Defiance: A House Divided (The Defending Home Series Book 2) (5 page)

This was Mayor Reid’s preferred haunt, even more so after word had begun to circulate that Edwardo Ortega had evicted him from his own mansion. If Reid hadn’t realized he’d made a big fat mistake by laying out the welcome mat for Ortega and his crew beforehand, surely he had then.

Cutting through a backyard, Dale caught sight of Teletech looming in the distance. He walked for another ten minutes before finding what he thought was the perfect spot on a knoll sprinkled with wild grass and shrubs. He lowered himself onto the hot, dusty ground, using a large rock and some torn leaves as a shooting platform. The rifle was loaded and zeroed in. All he needed to do now was wait. Already the sun was low in the sky, kissing the mountain range to the west with tinges of oranges and yellows.

For almost fifteen minutes, the grounds around the factory were deathly still. In the distance every so often came the sound of gunfire. Most of it seemed to be coming from the far side of town. It was sporadic, which told him it wasn’t a firefight. It sounded more like a house-clearing operation.

Dale was still contemplating his next move when three Escalades pulled up to the factory. The second SUV pulled alongside the first, cutting off Dale’s immediate view of who had arrived in the lead vehicle. He watched through his scope as the crests of men’s heads moved just beyond view. Could one of them be Ortega? The thought was a tantalizing one, although Dale worried about having his hopes dashed.

Soon, the large factory doors peeled back and a handful of figures emerged from inside. Six deputies along with Sheriff Gaines and Mayor Reid. They walked up to the group of cartel men who were still just out of sight. When the deputies came to a stop, three of them were blocking any shot he had at either the sheriff or the mayor. Dale swore. He had a choice: either reposition and risk being detected by anyone near the plant who happened to be scanning the desert, or wait a little bit longer. He took a deep breath to calm his clip-clopping heart. They had to break off eventually and if the sun hadn’t completely set by then, Dale would have his shot.

Peering through the scope, he watched as a heated conversation took shape. The deputies were on edge. They seemed afraid. Dale assumed from their unease that the sheriff and Mayor Reid were talking to Ortega, discussing the cartel’s failed attempt to evict them and take over his property. Mayor Reid, normally calm and collected, was shouting, flinging his arms over his head, clearly upset. Perhaps Ortega was trying to pin the failure on him somehow. Perhaps the drug lieutenant was suggesting if Gaines and all of his deputies had come along for the ride things might have turned out differently.

Now it was the sheriff’s turn to talk and he appeared far more controlled, a counterpoint to his agitated boss. Dale imagined he was telling Ortega that he’d wanted all the glory for himself and should have included them in the attack. Of course all of this was speculation as Dale’s mind worked feverishly to read everyone’s body language. His index finger was next to the trigger, tapping the side of the rifle. He had to be ready for those three idiots to move. Then he could take the first step toward finishing this mess once and for all.

For a brief moment, Dale’s mind wandered to the numbness creeping into his legs before he realized that the scene before him had suddenly changed. The shouting had grown louder as two of the deputies took unsteady steps backward. The others dropped their hands to their service pistols. Ortega emerged from behind one of the black Escalades, a silver Desert Eagle in the grip of his extended right hand. Perhaps instinctively, Mayor Reid’s hands flew into the air in surrender. He seemed to be pleading with Ortega, trying to placate the man. Dale saw the large silver pistol kick back in Ortega’s hand a split second before the actual sound of it firing hit his ears. Mayor Reid’s head snapped back, his arms pinwheeling as his body struck the ground, kicking up a fine puff of beige particles.

Dale couldn’t believe his eyes. Ortega had beaten him to the punch and done Dale’s work for him. So why wasn’t Dale filled with elation rather than dread?

Ortega’s men surged forward, leveling automatic weapons. The deputies threw their hands up, all except for Sheriff Gaines. Maybe Ortega was going to finish him off too. But Dale’s hopes were dashed when the deputies lowered their hands and dragged the mayor’s body away. The sight was so surreal, it took Dale a few seconds to realize he had a clear shot at Gaines. His finger found the trigger at about the same time the sheriff began walking back toward the giant Teletech doors.

