Bulletproof Princess (20 page)

Looking a little shaken, but resolved, Mack’s partner stepped outside while Eli and Bex coordinated with the Chief.

“You okay staying with Ms. Whitecrow?” Bex asked her earnestly as she checked her gun’s clip and pocketed an extra. The team was setting up around the house and arrangements had been made to put an officer on Conchita, just in case.

As much as she wanted to go with them, she knew there was damn little she could do to help. “Do I have a choice?”

Ange came back inside only long enough to get Bex. “You do not.” To Bex, she barked, “Eli and the team’re in place. Roll out.” With a last tense smile that looked more like a grimace of pain, they were gone and she was left in the station with the dispatcher.

A young woman, probably only a little younger than herself, sat at a desk with a switchboard-looking radio and a single telephone. In the corner was a small flatscreen showing an episode of the First 48.

Cassie took a seat gingerly next to her desk, noting the open organic chemistry book and the spiral notebook not unlike the one she kept in Betsy’s case, also full of scribbles. “Thank you for having me.”

The woman scoffed, “Are you kidding? They will be talking about this for years! You are easily the biggest thing to hit this town since…well, ever, I guess.”

Hearing it put that way, Cassie cringed. She hated bringing upheaval into people’s lives, regardless of her celebrity status. “I’m still grateful.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” the young woman replied as she pushed an open pack of gum in Cassie’s direction. “So, I gotta know…”

Cassie raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“How was kissing Chris Young in your video?”

The question caught her off guard and she laughed, appreciating the attempt at distraction. She unwrapped the violet gum and popped a piece in her mouth. “Actually, it was kind of perfect.”

* * *

Whoever said they would rather die with an arrow in their forehead instead of one in their back had never been shot in the leg and subsequently trucked across the desert on the back of an ATV,
Mack reasoned as consciousness returned to him once more. He’d been in and out since he’d been hit, and though Chuy had—for reasons he feared he would be finding out shortly—tied off the wound, the blood loss was still noticeable in every breath and woozy motion.

Opening his eyes was a dicey proposition since he felt like he’d sustained a concussion during the fight. Something about the table and his head, or something…he wasn’t quite clear on that, but he did remember giving as good as he got, at least, right up until the gunshot. And as much as he thought he was a badass and could take anything, his leg fucking hurt.

Focus, he needed to focus, if he was going to get out of there and find Cassie. God, he hoped she’d gotten out okay…

Concentrating made his brain hurt more, and the nausea that threatened him was back with a vengeance. But at least now he knew where he was. From the feel of the ground under his ass and the unyielding and jagged rock digging into his arms which had been secured behind his back. Even without looking, he knew he was in the canyon.

“No, I
had
the situation under control until
someone
sent me a goddamn text! What the hell? I
told
you I would contact you when I was
done
. What part of that did you not understand?” Chuy was chewing someone out seriously, and something about the condescending tone, the cadence, seemed unreasonably familiar.

Mack was so busy trying to place it that he kind of drifted off, only coming back when Chuy smacked him across the face. He squinted up into his captor’s smiling face.

“Morning, sunshine.” Satisfied his victim was conscious, he stepped away and picked something up from the ground. “You know, I found this place last night while I was scouting the best point of entry to the house. It’s beautiful… in an indigenous way.” He made it sound like he was reviewing an art show and found it lacking. Even a compliment was a weapon, which, again, reminded Mack of someone familiar to him. “Hey.”

Mack blinked up at him, feeling consciousness come flooding back to him again with a prick in his arm. He looked down to see Chuy kneeling as he injected him with something, and suddenly his mind washed clear of the haze it had been in, and his heart tripped over in his chest as it beat double-time. “What the hell did you do to me?”

Chuy rose to his feet and walked back across the cave to a black canvas duffle next to a large tailgate cooler. “You won’t be asking me that in a minute.”

“What the hell does that mean?” The confidence and joy in the hitman’s voice had Mack scrambling to get his limbs to work and get him out of there. That feeling doubled when he saw the spark of flint in the muted light of the cave and heard the blowtorch fire up. “Oh, fuck no!” The more he moved, the less coordinated he became as the panic settled over him.

Mack saw the X-shaped iron brand in his hand as he stepped through a shaft of light. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was coming next, only how long he’d be conscious for it.

“I prefer you be awake for this.” The brand was red hot and lightening by the moment. “So, as a formality, I should ask.”

“Ask what?” The closer the man moved to him with his implements, the more Mack feared he would die of a heart attack before anything else happened. It was probably more merciful.

“Do you know where I can find Cassie?” Each word was deliberate, like a taunt, because he planned to do whatever he wanted anyway.

