Abducted:Reconnaissance Team (Texas Rangers: Special Ops) (24 page)

He was right. Ben wasn’t forthcoming with information about work-related operations. “So we just wait it out?” Liz asked.

“That was the plan from the get go.” 

“He wasn’t really supposed to get shot,” she said.

R.W. laughed. “No, but he was prepared for it.” 

Liz cast him a withering look. “Are you saying you knew he would get shot?” 

“No. Just logic. A bulletproof vest leaves a lot of exposed body parts. But, he knows what he’s doing.” 

Liz studied R.W. “I thought you didn’t like the fact he’s a cop.” 

“Doesn’t mean he isn’t good at it. He’s a Hunter. We’re good, no matter what.”

* * *

A blur of faces passed before Ben’s eyes. The doctor patched up his shoulder, then orderlies wheeled him from one room to another, one test to another, to ensure the impact of the bullet to his chest hadn’t caused internal damage.

The anesthetic made him sluggish, but left plenty of pain. Ben ached all over. His gurney moved again and they pushed through a door and into a hallway. Harsh overhead lights caused him to jam his eyes shut until, moments later, the glide of the gurney stopped and light no longer bored through his closed lids.

Ben cracked open one eye. He lay in a dimly lit room with what looked like some kind of ex-ray machine. He closed the eye and allowed himself to relax for the first time since the roar of gunfire had split the air and a bullet had ripped through muscle. This was the last test he was going to let them give. He wanted to be put in a room. He needed to call Liz, to hear for himself that she was all right. Then he would wait for Sanchez’s man to come for him. If their luck held, Sanchez would think he lay in a coma.

After he got Sanchez, he would take Liz far away, put this nightmare behind them, and get to know her like no other man had even known her. He released a heavy sigh. He was going to end this once and for all.

A waft of air jarred Ben to consciousness. A muffled oof sounded behind him, then a thud. Confusion clouded his mind for an instant before he realized he’d woken from a sleep he hadn’t realized he’d taken. How long had he been asleep? Couldn’t be very long. His muscles hadn’t stiffened from lying motionless on the hard gurney. He considered telling the technician to forget the damn tests—he’d had enough and he—

Ben froze when the man stepped into view. 

Five foot ten, hair tight in a ponytail.
Pauly
.

Pauly grinned. “You’re one tough son-of-a-bitch to kill.” He reached inside his leather jacket.

Ben swung his leg up, landing a hard kick to the man’s jaw. Pauly jerked backwards. Ben leapt from the gurney, yanking free the IV needle. Pain ripped through his shoulder as stitches tore, but he drove his fist into Pauly’s diaphragm.

Pauly stumbled back with a loud grunt, then lunged, swinging a gun. Ben threw up an arm and the barrel clipped the back of his hand. He rammed his fist low into Pauly’s ribs, then seized the arm holding the gun and propelled Pauly backwards into the wall.

Ben banged Pauly’s arm against the wall in an effort to force him to release the gun. Pauly jabbed Ben’s ribs with his free hand. His blow caught the edge of the spot where the bullet had hit his vest and Ben’s chest constricted in pain. Pauly smashed his fist into Ben’s temple. Spots raced across Ben’s vision. His grip faltered on Pauly’s arm and Pauly shoved him backwards. Ben gritted his teeth and spun, landing a roundhouse kick to Pauly’s shoulder that sent him crashing sideways into the ex-ray machine. The gun clattered to the floor and slid across the tile.

Breathing hard, Ben grabbed the edge of the gurney to steady himself. He drew in a harsh breath, staring at Pauly, then cursed and dropped onto one knee beside the man.

Ben seized him by the lapel. “Where are you meeting Sanchez to collect the bounty?” 

Pauly gurgled a rough laugh and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. “Fuck you.”

“Fine.” Ben rammed his fist into Pauly’s jaw.

The man went limp and Ben nearly collapsed into a sitting position on the floor beside him. Then he caught sight of the orderly lying on the floor near a large x-ray machine in the left corner. Anger tightened his insides. He ignored the blood trickling down his chest and staining the hospital gown, and shoved to his feet, then shuffled across to the man. Ben grasped the machine and winced in pain as he eased onto one knee next to the man. He felt the man’s neck for a pulse and released a breath when a strong pulse beat against his fingers.

