Just the Messenger (12 page)

She heard Warren start his shot. “Yes, Arnold, we’re here at the town center in Esposola, Colombia. A huge drug deal between rivaling cartels was supposed to be taking place as I speak to you, but a shoot up in a downtown pub slowed progress. Here’s the picture we have of the primary suspects, Luis Contrado and Gomez Rodriquez. The deal would affect drug importation to the U.S. through New York City. A fireworks show is set to go off in just a few minutes, but when the noise dies down, we’ll be back with more information and pictures of the shootout that happened just moments ago.”

Warren clicked off his phone and reached out his hand. “Camera,” he said.

The pictures were ready to go live. Grace yanked the USB from the laptop port and handed it to Warren. “What should I do?” she asked.

“Stay here.” He tossed her his phone. “Take this, in case the studio calls for technical shit I can’t handle. But don’t move. Otherwise I won’t be able to find you. I’ll be back in five.”

As Warren disappeared into the crowd, Graciela surveyed her surroundings. She stayed crouched half under a raised deck behind a large stone barricade about twenty yards from where the fireworks were going to go off in just a few minutes.

The crowd was getting restless, most of them drunk and in good spirits, but as the seconds ticked by she noticed more than a few locals running with purpose, their heads down, away from the display.

Warren’s phone started buzzing.

“Hello?”

“Where’s Warren?”

“He’s getting interviews. Where are you?”

“I’m still in the bar. You have to get out of there. The town’s gonna blow.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“No time to explain. You have to get out of there now, or you’re dead. The fireworks are more than fireworks, Grace. Get out!”

“I have to wait for Warren! They’re not going to go off for another ten minutes. He said he’d be back in five.”

“Grace, I’m begging you. Leave now.”

“What about all these other people? Plus where would we even go?”

“We’re trying to dismantle the bombs, but we’re not ready yet. If you tell anyone, the panic will cause the operator to hit the button early. Stay quiet and go to the hospital on the hill. That’s the most likely way to save anyone. Including you. Look around, can you see it?”

Grace located the tall, gray building on the horizon.

“Looks far.”

“Cut through the woods, follow the river. It will lead you right there. I’ve been in this town before, and I’ve had to get there quickly. I’ll be there waiting for you.”

Grace suddenly worried for Marco despite the dire situation. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Gene’s coming. Now, get your ass out of the center, Grace, please. And remember, do not start a panic. People will die. Promise me you’ll leave that lout, Warren, in the dust if he doesn’t come with you.”

“I—”

“Promise!”

“I promise. I’ll see you soon.”

Her world started spinning around her. She was about to have a front row seat to a deadly bombing. There was no way to save all these people before the weapons detonated, and if she even tried, she could kill everyone.

If she ran now, she could make it to the river. She’d be safe there, far enough away. If she waited too much longer, she’d be caught in between and almost certainly go down in fire. She took stock of her hiding place. Could the deck and rocks keep her safe? Unlikely, she decided. The old wood would probably collapse on top of her. She checked the time. She’d give Warren three more minutes. And he’d miss his next live shot.

Unless he chose to stay behind.

* * * *

“Do you want to stay dead, or what, LJ?” Gene practically shouted into the phone at Rinkleton as he gathered up the strewn-about belongings of his friends.

“I want to stay dead, Gene, but this has already been handled. I can’t pull a helicopter out of my ass.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. I will out you in a second flat if you don’t get that chopper in the air immediately.”

“Then I’ll die for real. You want my blood on your hands?”

“If you don’t get your guys to fly,” Gene said grimly, “I’ve got blood on my hands either way.”

He hung up and slammed the phone on the bed, running his fingers through his spiky blond hair. He felt like shit. His stomach was knotted up, and the state of the hotel room gave him no solace. Drawers were flung helter-skelter; everything had been rifled through. Gene had disengaged three trip wires when he’d stepped in. He had a feeling one of them had been attached to a bomb. He didn’t want to think about it. Sighing, he left everything there. All of the electronics were gone, anyway, and carrying clothing would only slow him down. The overpowering odor of the flowers was making him dizzy.

He grabbed his phone and went to the curb to hail a cab, praying that LJ Rinkleton would help him out this last time. When Gene had arranged his death, he’d felt pity for the man; their situations were so similar. Caught in a war of ethics, the IIB agent had grown disheartened by the scheming tactics of a few bad apples in the barrel. When one too many civilians had died, he’d wanted out, and he’d been willing to pay a sum to get there. Gene only had to make a few phone calls and it had been done. Rinkleton’s mission for the IIB was over, anyway. He’d played his part. The whole thing was about to blow wide open.

Gene grimaced. Literally, if the organization couldn’t stop those fireworks.

“The hospital on the hill, please,” he barked at the cabbie.

He flicked open his phone to find a text message from Marco.

Back up here. Gomez in custody. See you there.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Now he only had to worry about Grace.

Chapter Nine

“Warren! We have to go! Now!”

He paid her no attention.

“These pictures on the screen show a gruesome gun fight unfolding. The leaders of the Angel Cartel, Luis Contrado and Gomez Rodriquez, are currently in custody.”

“There are bombs about to go off!” she shouted.

He looked at her and nodded.

“And I’ve just been informed that a bomb squad is attempting to disengage explosives set to go off in just three minutes when the fireworks display starts. I’ll be back with another update as soon as I can. This is Warren Bell, CableNette News.”

As soon as he clicked off the phone, Warren grabbed his computer and tossed it in the bag. Then he reached for Grace’s arm and pulled her toward the mountains.

“We’re never going to make it,” she screamed as they jostled through the crowd gathered thickly for the display.

