Storm Warning (Security Specialists International Book 4) (4 page)

DJ turned to find Dev standing over her father, who’d enough brain power left to process the danger the larger, younger man posed.

“Maybe I should kick you while you’re down, you fucking worthless piece of dog crap. Beating women make you feel manly?” Dev moved his foot as if he’d follow through with his threat.

“Dev, no.” DJ moved and grabbed his arm, tugging him away. “We’ll tie them up and leave them. We need to get my momma to a hospital.”

Not the one in Williamson either. Someone there had colluded with the Varneys to clear that wing and faked the medical records to lure DJ in to be abducted.

Dev snorted with disgust, but nodded. As she stood guard, he hog-tied all four men with zip ties and left them on the drafty floor.

“Go on, Dev. I have some final words for the fucker who sired me.”

Dev scrutinized her closely for several seconds. He must’ve found what he needed in her face, because he nodded and stalked out of the room, pulling the door almost closed behind him.

DJ knelt next to her father’s head. “Listen up, old man. Me and those boys with me are your worst effin’ nightmare. I’ve got more friends just like them. So, you keep that in your sick, feeble brain when you’re plotting your revenge. Which you will, ’cause you’re thick as a post. My advice? Forget about me and Momma. Tell that fucker Sean and his daddy to forget about me, too.”

“Dahlia Jane, you done just fucked up, girl,” her father sneered, though it lost some effect since his words were slurred. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

DJ shook her head and sighed. “Yep, dumber than shit.” She stood and kicked him in the ribs with her Army-booted foot. “That’s for my momma.”

Then she turned and walked out of the cabin to find Dev, still on the porch, still covering her ass. God, she loved the Walsh men.

“You going to close the door?”asked Dev.

“Nah, maybe the old bastard will do me a favor and catch pneumonia and die.”

“Works for me.” Dev joined her as she walked down the wobbly steps and never looked back.

February 1
st
, Grangeville, Idaho

At the far east end of Grangeville, Idaho, DJ pulled into the parking lot of Ma’s Bar and Grill. The lot was shared with the Fill’er Up Gas Station and Pantry and Ted’s Taxidermy. The group of businesses was the last bit of civilization between here and Sanctuary which was almost an hour further to the east. All the rest of this part of Idaho was dominated by the Nez Perce National Forest, a vast wilderness area of mountains, forests, and rivers.

DJ stopped next to a gas pump to fill the bottomless pit of a tank in the late model Hummer she’d bought for a bargain price off a friend of Colonel Walsh’s. She now understood why the Marine captain sold the vehicle dirt cheap—it was a gas hog. But it also was a rugged, high-off-the-ground, armored gas hog. Some things were more important than money.

Money was replaceable. Safety was priceless.

“Are we here?” A yawn accompanied her mother’s soft-voiced question.

DJ glanced at her mother and smiled. Her mother’s eyes shone bright blue-green and were filled with happiness and love. It just showed what less stress, good food, and excellent care could do for a person.

After DJ and the Walshes had taken her mother to a twenty-four-hour emergency medical care facility and it was discovered her ribs were merely bruised—and after they ascertained that Mrs. Binkley was safe—they’d driven to the Walsh home on Camp Lejeune. Molly Walsh had treated Nancy Poe as if she were a long-lost sister. Her mother had blossomed under Molly’s tender loving care until it was time for them to leave for Idaho so DJ could begin her SSI employment.

DJ had managed the cross-country car trip in easy stages so her mother wouldn’t get overly tired—and so she could see some of the country. Prior to her rescue, her mother had never been more than two hours away from Red Bone.

The car trip had been both a healing and bonding time for the two of them.

“Not yet, Momma. Maybe another hour depending on the weather and road conditions.” DJ looked at the gray sky. They hadn’t seen the sun since Boise.

The weather forecast had predicted heavy snow with accumulations anywhere between twelve and twenty-four inches for the higher elevations of the Bitteroots. From the looks of the clouds, the heavier snow would begin sooner rather than later. They needed to get to Sanctuary, which was at a much higher elevation than Grangeville,
before
the snow set in for real.

“If you need to use the bathroom, now would be a good time,” DJ said. “I’ll fill the tank. You stay inside where it’s warm until I come and get you.”

“Should we buy groceries?” Her mother unbuckled her seat belt and grabbed her purse off the floor.

“Not necessary. We’ll be staying in the main lodge. We’ll eat our meals with the operatives and trainees who also live in the lodge. It’ll be like living in a ritzy hotel. Should be fun. All you have to do is relax.”

Her mother reached over the center console and stroked her face. “I love you, Dahlia Jane. I know you want to make my life easier, but not sure I know how to relax.”

