Friendly Fire (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 3) (31 page)

With a surge of superhuman strength, Emma wrested free of her captor's grip. Issuing a cry she'd never made before, she backhanded him. Her knuckles struck the man's hard skull with a satisfying
thwack
, but the blow scarcely fazed him as much as it sent pain streaking up her arm. Shaking off the blow, he grinned at her, displaying a mouthful of gold teeth. And then he retaliated, slapping her so hard she sprawled across the floor.

César and his vile friend chuckled in amusement as she put a hand to her stinging cheek.

With a vitriolic curse, Joe lurched out of his hammock to defend her, but the thug who'd struck Emma didn't waste a moment in decking him also. The cop staggered into Cheryl's arms and they both collapsed, falling so abruptly that Joe passed out, probably from the pain.

Emma gaped at him in dismay.

Sammy had dropped to her knees beside her. "Mom!"

"Honey, get back," she cried. But it was too late. The brute who'd hit her was returning for Sammy. Across the room, in a struggle of their own, Katherine's sisters raged in her defense while the
capo
chuckled at their helplessness.

Suddenly the bathroom door burst open. Noah emerged with something in his hands. Emma glanced his way and froze.

Crack!
A circle of red blossomed suddenly on the chest of the goon headed their way. With a look of stunned surprise, he fell face-first onto the concrete floor, gold teeth and all.

César and the
capo
whirled toward the unexpected threat, the latter producing a weapon from beneath his trench coat. Noah fired again. This time César hit the floor, sprawling at the feet of the stranger who, with a ruthless snarl, squeezed the trigger of his wicked-looking pistol.

The third discharge rang in Emma's ears. Noah staggered back, his weapon clattering to the floor. Striking a cement pillar, he slid down its length with a stunned expression, leaving a streak of scarlet in his wake.

"Noah!" his mother screamed and ran for him. The third goon took advantage of her absence to catch up Katherine in his burly arms.

The bespectacled newcomer then turned his cold gaze on Emma. The instant their eyes met, she guessed his intention.

"No!"

But it was too late. He'd already crossed toward them and was bending down. With strength that belied his age, he heaved Sammy off the floor, out of Emma's reach. She scrambled after them, grabbing Sammy's ankle.

"Mom!" Sammy wailed as the
capo
yanked her free and headed for the door.

Heedless of her bare feet, Emma chased them to the stairs, running into the rest of the guerillas who, reacting to the gunfire, had swarmed into the room with their weapons drawn. At the sight of their leader splayed out dead on the floor, they paid her no notice as she pushed past them, pursuing the silver-haired devil down the stairs to the lower level.

No way in hell was he taking her daughter—not without taking her, too.

Chapter 19

The quiet emanating from inside the lower level of the building kept Jeremiah's adrenaline cycling through his bloodstream as he gave the front door a swift, hard knock. He would have preferred to come down off the roof with the members of first squad and be the first to reach Emma and Sammy. They would need someone to protect them in the shit-storm that was sure to follow. But his wishes didn't count in this case.

César Salvador was expecting
el medico's
return. So here he was, clutching a smoke grenade on the pretext that he'd returned with the Bactrim, while
El Cuchillo
's man, who'd been standing in that same spot a moment earlier, had been dragged off by Tristan with his neck decidedly broken.

His heart galloping, Jeremiah waited for César's men to open the door. He would toss in the smoke grenade and disorient the occupants by blinding them in a haze of purple smoke. Then Tristan and Master Chief would join him, hand him a weapon and, covering each other, they would blaze their way indoors, leveling the resistance, while Hack and Haiku shot anyone seeking to escape out the rear door.

At the same time, first squad would blow the lock off the door on the roof, and four more SEALs would surge down the stairs, shooting anyone they encountered. Half of them would split off to locate and protect the hostages while the others pressed forward, preventing any tangos from escaping up the stairs.

As Tristan had boasted earlier, the element of surprise was theirs. They'd rehearsed similar hostage situations dozens of times.

So why am I standing here in a cold sweat with my heart about to jump out of my chest?

Well, for one thing, no was answering his knock. The quiet coming from inside the building suggested that the key players were all upstairs. And that could not be good.

Lifting his hand to knock again, he froze at the sound of a gun discharging. Whipping his head toward Kuzinsky, who hid with Tristan behind
El Cuchillo's
van, he waited for directions on what to do now.

Crack.
The first gunshot was followed immediately by a second. And then a third,
this time from a distinctly different pistol.

What the hell was going on up there?

Blow the door?
he queried via gestures. Shouts of alarm carried from the upper level. A woman screamed in denial.

Jesus, was that Emma?

Kuzinsky waved him to the van. Loath to move away from Emma instead of toward her, Jeremiah dragged himself off the stoop.

"We have to get in there, Master Chief," he insisted, dropping beside his leader. "All hell's breaking loose."

"I know. But keeping my own men safe is my first priority. Suit up," Kuzinsky ordered, gesturing to the bag Jeremiah had stowed under
El Cuchillo
's front tire. He then tabbed his mike. "Moving to Plan B," he told the SEALs on the rooftop.

More risky for the hostages, Plan B entailed first squad coming down the stairs from the roof and driving the tangos out of the building without any help from second squad, who would ambush the enemy as they exited. With the SEALs in the building outnumbered three to one, the hostages would have to look out for themselves.

Frustrated at the way the operation was unfolding, Jeremiah threaded his arms through a tactical vest and jammed on his helmet. Then he snatched up his semi-automatic rifle and sprinted toward the alley between the right corner of the building and the wall. Tristan covered the left and Master Chief stayed put. The weight of his rifle lent Jeremiah some badly needed reassurance. As he switched on his inter-team radio, Master Chief's order for first squad to blow the door sounded in his earpiece.