“Now or never,” Dale told himself.
Remember what the old man said. Slow your breathing and always give a moving target a slight lead.
In another few seconds, the sheriff would be gone. Dale squeezed the trigger and watched the bullet arc out from the barrel and thud into the dirt at Gaines’ feet.

He swore and worked the bolt. Sticking his eye back to the scope, he saw with that single miss, everything had shifted once again. Sheriff Gaines had taken cover behind a parked car, his men pointing in Dale’s direction, shouting at the cartel men near the three Escalades. They were pointing out Dale’s position.

The first black SUV hit the gas, heading straight for him, bumping wildly over the rough terrain. The other two quickly followed suit.

That can’t be good
, Dale chastised himself. With blood pounding in his ears, he hopped to his feet and collected his weapons. Rounds fired by the deputies and the cartel men in the SUVs thudded into the ground around him. His legs pumping furiously, Dale raced back toward the truck, not entirely sure whether he would make it. 

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he gnarled mesquite trees acted as sentries, slowing the progress of the oncoming SUVs. Sweating profusely in the final threads of late-afternoon sun, Dale hoofed it along the trail, struggling to maintain his footing over the uneven ground. Right now, a twisted ankle would be just as fatal as a bite from a rattlesnake, both of which were distinct possibilities. Rounds tore up the ground on either side of him as the men below continued to fire in the hopes that a lucky shot would find its mark. Then a loud ping of metal on metal sounded as a bullet ricocheted off the Mossberg slung over his back. He had briefly considered dropping the shotgun to keep it from weighing him down and now it seemed he’d made the right choice keeping it.

By the time he crested the hill into the neighborhood where he had parked the pickup, the shooting had stopped. Glancing over his shoulder, he also noticed the black SUV’s were gone.

Have they given up?
he wondered. More likely, Ortega and his posse were going to try to cut off his escape.

Breathing hard, Dale finally reached the truck. He gave a quick scan for threats before he hopped inside, pushing the weapons onto the seat next to him. With a turn of his wrist he started the vehicle and backed out. The drive home wouldn’t take more than a few minutes. If all went well, he’d be back behind the relative safety of the fortress walls before Ortega had a chance to swing around.

Dale pressed the gas, white-knuckling the steering wheel as he screeched around a corner. Cesare Avenue was a long, relatively straight street which led south past the high school and onto Charleston. That way lay his house and safety. His spirits were beginning to brighten when three black SUVs came swinging onto Cesare, racing toward him. They were a hundred yards away when Dale reached over, buckled his seatbelt and accelerated.

The SUVs did the same.

“So they wanna play chicken,” Dale growled, pressing the pedal all the way down. Houses flicked past him on the right. On the left, Encendido High’s football field was coming into view.

The second SUV swung into the oncoming lane, leaving Dale with two choices: a head-on collision or the ditch.

They were less than twenty yards away when he slammed the brake hard and spun the wheel to the left. The back tires screeched, belching out white smoke and the smell of searing rubber. The nose of Dale’s pickup jerked left. Cutting across the road, he shot forward onto the football field, narrowly missing the oncoming SUVs.

Dale hollered the way a daredevil might after narrowly escaping a brush with death. Behind him, the SUVs had swung around and were also cutting across the football field.

The sight ahead of him made Dale’s gut seize up. The school parking lot was mostly empty, except for a clump of abandoned cars. The only way through the mess was a four-foot gap between two sedans. He was either going to crash or give both sides of the truck a very close shave.

As if to remind him he wasn’t alone, the cartel men began shooting again, a few of the shots striking his tailgate. One took out the mirror on the passenger side.

If the drivers of the SUVs hadn’t seen what was coming by now, it was too late. Dale braced himself as he aimed his pickup right for the opening. The impact was sudden and incredibly loud as the squeal of metal gave way to a burst of sparks. The truck burst through and fishtailed as Dale fought to maintain control. Roaring through the parking lot, he caught a glimpse in his rear-view as two of the three SUVs braked hard while the third t-boned one of the abandoned sedans, the back end rising several feet into the air before crashing back to earth. 

