An Ill Wind Read online

Fee inhaled sharply. Chavez’s expression was livid. His acid yellow eyes had turned dark with his rage. “Watch your tongue, puta. You will treat me with respect.” He shook her. “Do not ever forget I hold your life in my hands.”

  Fee took two full breaths and worked her jaw. Just bruised, but she wasn’t sure that side of her face could take the brunt of his anger again without something breaking.

  Oddly enough, she was more pissed than scared at his latest aggression. But respect? Never. But she would have to be careful … be smarter than Chavez in order to survive.

  Trey and Price could even now be on their way to rescue them. She wanted to be alive when they arrived.

  Aznar moaned.

  Chavez thrust her from him and began to unstrap. “See to your patient.”

  Fee mentally prepared herself to be braced against Chavez’s body as she cared for Aznar. Unfortunately, it was a necessity. The first time she’d unstrapped to work on her patient, she’d bounced off the cabin wall when the chopper hit rough air. Chavez had used his body to buffer her from the worst of the bumps. When she’d cringed away from him, he’d threatened to have Garcia slice Pia’s face if Fee didn’t allow him to touch her. It was that first time he’d made it clear she was to tell him each time before she moved about the cabin.

  She’d do what she felt necessary to treat her patient. Besides, why should Chavez care if her body was black and blue from bouncing around the helicopter cabin? The bastard would rape her with or without accompanying contusions. Maybe if she was one big bruise from top to bottom, he wouldn’t desire her any longer.

  Fat chance. The beast’s got your scent now. He’ll harry you until he gets what he wants.

  Just like Adam-fucking-Stall.

  Fee grabbed the handle on the cabin wall to steady herself, then shuffled the two steps to the gurney and dropped to her knees beside the unconscious cartel leader. She touched his forehead with the back of her hand and swore under her breath. If anything, he was hotter than the last time she’d taken his temperature.

  “What is wrong?” Chavez knelt behind her, fencing her in with his loathsome bulk. “He is very red. Sweating. Is it the pain or is—”

  “Hush up and give me a second,” Fee snapped. Chavez’s body stiffened behind her and she prepared to be hit again, but he didn’t do or say anything. Letting out a shaky breath, she took her patient’s pulse. “Shit, shit, shit. Way too fast.”

  She then took Aznar’s temp using the ear thermometer from the kit. Her stomach pitched at the number. It was 104. It had gone up two more degrees.

  Chavez took the thermometer from her and grunted. “Talk to me. What do you need?”

  “What do I need? I need a fucking hospital with a surgeon and an infection disease specialist—now. An hour ago would’ve been better.” She angled her head and looked at him. “The gut wound is infected.”

  The helicopter took that moment to bounce around like The Beast roller coaster at King’s Island Amusement Park.

  Fee inhaled and swallowed the bile that threatened to rise up as she was bounced back and forth between the gurney and Chavez’s body, then her stomach hit the edge of the gurney extremely hard and at a bad angle. She cried out in pain and tried to keep from continuing forward to fall on top of Aznar who screamed from pain and a fever-induced delirium.

  “Mierda.” Chavez grabbed her and angled his body to keep her from being tossed onto his boss.

  Finally, the helicopter pilot found calmer air and the chopper stopped its rabid jumping bean imitation.

  “Thanks.” Fee panted through the pain in her upper abdomen just under her ribs. When she could take a full breath without wanting to bawl, she shoved out of Chavez’s hold and turned her attention back to Aznar. “Since I have none of what I need, get me all the gel ice packs from the two kits, two more doses of the Keflex…”

  So what if she killed his kidneys with an overdose of antibiotics. If she didn’t get his fever down, the infection would finish him off. “… and try to keep me from flying around the damn cabin.”

  Chavez grunted, then muttered, “Just keep him alive. We have what is needed at the castelo in Madera.”

  The castle in Madera?

  God, how would Trey and her brother find them? The clues she’d left had been so general.

  Have faith in SSI. Keely will figure it out. Trey and Price will come.

  Yeah, Keely Walsh-Maddox was a genius. Chavez and his cartel home boys had to have left a trail of clues for Trey’s sister-in-law to follow. It was just a matter of time.

