Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) (21 page)

The constriction in Keith’s chest eased, a tight laugh escaping from his throat. “What’ve we got?”

“Here’s what I do know. The man we’re looking for has his hand in several ventures. The most profitable being smuggling people over the Mexican border, along with drugs. Oh, yeah. A shitload of drugs, all in the name of achieving the American Dream. Have you seen the lengths these illegals go to in order to get across? They’ll strip down the interior of cars, hide under the dashboard, the trunk, between the seats...but first they have to pay the exorbitant fee to one of the coyotes. The runners. From what I’ve gathered, the man we’re looking for is the big daddy of all coyotes. Except he’s not Mexican. He’s one of us, just trying to be all he can be.” Cam snorted. “But here’s the thing. While smuggling illegals and drugs into the U.S. is quite profitable, let’s face it, it gets a little old after the first, oh, million times or so. Enter arms smuggling. Now, that’s a whole new ballgame.”

“Where did you get all this stuff?” Keith asked. He sensed Grace sitting on the bed behind him, probably stiff-backed and frowning. He checked over his shoulder, and sure enough, her body and face were taut. But for once, she wasn’t saying a word.

“I have my sources.” Cam lifted a hand. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“So, money’s the bottom line. But, why set me up, right? Any turtle-head would do,” Keith said, referring to new recruits. “Unless it’s personal.”

“Who’d you piss off?”

“You mean there’s someone he hasn’t pissed off?”

“Thanks, Grace.”

Cam smothered a snicker and tapped a series of keys on his laptop. The thin, sophisticated design was Cam’s development. Keith had no doubt the thing would be a terrorist’s dream, chock full of all sorts of hacker tools. The stories that baby could tell.

“Where’s the drive?” Cam asked.

“Here.” Grace dug it out of her pocket and handed it to Keith. Their fingers touched, sending the now familiar jolt of heat zinging up his arm.

He thrust the drive at Cam. Why couldn’t he control what he felt for her?

His friend raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Good. Because he didn’t want to discuss this roiling acid eating away at his stomach. Ever.

Cam popped the drive into the USB port on his laptop. “The magic begins.” He waved his hands over the keyboard.

Behind him, Grace sucked in a breath. She was probably less than thrilled with Cam’s constant jokes making light of a grave situation.

He should say something to her. Reassure her that Cam was taking the drive, and Ryker’s life, very seriously. It was just Cam’s way of letting off steam.

He turned, met her eyes—and the words left him. After last night, he didn’t know how to talk to her. His heart ached for their lost closeness.

Cam’s fingers tapped a rapid string on the keyboard. “Someone put a pretty strong encryption code on here, but I’ve seen better.”

He swung around, staring hard at the jumble of letters and numbers on Cam’s screen. “Can you trace it?”

“The encryption?” Cam’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Probably. But it would take a while to find the origin. And I don’t think it would help find the bastard.” He went back to typing. “So, what’s the plan for the drop?”

“Five-thirty. Powell Park.” Tension fisted through Keith’s neck. “Go there armed and ready and hope those guys weren’t screwing around about their end of the deal.”

“No.” Grace stood, her hands clenched in front of her. “No guns.”

“What?” The word burst past his lips like the crack of gunfire.

“They could call off the deal as soon as they see you swinging guns in their direction. I’m not taking that chance with Ryker’s life.”

“Huh.” He ground his teeth together. “You really think they’re just going to hand off Ryker? Maybe if you say pretty please? C’mon, Grace, get real.”

“What’s the alternative?” She narrowed her eyes on him. “Everyone gets trigger happy?”

“I’ll take trigger happy over sitting duck any damn day of the week.”

“And then Ryker...” She paused, the muscles in her neck constricted with a swallow. “Dies. We die.”

God, why did she always have to argue with him? Why couldn’t she trust that he had her and Ryker’s best interest at heart? He cared about getting him back. Didn’t she realize that yet?

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a sharp bark of laughter over the pain jabbing at his heart. “Well, I sure didn’t plan on dying for you today, Grace.”

Her head snapped back. Her eyes shot molten emerald lava in his direction. “You’re an asshole.”

A sludge of bile rose in his throat. He hadn’t meant that the way it sounded. He held out a hand. “Grace, I’m—”

“Save it.” She brushed past him, stalking across the room. “Don’t you dare talk...” Her words strangled to a stop.

He stared at the spot between her shoulder blades where her t-shirt went taut. “No guns,” he said, because, yeah, he couldn’t bear the thought of remaining the world’s biggest asshole in Grace’s mind.

She didn’t acknowledge his words. The only sound between them was the tap of Cam’s fingers on his keyboard.

“You two about done with that little freak show and ready to get down to business?” Cam threw into the silence. “You know, stolen missile components, badasses, and saving the day?”

Keith hesitated, but when it became clear that Grace wasn’t about to turn around and join them again, he turned to Cam. He blew out a frustrated breath.

Okay. Missile components. What would somebody want with those? Yeah, they could sell them, but without the proper access codes, without the propulsion system and the guidance chips they weren’t any good. Which is why the army kept the important sensors and pieces in separate locations, to prevent theft and misuse.

So, what good would the components from Bragg do for someone who was in the market for some U.S. Missiles?

Unless...

Oh—

“Shit,” Cam breathed, as if he’d read Keith’s mind. “We hit the motherlode.”

He studied the computer screen over Cam’s shoulder. A jumble of coding moved in front of him. “What is it?”

“Access codes. Lots of ‘em.” Cam tapped a few more keys. “How many armaments and weapons storage facilities do we have here in the states? What about secret research and development facilities? This puppy has codes for...shit...who knows how many of these places. Codes,” he tapped more keys, “blueprints, coordinates.”

