Chapter Eight
Her shoulders were pulled tight.
They protested as though they were about to disconnect from their sockets. She was moving. Though Maggie didn’t understand how that was possible. The crash. The airbag. Gotham diving for the floorboards. Jones. Fractures of memory jumbled until she wasn’t sure of the order, but they were all there.
Her bare heels dragged against the ground. She tried lifting her head to gauge where she was, but something scratchy and tight dulled her vision. Her exhales collected just in front of her mouth and nose. A bag. Toledano had used a bag. He’d enjoyed keeping her guessing as to where the next strike would come from.
Maggie dug her fingernails into her palms and pulled at her hands, trying to gain some semblance of control. “No. No, please. Don’t take me back.”
Whoever had a hold of her hands didn’t slow, didn’t stop. Didn’t even seem to hear her. Or care. Her jaw and cheekbones ached with every word, but she wasn’t going to go back into that hellhole without a fight. Not again. Rocks cut through the thin scrub top, scratching along her skin. She dropped her head back between her arms as a sob built in her chest. “I don’t have what you want. I’m telling the truth. Please.”
“Quiet.” The voice grated against her nerves. Too rough. No accent. Not one of the soldiers who’d questioned and tortured her before. There were outsiders within the organization she’d learned about over the past year of investigating. Contractors hired to carry out a variety of jobs. Executions, frame jobs, undercover work within other cartels or within police departments. At least, according to the rumors. She hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of any of it. Not without exposing herself. Sangre por Sangre ’s management was careful. Neither local law enforcement nor the feds had any luck either. And now, she was going to be one of those cases that got lost in some file room. Just waiting for someone to come along and make the connection.
Fear pricked at the back of her neck as the man dragging her suddenly let go. Blistering heat singed her arm hairs, and Maggie tried to roll away from the soft glow through the fabric of the bag over her head. In vain. Strong hands wrenched her to her feet and pinned her against a wall of muscle twice her size. The bag was torn from her head, taking a few strands of hair with it. She winced against the brightness of the roaring fire.
“Maggie Caddel. I’ve been looking for you.” Masculine features darkened from the onslaught of the flames as a man approached. The bonfire was on the verge of reaching at least fifteen feet in the air, but not one fueled by wood alone. No. A distinctive sour odor lodged at the back of her throat as she took in the masked faces of the men and women circling the fire. Six. All heavily armed. None of them Jones. “I’ve got to say, you’ve given me and my unit a lot of grief lately.”
Unit? Sangre por Sangre didn’t work in units.
“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?” Her voice broke on the last word, giving away the terror and confusion clawing through her. She’d survived interrogations, starvation, dehydration and physical torture from a cartel lieutenant, not to mention a night in jail on a faulty assault charge, yet there was still a part of her that hated her weakness showing through under intimidation. Maggie jerked against the hands holding her in place, but it was no use. Every single one of these soldiers was so much...bigger than she was. Stronger. Faster. She didn’t have a chance against any of them. A bone-deep ache resonated through her shoulders at the pressure. “The man who was with me. Where is he?”
“He ain’t coming for you, sweetheart.” A hint of a Southern drawl filtered into the man’s voice as he crossed his arms over a vest similar to Jones’s. Though, not the same in color. Other distinctive features bled into focus as he stepped into her personal space. The watch on his left wrist. It wasn’t one of those complicated gadgets that read data and synced with other devices. Simply an analog with a brown leather strap that’d seen a thousand lifetimes. Inherited, if she had to guess. Important. “Turns out, your new friend is former military. Emphasis on the former. Something about disobeying direct orders and crossing into enemy territory. Lieutenant Driscoll almost started a war with his little stunt to pull those soldiers out of that cave. Me and my guys? We don’t cross the line. We know that compromising an assignment gets people killed.”
“Jones. His name is Jones.” The haze fogging her brain after the accident was cracking. Maggie tried to step free of her captor, but that only made him dig his fingers deeper into her arms. “But you called him lieutenant. Like you think you’re supposed to. You’re...you’re military. All of you.”
Hope lit up behind her sternum at the thought of the army responding to the ambush that led to her abduction by a drug cartel. Then faded. “Wait. You said you and your unit don’t disobey orders. What part of your orders were to shoot at and endanger two US citizens tonight?”
