Most Eligible Spy (17 page)

He’d bet his Cat Counting company shares Logan was in trouble.

They hurried forward, stopped at the intersection of tunnels, four shafts for the four of them. They didn’t waste time arguing over whether to stick together or split up. They were tough commando soldiers; each could handle pretty much anything on their own.

Mo took the shaft that went straight forward, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other.

Thunder sounded above and the earth shook as lightning struck. Dirt snowed on his head, underscoring the fact that the old structure wasn’t exactly stable. He just hoped it held long enough to rescue Molly and Logan.

Chapter Twelve

They had precious
little light to see by. The surrounding darkness was oppressive, a heavy presence pushing down on them. The air smelled musty. The deeper they went, the more the temperature dropped.
Cold as a grave.
Molly shook off the thought. She had to keep it together. She had to figure out a way to escape or they’d be killed.

“Faster,” Kenny ordered. “I have other things to do today.”

“I can barely see where I’m going.” She had no intention of hurrying. She needed time to think.

As soon as they found the rest of the crates, he would shoot them, like he had shot the snake, she thought as they passed yet another shaft, this one going straight down. When Kenny shined the light into the hole, she could see water about seven or eight feet below.

This part of her ranch lay higher than the lands a little farther south, where the Rio Grande rushed to the east, but was still low enough for her to wonder if the rain that threatened would come and when. She had plans to escape from Kenny, and she didn’t plan on drowning.

“Not down there, I’m guessing,” Kenny said as he passed by the hole. “Keep moving.”

Then they reached another central spot that led to multiple shafts. A giant mass loomed up ahead in one of them, a dark shadow that reached from the floor to the ceiling. They found the rest of the crates.

“Good,” Kenny said with a dose of relief. “We lost too much money in the factory raid. Your brother ponied up for that. If this got lost, I’d have to pay for it.”

Pain bubbled up in her heart. Dylan... She shook her head. Was that why he’d mortgaged the ranch? Didn’t matter now. She couldn’t worry about that at the moment. She had to figure out a way to survive this.

As Kenny panned the crates with the flashlight, she caught the glint of a thin wire a few feet in front of them. Only because she’d been looking, because she’d been expecting it. Kenny didn’t seem to notice the booby trap. So Dylan
had
protected his treasure.

She had a split second to make a decision. She gave Logan’s hand a squeeze, a silent warning. Then she spun around and kicked the flashlight from Kenny’s hand, doing her best to copy the move she’d seen Mo teach Logan.

Miraculously, she hit her target. The next second they were plunged into darkness.

“Quick!” She dragged her son down a shaft, away from the crates, running forward in the pitch dark and praying they didn’t fall. Her only goal was to get as far from Kenny and that wire as possible.

“Get back here!” Kenny shouted, swearing after them.

Then he found the flashlight and shone the light around. She saw another shaft to her left. She dragged Logan into it, into the darkness and out of Kenny’s line of sight.

With a little luck, he would want to check the crates first.

She ran forward, stumbling, catching herself. “Hurry!”

Logan didn’t have to be told twice. He ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. Soccer practice paid off, obviously. He ran just as fast as she did.

She only wished she could see better. She was completely disoriented in the dark, hoping the tunnel was straight so she wouldn’t run face first into a wall. She kept a step in front of Logan, so at least she could save him from injury. If she crashed, she would just have to pick herself up and keep going.

They were both breathing hard, wheezing for air that was musty and humid this deep inside the shaft.

The explosion, when it came, knocked her off her feet.

* * *

T
HE
GROUND
-
SHAKING
boom didn’t come from lightning above. This was an explosion, underground, and it scared the spit out of Mo. He’d seen plenty of explosions in his life, had been the cause of a number of them.

But this time, Molly’s life was at stake, and possibly Logan’s.

At least the sound told him in what direction to run. He picked up speed, ready for anything, panning the light over the ground then on the ceiling to make sure he wasn’t running headfirst into a tunnel that was collapsing.

Then, after an eternity, he spotted another light up ahead and soon made out the form of a man sitting, heard him cough from the dust that filled the air. Behind him, the tunnel was filled with rubble.

Mo pushed forward. “Sheriff?”

Only then did the man notice him, looking up with a startled expression on his face. But before Mo could ask where Molly was, the Pebble Creek sheriff swung his arm around and opened fire.

