Thrill Ride (15 page)

And, sure enough, when Bill glanced up, running a forearm under his bloody nose—
goddamn, stubborn Cajun!—
it was to find a woman grasping the hand of a small, dark-headed boy, looking on in terror.

“We’re good,” Steady declared, throwing his hands in the air like a steer roper who’d just completed his final knot.

“Get ’im in the truck,” Boss commanded, and Bill and Steady each grabbed an arm and a leg, hoisting Rock up—good God, the man was heavier than he looked, too. As gently as they could, they transferred him into the bed of the pickup truck and all the while Rock continued to fight them as if his life depended on it…or, more likely, as if
their
lives depended on it.

And then Bill felt like crying too, especially when Vanessa turned around to peer into the truck bed, tears flowing down her dusty cheeks. “Stop struggling,” she pleaded, choking on a sob as Bill jumped up alongside Rock in order to carefully flip the guy onto his back. “P-please. You’re going to hurt yourself if you—”

“How
could
you!” Rock roared once he was on his back. His face was wet with tears and snot and blood, and it was obvious that at some point during their struggle he must’ve taken a blow to the nose.

Shit.

They hadn’t wanted to hurt him.

“How could you do this to them!” he continued to scream at Vanessa. Bill had to press a hand to the center of his chest as stomach acid started inching its way up the back of his throat. “How could you do this to me! I trusted you! And now you’ve killed us all!”

“Hey, now—” Bill began but was cut off when Vanessa shook her head and backed away, muttering, “No. No, Rock, I—”

“Get in the truck, Vanessa,” Boss commanded, but she just continued to stand there, openly sobbing, shaking her head and staring at Rock with…was that?

Yep. That was definitely her heart in her eyes. And, shit, that made what she’d just done so,
so
much worse.

Bill glanced down at Rock, wondering if the man knew that BKI’s sexy little Latin communications specialist was in love with him. Hard to tell, given the guy was busy struggling while simultaneously staring poison-tipped daggers at the woman.

“Get in the goddamned truck, Vanessa!” Boss thundered, and she jumped a good foot in the air. Then, as if she suddenly remembered where she was, she wiped a forearm over her eyes and sprinted around the back of the vehicle.

Bill watched her crawl into the passenger seat before glancing down at Rock, ready to give the asshole a piece of his mind for one: not letting them help him figure this thing out from the very beginning, and two: taking his hurt and frustration out on Vanessa when she’d only done what any one of them would have done in the same situation.

But one look at the guy’s face and…

Christ.
Every thought flew from his head. Because Rock’s eyes were pleading, frantic, almost wild with fear. And it was seeing that fear—the bone-deep terror in a man he respected the shit out of and had grown to love like a brother—that had a lone tear slipping from the corner of his left eye to run into the groove beside his nose.

“Please, Bill,” Rock begged even as he continued to buck ineffectually against his restraints. “Please don’t do this. You hafta let me go. I’ll never forgive myself if—”

He stopped the man from saying anything more by slapping a palm over his mouth. He used his other hand to press a finger to his lips. And when Rock only continued to struggle, he wiped away that ridiculous tear—come on, steel-balled operators weren’t supposed to cry—and whispered, “Stop, my friend. We gotcha now. And we don’t plan to let you go again.”

***

“Stop crying, Vanessa,” Boss commanded, and she tried to obey. She really did. But the look on Rock’s face…

Disbelief, hatred, betrayal. It’d all been there. Flashing up at her like a neon sign.

“I sh-shouldn’t have—” she sputtered, wiping at her wet cheeks, but it was useless. The tears just kept on coming. “I shouldn’t have done this,” she finally managed, choking on a hiccup, grabbing onto the door handle when Boss sped into a turn as they raced out of the city. Concernedly, she glanced out the back window to find Bill lying in the truck bed beside Rock, his arms and legs wrapped around the man, obviously trying his damndest to keep him from bouncing around too much since he was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

And all of this was happening because she’d betrayed him…

Him.
The man she loved. The man who’d saved her life, helped her conquer her nearly debilitating fear, and sacrificed his own safety in order to bring her back here where
she’d
be safe. The man who’d trusted her…

Oh, good God, what have I done?

“Bullshit,” Boss spat, shifting down when they started to climb the mountain road that led to Eve’s vacation house. “You did what was right. He may not think so now, but in the end he’s gonna thank you.”

Even through the dirty back windshield, she could see the tears mixing with the blood on Rock’s face.

Tears.
Holy shit, she wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. But it was true. Tough-as-nails, big-balled, take-no-guff Richard “Rock” Babineaux had lost it. And it had nothing to do with his busted nose. Nope. No way. Because in the time they’d worked together, she’d seen him shrug off two broken fingers, a knife wound through his side, and a hairline fracture to his shinbone.

Thank her? Boss thought he was going to
thank
her
?

