Chapter 19

Rip stared into Almanza’s eyes, holding his attention, not daring to look at Lela. The assassin was arrogant, heady with power, and confident his victim was about to take his last breath. Rip locked on to the murderous gaze, seeing the soulless creature behind the empty eyes.

The blow to Alamanza’s head was hard and swift. Lela threw the fire extinguisher, knocking Rip’s executioner off balance. For a split second, the pressure of the knife against Rip’s throat relaxed just enough.

In a blur of action, Rip grabbed Almanza’s wrist and gave it a sharp twist, snapping the carpal bones. The knife dropped to the deck, accompanied by a cry of agony.

Rip clutched the assassin’s right forearm, holding it to his chest, and simultaneously wrapped his legs around the man’s right shin. With a grunt, Rip hefted Almanza’s body off his chest and rolled on top of him.

With a double punch to the face, Rip strived to knock out his opponent. But like an angry grizzly, the asshole emitted a primal growl and bucked, tossing Rip off his ribcage. Then he wrapped his one good hand around Rip’s ankle to turn it with enough force to shift him off and get free.

Almanza leapt to his feet and faced off with Rip. He danced around like a heavyweight boxer. The pain in his wrist didn’t appear to slow him down. He kicked, missing when Rip dodged.

“You screwed up, SEAL,” Almanza said. “I’m going to torture Lela, long and slow, before I kill her.”

Rip lunged at the murderer, head-butting into his chest. Almanza flew back and stepped on his own gun. His foot slipped and he lost balance. His knees crashed against the side of the boat.

Almanza fell over backward into the water, but his high-pitched yell was quickly silenced. Rip raced to the stern to look over. Blood swirled in the blue-white churn of water from the propeller. The gangster had done a back bend over the side, landing headfirst in the steel propeller.

Lela stood behind Rip. “Is he dead?”

“He’s gone.” Rip wrapped Lela in a tight embrace. “Almanza won’t be hurting anyone again.”

“I was so terrified.” Lela clung to him, her forehead against his chest. “He was the one, wasn’t he…Isabel’s murderer?”

The impact of what had occurred hadn’t fully sunk in. After all these years, the killer had emerged from his rat hole. And Rip had the retribution that he’d sought for so long. At the time of Isabel’s death, Almanza had been small fry. But he’d carved out his status within the cartel ranks, and had been killing ever since.

“At first, I didn’t recognize him,” Rip said. “He wasn’t that muscular, didn’t have the fancy tattoos.”

Lela looked into his eyes. “Rip…it’s over.” She pulled her arm away from his waist and sucked in a breath. “You’re bleeding. I have to get you to a hospital.”

The predator was dead, the cartel defeated. There was no reason not to seek medical care. God knew he was a wreck, unable to see out of one eye. Plus, he was leaking blood like a sieve.

*****

Rip had one arm around Lela’s shoulders. She couldn’t fully support his body weight, but assisted him to walk. He stepped off the boat, then she followed and resumed her position. He walked away from the pilotless craft, its engine still humming.

It had been a traumatic few hours, but Rip was renewed. An enormous burden had been lifted from his shoulders. The best thing was that Lela could go home and see her family, continue with her life. The danger had passed.

Rip walked down the pier to the main dock, weakened from the battle but inspired by the outcome. Pain pierced his side but he muffled a groan. The bleeding was under control. Lela had found some first-aid supplies and wrapped his abdomen.

The gunshots hadn’t alerted port security, as he’d anticipated. Rip would contact Travis and have him handle things, make the proper reports.

Rip and Lela stepped onto the main dock and came face to face with gun barrels. Several men pointed weapons, but only one had Rip’s attention.

The man in the middle didn’t hold a gun, which meant the others were his security. The leader wore a designer suit without a tie. The shirt was open at the neck, and tattoos covered his chest, neck, and face.

He sported a belt with a gold rectangular buckle, studded with emeralds. His shoes were alligator, and shone like a mirror. The gold rings and diamonds on his fingers gleamed in the sunlight. At a glance, Rip assessed that the tricked-out suit cashed out at about five grand. The jewelry had to be worth a small fortune.

“I’d like to invite you aboard my yacht.” The gangster was shorter than his cohorts, but his commanding presence indicated high rank within the cartel.

The invitation wasn’t stated as an offer; it was a command. Lela held tighter to Rip. “I have to get him to a doctor.”

The host’s eyes were devoid of emotion. “He won’t be needing one.”

Then the security detail escorted Rip and Lela to the destination, with the boss behind them. Not far up the dock was a superyacht. The monstrosity glowed white under the bright sun. It was multileveled and as large as a small cruise ship.

CERBERUS was printed in black on the white paint. The lettering was underneath a graphic design of a three-headed dog with the claws of a lion, a mane of snakes, and serpent’s tail. It was Cerberus, the guard dog of Hades.

Rip supposed that made the cartel boss the devil incarnate.

The guards ushered Rip aboard, and he guided Lela in front of him, so he could keep an eye on her. The boat was a floating mansion. There was a wall-sized waterfall cascading into the swimming pool on the lower level.

There was a lounge area with curved leather seating and carved wood tables. And one level down was a theater with a commercial-size movie screen. The incongruity of criminal occupants partying in the luxurious accommodations wasn’t lost on Rip.