“You really don’t know when to stop asking questions, do you, Maggie?” The dark ski mask failed to hide a thin five-o’clock shadow around the soldier’s mouth. “You think uncovering the truth will make everything better, but I can tell you from experience, that’s almost never the case.”
The use of her name—so intimate, as though they were old friends—hit her nerves wrong. Nothing compared to when Jones said her name. Her stomach threatened to revolt. Her skull bounced against her captor’s chest in rhythm to his heart rate. Which had just jumped a few beats. Pressure tightened in her gut at the change. Something was wrong. These men and women—military or not—weren’t who she wanted them to be. “I don’t understand.”
“Then let me put it in terms you will understand.” He got close enough she could smell a hint of deodorant as he threaded her hair out of her face. But not from under his arms. From his palms. To control any sweat that might leave his DNA behind. “That night you followed one of our units into the desert and took photos of an off-the-books operation, you became a liability. The people of this country rely on us being able to do our jobs, Maggie. That comes with a certain confidentiality we have to maintain. We can’t have you risking their lives with your lies or recruiting others into your fantasy of what you think you saw that night. One life compared to thousands? It’s not a hard choice.”
The finality of that statement cut through her. Sharp and fast. Fantasy? No. She wrenched one arm free from the man at her back and lunged. Only to be brought back to heel. “Confidentiality. You mean cover-up, don’t you? I didn’t follow one of your units out there that night. I was investigating Sangre por Sangre . I know what I saw. I know the cartel ambushed and murdered ten American soldiers that night. I have proof. What I don’t know is why you’re okay with that. Why any of you are okay with that.”
Jones had risked his life and his entire career for the soldiers who’d been captured behind enemy lines. But these men and women... They weren’t the same. They weren’t fighting for their country. They were fighting for themselves.
“Is this the proof you’re talking about?” He unpocketed something from his cargo pants and held up an SD card. A perfect match in brand and size to the one she’d buried in the ground the night of her abduction. Then tossed it in the fire. “What proof?”
“No!” Maggie ripped free of her captor and went after the card. Heat painfully flared up her neck and burned across her face. It landed at the perimeter of the fire, its edges sizzling and smoking instantly. She collapsed to her knees—adding insult to injury in her left leg—and grabbed for a stick that hadn’t caught fire. She tried to drag the card out, but within seconds, the blue plastic had melted in on itself, taking her future with it. Her throat burned. She turned on the leader. Struggling to her feet, she shoved his chest. Not even throwing him off balance. “Why would you do that? Those soldiers deserve justice. They deserve peace.”
Anger she’d felt only once in her life exploded through her. Maggie shoved him again.
He caught her wrists in both hands. “Peace comes at a price, Maggie. A price me and my unit and every other enlisted soldier are willing to pay. Those men and women you claim you saw die that night? They knew that. They knew what they were getting into when they joined up, and they died heroes. You don’t get to take that away from them or their families.”
He returned her shove.
Maggie fell back. The impact jarred old injuries and aggravated new ones. The circle of soldiers seemed to close in, cutting off her escape. None of this made sense. “So what now?”
“I told you. We never break orders,” he said.
Movement registered from behind the man standing over her. Flames highlighted two more men hauling something heavy between them. A body. Dressed in uniform. Maggie could do nothing but watch as they swung the load—back and forth—before releasing it into the flames. Sparks flew overhead and cooled against the black night sky. That smell, the one she’d noted a few minutes ago... It hadn’t been accelerant as she’d believed.
It’d been human remains.
First, the SD card. Then the bodies Sangre por Sangre had buried in the pit that night. These soldiers—whoever the hell they were—were getting rid of evidence of the ambush. Only none of this made sense. Why would the US military clean up after a cartel slaughter? What good came of sacrificing ten American lives and letting an organization like this get away with it?
“It’s done,” a familiar voice said. Accented. Deep. It triggered a nuclear response in her nervous system and seized any thoughts of escape.
Her throat threatened to close in on itself as Maggie forced her attention to the newcomer maneuvering into the circle of light cast off by the bonfire. El Capitan wiped his hands on a stained bandanna as she’d watched him do so many times before, and her blood ran cold.
The masked soldier took a final step toward her and crouched, leveling that dark gaze with hers. “Good. Then that just leaves the last piece of the puzzle.”
B ROKEN GLASS CUT into the blisters in his palms as Jones pressed upright.
