Thrill Ride (5 page)

“If only,” he sighed, pulling his pistols from his waistband and trudging over to the shelf that held his few pieces of cookware. Placing the 9mms inside a pot and securing the lid—capuchin monkeys sometimes snuck in and messed with his stuff, and the last thing he wanted was to get accidently plugged by some light-fingered primate—he turned back around to find Vanessa’s head cocked, her lips pursed.

“And if I
had
lost you, how long would I have had to wait at that cantina before you made a return appearance?”

“A month,” he admitted. “Maybe more.”

She shook her head in disbelief, blowing out a breath. “Well, thank heavens I brushed up on my Maleku.”

“Huh?”

“It was an elderly Maleku man who pointed me toward the cantina. I guess he’d seen you there a couple of times.”

And he wasn’t surprised the Knights had chosen to send
her
after him. They had to have figured it would take someone with her particular linguistic abilities to decipher the many Chibchan dialects spoken by the locals around these parts.

Just as he opened his mouth to question her further, a subtle sound, a deep muttering, had every single hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

***

Eve
Eden’s vacation house, San Jose, Costa Rica…

“Oh shit!”

Eve’s entire skeleton nearly flew out of her skin at Billy’s roared exclamation. The tension around her place had been riding high until a few hours ago when Vanessa Cordero checked in to say she’d finally located Rock. Since then everything had evened out. Calmed down. Which was probably one of the reasons why Billy’s sudden outburst scared the bejeezus out of her. It was like a gunshot in the middle of a picnic lunch.

The glass of Chardonnay she’d been in the middle of pouring fell victim to the hand that jumped to clutch her throat. Sparing barely a glance at the shattered glass and gold liquid flowing freely across the granite countertop, she watched as Billy—Wild Bill Reichert to those in the spec-ops community—jabbed a hard finger onto the screen of his phone before launching himself over the back of the sofa and racing toward the hall.

Her natural instinct was to stay rooted to the spot. But just last month, her personal defense instructor informed her, in no uncertain terms, that she needed to
grow
a
pair
. Which she took to mean when everything inside her yelled at her to get very still and stop breathing—just play the scared rabbit—that’s when she should channel a little of her best friend, Becky Reichert, and kick her characteristic reserve to the curb.

So…WWBD? What would Becky do? Becky would be hot on Billy’s heels, that’s what.

Exhaling a determined breath, she shot out from behind the counter and caught up with Billy just as he was about to throw open the door to the bedroom Boss and Becky were currently in the process of christening.

Oh, no. Bad idea.
Because if there was one thing guaranteed to scar a man for life, it was seeing his little sister
in
flagrante
delicto
with the giant, hairy guy who happened to be his brother-in-law and boss.

She grabbed Billy’s wrist before he could finish turning the knob and—

Warm.

His skin was always so warm. That was one of the things she remembered about him. The heat he generated. And even though more than a decade had passed since she’d been in his arms, the mere touch of him brought back the memories as if it was only yesterday…

The way his wide mouth had curved in a smile as the wind blew his shiny brown hair every which way that day they’d sailed her little skiff on Lake Michigan. The way his warm eyes had sparkled that night she finally let him unbutton her blouse in the backseat of his car. The way heartbreak had contorted his young, handsome face that fateful morning he told her he was leaving…

That last one—and the deep ache that always accompanied it—brought her slamming back to the present. “You don’t want to do that,” she told him.

He shot her a hard look that had her lungs clenching. But she was trying very hard to grow a pair, so she held her ground. “Just yell it through the door. They’ll hear you.”

For a split second he seemed to hesitate, his expression softening, his dark-chocolate-colored eyes searching her face as if maybe…

But just when she thought he might say something, oh, she didn’t know,
nice
to her—like, perhaps,
thank
you
for
keeping
me
from
seeing
something
that
would
require
me
to
bleach
my
brain
—he turned and bellowed into the dark wood. “We’ve got a problem! Get dressed and get your asses out here!”

Whispered curses could be heard inside the room, followed by the squeak of the mattress and the muffled shuffle of footsteps. Eve wasn’t aware she was still holding Billy’s wrist until he glanced down at her hand and back up at her face.

Heat climbed into her cheeks before she had the wherewithal to release him.

It’d been this way ever since they’d been reintroduced six months ago. The stilted conversation and wary looks. The subtle jibes. The…
electricity.

Geez
Louise.

