Maggie's Revenge Page 6

  Adam veered away from his own issues and refocused on his current dilemma, one Amanda Rhinehold.

  She was waiting on the hotel steps when he pulled into the parking lot, and his heart did a little game of leapfrog. Good, at least he wasn’t about to be stuck in a bedroom with her. He quelled the voice in his head calling him a liar.

  She raised a hand to her brow and peered into the parade of vehicles moving in and out of the drive. When she caught sight of him, a quick smile flashed so fast he almost missed it, but his pulse caught it, jumping like a cat on a hot tin roof. If it wouldn’t have gotten him taken off the case he was tempted to gun the engine and get the hell out of there before it was too late. And no, he didn’t want to contemplate the reasons why.

  Giving in to the inevitable, he pulled up beside her and hopped out to open her door. “What?” he asked, waiting impatiently for her to climb into the cab.

  Amanda frowned. “I can get into a vehicle on my own, O’Connor. This isn’t a date.” She brushed past, leaving a faint trace of lavender, which in turn led him to think of lace, as she clambered into the tall pickup. Her shapely rear encased in a pair of brand new denims—he swallowed, his throat tight with a strange tenderness—filled the opening, and he had the urge to cup her there for a crazy second. She’d probably turn around and shoot him.

  “Well,” she growled, “we don’t have all day.” Her eyes shot sparks at him, as though she guessed what he’d been thinking.

  He slammed the door on her attitude and stomped around the truck. Damn woman, she was going to make his life a living nightmare, he just knew it. So, he was attracted to her, sue him. He was a male and she was most definitely an attractive woman. It was natural. Nothing he couldn’t control.

  As a matter of fact—he climbed into the driver’s seat, ignoring her hostile glare—he was over it already.

  He put the truck in gear and waited until they neared the exit to throw a glance her way, satisfied to see she looked as uncomfortable as he felt. “Where to, boss?”

  Amanda drew a deep breath, her chest expanding under a chic white shirt, unbuttoned at the throat. “Downtown. I want to speak to the truck driver before he gets arraigned.”

  Adam nodded since that had been his plan also. The sooner they found out exactly where that shipment of refugees had come from, the sooner he could find Maggie.

  It took the better part of an hour fighting the early morning traffic to make the commute into the heart of the city. The courthouse stood tall against the skyline, country pride radiating from the brick and mortar façade. People scurried, men with newspapers tucked under suit-clad arms and steaming cups of coffee in hand, the women in straight, no-nonsense business skirts and jackets. Did they know of the monsters hiding in the shadows? The ones waiting to prey on the weak and the young. Did they realize how lucky they were in their high-class offices and expansive homes? Did they take their family’s safety for granted, or did the what ifs ever cross their minds? What if that was my baby girl’s picture up there on the television, the police pleading for information on her whereabouts? What if they never found her? Or, what if they did?

  Adam dealt with cases of drug overdoses and gangs violence on a daily basis. He knew just how many lost their way, some to return, many never to be seen again. Maggie had made the mistake of becoming emotionally involved with those kids. He could only pray it didn’t end up costing her life.

  He waited until he parked Frank’s truck before turning to Amanda. “Tell me the truth, why are you here?”

  She hesitated in the act of releasing her seatbelt, then resumed the motion as though determined to prove he didn’t get to her. Too bad he knew different.

  “I told you,” she said, brushing windblown brown hair over her shoulder. “This case is important to everyone, O’Connor. You aren’t the only one with a stake in the fire.”

  Is that what she thought Maggie was, his way to the top? If it weren’t for his missing partner, he’d walk. He was sick and tired of trying to prove himself to the DEA. They could take their 401 (K) and stick it up their pretentious asses. Ever since his recruitment while in the Teams he’d felt not quite good enough—his suggestions more often than not ignored—though Maggie insisted it was all in his head.

