Maggie's Revenge: Wounded Hearts- Book 6 Read online

  They hugged, aware that this could mean the end for either one of them, then Maggie stood and nudged the guard. “Get up.”

  When he didn’t move fast enough, she jammed the gun in the base of his spine, giving him back some of his own medicine. He glared, raw hatred glowing from onyx eyes, and clambered to his feet.

  Olga told the women to hold hands and line up behind her. They crowded together like timid animals, their fear pungent on the cold air. Much smaller than the soldier, Olga motioned for him to remove the belt draped around his waist. He defied her, standing tall, chin up in the air like he was lord of all he surveyed. It pissed Maggie off. It was assholes like this that got her out of bed every morning. The need to stomp him like an ant was all-pervading, but she held back and used the gun for persuasion instead, aiming it at his no doubt blue balls. He got the message and yanked the belt off, flinging it to the ground. Olga smiled, and picked the leather up. She waved for him to turn his back, then restrained his wrists behind his body.

  “Ready?” Maggie asked, swallowing her nerves now the time had arrived.

  Olga met her gaze, scared and worried, but resolute. “Ready.”

  Maggie edged to the door and glanced outside, but couldn’t see anything. Her eyes were still fighting to adjust to the sudden brightness after months in the dark. Left with no other option, she dropped, rolled, and came up fighting.

  “DEA, drop your weapons.”

  5

  Far from an enemy encampment, the women found themselves in the middle of Hell.

  Or at least that’s what it felt like to Maggie. She blinked away the blindingly bright light from an unforgiving sun and tried to see past the dust billowing in rolling clouds like some sort of post-apocalyptic nightmare. Her shell-shocked brain after months of capture had trouble absorbing the shouts mixing with the explosion of gunshots.

  Olga cried out as their hostage toppled forward, blood spouting from multiple chest wounds. Maggie screamed at her to run and opened up a sweeping ground fire to give the women cover. Bullets kicked up the dirt near her head and she felt a sting along her side but ignored it to return fire. One man dropped, his arms cartwheeling as the force of the bullets sent him backward over a pile of crates. The other fighter was smart, he kept his body mass hidden behind the front end of a sand-colored Humvee. Maggie swore. He had them pinned down.

  She pinged a couple more shots off the fender, then held fire, aware she was running out of ammunition. A lull descended, even the wind died down as though waiting with bated breath.

  Suddenly, a blond head exploded out from behind a sand dune and Maggie inhaled on a despairing cry as a woman ran across the compound in a flurry of bare legs and dirty skirts.

  By the time Maggie recognized the woman as one of the hostages, she’d grabbed the fallen man’s gun and turned it on the rebel. A volley of fire erupted. When the smoke cleared she was dead, but not without taking him with her.

  Maggie climbed to her feet, shock making her clumsy as she stumbled across the sand to the victim and dropped to her knees. Tears flowed unheeded as she brushed the woman’s hair back and gently closed her vacant eyes. She wasn’t more than nineteen or twenty, a baby really. These monsters had robbed her of her family, her life, children. And there were so many more just like her. It was a tide that grew faster than Maggie could hope to control. Why bother. She’d spent the last five years trying to stop the cartel and it hadn’t done a thing. Witness the young woman bleeding out in front of her.

  A hand squeezed her shoulder.

  “We must go,” Olga’s voice was brusque. Her accent always deepened under duress.

  “I’m not leaving her.” It was stupid, Maggie knew that. The girl was gone, it wouldn’t matter to her, but she was one of theirs, she wasn’t getting left behind.

  Olga must have seen the stubborn look in her eyes because all she did was nod.

  They searched but only found empty water canteens and when they flipped the lids on the crates set haphazardly on the ground, it was to find they too were hollow. Her tired gaze skipped over the fallen men and drifted over the hills and valleys of sagebrush and sand surrounding them. Where were they?

  “You need to let me look at that,” Olga said, staring at the slowly spreading patch of blood wetting her shirt.

