Storm Warning (Security Specialists International Book 4) (5 page)

Move your ass, Dahlia Jane. Worry won’t win the battle. Planning will.

She replaced the nozzle and snatched her receipt as she put the gas cap back on. Then she hoofed it toward the gas station storefront. She didn’t look back as the Latino men coarsely commented on her ass and legs and speculated on the size of her tits hidden by her thick shearling jacket.

She would’ve liked to knee them in their nuts, but that pleasurable experience would have to be forfeited. She had to de-escalate the looming, bad-ass situation.

Entering the gas station/convenience store, DJ found her mother talking and laughing with the burly clerk. She placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Momma, hate to interrupt, but we have a change in plans. There’s trouble a-brewin’.” She turned toward the clerk whose name tag read
Bud
. “What kind of law enforcement coverage do y’all have in this area?”

“Sheriff and State Police. But both are spread pretty thin. Idaho County is huge.” Bud frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Shit.
She’d been afraid of that. Idaho County was a sparsely populated area. So less tax dollars meant less law enforcement.

“Call them. The four men at the gas pumps plan on kidnapping Keely Maddox and her son. Two confirmed as armed. Have to assume the other two are also. Anyone caught in the crossfire is gonna get hurt. We need the law here … fast.”

“Dahlia Jane…” Her mother’s voice wobbled with fear.

DJ took her mother’s hand and rubbed a thumb over the back of it. “It’ll be all right. Trust me. Nothing will happen to you, Keely, her baby, or anyone else.”

“Motherfuckers.” Bud snarled and slapped a hand on the counter. Her mother startled and gripped DJ’s hand. “Excuse my language, ladies. But someone’s always trying to hurt Keely and the other SSI gals.” He pulled a cell phone from under the counter. “You go warn them. I’ll call out all the troops including SSI.”

Yeah, that would be good. Ren would pull out all stops to protect his wife and child. A little bit of the tension left her body, but not enough to decry the urgency of the situation. It would get worse before it got better, every battle sense she’d developed over the years of flying in war zones told her that.

Bud snorted. “Knowing Keely, that little gal has a fu–, um, fricking arsenal in the back of her Hummer.”

DJ was counting on it.

“Bud,” DJ called.

“Yeah?” His head came up and his dark brown eyes glittered with a fierce light.

“You might want to lock up and take cover if the bastards decide to take the fight to the restaurant.”

“Yeah, me and my rifle will be locked down in the back in the walk-in refrigerator. Don’t worry about the civilians in the diner. Nick has a safe place for them. Since I don’t expect you’ll be taking advantage of it, you take care, ya hear?”

“You, too.” DJ turned toward her mother whose face had grown pale; the apprehension in her aqua-colored eyes was unacceptable. Yet, the situation couldn’t be avoided. “It’s gonna be okay, Momma. I promise. Right now, I need to move my vehicle away from the pumps and to the front of the restaurant.”

She gripped her mother’s arm and led her to the door. “Act natural. We’re two ladies who stopped for gas and a bite to eat. Don’t stare at the men across from our vehicle.”

“Baby girl,” her mother spoke under her breath as DJ practically carried her to the Hummer. “Why can’t we wait on the law or the SSI men to get here?”

“Because these men won’t wait. They’re real bad asses. Hired guns. When they attack, innocent people die. That isn’t happening on my watch.”

Low whistles and crude comments in Spanish followed her as she boosted her mother into the passenger seat. She ignored the men as she quick-stepped around to the driver’s side, got in, and started the Hummer. Then she slowly circled the pump and parked next to the only other Hummer in front of the restaurant; it had to be the SSI vehicle Bud had spoken of.

DJ looked at her mother. “Ready?”

“What are you gonna do?” Her mother’s soft voice was even shakier than before. Seeing and hearing the men had emphasized the situation was real and not an over-reaction on DJ’s part. DJ grimaced.
Way to go, Dahlia Jane.
You’ve already broken your promise to keep her life stress-free.

But she refused to lie or sugarcoat anything. Her mother needed honesty, not deception. She’d had more than enough of that crap from DJ’s cheating, criminal bastard of a father.

“Not sure yet. Flying by the seat of my pants for the moment.” DJ unbuckled her seat belt and unlocked the doors. In the rearview mirror, she noted the two trucks pulling away. She followed them with her peripheral vision as they circled around to the far side of the gas station, just as Cervantes had planned. “But I’ll think of something … or Keely will, that gal is smart, lethal—and this is her turf.”

