Fire Beach: Lei Crime Book 8 (Lei Crime Series) (15 page)

“Did I have a heart attack?” His voice felt wispy.

“Yes, sir, you did. In fact, it’s a good thing you woke up. You can discuss the surgery you need with the doctor,” one of the nurses said. She was young and pretty, and white teeth almost blinded him when she smiled.

He remembered something bad had been happening when he fell at the door. What was it? “I don’t remember how I got here.”

“You collapsed in your apartment. Some police officers called it in,” she said. “You were so lucky they were there. They kept you alive with CPR until the ambulance came.”

Dimly, he remembered now, the mental images as blurred as newspaper with coffee spilled on it.

Packing in his bedroom.

The bell at the door. Two men. Cops.

His heart squeezed again, and on the monitor it bounced like a salmon leaping upstream.

“Cough,” the nurse commanded. The Fireman coughed, and the heart line on the monitor settled back to its regular blipping. “You need to avoid stress until you have your operation,” the nurse said, and she patted his hand. “If it acts up again, cough and see if you can get it back in rhythm. If not—well, the alarm will bring us. Doctor will be here shortly to tell you about the procedure you need.”

The Fireman watched the two nurses leave. They’d turned on the TV, but it was muted. He watched the images move, talk, dance, and change. A meaningless pantomime.

His life was over.

That pillowcase of money had been on his bed, along with his ticket to Oahu. They’d either have left it, in which case it would be stolen—or worse, they’d taken it in as evidence against him.

His heart jerked.

He coughed, and it settled again.

Yes. His life was over. Did he want to live, with prison ahead? His life had already been empty of anything good or lovely, except the Bitch when she was flaming around him in her glory. No. He didn’t want to live. Go through a trial. End his pathetic days in a cell.

All he needed was a little stress to finish him off.

He reached over and peeled off the electrodes taped over his heart. The machine whined flatly in protest, but now he was determined. He yanked out the IV running into his hand and sat up, his head swimming. He swung his legs out of the bed, and feeling the first sense of hope he’d had in weeks, he stood up and walked into his destiny.

Stevens trotted with Ohale and the SWAT commander assigned to them down the main road. They’d decided to penetrate the jungle and come at the compound from three sides, but not the front drive with the cameras. Stevens’s group was coming from the far right of where they’d been parked.

His breath hissed in the comm, echoing along with Ohale’s and that of Sergeant George, a squat, muscular man who set a good pace along the road.

Stevens tried not to think of Lei. The fragility of the bone of her jaw in his hand as he seized it, overcome with the need to touch her one last time. The feel of those lush, full lips, slightly parted in surprise, beneath his. The penetration of his tongue into the silky cavern of her mouth. Instant buckling of her knees as she sagged against him.

She is mine.

Her body responded to him like kindling to flame. What was between them always would be. And then he’d caressed her cheek when he’d meant to be hard and punishing. Because she always undid him that way.

He wasn’t sorry for it.

If he died today, he knew she’d never be able to forget him—if the child he’d left her with wasn’t enough reminder. Somehow that mattered more than he wanted it to.

The leader made a hand gesture, and they dove into the jungle.

Visibility was tough with the thick brush, dangling vines, and huge overhanging trees casting shadow. Stevens wished he could take the helmet off as sweat pearled down his blistered face, stinging his skin and eyes. His sore throat rasped at his rapid breathing.

The team leader stopped, and Stevens and Ohale pressed close from behind as he took a compass heading. Then, compass held in front of him, they stalked forward, trying to keep from breaking branches and making noise.

Stevens’s whole awareness narrowed to following Ohale’s bulk, scanning behind them periodically, his shotgun at the ready, as the team leader pushed deeper and deeper into the jungle and they navigated the constant obstacles before and around them.

It seemed to take forever to find their positions. The comms were mostly silent but for brief coded messages. Stevens couldn’t see the wall of the compound, which was chain-link wire, from what Chang had said. They stayed pulled back while one of the tech officers tried to assess how many cameras and what other alarm equipment were operating. Chang had thought there were only cameras at the front of the compound, but Stevens knew he’d have been thinking of a break-in from somewhere less reinforced if he were defending the compound.

“Cameras disabled. Move in,” crackled the comms, and Stevens and Ohale followed George and reached the ten-foot chain-link barrier, topped with a coil of razor wire as Chang had described.