“He’ll never forgive me for—” She was interrupted when Bill reached up to slap a hand on the window. Frowning, she watched as he held up his cell phone. Or, should she say, what was
left
of his cell phone. The thing was cracked right down the middle, an obvious casualty of that scuffle with Rock.

Scuffle?

Jesus, it hadn’t been a scuffle; it’d been an all-out brawl. And for a minute there, she’d been sure Rock was going to come out the victor, even against three very skilled, very big, very
determined
operators. He’d fought with everything he had, and it’d been heartbreaking to watch when he was finally brought down. Almost like witnessing the death of a heavyweight in the ring. All that courage and valor and determination just suddenly…beaten.

New tears gathered in her eyes, but she managed to hold them in long enough to inform Boss, “Bill’s phone is broken. Does that—”

“Fuck!” Boss cursed, checking his rearview mirror to make sure Ghost and Steady were still keeping pace in the pickup truck behind them. “You need to call Becky. Tell her we’re running late. Tell her to keep those goddamned spooks away from the house for a little while longer.”

Vanessa was in the process of pulling her phone from her cargo pants when Boss’s cellular buzzed in his pocket. “Goddamnit! First get that for me, would you?” he said, grinding his jaw as he flew into another turn, using both hands to control the speeding vehicle on the narrow mountain pass.

Gingerly—because, come on, this was
Boss
; she wasn’t sure she’d ever actually
touched
the guy and now she was about to go rooting around in his pocket—she used her thumb and forefinger to pull his jeans pocket wide. Then she slipped her hand inside and snagged the vibrating phone.

“Speak of the devil,” she said after seeing Becky’s coded number on the screen. Thumbing on the device, she bounced into the passenger side door when Boss swerved around another bend, hitting her funny bone in the process. She cupped her screaming elbow, grimacing in pain, as she held the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Vanessa?” Becky’s voice sounded harried. “Are you guys back at the house?”

“No. We’re on the mountain road right now and—”

“Damnit!” Becky yelled that one word so loudly Vanessa was hard pressed not to yank the phone away from her ear—her likely
bleeding
ear. “Tell Frank to gun it! The spooks lost interest in us, and we think they’re on their way back to you guys. We lost track of them when we got cut off by this goddamned train!” As if on cue, the high, lonely wail of a train whistle echoed through the receiver. “And why isn’t Billy answering his phone?”

Ignoring that last question, Vanessa turned to Boss. “Becky says to punch it,” she quickly relayed. Adding, even though she didn’t know exactly what it meant, “She says the spooks lost interest in them,”
What
interest?
“and are heading our way.”

“Perfect,” Boss grumbled sarcastically as he slammed his boot down on the gas. But they’d only gone another 100 yards when Ghost began laying on the horn behind them.

“What in the world?” Vanessa asked at the same time Boss let loose with a string of curses so blue they blistered her ears. He was glaring at his rearview mirror, the hard muscle of his jaw twitching spasmodically. And when she turned in her seat to look behind them, she caught a glimpse of a plain white van blazing up the hill behind Steady and Ghost.

Oh, shitburgers.

That looked suspiciously like the van that’d been parked outside Eve’s house before she made her trip to Santa Elena, and it didn’t take a genius of Ozzie’s caliber to figure out these were the spooks Becky was talking about.

“Get Ozzie on the phone!” Boss bellowed, wrestling the truck around another curve, shifting like a racecar driver. “Tell him to have the garage door up and ready. We’re coming in hot!”

Pain.

That was Rock’s entire world. Pain in his shoulders where they were wrenched behind his back. Pain in his nose where Ghost had inadvertently ground his face into the dirt road back at the park. Pain in his hands as the pickup slammed into another curve and, unable to control his momentum, he rolled onto them, squashing them between his ass and the corrugated metal of the truck bed.

Pain in his heart…

“I’m gonna have to cut you loose!” Bill yelled from beside him, and, just like that, all his maladies were forgotten. Had he convinced Bill he wasn’t screwing around? That letting him go was the only way to keep everyone safe? His heart soared with relief, only to come crashing back to Earth when Bill continued, “We’ve got the CIA on our tail, which means we need all hands on deck!” The truck swerved into another curve, and Bill squeezed him tightly, trying to keep them both from doing the whole slide-and-slam routine against the top of the rusted wheel well. “We can’t fight with you hog-tied!”

Fight…

They were determined to fight the CIA.

For him.

Goddamnit!

The military had a warm and fuzzy acronym to describe this situation. FUBAR. Fucked up beyond all recognition. Because not only were the Knights now involved in this god-awful mess, but it also appeared his worst nightmare was coming true. The stupid, loyal
connards
were determined to put their reputations, their freedom, and more than that, their very lives on the line.

For him.