“Learn.” DJ stared into the aquamarine eyes so like her own. “I love you, too. So much.” Lingering guilt made her sick to her stomach over what her mother must’ve endured for the years DJ had been gone. “I’m so … so sorry I didn’t get you away from that bastard sooner. When I think of what you…”

“Hush, baby girl. It’s over.” She pulled her hand away from DJ’s face. “I was young and stupid. I loved the bastard and married him. Then he gave me you, the most wonderful gift I’ve ever received. The day you were born I vowed you’d be free to make your own choices. I wanted you away from Al Poe and his low-life militia cronies. So, as I have told you time and time again, none of what happened to me is your fault.”

“But, Momma … I should’ve—”

“Not another word, Dahlia Jane Poe.” Her mother placed her finger on DJ’s lips. “I told you to leave. You did, and I’m so damn proud of what you’ve accomplished. Besides, you tried to get me out several times … not your fault the earlier plans failed.”

Her mother was far too forgiving.

DJ should’ve taken some of her flight crew, gone to Red Bone, and stolen her away in the dark of night years ago. But her mother—and Mrs. Binkley—had assured her, and DJ had wanted to believe, that her father had been more talk than action after DJ left Red Bone. Mostly, he’d ignored or humiliated his wife, treated her like a servant—or, at least, he had until recently. His actions had become more physical and more erratic over the last six months. Her mother hadn’t provided specific details, which allowed DJ to imagine the worst.

DJ blamed the new level of her father’s violence on his meth use. She fisted her hands and could almost feel the steam coming out of her ears, recalling the damage from the last beating her mother had endured. She forced her fingers to relax and took a slow breath to regain control.

Time to change the subject. They’d had this discussion several times since the night of the rescue, but despite all her mother’s love and assurances, DJ hadn’t been able to let go of her guilt. The only thing giving DJ some peace of mind was the fact the attorney she’d retained had already served divorce papers on her bastard of a father and had obtained a permanent restraining order against him. Her mother would soon be legally free of the man once and for all.

She picked up her mother’s delicate hand and kissed the back of it. “Momma, if you love me, please don’t call me baby girl … or Dahlia Jane. I’m DJ now. I have to gain the respect of my SSI colleagues. Dahlia Jane isn’t the kick-ass name of a personal security operative.”

Her mother giggled and, suddenly, looked so beautiful, carefree, and far younger than her forty-four years of age. She’d married at fifteen and given birth to DJ at sixteen. DJ’s maternal grandparents had pushed the marriage, seeing that their daughter had the sense to fall in love with Al Poe, an up-and-comer in the county power structure. Her grandparents had died before Al had become an abusive criminal. Though from what her mother had told her, DJ’s grandparents wouldn’t have lifted a finger even if they’d lived. They were of the old school of thought that a husband ruled his home and outside interference need not come knocking on the door.

“Come on, pretty lady.” DJ unlocked the doors and used the inside release to pop the gas tank cover. “Let’s get hopping so we can see what our new home looks like before those dark snow clouds start dumpin’.”

DJ exited the driver’s side and jogged around to help her mother out of the high-off-the-ground Hummer. Once on the slush-covered cement pad surrounding the gas pumps, the top of her mother’s head came to the middle of DJ’s chest.

DJ was just shy of six feet tall. She might’ve gotten her mother’s curly blonde hair and aquamarine eyes, but she’d gotten the Poe men’s height. Her womanly curves came from both sides of the family. She loved the height; she was uncomfortable with the attention the curves drew from the male part of the population.

“Go inside, Momma. Get yourself something to drink and a snack. Not sure when the lodge meal times are scheduled, but I imagine we’ll be a little early for the evening meal.” DJ handed her mother some money. “Grab me a large fountain Diet Pepsi.”

“You and that Diet Pepsi. Shoulda bought stock in that company when you were a toddler. I’d be a rich woman.” Her mother winked.

DJ laughed.

Her mother then practically skipped through the slushy puddles into the store. She’d treated everything that had happened since the night DJ and the Walsh brothers had rescued her like a trip to Disney World—and that particular experience would also happen one day since her mother had wistfully admitted she’d seen a TV special and wanted to go visit Mickey and friends.

DJ could easily afford to give her mother the full Disney experience. She’d had very few expenses while in the Army and saved most of her pay. Now, she also had the fabulous salary SSI would pay her. So, if her mother wanted something, she’d damn well get it. DJ was so gonna spoil that woman.

As the huge tank filled, DJ walked around the vehicle, checking the tires to make sure they were properly inflated. She’d put the chains on only if the road conditions necessitated it. She expected to make it to Sanctuary before the weather worsened that badly. Then she cleaned the salt and other road grit from the windows and lights.

As she worked, two identical extended cab trucks roared into the lot and pulled up to the pumps on the other side of hers. The drivers got out of the trucks and began to fill the tanks. A man jogged from the diner and began a conversation with a passenger from one of the vehicles. The two men, who obviously knew each other, stood less than three feet away and spoke loudly with no concern about being overheard. Probably because they spoke colloquial Spanish in one of the Central American dialects—Salvadoran.

