Chapter Thirty-Six

Chance would’ve interrupted the conversation back at his cabin, but he had work to do. Still, it made him smile to hear his brothers’ and McQueen’s acceptance of Suede into their tightly knit, all-male circle. Until today, Chance had resisted the familiarity of first names with the senator. It always seemed disrespectful. Well, no more. From now on, Senator Sullivan would be simply McQueen. If he proved worthy, the tough guy might even earn a nickname. Like Steve.

Ha! Chance chuckled at his humor. He and his brothers would be working for Steve McQueen. The things that pass through a block operator’s mind when he’s inches from certain death.

At the moment, Chance lay hunkered down and camouflaged beneath the snow-laden boughs of a giant mountain hemlock. The hollowed out tree well beneath those boughs created by too much snow falling in too short a time, provided the perfect sniper hide on this late afternoon. Another weather front had moved in, providing plenty of gray shadows that allowed him to get inside the enemy’s ranks without being seen. On his belly, he lay within hearing distance while he gathered intel on the small force of assassins making their way up the hillside to his cabin.

Twenty was a larger force than he cared to take on alone, but it wasn’t unheard of. He knew this land and winter better than his brothers, which was why he’d taken point and was now lying where he was. They’d been holding up this three-legged tripod called the Sinclair Brothers long enough. He meant for them to sit this one out as long as they could. Besides, he needed them to keep Suede safe.

At rest, these spec ops guys rarely spoke, but the few times they had, they’d used American English, not the Spanish Chance expected. Most were Caucasian males, one Japanese, and one African-American. All were Americans and obviously former military. They looked the part and they moved like it. All were thick-bodied and decked in tactical gear from their armor-plated vests to their kneepads and reinforced work gloves. No doubt about it, this was an army on the move.

The leader wore no identifying rank insignia to set him apart, but all deferred to the one who Chance had tagged ‘Grunt,’ simply because that was the extent of his communication skills. Apparently, these guys had been pre-briefed and were running a predetermined drill. Either that or they were online with someone back at their combat control team via earpieces.

When he’d first wormed his way under this tree and into their rest stop, Chance needed to know who they were looking for, York or Suede. Not that it mattered either way. The second they hit the kill zone he’d established around his cabin, they’d be history and he’d be glad to bury them alongside York. Let whoever’d had the balls to send them after Suede come sniffing around next. Chance would end him—or her—too.

The mole in McQueen’s office might not have revealed this location to York, but someone else surely knew where Suede was. Body recovery didn’t require the assets these guys had. Several carried heavy gear bags no doubt full of ammo or grenades, while others toted RPG launchers. One shouldered a LAW, a light anti-tank weapon to breach heavy-duty defenses, or an eight-inch thick wooden door and steel plates.

After gulping down a quick meal of protein bars and bottled water, Grunt shoved to his feet. Tossing the plastic bottle aside, he dragged his M2010 sniper rifle out of the snow and back over his shoulder. Fitted with a quick-attach sound suppressor, a Leupold Mark 4 scope, and clip-on night sights, that rifle alone made this guy a lethal killing machine all by himself.

The rest of the men were equipped the same. Each performed a similar drill, discarding their trash and gearing up, yet none of them were wise to the sniper in their midst. Considering the spec ops training these guys obviously had, Chance made certain he gave nothing away. Not one breath or a whisper.

The men moved out, Grunt leading the way. Interesting. He hadn’t sit-repped any CO while he’d rested, leading Chance to think these men operated under the same ROEs he and his brothers did. Report only when the job’s done.

And if they never reported? Who’d come looking for them? Chance intended to find out. He stayed in the shadows, appreciative of the active weather front moving in over Old Man Mountain and the light snowfall blanketing the forest. Bodies were easier to bury in deeper snow.

“Comm check,” Pagan whispered in his ear. “Can you talk yet?”

Chance cupped one hand to his mouth and spoke low, his gaze never leaving Grunt and his men. “They’re coming your way. Twenty. All former-military. All Americans. Move Suede into the basement. These guys intend to level the place.”

“They can try. Sullivan, I mean McQueen’s here.”