George and Ohale each unclipped a pair of long-handled wire cutters and went to work on the fence. The snapping of the stout steel wire made the hairs rise on the back of Stevens’s neck as he held the shotgun at the ready, covering the other two officers as they made short work of cutting an opening in the barrier.

He scanned inside the compound. No movement in the lazy, hot afternoon sun. The gatehouse, which was manned all day according to Chang, was out of sight of the spot they’d chosen in the deep shadow of an overhanging mango tree. Stevens could see the main house, with its barred and shuttered windows, and could hear the rumble of an air conditioner—keeping it cool inside, but also keeping the suspects unaware of what was going on outside. Stevens heard the clattering chuff of a generator and was grateful for the sound masking it provided.

The bunkhouse was directly in front of them, and they would be visible if anyone looked out the windows. It appeared deserted. A nearby long metal barn thrummed with more air conditioning.

Everyone here was in a building, working away at their criminal tasks.

Stevens felt an uneasy prickling under his armpits.

This was too easy. It could be a trap. What did they know about Terence Chang and his intel, really?

Stevens spotted movement across the compound—a gleam on something dark in the underbrush. The other team, penetrating from that side. It was reassuring to know they were surrounding the place and the plan was to breach the buildings at the same time, unleashing hell on the inhabitants all at once.

The wire fence was open finally, cut in a triangular flap. Stevens went through first, staying bent low, the shotgun in hand at the ready. Each team had been assigned to a building.

His team had the main house.

The three of them trotted low around the outside of the house, well below the windowsills, and Stevens suddenly saw why no one was outside the buildings.

Stevens lifted the shotgun to his shoulder, mouth gone dry at the sight of a huge German shepherd and a Doberman hurtling toward them from the gatehouse.

He was glad the first rounds he’d loaded in the shotgun were rubber “beanbags” as he nailed the German shepherd in the chest. The big dog yelped and flipped in the air, but almost instantly got up off the ground and kept coming. Those bastards had thick coats—part of what made them good guard dogs. Ohale had temporarily disabled the Doberman, and Stevens whipped out a Taser and shot the shepherd with it.

This time the dog stayed down.

All this had given the men in the gatehouse time to respond, and now they were in trouble as two men stood out from the kiosk, automatic weapons in their hands.

Ohale and Stevens retreated full speed back behind the main house as the air erupted in gunfire. “Back entrance!” George barked, and Stevens heard the crash of the back door caving as the sturdy sergeant kicked it in. All around them, Stevens could hear the sounds of every building under simultaneous attack.

He cocked the shotgun again and hurried into the house after George.

There were at least six rooms inside, and it didn’t take long to use up all his beanbag ammo. Stevens dropped the shotgun and switched to his police-issue Glock, and all was a blur of action: staccato thudding of bullets, the rasping hiss of his breath in his ears in the helmet, the spin-and-duck of dodging and getting in a shot.

And then he heard the roar of an engine and was unable to do anything more than spot the black silhouette of a big SUV speeding out of the metal barn, tearing down the closed gate as it exited full speed.

Stevens’s distraction cost him as he felt himself get hit from behind, a round smacking him in the back so hard he hit the wall and slid down, breath knocked out of his lungs.

Face down on the ground, sucking as hard as he could to get some air into his lungs, he heard the thud of boots approaching. He shut his eyes, bracing for the head shot that would end it all.

“Get up, man.” Ohale’s voice. A thick hand grabbed his, hauled him upright. “Took a hit to your back, but the vest got it.”

Moving seemed to get his diaphragm muscles working again, and he sucked a great ragged, burning lungful of air and coughed wet and hard. He kept coughing as he followed Ohale, still stunned, and wiped his hand across his mouth. Even through the polarized lens of the helmet, he could see a heavy smear of black blood on the back of his hand.

No time to worry about it now.

They moved through the house, flipping over the prisoners and zip-tying them at their hands and feet. George tapped his helmet. “Subjects subdued. Rendezvous at the metal barn.”

Stevens, Ohale, and George left the houseful of prisoners and rejoined the rest of the team. The SWAT leader held up a big white bag of powder from a pile on a long steel table. “Looks like the intel on this raid was good.”

“Where are Chang and Solomon?” Stevens asked.

“Haven’t spotted them yet, but we have a lot of suspects to identify,” the SWAT leader said. “Let’s bring all the prisoners out.”

Stevens felt a terrible suspicion. “Did anyone get an eyeball on who was in that black SUV?”