His head hit the dashboard and ignited the pain ripping through his skull. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Maggie. He had to get to Maggie. The team that’d flipped the SUV had moved fast and gone straight for her. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to fight back before one of them clocked him over the head from behind. Organized. Trained. Almost militaristic in strategy. Sangre por Sangre didn’t move like that. Not in the dozen encounters Jones had survived. No. This... This was something else. Someone else.
Twisted metal and darkness stretched out in front of him. The windshield had somehow survived the accident, but the driver’s side window was gone. Dry midnight air carried a hint of something unrecognizable into the cabin of the SUV. Hell. How long had he been unconscious?
A soft whimper drilled through the haze dimming his senses and spiked his blood pressure. “Gotham? Is that you, buddy?”
It came again, but he couldn’t get eyes on the source with the passenger side airbag in the way. Pulling the blade from his ankle holster, Jones deflated the airbag in a rush of white powder and stale air. The dog’s outline took shape along the floorboards. He tossed the blade onto the front seat and reached for his partner. Matted fur caught between his fingers as Jones carefully pulled Gotham into his arms. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
The husky tucked his dry nose into Jones’s neck and licked the skin there. Jones checked him for injuries but found no blood or broken bones. The K9 had taken a beating though.
“Let’s get you back to HQ.” Compressing the emergency call button on Gotham’s collar, Jones tucked his undersized sidekick beneath one arm. He reached for the driver’s side door with his free hand, but his strength gave out. He dropped his shoulder first against the steering wheel. Pain ricocheted down his arm and into his chest. “That’s going to leave a mark.”
Time pressurized the air in his lungs. He wasn’t sure how long ago the team that’d ambushed them had taken Maggie. Didn’t know if she was injured. If she was alive. One thing was for certain: he wasn’t going to leave her to fight this battle alone. He wasn’t going to fail her as he’d failed Kincaide. His own life be damned.
Jones kicked at the driver’s side door. Corrupted hinges protested as the door snapped back. He and the dog fell through the opening as one as he twisted to avoid landing on Gotham. The dog’s paws braced against his chest as Jones surveyed what might be broken throughout his body. “I don’t suppose you’re carrying some ibuprofen.”
Gotham cocked his head to one side.
“I’ll take that as a no.” He hauled the K9 off of him and forced himself to his knees. “All right. Help is on the way. You’re going to stay here while I try to hunt down the bastards that took Maggie.”
The husky’s whine speared through Jones’s resolve. Gotham didn’t like being alone.
“I know.” Jones stretched back inside the busted frame of the SUV and pulled his sidearm from the wreck. Dropping the magazine free, he counted the rounds left after dueling with a sniper back at the pit. Two. He was going to need more than that to take on a small army. “But you were damn lucky you didn’t get hurt in the accident. I can’t risk worrying about you while I’m trying to pull her out of...wherever she is.”
Gotham didn’t give an answer this time. Simply ducked his head and pressed his forehead to Jones’s shin.
“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?” Just as well. Leaving Gotham here ensured Socorro operatives would discover the K9 and the wreck through his emergency signal, but they wouldn’t even know where to start to find Jones or Maggie by the time they arrived on the scene. “Fine. Come on.”
The husky followed as instructed.
Jones rounded to the back of the SUV and collected all the ammunition and weaponry he could sustainably carry. He extracted his discarded flashlight and tested the power. Worked. Casting the beam over the desert floor, he picked up on four sets of footprints. One direction leading straight to the SUV. The other heading back where they’d originated. Boots. Heavy tread. He followed the line, realizing the number of prints didn’t change, but the depth of one set got deeper. One of them had carried Maggie out. Which meant she’d either been bound or unconscious. Either way, she’d never had a chance to fight back. “Keep a nose out, dog.”
The flashlight picked up two lines of ruts. Vehicle treads. Though there wasn’t any sign they were within a mile of his location. The team that’d taken Maggie could be anywhere by now, but that wasn’t going to stop him from getting to her.
Jones jogged to follow the treads, Gotham bouncing in rhythm with every step. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed or when his knee had started screaming for rest. Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. But the warm glow up ahead told him he was headed in the right direction. The fire lit up a natural arch and unique rock formations, providing protection for the group camping at the base. The reddish color and eroded towering rocks took the formations straight out of some science fiction book set on Mars, but would allow Jones to approach from behind. As long as he kept his distance.
