White Hot: A Patrick & Steeves Suspense (15 page)

T
he helicopter flew
in a wide circle overhead. Dal put Emily down on her feet, shined the flashlight straight up in the air using his hand to cover the light several times to signal they were in place.

The big bird flew a tighter circle, then landed in the center of a flat plain. Dal used his body to shield Emily from the flying dust as the chopper settled into the dirt. Emily laughed like a schoolgirl. He felt the same. He lifted her, spun her around, ignoring the pain in his arm while mindful of her wounded leg.

Her face was still swollen, her leg still bleeding, her coloring stone white. She looked like she might pass out again at any minute.

Four men jumped down from the helicopter and raced across the distance between them. “Steeves, Patrick, good to see you guys,” said the officer in charge, holding out his hand. “Sergeant Hobbs.”

“Good to see you, sir,” Emily said. She raised her hand in a salute.

“Excellent work, Patrick.” Hobbs nodded and turned toward Dal. “You too, Steeves.”

“Sergeant.” Dal stepped forward and extended his hand. “Emily needs medical attention. Will you be able to get us to a hospital soon?”

“This is Doc Brown, our medic.”

The man he indicated stepped forward, nodding to Dal and turned his attention to Emily. He motioned to the other two men. “Let’s get Patrick into the chopper.”

The men ran back to the chopper and returned almost immediately with a stretcher. Dal released her to their care, watching as they placed her gently on the stretcher and carried her back to the chopper.

“Your eye doesn’t look good,” Doc Brown said, shining a small penlight in Dal’s face. “I’ll want to have a look at that.”

“See to Patrick first,” Sergeant Hobbs said, stepping forward. “I need a few minutes with Steeves.”

The media sprinted away. Dal turned to the Sergeant. “You want the lay of the land, Sergeant?”

“Tell me what you can, Steeves. But make it quick, I want you two on the chopper and out of here.”

“El Pato is down there, sir.”

The Sergeant whistled. “Gonna catch a big fish tonight.”

“And there’s a lot of them, sir, you’ll probably want back up.”

Dal’s words were cut off by the roar of a second helicopter cresting the hills.

“Quickly,” the Sergeant said. “What are we walking into down there?”

Dal brought him up to speed while they watched the chopper pilot executed a precise landing next to the first helicopter. Sixteen marines in camouflage gear piled out, rushed toward them and fell into line.

The Sergeant slapped him on the back. “Thanks Steeves, we’ll take it from here. The chopper will take you and Patrick home.”

Dal sprinted toward the helicopter, the Sergeant’s orders filling the air behind him. The Sergeant wanted them moving now so they could take advantage of what little darkness was left.

Emily smiled up at him when he reached the door.

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” said Brown. “But she’s fairly stable.”

“No lasting damage to the leg?”

“She has a nasty infection already but they’ll deal with that in the hospital. A few stitches and some antibiotics and she’ll be good as new. I gave her a saline solution. She was pretty dehydrated. I need to get one into you, too.”

Dal slid in beside Emily and took her hand in his. The medic leaned over and asked him to hold out his arm. “Oh, right.” Dal extended his arm, watched him insert a needle of fluid

“That’s a nasty burn,” Doc Brown said. “I’ll need to bandage that.”

Dal nodded, then turned back to Emily.

Through the open door, he watched the Sergeant and his men run into the night on their way to the ranch. One of the marines stepped forward, rolled the door closed and gave a thumbs up to the pilot. Moments later they were in the air.

D
ay would break soon
. The air over the mountains shimmered with that special predawn quality coveted by photographers. Dal peered out the window as the chopper flew a wide path around the ranch.

“I want to see,” Emily said. The medic helped her to a sitting position and she linked her arm through Dal’s.

The fire still burned, bursts of sparks flared into the air as the ammunition exploded. The men had abandoned the flames and were in full combat with the marines. Gunfire blazed from the yard, from the house, from the opening of the barn. From their vantage point, they could see the troops moving in, a concerted effort, slowly taking the cartel men down.

The two black SUVs that had been parked by the house raced down the lane toward the main road.

