Red Hot BOX SET: Complete Series 1-4: A Patrick & Steeves Suspense (14 page)

J
ack’s head pounded
. He lay splayed out like a starfish on the cold dirt taking inventory as his whole body trembled. His shoulder felt like it’d been wrenched out of its socket, his right knee throbbed, blood dripped from his left ear. His vision was blurry, his lungs ached. He didn’t know lungs could ache. With each tortured breath, air ripped like gravel down his throat into his battered chest.

He rolled his head to the side and spied Miguel. He called his name, fearful of how faint his voice sounded to his own ears.

“Miguel,” he called again. The large man stirred and looked over in his direction. “We need fresh air.”

He struggled to mimic Miguel’s effort to stand. He pushed up onto his hands and knees, crawled forward and took the hand Miguel extended to him to bring himself to his feet. “Air,” he wheezed.

With his arm around Miguel’s waist, they made their way out of the tunnel, squeezing past the rock at the entrance. Jack gulped in fresh air and crumpled to the ground, the cool dry air a welcome change from the cloying dampness of the mine.

A few feet away, Miguel huffed like an old freight train.

“How long was I out?” he asked.

“Not long. I pulled you up right away.”

“And Rico?”

“Still down there. I barely got you up.”

A hawk circled overhead. Jack tracked its movements, watched it dive in the distance and wing its way gracefully back into the air, a small rodent clenched in its jaws.

Jack’s mind cleared, crystallized into one persistent thought. He pushed himself into a sitting position, the sudden movement made him nauseous. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

“Rico first.”

Too weak to argue, he nodded. After resting for several minutes, he followed Miguel back to the cavern to rescue the other men.

A tired sense of
déjà vu
washed over him as they stood at the edge of the shaft. “You’ll have to go down,” Jack said, picking up the rope to harness Miguel.

“Neither of us have to go down,” Miguel growled. “The rope snagged on Rico when I was bringing you up. We should be able to haul him up from here. Get behind me and help pull.”

Jack picked up the slack behind Miguel and the two men pulled. They only got about two feet of rope up before it tightened like piano wire. “It’s caught on something.”

“Ya think?” Miguel shone the light down the shaft, midway the rope was twisted around a loose rung on the ladder. The jagged, rusted steel would slice through the rope in no time. “Damn it,” he hissed.

“You’ll have to go down,” Jack said.

* * *

M
iguel reached
the bottom of the shaft and stepped off the ladder. He was light-headed. He pushed the kerchief more firmly in place over his mouth and held his breath, fearing more of the toxic gas in his lungs. In his mind’s eye, it seeped into his nostrils, forced its way into his mouth, a green mist filling his veins with poison. He hurried, knowing Jack could never lift him out and would leave them both to die without a second thought.

He lifted Rico over his shoulder and clambered back up the ladder. At the surface, Jack took over, dragged Rico off his shoulders. He hunched over him, hand in front of his mouth. “He’s breathing.”

Miguel grabbed Rico and moved toward the tunnel. “Come on, bring the light.”

For once, Jack didn’t argue but simply followed, lighting a path. Miguel left Rico outside and staggered back for Chuy, laying him out on the ground next to Rico.

Sunlight slanted against the rock. In minutes, the sun would rise above the mountain and warmth would flood the valley. Miguel knelt over Rico, slapping his face.

“You need to try artificial respiration,” Jack said.

“Artificial what?” He stopped slapping his friend’s face long enough to glance up at Jack.

“Breathe in his mouth, get his lungs going again.”

He shook his head. “You do it.”

Jack shook his head. “He’s your friend. You can be the one to tell his wife he didn’t make it.”

Miguel seethed. Rico didn’t have a wife - something Jack would know if he gave a rat’s ass about the men who worked for him - the
puta
had run away with her brother-in-law years ago leaving Rico with a houseful of small mouths to feed. His mother and sister were raising them, but without his income they’d all starve. He glared across his friend’s body at Jack. “You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?”

Shrugging, Jack crouched over Chuy. “Your call.”

Miguel leaned forward and brushed the dirt off Rico’s face, then pushed on his chest. Air puffed out his mouth. He pushed again, then bent over, put his lips over Rico’s and exhaled. His chest rose. Miguel took another breath and blew it into Rico. His chest rose, again. He slapped his face and his friend’s eyelids fluttered. Reaching behind his shoulders, he pulled him to a sitting position. A cough racked Rico’s body before he turned his head and threw up.

“Good. One down, one to go,” Jack said.

Miguel jutted his chin at Chuy, eyes fixed on Jack. “You’re on deck,” he smirked. “Save him, don’t save him. I don’t give a shit.”

Jack worked on Chuy, pounding his chest and blowing air in through his mouth. After several minutes, he leaned back on his heels. “He needs a doctor.”

Rico swiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked around, disoriented. His gaze settled on Miguel. “What the hell … where are we?”