DJ took in a deep breath, exhaled, then took her mother’s small hands between hers. “This is what I’m trained for. I’ll do all that is within my power to make sure nothing happens to you or anyone inside that restaurant.” Or die trying.

“I know that.” Her mother pulled her hands away and then tucked a curl under DJ’s cap. “I’m worried about you. Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful.” Sometimes, however, careful—or being well-trained—wasn’t always enough.

DJ hurried her mother into the restaurant and then looked around the main dining area. There were tables in the middle, booths around the sides, and a eat-at-counter opposite the entrance. She heaved a sigh of relief. The place wasn’t that crowded—Juan had exaggerated. There hadn’t been all that many vehicles in the parking lot. Any townsfolk who might’ve walked had probably been kept away by the cold and the blizzard threat.

Ma’s current clientele was comprised of five men—rough-looking, outdoor types. She wouldn’t be surprised if some of them were armed since this part of Idaho was isolated and a lot of survivalists lived in this part of the state.

Two waitresses moved about the room. Loud, male voices came from the kitchen area through the pass-through window which was behind the eat-at-counter.

The only women customers—thus, by default, the SSI contingent—sat in a booth at the rear left-hand corner of the restaurant. A great strategic position. From their vantage point, they could see everyone in the place and watch the main entrance. Exactly the booth she would’ve chosen.

DJ took her mother’s hand and began to wend their way through the tables in the center of the dining area. There was also a barroom, off to the left side, through a double-wide doorway. It was dark this early in the day. So, no worries about anymore civilians in there.

As she approached the booth, she easily identified Keely and Riley. The Colonel and Molly had lots of pictures of their daughter and grandchild on their mantel. She also recognized Calista, a famous cover model who’d recently married SSI operative Risto Smith. The woman next to Calista, or Callie as she was called, was a dark-haired woman holding Riley Maddox. Next to them was an older woman.

The women were smiling and laughing—and she really hated to ruin their day.

DJ let go of her mother’s hand and urged her forward until they stopped at the edge of the table. The women ceased talking and looked up with welcoming smiles on their faces even though they didn’t know DJ or her mother from Adam. DJ’s Skype interviews had only been with Ren Maddox and his brother Trey.

DJ cleared her throat. “Ladies, I’m DJ Poe.”

Keely’s eyes lit up even more. She scooted out of the booth, jumped up, and gave DJ a hug.

DJ wasn’t sure how to react. So, she gently patted the smaller woman on the back two times and stepped out of the eager woman’s embrace.

“You’re early!” Keely seemed to take DJ’s stiffness in stride and turned to DJ’s mother. “This must be Nancy.” The petite blonde hugged DJ’s equally petite mother, who hugged right back. No awkwardness there.

The blonde dynamo stepped back and looked between the two of them. “We weren’t expecting you until late tomorrow. But no worries, Scotty has everything ready for you. We’re excited to have you with us. We’ve heard so much about you from Andy and Dev and the rest of my family.”

“Hate to be rude.” DJ’s tone was grim. “We have a situation.”

“What’s wrong?” Keely frowned and scrutinized DJ’s face. “What’s happened?”

“Hasn’t happened yet—and we’re running out of time.” DJ’s bluntly spoken words wiped the smiles off the other women’s faces. She glanced at the window and groaned. It had started to snow harder. “A really short clock now. Four men. Two confirmed armed. Hispanics from El Salvador. Most likely mercs. Planning on kidnapping you and Riley.”

“Frick-fracking hell!” Keely yelled. The restaurant went silent at her shout. “Ren will have a cow.” Then she called out, “Nick! Prepare to repel attackers.”

A bass voice from the back bellowed, “Goddammit, Keely. You’re a trouble magnet.”

DJ jumped, and her mother gasped as the screech of metal rang around the room as what looked to be blast shutters rolled down over the plate glass windows. Gas Station Bud hadn’t mentioned blast shutters when he’d said Nick had a safe place.

“Someone needs to lock and bar the front door,” Nick yelled. “I’ve got the back covered.”

A man closest to the front door hollered, “On it!”

“Um, wait! Weapons?” DJ said. “Bud said y’all might have weapons in the Hummer. FYI, Bud’s calling the cops and SSI.”

“Go ahead and shut the door, Zeke!” Keely said. The man ran to do her bidding.