DJ recognized the dialect from a two-year deployment in Central America where she’d flown missions in conjunction with the DEA and local drug enforcement. Very early in her Army career, she’d discovered she had an affinity for languages. She could fluently speak and read Spanish, French, and German. She was less fluent in Russian and Farsi. Her language aptitude had given her the opportunity to be trained in personal security and designated as a chopper pilot for escorting VIPs in war zones and eventually transporting Special Operations Command teams on classified missions.

When the two Hispanic men mentioned SSI, her neck began to itch just as it always did right before someone fired upon her helicopter. She concentrated more intently on their conversation.

The man who’d exited the truck asked the man from the diner, “Juan, is Keely Maddox inside?”

“Yes, Cervantes.” Juan responded, but avoided looking directly in Cervantes’ eyes.

Cervantes was obviously the alpha-dog and running the show, whatever in the hell the show was. He was also armed; the wind had blown open his jacket for a second or two, revealing a holstered pistol.

“She is there,” Juan swept his arm back toward the diner, “along with her son and several other SSI women. They are eating still.”

Cervantes swore and looked at the sky. “Weather report says high winds. Heavy snow. Can’t wait too long for the women to leave, or we’ll never make base before the roads get bad.” He paused and then said, “If the snow begins to get heavy before they are ready to leave, we’ll go in and get them.”

“And the others inside?” Juan asked.

“We’ll kill them.” Cervantes’ tone was as flat and cold as his ebony-eyed gaze. “We can leave no witnesses.”

Not. Gonna. Happen. No one was hurting anyone from SSI on her watch and especially not the Walsh’s only daughter and only grandchild.

“But, Cervantes, there are too many inside,” Juan protested. “We are outnumbered.”

“We will have surprise on our side. They are civilians. It will be easy. We need to take the woman before she reaches the safety of SSI’s property.” Cervantes pointed to the diner. “Now go and check on their progress with their meal and report back to me.”

Juan nodded and walked casually toward the restaurant as Cervantes began to clean off the truck’s headlamps and then the windows. When he rounded the back to clean the side windows, he noticed her. Slowly, he looked up and down her body—twice—then smiled. “
Hola, Senorita
.”

Typical leering Hispanic
machismo
bullshit.

DJ shot him the icy glare that had stopped many an unwanted Lothario in his tracks, then turned her back and focused on dispensing the last few gallons into the Hummer’s tank—slowly. She needed to hear more about what they’d planned. More importantly, she needed to try to figure out who’d sent them and what their ultimate agenda might be. Since she didn’t intend to allow them to take Keely and the baby, she wanted to have some answers for her employer Ren Maddox.

Cervantes’s gaze lingered on her body her for a few more seconds, then he muttered, “
Ai yi yi
, a ball buster.” He loudly joked to one of the other men in his local dialect. “It is too bad I don’t have the time to take the giant blonde whore down a peg or two. She’d look good on her knees sucking my cock.”

Never. Never again.
Dark, debasing memories of Sean forcing her to her knees and—
NO!

DJ swallowed hard and forced the hot, oily, queasy feeling away. After several breaths of cold, crisp, clean-smelling air, she had her control back and then replaced the latent fear the past always brought with icy rage for the fucktard Cervantes and his crew.

The other man laughed. “I would help, Cervantes.”

Both men would be singing soprano in an Idahoan prison if they tried anything on with her. But they wouldn’t. Cervantes had a mission and was on a short clock.

Juan jogged back to his boss. She spotted a gun on his hip. “They are near the end of their meal.”

Shit.
The countdown clock to FUBAR had just gotten even shorter.

“That is good. We’ll pull to the far side of the gas station building and wait.” Cervantes tossed the windshield squeegee into the bucket of soapy water. “We’ll follow our original plan and follow them once they drive away from here and take them farther down the road.”

Like hell they will.

Cervantes moved away to address the man fueling the lead truck and spoke so softly she couldn’t hear what was said.

DJ scanned the ominous, dark clouds rolling in over the mountain peaks. She could smell … feel the heavier snow approach. The wind had already picked up. For now, the clouds merely dropped intermittent, large, fluffy flakes that were taken away on the wind. Any snow that managed to hit the ground created lacy, swirling, geometric patterns on the cleared dark asphalt.

The bad weather clock was also winding down fast. One way or the other, the mercenaries, because that is what they had to be, would make a move soon. Too soon to get the local law here, she was sure.

DJ prayed the stories the Walshes told about Keely and her fighting abilities were true, since it looked as if she and her boss’s wife would be defending themselves, innocent civilians—and DJ’s mother—holed up in a diner.