“Tinted windows, and they blew past just as we were breaching the barn,” one of the team members said.

“Lei,” Stevens breathed. He turned and ran toward the gatehouse and the road beyond it.

Chapter 15

L
ei moved the SUV with Chang in it closer to the top of the road, to a spot she planned to keep in view. She left Chang in the vehicle with the windows cracked, under a tree’s shade with a bottle of water—just like when she left Keiki in the car.

She missed her faithful dog. That made her think of her dad and baby Kiet, and as she walked up the narrow road through the humid, deserted jungle, Lei felt a visceral longing for home, for the baby—and remembered with a wrench of her gut that the house was gone.

At least those she loved were still alive, and she was here to keep it that way.

She hiked past the yellow plastic barrier to the main road and looked around for a good vantage point. She eventually picked a spot on the branch of a large mango tree to set up the sniper rifle. The branch wasn’t more than ten feet off the ground, but getting up was going to be a little challenging.

Lei slung the rifle over her shoulder with its strap to free her arms, and taking hold of a thick vine, used it to haul herself up into the tree.

Once up, she was surprised at how wide and comfortable the branch was. She stretched out on her belly and opened the tripod already attached to the barrel of the rifle. Sighting down the barrel, she was able to get coverage of the driveway leading into the compound and still see where she’d stashed the SUV.

Now for the waiting.

Lei sighted into the eyepiece, choosing an optimal kill zone for anyone departing the compound. They’d probably be driving, so she clicked the height adjustment a little higher.

She felt something brushing her arm and looked down. Ants were running around in agitation, covering her arm. She’d lain right in the middle of their pathway through the mango tree. “Shit.” She brushed the ants off, but more just swirled up to take their place.

This situation was not going to improve if she stayed here. The choice was to endure the ants or move. She decided to endure.

Lying flat on the branch, she felt the pressure on her uterus, and a flutter down there told her Baby didn’t like it. “Okay, moving,” she muttered, and twisted onto one hip, raising a leg to the side so the pressure was off her pelvis.

The fluttering stopped.

Unfortunately, now she had time to think.

Stevens was obviously mad at her. His silent glare when he first arrived told her he was just waiting for the right time and place to hash things out, and she wasn’t looking forward to it—but that kiss he’d left her with told her he still loved her and wanted her to know it, in spite of everything.

In case he doesn’t come back.

Lei didn’t want to think of that. She wouldn’t think of him dead, of what that would look like, a terrible mental picture all too ready to form in her thoughts. Instead, she rehearsed what she’d say when they finally had their showdown.

When this was all over, he’d forgive her, see she’d done what had to be done. But in fully giving herself to him in marriage, she’d made her body his. She knew that now.

If she was ever going to assert herself with him, she’d better not let him touch her.

Lei rested her chin on folded arms, watching the fork of the road into the compound, trying not to imagine every step of the raid. She hadn’t listened to the plans just so she wouldn’t be tortured thinking about it.

Fifteen minutes passed.

Her eyes grew heavy. It was late afternoon, the witching hour when Baby laid claim and dragged her into an afternoon nap.

Lei shifted position, switching her weight to the other hip, brushing off another several hundred ants. She watched the street, noticing shafts of sunlight falling through the foliage, dust motes spinning through them like pollen. Gradually, as she settled into the natural environment of the jungle, she noticed sounds she’d missed at first. The humming of a dragonfly’s wings as it flew by, gold dust tossing in its wake. The longing coo of a dove in search of a mate. A hushing of wind somewhere off in the distance, moving the tops of jungle trees. The cluck of a francolin grouse in the leaves of the forest floor.

Her sensitive nose picked up the undercurrent of moss and mold within the bark of the tree, and she blew out a breath, turning to check on the SUV.

Nothing had moved in the vehicle. Chang was out of sight. He’d probably succumbed to a doze on the backseat.

She hoisted herself upright, sighting again, muscling her body back into awareness.

Nothing.

Thirty minutes passed.

Suddenly, gunfire erupted. It was so loud, so intense and close; Lei’s startled jerk almost threw her out of the tree. She gripped the branch with one arm, the other stabilizing the rifle.

Lei could hear the different kinds of weapons shattering the peace of the forest: the short, sharp
bam-bam-bam
of pistols, the heavy
ka-boom!
of a shotgun, the stuttering clatter of automatic fire. Lei could swear she smelled the chemical after-burn smell of weapons’ discharge even as she kept her eye to the viewfinder.