Dangerous Ground 3: Blood Heat
Dangerous Ground 3:
Blood Heat
Josh Lanyon
Dangerous Ground 3: Blood Heat
Copyright © October 2010 by Josh Lanyon
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eISBN 978-1-60737-869-3
Editor: Judith David
Cover Artist: April Martinez
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author"s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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* * *
Chapter One
Lightning flickered in the blue-black distance. Somewhere in the sultry, moonless night, a coyote yipped. Still farther away, another answered. There was no movement in the barren, walled yard. A single light burned in the second story of the pueblo-style house.
“I don"t like it,” Will muttered, ducking back from the gate to land against the thick adobe wall next to his partner.
Taylor shot him a quick look and laughed, a ghost of a sound. Taylor hadn"t liked this setup since they"d arrived in Denver to find their prisoner, suspected terrorist Kelila Hedwig, had somehow charmed her way out of police custody and was once more on the run.
Hedwig was the prime suspect in the death of Los Angeles Field Office Director Henry Torres, which was why DSS Special Agents Will Brandt and Taylor MacAllister had been tasked with escorting her back to the City of Angels.
Technically, pursuing and
re
apprehending her was a job for the US Marshals, not the Bureau of Diplomatic Security. But Taylor, ever a cynical and suspicious son of a bitch, had suggested that the cowboys on Nineteenth Street had already had their shot and blown it—in his opinion, a little too conveniently. From the first, there had been an ugly rumor that Hedwig was getting help from the inside.
Will doubted it. He"d seen a couple of photos of Hedwig. She was a frail slip of a girl behind oversize spectacles. True, he was no expert, but he thought it unlikely she"d seduced anyone. He figured Denver PD had underestimated her resourcefulness—and desperation. It happened. It didn"t automatically follow that there was a conspiracy afoot.
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Josh Lanyon
If she was getting help, it wasn"t very expert help because, after fleeing Colorado, she"d headed straight back to the mountains of New Mexico and an ex-boyfriend, Reuben Ramirez.
Ramirez was Hedwig"s high school sweetheart. Not that either of them had attended high school on a regular basis. He was an ex-con currently on probation for drug-related charges. Apparently Hedwig wasn"t too much of a bad-girl superstar to forget the little people.
“It"s too quiet,” Will said.
“Nah. Ramirez is a punk. Strictly small-time. It"s not like he can afford to keep a standing army.”
Taylor"s eyes looked silver in the gloom as they met Will"s. His broad but bony shoulder was hard warmth pressing against Will"s, and Will felt a disconcerting stirring in his groin. It caught him at unexpected times, this distracting awareness of Taylor. They"d been partners and best friends for three years, but lovers for only four months. They were still adjusting.
Some parts needed more adjusting than others. He shifted uncomfortably against the still-warm adobe bricks.
“Are we doing this?” Taylor asked when Will didn"t say anything else.
Were they? It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now as they waited outside the mud walls of Ramirez"s hacienda, listening to the crickets, the hot wind skipping across the rocks and sand, and the distant rumble of thunder, Will wondered if they shouldn"t maybe have requested backup from at least the Ruidoso Downs Police Department.
Taylor"s view, unsurprisingly, had been that local law enforcement was likely to get underfoot and complicate things. Taylor had a refreshingly direct approach to such matters. He was also, for such a deceptively graceful-looking guy, a little on the forceful side.
The thought brought a faint, self-conscious smile to Will"s face.
Dangerous Ground 3: Blood Heat
3
It was too dark to read each other"s expressions, but Taylor must have sensed the smile, because he whispered, “What?”
“Nothing. Are you sure you don"t want to bring in some support on this?”
“I don"t like the fact that it took the feebs nearly a year to track her down, and then twenty-one hours after she"s finally incarcerated, she manages to slip through the cracks again.”
That bothered Will as well. “All right. We"ll do it the old-fashioned way.”
“Rape and pillage?”
“And people say you"re the sensitive one.”
Taylor"s grin was a glimmer of white in the darkness. He turned from Will, slapping his hands against the dusty brick. “Give me a boost.”
No. Let me go first.
Will caught the words back in time. Technically Taylor was the senior member of the team. Besides, lighter and faster than Will, Taylor had always taken point on this kind of op. But four—no, nearly five—months ago on a routine investigation, Taylor had been shot in the chest and nearly died. He"d recovered and was back to full field agent status, but Will was never going to be able to erase the memory of Taylor slumped on his side, scarlet spreading across his chest as his life"s blood pumped out…
He was smart enough to keep that worry to himself, though. He linked his hands together. Taylor planted his boot squarely in the stirrup and vaulted lightly up, balancing briefly on the wall before dropping down.
Diplomacy in action
. Like the slogan said.
Will heard the dull impact of his landing. A few seconds later, the wooden entrance gate was swinging creakily open.
Will slipped through the gap, the soles of his boots whispering on sand.
In the kennels behind the house, dogs were going crazy. Not guard dogs, fortunately. Ramirez fancied himself as some kind of hot-shit breeder. Over the past 4
Josh Lanyon
thirty-six hours, Will had observed that no matter how much noise the dogs made, no one from the house came out to investigate. Being a dog lover, he found himself irked by that on a number of levels—though it was a plus for their immediate purposes.
A minus was the long empty stretch of unlandscaped yard around the house.
There was nowhere to hide once they were out of the deep shadow of the surrounding walls. No way to reach the house without running across several very exposed lengths of dirt and rock.
On the bright side—or, actually the not so bright side—the moon was down and there was a heavy indigo cloud cover pierced only by the occasional fork of faraway lightning. Taylor was a swift shade zigzagging through the darkness toward the garage.
Will went left, jogging for the main entrance in the portico beneath the exposed wooden beams. The familiar surge of adrenaline lent him speed, feet pounding the hard-packed earth, pebbles skittering as he ran, ears attuned to the night sounds.
He reached the heavy front door without incident and spared a quick look over his shoulder. There was no sign of Taylor. He would be in position by now—or nearly.
Will wiped his forehead with his arm—the moist air was surprisingly warm—
and knocked on the door.
He waited.
Will"s official knock was not easy to ignore, but there was no response from within.
He rapped again, and a dog began to bark inside the house.
Will swore under his breath. He could get a lot louder and a lot more vehement, but he and Taylor had discussed this, and their idea was to attract as little attention as possible since they were, in a manner of speaking, out of their jurisdiction.