Chapter 13
Chapter 13
T he next morning Bailey woke at dawn to go for a run, as was her normal routine. Unlike normal, Cal jogged up beside her and kept an easy pace at her side. They ran what she guessed to be about two miles and then turned back toward the house, still without speaking. About the last mile or so, she picked up her speed, and so did he. She pushed it harder, and he followed suit. They sprinted neck and neck until, the last hundred feet to the house, he overtook her, bounded up the steps, and touched the door first.
She joined him a few seconds later and doubled over, sucking oxygen. Cal lay flat on his back, doing the same.
“Can’t win them all, little bit,” he said.
“I’m leaving,” she said, and he sat up.
“What?”
She stood upright. “Things are in good shape here. The men know better what to do, how to handle themselves. I’ve established a security plan for them, and they’re more aware of the danger, as well as their surroundings. You have Sully if there’s a problem or emergency. I think my work here is about done.”
“What will you do?” he asked.
“Jinx’s mom had one of those blood pressure cuffs he’s been letting me borrow. I’ve been checking it every day, and it’s been perfect. If I get it documented and verified by a doctor, I can go back. I can be a marine again.”
He hugged his knees to his chest, wrapping his long arms around them. “I’m not ready for you to go.”
She took his left hand, the one still wearing his ring. “Darlin’, you’re not ready for me to stay.” She gave his hand a squeeze, bypassed him, and went to take a shower.
When she emerged, Cal was nowhere to be seen. Bailey put the coffee he’d left for her in a travel mug and hightailed it outside to avoid another encounter with him. She hopped in the plane and took off for her morning patrol. She followed her own advice, mixing up her patrols so she didn’t keep the same routine each day. It took conscious effort because she was the sort of person who thrived on routine.
She had completed her first turn when she saw smoke rising from below. Wildfires were a real concern in such a dry, hot environment. Bailey circled once more and set the plane down, intending to investigate.
She withdrew the plane’s fire extinguisher and stepped out into the blazing sunshine. Even wearing her sunglasses she had to shade her eyes in order to see anything. She scanned the horizon and saw nothing but a small brush fire, one that already tried to leap its confines and blaze out of control. She used the extinguisher on it, pouring foam on the surrounding area to try and dissuade any sparks from getting further ideas. When she was satisfied, she made as if to pivot back to the plane when suddenly an iron grip surrounded her from behind. A vice-like arm wrapped around her neck, cutting off her air.
“Let’s have some fun,” a man whispered in Spanish. From the hard feel of his chest, Bailey could tell he wore Kevlar. He was bigger than her, stronger, and wearing a bullet-proof vest. There was no way she could out-muscle him so she’d have to outfight him. She went slack, forcing him to take her full weight or drop her. He chose to take her weight, leaning in to get a better grip. As he bent forward, she reared her head back, bashing her skull into his face. It was enough to make him lose his grip on her completely.
She was little, lithe, and fast. Those would be her only advantages so she used them as best she could, spinning out of his grasp and reaching for the tactical stick on her belt. The Kevlar wasn’t the only thing that kept her from reaching for the gun. His size was a factor. If he overpowered her, got the gun away from her, she’d have zero chance. Her best bet was to take him by surprise, to disable him before he was ready for it.
He lunged for her with his right hand but, like a lot of large men, he relied on his size and physique with no real idea how to use them. They would work well on someone who wasn’t a trained fighter, who didn’t know how to fight back. Lucky for Bailey she did.
She brought the stick down hard on his right forearm while shoving his wrist in the opposite direction. There was a satisfying crack of bone, and he screamed. For good measure, she broke a few of his fingers, disabling his dominant hand and arm completely.
He wore a helmet, she now saw, and it would need to come off. She bashed the butt of the stick into the center of his face. He screamed again as his nose and lip exploded with blood and ruined cartilage. He flailed at her blindly, his left hand connecting hard with her face. She felt her own lip split as her eye began to throb, but she ignored it, her fingers scrambling for the strap of his helmet as she yanked it off and tossed it away.
His hands went protectively to his head, afraid she was about to hit him there. Instead she reached for the vest, yanking hard at the Velcro until it pulled free. When that was finished, she brought the club up between his legs. He bent forward, retching, moaning, not sure what to cover next. Bailey connected the stick with his kneecap and shoved his back. He went down like a dead tree, lumbering to his stomach in a ungraceful heap. She sat on his back, reached for a ziptie from her pants and started to truss. He fought her. She clutched the stick and gave a glancing blow to his forehead, knocking him unconscious.
When he was out, she tied his hands and bound his feet. She stood, panting, scanning the horizon for more of his friends. For now, they were alone. She would have to haul him into the plane, and she was dangerously low on energy. Clutching his vest and helmet in one hand, she opened the plane’s passenger door with the other. After setting the gear on the seat, she reached for her attacker and began hauling him unceremoniously into the cab of the plane.
He must have weighed close to two hundred pounds. There was no way to get him onto the seat, but then she didn’t much care to. She dragged his torso onto the floor of the plane, hauled his feet onto the seat, and buckled them with the safety belt in case he came to and tried to kick her.
After giving the fire one last spray of foam, she tossed the empty canister back into the cockpit, hopped inside, and took off.
Cal waited for her when she landed. He opened the door and extended a hand to help her out. “We need to talk.”
“Could you call Sully?” she asked. She was so tired now the words felt as if they were wrenched from somewhere deep and painful.
Cal tilted his head at her. “What’s wrong?”
She motioned with her thumb to the plane behind her. He stuck his head inside and said a word that, though indiscernible to her, did not sound like a prayer of thanksgiving.
He withdrew his head and scanned her face, clutching it between his palms as he made his inspection. “What did he do to you?”
