Intimate Enemies (41 page)

While the tango transfer was secure, Cassie’s location was still unknown. And despite Kollman’s assurance he would find her, Rio knew the vastness of this desert firsthand. Knew the type of men Saul hired. Had seen the force Pedro had put behind that blow to Cassie’s head.

“I’m afraid I may have been a bit hasty.” Saul’s voice resonated in the cab of the truck, and Rio tensed. The unexpected sound coupled with his thoughts made Rio’s stomach pitch sideways.

He said nothing. Remained focused out the windshield and drove as fast as the pitted dirt road allowed.

“You have to admit,” Saul continued, “from my perspective, it didn’t look good.”

God, he didn’t want to do this. His head wasn’t in this game. Nor was his heart. He’d been motivated and focused for years. Had rid his homeland of predators that targeted the weak, vulnerable, and poor. Had saved an untold number of lives—lives like his sister’s. Had bettered the lives of an untold number of families—families like his own. Yes, there had been casualties along the way as well. Casualties that would have been, regardless of his work or lack thereof.

But Cassie shouldn’t have been one of those. Cassie was an innocent bystander. One who’d come from outside the situation, outside the fucking country and walked right into the line of fire. And instead of doing the right thing and forcing her out, he’d followed orders. Orders that never put faces to the innocent, never took the innocent into account.

No, he definitely couldn’t do this anymore. And the last thing he had to do was get Cassie out.

“I admire your ambition,” Saul continued. “And I appreciate your loyalty. It’s something I’m not used to, so I’m…suspicious. I have an Achilles’ heel where emotions and trust are concerned. I’d like you to consider staying on after this transfer. We’ll sit down, get everything hashed out, renegotiated.”

Rio rubbed a hand over his mouth, waiting for Saul’s next move.

“Dominic has developed fresh contacts, ones that could bring in a steady stream of terrorists, which means steady revenue, and creates a need for men I can trust. It’s true that Dominic doesn’t care for your…strong personality, but I think we can all strike a balance once Cassandra is out of the picture.”

Rio ground his teeth. “You’re trusting the wrong people. Fermin is out for himself. You are nothing to him but a means of achieving success. He’s using you as a conduit into a business where he reaps the benefits and suffers none of the risks. Putting doubt in your head about me only gives him room to control the business.” He glanced at Saul, found him watching, listening. Rio shrugged as if the whole subject didn’t interest him much and refocused on the road. “What do you really know about Alvarado anyway? He could be someone Fermin planted to get close to you. That man will take every ounce of control you give away. And don’t tell me he didn’t help plant those suspicions in your head about Cassie and me.”

Saul looked out the side window, the muscles in his cheek pumping. Sculpted cliffs and sand rough with brush whizzed past, only a dull line of asphalt stretching before them. Rio tried to avoid focusing on the rippling heat distorting his view into the distance, reminding him how fucking hot it had to be out there, how Cassie had to be suffering—if she was even still alive.

“Truthfully, I don’t know who to trust at this point,” Saul said. “But we’ll discuss it after this transfer.”

Rio turned off the empty desert highway and onto the dirt road leading to the new meeting location, searching the heavy brush and canyon crevices for a glimpse of the truck where Cassie remained trapped. If she were trapped at all. Alvarado could have just dumped her in the desert.

But they reached the site without any sighting. Rio parked in the shade at the base of an arroyo and angled from the truck. The Nogales heat dried his lungs to dust in one breath.

Rounding the truck, Saul pulled sunglasses on and squinted up at the sun as he leaned on the tailgate.

Rio pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and rubbed a hand over his face. “Where’s the bitch? Like to get my hands on her before the sun kills her for me.”

“Not far from here. I’ll enjoy watching that.” He turned a grin on Rio. “You don’t mind if I watch, do you?”

Before Rio could answer, a dust cloud in the distance caught his eye. A small industrial truck traveled along the road he and Saul had taken minutes ago, a pickup coming in behind. Tomás, Alvarado, and Pedro with the terrorists.

Rio straightened from the truck, focused on Tomás in the driver’s seat. Alvarado climbed from the passenger’s side and surveyed the surroundings from beneath black sunglasses. Pedro pulled up alongside, jumped out, and headed to the back of the enclosed truck.