“Damned glad that was his chopper earlier.”

“You know it. What are they packing?”

“Automatic rifles. LAWs. RPG launchers.”

“No kidding? Who the hell’s behind this? They said yet?”

“Wish I knew. Can’t be Tennyson. He wouldn’t dare.”

“The man’s chicken shit,” Pagan agreed. “McQueen ever find out who leaked your twenty?”

“Not yet. The real question is who paid the folks on his staff to do it. None of them have the guts to ante up and rat him out. He must be one powerful SOB.”

“Or they’re scared of him. Which leaves you in the crosshairs. Bastards.”

“Is there a reason you called?” Chance had to ask. Pagan tended to take the world of covert operators lightly, instead of seriously. Chance did not. Not since Suede.

“Just wanted you to know Gallo took off.”

“He what?” Chance hissed. “You couldn’t have led with that?”

“Don’t worry. He’ll be back.”

“No, Pagan, he won’t. Christ, he’ll come gunning straight for me.”

“Sorry, I—”

Chance stopped listening. A crazy damned German Shepherd had just plowed through the ranks of bad guys and straight to him.

*****

It was an honest, though bone-headed mistake. Gallo had to pee. Pagan opened the door and let him out. Now Suede sat glued to McQueen’s side listening while someone beat the hell out of Chance. Pagan and Kruze were on their way to get him. They just weren’t there yet.

“They won’t kill him,” McQueen said through gritted teeth, his fists clenched, and his face pale. Gunfire erupted over the speaker amplifying his earpiece, and Suede buried her face in her hands. “He wants you below in the basement. Now’s a good time to—”

“I won’t go,” she declared, her heart high in her throat, choking her. “I need to hear what happens to him.”

“Then put this goddamned thing in before we have to move fast.” McQueen tossed an earpiece at her.

She’d forgotten hers in the bedroom. Fumbling, Suede tucked it where she could follow every spoken word that came out of the Sinclair brothers’ mouths. If only they’d say something! All she could make out was Chance grunting and groaning over Pagan’s and Kruze’s heavy breathing. The guys pounding Chance hadn’t sworn or called names, not the behavior she’d expected in mercenaries. Her nerves stretched tighter as the seconds dragged into minutes. Poor Chance.

Then rapid gunfire. Indistinguishable mayhem. Men bellowing. A dog yipping. Was that Gallo?

“Got him.” Was that Kruze? Suede couldn’t tell who was who out there.

“Bringing him in the back way.” Definitely Pagan.

“What back way?” she asked McQueen, her feet set to fly.

“Motherfuckers shot him.” Pagan again, his voice as hard as nails.

“No!” she cried. “How bad? Is he alive?”

“Yeah, but he’ll never walk on all fours again.”

“Who the hell are we talking about?” McQueen bit out.

“They shot Gallo!” she nearly screamed, relieved and terrified at the same time. “Not Chance.”

“Copy that,” Chance hissed. “Hang tough, Suede. See you in a few.”

“What about you?”

“I’m good,” he said, but she didn’t believe him. His voice sounded too tight. Too strained.

“This way,” McQueen gestured as something tremendously loud and powerful hit the front of the cabin. The impact nearly knocked her off her feet. Suede ran for the basement, her heart pounding in her chest as loud as her feet on the wooden steps. The labored rasps of three men’s heavy breathing vibrated in her ear.

At the bottom of the stairs, McQueen strode past her and the shooting range into a hall dimly lit along the baseboards by safety running lights. She hadn’t noticed them before. They had to be part of Chance’s activating the cabin scheme.

“Where are we going?” she asked, needing to be prepared for whatever Chance needed.

“Here,” McQueen barked, jerking his head at the metal door in the hall. “This lock has a sixty second delay, so when I say ‘now’, you pull everyone on the other side in as if their lives depend on it.”

She had a feeling the Sinclair boys’ lives did depend on it. Swallowing hard, she poised to be all she could be. Seconds dragged into minutes, until a raspy “Here” came over her earpiece. McQueen hit a palm pad in the wall by the door, and… Whoosh.

