Harris (Alpha One Security #1) (12 page)

“We all heard you two in the jet, you know,” this was Thresh, through clenched teeth. “Heard you arguing. I’m with Duke on this one.”
 

Nick’s eyes cut to mine. I could see he hated that I’d disobeyed him, that I’d risked myself. But I could also see the grudging respect my actions deserved.
 

“Good job, babe,” he growled.
 

“I just have one question,” I said, keeping my voice quiet until the last second. “WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?”

6

FUCKIN’ SNACKS

I’d been fucking lucky. Seriously fucking lucky. I was banged up, and had at least one bruised rib, but I had somehow avoided getting shot, and Cleo was unhurt. When that Jeep rolled, man, I thought I was done.

But my people came through. Puck covered us, Duke cut me free, and Thresh, Jesus Christ, Thresh had lifted the Jeep free so Duke could cut the tangled, trapped seat belt free. With a broken forearm. Fucker was inhuman.
 

And my baby. My woman. Layla. She’d disobeyed orders. Rushed through incoming fire, gotten Cleo, and rushed back with her. She’d taken down two tangos in the process. My girl was a badass. All the guys were eyeing her with renewed respect. And me? I was torn between wanting to ream her a new asshole for disobeying orders and being insanely proud of how she handled herself in a gnarly situation.

I took stock of my crew, examining all of them. Thresh was the only one hurt, miraculously, but he was seriously fucked up. A bullet had hit his ulna and shattered it, lodging in his bicep. Looked like maybe he’d taken another round to the shoulder, but with the way he was cradling his arm against himself, it was hard to tell. I knew from experience, though, to just leave Thresh alone. He’d survive, and wouldn’t let anyone help him. If he were conscious, he’d do what needed to be done. Even now, in the state Thresh was in, I’d still have chosen him to back me over just about anyone else on the planet—except maybe Duke. Speaking of whom, Duke was still on alert, watching out the window for pursuit, unconsciously toying with the safety of his HK, thumbing it back and forth. Dusty, dirty, and unfazed. Puck was driving.

And that was when I noticed it. Giving Puck a once over while he drove, I noticed two big black duffel bags on the seat beside Puck.

Two awfully familiar duffel bags. Full bags.

“Puck.” I kept my voice low and even.

“Yeah?” He didn’t turn around, kept his eyes on the…well, we weren’t on a road, but on the ground ahead.

“What exactly the
fuck
is that on the seat?”

Puck shot me a grin. “That, my friend, is fifty million dollars.
And
the girl.”
 

“How?”

“One of the fuckers on the dirt bikes had ‘em strapped to the back of his bike. I happened to see ‘em, and figured there was no sense in leaving fifty mil just laying around in the desert, you know?”
 

“Fuck.” I leaned my head back against the wall. “FUCK!”
 

Puck frowned at me. “What’s the issue?”

“I figured out who Cain is: Ledion Dushku.
 
And he’s not just some minor league drug runner; he’s a major threat. Albanian by birth, former Russian Special Forces. Mercenary turned assassin, Mafioso, and all around bad, bad, bad dude. He and I crossed paths a few years back. I was with the Rangers, he was with Spetsnaz. My unit and his were supposed to be working together to take down a terrorist cell in Pakistan. Turned out, though, that Ledion was working with the terrorists. Feeding them intel and supplies and warning them of raids, and taking bribes. I found out, reported him, and got him in major shit. He’s never forgiven me, obviously.”

“So what does that have to do with the money?” Puck asked.

“It means he’s going to be extra pissed. His ambush failed, thanks to Anselm’s quick rifle work. We shot his guys, took his money, and took the girl. He’s got a chip on his shoulder, and being shown up, made to look like a fool? He won’t take it well.”
 

“It was kind of a poorly-planned ambush,” Duke pointed out. “They had the high ground, they had the numbers, and they chose the location. You block off one end of that canyon, post a couple guys with SAWs on the high ground? You could hold off an army with a couple of squads. We should all be dead.”
 

I nodded. “That’s Ledion’s problem: he’s not a great tactician. But what he lacks in tactical know-how, he more than makes up for in brutality, vengefulness, and utter lack of morals. He’s the type that’ll set off a car bomb to take out what he perceives as an enemy, without sparing a single thought for the collateral damage. He just doesn’t care. He shoots first and doesn’t stop to ask questions.”
 