  “Soon. We need to gather whatever we can and get out of here first.” Maggie frowned at the static coming from the two-way radio attached to one of their captor’s shoulder straps. It wouldn’t be long before they sent reinforcements to the camp.

  She unhooked the transmitter and turned away from the flies swarming the guy’s blank eyes and mouth, her stomach churning. Death was rarely dignified.

  “But where will we go?” One of the women cried, her bare feet churning up the dust as she whirled around in a frantic circle.

  “Stop,” Olga snapped, clapping her hands together to get their attention. “We must work together. Gather whatever goods you can find and we will lead you to safety. Understand?”

  One by one they slowly nodded and shuffled away to search for supplies.

  Maggie smiled at her friend, one hand cradling her ribs. “We will, will we?”

  Olga shrugged and lifted the edge of Maggie’s shirt, frowning at her gasp of pain. “There is no alternative.” She tsk-tsked when she saw the jagged wound. “Why did you let him shoot you?”

  Maggie gave a startled laugh. “I didn’t let him.” She sucked in a harsh breath and scowled when Olga probed the cut. “Ouch. Do you mind?”

  Olga stepped back, ghoulish red-tipped fingers pointed Heaven-ward. “Fine. Bleed to death. See if I care, you stubborn woman.”

  They glared at each other for a few moments. Maggie broke the stand-off by grinning and lifting her chin toward Olga’s hands. “You look like Dr. Frankenstein.”

  Olga’s eyes grew wide, then a mischievous smile twisted her lips and lit up her pretty blue eyes. She bent her fingers into claws and stumbled forward on stiff legs. “Come ’ere, my child. It won’t hurt a bit.”

  The other women stared as if they’d lost their minds, and maybe they had. It was so long since either of them had breathed freedom it had gone to their heads like wine.

  Maggie stood still this time and let Olga patch her up from a first aid kit they’d found, grateful the bullet had only grazed her ribs and not punctured them as she’d first thought. The pain was like she’d been stabbed, but at least she wouldn’t die from it—her gaze went to the dead men—unlike them. She didn’t like to kill. It had happened a couple of times during her years as a special agent, but she’d never gotten used to it. There was something eerie about watching a person take their last breath. The knowledge always entered their eyes first. The panic. The acceptance. Then the calm as they allowed their spirits the freedom to leave their broken bodies. She’d never considered herself a religious person, but it was hard not to admit there was another realm when you watched a person die.

  “Okay, we’re ready. Which way are we going to head?” One of the women, a tall redhead, stood by a wagon they’d uncovered. It looked to be loaded with blankets, tarps, and guns. Good, they’d need all of it before they were through.

  Maggie squinted into the sun high over their heads. It was mid-morning, the best she could figure, so they should probably wait until late afternoon to start out in order to avoid sunstroke. Unfortunately, they didn’t have that option.

  “We’ll go that way.” She pointed over the nearest ridge where they could see a faint set of tracks meandering into the distant horizon. Hopefully they had enough gas to get them to safety.

  “Cover your heads, it’s going to be hot out there.” It was tempting to hide in the shelter, their home for the past few months. Now the shock was wearing off, she was drained. And looking at miles of sun and sand wasn’t doing anything to make her feel better. She had a bad feeling they were in Mexico. If that was true, getting to the border and avoiding the cartels, not to mention Chenglei, was going to be damn near impossible. Oh well,
as Adam would say, “What’s life without a challenge?”

  6

  Adam arrived home from a strenuous day of hiking the Red Rock Canyon. He looked forward to a beer and a long shower, in that order. It wasn’t the same visiting the canyon on his own. He and Maggie had made the trip monthly, enjoying the peace and solitude of the Calico Tanks trail. The view of Vegas was breathtaking from there, Maggie loved it.

  He opened the door to his condo, shivering a little as the cool draught from the air conditioner hit his overheated skin. It didn’t seem to matter what he did, it was impossible to erase the guilt he’d lived with every day since allowing his partner to go undercover.

  The calico cat he’d been caring for since her disappearance eyed him from its spot on the back of the sofa.