“Just book it to the river, then we jump in and hold our damn breaths,” he shouted back.

But they didn’t make it.

They were still twenty-five yards from the outskirts of the mobbed center when the first bombs blew. The ground shook beneath them, throwing them into a large, landscaped garden just ahead.

“Keep low to the ground!” Warren yelled.

That was the last thing Grace heard before the echoing eruptions deafened her ears. Looking up through the branches, she saw injured people screaming and watched a legion of masked men with guns run out into the suffering masses. She couldn’t tell whether they were IIB or cartel members before Warren started pulling on her arms to get her closer to the river. They army-crawled the rest of the distance while explosion after explosion shook the town.

“Are you ready?”

She still couldn’t hear Warren, but she read the words from his lips in a flash of light from the bombs and nodded. He pulled her to stand, and together they sprinted along the banks, chaos filling the streets behind them as people scurried to evacuate or to help loved ones.

Grace ran until she thought her legs would collapse beneath her. Her eyes blurred and fogged until she couldn’t see the path in front of her. She could only gasp for air and follow Warren as he yanked her along. Her lungs were bursting, and her heart pounded blood through her brain until the entire world was made up of that pulsing rhythm and nothing more. She didn’t even notice when they broke through the forest and into a paved parking area until the jolts to her bare feet sent pain shooting up her legs. Only then did she look up.

The hospital loomed before her, gray and forbidding. Its ancient wooden doors belonged more to a museum than to a seemingly modern place meant for health and technology. Warren helped her hobble the remaining steps then jerked open the old oak.

They collapsed inside, a tumble of breathless fear.

Strong arms hoisted her up and flipped her over a shoulder. Grace still couldn’t hear, but she knew that scent, the smell of the ocean on a clear day. Gene.

Grace weighed heavy across his back, and Gene assumed she’d blacked out. He couldn’t blame her. The stress of an explosion like that could render anyone unconscious. He was just happy she’d made it to the hospital alive, if a little banged up. There’d be no time for a check, either. The hospital staff had no idea he was about to ‘borrow’ the helipad, and Gene was sure it wouldn’t go over well.

Thankfully, in a setting like this, an unconscious girl didn’t raise too many eyebrows. Most would just assume she was being brought here as a patient. He got to Marco, who had been guarding the elevator. According to the floor plans, they could take it to the fifth floor, then they would have to climb a staircase, open a compartment and mount a ladder up to the roof. If they tried to get there using the lift, the alarms would go off.

Gene craned his neck to try to catch a glimpse of Grace’s face. If the beauty were still under, they’d have to risk the alarm bells. It wasn’t as if someone wouldn’t notice an unauthorized helicopter on the roof anyway, he reasoned.

“Grab Bell,” he said, leaning his lower back against the wall so that Grace was supported. “He’s in the lobby, dazed. I’ll wait here and keep the elevator.”

No one passed them in the small corridor as Gene waited. Grace did not move, and he was beginning to get worried, his stomach knotting in a way it hadn’t since he’d wrenched apart from the IIB all those years ago. He still remembered that feeling of losing something you dearly loved. That he was struck by it now floored him.

Grace was fun. She was completely dedicated to her job even though she never quite knew what it was. She was gutsy and brave and naïve enough to believe the best in everyone…to believe the best in him. But could her belief find any good left in him to save?

Gene had decided to skip town without a trace after this job, to start up Hardy’s Photography in a new city with a new name. He’d decided to leave Grace to Marco and wish them well. Gene wasn’t the settling down type.

But standing here now, with the lithe frame stilled on his shoulders, he questioned himself. If Grace died, his world would shatter, and the intensity of his fear shook him to the core. Gene had trained himself not to feel fear, or love, or any emotion that would weaken him in the eyes of his enemies, and those were many. Now, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t ignore the sensations that were sweeping over him.

Maybe, if they made it out of this alive, maybe Marco would share. Gene wouldn’t mind keeping the young IIB agent around. The wiry Colombian never failed to send shivers of desire through him, but Gene knew deep down that there was more to it than just sex. Pride swelled in Gene as he had watched Marco save the day, following protocol to the letter yet still managing to put Hardy’s team first. And his diplomacy between the two organizations showed promise. Maybe he could offer the agent a job, lure him away from the feds.

An image of the three of them sitting down to Christmas dinner in a small-town cottage overtook Gene, the comfort and serenity of the scene a further blow to his definition of himself. Still, even as he shook his head to rid himself of the picture, he had to admit there was something there. Perhaps a home. Or maybe these were all meanderings of a stressed mind under pressure.

“Okay, let’s go!” Marco’s strong voice yanked Gene from his reveries.

He let go of the elevator button and realized his hand had fallen asleep in that position, so hard had he been pressing down. The four slipped into the small booth.

“Should I try for the roof or just go to the fifth?” Gene asked.

“Roof.” Marco didn’t hesitate. “We can’t carry her up that ladder.”

“The bells.”

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll run.” Marco gave him a knowing look. “We’re good at that.”

Not this time, at least, I’m not,
Gene thought to himself.

He grunted and nodded, pressing the button for the rooftop.

The chopper was already touching down by the time the sirens started blaring behind them. As Gene carried his charge away from the sliding doors, the ruckus of the blades drowned out the alarms. A co-pilot he didn’t know hopped down to help edge Grace into the back area, and the three men climbed aboard just as a half-dozen Latino guards burst through the trapdoor from the staircase and ladder.

Gene quirked them a smile and gave a half wave as the chopper took off. The mission was over. He’d done his share. It was up to the government to clean up the mess. He grinned to himself. That was his favorite part of going into business for himself. He never had to
clean up the mess
.