Before the group reached the rear deck, the engine of the opulent craft roared to life. Rip was running out of options fast. Once out at sea, or worse, in Mexican territory, the cartel would be in control of their destiny.

Rip took stock of the surroundings. The boat had been prepared for action. He spotted machine guns, knives, and even grenades. The captain of this floating artillery wasn’t likely to lose control of his ship. With all the weaponry and the soldiers aboard, it would be a nearly impossible feat to commandeer the boat.

Along with the weapons of defense, the yacht was equipped for safety. The fire extinguishers were in appropriate places. Life preservers were in colorful stacks. And flares for signaling distress were handy. There was a pile of them.

That made Rip wonder if the flares had passed the expiration date. He doubted keeping the items current or staying up to date with regulations was part of cartel mentality. With enough heat or pressure, expired flares could ignite, so they were a fire hazard. Flares could be as dangerous as they were useful.

The yacht backed out, disrupting the calm bay and heading out of port. Rip and Lela stood on deck by an open door. “That’s the engine room,” the cartel boss said. “I’d give you a tour, but I have other more urgent matters to attend to.”

Lela stood close to Rip. “Who are you? What do you want with us?”

“You didn’t really think that Almanza was in charge, did you?” His expression lacked any human quality. His eyes were unblinking, like those of an animal about to pounce on its prey. He didn’t look away, didn’t move a muscle.

“He’s dead,” Rip said.

The deep-throated chuckle sent a chill up Rip’s spine.

“You did me a favor,” the boss said. “Almanza was inconsequential. It was time for him to go.” He gave them a cold look. “I’m the leader of the organization.”

Oh, shit. If this dude was who Rip thought he was…

“The fear in your eyes tells me that you know of me.”

Jesus…the uber-criminal Omar Zapatero, leader of one of the most notorious cartel branches.

“Yes, I control Le Sicarii.”

The man was savage, terrifying. Rip would not allow him to interrogate Lela.

“You may call me Zap, as I am known throughout my country.” The boss’s polite demeanor did little to disguise the villain that he was.

“You were the senator’s contact?” Lela said.

“I’m the one who’ll be asking the questions.” Zap’s reputation was known beyond the borders of Mexico. He was brutal, without conscience, and had no mercy for his fellow man.

Rip was clear about the type of man he was dealing with. Zap had no honor or loyalty. He craved power for power’s sake. The money was a bonus that came along with it.

“I’ll tell you that Ortiz has been a disappointment,” Zap said. “But he’s replaceable.”

Lela was in an untenable position. Even cooperation with Zap wouldn’t spare her.

Only one guard hovered nearby. Zap didn’t seem concerned about security. His guests were prisoners, incapable of fighting off the numerous thugs aboard.

Zap shook his head. “It’s unfortunate that the senator thought he could steal from me. I’m sure you know about the obscene amount of money he’s stashed away for his future…a future he won’t live to see.”

As the sand drained from the hourglass, Rip’s mind raced. Seconds counted. He’d have to move fast, because it wouldn’t be long before the boat was out of the harbor. But how could he thwart Zap and his crew?

Zap stared at Lela. There was no empathy in his eyes. Her life wasn’t worth anything. To the cruel master, a person was an object, his to use and toss aside.

“You’re going to tell me where Ortiz has the money,” Zap said. “I’ll take you to a place where you can’t disappear.” He leered at Lela. “I’m going to enjoy torturing you, puta.” He spat. “I might even have some fun with you…before I finish you off.”

Calling Lela a whore was beyond the pale. Rip seethed. “You won’t get away with this, you fucking soulless bastard.”

The guard struck Rip on the shoulder with the butt of his gun, knocking him to the deck. Lela shrieked and covered her mouth. Zap reached for Lela’s arm, daring to touch her.

Emotion took over. Furious, Rip reached for a flare gun within reach on the deck. He fired it in the air, then kicked the stack of remaining flares down the stairs to the engine room.

Zap glanced up, and in that split second of opportunity, Rip grabbed Lela around the waist and jumped overboard, catching sight of the confused look on the guard’s face on the way by.

Rip plunged into the bay with Lela. The yacht was set to explode. The fire from the flare gun would hit the boat, igniting the rest of the flares in the engine room. The diesel fuel would burst into flames, and the fire would roar through the yacht. There were enough grenades on board to start a small war, which would add to the fireworks.

“Hold your breath,” Rip said, then dove underwater with his arm linked to Lela’s. He swam away as fast as he could, and Lela kept up.

Rip briefly surfaced and held Lela above water. She gasped for air. The boat had become a glowing ember. “Back underwater,” he said.

Lela took a deep breath and dove below the water’s surface with him. The concussion of the explosions boomed through the water, knocking them back. Rip looked up. Flames from the fire rolled over the surface, but didn’t reach underwater.

Rip took Lela’s arm and dragged her upward. Breaking through the water, she gasped for oxygen. Then he held her and floated in the waves, watching the fire rage on the yacht, burning the last of Lela’s enemies to ashes.

Within minutes, the bay was swarming with coast guard. Rip flagged one of the boats for rescue, and he handed Lela up first. Then he was hauled aboard.

Blankets were provided, and Rip put one over Lela’s lap, then another around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he kissed the top of her head. “We can go home now, darling.”