  “Look, Adam, I’m here to help.” Amanda laid a hand on his forearm and a streak of electricity arced between them. Her pretty marble green eyes rounded and she hurried to yank her fingers back, flexing them in her lap as her other hand fluttered to her throat. She turned to look out the front window as though her life depended on it. “We’re closer to taking down this narcotics ring than we’ve been in the last five years. I know you’re worried about Agent Holt. I am too, but it’s thanks to her dedication that we’ve come this far.”

  She turned back to him, her gaze earnest. “I promise we’re doing everything we can to bring your partner home—safely—you have to believe that. The two of you will be up for a commendation when this is over. Chenglei and the Sinaloa Cartel have been a thorn in our sides for far too long. It’s time we end this thing. Are you with me?”

  What could he say to that? “Let’s do this.”

  13

  Maggie crouched next to a fallen soldier and checked his pulse. Gone. She reached over and closed his eyes, the wasted life turning her stomach sour. He’d been little more than a boy. Would his family mourn his loss? She hoped so, he deserved their prayers.

  Kim came by and kicked his leg. “You’re not crying over him, are you?” Her gaze filled with hate. “Rather him than us. I hope he rots in hell.” She spat on the ground near his foot.

  A red-hot haze filled Maggie’s vision. She rose and shoved the taller woman, causing her to stumble backward. “Shut up,” she hissed. “You know nothing about this child, or his hopes and dreams. He was trying to better himself and look what happened? I shot him and now he’ll never have a chance to get married, watch his children grow, or know anything beyond this life he was forced into.

  “You,” she cried, impatiently wiping tears from her cheeks. “You’re the lucky one. You have a family who’s probably worried sick about you, a comfortable home, food for your belly. He had none of those things. He didn’t choose this life, it chose him.”

  Disgusted with herself as much as the other woman’s actions, Maggie ignored the deer-in-the-headlights looks from the rest of the women and stomped over to the truck.

  Olga glanced up from her inspection of the interior. “Making friends, are you?” A sympathetic smile took the sting from her words.

  Maggie’s shoulders slumped. “Why does everyone believe there’s only black or white, nothing in the middle?”

  Olga shrugged. “We’re programmed that way from our cribs. If we’re lucky our parents surround us with love and warmth and help us grow into responsible, respectable adults.” She ducked her head and fiddled with the CB radio lying discarded on the seat. “If we aren’t that lucky, we scrabble and fight our way through the filth and abuse until we’re old enough to return the favor.” She hesitated, then looked up, her blue eyes a frozen wasteland. “There’s no coming back from that kind of life. It sucks you down deeper and deeper until it doesn’t matter anymore. There is no color, only black.”

  Maggie shivered. Her friend painted a desolate, lonely picture. She had a feeling Olga came from a world without hope or love. All Maggie could do was save the ones she came into contact with—it was a pledge she’d made many years ago.

  Empathy tightened her throat, but she kept her feelings to herself. Olga would not appreciate the sympathy. For all that had happened, even in the few months of their acquaintance, Olga remained a pillar of strength. Maggie envied her resilience.

  Hoping for good news, she pointed to the radio. “Does it work?” Maybe they could finally get word out to someone—Adam—for help.

  “I was just about to plug it in.” Olga held up the coiled cord with a DC cigarette lighter adapter attached to the end. “What’s your lucky channel?”

 
They both knew the chance they were about to take. The wrong channels could connect them directly to the people who were after them or one of the many willing to turn them over for the bounty on their heads.

  Maggie glanced over her shoulder to the shell-shocked women standing behind her. Indecision warred with the urge to take a chance. The DEA had a channel they monitored for their agents in the field, but she was well aware that the right amount of money could buy anything; even silence.

  “Twenty-seven,” she said, and leaned into the cab for the microphone, her palms sweaty. “And be ready to pull that cord.”

