Jeff had been right; Bo cut off the flex-strips as soon as he arrived.
“You okay, Jeff?”
“Fine.” Scowling, he clambered to his feet, then glowered at his cousin. “Damn, Bo, it took you long enough!”
“Sorry. It took longer than I anticipated to get everyone together.” He clapped an apologetic hand on Jeff’s back. “I wish you’d waited for me. If you’d been hurt, your mom would have kicked my ass…and LeAnn would have joined her.” His light tone belied his genuine concern.
Jeff firmly shook his head. “Too risky. If they’d seen a squad of federal officers arriving, they might have killed Tim immediately, or used him as a hostage. I couldn’t take the risk.” Then he grinned smugly. “Besides, I got here first.”
“Yeah…” Bo cocked his head, and raked him with an intent stare. “How did that happen, anyway?”
“Communication breakdowns all across the board,” Jeff shrugged, and wiggled his hands to restore the circulation. “And good timing.
“Tim promised to call Darla tonight so they could arrange a meeting with Crystal tomorrow. When he never called, she got worried. She called Tim’s parents, who called LeAnn. I was with her when she got the call.
“We both suspected something was wrong, and then he didn’t show up for dinner. We knew he wouldn’t have missed that unless something serious had happened.” Grimly he shook his head, and glanced around the bustling clearing. “So I decided to pay him a visit…and that’s when I saw that big biker carrying him out of the trailer. I called you immediately.”
Bo wasn’t mollified by his angelic smile. “Good thinking.”
“Before I could get to him, that Range Rover drove up. Two to one I can handle. Five to one…” He shook his head again. “I didn’t like those odds, so I stayed in the shadows to see what developed. I got close enough to hear what they were saying, and none of it was good for Tim. They were obviously going to kill him once the Range Rover left, so I knew he didn’t have much time.”
“I think you were right about that,” Bo admitted.
Jeff glanced around again, and watched as Shane’s limp body was hauled away between two big agents. “I thought you’d be my only backup, Bo. How were you able to get so many agents here so quickly?”
It was Bo’s turn to look smug. “I can’t tell you everything, of course, but we’ve been watching that motorcycle club for a while. And their business partners. The Range Rover was followed; I happened to be part of the surveillance team, so we were close by tonight. There’s been a shitload of activity with that club lately. We’ve had plenty of agents in the field.”
He understood ‘need to know,’ and merely nodded. Then he snapped his fingers. “What about Crystal? She’s Tim’s wife…or maybe ex-wife now, I’m not entirely sure. Anyway, I think she’s in trouble.”
“She was in trouble,” Bo admitted, “but she’s safe now. We stopped the Range Rover, and arrested everyone inside…including her.”
“Good,” Jeff snarled so bitterly that Bo’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “The bitch happily left him here to die!”
The ringing phone distracted Carlos from his work, and he abandoned his laptop to reach for it. After listening intently for several seconds, he began to smile. “Bueno. Esta bien,” he nodded. “We can get to them, even in prison.”
Two long, hot weeks had passed since his men had begun eliminating the Lone Star Blades, and their attack had been extremely successful. He’d moved his ‘guests’ from the warehouse to a small company-owned ranch outside of Luckenbach, Texas. Eighty acres surrounded by high fences and layers of defense throughout the property offered him a secure and private sanctuary.
His smile widened as he left his office, and walked across the compound. Chico, he knew, would be inside the old barn built by the original settlers. When Carlos had bought the property, he’d restored it, and replaced its sagging roof. Now it was well-built, stayed cool even in the summertime, and—thanks to its thick native-stone construction—it was totally soundproofed. No one could hear what took place within its sturdy walls.
He entered the building, and nodded to the two security guards who flanked the interior door. “I need to speak with Chico.”
One of the men pushed an intercom button, and spoke rapid-fire Spanish. Several minutes later, Chico emerged from the inner room. His clothes were liberally splashed with blood, but a gloating smile lit his face.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“We’ve finally located Shane. He was arrested.”
The two men exchanged a meaningful glance; no words needed to be exchanged. Carlos knew exactly what needed to be done. “Bueno, Chico,” he agreed, and started to leave. “I will make it happen.”
He was almost at the door when he hesitated and turned back. “The last Blade…I think his name is Cliff. He wasn’t a full member, just a Prospect. Do you want me to see to him, as well?”
“No. We will leave one person alive. He will be a useful reminder to others.” Malicious pleasure lit Chico’s eyes. “Have him beaten regularly. The man was an FBI informant, so we don’t want his time in prison to be comfortable.”
“Si, Chico. How is Señor Rowdy?”
Chico’s eyes glittered. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at the soundproofed room, then viciously smiled again. “He is…uncomfortable.”
It was best not to request details, so Carlos merely nodded, and returned to the main house.
Isabel emerged from the kitchen when he stepped inside, and smiled. “Buenas dias,” she exclaimed. “I’ve made you some breakfast. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’ll bring it to your office,” she promised, and hurried back to prepare a tray. Carlos was very handsome, she thought, and he’d kept his promise. Her whole family, even her brothers and sisters, had been brought north. They were still awaiting green cards, but he’d already found jobs for each of them.
