Red Hot BOX SET: Complete Series 1-4: A Patrick & Steeves Suspense (12 page)

J
ack shifted
, the back of his wrist scraping against the rough concrete of the wall he was chained to. Ungrateful bitch had chained him so tight he had zero leverage against the handcuffs. The feeling in his arms had drained away hours ago. All blood had rushed out of them. For a while, they had tingled, a hellish tingling that crowded out everything else. Now his arms were dead weight. It was a relief.

Before leaving, the damn firefighter unhooked the generator, the silence creating a vacuum. A heavy blackness settled around him. Throughout the night, things skittered across the floor nearby. Something furry had brushed up against his ankle and roused him just before he sank into semi-consciousness.

The chill of the desert air seeped through the concrete floor and found a home in his bones. His feet were frozen, his toes throbbed, and he fought to control his shivering. With no way to keep time, he’d lost track, the hours marked off only by the increasing numbness in his body.

The pale light of dawn crept into the main barn - creating shadows, shapes, forms - and started to bring his surroundings into focus through the waning night.

On the far side of the room, stood a discarded half full bottle of water. It taunted him. His mouth, stuffed with the rancid bloody rag, tasted of copper and dirt. His jaw, throbbing and locked open around the balled up rag, further annoyed him. He’d kill that firefighter when he got out of this.

If he got out of this.

* * *

M
iguel blinked
against the excruciating pounding in his head and struggled to shift his considerable weight. He was pinned. It felt like someone had driven an ice pick between his temples. He reached up, expecting blood, but his skin was dry. Below him, he was cushioned by something warm and squishy. Above him, a dense weight pressed down. The air was heavy, it was pitch dark, a dank acrid smell filled his nostrils.

Was he dead? Jesus, Maria would kill him if he was dead. Something bony and sharp dug into his side. Bastards had buried him face down. He worked his hand to his side and identified an elbow. He wasn’t alone, there was a body underneath him. A warm heaviness pressed into his back. He reached around and his fingers brushed a head of hair. Blanching, he reared back, fighting against the dead weight of the body that crushed him. They’d thrown him in a mass grave.

He knelt into the flesh and bone beneath him, and pushed backward until the body slumped off to the side. Extracting himself, he found a foothold and heaved his frame to a standing position. The sharp crack of a bone snapping beneath his boot broke the oppressive silence.

There was no break in the darkness, no hint of light. He stretched his arms before him and stepped forward cautiously, inching forward until he ran into the wall. Hand over hand, he edged along the uneven rock wall to the right until he grasped an iron rung set into the stone.

Each breath he drew scraped down his throat like molten liquid. But he remembered. He was at the ranch. Rico had gone down the shaft and when he’d gone after him, he’d passed out near the bottom. Who the hell was the guy who’d been on top of him?

Miguel patted the ground until he felt Rico’s body. He rolled him over, placed his palm in front of his mouth - still breathing. Sliding his hands over the ground, he found a flashlight and flicked the switch. Batteries were dead. He reached to the side, touched the other man and scrambled closer. His pant pockets were empty. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, but in his shirt pocket, Miguel found a pack of smokes and a lighter.

He flicked the lighter. Flame illuminated the square walls of the shaft. It led nowhere. Warped wood boarded up an old opening on one side. He extended the lighter upward, a movement that reminded him of a Santana concert he’d gone to with his sons. He wanted to get out of here and get home to them. Maria would kill him if she had to raise all those kids on her own like her sister had. And her mother. And her grandmother before her. Working with the cartel was the only thing that kept him local. Otherwise, he’d have crossed the border with his
vecinos
in hope of day labor, maybe long-term construction if he was lucky. He’d never see his family, but at least - if he made it to the U.S. alive - he’d be able to send enough money home to ensure they didn’t starve.

A
squeak followed
by a bang in the outer hallway roused Jack from his sleep. Someone moved along the outside corridor, opening and closing doors. A few seconds more and they’d find him. There was nothing to do but wait. If he were lucky, they’d kill him immediately. He didn’t have any information to give anybody. The firefighter and Emily were gone - he had no idea where.

The door opened, his heart skipped a beat. A large frame blocked the doorway, the man’s face in shadow.

“Jack? Who did this to you?” Miguel crossed the room in two steps and looked down at him. Reaching forward, he yanked the gag out of Jack’s mouth.

“Who do you think, dumbass? Get me out of here.” He strained against the chains, rattling the links, his arms heavy as wet logs. “Where the hell were you all night?”