  “Then you’d better get us there in a hurry. He’s out of time,” Fee said.

  Time also wasn’t on her and Pia’s side. Chavez had made it clear in gut-turning detail how he’d bed her. Fee didn’t want to think what might happen to Pia, a woman Chavez seemed to have no interest in other than using her as a hostage against Fee’s cooperation.

  So, once Fee was on the ground and had gotten a lay of the land, she and Pia would do what all good prisoners are obligated to do—try to escape.

  “What can I do, Fee?” Pia’s soft voice came out of the darkness. Those were the first words friend had uttered since they’d left New Mexico.

  “Just stay strapped in, Pia. Chavez has enough medic training to assist and seems to know how to ride with the air currents. No need for both of us to be black-and-blue.”

  “To hell with that, Fee. You need me. I’m there.” Pia sounded mad and that was much better than frightened, shocked silence.

  “Mi hermana, do as the doctor says.” Ernesto’s words were not quite as slurred as they’d been earlier that evening. He was finally coming down off whatever drug he’d taken. She’d given him nothing for his wound on Chavez’s orders.

  Pia looked at her brother and hissed, “Shut up, Ernesto. You have no rights over me any longer. You hit nuestra madre. You brought your cartel business buddies to my friend’s house.” She turned away from him. “You are no longer mi familia.”

  “Pia…” Ernesto pleaded.

  “Shut up, Lopez,” Chavez ordered. “He hit his mother?”

  Fee almost laughed at the look of disgusted shock on the face of a ruthless cartel enforcer. Guess, it was true—even bad men could love their mothers.

  Since Pia didn’t answer, Fee did. “Yes, she has two cracked ribs and a severely bruised hip.”

  Ernesto moaned and closed his eyes. Now, he felt bad. Asshole.

  “Mierda.” Chavez handed her the two doses of the antibiotics she asked for and then he began activating the gel packs and packing Aznar’s body with them.

  After injecting the meds into the IV, she pumped up the blood pressure cuff. “Shit.” She took the pressure again. “Fuck. I thought we had him stabilized, but the pressure is dropping again.” With all the jostling, she shouldn’t be all that surprised that the bleeding was worse.

  “What can we do?” Chavez asked.

  “What we’re doing. Keep pushing fluids and antibiotics. Only a surgeon can help him now—if he doesn’t bleed to death first,” she mumbled under her breath. “How far are we from this surgeon you promised?”

  “Fifteen minutes or so,” Chavez replied, a grim look on his face.

  Aznar choked, gasped, stiffened, and then went limp.

  “Shit, fuck, shit. He doesn’t have fifteen minutes.” She pushed Chavez away from her and then climbed over Aznar and began chest compressions. “Someone needs to bag him.”

  “I’ll do it.” Chavez grabbed the bag from the kit and picked up her rhythm, giving Aznar air as Fee fought for the life of a murdering drug dealer.

  CHAPTER 6

  March 23rd, 9:00 p.m.

  Just outside of Columbus, New Mexico

  Trey stood next to Levi and stared at a body who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He and Levi had arranged to meet Price and the rest of the SSI backup team at this remote ranch from which the cartel had taken off a little over two hours ago for the approximately two-hour chopper flight to Madera.

>   Keely’s appropriation of intel from two different spy satellites, neither of them belonging to the United States, had given them highly accurate intel. Photos of the landing at the ranch by what looked to be a Mexican Army Black Hawk helicopter had occurred right around the time Trey had arrived at Fee’s house. The U.S. Border Patrol and Homeland Security had no fucking clue what was going on in this no-man’s land blind spot along the border. If the Mexican government had a clue on their side, Trey would be very much surprised.

  When he and Levi had arrived to await the SSI team, they’d found five agitated horses hovering around the man’s body as if guarding it. They’d urged the horses into the corral to the side of the barn and shut the gate.

  Levi spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Get the crime scene crew and the coroner out to Joe Blanca’s ranch. Yes, now, Charlene. The buzzards have already been at him.” Levi looked to the star-filled, moonless, night sky and mouthed, “Why me, Lord?”

