders. Given the amount of lights, there couldn’t be more than a few hundred residents. There was a chance one of them would take pity on her. “In and out. Get what you need and push through.”
The interior of the SUV went dark.
Maggie pried her clammy grip from the steering wheel, pushing herself back into the driver’s seat as the engine cut out. She was slowing down. The accelerator wasn’t responding. “What? No. No, no, no. Don’t do this to me. Please don’t do this to me.”
The SUV rolled to a stop then inched backward. She shoved her foot onto the brake. The headlights flickered before dying completely. Surrounded by darkness, she couldn’t see anything other than the few lights of the town ahead. At least a mile away.
Maggie twisted the key in the ignition, but there was only a rhythmic click. She didn’t understand. There’d been at least a half tank of gas according to the meter on the dashboard. Panic launched up her throat, hot as acid and just as suffocating. She couldn’t stay here. She had to keep moving. Had to stay a step ahead of the cartel.
Fumbling for the door handle, she tried to shoulder out of the vehicle. But the lock wouldn’t disengage. She pulled at the latch, immediately thwarted as the vehicle locked her back in.
Understanding hit. She hadn’t run out of gas. The car had been killed remotely. Maggie climbed free from the driver’s seat, launching herself to the passenger side. The door wouldn’t open. She climbed over the console and into the second row of seats, but neither of the doors nor the cargo hatch would release. Slamming her hand against the glass, she felt as though the walls were closing in. “Let me out!”
She was trapped. A sitting duck. Waiting for the slaughter. El Capitan must’ve learned she’d escaped. Must’ve figured out she’d taken one of his vehicles and killed the engine before she had a chance to disappear. Desperate men did desperate things. “Okay. You can do this.”
Maggie forced herself to take a deep breath. Pressing her palm into the warm glass, she closed her eyes. The door locks might serve whatever master command had been installed to keep her here, but the windows wouldn’t. Interior carpeting caught on the healing skin of one knee as she felt for something—anything—she could use to break through the glass.
“There’s nothing here.” This didn’t make sense. Not even a tire iron or emergency kit? Every car she’d ever bought had come with a spare and a jack. Sangre por Sangre was one of the most dangerous drug cartels in the entire country. They smuggled thousands of kilos of drugs across borders and avoided police detection. It was their job to figure out every nook and cranny in a vehicle and use it to its best potential. Hiding spaces. There had to be... Her fingers fit into a crack between the vehicle’s frame and the seemingly solid floor. There.
Climbing back into the second row of seats, she pulled up the cargo cover she’d knelt on. “Holy hell.” An entire arsenal of weapons gleamed in the muted moonlight cutting through the back window. “That should work.”
Maggie grabbed what looked like a shotgun and let the cargo cover fall back into place. Okay. It was already loaded. All she had to do was point it at the window and pull the trigger, right? Simple enough. She braced the butt of the gun against her shoulder and slipped her finger over the trigger.
A knock punctured the silence. “I believe you have something of mine.”
Her finger squeezed the trigger, and the gun hit back into her shoulder. The pain knocked the air from her lungs, and Maggie collapsed onto the center console between the front seats. Something burnt and acidic charged deep into her lungs as it filled the SUV’s interior. She tried to cough it up, but the fumes were too heavy. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest as she gulped for oxygen. She cleared her head enough to see that the shotgun hadn’t broken through the glass.
“Yeah. You should know that’s reinforced bulletproof glass. It’s going to take a lot more to get through it than a single shot.” Movement registered from the driver’s side of the vehicle. “I’m going to unlock the doors, all right? I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot me.”
“Come any closer and I will.” That voice. She’d heard it before. Maggie scrambled to match it with the catalog she’d made over the course of the past few days in hell, but it wasn’t fitting. Her nervous system had reached its all-time panic mode. She couldn’t go back. She couldn’t take another round of interrogation. She had to get out of here. By any means necessary. Sweat beaded in her hairline and made her bloody, tattered clothes feel too tight. “Just stay back. Let me think.”
There was nowhere for her to go. The SUV wouldn’t start. The doors wouldn’t let her out. She couldn’t even count on the guns to get her out of this mess.
“Your name is Caddel, right? Maggie Caddel?” He seemed to be keeping his distance, though Maggie couldn’t pinpoint his location with all the chaos fluttering through her head. No accent. Not like the others. American born. “You’re a war correspondent for American Military News . You’ve been reporting on the Sangre por Sangre cartel for the past year.”
“Knowing my name doesn’t give you the right to execute me.” She set aside the shotgun and righted herself. The second he unlocked the doors from his side, she would bolt out the other door. She might not be able to outrun him, but at least then she’d have a chance of dying on her own terms.
“Does this look like a face that wants to execute you?” The man’s outline thickened through the window a split second before something else took its place.
Maggie stared at the face of a dog through the tinted window. A husky from the look of him. Full grown. His white hair stood out in the growing moonlight. He wriggled to get free of the strong hands holding him midair, nipping at exposed skin. That song, the one kids sang about buying a doggy in the window, came to mind. Okay. She was losing her mind. “Is that a dog?”