Grumbling under his breath, the large man unchained Jack’s hands. “I passed out down that damn hole. But I think you know that.”

“How would I know that?” Jack shook his hands, tried to bring feeling back to his limbs.

“Cause of the guy who passed out on top of me.”

Jack stood, testing his legs, then staggered across the room, picked up the discarded water bottle and drank deeply. He threw the empty bottle to the side and went next door to the weapons room.

Miguel followed, keeping an eye on him while he drained another bottle of water. Jack passed him a bottle and he quickly emptied it.

“So what happened to you down that shaft? You passed out?”

“Weirdest thing. One minute I’m on the ladder, next thing I know I’m waking up with a body under me, and another one on top of me. I thought I was dead.”

Jack snorted, noting Miguel’s fists clench at his sides. “I sent Chuy down for you. I was on my way down when the damn firefighter and the girl showed up.”

“Sorry boss.”

“Damn right you should be sorry. This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just taken care of things from the beginning.”

Miguel’s eyes were hard but he lowered his head and kicked at the ground. “We need to get Rico out of the shaft.”

“They’re still alive?” Jack looked around the room, trying to assess how many weapons were missing. This whole fiasco was a freakin’ mess. What should have been an easy thing to fix was now … what? He didn’t even know what. But he did need the men that were down the shaft.

“Rico was still breathing when I climbed out. The guy on top, too.”

“We need light. And rope.” They rummaged through the barn collecting the supplies they needed. Jack left Miguel to gather the bulk of it, and limped over to the body of the dead farmer from the coast propped up in the corner just inside the door, surprised they’d left him behind. He’d been alive last time he’d seen him.

Jack pulled off the man’s boots and socks. They were big, but he wasn’t going back up that cactus-infested hill in bare feet. He winced as he pulled the rough wool socks over the raw, battered flesh he barely recognized as his own feet. When Miguel grunted beside him and strode out the door with a large sack over his shoulder, Jack hobbled behind, letting him lead the way back to the shaft.

D
al rummaged
through the fridge piling his findings on the tiny counter beside the stove. Eggs, cheddar cheese, salami. From a small orange mesh hammock swaying over the sink in the corner, he grabbed an onion, green pepper, garlic. He knew this boat almost as well as Kris did. Some of his sweat could be seen in the gleaming wood and brass.

He pulled a cast iron griddle from the drawer under the stove, placed it over the back two burners, and started to chop. Chopping and cooking food was his own brand of meditation. It never failed to calm him. He wasn’t sure where that came from. Neither of his parents had enjoyed cooking - at least, not that he remembered. In the firehouse, he signed up to cook as often as possible. Since most of the guys preferred other tasks, he prepared plenty of meals.

Onions and garlic sizzled in the hot oil while he sliced the green pepper. He cracked the eggs on the edge of a metal bowl, added salt and pepper, and grated a pile of cheese. He was hungry. The pungent aroma of garlic piqued his appetite.

Voices drifted down from above deck. All felt right with his world. It was crazy, but he wanted Kris and Emily to get along. More than that, he wanted them to like each other. There was no guarantee he’d even see Emily again once they got back to San Diego. For all he knew, she was already involved with someone. A woman like that would almost certainly have a boyfriend. But a man could hope.

He whisked the eggs and poured them onto the griddle. A floorboard creaked behind him and he spun on his heel. Large hands circled his throat, shut off his air supply and wrestled him to the ground. He hit the floor. Hard. The metal bowl clattered onto the counter and rolled into the sink.

A giant of a man straddled his waist, knees pinning his arms to the floor in the narrow galley.

“Who the hell are you?” asked Dal.

“Quiet,” he hissed.

“Dal!” Emily called from above and climbed quickly below deck.

The man reached inside his jacket, retrieved a pistol and jammed it against Dal’s chin, forcing his head back.

Emily rounded the corner and stopped, taking in the scene. “Kris,” she yelled.

“Shut up,” the man barked. “Say another word and I’ll kill your friend here.”

Dal met Emily’s eyes and hoped she would follow the thug’s directions. She stood frozen in place. Kris stayed above deck, not bothering to check on the chaos below deck. Dal’s stomach clenched as he realized Kris had to know this guy was on board. Maybe things weren’t so right in his world after all.

* * *

E
mily stood only
a few feet away - eyes glued to the gun jammed into Dal’s neck - but it may as well have been a mile. Her mind raced. How could she avert the danger? She was unarmed, their weapons discarded above deck when they boarded.

The dark-haired man swiveled in her direction, jutted his chin toward the table and ordered her to sit.