“Those bastards,” Em said. “We can’t let El Pato get away.”

“I’m sure they have a plan,” Dal said, leaning his head against hers.

The chopper turned west, following the gorge, the rising sun at their tail.

“Look,” Emily said, pointing. “Is that our horse?”

Dal spotted the horse galloping along the edge of the ravine.

“The explosions probably spooked him,” Dal said. “He’ll find his way home. They always do.”

“That’s one thing, at least,” Emily said, slipping her hand into his. “And the motorcycle?”

Dal shrugged. “We’ll have to pay him for it, I guess. Or replace it. At some point, someone will have to go down to get the vehicle we left there.”

“If it’s still there,” Emily said, her head falling forward.

“Let’s get you horizontal again,” Dal said. He nodded to Doc Brown, who helped him get Emily back onto the stretcher. She let out a sigh and her eyes slid closed. He gazed down at her while the chopper ate up the miles, bringing them closer to home, his heart full.

E
mily woke
to the faint clatter of utensils. Light streamed in the large bay window, sunbeams dancing on the comforter at the end of the bed. She took a quick inventory of the room. It looked familiar. She vaguely remembered being tucked into bed last night by a large, beautiful man. She’d been pretty loopy from the medications, maybe she’d been dreaming. Someone was moving up the stairs, whistling softly.

“Morning Gorgeous,” Dal said, flashing her a large smile as he strode through the door. He carried a tray, laden with food, a single rose in a bud vase. “Hungry?”

He set the tray on the bedside table, plopped down beside her and kissed her cheek. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Groggy,” she said. “What did they give me?”

“A lot of painkillers,” he said. “You were pretty funny last night.”

She winced. “Did I say anything I shouldn’t have?”

“You expressed your undying love for me,” he said, fluffing the pillows behind her head. “Let’s get you sitting up.”

Oops. She had a history of being embarrassingly honest when she was drugged up. “Uh,” she started, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere as she let him prop her up against the pillows, “how did we get here from the helicopter?”

“You don’t remember being at the hospital?” He cocked his head to the side. Balancing the tray, he popped the legs out and set it up.

“No,” she said, struggling to remember. “Oh, wait… No, what I remember is really bright lights.”

Everything looked delicious. Toast, scrambled eggs, a couple of sausages cooked golden brown. There was a small glass of orange juice, a carafe of coffee, two cups and the yellow rose in the bud vase she’d noticed earlier. “You did all this?”

He nodded, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, careful not to shift the balance of the tray. “Figured I could do a little better than what they’d feed you in the hospital.” Reaching for the carafe, he poured out two coffees, watching her over the rim of his cup as he took a sip.

“I hate hospitals,” she said, tucking into the eggs. The minute the aroma of hot food had hit her, her stomach had growled.

“Your father mentioned that,” he said, his grin widening.

“Why are you laughing at me?” She put her fork down.

“No, eat, eat,” he said. “I’m happy to see you have an appetite.”

“I’m starving,” she said, cutting into one of the sausages. Juice oozed out around the knife and her mouth watered. “Wait, my father was at the hospital?”

“He was worried about you,” Dal said, leaning forward to swipe at her mouth with a napkin.

She pulled her head away. “I’m not an invalid yet,” she said.

“I think it’s cute.” He winked. “I love a girl who can eat.”

“Any girl?” She teased, then, given what he told her she’d said when she was loopy, thought better of it. “How long was I at the hospital?”

“A few hours. They stitched up your leg. The doctor wanted to observe you overnight but your father insisted they discharge you to my care.”

Her fork hung in mid-air, laden with egg. “Really? Thank heaven.” She chuckled, shoved the egg in her mouth and said, “Pretty sure this is better than any breakfast I’d get in the hospital.”

“Oh…kay,” he said, stretching out beside her. “What I heard was … ‘sh rrr blumph ny break hos —”

She punched him in the arm. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I ate while I was cooking.”

“And you also had time to go out and buy a fresh rose?” She peered up at him from beneath her lashes, felt the color rising in her cheeks. Damn. She hated how quick she was to blush.