Her blue eyes flashed through his mind. Her sweet smile, the feel of her laying on his shoulder as she slept after making love… He could no sooner put her through this than he could cut off his own balls. Even if he did know where she’d gone, he’d never give her to this monster. “I don’t.”

Chuy nodded grimly and moved closer to him. Mack could feel the heat of the branding iron from less than a foot away. “If you tell me,” he whispered as he applied the iron to the right side of his chest, “I’ll make this quick.”

Mack’s screams echoed though the cave, the smell of burning hair and ham, the sizzle of skin as all of his senses rioted and his brain fought to shut down. “I don’t know where she is!” he screamed it over and over again.

Between each application, the hitman asked the same question and received the same answer. Each time he answered, he got the iron, leaving a row of marks down his body, each lower than before.

Every time Mack was just about to pass out, Chuy would hit him or douse him with cold water from the cooler, or inject him again. It was a ceaseless carousel of pain, and all he could do was hope either his heart would give out or his brain would, and neither seemed obliging.

“Okay, I’m bored,” Chuy declared as he dunked the iron into the water of the cooler. The hiss was loud, and the steam rising into the air was a welcome sight.

“I’m sorry I’m not as entertaining as you hoped,” Mack wheezed around the pain. It was coming in waves now, ricocheting and echoing off each and every wound.

The assassin shook his head as he rifled through the duffle bag. “On the contrary, I must admit, you held out a great deal longer than I expected.” When he got to his feet again, he had the gun from earlier in his hand. “I’ll have to check the records, but I do believe you might be the record.”

Mack was too tired to come up with a glib comeback, and his will to keep fighting was rapidly depleting with each pained heartbeat. He closed his eyes as the gun barrel touched his temple, the metal soothing cool against his skin. Just another breath, maybe two, and all of this would be over. He only hoped he’d bought Cassie enough time to get away.

“I’ll still get her.”

It was the last thing Mack heard before the gunshot echoed through the crevasse, only instead of sweet relief, he was still in pain. Opening his eyes, he hadn’t moved, but Chuy was writhing on the ground with an extremely pissed off Bex standing over him. If he hadn’t been tortured for the last hour or so, he’d have felt pity for the other man.

Ange and Eli were with him, helping him to his feet and getting him out to the mouth of the canyon. The ambulance waiting there with the two Navajo paramedics looked like a mirage to him. His legs collapsed out from under him right as his friends were helping him on the gurney.

Right before they loaded him up, he pulled Ange’s arm until she leaned in close so he didn’t have to speak up, thankfully. His throat was raw from the earlier screaming. “How did you find me?” he rasped as one of the med techs installed an IV in his arm.

“Eli tracked you and Chuy into the desert from the ATV treads, but when the trail went cold, he called Cassie.” His partner smiled softly at him, and he felt so guilty for the way they’d argued earlier. “She really came through for you, Mackenzie.”

Mack nodded and closed his eyes with a smile. He cupped Ange’s cheek and whispered. “Thank her for me. And thank you, so much, for finding me.”

His partner’s lips trembled as her eyes began to shine, and she nodded to one of the medics who was sitting next to his IV port. “I’m going to go check on Cassie, okay, Mack?”

He couldn’t answer because the medic was talking to him about the shot he was going to get, and then darkness. Pain free, blissfully cool darkness. “Damn, what took you so long?”

When his cousin didn’t call him after what he deemed was an appropriate amount of time, Austin began the long journey to his last known location. Somewhere in the middle of the desert, with the coordinates Daviess had forwarded to his phone, he hoped to find his cousin disposing of at least one corpse, though probably two. He wasn’t one to be picky.

What he found when he got there, though, made his blood run colder than the air conditioning blowing on him. At the base of Jefferson Peak he was stopped by a Navajo County deputy and had to badge his way up. “Who the hell buys a whole damn mountain?” he muttered to himself as he began his ascent in his sedan.

The scene at the top was even more disturbing with uniforms everywhere scurrying about in blue nitrile gloves with evidence bags. The types and numbers of cars told the real story, though. From black, blue, and brown unmarked, to the collection of Fords, Chevy Tahoes, and Dodge Chargers that made the long and elegant driveway look like a dealership, Grambling could see every agency in the eastern half of the state wanted a piece of the action. As he parked behind a brand new Tahoe owned by the Arizona Highway Patrol, a feeling of dread stole over him. Failure was not an option as far as Guillermo was concerned if he wanted to remain breathing, and from where he sat, it looked like the probability of his failure was extremely high. Unless…

He stilled his mind with a deep breath. He could salvage this. It’d require some maneuvering, but he could forge some pieces together to at least contain the situation while he worked out a solution for the long term. Okay, he thought as he opened his car door and stepped onto the scene. If he had to break every leg and burn this palatial estate to the ground, he would if it meant he could maintain his plan.

