White Hot: A Patrick & Steeves Suspense (14 page)

D
al raced through the tunnels
, his breathing ragged. By his calculations, it shouldn’t be much farther. Despite the flurry of activity he’d started with the fire, he couldn’t hear a thing below ground. The tunnel came to another Y. He didn’t have time to waste. He shined the light to the branch on the left. The tunnel ended a few yards away. Moving to the end, he looked up and puffed out a breath of relief. Directly above him was the hatch into the barn.

The ladder was rickety, rusted. How long since it had been used? He climbed to the top, reached his hand up to open the hatch. It didn’t give. Balancing with his arm around the side of the ladder, he pushed again. And again. Sweat beaded on his forehead. It was difficult to get more of an angle from his position on the ladder. Try as he might, he couldn’t put more weight or power into it.

It had to be latched on the other side. Or even covered with something. His heart sank. Scrambling down the rungs, he grabbed the tire iron and went back up. He banged against the hatch, trying to break through the wood, but the wood was sound. Next he shined the light along the edges, looking for a weak spot.

Inspired, he turned off the flashlight. A thin thread of light shone through where the hatch joined the floor. He edged the end of the tire iron into the widest opening and worked it side to side for several minutes, gaining precious centimeters.

Once he had the end of the tire iron pushed through, he used it as a lever, putting his full weight on the end, prying the hatch open inch by inch. He heard Jack and Garcia yelling and running in a direction away from him. “
Fuego
,” someone yelled. Abandoning caution, he leaned his full weight against the bar, popped the hatch open and raised his head above the floor.

He was in the back right corner of the barn. There was no one around. Good thing, because there was nowhere to hide. The entire area was bathed in light from the rows of fluorescents overhead. He raced toward the hallway to the left, bypassing the closed doors until he reached the torture room.

Anger surged through him when he saw Emily. Her face was bruised and swelling, her leg bled freely. She was conscious, barely. He stepped forward using his knife to slice through the restraints around her wrists. He slid an arm under her shoulder and she looked up at him, blinking her eyes, trying to focus.

“Dal?”

“Shhh,” he said, putting her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Dal,” she said, her voice hoarse and gravelly, as he strode through the door. “Let’s get weapons.”

He pulled the handle of the next door. It was unlocked. He jammed two handguns in his back pockets, but couldn’t get past the phone in his right pocket. The phone! He pulled it out of his pocket, the red light at the top of the screen was flashing. “We have a text,” he said, gently setting Emily down on her feet. She took the phone from him while he threw ammo and a couple of semi-automatic rifles in his bag.

“It’s coordinates. Says we’re to meet the helicopters at …” She checked the time on the screen. “In twenty-five minutes. Dal, where did you get the phone?”

“It was Rico’s.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him, past the other doors, out into the main area of the barn. Turning toward her, his stomach clenched. Her face was the color of old sheets, she listed dangerously to the side, blood oozed from the wound in her leg.

“Fuck Em, I’m sorry. I’ll carry you.” He hefted her over his shoulder again, headed straight to the front door, peered out around the frame.

Chaos reigned in the yard. Jack and Garcia stood near the front door of the adjacent warehouse, yelling instructions. Men ran with buckets, trying to douse the fire. But this was the desert and there wasn’t much water. And Dal was as good at setting fires as he was at putting them out. The fire was winning.

They’d have to go the other way. He turned toward the house, but El Pato stood on the porch, smoking and watching his weapons cache go up in smoke. A loud bang caught the attention of the flurry of men running with water. Everyone stopped and looked toward the front of the warehouse. Screams from the men inside burst through the air as they poured out the door. Pop, pop, ka-boom went the ammunition.

El Pato remained rooted to porch. Fuck. Dal turned and hurried back to the hatch, lowered Emily in, then dropped the gear down. He pulled an old wooden crate over in front of the hatch, hoping to camouflage their escape route. Another explosion next door, another round of screaming. He dropped into the shaft and pulled the door closed behind him.