He shrugged. “I didn’t go far. I have some bushes out back.”

“You grow roses?” She put the fork down and reached for his hand. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I like to think so.” He passed her a coffee, lifted the tray to the bedside table, and stretched out beside her.

“Did my father have any information about what happened at the ranch after we left?”

He paused several seconds and she turned toward him. Lines she hadn't noticed before deepened between his brows before he spoke. "He had some information. Said we could call him this morning for an update."

"Don't keep me in suspense." She grinned, wondering why he was so hesitant.

"It looks like El Pato got away."

Her mouth dropped. "Damn. They just drove away?"

"They think he escaped another way and used the SUVs as a distraction.”

"Wait. They did stop the SUVs we saw racing out of the ranch last night, though, right?"

He nodded. "They got them, yes, but it was only the drivers."

"Is that why my father insisted they release me?" Did he think she was born yesterday?

He shrugged. "He thought you'd be safer here. It's only a precaution."

"I'm guessing there are men outside?"

"Two men, stationed down the street," he said. "As I said, just a precaution."

She sipped her coffee. It was strong and delicious. She slanted a look at Dal. Clearly a man of many skills. "What else?"

Dal sighed heavily. "A lot of men were killed. Some of them escaped into the hills, but they won't know how many until they can get into the debris left from the fire. Fortunately, the entire weapons cache was destroyed."

"And the marines?"

“One dead, two wounded."

"Damn," she said, reaching for his hand. She stared out the window, watching the clouds skitter by for several minutes. So much senseless death. For what, she wondered.

"What about Garcia? Did he escape with El Pato?"

"No, he's dead. Shot."

"And Jack?" She was almost afraid to ask. A vision of his face swam before her. "He tried to strangle me, you know."

"I know," he said. "There's a lot of bruising on your neck." He reached over, brushed his fingertips across her cheek.

"Is he dead, too?"

"We don't know." He kissed the back of her hand. "Your father hasn't heard from him."

"You think he burned up with the weapons? Or escaped into the hills?"

"We won't know anything for sure until they get into the fire site to look for bodies."

"Maybe I should call my father," she said. She shifted, testing the pain in her thigh. Still there, a dull throbbing, thankfully muted by the painkillers. She pulled back the sheet but there was nothing to see beyond the thick bandage that circled her leg.

Dal reached for a phone on the bedside table. "Want me to dial?"

"Sure," she said, reeling off the number. He passed her the receiver. It rang twice before her father picked up, breathless.

"Steeves?"

"No, Dad, it's Em." Tears sprang to her eyes when she heard his voice, laced with anxiety. She hadn't been sure she'd ever hear it again.

"Any problems there?" he asked.

"No, no. Just checking in," she said. "We were wondering if you have more news. Did you hear from Jack?"

He took in a deep breath. "Nothing," he said. "They're still going through the debris from the fire, but so far they've identified all the bodies they found."

"Which means...?"

"Which means we don't know," he said. "He could have gone with El Pato. He might have escaped through the hills. For all we know, he's dead and we haven't found him yet."

“What about the microchip? Isn’t that how you found him last time?”

A long pause. “We tracked the chip to the barn. To the same spot where they held you. We knew where you and Dal were at all times. And Jack.”

“And you weren’t going to tell me that? What does that mean?”

“It means someone removed the microchip.”

“Or Jack removed it himself,” she said. “He had a whole secret shipment that he gave to El Pato. They took it off the ranch earlier in the night.” She sucked in a breath, held her hand out toward Dal. He squeezed it and twitched his brow.

"Do you believe me now?" she said into the receiver, heart thudding in her throat.

The measured rhythm of her father's breathing came through the line. She held her breath, counted to eight.

"I believe Jack is doing his best in a difficult situation," he said, his voice low and steady.

* * *

H
er heart sank
. How could her own father not believe her? Her lip trembled and she felt a single tear slide down her cheek. No, she knew what she'd seen. He hadn't been there so why the hell wouldn't he believe her. Rage replaced the sadness, her knuckles white as she gripped the phone.