Keely pulled a Bren Ten from a tote bag on the booth seat. Callie pulled a Ladies’ Ruger from a bag by her feet. And, confirming her earlier supposition, several of the customers pulled hand guns.

DJ’s lips twisted, and she pulled her Beretta from the shoulder holster under her coat. “Well, we’ve got hand guns covered, but I was hoping for some assault rifles, maybe a sniper rifle.”

Keely held up a finger. “Just a sec.” Then she yelled, “Nick!”

“What!”

“You pull out my weapon bags?”

“Already did.” A huge man dressed in a chef’s apron, a Sammy Hagar T-shirt, and jeans with a gun belt strapped around his waist lumbered into the dining room. He carried two large bags which he dumped by the booth. “Safe room’s open and ready for anyone who wants to join me and my Smith and Wesson.” He patted the holstered gun with a grim smile on his face.

Keely glanced at the other women, who’d gotten up from the table. “Lacey, take Elana, Riley, and Nancy to the back and introduce them to Earl’s safe room. Callie, DJ, and I will go on the roof to keep an eye on the situation and repel the frick-fracking douchebags, if necessary, until our backup arrives.”

DJ snorted back a laugh at Keely’s description of the mercenaries. She couldn’t have said it better herself.

“Baby girl?” DJ’s mother tugged on her jacket sleeve. “Why the roof?”

“Gives us tactical advantage.” She rubbed her mother’s back. “Go with the other women. Help take care of the baby, okay? Molly would want that.”

Her mother’s lips firmed. “Molly loves that baby. Nothin’ will happen to him. They gotta get through me first.”

Or Nick’s Smith and Wesson.

DJ gently shoved her mother toward the older woman in Keely’s group. Now that Keely had named the women, DJ knew that Lacey was the wife of Quinn Jones, who was third in command at SSI behind Ren and Trey Maddox. The dark-haired woman, Elana, had recently married another SSI operative, Vanko Petriv. Andy had told her how he, Dev, and the Colonel had helped rescue Elana from a Russian mobster just before the beginning of the new year.

“Dahlia Jane Poe…” DJ winced at her mother’s full use of her name, but noted no one was really paying attention to them as they prepared for the attack. “Don’t get killed.”

DJ mentally sighed. It would take her mother a long time to get used to her only daughter being a trained warrior. So, if she needed to continue to worry, then DJ would take the time to reassure her. God knew her mother had been DJ’s emotional and, all too often, physical bulwark throughout her childhood.

“Momma”—DJ attempted a cocky grin—“if the Taliban, al Qaeda, and lots of narcotrafficantes couldn’t kill me, a bunch of frick-fracking douchebag mercenaries damn well won’t. Plus,” she added in a gentle, but firm, tone, “this
is
the kind of work I’ll be doing for SSI. Protecting people.”

Her mother frowned, then sighed and went with Lacey who mouthed at DJ, “She’ll be fine.”

DJ nodded her thanks and turned toward her boss’s wife who’d taken control of the restaurant like a military officer and had gotten the customers organized. The men turned the metal tables on their sides, checked over their weapons, and talked quietly among themselves—preparing to fight, to defend the unarmed civilians from whoever tried to get into the restaurant.

Keely, like every single Walsh she’d met so far—and she’d met them all but one, Tweeter, the computer geek son—had true command presence. But command presence didn’t mean shit when the woman was also the wife of an over-protective, alpha-male as was evidenced by Keely’s much put-upon tone as she spoke to what had to be Ren on the phone. “Listen, big guy. I don’t plan this shit.”

DJ snorted back a laugh as Keely held her phone at arm’s length and crossed her eyes at it, then glanced at the ceiling and mouthed, “Lord, save me.”

Placing the phone back at her ear, Keely muttered, “Just get here. Callie, DJ, and I can hold them off until you bring in the troops. The bastards won’t be leaving. I promise.” She swiped a finger over the phone’s screen to end the call and looked up. “Ren’s pissed, in case you couldn’t tell. He and the guys are already on their way. They’re thirty or so minutes out by road. Vanko and Tweeter will get here sooner in the chopper.”

Chopper.

The mere word hit her happy spot deep inside. She loved flying helicopters and knew SSI had a Black Hawk for SARs and operations and a Bell jet helicopter for ferrying SSI personnel around the rough terrain of Idaho. She was jonesing to fly again. Hadn’t flown since the Colonel had gotten her permission to fly one of the Marine’s Black Hawks—that had been well over two weeks ago.