Under Fire
Under Fire
By Rita Henuber
Coast Guard helicopter pilot Olivia Carver is on a very personal mission. Her twin brother, an undercover officer, was murdered by a drug cartel and she won’t stop until she finds the man responsible for his death.
In the course of her own investigation, Olivia meets informant Rico Cortes. He’s mysterious and sexy and despite her reservations, the two share a night of passion. But Rico turns out to be more than a one-night stand. He’s a DEA agent, deep undercover in Miami’s drug world, and possibly the one man who can help Olivia find the justice she seeks.
When Rico realizes his cover is blown, he isn’t sure whether it was someone in the cartel or an inside agent. Olivia is the only one he can trust and together they venture on a dangerous, rogue mission to infiltrate a drug lord’s inner circle…with Olivia as bait.
86,000 words
Dear Reader,
I feel as though it was just last week I was attending 2010 conferences and telling authors and readers who were wondering what was next for Carina Press, “we’ve only been publishing books for four months, give us time” and now, here it is, a year later. Carina Press has been bringing you quality romance, mystery, science fiction, fantasy and more for over twelve months. This just boggles my mind.
But though we’re celebrating our one-year anniversary (with champagne and chocolate, of course) we’re not slowing down. Every week brings something new for us, and we continue to look for ways to grow, expand and improve. This summer, we’ll continue to bring you new genres, new authors and new niches—and we plan to publish the unexpected for years to come.
So whether you’re reading this in the middle of a summer heat wave, looking to escape from the hot summer nights and sultry afternoons, or whether you’re reading this in the dead of winter, searching for a respite from the cold, months after I’ve written it, you can be assured that our promise to take you on new adventures, bring you great stories and discover new talent remains the same.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [email protected]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
I will forever be indebted to Lori Wilde who started me on the path to writing. To Jessica Faust, my agent, and Gina Bernal, my editor, for seeing me through my journey to publication.
North of Jacksonville, Florida over the Intracoastal Waterway
“We have a visual on the boat.” Coast Guard Lt. Commander Olivia Carver’s gloved fingers tightened around the helicopter’s control stick and she increased airspeed. The chase was on.
Olivia’s heartbeat matched the tempo of the rotors. Sweat bonded her flight suit to her body and trickled between her breasts. Counter-narcotics had become her reason for existing and she was damn good at it.
“They’ve got those motors running wide open, the fricking hull is half out of the water,” her copilot, Crenshaw, said.
“Weapons ready,” Turner, the helo’s gunner, announced.
Homes dotted this part of the waterway—not much chance Olivia would give Turner permission to fire that big gun. The danger to civilians was too great and the sound of the machine gun would bring complaints. The public wanted to be protected, but they didn’t want to see or hear it in their backyard.
She dropped altitude to fifty feet, then twenty, and buzzed the red boat cutting through the water. “Turner, you see any weapons on board?” she demanded, as she pushed the helo into a steep starboard bank to set up the next pass.
“That’s a negative, ma’am.” Turner leaned out the gunner’s door to watch the boat. “But we sure scared the crap outta them. They about smacked into a dock.”
“Jacksonville OPS, we’re confirming three white males on target boat,” Crenshaw reported, “and they know we’re here.”
Olivia’s pulse raced from the adrenaline roaring through her. She took several deep breaths and angled the helo to swoop in again. This time she took it down to twenty-five feet, tilting the bird from side to side.
“Assholes didn’t even slow down,” Crenshaw muttered.
“Kee-rist. They’re driving it like they stole it,” Turner added.
“Give them the speech, Lieutenant,” she ordered, positioning the helicopter to fly above the boat.
Crenshaw flipped on the loudspeaker. “Red Donzi, this is the United States Coast Guard. Cut your engines immediately.”
No response.
“I repeat, cut your engines immediately.”
The three men turned and gave them the finger. Olivia could clearly see them laughing.
So, the boys want to play.
She pressed airspeed to the max. A half-mile south, she swung the helo back in a direct line with the speeding boat.
“Turner, close the door and tighten your harness.”
“Ah shit, here we go again.”
“You do the same, Crenshaw.” She yanked her own harness straps.
“What’s going on?” Crenshaw sounded nervous.
“We’re doing what we were ordered.
Stopping them
.” He’d been her copilot for five months. About time she broke him in. Olivia dropped altitude and tipped the helo’s nose toward the water.
“How?” Crenshaw’s voice went up two octaves.