A couple of questions to the first officer he found, and he was directed to the Incident Commander. A tall man, with sharp features and a harried expression, he was dressed in the black fatigues and shirt of someone who’d just finished an op. He paced in a tight circle as he spoke into his cell.

“All right, Theresa. I’ll see you shortly, and I am sorry for interrupting your day off.” He paced away again as he said his goodbyes, and Austin stepped up so he could be his next order of business.

“Excuse me.” The man faced him fully, and that was when Grambling recognized him as a man he’d met during the office remodel and his move to the Las Vegas branch of WITSEC. Austin offered his hand. “Inspector Miller, isn’t it?”

“One of two.” He nodded sharply and looked back down at his phone as it chirped.

“From the Vegas office, right?”

“The same.” The tall man sighed impatiently as he texted someone back. “Something I can help you with, Grambling?”

Austin started at the use of his name, a bit put off that he’d been deprived of his favorite part, currying immediate deference solely by virtue of his badge. “Yes, Inspector, I need a SitRep.” It was his due as the highest ranking law enforcement officer out there.

A man in a cowboy hat with long black braids and a Tribal Police uniform approached Eli. “So we’re good down at the canyon. The crime scene guys are gonna take care of everything down there, and I just got a page that the coroner’s van is down at the end of the drive.” He shook his head in a mix of sadness and disgust. “I’m not looking forward to telling his mother.”

Eli nodded. “I don’t blame you. Poor bastard just got in the way of the wrong person. It’s a damn shame.”

The tribal police officer hummed his agreement. “At least I can tell her the suspect’s in custody. Bex is on her way back up here with him now.”

Just hearing the word ‘suspect’ had Austin breaking into a sweat that was fortunately covered by the blistering heat of the afternoon sun. “So, then, you do have Hinojosa in custody?”

Eli ignored the question and asked the officer, “He say anything yet?”

“Nah, lawyered up immediately, but that wasn’t unexpected.”

Austin examined the man’s uniform closer as he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his neck. The nametag said ‘Chief Roger Smith’ of the Navajo Tribal Police. What the hell were they doing down here?

Eli’s phone chirped in his hand. “Have we got the horse situation dealt with yet, Chief?”

The older man with the red skin and wizened features removed his hat and mopped his brow with his arm before answering. “Yeah, I’m gonna have one of the boys bring it back on a trailer, though with Chris gone now, I guess we’ll figure something out. Homeowner’s clear on the state of the house?” He replaced his hat and cast a glance over his shoulder at the imposing mansion’s façade with a ceaseless stream of people going in and out.

Tapping on his phone’s screen, the Marshal nodded. “Spoke to the maid and she’s going to get that sorted out once we’re done.”

“Good.” The Chief looked down the driveway. “The medics are here and the coroner’s behind them.”

Their blatant dismissal galled him. “Thank you, Chief, that’ll be all. Inspector Miller, I’ll be assuming Incident Command.” It was reasonable for a couple reasons, the most important of which was he could control the outcome a helluva lot better if he were in charge.

“It’s not your case,” Eli replied with a shrug, as if that explained everything. He and the Chief went to greet the Navajo med techs, leaving Austin standing in the growing shadow of the fountain in the center of the driveway.

He stalked over to the men and scared the paramedics off with the strength of his glare alone. “I’m sorry, maybe I didn’t make myself clear. I am the Deputy Chief Marshal of the Arizona Territory, and I
am
assuming command of this scene.” He’d have preferred the polite approach, but given the time constraints on dealing with his cousin and insulating his benefactor, he’d do what he had to.

Eli’s smile reminded Austin of a shark, his voice polite and cold enough to cause a frost, “I have been pursuing this suspect in relation to a case in my jurisdiction. I have permission to be here from the Navajo County S.O. and from Chief Smith of the Navajo Tribal PD. I’ve violated no rules, protocols, nor procedures. This is my case. This is my scene. You can deal with it, or you can leave. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you which one I’d prefer.”

Before Austin could respond to the verbal smackdown, an ATV towing a trailer rounded the corner from behind the garages, driven by another Tribal Police officer and bearing a woman in black with a fiery red ponytail and a badge hanging from her neck on a chain, and Chuy, his
primo
, in handcuffs, a belly chain, and leg irons, sporting a massive bandage over his shoulder and half his chest.

Seeing his chance to resume control of the situation, Grambling stalked over to the man as he was helped off the back and over to a gurney. “What the hell happened to this man?” he demanded of Eli, feeling the wind come back to his sails. “If this is your case, Inspector, then you have a lot to answer for.”

“Who the hell is this twat waffle?” Bex demanded as she climbed out of the trailer and escorted the shackled prisoner to the ambulance.

“Inspector Bex Miller, Deputy Chief Marshal Grambling. Grambling, the other Miller,” Eli offered up gamely, appearing to suppress a grin as he spoke. Apparently the impertinence and insubordination was rampant. All of this would be going into his report.