“We passed out down the shaft. Probably gas.”

He shook his head. “You were there, too?”

“I came down after you.”

“And passed out?”

Miguel nodded.

His gaze slid over toward Chuy. “And him?”

“I sent him down after you guys,” Jack said.

“And you came in for us, Jack?”

“No,” Miguel interrupted. “He was chained up in the barn. I came to, got out, and we came back for you.”

Turning, Rico retched into the ground again.

Jack stood and caught Miguel’s eye. “Let’s get him down the hill. We can find a doctor in town.”

Miguel rested his hand on Rico’s shoulder. “You okay to go?” Rico tilted his chin and Miguel helped him up. “Jack,” he said, “help Rico down. I’ll carry Chuy.”

Chuy’s body was dead weight. He threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and started down the trail. Jack and Rico stumbled along behind.

T
he hatch banged open
, the man clattered down the ladder and stood in front of them, stance wide, hands on his hips. Emily tilted her head back to look up at him.

“What the hell is going on here? You looking to cause trouble?” He stared down at Emily before his gaze slid over the counters. Leaning forward, he checked the knots, brushing up against her. Body odor wafted off his torso in waves. Satisfied the rope was secure, he cuffed Dal on the head.

“Keep your girlie friend in line,” he said. “Or else. I hear anything more from down here, and you’ll both be sorry.”

He toed Emily’s thigh with his boot and leered at her, a gold cap winking out of his crooked smile. She’d met his type before, lowered her eyes, willing him to leave.

Turning on his heel, he made his way back up the ladder. “Don’t forget,” he yelled down before letting the hatch slam into place.

“Asshole,” Dal muttered.

“Dickhead,” Emily responded.

“Monkey brain,” Dal snickered.

“Banana breath.” Emily’s stomach clenched.

“Porchdick,” Dal huffed under his breath.

“Canoehead.” Her shoulders shook.

“Baboon …. Nose.”

Emily snorted. Dal’s body shook against her as he again broke into silent laughter. She lost it. Tears streamed down her face, she snorted multiple times. Each snort brought more violent shaking from behind her. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine what was happening on deck. Something, anything to control the laughter. She quickly pulled up an image of that bastard holding them captive aiming a gun at Kris.

“Dal,” she whispered. “We need to think about Kris.”

He sobered instantly. “Damn, my stomach hurts. How the hell are we going to get out of this?”

“I don’t know.” She glanced around the room, hoping for inspiration. “Can you reach anything on the counter? Maybe we can cut through this rope.”

“We’ll need to stand up,” he said. “Wanna try?”

Across from her, on the bench where she’d pulled out the rope, sat a small rectangular box. “There’s a toolbox on the bench by the table. Can you shuffle backward?”

She pulled herself forward, using her heels as leverage against the floor, and walking her butt in the direction of the bench. Behind her, Dal did the same. He pushed, she pulled. It was slow going, but they were making progress.

“I can almost reach it. A little farther.” She stretched her hand up to the bench, but it remained inches out of her reach. “We’ll have to lift so I can grab it.”

Dal pushed against her back and raised her up several inches. The tip of her fingers caught under the plastic handle of the toolbox and she coaxed it forward. As it slid off the bench, she grasped at the handle, but couldn’t get a grip. The box slammed to the floor, loose tools clanging off the deck.

“What now?” The hatch above flew open and the man stared down at them. “What the fuck did I tell you?” He came down the ladder and aimed his gun at Dal’s face. “You itching to die today? You think this is some kind of fucking game?”

Emily froze in place, her heart pounding in her chest. What the hell had she been thinking?

“We’re sorry,” she said.

“Get back in the galley.” He cursed and reached forward, grabbed them by the elbows, and dragged them back toward the galley. Stepping to the side to make room, he then pushed on Emily’s shoulders, driving their butts back into the narrow space between the counters.

He threw the cushions off the benches, dug underneath, threw items around looking for something, but came up empty handed.

“Now you two listen,” he said, putting his face next to Emily’s. “If you move again, if you make any noise, if you piss me off one more time, I’m going to shoot your friend. Then, I’m going to shoot a hole in the bottom of this boat and let the two of you sink to the bottom of the ocean. Understand?”

Emily met his glare and nodded. “Understood.”

“And you, hero boy,” he said, his open fist slamming into the side of Dal’s head, “Understand?”

“Yes,” Dal hissed. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Behave and I won’t have to. Fuck around some more, and his blood is gonna be on your hands.” He kicked Emily’s shin and she cursed herself for crying out. He grinned, a cruel slash across his ugly features, then returned above deck.

“Sorry, Dal,” she whispered.

“Yeah, me too. Look, let’s lie low until we come up with a more solid plan.”

She slumped her weight against his back and fell quiet, heart sinking. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t been able to get Dal to safety. And now Kris was mixed up in it, too.