“Just this,” she said, motioning to the busted lip and swollen eye.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. Call Sully and I’ll fill you in.” He let go of her and she sank to the ground. He knelt beside her, alarmed.
“I’m fine, I swear. Just used up all my adrenaline and need to recover a bit.” She closed her eyes and rested her head on the plane, listening while Cal made his call.
“Sully, it’s Cal. There’s a situation at the ranch and I need you here, ASAP. No, everyone’s fine. Bailey was ambushed, I think. She’s fine. The guy’s…not. Right. Okay. Thanks.” He ended the call and began another. “Jinx, bring me some juice and a snack to the plane. No, it’s not for me, you cursed old coot. Bailey’s feeling a bit puny. Thanks.” He disconnected that call, set his phone on the ground, and slid his arm around Bailey. She rested her head on him.
“He’s a big guy,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“He could have…” he cut off his own words, swallowing hard.
“But he didn’t,” she said. When she first joined the marines, she’d been so full of herself, so certain of her abilities. She’d had the Hollywood notion she could take anyone, that she could beat a man with her bare fists. It had only taken a few wallops from her instructors to quash that notion. The laws of nature always had their way. She could not physically overpower most men. Men were bigger; men were stronger. It was a cruel fact of life for someone who viewed herself as their physical equal. So Bailey had learned to fight harder and, as she’d told Cal that first day, dirtier. She did whatever she needed to do to protect herself and those around her. Weapons were a great equalizer. A man and a woman, each armed with a gun, were an identical playing field. But fighting hand to hand as she’d done today took every ounce of her energy, leaving her weak, empty, and depleted until she refueled.
When Jinx arrived a bit later with the snack, she realized she’d fallen asleep. “How you doing, sweet baby?” Cal whispered.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, sitting up away from him. “Also, it’s kind of funny you called me sweet, considering.”
“You’re sweet to me,” he said. “Except that first day when you sent a few thousand volts through me.”
“I regret nothing,” she said.
“Me neither.”
Jinx slid off his horse, eyeing them with concern. “What’s up? You doing all right, Bailey?”
“Take a peek inside the plane,” Cal said, something like pride eking into his tone.
Jinx opened the door and made the same sort of exclamation Cal had. “Where’d that come from?”
“It’s an early Christmas present,” Bailey said, feeling perkier after the nap and juice. “Surprise.”
“That wasn’t on my list,” Jinx said. “He’s waking up. Hello, sunshine.”
The man moved around, making noise, cursing loudly and moaning. Cal stood up and hauled the man out of the plane, holding him by the scruff of the neck like a rambunctious puppy. The man was big; Cal was bigger.
“Who sent you?” Cal asked.
In reply, the man spit at him. Or at least he tried to. His lip was too bruised and swollen to do much more than a pathetic sort of whistle that made Cal laugh. “Can you stand?” he asked, letting go of the man who wobbled slightly before attaining his balance. “Excellent,” Cal said and then punched him full fisted in the face so the man dropped to the ground, unconscious again.
Bailey watched from her position on the ground with something like envy. She could punch, but not like that. What she wouldn’t give to be able to drop a man with one fist to the face.
Sully arrived a few minutes later, by plane this time. Bailey was able to stand by the time he disembarked, along with his pilot.
“You did this?” he asked Bailey, tapping the man on the ground with the toe of his boot.
“It was nothing,” Bailey replied, tossing a wink to Jinx and Cal, who knew better.
“Huh. I recognize that mug. I’ve arrested him twice before, once for assault, once for possession. Both times I handed him over to ICE. They dropped him off over the border, and he hopped back in again. Man.” He kicked the dirt, huffing his frustration.
Bailey was a newcomer, but she shared their frustration. There seemed to be no solution to the endless cycle of crime. And the government seemed unwilling or unable to help, maybe both things.
Sully gave Bailey a statement to fill out while he and his pilot loaded the man into their plane. They would take him to the hospital before jail, to have his nose, fingers, and arm set.
By the time everything was over, it was time for supper. “I’m sorry you lost a whole day to this,” Bailey said as she and Cal walked side by side to the house.
“That’s the least of my worries. We took one of theirs. They’re going to try and take one of ours,” he said.
“Maybe.”
“You don’t think?” he asked, his tone hopeful.
“I don’t know, Cal. In traditional rules of war, they would realize and recognize the threat. They would understand we won’t back down and might begin to cut their losses and move on. It’s not worth it to them, really. Eventually it’s going to cut into their business, their profit. But there are other factors involved skewing the results.”
“What other factors?” he asked.
“Machismo, for one. The fact I’m a woman has to be killing them.”
“It’s killing me,” he joked, putting her head in a headlock and kissing her temple before letting her go.
“There’s also Isabel,” Bailey said.
He sucked a breath like she’d socked him. “What does Isabel have to do with this?” They reached the porch and faced each other.
“Sully told me what she’s been up to.” Cal shook his head, trying to protest, unwilling to listen. Bailey rested her hand on his arm. “You need to hear it. Isabel has taken up with the head of the cartel.”
“She wouldn’t,” he protested.
Bailey didn’t argue. Nothing she could say would help him believe, especially since he already knew the truth, however much he might want to deny it. She grasped his biceps, catching and holding his eyes. “I’ve been varying my patrols, mixing it up, keeping it unpredictable. But he was waiting for me. Someone told him I was coming. He wore a helmet and Kevlar. Someone let him know I’d be armed, that I’m a lethal shot.”
“How would Isabel know any of that?” he asked.
“She wouldn’t.”
“What are you saying?” he asked.
“I’m saying I think someone on the ranch is working both sides.”