  Trey bit back a totally inappropriate under the circumstances chuckle. But he’d met Charlene when he’d first stopped by the Luna County Sheriff’s office not long after Fee had moved to New Mexico. Charlene looked to be about twenty years old and had purple hair with blue streaks and more piercings than a heavy metal band. Her accent was all New Jersey as was her attitude. Why the girl had moved to the middle of fricking nowhere New Mexico, he hadn’t asked, but she had a lot to learn about dead bodies and wilderness conditions.

  “Charlene, you also need to figure out where Joe’s wife is and get someone to her to break the news.” He turned to look at Trey. “Yes, Duke’s in charge while I’m in the field. Then learn to get along with him for my sake, okay? Roger that and out.”

  “In the field?” Trey walked toward the corral. The horses needed fed. “When are you going to break it to them that ‘in the field’ translates going AWOL for a while?”

  Levi paced him. “Called Duke while you were coordinating shit with your people. He knows what’s going on and will cover for me as long as he can.” He opened the gate and let Trey precede him, then closed it. The horses eagerly nudged the two men. “I wanted to be ready to go when our transport and backup got here.”

  They petted the horses who were still upset from the smell of recent death on top of being hungry. “Joe was probably getting ready to feed the stock when the helicopter landed. They shot him down like a dog.”

  Trey followed Levi into the barn. “You know what that means, right?”

  “We go in hard and don’t take names.”

  “Roger that,” Trey said.

  Levi’s expression was fierce as he put his foot on the first rung of the ladder to the loft where the alfalfa was stored. “I’ll toss out enough hay so Joe’s wife won’t have to worry about it for a while.”

  “It’s the least we can do.” Trey climbed up after Levi. His satphone buzzed with a text push. After he stood in the hay loft, he pulled his phone off his belt and read the message with grim satisfaction. “Price and the gang just landed in Deming. They’re checking out the Black Hawk Ren arranged and loading the gear they brought from Sanctuary. They’ll be here soon.”

  Trey texted in his acknowledgment, added the info about the ranch being a crime scene and that they should land farther away from the outbuildings, and sent it. “With the holes in the radar in this area and the moonless night, we can leave from here without too much notice.”

  After all, the cartel fucks had done so.

  Trey was already mentally composing a terse report to Homeland and the Border patrol about their shitty defense of United States’ borders. From information extrapolated from the satellite photos, the cartel chopper pilot hadn’t even bothered to fly under the radar, but DJ would.

  They could easily, and legally, cross the border and drive to Madera, which was a fairly straight, five-plus hour drive on Mexico Highway 10. However, the area closer to Madera was rugged with mountain roads that were death traps, being narrow with a lot of switchbacks.

  Getting in and out of Madera quickly and safely was the goal. A chopper was the most efficient mode of transportation, plus it gave them an offensive advantage, if needed.

  “I know a Black Hawk has a 320 nautical mile range and Madera is just over 181 nautical miles away. We’ll need to refuel eventually. How are we going to find quality fuel?”

  Levi’s question was a logical one, but he didn’t look all that concerned about it.

  “The Black Hawk is fitted with extra tanks. That said, we want that extra fuel for emergencies. That’s why after we get there, Tweeter and DJ will be in charge of appropriating fuel and standing by to extract us. Keely has already noted several potential fuel sources.”

  Levi’s mouth widened into an unholy smile. “Shit, just like in Afghanistan. Me and my unit liberated a lot of things while doing recon.”

  The sheriff’s classified Army file had been interesting reading. Levi had been a Ranger and a damn good one with enough privately awarded medals and commendations to bling up his dress uniform if he’d been allowed to wear them openly. He’d participated in some black ops for SOCOM just as Trey had during his time with Force Recon. Trey bet Ren was already figuring a way to recruit the talented Native American for SSI.

  “I know Price.” Levi used a pulley system and hooked a large bale of alfalfa and swung it out the double-doors and released it into the corral. The bale burst apart as it hit the hard ground and the horses eagerly began to eat. “But who are Tweeter and DJ?”