  Adam was silent on the drive back to the hotel. They could have saved their time. Burrows, the truck driver’s attorney, had been present for the interview and carefully monitored every word that came from his client’s cracked lips. The only thing the man did admit to was picking up the truck in Laredo. He’d insisted his boss had bought the unit fair and square, and hired him to deliver it north to Houston. He claimed to have no knowledge of either the drugs or the humans he carried in the trailer.

  Adam wasn’t a trucker, but he knew they performed an inspection before every trip. Testing tires, brake lines, trailer doors. He couldn’t believe the lawyer thought he could make a case off of that testimony. But, until they went to court, his hands were tied. It was the victims’ word against the driver’s—an American.

  “I think that went well,” Amanda said from the passenger seat, gently blowing on the hot cup of herbal tea she’d bought from a street vendor outside the courthouse.

  Adam glanced at her, incredulously. “How so? Every time we asked the creep a question his lawyer dummied him up.”

  Amanda smiled. “Telling, wasn’t it? Why would he bother if the man is innocent? The DEA will be following this case very closely when it goes to trial. This could be a big lead for us. Congratulations, Agent O’Connor.”

  Adam shrugged, impatient. “I didn’t do anything. And I’d be surprised if he even makes it to court. The cartel tends to tie loose ends. You want him, you better put a twenty-four-seven guard on him.”

  “Oh, we plan to,” she replied. “His testimony could be the one that opens the door to an indictment against the pricks who make money selling other people’s children. I’m not taking any chances; he’ll stay in a safe house outside of the city until the trial.”

  Good. At least there would be some closure for his victims and their families. It didn’t help now, though. With every month that went by, it became harder and harder to keep the faith. And even if he did finally get the chance to bring Maggie home, how would she recover from this experience? Every time he thought about the picture Frank had found on the Russian mobster, Sergei Barnikov’s dead body, his stomach roiled. She’d been lying naked on a cot, bruised arms tied above her head. Drugged—it was obvious even in the creased photograph—eyes glazed, mouth slack, and he’d trembled with the need to climb through that frame and hold her in his arms. If only that were possible.

  “You love her, don’t you?”

  Amanda’s voice skidded into his daydream and it disintegrated. He threw her an angry glance. “What the hell does that mean? We’re partners, of course I care about her.”

  The car behind him honked and Adam gave him a one finger salute. What was it with city drivers anyway? They tended to act as though the traffic lights were the flags at a speedway.

  “That was very adult of you,” Amanda murmured, and he felt like a castigated child.

  “I suppose normal human emotions are beneath you, SAC Rhinehold?” He was pushing his luck and he knew it, but her sanctimonious attitude drove him nuts. Had she always been this annoying? “It’s no wonder you’re not married,” he muttered.

  She flinched, and he immediately felt like an asshole.

  “Look, I’m sor…”

  “Don’t say something you don’t mean, Agent,” she said, her back ramrod straight. Her thumb rubbed the inner skin of her bare ring finger. “You’re right. This job requires dedication and long hours; my ex-fiancé decided I wasn’t worth the wait.” The smile she offered him came out lop-sided. “I wasn’t trying to be disparaging, Adam. I envy you.” She turned her gaze to the side window, but not before he saw the sadness welling behind her impossibly green eyes.

  Well, shit. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. She always seemed so strong, indomitable. This was the first time she’d shown a softer side, and it bothered him. A surge of protectiveness made him wish the ex were still around so he could tune the prick in. Amanda was beautiful, and there was no denying her ethics. She lived and breathed the DEA.

  She’d said his name.

  The husky pitch of her voice affected him more than he wanted to admit. His heart belonged to Mags, but his body craved what it couldn’t have.

  What a mess.

  “I guess you’ll head back now?” he asked, hoping against hope.

  She frowned at him. “Do you have a problem working with me, Agent O’Connor?”

  Where should he start?

  “No, ma’am,” he said, deciding discretion was the better part of valor.

  She shot him a skeptical look. “Good, because I’m…”

  The ringing of her cell cut off whatever she’d been about to say. The animated expression disappeared and she became SAC Rhinehold again.