Ben rose and returned to Pauly. He yanked open Pauly’s jacket, spotted the side pocket and dug a hand inside. The smooth surface of a phone brushed his fingers and he yanked it from the pocket. He opened the old-fashioned flip phone and found two private numbers he was betting belonged to Sanchez. The voicemails hadn’t been erased. Good ol’ stupid Pauly. The latest one contained the familiar voice of Carlos Sanchez.

“Finish the job or I will finish you.” 

Ben pressed save and moved onto the next message.

The unexpected trill of a cell phone ring caused Ben to jump before he realized it was his phone. His bagged belongings hung from the gurney. Ben pushed to his feet, took three stiff steps to the gurney and grabbed on to steady himself. He fished the phone from the plastic bag and recognized the number Tony used when he called.

Ben hit the answer button and said into the phone, “Hunter.”

“Christ, you have nine lives, Hunter,” Tony said.

“Yeah,” Ben said. “What have you got?” 

“Listen, I give you this, then we’re done. Okay?”

“You give me what you’ve got or I’ll put out the word you’re my snitch.”

“You’re going to get me killed, Hunter.”

“Give it to me, Tony, or—”

“All right,” he cut in. “Word is, your buddy Sanchez is in town.” 

“Where?” Ben demanded.

“All I heard was that he was going to close this deal personally.” 

Ben’s mind raced. But Sanchez hadn’t come for him. In fact, his message to Pauly had been to finish the job—or else.

Understanding struck. Sanchez wanted Liz.

Using the electrical cord from what looked like a defibrillator, Ben cinched Pauly’s arms to his legs like a roped calf, then rose. He paused. Should he call Medina? No. Call from the road. That way, he could more easily ignore the captain if he ordered him back to the hospital.

Ben eased open the door and peered into the hallway. Empty. He stepped from the room, then faltered when pain radiated down his chest where the bullet impacted the vest like a pile driver. He took shallow breaths until the pain subsided, then did his best to stride down the hallway as if he were a visitor and not a patient who’d barely managed to dress himself. Getting the shirt of Pauly had tired him. But getting into his jeans had proven to be a herculean feat that left him panting for breath. But he’d managed it, only to find his damn phone had died and he couldn’t call R.W. and Hal.

Ben had just given thanks that he hadn’t encountered anyone—they wouldn’t have missed the way he listed to one side—when he turned a bend and spotted a nurses’ station up ahead. Agent Braxton stood with Ranger Carson talking to one of the nurses.

He whirled and headed back to the stairs he’d passed. He grimaced at the thought of pitting his body against the stairs, but pushed through the door into the stairwell and started down. His legs worked as well as always. It was the breathing that forced him to slow his half-run down the second set of stairs. Each breath felt like he was inhaling tumbleweed. He went down another two floors, then entered the hallway on the third floor and chanced the elevator. He feared blacking out if he had to take three more flights of stairs.      

At the lobby, Ben hurried through the hospital doors out onto the well-lit sidewalk without encountering anyone he knew, then stopped short. The company SUV was parked three rows down along the curb. He’d left the truck in the lot at headquarters. Carson must have driven it. Ben headed for the vehicle.

Lightning lit the sky as he reached the truck. Ben glanced around, then ran his fingers along the inside of the wheel well and found the small magnetic box where they kept the spare key. He got in the truck and dove for the cell phone charging cable stashed in the glove box. Once plugged in, his phone came alive and he hit Liz’s cell number. Thunder nearly drowned out the ring of the phone.

When voicemail picked up, Ben said. “Liz, stay put. I believe Sanchez is looking for you. He can’t know where you are, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m on my way. Call me as soon as you get this.” 

Ben cut the connection and dialed R.W. Again, the phone went right to voicemail. Who the hell was R.W. talking to now?

When the phone beeped its leave-a-message tone, Ben said, “Where the hell are you, R.W.?. Listen, no time to explain. Sanchez is in El Paso. I don’t know how he can possibly find Liz, but it sounds like he thinks he can. Call me when you get this message.”

Next, he dialed the captain, and started up the SUV as he hit the speakerphone icon. Medina picked up on the second ring. 

“Hunter,” he said. “I was just about to call you. How are you feeling?”

“Not bad.” Ben backed out of the space and flipped the wipers onto high speed. “I had a visitor.” He filled Medina in on Pauly as he left the lot, ending with, “I’m on my way to the safe house.”

“I’m sending someone for the orderly and Pauly. As for you, turn yourself around and get back to the hospital,” Medina ordered.

Ben slowed for a red light. “Can’t do it, Captain. Have men meet me at the safe house. Once we get Ms. Monahan to another location, I’ll go back.”