  “Hey, cat. Kill any critters while I’ve been gone?”

  The animal looked at him and yawned, as though bored with the conversation. She flicked her ears and jumped down, making her way into the kitchen in search of lunch. She could wait, he was having his shower first.

  He dropped his keys on the console table and started down the hall, only to stop at the sound of a feeble cry. He sighed and turned into the kitchen.

  “That was the saddest imitation of a please I’ve ever heard,” he told the pacing feline. “Your dish isn’t even empty, you fussy cat.”

  He opened the cupboard and drew out the bag of food, smiling as she wound around his ankles. “Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome. Now, can I take my shower?”

  She purred her agreement and delicately nibbled the chow, ignoring him now that she had her way.

  Women.

  He rubbed the soft fur. She probably missed her mistress as much as he did. He’d agreed to take care of the pet for Maggie even though he was no animal lover, but had to admit the house would seem empty after she went home.

  If she went home.

  And that kind of defeatist attitude wouldn’t do anyone any good.

  He strode through the master bedroom, soothed by the pale blue walls and taupe accents, and entered his spa-room, as he liked to call it. This room had sold the condo for him. Years spent in third world countries had given him a healthy respect for clean water and life’s little luxuries. He opened the glass cubicle and stepped into the steam shower, lathering up his favorite sandalwood soap to rub over muscles tingling with relief. His body was covered in a lasting legacy of scars from his time in the Teams. The only reason he’d survived an ambush in Iraq was thanks to the quick thinking of his teammates. And he’d thanked them by faking his own death. The DEA had forced his decision for their safety as much as his own, but they hadn’t appreciated the sacrifice. There’d been some hard feelings when he ran into them stateside last year. His best friend Jared had been under investigation involving the Sinaloa Cartel and the Russian Red Mafia. Adam had broken cover to come to his aid, not that he’d appreciated it. But they’d rallied around him when Maggie went missing and he was deeply grateful to have their support. His brothers in arms.

  He was drying off when his cell rang from the bed where he’d dropped it on his way through to the shower. Adam considered ignoring the call, but then the what-ifs began and he changed his mind, wrapped the towel around his hips, and hurried to catch the phone before it quit ringing.

  It was Rhinehold. His pulse kicked up a notch even as he answered with a sarcastic, “This better be good.”

  There was silence for a scant second before she blistered him with her tongue. “This is Special Agent in Charge Rhinehold, O’Connor. I suggest you put your pants on and get into the office, stat. We have a situation.”

  He looked down at his towel, then eyed the corners of his room. “You into voyeurism, boss?” Then the rest of what she’d said sank in. “Have you heard from Maggie?” he demanded, sitting on the edge of the bed, his legs suddenly shaky.

  Her voice in his ear carried a hint of weariness. “Not exactly. Look, I can’t say more over the phone, just get here as soon as you can, okay?” She released a soft sigh that feathered across his nerves, raising the hair on his arms. “Get rid of your date, Adam, we have business to handle.”

  Click, the phone went dead.

  Not exactly.

  What was that supposed to mean? The last time he’d caught a lead on his partner’s whereabouts he’d ended up in a hospital in Vancouver, Canada interviewing a young girl who’d been kidnapped steps from her home. She’d recognized Maggie from a picture he’d shown her, but wasn’t able to tell him much about their location or whether all the girls were able to escape. She did say Mags had saved her life though.

  He tugged a pair of worn jeans over his hips and grabbed a relatively clean shirt from the laundry pile. Guess that was going to have to wait. And why was he prevaricating?

  Because it hurt too damn bad when he failed to find her, that’s why.

  The chief’s card lay on his dresser next to the comb he used on his quickly drying hair. It was hard to look himself in the eye and admit he didn’t want to call the man, but he’d promised.

  He picked the phone up again and dialed, keeping his back turned to the corner of his room, just in case. He didn’t really think Rhinehold had cameras on him, but it didn’t hurt to be careful.

  “Ya?”

  The deep voice of his SEAL Team chief still had the power to straighten Adam’s spine and a grin to crack normally grim lips.