Dale didn’t let up his frantic pace until he was home. Slowing down at last, he pulled into his property and navigated around the concrete obstacles. He glanced down and saw that his hands were shaking. He brought the truck to a spot between the pumphouse and the chicken coop before he exited and began to make his way inside. As he approached, the garage door began to open. It was less than three feet off the ground when Duke came charging out, wagging his tail.

Close behind was Brooke, looking more than a little upset.

“Where did you go?” she demanded.

Dale moved past her. “I went to take care of something.”

“You went to get yourself killed is more like it.”

He planted his feet and turned. “I did what I had to do.”

“And what would I have done if you’d been killed?” Brooke said, rubbing her eyes to keep the tears away. “You don’t have the right to take those kinds of risks. You’re the only family I have left.”

“Don’t let Colton hear you say that,” Dale said, regretting the comment the minute it came out of his mouth. He paused. “I’m sorry, Brooke. I don’t know what to tell you other than seeing Shane the way he was, it just made something in me snap.”

“Dad, you’re trying so hard to do the right thing,” she said, her arms folded over the Arizona State University shirt she was wearing. “But you don’t seem to get it.”

Dale shook his head. “What don’t I get?”

“There is no right or wrong anymore.”

Now it was Dale’s turn to be upset. “I don’t believe that, Brooke.” He passed through the garage. The sun was mostly gone, throwing long shadows at their feet. “I refuse to believe that. We’re not the bad guys here, Brooke. Sometimes good people have to do horrible things.” Those inside the house began to enter the garage, drawn by the commotion. “I went to kill the source of our troubles today. The two men who were responsible for Shane’s death.”

“What happened?” It was Sandy who asked the question. Colton, Zach, Ann and Nicole stood nearby.

“Looks like you made it back in one piece,” Zach said, grinning. “Wish I could say the same for the pickup.”

Weapon in hand, Colton moved past them to peer around the corner of the garage and watch for threats from the street.

“It was a tight squeeze,” Dale told him. “But nothing a buffer and a coat of paint can’t fix.” The brief smile that had formed on his lips quickly faded when he saw Zach’s hand on Sandy’s shoulder. Sandy nudged it off. But Dale’s blood pressure was already rising. The ex-con was getting comfortable, maybe too comfortable.

Trying to stay focused, Dale clapped the chalky desert dust off his hands and proceeded to tell them everything that had happened.

When he was done, the shocked expressions on their faces spoke volumes.

“Are you sure Reid is dead?” Ann asked.

“I’d say so,” Dale confirmed. “Unless he can take a fifty-caliber round to the brain and keep going.”

Colton turned. “But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” he said without much force, as though he were asking a dumb question and expected everyone to come down hard on him.

“It’s either a very good thing,” Sandy said, “or a very bad one.”

“Why would Ortega do such a thing?” Nicole asked. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying. There was a heavy thread of fear in her voice. She seemed more than sad. She seemed nervous and agitated.

Zach cleared his throat. “I’ll bet Ortega was still sore from the butt-whooping we gave him and the mayor went shooting his mouth off.”

“That may be so,” Dale admitted. “Though I’m starting to think something else was behind the mayor’s murder. The cartel is cruel and unpredictable, that much we know. But they also came here with a plan and I think we just witnessed the first stage.”

“They wanna take over the town,” Sandy said, her hazel eyes deep with worry.

Dale shook his head. “They already have.”

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he following morning they buried Shane’s body under a tree next to the firing range. When Dale finally found the time he would clear out a larger section of brush to make room for additional gravestones. It was a depressing thought, but at some point each of them would pass one way or another and when that happened it would be nice if they had a dedicated cemetery. If they made it that far, he might even bring Julie and Lori’s bodies back to the property for reburial.

Each of them took a moment to say a few words, Brooke and Nicole reciting mournful prayers. Dale told them a story instead, about how as a kid, whenever Shane would get punished by Ma or Pa, he’d pack his tiny suitcase with nothing but t-shirts and threaten to move out. They all had a much-needed laugh at that. When it was Colton’s turn to speak, Dale noticed Zach leaning over more than once to whisper something into Sandy’s ear. He watched her expression to see if she was annoyed or whether she was enjoying the attention Zach was giving her.