Of course, she’d managed to mitigate much of that by avoiding him at all costs. And a
smart
woman would’ve continued to uphold that status quo. Unfortunately, despite what her professors might say to the contrary, she was discovering she wasn’t a very smart woman at all. Because when Becky had called and asked to borrow the San Jose house for a little celebration of her recent nuptials—and as a cover for an operation—Eve jumped at the chance to tag along. To see how it was all done.

Growing
a
pair
indeed.
Her defense instructor would be so proud.

Of course, at the time, she hadn’t been aware how much being in the same room with Billy Reichert was going to wreak havoc on her nervous system and—

The door to the bedroom flew open, interrupting her thoughts. Boss and Becky stood on the threshold, both wearing fuzzy white robes and sporting hairdos that looked like they’d survived a hurricane.

To Eve’s utter chagrin, her blush deepened.

“What is it?” Boss demanded, running a hand over his stubbled jaw.

“Ozzie just intercepted a CIA scramble directive for a couple of stealth choppers over Monteverde Cloud Forest,” Billy informed him.

“Fuck me.” Boss grabbed the door frame with enough force to crack the wood.

“And Vanessa?” Becky asked.

“She’s turned off the signal…just in case.” Billy tilted his phone from side-to-side, indicating it was useless as a means of communication.

“Options?” Boss inquired, the big muscle in his jaw beating out a too-fast rhythm.

“There are none,” Billy admitted, his expression sickly. “We just have to wait and see if Rock is as resourceful as we all think he is. In the meantime, I think we’d better call in the cavalry. Something tells me we’re going to need all boots on the ground here.”

“Roger that,” Boss said, turning back into the room to grab his phone from the nightstand. He immediately began punching in numbers.

“How many?” Becky’s expression was tense as she peered into Billy’s face, and even Eve knew what she was after. The odds. Just how many CIA agents was Rock Babineaux going to be up against?

“Eight,” Billy replied, and Becky’s face relaxed.

“That’s not so bad. He and Vanessa can hold their own against—”

“On each team,” Billy interrupted. “There are two teams.”

“
Oh
shit
,” Becky breathed, and Eve experienced a disconcerting sense of déjà vu.

“What is it?”

The look on Rock’s face was enough to have the ceviche in Vanessa’s stomach going rancid.

“They’re here,” he whispered.

She had a brief flashback to a scene in
Poltergeist
a split second before he grabbed her around the waist and lunged for the open doorway. No sooner had they cleared the threshold than all hell broke loose. A flashbang detonated inside the tree house, momentarily blinding Vanessa and causing her ears to ring.

Of course, she was glad her eyesight wasn’t working when Rock yelled, “Hang on!” and looped her arms around his neck.

She instinctively obeyed and was sure as hell glad she did when he grabbed hold of a rope she hadn’t seen dangling from an upper branch. Before she knew what he was doing, he stepped off the platform, and then…

Nothing.

Just the thick, wet jungle air between her and a forty-foot drop into oblivion.

Biting back a terrified squeal, she wrapped her legs around Rock’s waist and, even though she was still partially blinded by the flashbang, squeezed her eyes closed all the same.

This
isn’t happening. This isn’t happen—

Oh, yes, this was definitely happening.

She was swinging through the jungle, Tarzan-style—uh, Jane-style?—while bullets whizzed by her head. Even with all her senses reeling, she was still painfully aware of the feeling of displaced air near her ear when a round barely missed her.

Holy cow, they were trying to kill her.

Those
bastards! They’re actually trying to—

And then she didn’t have time for thought, because Rock dropped onto a small platform secured to a massive tree trunk opposite the tree house. He landed with enough force to jar the teeth from her head, so it was a good thing she had her jaw clenched. Working solely on instinct, she went to release her hold on him but was stopped when he immediately shuffled around on the barely foot-wide ledge to the back of the tree. There he stopped beside a ladder similar to the one she’d climbed to get to his tree house.

“Swing around to my back,
chere
,” he instructed, his tone amazingly calm considering there were groups of men, dressed all in black, repelling from out of the sky while simultaneously
shooting
at them. Of course, Rock and Vanessa’s current position behind the humongous tree trunk gave them a moment’s reprieve, but she knew it would only be a moment. Now that she’d recovered from the shock of the flashbang, she could hear the rhythmic muttering that’d initially alerted Rock to the approaching trouble. Glancing overhead, she caught a glimpse through the swaying canopy of not one but
two
fabled stealth Chinook helicopters shining bright spotlights into the forest below, lighting up Rock’s tree house like a Christmas ornament.

Oh, hell.
She nearly swallowed her tongue.