  “Hiya, Chief.” They may have feelings for the same woman, but this man had brought them through the fires of Hell, they shared a bond that couldn’t be broken.

  There was some rustling, a couple of curses, the pained low of a cow, and then Frank was on the line.

  “Adam, that you?” he asked, then carried on without waiting for a reply, “Damn good to hear from you. Sorry about that, it’s branding time.” He called out a couple of commands, then returned. “Still in Las Vegas? I thought you’d be tired of the sand by now.” There was a smile in his voice. “When are you coming for a visit? Jared was here not long ago.”

  Adam swallowed his regret. He missed his best friend more than he could say. “Maybe I’ll catch him next time.” Not likely though. Jared had been hurt the worst by what he saw as Adam’s defection. And while he’d saved Jared and the woman he loved from the Russian, Barnikov, last fall, it had cost him his only connection to Maggie.

  Which brought him back to the reason for this call.

  “There’s news.” He didn’t say more, there was no need.

  Frank inhaled hard and let it out in a gust, the sound reverberating through the phone’s speaker. “And?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’m on my way in now.” He looked at Frank’s card again. “I promised to keep in touch, and I am.” He said it with defiance, knowing the chief hadn’t expected it of him.

  Frank coughed, then cleared his throat. “I appreciate the heads-up. I’ll be there sometime tomorrow. I’d make it sooner, but as I said, it’s brandin’ time.”

  Adam shook his head even though the other man couldn’t see him. “There’s no sense. Do what you have to do and I’ll keep you posted.”

  “See you tomorrow,” the chief answered, ending the call.

  Well shit, he’d been hung up on by two obstinate, pig-headed, ornery people today. So why was he smiling?

  7

  Adam knocked on his boss’s door and waited for her to let him in, his gut tensing in premonition. The main office was quiet behind him. Unless something big was going down, most agents took Sunday to unwind, step back from the stress of the job. The Drug Enforcement Association worked closely with other law enforcement agencies in an effort to control the rising tide of drug related crimes in the United States, but sometimes it felt like they were on the losing side of the battle.

  Amanda opened the door, her usually transparent green eyes murky, tired. She turned and walked back to her desk in stocking feet, her sensible pumps lying discarded near the sofa she kept there for all-nighters.

  For some reason that made him uncomfortable.
He returned his attention to her just as she speared him with a glance.

  “Close the door. What I have to tell you stays in this room.” She jiggled the mouse and activated her computer, typing through the numerous passwords to get to what she was looking for.

  The intensity in her voice spiked his pulse. “What is it?” he asked, clicking the door shut and striding across the pile carpet to the softly glowing screen.

  She turned the computer until he could see the national news reports lined up down the page; story after story of a van filled with migrants found sweltering and close to death in a forty-four-foot tractor trailer sitting in a parking lot in Houston, Texas.

  Adam’s stomach dropped through the soles of his feet. He reached back, found the arm of a chair, and sank onto the seat before he fell.

  “Is it her then?” He’d known this moment was possible, more so the longer she was missing—but, God, Maggie.

  The sympathy in Rhinehold’s eyes only made things worse. Dammit, that should be him. He was filled with loss and regret, and yes, anger. How dare she take on that risk alone. He’d begged and pleaded to be the one to go, but she’d left him on the sidelines—helpless.

  “There’s no confirmation—yet.” She cleared her throat. “Processing will take time. There were ninety men, women, and children; some didn’t make it. No ID’s, and most too scared to talk. It’s bad, Adam. Local intel found heroin and fentanyl in the floorboards. I need you to go there, interrogate the migrants, find out what you can about the route they traveled and where the shipment was going.” She frowned. “I wouldn’t expect you to go, but…”

  “But I stand the best chance of recognizing my partner—if she’s there,” he finished.

  He stood, furious with this woman who ruled their division without care or consequence. If she’d listened to his warnings that Maggie was going rogue, maybe all of this could have been avoided. Now, he could be going to recover an agent’s body.