He stopped her, and pulled her into his arms. “You were amazing last night.”
She chuckled, and flashed him a dazzling smile. “Just wait until tonight!”
“I’m not sure I can wait!”
“Then don’t!” she purred, and glided a hand over his broad chest.
They kissed passionately; then he reluctantly stepped back. “Bring me some breakfast, then we will talk about other things,” he sighed. “I have work to do that cannot wait.”
She was nearly through the kitchen door when he suddenly asked, “How is your guest doing?”
Her burst of laughter was laced with vindictive pleasure. “My guest, Señora Raven, is very popular with the workers and the security guards. I understand she sees several of them every day. And she loves heroin…so when Señor Chico is finished with Rowdy, we will move her south. She can work in one of his brothels.” Her expression hardened. “It will not be a nice one.”
Carlos shook his head, and returned to his office.
Hell hath no fury like a Latin woman.
“We’ll beat this, Shane,” Jingles muttered as they made their way to the showers. “I got my people on it, and we’ll be out in a month.”
Shane didn’t bother responding. Jingles was full of promises that this time would be different; this time they wouldn’t be incarcerated for several years. They’d be out again soon, and step cleanly back into their old lives as though none of this had ever happened. And this time, the Feds wouldn’t be able to touch them. He’d see to everything…
But Shane knew, through long experience, that Jingles only cared about himself. If the opportunity presented itself, he’d grab at it with both hands. He might take Shane with him…or he might abandon him without a single backwards glance.
He couldn’t bring himself to care.
Grief welled through him again as he fought back choking depression. The Blades were gone. In a single day, every one of his friends had been killed, viciously murdered by the Mexicans…except for Rowdy and Raven. No one knew where they were. Even Jingles’ people hadn’t been able to locate them.
It could only mean one thing. They’d been snatched, taken south of the border.
He knew the grim fate that would await them there.
Rowdy would be beaten and tortured until there wasn’t enough of him left to bury.
Raven… His heart ached with mingled anguish and guilt. He never should have brought her into the business. Never mind that she’d begged to be involved; he should have stood firm. She might have been arrested along with him, but at least she’d be safe and alive.
If she’d been kidnapped by the Mexicans, prison would seem like her weekly spa visits compared to how those sadistic brutes would treat her.
Their trials were still weeks away; until then, Jingles and he were being confined at a local jail. It was a rank, overpopulated cesspool. He hated the communal showers that made him feel vulnerable and defenseless. But he hated his own sweaty reek even more. Sighing, he followed Jingles through the narrow shower-room doorway, and started to peel off his faded prison garb.
“Relax,” Jingles assured him with another confident grin. “We’re going to be fine. We’ll find Raven and Rowdy, and get them back. Just a couple more weeks, and we’ll celebrate our release at my club.”
He wished he could believe it.
Grimly he turned on the shower, and stepped beneath the hot stinging spray. Beside him, Jingles did the same, and reached for the soap.
He’d just started washing his hair when Jingles nudged him. “Heads up, Shane.”
He turned, blinking soap out of his eyes, and saw several armed Mexicans standing directly behind them. Each had a shank—some shaped like icepicks, others like crude knives—all of them sharp enough for their intended purpose.
Killing.
“Back the fuck up,” Jingles hissed, slashing one hand through the air with a commanding gesture. “I’m protected in here.”
‘I,’ Shane thought despairingly. Not ‘we.’
The biggest one grinned malevolently. “Not anymore. Sherrod sold you out. You’re fair game now.”
Betrayed or not, Shane automatically sized up their leader. He was big, muscular. Jingles was fast, but not all that strong. Shane would have to take him out if either of them hoped to survive.
“Fuckin’ Sherrod,” Jingles muttered, shaking his head. “Makin’ his move.” Then he spread his hands wide. “Listen, I can make this rig…”
Shane didn’t see the signal, but all of them surged forward before Jingles could finish speaking. Instinctively Shane jumped into the fray and tackled the biggest one. Seven to two wasn’t good odds, but in prison anything could happen.
The first shank blurred toward his stomach. He blocked it easily, then rammed his fist into the big Mexican’s face.
Two others changed direction as the bellowing giant staggered back and fell. He figured he’d take some punishment, and maybe even get stabbed a few times. But as long as the damage was shallow and only nicked his arms or legs, he should be fine.
They flanked him, and held their shanks with practiced skill. He backed away so he could watch both at the same time, and cautiously braced himself. One moved in, slashing unbelievably fast instead of stabbing, and he felt his ribcage sting. He managed to block another strike and sensed, rather than saw, the other guy move for his back.
“Shane!”
Jingles’ warning shout cut off abruptly. Instinctively he glanced over, and realized his mistake when someone shoved him violently against the shower wall. He caught one quick glimpse of his friend’s bleeding body sprawled across the wet tile floor. Blood was streaming from several deep stab wounds; a shank was still buried in his chest.
He rebounded, kept his footing, and spun around to face his attackers.