“If you had called before you left the hospital you’d know that we got intel. Sanchez plans to return to El Paso, and we’re set up to catch him.”

“You knew?”

“Contrary to what you think, Hunter, we’re good cops, too.”

Ben released a breath. “I know. This case is...personal—for more than one reason.” The two dead girls would have fueled his determination even without Liz who, truth be told, had thrown a kink into things.

“This was personal with you from the start,” Medina said. “But you let the situation get out of hand.”

“Yeah.” The light turned green and he accelerated through the intersection.

“You want to know what’s going on with Sanchez?” Medina asked. Ben said he did, and the captain said, “Our information says that Sanchez plans to sneak into the US at the Onate Crossing this evening.”

“Onate?” Ben repeated. “That’s damned risky.”

“May be why he chose the spot. He figures we wouldn’t expect him to hit the same place twice. Truth is, we weren’t keeping a particular eye on the Onate until we got the word. We’ve got men there now.”

“Are the Feds in on it?” Ben asked.

“Yeah. So, now you’re up to date and you can get yourself back to the hospital.”

“There’s no reason to go back.” Ben said.

“The fact you got shot is good enough reason,” Medina said.

“I’m all right,” Ben said, but knew the captain might disagree if he’d seen the way he’d limped to the SUV. “Sanchez sent Pauly to kill me. No one else will be there looking for me. Maybe you should break the news that I died in the hospital.”

A moment of silence passed before Medina said, “That’s an option. You better turn around. Damn,” he cursed before Ben could reply. “We can’t chance anyone at the hospital seeing you walking around.”

Ben squinted to better see through the pouring rain.

“You’re not off the hook, Hunter. You hold tight. I’m going to call Carson. He’s on duty there. I need to know how he let you get past him.”

“I’m that good,” Ben said.

Medina snorted, then said in a sober voice, “I’d like to know how Pauly got past him—and Agent Braxton. He was supposed to be there with Carson.” He didn’t give Ben a chance to respond. “You sit tight and don’t move until I call you. Got that?”

“Got it, Captain.”

Ben hung up the phone, and slowed for the sea of red brake lights up ahead.

* * *

Liz sat on one end of the den couch with Hal on the other and R.W. occupying a chair to their left, everyone’s attention fixed on the TV. The drone of a newscaster dimmed with a clap of thunder and Liz jumped.

“He’ll be all right, Liz,” Hal said.

“Give the boy some credit,” R.W. said. “Ben’s a Hunter, and we Hunters are tough.”

“I know.” Liz said, then realized how easily the two had discerned her thoughts. She should have been embarrassed, but wasn’t. Being with this family, with Ben, came too naturally.

Liz leaned her head against the sofa back, eyes closed in hopes she would fall asleep and wake to find this nightmare had ended. But thunder knifed through the tension, further fraying her nerves. Her mind churned with one question: How would she go on if Ben didn’t come back?

Only one other time had she felt so alone and afraid. After Jack died, months passed before she could function, and years passed before she finally looked at another man. Now, that same pain shimmered on the horizon like heat rising from hot asphalt.

Guilt surfaced. Her actions had put Ben in danger. She couldn’t imagine him dead, gone from the world so soon. But the truth was, her fears went beyond guilt. In her heart of hearts, she wanted more. Even if that more was just one more day. He would touch her again. He’d promised. The thought sent a shiver down her back. The night they’d spent in each other’s arms would haunt her. But she yearned to learn more about the man who intended to make captain.

Would he really resign as head of the Recon Rangers? As captain, he would be in less danger. If they traveled to Australia together, he would be out of danger, at least for a time. She envisioned their vacations, the Bahamas, Key West, London. All safe. But they would always come home to the job he loved. “
I’ve been military and law enforcement my whole life
,” he’d said. No matter what he might think now, he would never give up being a cop.

Could she watch him leave every morning, not knowing whether he’d make it home again to lay safe in her arms? How did a woman cope with the daily fear that the man she loved might never come home?

Love? No. Infatuation. A ridiculous infatuation. Is that what she would tell him when he returned…or when she boarded her plane for Dallas? A sob formed in her throat. She hadn’t told him how she felt. If—

“We bring you a special report from Las Palmas Hospital,” said a female announcer, “where a hospital spokesman has confirmed that a Texas Ranger was found stabbed to death less than an hour ago in his hospital bed.”