  “DJ Poe, now DJ Walsh, is a former Army helicopter pilot. I’d trust her flying me into a war zone with shit exploding all around. Several of her military missions are classified, just like some of yours and mine are. She did several tours in the ‘Stan and also worked in Central and South America flying support in the joint missions to halt drug trafficking from the South American cartels into the U.S.”

  Levi’s grunt was approving. He hooked another bale with Trey’s help and sent it out the hay mow door as he had the previous one.

  “And this Tweeter?” Levi sat at the edge of the open hay mow and stared at the sky. “And what the fuck kind of name is that?”

  “Tweeter’s a tech genius. His real name is Stuart Walsh, but DJ usually calls him Ace.” Trey chuckled. “He might be the youngest of Keely’s brothers and may not have gone into the military like his four older brothers and his dad, but he’s had as much training as a Force Recon Marine. His dad is Lt. Colonel Kennard Walsh who has kicked more than a few Marine trainee butts in his day. Tweeter’s also a pilot, both rotor and fixed wing, plus a damn good mountaineer and rock climber. He married DJ several weeks ago, and they just returned to the States from their honeymoon. I’d trust both of them with my life and, more importantly, with Fee’s.”

  Levi turned to look at him. “That’s good enough for me.” He pointed toward the northeast. “Your people are coming. Let’s get down there and meet them.”

  CHAPTER 7

  March 23rd, 9:30 p.m.

  El Hacha’s Compound, Madera, Mexico

  As soon as the helicopter landed, the gurney was off-loaded and Fee resumed doing chest compressions straddling Aznar’s body as Chavez ran alongside. After the gurney was shoved into a small brightly lit building and then into what looked to be a fully equipped surgical suite, Chavez lifted her off Aznar, and several people clothed in scrubs moved in to take over her patient.

  This was her patient. These people knew nothing of what had or hadn’t been done. Her job wasn’t complete until she made her report and officially turned over Aznar’s welfare to another qualified medical professional. She hadn’t worked to the point of exhaustion to keep him alive to fall down on her professional responsibilities at this point.

  With no sleep in over twenty-four hours and no food since the half-eaten breakfast burrito she’d had that morning, Fee was operating on sheer pigheadedness and a dyed-in-the-wool sense of duty.

  “Let go.” She shrugged off Chavez’s hold. “I have to give the medical personnel a report on
the patient.”

  “I say your job is done now.” Chavez placed an arm around her waist, pulled her more tightly against his body, and then fondled her ass. “I have other uses for you.”

  The world faded in and out as the heat of nausea swept over her, but she’d be damned if she let this bastard tell her what to do. Plus, she’d rather collapse in a dead faint than allow him to touch her.

  “Fuck you. Let … me … go.” She jerked away from him and stumbled three short steps toward the man who looked to be in charge of her patient.

  Chavez swore viciously as he followed closely on her heels. “Report to Dr. Vasilov, quickly.”

  And she did so.

  While Fee turned her patient over to Dr. Vasilov, Chavez came to stand next to her, his body touching her, shoulder to hip. She inched away.

  Chavez growled. “Do not move away from me.”

  His barely leashed rage felt like a fire storm licking over her skin.

  Dr. Vasilov winced and shook his head at her. Was he warning her?

  Fuck, Fee. Cool your jets. Even this guy knows not to tempt a raging lunatic. You need to be in condition to run if help arrives.

  When help arrived. Trey would come. She knew it with every molecule of her being.

  “Doctor, thank you for your report. I have this.” Dr. Vasilov’s English was excellent and spoken with an Eastern European or Russian accent. “Go, rest … eat … or you will be my next patient.”

  Fee acknowledged his advice and the unspoken warning with a slight tip of her head, then turned to walk away. She wobbled as her knees gave way and dizziness overwhelmed her. The reserve energy upon which she’d been operating since well before they’d left the States had finally run out. The world fell away in a kaleidoscope of colors and flashes of light and finally into darkness. She hit the ground hard.

  ****

  March 24th, just before dawn

  Fee awoke slowly. Her bruised body twinged and throbbed as she shifted position. She was lying on a comfortable mattress and was covered by a thick comforter. Smooth linen sheets were soft against her skin—all her skin.