Hydraulics hissed as the massive steel door rolled to the right and three men in snow gear tumbled onto the basement floor, Pagan with a whining Gallo on his chest, Kruze with his arm around Chance’s waist. With sweat dripping off their brows and running into their eyes, they’d no more than dropped to their knees when a yellow light flashed overhead and an alarm buzzed. The door began to roll back.

“His tail!” Chance yelled. “Get my dog’s tail out of the way!”

“Got it,” Pagan replied as he rolled from his prone position and grabbed Gallo’s fluffy tail in the nick of time. “Shit. Close call.”

“Close call?” Suede shrieked. “You call that a close call? What are you guys, complete idiots?”

Pagan quipped, “No one’s a complete idiot,” while Kruze shot Chance one of those raised-brow guy looks that pretty much said, ‘Women. Sheesh.’

Enough! Fighting mad now and scared out of her wits, Suede slapped her palms to her hips and shrieked, “It’s not funny, Pagan! You boys are grounded!”

If that didn’t make her look and sound stupid, nothing did. Chance rolled to his knees with a terse groan, and Suede lost the heat of her convictions. “You’re hurt,” she cried sinking to the floor with him, not sure if she should smack him for scaring her to death or kiss him for making it back alive.

Sweating and dirty, his face was a mottled pattern of blacks and reds. His lips and his nose were bleeding. “Guys, get my dog to sickbay,” he ordered as he staggered to his feet and took her with him.

He tilted to the side, and Suede forgot about everything but holding him up. “Where are you hurt? What can I do?” she asked as she dabbed her shirtsleeve to the cut over his bloodied eye.

“Get out of my way, for one thing,” Pagan growled behind her, his arms full of a whimpering German Shepherd. “Not sure the last time I got grounded, Suede, but you’re going to fit right in,” he muttered as he angled Gallo through the first doorway in the hall.

McQueen stood positioned with his hand on yet another control panel across from the steel door. “Hold onto your seats, lady and gentlemen. It’s about to get ugly.”

“Not my mountain!” Chance hissed. “The yellow pad, sir, not the red one.”

“This?” McQueen asked, looking over his shoulder to where Chance stood leaning into Suede. “For Christ’s sake, it’s too damned dark in this cellar. I can’t tell what’s what. Take an action item, Chance. Install bright whites down here and get rid of that goddamn yellow shit.”

Shifting his palm from the red pad to the yellow, he winked at Suede. “Don’t look so worried, ma’am. It’ll all be over in a minute or two.”

He pressed the button and… BOOM! A clap of thunder roared, and the structure overhead shuddered like a wet dog shaking itself. She steadied Chance with a palm to his chest so they didn’t both fall down.

Once the structure stopped vibrating, Kruze spoke up from the lighted doorway where Pagan had taken Gallo. “Do you think that got all of them?”

McQueen lowered his head as his silvery brows clapped together. “Sure as hell hope so. Your brother won’t let me drop the MOAB.”

“Guys,” Chance growled, clearly in pain. “Let’s save the MOAB for another day, shall we?”

What’s an MOAB? Suede wondered, but didn’t ask.

“I guess,” Kruze grumbled as he turned back to Pagan, “but it would’ve been cool.”

Chance leaned heavily into her side, every bit of his big body trembling. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” she bit out, peering up to see past those swollen eyelids. “You’re the one who’s bleeding, and we’ve got an army outside ready to kill us, at least we used to, and Gallo’s hurt, and—”

He slammed into her, covering her open mouth with his, and that was as close as she came to chewing him out. He swallowed her angst along with the tears that had come out of nowhere. “This is what I do, baby,” he growled against her tongue and lips. “If you can’t handle it, I need to know now.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easy, so shut up and kiss me,” she growled back, her fingertips dug into the sides of his sweaty head and all of her feminine receptors on overload as she claimed his mouth with a vengeance. She bit his bottom lip so he’d remember whom he was dealing with. This man had his nerve, insinuating she couldn’t handle a few bad guys. If he could, she could. But it also made sense to know what that red button did now that the ground had stopped shaking.

“I take it that’s a yes?” McQueen muttered from somewhere—else.