She stepped to the side, complied. At the end of the small galley, the eggs popped and sizzled on the stove. Somewhere overhead a lone seagull cried. Slowly, keeping one eye on her and the gun trained on Dal, the man rose and planted his foot on Dal’s chest.

“Pass me the rope under that bench,” he said, jabbing a finger toward the spot.

Emily scrambled forward, removed the vinyl-covered cushion, lifted the seat and retrieved a coil of yellow line. She slid it across the floor.

He shook his head. “Pick it up. Bring it here.”

She gathered the rope and stepped gingerly toward him. Could she overtake him right now? Would Dal react fast enough to back her up? She caught Dal’s gaze. He responded with an imperceptible shake of his head.

“Don’t even think about it, sister,” growled the man, putting more weight on Dal’s chest.

“Fuck,” breathed Dal.

“Sit up,” he barked to Dal. “You,” he nodded at Emily, “get over here. Your buddy here is going to sit up when I move my foot. And,” he continued waving the pistol around, “he’s going to turn around and face the stove.” He moved his foot off Dal’s chest and kicked him in the ribs. “Do it.”

Dal pushed himself up to a sitting position, then crabbed his body around so he was facing the stove. “I need to turn this off,” he said, pointing to the stove. Smoke rose from the burning eggs.

“Leave it.”

“It’ll set off the smoke alarm.”

“Do it then. Don’t try anything … touch the knob only.”

Dal reached up and turned the two burners off.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

Dal followed his orders.

“You, girl,” he said, “get over here. Sit down, back to back with your pal.”

Emily sat on the floor, her back against Dal’s.

“Now loop your arms through his, elbow to elbow.”

It took a couple of tries, but she managed to loop her arms through Dal’s as he wanted. He bound her wrists, the rope biting into her skin. His bulk pushed against her as he leaned forward to bind Dal’s wrists. Once he was satisfied with that, he wrapped the rope around their chests several times then tied it just behind her left shoulder where she would have to be disjointed to reach it.

He jabbed a large finger in Emily’s face, emphasizing his words. “Sit still, be quiet, and I won’t have to kill you. I’ll go keep the captain entertained.” He slapped Dal casually upside the head and winked at Emily. “Cozy, eh?”

He navigated his large body up the ladder to the main deck. The hatch slammed behind him. She let out a breath.

“What the hell?” Dal struggled against her, testing the rope. “Who the hell is this guy?”

“One of our cartel pals, I’m guessing.” Sarcasm laced her voice. “How did you not see him?”

“He must have been in the head.”

“In the bathroom?”

“Yeah, there’s nowhere else. There’s a small storage hatch forward, but I can’t imagine he’d be able to get out of there without attracting attention.”

“But how did he get you?”

“I didn’t hear a sound. He came up behind me-”

“I thought this guy Kris was a friend of yours? Why didn’t he warn us?”

Dal fell silent. Emily could almost hear the wheels turning. His shoulders moved against hers. “I don’t know. We shouldn’t have put him in danger.”

“Wait a minute. At this point, he’s put us in danger.”

“No, you hold on a minute. I can’t believe he had anything to do with this. We’re lucky Kris isn’t dead.”

She considered this. Why would they keep Kris alive? Would they kill him now that they had Dal?

The rope bit into her wrists. She stared at her shaking fingers, steeled her thoughts and focused on staying calm. Images of the gun shoved into Dal’s face flashed back to her, interspersed with memories of Trevor and the fateful night in Afghanistan that had changed everything. Her lip trembled as she fought back tears. When she lost Trevor, her heart had shattered. After countless hours of trauma therapy and the long road back to some semblance of mental peace, she’d promised herself that she would never let anyone close again.

Somehow, with Dal, in the middle of this crazy chase, she’d allowed herself to believe that it could be different. Based on absolutely nothing at all, not a shred of fact, just a gut feeling that she, despite feeling undeserving of it, may have met a fellow traveler. She’d let down her guard, allowed a tiny sliver of warmth and hope to find its way into her heart. Seeing that gun pressed against Dal’s neck had been a rude awakening as she realized she could easily lose him too. She bit into her trembling lip as the thin threads of hope she'd been feeling dispersed like dandelions on the wind.

“You all right back there?” Dal’s voice came quietly over her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly.”

She gulped. “It’s fine. I get it.”

It didn’t matter how understanding he was, she couldn’t get involved with this man. With any man. She would do all she could to get him and Kris back to safety, but she needed to keep her emotional distance.