“This man you’re so concerned about is wanted in connection to or questioning for over twenty homicides, and that’s just nationally, not to mention the one he killed here to steal his clothes. This man was shot while attempting to murder a federal agent, so I’m sure you’ll pardon me if I don’t give a flyin’
fuck
about your concern for him.”

She spit, actually expectorated, on the ground in front of his shoes before she stomped into the back of the ambulance to ride with Chuy to the hospital. Obviously the GSW he’d sustained wasn’t severe, but that was little comfort to him since his cousin managed to get caught in the act.

“Who was it?” Grambling’s mind whirled as he tried to keep his reactions appropriate to the situation while regrouping and adjusting his plan. He locked eyes with his cousin, willing him to keep quiet and let him do the talking. “The agent. Who was it?”

“Mackenzie Jefferson out of your office,” the Chief confirmed as Eli stepped away to speak to someone who’d just arrived in another unmarked black sedan. The black van with the bright gold ‘CORONER’ stenciled on the side pulled around the medic and headed down behind the house following the path the ATV had taken.

“Jesus Christ.” It was difficult to maintain his look of shock when triumph flowed through his veins. He was right, and his cousin had gotten the situation handled. Knowing his cousin and his flair for drama, he’d killed the girl in front of Jefferson and disposed of her before dragging him off to deal with him separately. The only problem was now he had no way to get his cousin out. “He was on vacation! How could this happen? How bad is it?”

“Bad enough. I’ll take you to the hospital and you can ask him the questions you need to after we book this asshole.” The Chief looked into the ambulance where Bex sat with her gun out and trained on Chuy. “You’ll never see the light of day as a free man again.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” the prisoner fired back confidently. “Lots of things change at a moment’s notice.”

Bex gripped his injured shoulder firmly enough to make him squawk. “Like your ability to breathe without one of these nice men helping you? Keep talking.”

His eyes held a question for his cousin, but Grambling could only shake his head. He had no plan right now, other than having Guillermo’s army of lawyers work this out for him. All he had to do was stay quiet. “Bitch, are you threatening me? You all heard her!”

And, apparently, that was not going to happen. “Be quiet. You asked for a lawyer, so shut up.” It was a fight to keep the desperation out of his voice. He could still fix this, if the other man would just stop talking.

“Fuck you! You’re just trying to save yourself,
pinche pendejo
! You’re just trying to save your own ass,
primo
!”

The paramedic opened the door and leaned out of the ambulance to holler back, “We gotta go!” and before Austin could fire back, the door was slammed in his face, and the ambulance was rolling down the driveway. With the rig out of the way, he had a better view of the audience who’d just heard Chuy’s outburst. He was stunned, scared stiff, his whole life in flaming shards in front of him.

“Why did he call you ‘
primo
?’ Last I heard, that means ‘cousin,’” Eli asked as he joined Grambling and the Chief with the two new arrivals.

The Chief Marshals for both Arizona and Nevada had come to the scene, due to the nature and scope of the arrest. Years of cases, reams of paper, had been dedicated to Chuy and his murderous exploits, and now it seemed he’d claimed his last victim, who happened to be his family.

“I’m interested in that as well,” Grambling’s boss, Theresa Pritchard, commented. She was the kind of woman who wore dress pajamas, and though he hadn’t worked for her long, he’d looked forward to being out from under her, and on to bigger things. “And what did he mean you were trying to save your own ass?”

* * *

One of the Marshals, a quiet older gentleman with contemplative eyes, ferried her from the police station at Coyote Falls to St. Joseph’s Hospital. At some point, his radio chirped and his dispatcher told him Mack’s pressure had dropped and he had been picked up by a medevac helicopter and transported the rest of the way. Her stomach churned with concern, and she didn’t have much to talk about on the ride.

Now that they were both safe, she had time to process everything that had happened since she’d woken up this morning. This was her fault, she realized. All of this stemmed from her email to Trista yesterday! That was the only thing that made any kind of sense. Somehow they’d tracked her through her supposedly secret email account. God, she was such an idiot! That was the reason they’d taken her phone, since clearly she couldn’t be trusted, and now the man she loved, and she was kidding herself if she thought it was anything else, was in critical condition and unconscious at a hospital.

All of this, and she wondered if someone had bothered to tell Conchita her son had been gravely injured. When Ange, Bex, and Eli returned to the station with the hitman in tow, they looked somber as they stuffed her in a car and shuffled her off after them. Ange had said she’d be right behind her, but for the moment, in the shadowed and shuttered waiting room of the Intensive Care Unit, she was alone. That was just as well, since tears came and went like cars on a race track, revving up and then flying by, only to return again shortly later.