“Your wife,” the biggest man taunted as he staggered up again and moved to join the deadly circle. “We have her.”
“Raven?”
“That’s not what she’s called now.” His raucous laughter echoed back and forth through the steamy room. “Puta! That’s her new name!”
Blinding rage propelled him forward in a vicious flurry of pounding fists. Seven against one was hopeless, but if he could just break through them and reach the open doorway…
He held his own, and even managed to drive them back…until a forceful punch connected with his jaw, and stabbing pain gashed through his stomach. Agony erupted through his body as more shanks plunged deep into his chest, his kidneys, his back.
Sudden silence fell as they stepped away. Dazed, he stared down at his naked body. Blood was streaming from over a dozen wounds, and spurting rhythmically from his chest.
The pain faded away, and was replaced by a spreading numbness.
Slowly he fell to his knees. He wavered there for a moment, glancing blearily around, trying to understand what was happening. Then his cheek was resting on the wet tile floor. He couldn’t remember falling, but he could see Jingles’ lifeless body a few feet away. Water from the relentless showers was washing his spilled blood down the nearest drain.
Raven…beautiful Raven. Visions of her filled his mind as the room began to darken.
Love you, baby. See you soon.
A door opened, and bright sunlight seared her eyes. She’d been kept secluded for so long, with only a dim lamp to chase back the shadows, that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness.
The brilliant light made her eyes water…and highlighted her grim situation in stark detail.
Her dank little room was old. The rough-hewn stone walls were barely more than a body’s length apart, and the roof was too low for her to stand upright. It smelled of mildew, cigarette smoke, and pungent carnal odors. The only two pieces of furniture were a small wooden table in one corner, and a rusted metal bed with squeaky springs. Its mattress was thin and cheap, and the few harsh, scratchy blankets crumpled haphazardly across it offered her bare skin more torment than comfort.
“Good morning, Raven.” Isabel’s bright, cheerful voice was wildly out of place. She stepped through the door, and laid her small tray on the table. “I have some breakfast for you, and some more medication.”
“Isabel…please…”
She knew the beautiful Latin woman would ignore her, but still she tried to plead for mercy. Death would have been preferable to this unending nightmare; she had no idea where she’d been taken, or how long she’d been held captive in this tiny cell. Her time was only marked by repeated heroin injections, and the bawdy grunts of men who came to use her as they chose.
Initially they’d had to force the potent drugs into her system. She’d fought, kicked, screamed…then gone lax as her mind had reeled, and her body had mindlessly obeyed any order she was given. Now she sat compliantly as Isabel jabbed the needle into her arm, and pumped the deadly brown liquid into her veins.
Though she would never have admitted it, she’d begun to like how it made her feel, and started looking forward to Isabel’s frequent visits.
“Stop it now, Raven,” Isabel lightly chided. “It’s just a little pick-me-up.”
“Don’t want it,” she breathed, even as her head began to swim pleasantly. “Let me go. Please.”
“Let you go?” Isabel’s amused chuckle echoed around the tiny room. “Why would we do that? The men here would be so disappointed!”
“Please.”
“Shhhh. Here, now, let’s get you fed.”
Her hands were the first things to go limp, so Isabel patiently fed her. She’d become a service animal, she realized distantly as the drugs coursed through her body, warming it, relaxing every muscle in a delicious pool of contentment. A slave, a whore for any man who wanted sex.
But her situation wasn’t really so bad, she thought with a dreamy sigh. Heroin made everything seem better. The men who used her, abused her…well, they were just doing what men did, and sex was just a pleasurable act. It didn’t mean anything.
She heard voices outside…rapid-fire Spanish followed by lusty laughs.
Isabel’s voice roused her from a hazy half-dream. “Bye, Raven. I’ll check in on you later. Your first boyfriend is here, though, and he wants to see you.”
“’Kay…”
The door closed, plunging the room back into shadowy darkness. Raven heard a belt being unbuckled, and clothes hitting the floor. The shape that loomed over her was big and fat. Hairy, naked, and pungent. She vaguely remembered him. Jose? Juan? At first she’d thought he stunk, but now she was inured to body odors, and just thought he smelled masculine.
She liked it when he went first; he was small, and never lasted long. He was also gentler than her other boyfriends. They were bigger, and rougher with her. Sometimes they hurt her so badly that it even penetrated through the lovely heroin haze. They always laughed when she cried out in helpless protest.
“Do you love me?”
“Yes, you stupid bitch. I love you. Now spread your legs.”
A slow, languid smile curved her lips as he yanked her legs apart, and pushed inside her with a grunt of satisfaction.
She slid her hands over his shoulders. It’s okay. He loves me.
Rowdy had lost all sense of time. The only thing left in his world was pain. It came in different sensations and flavors. Searing hot pain, creating an acid taste in his mouth. A dull aching pain that always tasted like smoke. A constant throbbing pain, hard and heavy, that tasted like blood.
Right now, for this short space of time, it was the smoky flavor. Dull ache. He was tied securely to a metal chair. Chico had left him alone for a few precious moments, apparently called away on important business. He let his head fall forward, and weakly tried to catch his breath.