Because there was a legend within the spec-ops community that went a little something like this: if an operator ever makes an error of egregious proportions, then regardless of who he is or where he is, a mysterious black Chinook arrives, and that’s the unqualified and unmistakable signal that the spec-ops community no longer requires that particular operator’s services.

When a black stealth Chinook shows up on your doorstep, you know one thing for sure—it’s time to bend over and kiss your ass good-bye because you’re completely and unequivocally fucked six ways from Sunday.

Well, not if I have any say in the matter…

Dropping down to the narrow ledge, she hastily tiptoed around Rock until she was pressed against his back and could once more hook her arms around his neck. He barely gave her time to adjust her hold before he grabbed on to the side rails of the metal ladder. Only he didn’t use the rungs to scale down the sucker. Oh, no. That would’ve been far too
natural
a descent. Instead, he hooked his boots on the outside of each rail and once again…

Nothing but air.

For interminable seconds they were hurtling toward the earth at breakneck speed, the thick air rushing by them, the lush bromeliads growing on the trunk rushing by in a kaleidoscope of colors muted by the darkness. Then Vanessa felt every muscle in Rock’s body bunch and strain and felt a deep grunt build in his chest as he tightened his grip on the rails of the ladder. Miraculously, their momentum slowed. And to her amazement, instead of slamming into the ground at terminal velocity, they landed with a soft, controlled
thud
.

She marveled at his sheer strength even as she dropped to the ground behind him. A split second later, he had her hand secured firmly within his own, yelling, “Run!” as he jerked her into a sprint through the thick undergrowth.

***

Thirty
yards
north, and twenty yards west. Inside the hollow of a dead tree whose roots protrude from the ground like little brown fingers…

Oui
, that’d be where his nearest cache of gear was stored and,
dieu
merci
, thank God his dear ol’ daddy didn’t raise no fool.

Rock half-carried, half-dragged Vanessa along behind him as he ran, heart pounding steady as a metronome despite the danger, mentally keeping count of his steps while simultaneously cursing himself for putting her through this.

The poor woman was scared to death, realizing for the first time the severity of the shit-storm circling around him, and undoubtedly regretting, with every fiber of her being, her decision to come and find him.

And could he blame her?

Uh, that’d be a big, honking negative.

Because avoiding a ballistic lobotomy was enough to scare the bark out of any dog, even an old hound like him who’d been trained in the fine art of keeping his cool when the world around him was exploding. So,
oui
, if he was nervous—which he totally was; there were
a
lot
of men dropping out of the sky—that meant she had to be absolutely terrified.

Because the truth of the matter was, she may be one hell of a communications specialist, but she didn’t know jack shit when it came to handling the melee of full-on battle. And that’s exactly what they had going here. Battle.

Case in point: the bullet that slammed into the trunk of the tree not ten inches from his face, ripping away bark and blasting it into a dozen razor-sharp slivers. Vanessa squealed at the same time one of those slivers sliced into his neck. He felt the hot trickle of blood but paid it no mind. He had to get to his gear and secure Vanessa in one of his hiding spots. Now. Five minutes ago…

“Watch the stump!” he yelled, barely seeing the remains of the fallen tree before he was forced to hurdle it. Much to his surprise, Vanessa was right there with him, vaulting the sucker like a gold-medal Olympian as the
pop
and
crack
of automatic weapons fire echoed through the jungle.

Sweat trickled down his face and neck, burning the fresh wound there, but he didn’t give it a moment’s notice. Because they had a very short window of time—during the initial pandemonium caused by the two helo teams fast roping in—to make their escape. And with each passing second, and each additional set of boots on the ground, that window shrank.

“We’re going the wrong way!” Vanessa yelled beside him. “We need to head east if we want to get back to Santa Elena!”

If only it were that easy. One of the fundamental precepts of warfare was to
never
go
out
the
way
you
came
in…

“That’s exactly where they’d expect us to head,” he hollered above the racket of the firefight just as he was forced to execute a swift juke move lest he run face first into a low-hanging vine. The sudden change in direction caused Vanessa to stumble, but she rallied like a true operator and quickly regained her footing.

And, then, suddenly it appeared the helo teams lost track of their location. Because the rounds were no longer cutting through the foliage all around them and seemed, instead, to be focused more toward the west. But that wouldn’t last long. No doubt those boys were wearing night vision goggles, which gave them all the advantages in this little game of cat and mouse.

“Where are we going?” Vanessa panted, now keeping pace beside him as they dodged left and ran smack dab into a thick curtain of wet vines.