Layla was listening to all this. “Did you not hear me? I asked what happened. Someone explain to me what just happened.”
 

I probed my ribs, wincing as I found the bruises. “Whoever Ledion’s second in command was, the guy running the show, he had the girl right out in the open, waiting as I approached. I stopped the Jeep, left it running. Told him I’d give him the money once I had the girl. I got her buckled in and then handed him the money. That should have been it, and I thought it was, honestly. I got in the Jeep, pulled a U-turn, and that was when I heard Anselm start shooting. Apparently Ledion had ordered his guys to wait until they had the money, and then just…cut us down. Anselm obviously suspected as much, and took out the gunners on the canyon wall, him and Lear together. That’s the only reason I’m here. It took them by surprise, which gave me time to get out of the canyon and away. Of course, they couldn’t just let us go. Ledion obviously told them to make sure I didn’t survive, so they gave chase.”
 

“What I don’t get is…and don’t take this the wrong way, but—there was so much shooting.” Layla pointed at Thresh. “Only, no one but Thresh got hurt. How is that possible? I mean, I’m glad, but I don’t get it.”

Duke answered for me. “That’s the statistic of a battle. Hundreds, if not thousands of rounds are fired in the average exchange, but only a few ever hit anyone. It takes a lot of training, a fucking assload of hours on the range and in battle to learn how to make every shot count, especially when you’re under fire yourself. And even then, a lot of the shots you lay down are meant as suppression, to keep the other guy’s head down, and they’re doing the same. And that’s assuming the guys shooting at you are trained. If they’re just thugs with guns who’ve never received real combat training, then they’re honestly lucky as fuck to have even hit anything, much less caused any real damage.”

“So, the guys shooting at us,” Layla asked. “Were they trained, or not?”
 

Duke shook his head side to side. “Some yes, some no. The guys on the bikes, the guys you took down, I think they were higher ranking, and thus had some experience or training. The tangos in the canyon, they were just foot soldiers. Hired cannon fodder, basically. There were a couple who knew what they were doing. Somebody had the Humvee locked down pretty good, laid down some fairly effective suppressing fire.”
 

“Was Ledion himself there?” Layla asked.

 
I shook my head. “I didn’t see him. He might have been watching from a distance, but he wasn’t in the canyon. He wouldn’t have been, though. He went in and snatched Cleo, and he’s likely the one who shot the housekeeper. But if he was planning an ambush like this one, he would have made sure he was well clear. He’s not going to risk his own neck in case things go south, and in any op, there’s always a chance shit can go south. Especially when you’re dealing with the kind of soldiers the Russian mafia or whoever he’s working with or for can field. Those guys are vicious, but when you put them up against a unit like us, tight, trained, and tactically superior? They’re cannon fodder, and he knows it. He’d never go into a situation personally unless he had people he trusted with him, and babe, I think you shot at least one of them.”

Layla closed her eyes, rested her head back. “This is starting to sound like Vitaly all over again.”
 

I reached across the space between us and took her hand. “Not even close. It’s not good, but Ledion, or Cain as he’s calling himself now, isn’t on the same scale as Vitaly was. We’ll have to be on our toes, and expect retaliation, but for one thing, Ledion doesn’t have the resources Vitaly did. And, honestly, he’s not as smart. Still dangerous, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression, he’s fucking dangerous. But he’s not on the level of Vitaly. Not in any way.”
 

“’Sides,” Duke said, “now you got us.”
 

It was quiet for several minutes as Puck drove us back across the desert to the main road.
 

A tiny, hesitant little voice piped up, unexpectedly. “I hungry.”

“Me too, little boo,” Duke said. “Come sit with Uncle Duke. I think I’ve got some candy here somewhere.”
 

And wouldn’t you know it, tiny little Cleo, all of two feet tall, if that, weighing maybe thirty pounds soaking wet, hopped down, scooted past Layla, and climbed up onto Duke’s lap. Never mind the M-4 on his shoulder, never mind the smell of cordite, never mind the fact that he’s a monster of a man that can scare grown men into pissing their pants.
 

Little girls love him. I don’t get it.

He swept his black A1S ball cap off his head, revealing his ginger undercut man-bun hair—fucking man-buns, man, fucking stupid—and plopped the hat on Cleo’s head. It slid down and covered her face.