Chico had been his constant companion ever since he’d woken here, in this hideous soundproof stone-walled prison. The man had taken vindictive pleasure in reminding him, in excruciating detail, how badly his son had been injured. He’d sworn to make Rowdy suffer as long as possible, and even brought in a doctor several times to stitch him up, administer potions, keep him alive just a little longer.
He remembered telling Shane that any death was preferable to slowly wasting away from Alzheimer’s. Now he knew better. Chico had exposed him to levels of pain he hadn’t imagined were possible.
They’d started by breaking his fingers, then removing them one at a time. Now only nubs and slashed palms remained. Then they’d smashed his toes with a sledgehammer before callously hacking them off.
He’d never walk or ride a motorcycle again.
He could have managed to survive with those injuries…but his fingers and toes weren’t the appendages he missed the most. Chico had castrated him. A little local anesthetic, some antiseptic…and Chico’s goons had held his eyes open, forcing him to watch in the dozens of mirrors strategically angled over his tightly bound body.
The bitch, Isabella…Isabel, he wearily corrected himself…had been there, too, smiling as she’d watched Chico emasculate him. She’d sneered at the bloody nub, stroked his hair, and taunted him that he was no longer a man.
Chico might call it justice, but it was brutal torture…and it continued and continued.
At first he’d fought…swearing, cursing, shouting his defiance. Now he’d sunk into hopeless apathy.
And still the abuse continued.
He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until icy water splashed against his mutilated body. Once, twice, three times. By then he was awake, alert, and desperately wishing they’d just let him die.
Chico stood before him, his expression dark, angry, and resolute.
“Wake up.” He slapped Rowdy so hard that his head snapped to one side. “I’m not done with you.”
He would never leave here alive; he understood that, and bleakly accepted it. But as he stared up at the furious Mexican drug lord, he saw the glimmer of a chance to end it. Defiantly, rebelliously, in a manner befitting a dangerous outlaw biker. Shane and Coke would be proud of him for facing his death courageously.
“Just kill me, you fuckin’ spic,” he growled, and managed to spit on Chico’s gleaming shoes. “Get it over with.”
Chico’s anger turned to rage. Furiously he gripped Rowdy’s bloodstained hair, and plowed his fist into his battered jaw.
Stars exploded against his eyes, and his mouth filled with the taste of blood. He recognized this pain; he’d tasted it before. But it wasn’t enough.
“Fuckin’ wetbacks. I should have killed your kid! Split his skull wide open, instead of leaving him in a wheelchair. Now he’s just a fuckin’ retard!”
“Shut up!”
“You may have cut off my cock and balls, but what’s worse, Chico?” he taunted, and forced an ugly laugh. “Not having them, or having them but not being able to use them? He’s a vegetable now. Not even Viagra’s going to help him get it up!”
Another punch, and another. Hard, heavy, and the taste of blood grew stronger.
Chico’s anger was growing with it. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth.”
Deliberately Rowdy egged him on. “He punched like a girl, a little muchacha. Just like you, Chico.” He sneered the drug lord’s name. “Pussies. Pinochas! All you Latin fucks are just pussies!”
Rage swelled to uncontrollable fury. Rowdy watched with an oddly-calm satisfaction as the man stepped back, quickly scanned the room, then grabbed something from a corner. His savage curses filled the air as he slapped the long carved, polished piece of wood against one palm.
Rowdy recognized the Louisville Slugger; it was the same kind of baseball bat he’d used to send a message so long ago. Fitting…and he was ready to embrace his destiny.
“Yeah, your little boy folded real easy.” He tried to laugh again, but it emerged as a weak cough. “He’d probably make a good bitch in prison. Instead of diapers, maybe you should put panties on that little fucker!”
Murderous hatred filled Chico’s eyes. An instant later, the bat whistled through the air, and slammed into Rowdy’s bare ribs.
Acid pain. The flavor erupted in his mouth. “You swing like a muchacha, too!” he croaked.
Again the bat exploded against his ribcage. Indescribable pain surged through his body, but now he had a goal, an opportunity, and he wasn’t going to waste it.
“Are you using two hands?”
Chico’s vicious curse rang in his ears. This time the bat smashed the back of his head. Stars filled his vision, and his ears rang. He barely even heard his own voice gasp, “Fuck you, and your fuckin’ kid!”
That was the final straw. All through the ordeal, Chico had kept his rage tightly controlled. Now it snapped. The bat swung again and again and again.
By the third blow, Rowdy felt himself sliding down into a warm, comforting pool of nothingness. It enveloped him, and wrapped him in blessed relief, as the blows continued to rain down on his broken, mutilated body.
A familiar figure was standing several feet away, as if waiting for him. Rowdy recognized the faded red baseball cap, the worn jeans, the white t-shirt. The man waved, and his eyes crinkled around the edges as his lips curved into a welcoming grin.
A faint smile curved Rowdy’s own lips just as his body went limp.
I’m coming, Dad.
Marcus was already prepping the bar when Sherrod strode in the door. He was feeling damned good about today’s meeting with Jingles’ attorneys. He’d nodded soberly throughout the entire meeting, and done his best to contain the excitement that had coursed through his body.