With a loud
pop!
the hinges on the roof door detonated. The first barrage of semi-automatic gunfire ripped through the building as his teammates stormed the stairs. Exclamations of surprise gave way to return fire as the tangos countered the squad's attack.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jeremiah pictured a dome of protection enveloping Emma and the other hostages.

He was not surprised to hear the front door open as César's men fled the suddenly volatile scene. Raising his rifle and putting a shoulder to the corner of the building, Jeremiah aided Tristan and Master Chief in picking off the tangos. Three young men, including the fat youth who had stolen Jeremiah's watch, fell to the dirt as they sprinted toward the gate.

Hack and Haiku reported two more men dead by the back door. Jeremiah surmised that all of the casualties so far were César's mangy recruits.
El Cuchillo
's men, hardened criminals accustomed to having their backs against the wall, had opted to stay and fight.

Darkness fell over the lawn suddenly as the lights in the building went out all at once. An unseen hand closed and bolted the front door. A tense silence ensued, broken only by the raw cries of two desperate women.

The hair on Jeremiah's forearms rose as he recognized Emma's voice. Holy hell
.
What was happening to her? And why was her voice coming from the lower level? Had the captives been moved downstairs?

"First squad, sit rep," Master Chief requested, his voice unnaturally calm.

Lt. Sasseville's grim reply provided answers. "We've secured seven recovery targets on the upper level. One's been shot—a teenage boy. The injured police officer is here, too. Sure could use your help up here, Bullfrog," he added. "The kid is bleeding bad."

Noah had taken a bullet, Jeremiah realized with alarm. Wait. His brain was quick to do the math. Sam had said seven—only seven targets recovered. He tabbed his mike.

"Is Emma with you?" Fear turned his voice to sandpaper.

"Sorry, Bullfrog. They tell me the
capo
's got her downstairs. Her daughter, too, plus somebody's sister."

Shock washed over Jeremiah in a tide that spread clear to his feet, paralyzing him where he stood. Emma had been grabbed by the most ruthless
capo
in all of Mexico!
El Cuchillo
would have no compunction about killing her to save his own hide.

"Haiku, get us a helo so we can medevac the kid and the cop." Kuzinsky's calm voice helped to dispel a portion of Jeremiah's paralysis. "Sam, you need to stabilize the boy while we rethink our operation."

"Copy that, Master Chief."

Bronco spoke up while the lieutenant was helping Noah. "We can still blind them with our smoke grenades, Master Chief. But then we won't be able to tell who's friendly and who's not. If they use the hostages to shield themselves, we might shoot one by mistake."

"I realize that. We need a new strategy. All right, men, think. I want to hear all of our options."

* * *

Juliet scraped the tender skin on the undersides of her arms as she slid, back flat against the stucco wall, toward the open gate.

With the CIA trolling the neighborhood, she'd half expected to be shot by now. But the rumble of gunfire that had come from inside the factory had spurred her out of the adjacent office building and onto the dark street where she blended into the shadows having changed into some dark, oversized clothing left by the SEALs. The cap on her head helped to hide her mass of blond hair, but it slipped occasionally into her eyes when she moved too quickly.

The thrill of courting danger kept her heart racing in her chest—almost as fast as it had raced two nights earlier when Tristan had her writhing and panting and begging him to let her come.

Stop it!
This was so not the time to reminisce about the other night.
Focus, girl
.

Arriving at the open gate unimpeded, she peeked into the yard and got her first close up view of the factory. A chill skittered up her spine.

Crimeny, if Hollywood wanted a ready-made set for a horror movie, here it was. The dark building resembled an insane asylum with its barred and boarded windows. Bodies littered a yard surrounded by ten-foot walls topped with barbed wire. The fact that so many
narcos
were dead suggested the SEALs were hard at work.

The gunfire had stopped and the building stood silent. Was the rescue operation over, then? Had the captives all been saved? But then she heard the wail of a woman coming from the second level. Oh, God. That wasn't Emma, was it?

A shadow shifted in front of the van parked before the factory doors, and she snatched her head back. That had to be one of the SEALs guarding the perimeter. The object protruding from the top of his helmet was a set of night vision goggles. If she tried to get any closer, whoever that was would see her, possibly even mistake her for the enemy and shoot her. If he didn't go somewhere else, she'd be stuck in this vulnerable location, unable to get any closer.

* * *

The capo dropped Sammy onto a chair in the filthy downstairs chamber. Katherine was already there, curled into a fetal position against the pillar, hands over her ears, eyes closed.

"Don't move," he growled at the three of them while gesturing for one of his men to make certain they didn't.

Emma skidded to her knees beside the chair, threw her arms around her daughter, and clung to her. "I won't let you go. I won't let you go," she chanted, all the while staring into the barrel of a pistol held by the scar-faced criminal.

Panic made it hard to think, hard to do anything but gasp for breath as her heart slammed repeatedly against her breastbone.

Jeremiah's SEALs had arrived at last. At least the others would be rescued. Even Noah stood a chance if they staunched his bleeding. But for her, Sammy, and Katherine the operation had come too late. Their fate now resided in the hands of half a dozen ruthless men. Most of those men stood with their backs to the walls jamming fresh ammunition into their arsenal of weapons while stealing glances out of the tinted windows. Surrendering to the SEALs was not an option for them. They would keep shooting until they ran out of ammunition or until the last man fell. Their hostages, meanwhile, would sit in the middle of the room vulnerable to the hailstorm of bullets that was about to be exchanged.