Tomás shoved his door open, a serious frown pulling at his mouth, hands fisted at his sides. He tossed his sunglasses on the seat of the truck, slammed the door, and started toward Rio.

“Looks like someone’s angry with you, amigo,” Saul said.

“You backstabbing sonofabitch!” Tomás spit the words at Rio as he cut a direct path toward him. Alvarado made a grab for Tomás’s arm as he passed and held him back. “You’re a sorry-assed excuse for a man.”

“And you’ve got shit for brains if you’re going to listen to that fuck-off.” Rio pointed in Pedro’s direction, approaching his partner with obvious menace. “Keep your goddamned mouth shut unless you know what the fuck you’re talking about, Hernandez.”

Tomás broke free of Alvarado’s grip, his boots cracking the dry earth as he closed in on Rio, fisted the front of Rio’s shirt with one giant hand, and shoved him even farther from the group. “You calling me stupid,
puto
?”

“If you believe them over me”
—
he gestured toward Alvarado and Pedro
—
“then, yeah, I’m calling you worse than stupid.”

Tomás dipped his chin and faked a punch to Rio’s gut. Rio bent, stumbled, allowed his partner to trip him, then dragged Tomás with him, and rolled when he hit the ground. Rio used a high school wrestling move, flipped Tomás onto his back, and pressed a forearm to Tomás’s neck.

He leaned close, nearly breathless from the heat. “Cassie.”

“Alive but badly injured,” Tomás whispered. “Two miles east. Truck painted camouflage. Base of largest arroyo. Just learned. Kollman doesn’t know.”

Air whooshed from Rio’s lungs just in time to coordinate with a false knee to the gut from Tomás. His partner untangled himself, pushed Rio off, and stood. Rio curled onto his side, grabbing his belly. The show of pain was only fake in part.
Badly injured
replayed over and over in his head. Tomás downplayed everything. Badly injured to Tomás was something Rio would consider life threatening.

Tomás spit at Rio’s feet. “You’re the stupid one, Santana.”

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe how Rio had handled this situation with Cassie.

When Tomás turned back toward the group, Rio made a show of getting to his feet. Desperation made his breath catch, made his heart knock against aching lungs. For the last show of cultural machismo and the opportunity to issue what might very well be his last order, Rio lunged for Tomás’s arm and twisted it behind his back. With his face by Tomás’s ear, Rio rasped, “Get her out. She’s your first priority.”

Tomás turned his head. “No way—”

Rio shoved his partner’s wrist between his shoulder blades. “That’s an order. And you owe me.”

Alvarado appeared. He pried Rio’s fingers from Tomás’s arm and shoved the two of them apart with more impatience than anger.

“Enough of the show.” He passed a look between Rio and Tomás. “It’s not getting any cooler out here. Can we just shut this baby down and go home, please?”

Rio’s focus sharpened on Alvarado, but movement beyond his shoulder pulled at Rio’s attention. In the distance, a fleet of four black SUVs crawled toward them through the low desert brush, creating dust clouds in their wake.

“Right on time.” Saul graced them all with one of his rare sincere smiles. “Now get your act together and pretend you’re professionals?”

Pedro waved four young men to the front of the truck, and Rio got his first good look at their cargo. Each could easily pass as Mexican. Dark skin, straight dark hair. Two had light eyes, two had dark. All were clean-cut, dressed in jeans and polo shirts, and would fit in anywhere. They stuffed their hands in pockets or crossed them over their chests and leaned against the truck’s grill.

Their casual body language contrasted with an underlying intensity. Their sharp gazes took in the surroundings and their hosts with quick, focused glances. While they studied the ground at their feet or the local terrain, their ears remained perked to catch every word. After years of living undercover, even more years in law enforcement, Rio knew exactly what they were processing beneath the easy layering.

Tomás pulled his weapons from the truck. Alvarado and Pedro took up positions on either side of the four men, feet planted wide, chins tilted up. Tomás wiped his face and joined them. All three dressed in black, shoulder to toe, all sporting a shoulder holster with their choice of weapon, a Glock for Tomás and Alvarado, a Beretta for Pedro. Tomás had adorned his leg holster with a second weapon; Pedro and Alvarado held automatic rifles pointed toward the ground.