Bam. Bam. Bam.
The acrid smell of gun smoke filled the dusty air.

Mo tossed his flashlight that did nothing at this stage but make him a target, then returned fire. Kenny was smart enough to turn off his own light the next instant. The two of them shot at each other blindly, bullets ricocheting off the rock walls.

God, this was stupid.

“Molly?” Mo called out in the dark. Just because he hadn’t seen her didn’t mean she hadn’t been back there somewhere in the shadows. He didn’t want to hit her accidently.

But no response came.

Shots peppered the air for about another minute. Then nothing. Looked as if they ran out of bullets at the same time.

He shoved his empty gun into the back of his waistband and lurched forward, groping for Kenny. Beams creaked above them, an ominous sound. But even over that, he could hear the bastard’s wheezing.

That led him to the man, and Mo grabbed him by the shoulders, from the feel of it. “Where is she?”

“Go to hell.” Kenny kicked out, bringing them to the stone-covered ground.

Rolling on that didn’t feel too good, as sharp shards shredded Mo’s skin. He tried to keep on top of Kenny as much as possible. The sheriff was in pretty good shape and trained in hand-to-hand combat, putting up a damned good fight. He was lighter than Mo and quicker. But in the end Mo’s sheer muscle-mass advantage got the better of him.

“Where is she?” He slammed the man into the ground and felt something wet on the back of his hands. Probably blood. Couldn’t tell which one of them was bleeding.

Kenny coughed. “Ran into a tunnel.”

“Which one?”

Kenny only laughed at that.

“Where is she?” Mo demanded again and shook him harder, but the man’s body went slack.

This time Kenny didn’t cough, just wheezed. He didn’t fight back, either. Maybe he’d caught a bullet. “Don’t know. Got away.”

He’d find her. “Who sends the drugs over?” Mo asked next.

This was the closest his team had gotten to something real. Dylan Rogers had died before he could have been questioned. “Who is Coyote?”

Kenny wheezed.

“Tell me how I find the guy, and I’ll get you out of here,” Mo promised. “Or I’m leaving and you can bleed out in this hellhole, wondering if the rats or the collapsing ceiling will get to you first.”

The beams groaned, underscoring his words.

Kenny gave a weak cough, his body completely limp now. “Coyote,” he said, his hand coming up to grab Mo’s wrist.

“Who is he?”

But Kenny’s hand fell away, each breath shallower than the one before it.

“Don’t you die, you damned traitor.” Mo swore.

“Needed the money.” Kenny gasped. “Doesn’t hurt anybody. If I don’t do it, someone else will.”

“Bringing terrorists into the country doesn’t hurt anybody?”

“Just drugs and guns. Some illegals.”

Mo shook him again, running out of patience. “What do you know about the terrorists?”

“Nobody’s coming in.” He took a break to wheeze. “It’s all on hold.”

They already knew that. But now something new occurred to Mo. Once Coyote let his dogs loose, they’d rush to make up for the lost income. A sudden influx of contraband would keep CBP busy. Busy enough so that someplace unexpected, a small group of terrorists could be sneaked across the border. Sure looked as if all this was part of a grand plan.

He gripped the man’s shoulders. “Until when is everything on hold? When can you start up again?”

But the sheriff seemed past talking.

Mo let the man go and searched for his flashlight, found it after a few minutes of mad groping. “Talk to me, dammit.” He aimed the light at Kenny.

A gunshot wound bloomed in the middle of the man’s chest.

“When?” he demanded.

For a second, Kenny’s eyes slid open. “Help,” he gasped. “I’m dying.”

“At least don’t die a traitor.” But he wasn’t sure the bastard heard him. His eyes closed again.

Mo shook him. Nothing. The sheriff was completely out of it, dammit. There’d be no answers coming from him.

Mo gritted his teeth while the mine rumbled around them as cracks ran through the tunnels, the shock waves from the explosion destabilizing the entire structure.

He needed to get to Molly. A half-dozen shafts opened from the main tunnel he’d followed here. No time to make mistakes. Which one to take?

A scraping sound came from behind him.

He swung the flashlight that way. “Molly?”

Skipper bounded out of the darkness, giving an anxious bark.

“How did you get here?”