“Keep us from yawing, L.T., I’ll do the rest.”
“Ho-lee shit,” he yelped as the tilt angle increased.
The red Donzi sped toward them. The helo advanced toward the boat.
Olivia increased the angle until the helo’s black nose pointed to five o’clock and the tail rotor at eleven, high above them. Thirty-nine feet of rotor blades whirled like a gigantic fan kicking up water.
“Commander!”
“You’re doing great. Better than my last copilot. Just keep it up. They’ll stop. They always do.”
“You’ve done this before?” Crenshaw’s voice went up another notch.
“Yes, sir,” Turner drawled. “This is the commander’s very own ‘stop or be sliced and diced’ method of getting the bad guys. Ya get used to it after a while.”
“Can it, Turner. When I say, send a round into those motors with the .50 cal. No warning shots. They’ve had all the warning they’re going to get.” There were no homes within a hundred yards. Once she hovered, Turner could safely take his shot.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ho-lee shit,” Crenshaw yelled again, bracing a hand on the glass in front of him.
“Don’t fail me now, Charlie,” she whispered.
The boat was less than twenty-five yards away—less than twenty. Olivia smiled. This was a high stakes game of chicken and she would win. She always won, no matter what she did.
The blades, two feet above the surface, churned water like a paddle wheeler completely blocking the deep water part of the channel. The boys below had no place to go.
The boat went hard to starboard, running aground in the marsh. The man at the controls threw the engines into reverse, spewing muddy water and reeds against the helicopter. Apparently they weren’t ready to give up.
Olivia leveled the bird and heard the gunner’s door slide open. “Take your shot,” she ordered. An instant later Turner fired. Smoke rose from the Donzi’s outboard motors. With one, well-placed shot, Turner disabled both engines.
“Hands high above your head,” Crenshaw said on the speaker.
Olivia turned the helo to get a better look at the men’s faces. When they all looked up, their arms high in the air, she raised her hand, extending her middle finger.
The boys weren’t laughing anymore.
“Commander Carver, Captain Anderson wants you ASAP,” a yeoman said from the door of the small office where Olivia, Crenshaw and Turner completed incident reports.
“I’m on my way.” She exchanged looks with her men. More than likely Anderson had reviewed the onboard video and she was about to be chewed up and spit out for the way she used and abused government property.
“You finished with those reports?”
They nodded.
“Get out of here,” she said, holding out her hand to take the papers. They handed her the reports but made no move to leave.
“Go.” She tipped her head in the direction of the door.
“You sure, ma’am?” Crenshaw asked.
She gave him a look. “I’ve got it covered. It won’t be the first time I’ve been reamed.”
Olivia stood in the hall and watched until they were through the glass doors. If Anderson wanted to chew on her crew she could truthfully say they’d done an Elvis and left the building.
“Olivia.”
She cringed. When the captain called her Olivia it was never good. She turned to see him standing in the doorway of his office.
“Coming, sir.”
Anderson ushered her inside and closed the door. Definitely not good.
“May I ask what this is about, sir?” She worked at keeping her voice even, standing almost at attention in the center of the room.
“Sit, Commander,” he said, sinking into his own chair.
Reluctantly she did as ordered. The look on his face told her this was not going to be pleasant. Her shoulder jerked. “There was a little over four hundred pounds of marijuana on the boat. Good job.”
She relaxed.
“But…”
Here it comes.
She steeled herself.
“You use one of my birds like that again and I’m going to write you up. I should today.”
She started to speak. Anderson held his hand up in a stop gesture. She closed her mouth, clamping her lips together. Better to not push the powers that be too far.
“I’m not going to lecture you. I saw the video. I would have done the same thing if I knew how the hell to do what you did.”
The effort to keep from smiling made her nose twitch.
“That was the good news.” The captain leaned back in the chair and clicked the top of his pen several times.
Come on, Anderson. Just say it.
“Andy Moss got the transfer to Miami.”
She blinked. Did he say they gave
her
transfer to someone else?
“Commander?” He tossed the pen aside.
“Yes, sir?”
“Did you hear me?” He sat forward, resting his arms on the desk.
“Yes, sir. Andy Moss is filling the position in Miami.”
Disappointment and a bucket load of other emotions washed over her, not the least of which was anger. Thunderstruck and numb, she could only stare at Anderson.