This
goddamned
jungle
is
gonna
get
us
killed
quicker
than
those
helo
teams…

“Almost there,” he assured her in a whisper. Now that the gunfire was dwindling, he needed to keep their sound signature to a minimum. Wrestling with the vines, cursing under his breath, he reached out to grab her hand. He felt better when he was touching her and,
oui
, he was going to chalk that up to the fact that it was difficult to see and he needed to know exactly where she was at all times and not the fact that…well…he just liked touching her.

“
Where?
” she hissed, calling into question someone’s paternity when one particularly spiny vine snagged her ponytail, jerking her back like a puppet on a string.

Unsheathing his Bowie knife took all of half a second. Then he was reaching up to slice through the thickness of her ponytail, effectively freeing her and severing several inches of her hair in the process.

Pity. She had the most beautiful hair he’d ever seen…slick and black as a raven’s wing…But they didn’t have time to mess around.

Again she surprised him when she didn’t so much as utter a squeak of protest. Instead, she whispered, “Thanks,” as she lowered her chin and doggedly pushed ahead, breaking into a sprint he was hard-pressed to keep up with.

“This way.” He steered her to the right and,
saints
be
praised!
, there it was.

Dropping her hand, he bent to snatch his pack from the hollow of the tree, briefly overwhelmed by the smell of decaying foliage when he thrust his head into the small space.

“What in the world?” she asked when he backed out.

“Operators, especially those raised out on the bayou, hide gear the way squirrels hide nuts,” he said by way of explanation while tearing through the protective plastic bag and digging into the pack to check that both his spare SIGs were just where he’d left them, chambered and at the ready.

Stuffing the pistols into his waistband, he shouldered the pack and turned to her.

“What?” Even in the dimness she must have recognized the look on his face.

“You’re bugged,
chere
,” he said, and she was shaking her head before the last word left his mouth.

“No. No way. I checked my clothes before I left San Jose. There was nothing that—”

“Then you were tagged at some point in Santa Elena,” he interrupted her, taking this small, momentary reprieve in the firefight to catch his breath and mentally run through their dismally few options. Few? What a joke. One. They had
one
option. And it wasn’t going to be easy. “It’s the only way they could’ve found us. And you see how they’ve lost us now? It’s because you’re out of range. So that means it’ll be a low-tech tracking device. Like a sticker or—”

“No, I—” She suddenly stopped, the whites of her eyes glowing in the night as her lids flew wide and she reached into her pocket, pulling out her cell phone. “There was a little boy,” she explained quickly, “he bumped into me at the CASEM store this morning.” She handed him her iPhone, and he was dismayed to see her hand was shaking—the poor woman was a lot more scared than she was leading on,
and
goddamn
you, Rwanda Don, and what you’ve brought on us both!
“The screen brightness is set to dim,” she panted, turning around. “Shine it on my back and see if there’s anything stuck to me.”

Silently promising slow and thorough retribution to Rwanda Don, Rock thumbed on the phone’s screen, pointing the nearly infinitesimal light it provided at Vanessa’s back and—

There. Stuck to her back pocket. A tiny, metallic-looking sticker.

A sick foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach. He peeled the sticker off, raised it and the phone close to his face in order to see, and…sure enough.

“Oh, shit,” Vanessa breathed after turning around, and Rock couldn’t help but think,
oh, shit, indeed.

Because, pretty as you please, on the back of the sticker was the tiny wiring indicative of a radio-frequency device. The thing was incredibly low-tech, likely only detectable from within a hundred yards, but it was enough. More than enough. Anyone who’d ever set off an alarm at a department store knew just how well RFD tags worked.

Vanessa started shaking her head. “Oh, geez. Oh, geez. I’m so sorry, I—”

“Doesn’t matter now,” he told her and, as if on cue, a bullet smacked into the tree they were hiding behind.

Quickly pocketing Vanessa’s phone, he bent to grab a small stone. Attaching the RFD to the rock, he wound up and sent the sucker flying. A couple of heartbeats later, the sound of gunfire moved off in the direction of his pitch.

“Now’s our chance,” he said, once again reaching for her hand.

He tried, he really tried, not to let the fact that she didn’t hesitate to lace her fingers with his turn his insides to goo. And,
oui
, if he was being honest with himself, he failed miserably on that front. Because, despite everything, despite the fact that they were running for their very lives, it felt
good
to have someone beside him, to have
her
beside him.

He’d been alone for far too long…

Of course, her intense fear of the dark and trying to evade the masked men whose rate of gunfire exceeded their rate of discussion at about a thousand to one probably had a lot to do with her willingness to participate in the whole hand-holding thing. But at this point he’d take what he could get.