He hadn’t bothered telling them that they were wasting their time.
Jingles is done.
Several weeks ago, the Mexicans had carefully approached him. Jingles had picked the wrong business partners, they’d explained. Sherrod would make more money with them than with the Blades. They’d also discretely assured him of complete protection. He’d become the sole Meth distributor in Texas.
They’d only had one stipulation.
They’d made a compelling case, so he’d signed up. And it had all proceeded flawlessly. Shane had escaped their deadly net, but Jingles and he were both in prison. Within days, they would be dead.
The vast organization Jingles had forged was now his.
Marcus glanced up, and raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, Sherrod. How’s it going?”
“Good, man. Real good.”
“Heard from Jingles?”
“Nah. His lawyers are on it, so all we can do is wait.”
Marcus nodded, and slid a glass of cognac over to him. Classier than Scotch, he thought as he picked up the glass and took a sip.
“Dulce’s coming in tonight, right?”
Marcus glanced curiously at him. “Yeah. I thought you two were done.”
“It’s up in the air,” Sherrod explained with an idle shrug. “We both just need some space.”
“I hear ya.” Conscientiously the bartender began stacking clean glasses. “Want me to send her up when she gets here?”
“Yeah, do that. Thanks, Marcus.”
“No problem.”
Sherrod stepped into Jingles’ office. My office now. He took a moment to survey the room, and savored his victory. Jingles had been a good boss—smart, ruthless, and willing to coach and mentor him. He’d done a good job, too, and Sherrod had learned well. Now he had everything.
He’d miss Jingles, he admitted to himself. But not that much. Business came first.
The Mexicans had taken care of everything. The Blades were all dead; Jingles was in prison. Now they were cleaning up the last few details.
Just one more mess to clean up, he thought as he settled behind the desk and picked up the phone.
“Yeah. It’s me. She’s not here yet, but have your men wait in the club,” he instructed crisply. “I’ll bring her into my office, and you can handle it in here. It’s got a separate exit, so no one should see you leave. Just have your guys park around in back, and it’ll be easy.”
So far the fallout had been limited to Jingles’ arrest, but he knew law enforcement wasn’t done. Crystal had only been a mule, but she knew too much about the club and Jingles’ organization. She was a dangerous threat that needed to be eliminated. He made a mental note to call his Mexican contacts, and have them deal with her. That would mean less heat for his people. A good plan.
He spent the next several hours talking with Jingles’ other lieutenants and giving orders. No one questioned him.
Just like a prince inheriting a kingdom. It’s mine now.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his musings.
“Come in.”
Dulce stalked in, and slammed the door behind her. She was still wearing street clothes, and her purse was looped over one shoulder. She braced both hands on his desk, and glared down at him. “What the fuck do you want, Sherrod?”
She’d never wasted much time on pleasantries, but the unusually bright glint in her blazing eyes made him uncomfortable. I’m glad I cut the bitch loose. Fuckin’ crazy!
He raised both hands in a soothing gesture. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry it didn’t work out between us.”
“That’s it?” Her long hair flew as she jerked upright again. “You cut me loose, then tag-teamed that white bitch with Jingles, and you’re sorry? You knew I hated her, and you fucked her anyway!”
“Dulce…”
“No. Don’t fuckin’ bother! I loved you,” she snapped, “but you’re a dog…and just like a dog, you’ll fuck any skanky bitch!”
His own temper began to flare. “Enough!” he ordered, rising and jabbing a finger at her. “Remember who you’re talking to! You keep talkin’ shit, and I’ll fucking end you!”
“Oh, you’ll end me, huh?”
She shoved a hand into her purse, and yanked out a small revolver. The unnerving glint in her eyes brightened even more, and her hand began to shake as she aimed it at him.
Only five feet and Jingles’ desk separated them. She couldn’t miss.
His mouth went dry. “Easy, girl.”
“Fuck you!” Her eyes flooded with tears. “I loved you! I would’ve had your baby if you’d let me! We were perfect for each other, but you just had to cut me loose and fuck that blonde bitch!”
He swallowed a few times, and sweat popped out all over his lean frame. Her arms were trembling now, and so was her upper body. She looked like a tightly-coiled spring that could be triggered by anything.
“Dulce…I love you, too, honey,” he finally managed. “Believe me, Crystal…”
“No. Don’t say her name, not now. Not to me!”
“Okay, it’s cool. It’s cool,” he repeated breathlessly, and carefully motioned at the gun. “Just put that away, and let’s talk.”
“No…”
The office door slammed open with a loud crash. They both jolted—and the gun bucked in her hands. He never saw her finger jerk on the trigger, but the loud report echoed back and forth across the plush room. He ducked, but felt a sharp pain in his chest.
“Sherrod! I’m sorry, baby! I’m sorry! The door…it scared me, and I panicked! Baby, please be okay!”
He barely even heard her. She dropped to her knees, crying uncontrollably, but he couldn’t move. A strange numbness began to radiate through his chest. When he looked down, he saw a small hole in his shirt. He touched it, and his fingers came away wet with blood.