Her brain was playing tricks on her. That was the only explanation for a husky to be out here in the middle of the desert.
“His name’s Gotham. You might not remember, but we’re the ones who pulled you out of that interrogation room back at the cartel’s headquarters.” His voice wormed into the deepest recesses of her mind. I’m going to get you out of here. Not one of her captors. “You know, before you stole my vehicle and left me for dead.”
Her skin felt too tight, her bones too big for her body. Maggie didn’t know what to do, what to think. This was all...impossible.
“If you promise not to shoot me when I unlock the doors, I’ll let you pet him. He’s soft. I just gave him a bath this morning,” he said.
What other choice did she have? She wasn’t getting out of here without his help, and there was no way she could outrun anyone at this point. She couldn’t deny the idea of petting a dog after what she’d been through wasn’t everything she needed right then either. Exhaustion embedded deep into the fibers of her muscles, and her hand fell away from the shotgun. “Fine. If you unlock the doors, I promise not to shoot you.”
J ONES LET G OTHAM down and raised his cell back to his ear. He didn’t know what waited on the other side of that fractured glass, but one thing was for certain: he wasn’t going to let the cartel catch up to the woman he’d extracted. “Go ahead and unlock the doors, Scarlett.”
The SUV’s doors released with the touch of a button from Socorro’s security consultant. Just as she’d killed the vehicle’s engine. Scarlett Beam was a new addition to the team, but one that came in handy more often than not. “Need backup?”
“No.” Undeserved confidence slid through him. “I’ve got it from here. Thanks.”
Ending the call, he pocketed his phone, then reached for the back seat door on the driver’s side.
The door flew open without him touching the handle, and Maggie Caddel lunged free. It took a lot of visible effort for her to stay on her feet, but Jones gave her room as her nervous system adapted. Her shoulders and chest worked to get as much oxygen as possible. Hell, she was in a bad state. It was a wonder she still had any life in her after what’d happened. She flicked her tongue over busted lips. “You said I could pet your dog.”
“He likes it when you put your face next to his.” He motioned to Gotham without invading her personal space. Suffering through what she had, she didn’t need him imposing himself on her. She needed to feel safe.
Crouching, Maggie scratched bruised and cut fingers into the K9’s fluffy coat as Jones had done hundreds of times in the short weeks they’d been together. Then she set her face against Gotham’s. The husky pressed his face into hers, and they closed their eyes as one, enjoying the feel of one another. The sight was almost enough to ease Jones’s defenses. How would he have convinced her to leave the SUV if he hadn’t been dragging a husky through the desert?
“You’re with Socorro, aren’t you? That military contractor the Pentagon sent to dismantle Sangre por Sangre . I’ve read about you and your team. You’re the combat controller from the air force. Driscoll, right?”
“At your service.” Jones hiked his thumbs into his cargo pants pockets. The way she said his name... It wasn’t anything special. She’d read it on a roster that belonged to his employer, but there’d been a bit of a catch on the last syllable that stuck with him. He dared a step closer as Maggie shifted—unbalanced—on her feet. She was running on fumes, and adrenaline could only take a person so far. Knowing the cartel, she’d been deprived of food, water, probably sleep. Any one of those came with disastrous effects, but all of them together? She was on the verge of collapse. “But considering you stole my vehicle, I think we’re past the point of formalities. You can call me Jones.”
“I didn’t know it was yours.” Maggie pried Gotham from her face, seemingly coming to terms with the events of the night. Her eyes, even in the dim light of the moon, were losing focus. “They were going to kill me. I just... I needed to get out of there.”
“You don’t ever have to apologize to me for trying to survive.” Jones took that last step, grabbing for Maggie as her legs gave out. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
“I’m tired.” She was slurring her words. Not a good sign.
“I know. We’ll get you fixed up.” Jones whistled for Gotham to follow as he worked to get Maggie into the vehicle. Hauling her into his side, he guided her across the back seat of the SUV. The shotgun she’d tried using to blast her way out through the back window lay across the floor. He had to hand it to her. She was mighty resourceful. Though, in her line of work, he imagined she had to be to stay out of trouble. Guess that resourcefulness hadn’t been enough this time around. He let Gotham cuddle into Maggie’s side. “Keep her company, would you?”
Because there was a chance she’d wake up panicked, not knowing where she was. Who she was. He’d seen it once before. The terror that came with imprisonment and torture. It wasn’t anything he wished on his worst enemy. Jones slid behind the wheel and started the SUV. The engine growled to life. The headlights cut across the uneven landscape as he maneuvered toward home base.
Jones set Maggie in his sights through the rearview mirror. Hell. He should’ve gotten into the cartel headquarters sooner. He should’ve realized the reason Sosimo Toledano hadn’t ventured out for the past three days. The son of a bitch had been in the middle of breaking Maggie down physically, mentally, emotionally. But why? What could a war correspondent for a failing military news magazine possibly have to do with Sangre por Sangre ? “What did you get yourself into?”