He wanted to howl with frustration and fear, just have himself a good ol’ fashioned tantrum. But he’d already indulged in that, and look where it’d gotten him. Exactly where he’d always sworn he’d never be…

As Bill sliced through the zip ties shackling his hands before scooting down to tackle the bindings at his feet, Rock wondered if it was possible just to jump out and save everyone the trouble.

If he died on impact with the road, so be it. At least his friends would be alive.

And if he didn’t? Well, undoubtedly he’d be in the hands of the CIA, which was as good as dead since they considered him a rogue operator and traitor. But again, his friends would be alive…

So as the world around him exploded into chaos, as Boss continued to drive like a madman—about three times faster than anyone should attempt on this winding, mountainous road—and as some stern-sounding voice echoed through a loudspeaker and up into the canopy of trees, “Pull your vehicles to the side of the road unless you want us to open fire!” everything inside Rock screeched to a standstill.

His decision was made.

And even though it meant Rwanda Don would remain at large, even though it meant he’d never clear his name and that Fred Billingsworth’s real murderer would go unpunished, nothing mattered except the men with whom he’d he spilled countless drops of blood—an ocean of blood. And, as if in agreement of his decision, every scar on his body ached in memory.

Knife wounds, bullet wounds, broken bones. The Knights had been there through it all. Carried him when they needed to, donated blood when they had to, and always,
always
risking everything they had in order to ensure he made it out of every grisly, gut-wrenching situation alive.

But not this time.

This time he’d brought trouble down on himself, and he’d be damned if he’d let the Knights give up their reputations, their
lives
for him
.

Oui
, he was going to do this. The instant his ankles were free, he pushed to his knees and, holding onto the edge of the truck bed, managed to clamber unsteadily to his feet.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bill yelled, looking up at him in alarm, trying to scramble into a kneeling position even as the truck rocked and bounced.

“Tell everyone I’m sorry!” Rock said, planting one of his jungle boots on the side of the bed, wishing that he could see Boss and Becky grinning at each other with love in their eyes just one more time, wishing he could taste some of Shell’s homemade pasta, or…or hear the husky timbre of excitement and desire in Vanessa’s sweet voice when she spoke to him.

He took out the memory of the two of them locked together back on that narrow access road, mouths fused, hands hungry and searching, and held it close, held it in his mind’s eye. Reveling one last time in the feel of the humid Costa Rican air tunneling through his hair just like her soft fingers had done, sucking in the tart smell of damp foliage and wild orchids that reminded him of her salty sweet taste. Through the truck’s back windshield, he saw the back of her messy, dark head, realized it was the last time he’d likely lay eyes on her, and lamented the fact that he’d yelled at her earlier.

She’d only done what she thought was right. What
he’d
have done if the situation were reversed…

“Tell Vanessa I’m sorry and I understand why she did it!” he yelled as he made his final peace and allowed his muscles to bunch. The next instant, he pushed off the truck with everything he had.

But instead of going airborne, instead of the whole human-flight-that-would-inevitably-result-in-a-deadly-crash move he’d planned, he found himself being slammed onto his back in the middle of the truck bed, Bill’s hand clutching his waistband, the man’s face looming above him and contorted with fury.

“What the hell’s the matter with you!” Bill roared, eyes filled with rage and disbelief even as they slid and smacked against the top of the wheel well—
bam!
Rock’s ribcage felt that one—when Boss raced into another curve.

“Let me go!” he shoved at Bill frantically, wondering idly if he had a cracked rib. It was suddenly hard to breathe. “I won’t be able to live with myself if—”

But that’s as far as he got, because huge vacation houses appeared to the right of them and that deep voice once more sounded over the loudspeaker, “This is your last warning! Pull over or we
will
open fire!”

And a solution suddenly presented itself. Rock didn’t like it, but he’d take it.

Snatching one of his SIGs from where Bill had stored it in his waistband after disarming him, Rock pressed the cold circle of the barrel it into the man’s thigh. “If I have to shoot you in the leg in order for you to let me go I will,” he promised.

“You’re too late!” Bill grinned gleefully, and the next thing Rock knew, the truck was shifting down through the gears, the tires screaming against the asphalt, and he was sliding up the truck bed and crashing into the cab. He barely had time to gather his wits before Boss executed a hard right, gunning it one last time and then slamming on the brakes.

The truck came to a shuddering halt inside a well-appointed garage. A split second later, Ghost and Steady screamed to a stop on their right, and the garage door rolled down behind them.

Tick, tick, tick…

That’s all that could be heard for a few interminable seconds. Just the loud clicking of the overheated engines once Boss and Ghost switched off the ignitions. Stars spun in front of Rock’s eyes from the introduction his skull had had with the truck cab. It was very shades of Wile E. Coyote after the Roadrunner dropped an anvil on his head and,
oui,
he’d obviously watched way too many cartoons as a kid. But when he managed to blink them away and push up into a kneeling position, it was to find Ozzie standing by the door that led into the house, one hand on the control for the garage door opener, the other gently cradling an Mk-43 Mod 1 machine gun like a mother cradles a baby.