Keith swore. “Imagine how many terrorists would pay top dollar for admittance to that kind of technology. Damn it. What kind of idiot would sell the nation’s secrets?”

Cam snorted. “A soon to be rich one. You know we can’t let them have this information, right?”

“Whoa...What are you saying?” Grace appeared next to him, her face drained of color.

“The man has to be stopped, Grace.” Keith softened his voice. “He’s messing with national security.”

“Wait,” she whispered, and the dread he heard in her voice socked him in the gut. “We’re still giving them the drive right?”

“Of course we’re giving them the drive.”

His heart twisted at the lie. He’d give them the drive, but not the contents on it. The irony of his lie by omission didn’t escape him. Yeah, he’d been a pious bastard last night when he’d cursed at Grace for not giving him one hundred percent honesty. Now he was going to have to do the same.

For the good of the country, he justified. For the good of her son, she’d justified.

He got it now. But it didn’t matter. She was going to hate him after this. He looked to Cam, who had stopped poring over his laptop and now divided a frown between Keith and Grace.

Cam turned to Keith and pinned him with a stare.

Keith gave a terse nod. Cam knew what he was doing. He’d make a backup copy of the contents and wipe the drive clean. It was the right thing to do. But when he looked at Grace, at the tension in her shoulders and the shadows in her eyes, it didn’t make him feel any better.

He pushed past both Cam and Grace and slipped outside.

He suddenly needed a moment alone.

The sun hung in the sky, like an ominous fireball, shimmering the air in front of Grace and distorting the abandoned park. One of the tattered swings swayed in the warm breeze, the sun glinted off the overturned aluminum slide, and the rotted teeter-totter sported a huge fissure right down the middle.

Her stomach jumbled with anticipation and dread. Keith stood apart from her, his face taut. He jiggled his knee up and down in impatience. Man of action that he was, he had to hate the wait as much as she did.

She took a step toward him. He tossed her a narrowed glance and then quickly looked away, stopping her with a strong ‘keep-your-distance’ vibe.

She curled her fingers into her palm, hating that they’d fought earlier. It twisted her nerves inside out and made her shaky. Off balance.

But, he’d wanted to come here armed. Guns blazing.

How could she let him jeopardize Ryker that way? She didn’t want to do anything to annoy the guys who held his life in their hands.

Her chest hurt, her throat went dry. What if she’d done something foolish? What if she endangered Ryker’s life by insisting on doing it her way?

Problem was, she didn’t know how to let someone else take the reins. She’d trusted herself—and only herself—for so long. When she only had to hold herself accountable, she didn’t have to worry about disappointment or betrayal. She didn’t have to watch Ryker grow disillusioned and bitter when someone he trusted hurt him, because she’d make sure she protected him.

She hadn’t done her job. She’d failed to protect Ryker from this, just as she’d failed to protect Becca so many years ago. What if she failed to save him too?

From around the corner, a white cargo van careened into the parking lot and screeched to a stop in front of her. Her heart sped, knocking on her ribcage as if begging to get out.

“Ryker!” She ran for the van, the soles of her tennis shoes slapping the blacktop and stinging straight through to her feet. “Ryker!” She smashed her palms on the side of the van, pounding the metal over and over, the vibrations reverberating through to her elbows. “Honey, I’m here!”

He had to be in the back. There were no windows in the cargo area, but he had to be in there. They’d had an agreement.

Her breath gasped from her lungs and she tried to quiet it, holding the air in while she listened for Ryker’s precious little voice.

Come on, baby, let me hear you say mommy.

Someone captured her from behind. Shorty—the same bastard who’d grabbed her back on the boat yesterday. He dragged her away from the van, surprisingly strong for someone who was several inches shorter than her. His fingers dug into her wrists as he wrestled them behind her back.

“Ryker!” Her throat hurt from the scream, her eyes stinging with tears. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to do what they’d said.

She tried to elbow Shorty in the stomach, but he twisted her arm behind her back, sending a shaft of pain to her shoulder. She grit her teeth and kicked back with her foot. Her foot connected with air, not with his groin like she’d hoped.

Shorty laughed.

“Bastard. Give me my son.”

“Where’s the drive, Sweet Cheeks.”

It was in her pocket. But there was no way in hell she’d give it to him without Ryker. No. Way. In. Hell.

Shorty spun her around, her back to the van. Ahead of her Keith and another man wrestled for control of the man’s gun. Keith ducked, sliding the knife out of his boot. It glinted off the sun and reflected in her eyes.

“Keith,” she gasped.

He looked up, startled to hear her call his name. The man took the advantage to raise his gun.

“Keith!”

Keith brought the knife down into the man’s shoulder. The guy dropped the gun and then Keith dropped him. He crumpled to the ground. Keith leapt over the curb making his way to her.

Shorty dragged her to the back of the van, her arms still twisted at an awkward angle. Her shoulder blades and back radiated with pain. She flailed in his arms, trying to break free, trying to kick him with the heel of her shoe, anything to get him to loosen his hold.

He popped the lock on the wide doors. How he managed it without loosening his grip she didn’t know, but suddenly the doors fell open, revealing the cargo section of the van.

The empty cargo hold.

Her heart squeezed. She shrieked. “You bastard. You asshole. Oh. My. God.”

Shorty’s strangled breath rushed past her ear. She twisted her head as far as she could to see Keith’s hand around the man’s throat, the tip of the knife pressed to his neck.

“No.” She choked the word out.

If Keith killed him, she’d never know where they were holding Ryker. They’d be back at square one. With no leads. No hope.

“Keith, no—”

Something sharp stung her thigh. Like a wasp. Or a...or a needle. She flicked a glance to her leg where a syringe now protruded from the fabric of her jeans. “What?”

Where had the syringe come from? Shorty must’ve pulled it out of his pocket while her focus was on Keith.