He hadn’t expected an answer.
“I saw them.” Maggie turned onto her back, her voice distant, not entirely solid. “They killed...everyone.”
Killed everyone? “Who did they kill, Maggie?”
She didn’t respond this time. Her body would direct its energy to her major organs before it started shutting down. Heart, brain, lungs.
She needed help. Now.
Jones floored the accelerator as he fishtailed onto the single lane dirt road headed straight into the south side of the valley. As cartels battled over territory and attempted to upend law enforcement and government throughout New Mexico, organizations like Socorro Security were key in neutralizing the threat to the surrounding towns, but something had changed over the past few months. Sangre por Sangre wasn’t just intensifying their assaults on the general public as they had in the past. They were strategizing. Hitting specific targets. Moving more product. Trafficking more innocent lives. Recruiting heavier than ever before.
And Maggie had somehow ended up in the middle of it.
Gotham’s whine cut through the interior of the SUV.
“Hang on. We’re almost there.” A branch of dirt road split off from the main road, and Jones took it without hesitation. A spotlight lit up ahead. In the dead of night, it looked out of place surrounded by thousand-foot cliffs and bare desert, but once the sun came up, a gleaming modern structure of tinted glass and steel would peek out from the mountainside.
Jones followed the lesser-worn path as fast as he dared without dislodging Maggie from the back seat. The front of the SUV dipped as he lined up with the garage entrance. Scarlett had upgraded security to the point he didn’t have to swipe his badge. The tracking node she’d implanted in his forearm was enough to get him through the gate as long as his heart was still beating.
He swung the SUV in front of the sleek elevator doors leading into the heart of headquarters and shoved the vehicle into Park. Shouldering out of the car, Jones raced for the keypad installed in the wall, and hit the emergency medical button. “Doc, I need you in the parking garage.”
He didn’t bother waiting for an answer as he rounded to the back passenger side door. Overhead lights reflected in Maggie’s heavy eyes. Gotham refused to budge as Jones threaded his arms under hers and pulled her free from the SUV. Time seemed to freeze. Where the hell was the doc? “Help is coming, Maggie. Stay with me.”
“Find them,” she said. “You have to find them. Everyone deserves...to know the truth.”
“Don’t worry about that right now.” Confusion wasn’t enough to hold him back from getting her help, but Gotham didn’t seem to want to let Maggie go. He planted his front paws on her legs as though he’d claimed her as his own. “Why do you have to make everything so much harder than it needs to be?”
The elevator pinged with its arrival. A flood of organized chaos exploded from within as two women breached the garage.
Dr. Nafessa Piel wasn’t the type of on-call stitcher to wear one of those white lab coats unless she expected a lot of blood. Socorro’s doc pulled her hair back in a tie and shoved her long sleeves over her elbows as she approached the back seat. “Tell me everything I need to know.”
Socorro’s security operative Scarlett Beam stood back, letting the doctor work.
“I found her.” An unfamiliar loyalty urged Jones to keep his hands on Maggie as the doc tried to wedge him out of the way—to comfort, to console, he didn’t know—but every second he kept Dr. Piel from doing her job was another second that could put the journalist in danger. “Cartel worked her up pretty good. I don’t know how long. Couple days, maybe. She was conscious until a minute ago. Talking, even.”
Dr. Piel pulled a flashlight and peeled Maggie’s right eye open, shining the light in directly. “Her pupils aren’t dilating. She’s suffered some kind of head trauma. Possibly swelling. We can’t move her without supporting her neck and head. Scarlett, get the dog out of here. Jones, get one of the guys down here. I’m going to need all the help I can get.”
Scarlett dragged Gotham free of Maggie’s lap and latched onto his collar. His whine punctured through the vehicle, as though the husky couldn’t bear to be separated from his new friend. Jones didn’t have the voice to tell his partner he knew exactly what that felt like. “Come on, rookie. Your dad’s gotta work. Let’s see what Hans and Gruber are doing upstairs,” she said, referring to her two Dobermans.
Jones’s head pounded in rhythm to his racing heart as he sent out the SOS. In less than a minute, Cash Meyers—Socorro’s forward observer—hit the parking garage with portable backboard in hand. “What do you need?”
“I’ve got her head. Jones, you’re in the middle. Cash, get her feet. We move as one. Understand?” The authority in the doc’s voice would cut through rock. “There’s no telling what kind of internal damage she’s suffered. Any jostling could make her injuries worse.”
Jones took his position, squeezing his too-large body between the back passenger door and Maggie’s slim frame. He threaded his hands beneath her hips. And froze. Her underside was wet. Warm. Extracting his hand, he tried to breathe through the metallic-sweet odor hitting his senses. Blood. A lot of it. “Doc, I think we’ve made it worse.”
“Move,” Dr. Piel said. “Now!”