Liz bolted upright, her eyes on the TV, where Sara Romero, the same reporter who had broken the story of her and Ben’s race across the border, faced the camera.

“As yet unconfirmed, the Ranger in question is likely Ben Hunter, who this morning agreed to face murder charges in Juarez, Mexico, and was the victim of a sniper attack as he left the Texas Rangers’ Headquarters.”

A video filled the sixty-inch screen showing Ben emerging from Texas Ranger Headquarters, surrounded by Rangers and led, handcuffed, by Agents Masters and Braxton. Liz couldn’t take her gaze off his face. His jaw was set in the determined way she’d already knew so well. They were halfway to a parked van when gunshots fired.

Liz jumped, as if seeing the video for the first time. Ben jerked when the first bullet struck with his shoulder, then was thrown backward with the impact of the second bullet to his chest. Her heart slammed into her ribs when he hit the asphalt and tears filled her eyes before she remembered that the bullets hadn’t killed him.

The video returned to Sara Romero, standing under an umbrella with the night-shaded hospital behind her, blazing lights blurred by the pouring rain. “Ranger Hunter was rushed here,” Sara indicated the building behind her, “to Las Palmas hospital to undergo treatment for gunshot wounds to the chest and shoulder. Now, a Ranger is dead from a knife wound to the heart.”

Liz’s head swam. Dead? Ben dead? She’d seen him only this morning, tall, strong, so very alive. He couldn’t be dead. He’d promised. The young never thought they could die. But Sara said they hadn’t confirmed the Ranger’s identity. Was another Ranger injured?

Someone stood over her.

“Liz.” Hal sat beside her.

His face blurred through the tears. “It can’t be true. Someone would have told us.” She looked at R.W. “R.W.—”

“I’m already dialing the number.” He pressed the cordless phone to his ear and stood.

Liz dug in her purse for her cell phone. She dialed Ben.

“We spoke with Texas Ranger, Captain John Medina, who declined to confirm the Ranger’s identity until next of kin is notified,” Sara said. “But another source tells KDBC Local 4 News that Ranger Hunter was accused of human trafficking and   assassinated by the criminals he worked with.”

“That’s not true!” Liz cried. “Ben involved in human trafficking? What’s going on?” Her phone displayed dialing, dialing, dialing but wouldn’t connect. She had no bars.

“Let me talk with Captain Medina,” R.W. said into the land-line phone. “You tell him this is R.W. Hunter and he’d better get on the phone or I’m coming down there. He won’t want me to do that—neither will you, son. You just tell him what I said.”

Liz stood and the room spun. She dropped her cell phone on the sofa.

Hal rose and grasped her arm. “Maybe you better sit down,” he said.

She started to argue, but her legs went weak as rubber and she allowed him to ease her back onto the cushion. She groped, found her cell, and looked at the screen. Still no bars.

“Stay tuned for further details as the situation develops,” Sara said before the view cut to a commercial break.

Hal grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned off the TV. Liz stared at the dark screen, then jarred when R.W. said, “Captain Medina—” He quieted. “Uh huh. Yeah. That was a big mistake, Captain.”

Fear tightened Liz’s chest. “What was a big mistake?”

“What’s that you’re saying?” R.W. said.

Liz shoved to her feet. 

“Yeah, I understand. You can count on me to tell him.” R.W. quieted for a heartbeat, then said. “Right.” Then he closed his phone and looked at Liz. “He’s not dead, but they don’t know where he is.”

“Don’t know where he is?” she blurted. “What’s going on? Why did they say he was dead?”

R.W. shrugged. “Ben’s a cop, darlin’. I told you he and his kind are willing to do anything to catch the bad guy.”

Liz’s thoughts muddled. “But—”

Her cell phone rang. She nearly dropped the thing, then recognized the ring tone. That morning, she’d programmed the light jingle with Ben’s number. The phone had one bar that flickered on and off.

She tapped the answer button. “Ben, Ben, where are you?” Relief brought tears. “Are you all right?”

“Liz, are y- -rt?”

Static crackled across the line with a flash of lightning.

“Ben, where are you?”

R.W. stepped up beside Hal, who stood in front of her.

“Wh-s H- d- W.? Tell them El Paso.”

“El Paso? Ben, what happened at the hospital? Why—” The line went dead.

Liz yanked the phone from her ear and looked at the screen. Icons covered the screen. She’d lost the call. She jabbed the screen to redial and pressed the phone to her ear. Nothing happened. She looked at the screen. No bars.