"He tried to kill me. If you call that doing his best, then I have nothing more to say to you right now." She pressed end and pitched the phone to the bottom of the bed. "Asshole," she said.

"Em..." Dal reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.

"How could he not believe me?" She bit her lip but after all she’d been through with Dal, she no longer cared if he saw her cry. Her tears flowed freely.

“I can’t believe Jack escaped. And all the photographs I took, all the video? Jack took that camera when they had me in the torture room.” Dal reached out again and she took his hand.

She shook her head. “I can’t believe this. Once again he escapes and I have no way to prove to them that he’s dirty. I failed again.”

“You didn’t fail, Em. They’ll get him. The truth will come out in the end.”

She wiped at her eyes. "Besides, I hate fighting with my father," she sputtered. "He's all I have."

Dal put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She let her head fall onto his shoulder. "Not anymore he's not," he said. "Now you have me, too."

She sniffed and looked up at him. “You saved me,” she said.

“Last time you rescued me,” he said. “So I rescued you right back.” He flashed her a grin.

“Did you just quote Pretty Woman to me?”

“Well, they are on a fire escape after all …”

She snickered. “Then next time, we’ll have to save each other.”

“Deal,” he said, wiping the tears from her cheek.

“And I owe you an apology,” she said.

“For what?”

“For going down to the house to take video when you asked me not to,” she said, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. Fuck Jill, she was going to tell him. “But mostly because there was something I didn’t tell you. Something Jill said.”

He ran his fingers down her arm, drew circles on the back of her wrist and waited for her continue.

“She told me…” Damn, this was going to be hard to say without wounding his ego. Jill had been right about that part, at least. Get over it, spit it out. There couldn’t be any more secrets between them if she wanted him to trust her one hundred percent. “She told me to take the lead in the field. Because of my military training and that—”

Dal’s laughter interrupted her. He guffawed like a donkey. She pulled away from him and turned so she could see his face. His features crumpled, he folded into himself, holding his stomach.

It was infectious. She started to laugh, too. “But… but….”

“Jill…” Dal sputtered, his breath coming in spurts. “Jill told me the same thing.”

Emily laughed, tears streaming down her face, but there was a part of her that felt like crying. The absurdity of the whole thing washed over her. She should have trusted him from the beginning. All the push and pull and unnecessary posturing.

He leaned over and kissed her, smothering her giggles. His lips barely brushed hers yet she felt a warmth begin to spread through her.

“That hurt?” he asked, tracing the pad of his thumb against her swollen lower lip.

“In a good way,” she whispered, pressing against him. “Why am I still wearing this hospital gown? It’s scratchy.” She wiggled her brows. “I was thinking you could find me something else—”

“Or nothing else,” he said. He gripped the hem of the gown and slid it over her head, throwing the stiff blue material to the floor. He bit his lip and stared at her. “Oh my God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

She basked in the appreciation that shone from his eyes. He leaned in, licked her upper lip, slowly, sensually, so damn slowly her heart pounded against her chest. Then he kissed her deeply, his tongue searching for hers. She kissed him back, anticipation shivering up her spine as his hand slid up her rib cage.

“Was that the doorbell?” she asked.

Dal laughed. “Can we ever get a moment? Just one full moment?”

“Ignore it,” she said, covering his hand with hers, pushing it on its delicious journey over her skin.

The bell rang again. Dal rolled over and got off the bed. “I’m afraid we can’t, Em. There’s too many people watching and it could be important.” He strode to the door, turned and blew her a kiss before padding down the stairs.

Voices floated up the stairs. She hoped whoever it was would go away. Dal had started a fire in her and it was blocking out everything. Her sadness and anger, her fear, the physicals aches and pains. The throbbing in her thigh replaced by the more pleasurable pulse of desire spreading through her body. Her hand drifted down over her abdomen.

“Em,” Dal said, arriving back in the doorway. “It’s Senator Green.”

She clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her laugh. “Are you kidding me?” she whispered, rolling her eyes. “This is the most horrible kind of
déjà vu
.”