He knew the answer before Skipper jumped up on him, barking, licking his face. Ryder had called Grace, and she had come with the dog. Thank God.

He ruffled Skipper’s fur. “Find Molly. Come on, girl. Where’s Logan?”

The dog’s intelligent eyes glistened in the semidarkness. She sniffed around then darted down the closest shaft.

Mo ran after her. “Molly!”

And somewhere, far ahead, he heard a scream.

The sound cut right through his heart. He ran. Then he ran harder. He was running for the woman he was falling in love with, dammit.

The few minutes until he found her seemed an eternity. They huddled in the dark a hundred feet ahead of him, looking like statues, covered in gray dust. Skipper was whining and prodding them with her nose. And then the tangle of limbs moved. His heart dared beat again.

“Are you two okay?” He held his breath for the answer.

“Some of the dirt came down. I thought it would bury us.” She shook dust from her head, then ruffled Logan’s hair to clean him off.

He helped them stand. They could move. Okay. Good. Nothing looked broken. He pulled them up into his arms, held them tight, Skipper muscling her way into the middle. “Did Kenny have anyone with him?”

“He was alone.” Molly’s voice was more than a little shaky. “What are you doing here with Skipper? How did you find us?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you later.”

The mine groaned and creaked all around them, an ominous boom sounding in the distance.

“Run!” He grabbed for her hand. She tugged Logan after her, and they moved as fast as was possible under the circumstances, the dog running ahead, barking.

When they reached Kenny, Mo panned the light over the man. He
had
promised to take him out. But Kenny was no longer breathing. His eyes gazed off into nothing.

Then Mo caught something in the dust next to him. Some scribbles:
10 1.
His mind registered the numbers before Skipper walked all over the writing and erased it. She sniffed Kenny, nudged him with her nose a couple of times, then walked back to Logan.

October first.

But what did the date mean? They needed the information Kenny could have given them. Too late. And no time to worry over it. Mo kept moving.

He had to focus on what could still be saved. “We have to hurry.”

Except, somehow the force of the explosion traveled through certain layers of rock and collapsed the tunnel ahead of them, too, he realized as he panned ahead with his flashlight. They were in some kind of a pocket, held up as if by a miracle.

They stared at the pile of rocks that blocked their way, only a small hole open on top. And that not for long, Mo saw. The entire structure was unstable. The rest would come down if any of them tried to climb up there.

Molly stepped forward. “We can push through.” Panic tinged her voice.

“No.” He held her back. Then gave her the truth straight-out, because she deserved to know. “This whole level is collapsing.”

* * *

C
OLD
FEAR
PARALYZED
HER
.
“We have to get out,” she begged, her gaze fixed on that little hole. They could squeeze through there. She knew they could. It was the way they had come in. They needed to get out.
Now
.

But Mo pulled her back again. “Not that way.”

“There’s no other way!”

“There was a shaft going down, to a lower level.”

That hole with the water at the bottom? That made no sense. She didn’t want to go down, deeper into the earth. She wanted to go up. Her panic and every instinct she had pushed her toward that small gap in the rubble. If they could crawl through there...

Skipper could help with the digging. She was a great digger. “Come on, Skipper.”

But Skipper was backing away.

“Listen to me,” Mo said in that steady voice of his. “Trust me.”

Trust? Oh, God, now? She was nearly blind with fear, ready to bolt like a scared animal.

Yet on some level... She closed her eyes for a second. Drew a deep breath.
This is Mo,
she thought.
This is Mo.
He wanted to protect her. She didn’t doubt that. Did she trust him to know what he was doing?

She wanted to trust him. She swallowed hard. “Okay.”

And then she let him lead her and her son back, to the hole that freaked her out completely.

The ceiling shook above them. Water glistened below. Just above the level of the water, an opening gaped in the side of the vertical drop, the entry to another horizontal tunnel, parallel to theirs. The remains of a wooden ladder clung to the wall of the down shaft, pretty thoroughly rotted. No way could they step on that.

“So we just drop? Then what?”

“We don’t drop. There could be something in that water, a sharp beam. Don’t want anyone to get skewered.” He lay on the ground and leaned in, panned the hole with his flashlight. “I’ll lower you down. Come on. You first. Logan? Can you hold the flashlight, buddy?”

Logan stared at her, too shaken to move.