“Fuckin’ crazy bitch!” He meant to yell at her, but his voice emerged weak, breathless. The numbness spread, and he sagged down into his chair. His chest heaved as he tried to suck in more air.
Three Mexican men were standing cautiously in the door. The gunshot had startled them, too, and their guns were drawn. “Bitch shot me,” he gasped, and tried lifting an entreating hand.
They ignored him, and closed in on Dulce. One yanked her hands behind her back while another disarmed her, and the third looped coarse rope around her wrists. She was in such shock that she didn’t even try to fight them. Then one of them injected her with something, and her eyes fluttered closed.
His chest was engulfed in fire now, and he wheezed with every agonizing breath. Two of the men carried Dulce out Jingles’ private exit. The third man walked across the room, and stared impassively down at him. At first Sherrod thought he’d help him, or call for an ambulance. But he only studied him for a moment, then shook his head.
“Better this way,” he said calmly. “We had orders to kill you. Think we’d do business with someone who turned on his own people? Pendejo!”
Without another word, he turned and left the room. Sherrod stared helplessly after him, wishing he had the strength to pull out his cell phone and dial for help. But deadly weakness was spreading through his entire body.
He glanced around the room, trying to memorize every detail. It had been his, if only for a little while.
The boss. He’d made it that far.
When Tim finally regained consciousness, he could barely move. His entire upper body seemed to be encased in plaster and bandages. His eyes were still so swollen that he could barely force them open, and his mouth was desert-dry. He swallowed several times, then felt a straw press against his split lip. He drank greedily, and felt cool water glide down his throat. It tasted delicious, and he didn’t stop until the cup was empty.
“Good, huh?”
LeAnn’s face swam into view. He managed a wan smile that faded when he saw the tears in her eyes. She looked pale and tired, and her eyes were red and puffy. He wanted to reach up and stroke her face, but only his fingers would move. Understanding, she slid her hand inside his, and gently squeezed it.
He managed another reassuring smile, then drifted back to sleep.
Voices woke him the next time. His brain wasn’t as fuzzy now, and he took mental stock before opening his eyes. The bandages that had constrained his neck and head were gone. It still hurt to move, but at least now he could.
He didn’t have any idea how long he’d been unconscious, but it must have been quite a while, because this time he was able to see the room clearly.
Jeff, LeAnn, and his parents were clustered around the older man in a white coat who was obviously his doctor. When he noticed Tim was awake, he lifted a hand to forestall more questions, and smiled. “Welcome back, Mr. Heiser.”
Tim waited patiently while the doctor examined him. The light flashed into his eyes made him blink a few times, but it didn’t hurt the way he’d expected, and the rest was all routine. Pleased, the doctor made a few notations on his chart, then pronounced him rested enough to see visitors.
He reached for Jeff’s hand first, and clasped it tightly. “Thank you,” he whispered.
The thin cut on Jeff’s cheek was almost healed, and his well-earned shiner had faded to just a few purple smudges. Another indication of how long he’d been out of it, Tim realized. He must have been in really bad shape.
“My pleasure, buddy,” Jeff chuckled, then stepped back to let someone else take his place.
LeAnn and Tim’s mother both held out cups of water, then glanced at each other and laughed. Blushing, LeAnn set hers back on the table while Tim sipped from the other cup, and thanked them both. His mother insisted on hugging him tightly, but he didn’t mind. Then his father stepped forward and lightly squeezed his shoulder.
Fences mended, he realized, and nodded his silent understanding. They’d talk later, and everything would be fine. Tim’s mother left a few minutes later, explaining that she had to make a call, so he sat talking with Jeff, his father, and LeAnn.
Almost an hour passed before she popped back into the room, and announced he had more visitors.
“I called them,” she admitted sheepishly.
Then people started filing in from the hallway. He was embarrassed, but gratified, to see Rudy, and two of the firm’s partners, followed by his entire accounting team. They gave him an enormous get-well card that everyone had signed, hugged him, and pumped his hand.
The last person to arrive made his eyes widen in shocked surprise. Darla stepped forward to give him an awkward hug, and kissed his cheek. “Please call me when you get out of the hospital,” she whispered before straightening again.
“Yes, ma’am, I will.”
She chuckled softly, then excused herself and left again. His co-workers made tactful excuses, and followed her.
An uncomfortable silence filled the room after they’d gone, and everyone exchanged glances, trying to find something to say. Tim broke the tension by demanding, “Did my cap and gown get returned? I only rented them, you know, and they charge by the day.”
They all goggled at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Jerk,” LeAnn teased, playfully slapping his leg. “Yes, it’s been taken care of.”
“Good. It’s been on my mind lately,” he quipped with a wry grin.
His father started making small-talk with Jeff, and LeAnn and his mother joined in. He got the feeling they were waiting for something, but he didn’t mind. It was nice to have company. His whole outlook on life had changed since nearly getting killed. There were worse things than having his family and best friends close.
He watched LeAnn as she spoke to his parents, and had a hard time looking away. Her warm smiles stirred something inside him, made him look forward to being released.