D
al arrived back
at the intersection of the tunnel. This Y section hadn’t been on the map, he was sure of it. He paused to consider their options. He couldn’t take Emily out the way he came. The explosions were increasing. As more ammunition caught fire, they were coming every few minutes. He wasn’t sure how well the tunnel below would withstand the tremors. There could be a rock slide. Or the whole tunnel could collapse. If the flames reached the gas in the old mine shaft, the whole hillside could explode.

And then there was the toxic gas and the smoke. His damaged lungs were like a damn early-warning indicator and already burned and itched. In this situation, he was grateful for it.

Coughing, he switched back and took the upper branch, heading into unknown territory.

“Is this the way you came in?” Emily asked. Her head hung over his left shoulder, her arm holding the flashlight in front, lighting their way.

“No, we can’t go back in that direction. I can smell the smoke, plus there will be debris, maybe even a cave-in from the explosions.”

“Do you know where this tunnel leads?”

“Nope.” He hurried on, thankful for the countless hours of physical training firefighting demanded. The tunnel sloped up, the grade was gradual but he felt the climb. The light he was following faltered. He glanced over at Emily. Her head had fallen to the side, hair covering her face. Reaching down, he grabbed the flashlight before it fell from her grip.

She was losing consciousness. He checked her leg over his other shoulder. The wound was open and oozing blood. Should he stop? Clean her up and try to stop the flow of blood? There was no time. They needed to get out of the tunnel and make it to the meet point before the helicopters. Once the choppers arrived, the element of surprise would be gone and they may not have a chance to reach them.

He had to push on. With no idea how far they had left to go, or where they’d end up, he still had to push on. He was out of options. The phone in his back pocket chirped, another text coming in. No time to look at it now. The message wouldn’t matter anyway if they didn’t make it out of the tunnel.

Five minutes ticked by as he walked on. Em’s breathing was jagged. He didn’t want to die here tonight and he sure as hell didn’t want to be responsible for another person dying on his watch. Losing Emily would devastate him.

Another five minutes and the scratching in his throat lessened. Was it possible the air he was breathing was fresher? Cleaner? The ground beneath his feet leveled out. Ahead the wall took on a different texture, a rockier, rounder shape. Striding forward, he stepped around a large boulder and out into the night.

D
al lowered Emily gently
to the ground and stepped around the entrance of the tunnel. They were high on the hill to the east of the ranch. In the yard below, the men had formed a bucket brigade to try to extinguish the fire. It flared with gusto. The crackle of the wood crates burning carried across the wind in the night. A large explosion thundered through the air.

Emily muttered something and he sat down beside her. He dug in the gear bag for the Gatorade, took a small sip then tilted Emily’s head and tried to get her to drink. She waved the liquid away.

“Where are we?”

“We’re out of the tunnel, about half a mile from the meet point.” Pulling out the phone, he checked the text and coordinates again. The meet point was to the south. They needed to cross along the top of the ranch. Given the darkness and the focus on the fire below, they shouldn’t have any problems. He checked the new text. It asked for confirmation. He wrote back, confirmed they were en route.

“We need to go,” he said, kneeling and pulling her up with him. He situated her firmly on his shoulders and headed south. The ground was rocky. Bits of scree slid beneath his feet, he struggled for purchase and balance. There was nowhere level without getting too close to the ranch. He dodged in and out of the huge cacti, glad for their cover, occasionally cursing them as a large thorn torn at his arm or Emily’s foot.

The pale moon sat low in the western sky. It would set soon, leaving no ambient light. He couldn’t risk using the flashlight. He lumbered on through the night. They’d passed the back of the barn and were coming up on the back of the warehouse. Flames flew sparks high into the night sky and illuminated the yard, the barn, the porch of the house. A large figure still stood on the porch of the house. El Pato. Watching his investment go up in smoke.

Over the fire, he could hear Jack and Garcia still yelling directions. The men were getting tired, slowing down, trudging forward with bucket after bucket of dirty, sludgy water. It surprised him the reservoir wasn’t already dry. They had the look of defeated men. They were fighting a losing battle and they knew it.

Em groaned and he pushed on, over the uneven ground, sorry for constantly jarring her but helpless to change it. The ground leveled out and he stepped into the path he’d taken earlier up to the mine. From here, another ten minutes would get them to the meeting point.

Someone coughed several yards away. He stepped behind a cactus but it was too late. They’d been seen.