“Eeew. Stinky hat. Get it off!” She knocked the hat off her head, grabbed it in her pudgy little hands, and reached up to stuff it onto Duke’s head.
 

“It is kind of sweaty, I guess,” Duke said. He dug in the cargo pocket of his BDU pants, producing a handful of fun-size bags of M&Ms. “You don’t like M&Ms, do you?”
 

“YEAH!” Cleo shouted. “Neminems!”
 

“Yo, I like neminems too,” Thresh said, extending his paw.
 

The hand on his uninjured arm was black-red with dried blood, and he was still oozing blood from his arm and shoulder. Not that he seemed to care. You wouldn’t know Thresh was even feeling pain, unless you looked for the tension lines in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. Other than that, he could be right as rain.
 

Duke ripped open a bag of M&Ms and dumped them into Thresh’s palm, and the crazy fucking giant ate them, bloody residue and all.
 

Layla made a disgusted face. “That’s gross, Thresh.”
 

“What?” Thresh asked, through a mouthful of candy.

“Your hand, it’s all messy. And now you’re eating from that hand?”
 

Thresh shrugged. “Hey, it’s my blood.”

“Do you want me to look at that arm?” Layla asked.

Thresh grunted a negative. “Needs surgery. Got a round lodged in my shoulder, too. I’ll be fine.”

Layla looked at me. “Do we have a doctor waiting?”
 

I nodded. “Yeah. Anselm and Lear should be a few minutes ahead of us. They’ll have a medic waiting.”
 

“Don’t want a fuckin’ medic,” Thresh grumbled.
 

I sighed. “Listen, you hard-ass. You need medical attention. We’re not having this conversation. You can’t just take some fucking Ibuprofen and sleep this one off.”

“I know I need a doctor, I’m not stupid.” Thresh tossed another M&M in his mouth. “I got a specific doctor I want to see.”

Duke and I exchanged puzzled glances. “What are you talking about?”

“That hot doc down in Miami. The one at Jackson Memorial? When you were laid up after that shit with Karahalios? She was fine as hell.”
 

I rolled my eyes. “Thresh. You can’t pick a doctor halfway across the country just because she had a nice pair of knockers, man. We’re taking you to a hospital in Vegas.”

“You can try,” Thresh said. “But good luck. I’m going to Miami.”
 

“You’re bleeding!” Layla shouted. “You have a broken bone. You have a bullet in your shoulder.”
 

“I noticed,” Thresh deadpanned, “seeing as it’s my arm and my shoulder.”

“Thresh.” I stared him down. “Make sense. Please.”
 

“I am making sense. It’s not just ‘cause she’s hot. I mean, yeah, she is, but she’s also a good doctor. I watched her take care of you. She’s good. Plus, I think she likes me.”
 

I sighed. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
 

“I never claimed to be the sharpest crayon in the tool drawer,” Thresh said, looking peeved. “You know how I feel about fuckin’ hospitals and fuckin’ doctors, Harris. If I’ve got to have a goddamn doctor poke at me, might as well be a doctor of my choosing. And the one I choose happens to be in Miami, Florida, and happens to have the most bangin’ hourglass figure I’ve ever seen. On top of which, she’s not afraid to get in my face, and I like that shit. She’s got balls.”

“Okay, fine. Whatever. It’s your broke ass that’s gonna bleed all the way there.” I rubbed at my face with both hands.

“You’ll fly me down there?”
 

“Well you can’t very well walk, can you?” I said.

“Cool. Thanks, boss.” Thresh nudged Duke with his hand. “Got anymore candy? I’m still hungry.”
 

Duke, with a playful, long-suffering sigh, dug into his cargo pocket and pulled out a protein bar. “You never bring your own snacks, man. You’re always hungry after a firefight. You think you’d learn to bring some fuckin’ snacks once in a while.”

“I want some fuckin’ snacks too!” Cleo shouted. “I like fuckin’ snacks!”
 

Duke snorted. “Now look what you fuckers did. Taught her to say fuckin’.”
 

That drew laughter from everyone, including Cleo, who I don’t think quite understood the joke, but knew everyone was laughing at her. “Fuckin’, fuckin’, fuckin’!” She shouted it, chanting, over and over, until everyone was in stitches.