Wow, she looks good.
Suddenly another man peeked through the doorway, and looked expectantly at Jeff and LeAnn. Tim was sure they’d never met before, but still he looked vaguely familiar. He watched in confusion while his parents rose, promised to visit him again later, and quickly left the room.
Jeff and LeAnn took seats at the back of the room when an older gentleman joined the first one, and entered the room. “Tim,” he said politely, and leaned down to shake Tim’s hand, “my name is Tom Brody. I’m with the FBI. Special Agent Bo Arnold is Jeff and LeAnn’s cousin, and one of the men who saved you.”
Tim shook Bo’s hand, too, and his quiet, “Thank you!” was sincere.
“The FBI got there after the Navy!” Jeff piped up from the back of the room.
“You’re welcome,” Bo replied, then ruefully jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Although the lion’s share of the credit rightfully belongs to the Navy,” he acknowledged, and winked at Tim. “You have no idea how that’s going to affect the holidays!”
Brody smiled indulgently at his colleague, then glanced back at Tim. “I wanted to take a few minutes and catch you up on everything that’s happened,” he said somberly. “The last two weeks since Jeff and Bo rescued you have been pretty exciting. Normally the FBI wouldn’t share this information with civilians, but given the circumstances, I’m making an exception.”
Two weeks! Tim was so dazed that he barely even remembered to nod.
“First, you and your family are safe,” Brody assured him. “The FBI and local police have set up a protection detail for your family at an undisclosed hotel. Officers and agents have also been stationed here at this hospital, so you’ve been under our protection, too.”
“Wow!” he murmured.
“You’re extremely lucky, you know. The people your wife was involved with were extremely dangerous, and so were their business partners and competitors.” Brody shot a quick glance at Bo, then continued, “There’s a lot I can’t tell you, but the media has already disclosed most of the facts, so I can share that information with you.
“First, the Lone Star Blades motorcycle club has effectively ceased to exist.”
Tim’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“That’s right. They’d taken over a competitor’s territory when they started manufacturing and distributing Crystal Meth. The competitors weren’t happy, so…”
“Jeez,” Jeff interrupted, and briskly stood up. “Just say it plainly. We’re going to be here all day at this rate, and Tim’s not really all that bright. He won’t understand if you don’t dumb it down for him.”
Tim’s muscles still ached, but his middle finger worked perfectly. Jeff shot him a mischievous grin, then leaned a hip against his bedframe. “Here’s the 411. The biker gang took over Mexican territory. They got paid a percentage, but the Mexican cartel still didn’t like giving up their territory. And apparently one of the bikers seriously hurt someone from the cartel who was highly connected, so they had business and personal reasons to go after the bikers.”
Bo started to speak, but Jeff nudged him. “Anyway, the Mexicans infiltrated the biker gang. They allowed loyal women to be recruited, and spent the last three years learning everything about the motorcycle club and its Meth operations. When the time was right, they struck, and took out nearly every club member they could find. Bingo. Done!”
Bo nudged Jeff back, and gestured for him to sit down again. Jeff lightly punched his cousin’s shoulder before obeying.
“That’s a more colorful description than I would have used, but it’s essentially correct,” Brody said stiffly.
Tim’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Well, sir, Jeff’s a Navy guy. They’re experts at dumbing things down, and providing colorful descriptions.”
Jeff cheerfully returned his middle-finger salute, and the senior FBI agent did his best to ignore their comical byplay. “There has been other activity, as well,” he said crisply. “Significant activity. Several strip clubs in San Antonio, Austin, Houston, and Dallas have been closed. They were being used to distribute Crystal Meth. The FBI has also rescued over thirty women who were being used in the sex trafficking business, or about to be used. It’s been a really busy two weeks,” he concluded with a wry smile.
“Sounds like it.”
“Your ex-wife, Crystal, actually provided a critical piece of information, though she didn’t intend to, and wasn’t even aware of it,” Bo confided.
Ex-wife now? His heart clenched a little. “How so?”
“Her GPS unit.”
“I understand you bought it for her when she started stripping,” Brody commented. “She used it religiously, so it held every single address she entered over the last several years. With it, we were able to compile a comprehensive map of drug and drug-related operations in and around San Antonio. It’s amazing how something so simple can provide so much usable intelligence.”
He remembered urging her to use the compact machine, but he hadn’t really thought she would. Slowly he took a deep breath. “What about Shane and Cliff? And that guy Jingles?”
“Cliff’s in prison!” Jeff interjected with obvious satisfaction. “He’s going to be there for a long time.”
Tim matched his gleeful smirk, and muttered, “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
“I know, right?” Jeff laughed. “I’m going to send him a care package. Soap on a rope.”
Tim started to laugh, but the pain in his battered ribs stole his breath.
Brody shot a quelling look over his shoulder. “Do you mind if I continue?”
Jeff spread both hands in amused apology.
“Shane and Jingles are both dead,” he told Tim. “They were killed in jail. It’s too early to be certain, but we believe the Mexican cartel killed them. Again, all of this has been reported by the media, so it’s public information.”