She’d wanted that transfer. She’d deserved it. Counted on it. The last three years she and her crews had been directly responsible for keeping over a ton of cocaine and marijuana off the streets. They’d taken and returned fire. Thanks to her skills, her crew and bird always came home safely. For months she’d thought about what to do if she was denied the reassignment again. Considered resigning, but knew it didn’t make sense. Her position in the Coast Guard allowed her access to information and contacts she wouldn’t have as a civilian. As a civilian she would be completely shut out of Danny’s murder investigation.
“Olivia, it has nothing to do with your abilities. You know that. We all know it.”
She sure as hell did know that. They didn’t want her in Miami. They didn’t want her looking for her brother’s killer.
They
could go to hell. Anger roared through her and she struggled not to show it.
“Does everyone know Andy got the job?”
Anderson shrugged and went back to tapping his pen.
“A few people know. Those who don’t will find out at the party tonight.”
Crap. The party at the club. She was expected to attend.
“You will be there tonight.”
Olivia looked at him. Was that an order or was he asking? She couldn’t tell. Overcome with a need to be anyplace but here, she stood. Anderson stood also.
“You’ll be there tonight?” he asked this time.
Ohhh, yeah. She’d
so
enjoy having everyone tell her what a tough break it was she didn’t get the transfer. She liked Moss. Andy was a good guy and a good pilot. It wasn’t his fault they chose him over her. If she showed up it would take the shine off his moment. She bit her upper lip and lied, “Yes, I’ll be there.” Pushing the sleeve of her flight suit past her wrist, she checked the time. “If that’s all, sir, I have an appointment before the party this evening and I’ll be late if I don’t get going.”
“I did everything I could, Olivia.”
“I know you did, sir.”
“I’m sorry about this. I know you wanted that job, why you want to be in Miami.”
“Thank you, sir,” she interrupted.
“Olivia, today is your birthday and the anniversary of—”
“Is there anything else?” Did he think she needed to be reminded her twin was murdered on their birthday?
Anderson shook his head and she hustled out the door.
Olivia stormed down the corridor. How could they do this to her? She’d given them every ounce of herself, done everything they asked and done it well. She’d even been referred to as a poster girl for the Coast Guard. All she’d asked in return was the reassignment to Miami. The hard sound of her boot heels hitting the concrete floor brought back the memory of Danny and her thundering across the hardwood floors of their old house. Each new thump of her boot flashed another memory of him like a slideshow.
Thump.
Learning to ride bikes.
Thump.
Danny falling, breaking his arm, the excruciating pain she felt in the same place.
Thump.
Learning to drive.
Thump.
His graduation from the police academy.
Thump.
His funeral. She shook with anger by the time she reached her motorcycle.
“Don’t worry, baby brother,” she whispered, putting on her helmet. “They can’t stop me from finding the bastards who murdered you.” She threw a leg over the sleek black Ducati, revved the engine and sped away. If she wanted to get to the bar in Jax Beach on time she had to hustle. Tonight she was meeting someone who said he had names to sell. Names she’d searched two years for. She couldn’t be late.
Rico Cortes dozed in the sun on the condo’s balcony. His secure cell buzzed. “Yeah?”
“You set up that meet?” his handler, Jason Greer, asked.
“Yeah.” Rico yawned.
“When?”
“Tonight.” He stretched his naked six-foot-three frame out over the chaise.
“How you handling it?”
“I’ll know when I get there.” Something in Greer’s voice made him wary. “Something you’re not telling me?”
“These questions have raised some eyebrows.”
“Shit.” Rico stood, gazing out over the Atlantic. “Am I blown?”
“Not sure.” Greer paused. “The woman is the Miami undercover’s sister.”
“Damn it!” He slammed his hand against the balcony railing. Just what he needed, two years of work to circle the drain. This close to handing some federal prosecutor a dream case and now a meddling relative could ruin everything.
“Do whatever it takes to stop her. We’ve spent too much time and money on this.”
“Sure. I’ll walk right up and say ‘I’m DEA. Stay the fuck out of my investigation.’” The only thing worse than a meddling relative was a meddling boss.
“Don’t be a prick, Cortes.”
They were silent.
“Another thing. She’s an officer in the Coast Guard. She has contacts. It’s why she’s gotten so far.”
“Fuck.”
“Check your mail. I sent what we have on her. Watch your back.” The connection was broken.
Whoever this broad was, tonight he would scare the hell out of her. If that didn’t work he’d play rough.