And Jack. The cold truth of Jack betraying her - and his country - bit at her, squeezed her, wrecked her. As a child, she’d bounced on his knee. She remembered squealing and running to the front door when he’d brought her presents. Who could she trust now?

She ached to talk to her father, to hear his voice, to have him tell her everything was going to work out. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine it all finishing well. Her father waiting on the pier. Kris and Dal slapping each other on the back, happy to be home. Jack being led away in handcuffs.

Her trauma therapist had told her to create a vision of how she wanted her world to look. Right now, she wanted her feet back on dry land, on American soil, with her father’s arms around her.

A crash overhead interrupted her thoughts. Heavy footsteps, followed by yelling. Emily felt Dal stiffen.

A shot rang out, the blast echoing through the cabin.

J
ack spotted
the end of the trail and heaved a sigh of relief. He drew on his reserves and pushed himself to support Rico the last hundred yards to the barn. Rico stumbled beside him, still breathing, but fading fast. With his arm around his waist, Jack continued until they reached the barn, then let him collapse in the shade of the large door.

Miguel advanced on the barn, showing no strain from the weight on his shoulder. Chuy was still unconscious. Miguel lowered him to the ground beside Rico. “Now what?”

“There’s water in the back. Grab some and get them both to drink.” He patted his pockets. “Wait, give me your phone.”

Miguel turned, reached into his back pocket and tossed him his cell before disappearing into the shadows of the barn.

Stepping into the morning sun, Jack punched numbers from memory into the screen. It rang once before it was answered.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Jack. I’m using a different phone.”

“Where the hell are you? And where’s your phone? You sent me a message hours ago that you were on your way back.”

His forehead crinkled. “I didn’t text you …”

“Somebody did. Who’s got your damn phone? You don’t have this cleaned up yet? What the …” Jack held the phone away from his ear and waited for the tirade to end. Like he didn’t have enough problems. One guy dying, the other almost useless. He spat on the ground, tired and disgusted with the whole situation. If Emily had just followed his orders, he wouldn’t be in this mess.

He brought the phone to his ear again. “We had a couple of setbacks. We’re on our way now.”

“Where?”

He kicked at the dirt. Where indeed? “Back to San Diego.”

A flat silence came through the line. “You think they’re in San Diego.”

“I think they would have headed there.”

“You better get it right this time, Jack. I’m about out of patience.”

So am I. He nodded, out of habit, then said, “I’ll handle it.”

“You better.” The line went dead.

The morning sun bounced off the front of the barn. It was going to be another scorcher. He strode back inside.

Rico sat, back against the wall, drinking water and watching Miguel try to wake Chuy. Miguel looked up and shook his head. “No dice, boss. We’ll have to get him to a doctor.”

“Okay.” Jack checked the time on Miguel’s cell and paced across the floor. Wherever Emily and Steeves were, they had a hell of a head start. He made a decision. “Get Chuy and Rico into the SUV,” he ordered, “I’ll go find us some food.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and hurried across the yard to the back door of the house.

In the pantry, he pulled out three tins of beans, a tin of chilies, two packets of crackers, cookies, a tin of corn and a large box of juice. It was all he could find that didn’t need to be cooked. He shoved the food in a shopping bag he found on the counter, kicked the back door shut behind him, and returned to the barn.

The hood of the SUV was open, Miguel peered into the engine.

“What’s the trouble?”

“Bastard cut the plug wires.”

“Did you check the other SUV?”

“Yeah, he fucked with both of them. With the car, too.”

Jack elbowed him out of the way and looked at the damage. “Did you try one from the other SUV?”

Miguel’s eyes lit up. “Good thinking, boss.” He ambled off toward the SUV parked around the side of the barn.

Asshole. Jack kicked at the ground. Did he have to do all the thinking? He stalked into the barn to collect more guns and ammo from the weapons room. Returning to the SUV, he lifted the cargo door and threw it all in the rear before climbing behind the wheel.

He glanced in the rearview mirror. Chuy was sprawled out in the back seat, his head resting on Rico’s lap. The color in Rico’s face wasn’t good. His skin had a green, oily glow, and his eyelids drooped. If things didn’t turn around soon, his days might be numbered, too.

Another hour and he’d have these poor bastards at a doctor. He yelled out the window. “Miguel,
que pasa
?”

A few minutes later, Miguel rounded the side of the barn with a handful of parts from the other vehicle. He worked under the hood for several minutes, then poked his head up.

“Try it.”

Jack turned the key in the ignition. The starter turned but the engine didn’t start. He tried again.

“Not gonna work, boss.”

“Why the hell not?” Jack jumped out of the truck and joined Miguel under the hood. “That wire is all wrong,” he shouted. “No freakin’ wonder it won’t work.”

Miguel shrugged. “It’s all we have to work with.”

“Damn.” He sucked air in through his teeth. He was damned if he was going to die in the desert in this God-forsaken country.