He slowed as a hint of something sour collected at the back of his throat. The odor threw him back to a mission set during his last official tour overseas. Where an entire village had been burned to the ground mere minutes before his unit arrived to help. That smell had stayed with him all this time. Not fueled by wood alone. But by human bones. “Maggie.”
He couldn’t see her from this distance. Jones circled the rock formations, cutting off his access to the group and hiking his nerves into overdrive. He didn’t like not knowing what he was getting himself into, but his need to get Maggie out dominated his doubts. She was there. She had to be. Because if she wasn’t... If she was already gone... No. He couldn’t think about that. Jones hiked the incline leading to the arch—honed over hundreds of years—and slipped his hand through the middle to keep his leverage. Grains of coarse dirt dislodged in his hold, threatening his balance. But he gained a perfect view of the camp and the masked men and women circling the fire.
And of Maggie.
“Please, let me do the honors.” Sosimo Toledano closed the distance between him and Maggie, setting all of Jones’s defenses on high alert. He was outnumbered. Outgunned. Any move on his part could put her at risk, but doing nothing guaranteed it. “After all, Ms. Caddel and I are friends.”
“Friends don’t torture each other for photos.” She shoved her hands into the ground to back away, but another of the gunmen ensured she couldn’t escape. The man she knew as El Capitan reached for her arm. Maggie landed a solid kick to his shin, but it was no use. He latched onto her, hauling her into his chest. “No!”
Her scream bounced off the rock formations and etched deep into Jones’s brain.
Jones unholstered his weapon and slid down the front of the arch on one hip to avoid colliding with Gotham. Then took aim. “Didn’t your mama teach you no means no, Sosimo?”
Seven soldiers reached for their weapons. Jones only had attention for one.
He pulled the trigger. The bullet ripped through Sosimo Toledano’s side and catapulted him away from Maggie. The man’s screams cut through the night as the fire caught on the lieutenant’s clothing. She covered her ears with both hands and ducked as Jones launched for her. He fisted one hand into her scrub top and swung her behind one of the smaller formations as cover.
The human torch formerly known as Sosimo Toledano ran straight for a handful of soldiers, but they had no compassion to help.
“You’re making a mistake, Driscoll.” One of the masked soldiers took center stage, his unit at his back. Ah, this was the man in charge. Seemed Toledano had merely been serving a purpose, but with the cartel lieutenant running for his life, that left room for the real monster to show his face. American military, Jones guessed. At least, based off their formation and tactics. But did that make them former or current? He didn’t know. “There’s no way out. Maggie’s gotten herself in too deep. There’s no scenario that we let you walk away from here with her alive.”
His heart pounded hard behind his ears as Jones calculated their chances. Okay. The guy behind the mask had a point, but if Jones had let himself accept defeat against the odds, his brother would’ve died in that cave and not with the people who’d loved him.
Taking a defensive stance, Gotham growled at the men putting Jones in their crosshairs with a flash of fangs.
A rolling laugh reverberated through the small circle of armed soldiers.
It was the distraction he needed.
Jones backed up, using his body as a shield for Maggie. “Then you haven’t considered all of the scenarios.”
One squeeze of the trigger. Then another. Each bullet found its mark, knocking two gunmen out of the lineup. The rest dove for cover and started to return fire. A round missed Jones’s ear by mere millimeters as he took another step back. He whistled low to call Gotham then turned to Maggie. “One of their trucks is parked about a hundred yards west. Keys are in the ignition. We can make it if we run now.”
Maggie’s hand found his arm. A bolt of heat that had nothing to do with the growing bonfire burned through him, spurring adrenaline through his veins. “Just say when.”
Jones took down another of the gunmen. “When.”
They moved as one. Him as the shield, her navigating over the terrain. Four hostiles left their cover to follow, but he had one last trick up his sleeve to make sure that didn’t happen. Jones pulled a flash grenade from his cargo pants. He detached the tab and tossed it straight into the bonfire. “Go, go, go!”
Maggie ran straight into the darkness with Gotham close on her heels.
The device exploded in a burst of light. The resulting blast wave knocked the last gunmen off their feet and sent bolts of fire in every direction. A guttural scream bounced off the rock formations, which threatened to tip at any second, but Jones wasn’t going to wait to watch the aftermath.
“This isn’t over, Driscoll!” The warning broke through the pop of flames. “We’ll never stop coming for her. You can run, but you can’t hide!”