If not…
I pull myself up the ladder, pushing thoughts of if not away.
I stalk through the forest, my rifle aimed as I move quietly.
It’s only a short walk toward the primary entrance to the bunker.
I make sure to walk carefully, choosing my footsteps to elicit the least possible noise. It’s difficult when I’m six and a half feet tall and weigh almost three hundred pounds, but I’ve had practice sneaking around plenty over the years as a detective.
Voices rise as I move closer.
My trigger finger itches when I hear Alex yell in outrage.
“You think you can get away with kidnapping a cop, Manuel?”
I crouch lower as I creep over to a nearby tree, peeking around the edge to find the men much as they were when I studied them on the surveillance cameras.
Manuel’s five Cartel goons stand in a circle around Manuel and Alex, their hands casually resting on pistols and rifles, one of them with a cigarette sticking out of the edge of his mouth.
Manuel has his knee in Alex’s back, his face twisted in fury, his sawn-off shotgun aimed at the back of Alex’s head.
“I can get away with anything, traitor fuck,” Manuel roars. “Why do you think I volunteered for this rescue mission, eh?”
Oh.
Manuel plans on kidnapping Ruby and using her to gain leverage on Aaron.
I wonder if Aaron would care about Manuel having her…
No, that’s not the right question.
It’s about how it would look for Aaron, about how weak it would make him seem.
Alex spots me and a smile touches his lips for a moment, the barest flicker before he quickly turns away so he doesn’t alert the Cartel to my presence.
But I recognize that nod well.
It’s the same way he’s looked at me many times over the past decade, seconds before we erupt into action and fight our way out of whatever jam we’ve found ourselves in.
“It seems your little friend has forgotten about you,” Manuel says, sounding pleased with himself. “Maybe I’ll paint the trees with your brains, eh? Maybe that’ll get his attention.”
I take a breath, steadying myself, my mind honed down to the moment as only fighting and police work can achieve.
No, that used to be true.
But now my woman, my queen can bring me into the moment just the same, making me able to let everything else go, so I don’t have to think about anything else.
I need to get back to her.
I reach into the satchel and take out four flash bang grenades.
This is going to be very, very, very fucking risky.
I unpin them all, holding two in each hand, my rifle hanging in front of me from the strap, ready to use if I should need it.
I think of my woman, waiting for me.
I have to do this. I have to make this work.
Creeping to the edge of the tree, I aim, and then, without giving myself any more time to think about it, I throw all four grenades.
I duck behind the tree.
One of the men shouts something in Spanish, but it’s too late.
Bang-bang-bang-bang.
Mayhem erupts and somebody fires their gun blindly.
I sprint around the tree and run at the men.
All of them are staggering around, disoriented, momentarily blinded as I pump my legs with more urgency than I ever have before, everything honed down to now, now, now.
No, that’s not true.
At the back of my mind, I see my woman, picturing the sassiness in her eyes, the subtle shyness that plays in her smile, the gorgeous contradiction that is the future mother of my children.
But I don’t let myself be distracted as I throw myself at Manuel.
He roars when my fist connects with his face, his voice guttural and shivering with shock.
I hit him with a solid right hook and then leap on him, grabbing his sawn-off shotgun in one hand and hauling him to his feet with the other. I ram the shotgun into the small of his back, dragging him in front of me as a human shield.
“Motherfucker,” he breathes heavily. “Bastard. Sneaky fucking bastard. What sort of man fights like that?”
“A smart one,” I snarl, driving the barrel of the gun firmly against him.
My finger itches to pull the trigger, my body thrumming with the need. This bastard would’ve done vicious things to my Ruby if he’d gotten his hands on her.
Finally, his men regain their sight, turning to find me holding their boss hostage.
Alex is already on his feet, disoriented and beaten – blood leaks from several cuts on his face – but he’s alive and that’s what matters most.
One of Manuel’s men raises his pistol shakily.
“Does that seem like a smart thing to do?” I roar, making sure Manuel is between me and the barrel of the gun. “Or do you really want to be the man who kills Manuel Diaz?”
The man – wiry with a fluffy beard around his chin – keeps the gun aimed at us, even as the barrel shakes, even if he knows killing Manuel will mean death for him back home.