  “Rhinehold,” she said into the receiver and then went quiet as she listened to whoever was on the other end. “When?” she demanded, startling him.

  Adam looked for a place to pull over, too distracted by the obvious tension pervading the vehicle to keep driving. Amanda pointed to a grocery store parking lot and he nodded and signaled the truck into the turning lane, stopping at the first available stall. He shut the diesel off and turned towards her, sliding his arm along the top of the seat.

  She stared at him, and he tensed. It was about Maggie, he was sure of it.

  “What’s going on,” he growled, frowning when she waved him to silence.

  “Put her on then,” she said, and held the phone away from her ear, turning the speaker on.

  There was crackling static for a heart-stopping few seconds and then a voice he knew as well as his own came on the line.

  “This is Special Agent Magdalena Holt requesting assistance. Copy. This is Maggie Holt. We need help as soon as possible. Can you hear me? Please, someone, help us.”

  14

  Frank had already been up and out on the range two hours before Adam left for the city. He’d seen the truck leaving from his perch on top his favorite mare, Sadie. It bothered him how much he wanted to be the one behind the wheel. His days of chasing bad guys were over; he’d voluntarily left that life behind, but sometimes, like now, the itch wouldn’t let him alone.

  “C’mon, Sadie girl.” He clicked his tongue and raked his heels lightly along her flanks. She chewed the bit and tossed her head, before starting down the embankment where they’d been taking a break from the branding. The pens were full of milling cattle, lowing for their calves separated into another pen for the stamping process. Men stood on rails directing the confused youngsters into a chute that narrowed until only one cow could go at a time. If they balked, another set of hands slapped their rumps with coiled lengths of rope to keep them moving. A third set of cowboys waited at the end of the chute for the animal to become trapped, then a quick, hot poker later, they were free to return to the main pen and their mother’s care.

  It was dirty, dusty work, but Frank loved it. This land fed his soul. It was his reason for living. But, a secret, undeniable part of him missed the adrenaline rush of the Teams. Whether recon, rescues, captures, or assassinations, they worked as one perfectly trained machine; their goal—success. Their motto—no man left behind.

  Yet, that’s how he felt. Left behind. Put out to pasture.

  The rest of his men were still involved in the game, one way or another. Nick and Jared had opened a private security company in Tidal Falls. Adam had the DEA. And he had… cow shit.

  He reached over and
patted the mare’s neck, his lips quirking. “Must be spring fever, Sadie, old girl. I’m feeling the need to sow a few oats.” Her ears flickered and he laughed outright. “You heard your favorite word, did you? Keep those cows in line and there might just be an extra ration for you tonight, deal?” Hours out on the range created a tight bond between animal and human. Frank trusted Sadie to carry him safely over the rough terrain, and she trusted him to keep the coyotes at bay and her stall dry; it was a good relationship.

  Spencer lifted his black Stetson in the air and waved from where he crouched by the campfire. He rose and waited, bowlegged and back stooped. Frank had urged the old codger to stay home and let the cowhands handle the work, but Spence refused. He said he’d have plenty of time to rest when he was dead; there was no arguing with that.

  “Coffee hot?” Frank asked, swinging out of the saddle and dropping the reins to the ground. Sadie never moved more than a couple of feet when she was ground tied.

  “’Course, it is.” Spencer used a towel and lifted the steaming percolator from the coals. Frank hurried to grab a tin mug from the stack piled on the lunch table and held it out, grimacing as the pungent sludge filled his cup.

  “How old is this swill?” he said, daring a taste of the bitter brew.

  Spencer gave him a wounded glare. “You got a problem with it, make yer own next time,” he grumbled.

  Frank grinned. “Testy this morning, ain’t ya?”

  Spencer set the pot back amongst the coals and added another log to the fire. “Counts down,” he said, abruptly. “The men have combed the hills; best as I can tell we’re down twenty, thirty head.”