“They were both found dead in the showers,” Bo added with a wolfish grin. “Multiple stab wounds. It’s kind of poetic, really, because they were cellmates when they were in prison the first time.”
“Wow.” Tim closed his eyes, tried to make sense of it all.
“Two people remain unaccounted for,” Brody continued. “A woman called Raven, and the last remaining biker, Rowdy. We haven’t been able to locate either of them.”
“Given what happened to the rest of the gang, it’s likely they’re dead…or worse,” Bo murmured. Then, when Brody frowned at him, he quickly added, “That’s just speculation, of course.”
The sudden silence made Tim realize what hadn’t been said. He glanced around the room, but only LeAnn was willing to meet his searching gaze. She sat down on the edge of his bed, and took his hand.
“And Crystal?”
Brody glanced at her, and gave his tacit permission to answer Tim’s plaintive question.
“She’s in jail,” she admitted. “She’s being charged with several crimes, including drug trafficking, drug possession, and prostitution. It looks like she’ll end up in prison for a long time.”
It was humiliating, but he couldn’t stop tears from flooding his eyes. She squeezed his hand and handed him a tissue, then waited until he’d regained control of his bruised emotions. “You were also served with divorce papers this week,” she said quietly. “There’s no rush, but when you’re ready, I’ll bring them to you.”
He hadn’t thought he could feel any more pain, but her sober words sent another dagger slicing through his aching heart. “She really was serious,” he murmured.
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Brody conceded. “But I think I speak for everyone when I say you handled yourself extremely well under difficult circumstances, and for a prolonged period of time.”
Tim shook his head. “I think you’ve mistaken me for Jeff or Agent Arnold.”
“No,” Brody said firmly. “You’ve consistently demonstrated loyalty, integrity, and honesty.” He moved to the side of the bed, and laid a bolstering hand on Tim’s shoulder. “As part of our investigation, I’ve spoken with your friends, family, and just about everyone at your accounting firm. You’ve been scrupulously honest about the money Crystal earned from dancing, and that’s highly unusual. You also showed a tremendous amount of empathy and support to someone addicted to Meth. Finally, you never once gave up on her, even though it almost cost you your life.”
“You also faced a life-threatening situation without flinching,” Jeff piped up. “And believe me that requires a level of courage few men ever display. It was damned impressive, actually.”
The more they listed his qualities, the more embarrassed he became. But LeAnn was smiling at him, and somehow that made it all okay.
“Thank you, sir,” he said earnestly, splitting his glance between Brody and Bo. “You, too, Jeff.”
Both agents shook his hand, and turned to leave. Then Brody glanced back over his shoulder. “One last thing, Tim.”
“Yes, sir?”
“It might interest you to know that the FBI recruits accounting graduates. I understand you’ve received offers from three accounting firms in San Antonio…but when you get out of the hospital, I’d like you to stop by our office. A career with the FBI could be in your future.” Then he glanced at LeAnn, and his smile widened. “Why don’t both of you visit our office?”
They left then, and nodded to the policeman standing guard just outside the door.
Tim released a deep breath, and let his head fall back on the pillow. “I’m blown away,” he exclaimed. “I can’t believe so much has happened!”
“I know.” LeAnn nodded. “We’ve been glued to the hotel TV, so we’ve seen every media report. The FBI won’t allow us to give any statements, so it’s been frustrating. But Bo’s been sharing as much information as the FBI will allow.”
Jeff saw the way they were smiling at each other, and stuck his finger down his throat. “And I’m outta here,” he teased, and quickly left.
Suddenly they both felt awkward, and exchanged several nervous glances.
“Tim…”
“LeAnn…”
They both spoke at once, then laughed and relaxed.
“LeAnn,” he tried again, “I have so many things to say to you, I don’t even know where to begin. I guess I’ll start with ‘thank you.’ For checking up on me that night, for being my study partner and best friend…for everything. It’s not enough, but I’ll start there.”
“Yes, it is,” she quietly objected, but her gaze dropped, and he sensed that she was disappointed.
“No, it’s not,” he insisted. “I’m a mess right now, physically and emotionally…but I do know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
He released an unsteady breath. “You’re the most important person in my life, and I don’t ever want that to change. I don’t want to be ‘just friends’ with you anymore. I want more. I need more. I need you, LeAnn.”
Her head snapped up, and she looked deeply into his eyes. Then she began to smile. “I really needed to hear that from you,” she whispered, and leaned across the bed to kiss him. Tears flooded her eyes as she stared down at him. “I need you in my life, too.”
“Good,” he grinned. “Get used to it, because you’re going to hear it a lot.”
His neck screamed with pain, but he didn’t let that stop him from kissing her back…again and again and again.
Out in the hallway, Bo and Jeff exchanged mischievous glances, then peeked cautiously around the corner. They quickly stepped back again, exchanged high-fives, and returned to the waiting room.
“Could be worse, y’know,” Bo commented, smirking at his cousin.
“Oh, yeah? How’s that?”
“She could have fallen for a Navy guy.”
He just barely managed to duck Jeff’s friendly punch.