The SUVs pulled up and parked twenty yards away. Rio cast covert glances around the area, alert for additional surprises, but nothing stood out. Silence fell for an extended moment as they waited for the client to emerge from behind the tinted windows of his vehicle. The air crackled with anticipation.

Cassie hovered in the back of Rio’s mind, keeping him strong and focused.

I’m coming, Cass. Hang on.

The passenger door on one SUV opened, and a man stuck his head over the door. “Thirty-six, twenty-six, north. Thirty-six, fifty-seven, east.”

Rio let out a breath. The latitude and longitude of the city in Syria where the terrorists had originated—the operation’s code. Kollman was here, and those SUVs were filled with the best law enforcement personnel in southern California.

“Thirty-one, zero, north.” Rio called their current coordinates in response. “One-hundred-fifteen, forty-four, west.”

All the doors of the SUVs opened, like crows spreading their wings. Men emerged in a sweeping offensive wave. Rio’s hands clenched at his sides. He felt naked without a weapon.

Senior Special Agent Karl Kollman angled from an SUV in full military camouflage. Rio recognized all six feet five inches of the man and started toward his lifeline. If he could reach Kollman out of earshot, he could pass on Cassie’s location—

Saul grabbed his arm. “We do this together.”

Rio gritted his teeth and stepped back into place beside Saul. “Fine, but keep your mouth shut. They expect to deal with me.”

Kollman’s soldiers, also decked out in desert fatigues, set up a perimeter. Each carried a compact assault rifle. Tension radiated around Saul. Damned fool was so out of his league. But that didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was getting through this and getting to Cassie.

Kollman strode forward with the proud gait of a man in charge. He stopped, clasped his hands behind his back, and surveyed the terrorists before turning his gaze toward Rio. “Identify yourselves.”

“Rio Santana, your point man.” Rio gestured toward Saul. “Saul Flores, proprietor.” He lifted a hand to the others. “Tomás Hernandez, Pedro Montoya, Xavier Alvarado, security.”

Kollman pointed one finger toward the trucks. Two soldiers on his right broke away from the group to investigate the vehicles. Once they signaled an all clear, Kollman advanced. His men inched forward in a wall of camouflage, creaking boots, and clicking guns.

One of Kollman’s army approached the leader’s side and handed him a small, electronic device.

“For identification purposes,” Kollman said.

Rio nodded and waved over the first terrorist. The man strode up, jaw tight, green gaze sharp with intelligence and caution. In Arabic, Rio instructed the man to place his thumb and forefinger on the small pad. When the unit beeped, he instructed the man to take three steps back. Kollman took a digital photo and ran it through the biological identity scanner’s face-recognition program.

The man passed on both counts, and the process continued with each of the four men.

Kollman glanced over his shoulder and nodded toward the SUVs. A man wearing a suit and sunglasses strode forward with a hard-shell suitcase and set it at Kollman’s feet.

He handed the electronic unit to his soldier and addressed Saul. “Eight-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars, US, including the additional one hundred thousand, as agreed.”

Saul gave a curt nod.

Tomás came forward, knelt, cracked the lid, made a quick count. “Looks good.”

Kollman extended his hand to Rio. “We look forward to a long and profitable relationship.”

Rio nodded, attempting to penetrate Kollman’s sunglasses and convey he had an urgent message to impart. While eight of his soldiers came forward, two each escorting a terrorist to one of the vehicles, the remainder of his men hustled back to load up.

Kollman observed the transfer. “We’ve got your back,” he whispered, his lips barely moving.

Abruptly, Kollman turned and strode back to the SUV. Rio had to grip his thigh to keep from reaching out to grab his boss’s arm.

He didn’t want them watching
his
back. He wanted them watching Cassie’s.

Twenty-Four

Pain brought Cassie awake. The kind of pain so complex, so complete, there was no beginning, no end, no source, no relief. The kind of pain she’d never experienced but only witnessed in the worst trauma patients drifting through her ER. Some screaming, some writhing, but the ones with the most traumatic injuries seemed trapped in agonizing silence because even breathing sent shards of stabbing sensations across tissues and nerves.

She pried her lids open but experienced no change in vision. None. Not a flicker, not a shadow. An earlier fear grew deeper roots and choked her. That blow to the head had most likely rendered her blind. Otherwise, at least some level of vision would have returned by now.