And the kid was grinning from ear to ear.

“Boy, is it ever good to have you back, Rock,” he said, chuckling. “Things were getting mighty dull without you.”

***

“They’re holed up in Ms. Edens’s vacation house,” the CIA agent relayed, causing Rwanda Don to sit forward, heart beating out a too-fast rhythm, breath coming in short, staccato bursts that resulted in the cell phone slipping.

Fumbling with it, R.D. managed to get it back in place before, “Is he with them? Rock? Is he with them? Did they get visual confirmation?”

Jesus. Get a hold of yourself. You’re blathering like an idiot.

R.D. forced a little self-control, as much as was possible given the situation, and leaned back in the leather chair.

“Affirmative.” Hearing that one word had R.D.’s breath rushing out silently and relief washing like a benediction through clenched muscles. “Babineaux was spotted standing in the back of the truck bed before the vehicle disappeared inside Ms. Edens’s garage. The team on site is doing their best to surround the house, but there aren’t enough of them. So we’re waiting on the choppers to pick up the two units still in the Cloud Forest and bring them back to San Jose. Once that’s done, offensive maneuvers will commence.”

Offensive maneuvers that likely would not have been needed if that stupid CIA observation team had stayed put, like R.D. had advised, instead of chasing after the two women!

Damnit!
It was days like this that made R.D. happy to no longer be a part of The Company.

Bumbling
imbeciles…

Of course, now was not the time for
I
told
you
so
.

“You realize the Knights have friends in high places, too. They could call in—”

“They won’t be calling anyone,” the agent interrupted. “The observation team has activated the cell phone jammer. It’ll be nothing but hiss and static over the airwaves around that place.”

Good. That was good. So no more of Rock’s friends and colleagues would be racing to the rescue.

“You mentioned offensive maneuvers. What, exactly, will those entail?” R.D. asked anxiously.

This thing needed to be over. The sooner, the better. And then things could start getting back to normal. Well…the
new
normal. Because with Rock out of the picture, The Project, R.D.’s baby for the last half decade, was officially dead.

But maybe, just maybe, if everything continued to work according to plan, there would be a resurrection of it one day. All it would take was a
tiny
policy change, and The Project could once more be breathed to life. But that required the party nomination, which required campaign funds, which required—

Christ.
It was all so complicated and messy.

“It’s simple,” the agent interrupted R.D.’s spinning thoughts. “Either Babineaux gives himself up without a fight, or the CIA teams storm the castle, killing everyone inside. After all, as far as the CIA knows, they
are
aiding and abetting a rogue operator and known serial killer.”

Serial killer…

If The Company only knew the caliber of men Rock had supposedly murdered, they’d likely saint him instead of sacrifice him.

R.D. leaned forward once more, picking up the end ball on the stainless steel Newton’s cradle sitting at the edge of the maple wood desk. It’d been a gift from a grateful patient—the Newton’s cradle, not the desk. And, unlike the other gifts received over the years, this one hadn’t been thrown directly in the trash.

Why?

Probably because it was a reminder that for every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction. Releasing the ball, R.D. watched distractedly as it slammed into the row of stationary balls, causing the one on the opposite end to shoot out. Kinetic motion at work.

Click, click, click.

Rock was like that ball. He had the power to affect a cascading change that could eventually blow up everything R.D. had worked toward for years. Already, he’d caused a series of ripples that were spreading…

Storm
the
castle. Kill everyone inside.

That would certainly solve most, if not all, of R.D.’s problems. But, unfortunately, it’d never come to that.
Rock
would never let it come to that…

“You know as well as I do that Cajun bastard will give up everything, fight to his last breath to protect the innocent, to do what he thinks is right. And if given a choice between sacrificing himself or watching his friends fight a battle they have no hope of winning, he’ll choose the first option each and every time. We can’t have that.”

Click, click, click.

The balls continued to bang against each other, their cadence keeping time to R.D.’s rapidly beating heart and—

“Which is why I’ve secured an alternate ending.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a hit man in place to take Babineaux out if he decides to do the honorable thing and give himself up.”

Jesus.
He said it without any remorse, without any thought to the good work Rock had done for them over the years. Still, R.D. had to appreciate that pragmatism. This was a situation that required one and only one solution.

“The Cleaner?” R.D. asked hopefully. “Have you found him?”

“No. The Cleaner is still off the grid.” Which was just one more thing R.D. needed to worry about. “I have another man in place. No worries. This is almost over.” With that, the line went dead, and silence reigned in the wood-paneled office, broken only by the
click, click, click
of the balls on the Newton’s cradle.