The man scrambled down toward them, waving a pistol in the air. “
Estan aqui
!” he yelled. Another man stood up from the shadows below.

E
mily hit the ground hard
, flat on her ass, and was jolted fully awake. Beside her, Dal was scrabbling through the dirt. He pulled out a weapon, loaded it, held his ground behind the cactus. Two men approached. The scree and dirt shifted under their feet announcing their arrival. One came from above, the other from below. The outline of the man below came into view. He was a big son of a bitch. The shouts she’d heard hadn’t been in her dreams, after all.

“Dal,” she tugged at his sleeve. “You can’t shoot them.”

His brows squeezed together. “What?” His mouth formed the word without sound.

She pointed toward the warehouse below. Then to her ear. They wouldn’t have a chance if the shots were heard.

He bent into a fighting stance and turned back to the path.

Careful to move silently, Emily crawled a few feet away, secreting herself behind another cactus. She had a clear view of the men in the path. They were only a few feet away from Dal. She scrambled up the hill and circled out toward the path. Tucked herself behind a cactus, low to the ground. The man was six feet below her on the path. Adrenaline coursed through her veins.

The man closest to her held his ground and motioned his friend to go in for Dal. The other man lunged forward, but Dal was ready for him, his hand coming down like a mallet, knocking the man’s gun to the ground.

When the man rushed in to help his partner, Emily sprang from her position, using the element of surprise to her advantage. She jumped on his back and took him down, her fingers digging into his eyes. He tried to fling her off, she shoved his face into the dirt to muffle his cries. She brought her fist down sideways on the man’s wrist, was rewarded with a solid crack of bone. His fingers released his weapon.

Beside her, Dal wrestled with the larger man. He had him pinned to the ground, his knees on his upper arms, his hand over his mouth. “Fucker bit me,” he hissed.

Emily ripped the shirt off her victim’s back and threw it to Dal. He tore a large strip and wrapped it around the man’s head, gagging him. He pulled off the man’s belt, rolled him over and secured his hands behind his back.

“What about his feet?” Emily asked. Dal tore another strip from the shirt and threw it to her. She gagged the man under her, silencing his whines about his eyes.

“Can you reach the bag?” He pointed beyond her, about three feet. She extended her bad leg, caught the handle with her toe and winced as she pulled the heavy bag toward her. “What the hell is in here?”

“A bit of this, a bit of that.” Dal raised his brows and smiled at her. She chuckled. She’d always wanted a man who could make her laugh in any situation. She’d just never imagined it would be this type of situation.

“This might come in handy,” he said, throwing her a roll of duct tape.

“This would have been handy a few minutes ago,” she said.

“And we would have held them down how while we got the tape?”

She rolled her eyes and secured the man’s hands behind his back, winding tape around his wrists. Dal rolled his man over and pulled him to a sitting position. Emily did the same. They dragged them together, back to back.

“I was wondering why I was still carrying this around,” he said, pulling out a length of rope. He wrapped it around the men’s chests while Emily taped her man’s feet.

Standing, she surveyed their work. They made a good team. She cursed Jill - again - for planting that seed of doubt in her head. She couldn’t have done this without him.

His arm snaked around her shoulder and he led her away from the men, across the path. She stumbled, energy draining out of her.

“You all right?” he asked, holding her up.

“I think I pushed it a little hard. I wasn’t counting on a second wind.”

“Is that what you call it?” Dal asked, lifting her chin with his finger. “You were awesome, but I couldn’t believe you found the energy to do that.”

She shrugged. “Life or death. Adrenalin to the rescue.” She took in a deep breath and leaned heavily against him, resting for a minute to take in the scene below. The fire continued to rage out of control. He passed her the bottle of Gatorade, two inches of vibrant orange liquid sloshed around in the bottom. She took a mouthful and passed him the rest.

Over the hills to the east, the distinctive whup-whup-whup of a helicopter filled the air. She looked up at him. They were actually going to get out of here alive. He leaned down, brushed his lips across her forehead.

“I think that’s our cue,” he said. He threw her over his shoulders and she shined the light ahead of him as he scrambled along the side of the hill toward their meet point.