Navy SEAL Captive (8 page)

“We need to find Devita,” Sawyer said. “And the way to find Devita is to follow Ramirez back to him.”

“Are we going to wait for Quentin?” Duff asked.

Sawyer shook his head. “I think the three of us can handle this.”

“Four,” Jenna interjected.

“Quentin isn't coming with us,” Sawyer said.

Jenna squared her shoulders and braced her feet slightly apart, preparing for battle. Then faced Sawyer. “
He's
not, but
I
am.” Her heart fluttered. The mild-mannered, boring accountant had stood her ground.

“You're not trained for covert operations.”

“Maybe not, but that's not the point.” She propped a hand on her hip. “Where will I stay while you gentlemen are off interrogating thugs?”

“You can stay here,” Lance offered.

“The gunman thinks I have the case with his rifle. And if he put the bullet in that WaveRunner, by now he knows I might be with Sawyer. He'll be looking for me, and what better place to look than near where Sawyer has a room?” She lifted her chin, daring them to argue.

Sawyer frowned. “You're not going. I'll get you another room.”

“Where I'll be by myself, unprotected by you big, strong navy SEALs?” She stared up at him in challenge.

Montana coughed. “She has a point.”

Sawyer's jaw hardened. “No, she doesn't. Members of the drug cartels are dangerous. They'd just as soon shoot you as look at you.” He glared at Jenna. “You're not going.”

She nodded. “Very well. I'll just do one of two things. I'll either go back to my hotel and sit in my room, where I might or might not be attacked again, or perhaps I'll hire a taxi, snoop around and ask my own questions about the cartel. That might get me killed, but I've already become a target anyway.”

Duff's lips twitched. “She has a point.”

“Damn it!” Sawyer grabbed the ball cap Jenna had loaned him and the mirrored sunglasses. “We're wasting time. Let's go.”

* * *

“Y
OU
'
LL
STAY
IN
the Jeep and keep out of sight while we go in to question Ramirez,” Sawyer said, giving her his sternest frown. He still wasn't happy she'd ended up in the backseat of the vehicle with him.

“I want to be there when you question Ramirez.”

“No.”

“But—”

“We need someone to stay here and guard the car,” Duff said. He pulled a nine-millimeter pistol from beneath the front seat. “Know how to use one of these?”

She swallowed, the muscles in her throat convulsing. “Uh. No. Not really.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes and then grabbed the weapon from Duff. He pointed to the end of the barrel. “This is the business end of the pistol. Don't point it at anything you don't intend to shoot.”

Her brows lowered. “I'm not a complete idiot,” she muttered.

“Yeah. Well, I don't plan on being shot accidentally.” He glared at Duff and released the magazine from the handle. “And you don't give a loaded weapon to someone who has never fired one before.”

Duff grinned. “She's smart. I'm sure she could figure it out.”

Sawyer slid the bolt back, cleared the weapon and handed it to Jenna. “If bad guys try to break into the Jeep while you're in here, aim this gun at them.”

“Aren't you going to put the bullets back in it?”

“No.” He stowed the magazine beneath the seat in front of him. “Just waving the gun will scare them enough to leave you alone.”

“Nice of you to decide the best way to protect myself is with an empty weapon,” she said, her frown deepening. “And if I pull the pistol and the other guy has a bigger, badder one with actual bullets...then what?”

“We'll be back before then,” he assured her, even though he didn't know how long it would take to find Ramirez and extract the information they needed. All they had was an address. If he was at that location, he might slip out the back before they could get close. If they had to chase him, that would put them even farther away from the Jeep and Jenna.

Sawyer touched Montana's shoulder. “Give her the keys.”

“What?” Montana clutched the keys in his fist. “Why?”

“If she needs to get away in a hurry, she'd be better off driving out of the barrio and back to the resorts than going on foot.” Sawyer shook his head. “Give her the damn keys.”

Jenna's eyes narrowed. “I'm not leaving without you.”

Sawyer gripped her shoulders. “You have to do whatever it takes to survive.” He gave her a gentle shake. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She took the keys from Montana. When the men climbed out of the vehicle, she rolled down the window. “Be careful,” she whispered.

“Stay out of sight.” Sawyer leaned into the Jeep, gripped the back of her head in his palm and kissed her hard on the lips. “Please.” Then he left before he decided to stay with her when he had a man to find and question.

Montana had chosen what appeared to be a deserted back alley located two blocks from Ramirez's last known address. Since it was early in the morning, few people were out on the street.

Sawyer took point, followed by Duff and then Montana. They slipped between buildings and cut through alleys, making their way to the address.

“Ramirez's place should be on the next street.” Sawyer slowed, eased up to the edge of the alley and peered around the corner of the building. The early-morning sun cast a deep, dark shadow over the alley where he stood, giving him good concealment until he stuck his head out.

People were beginning to stir, waking to a bright, sunshiny morning. With the image of Ramirez firmly in mind, Sawyer pulled his cap low and left the relative safety of the alley. He walked past the wall surrounding the house Royce had indicated was Ramirez's last known residence and ducked around the side.

When he was sure no one was looking, he braced his hands on the top of the adobe wall and pulled himself over, dropping to the hard-packed dirt on the other side. Fortunately, he'd landed on a side of the house with few windows. Crouching low, he eased along the base of the stucco home until he arrived at a window. The scent of grilled beef and tortillas drifted through the open window, making Sawyer's belly grumble, reminding him he hadn't eaten anything since the day before.

He swallowed hard, focusing on what he needed to accomplish. Rising up, he peered over the edge of the windowsill into the kitchen.

A petite Hispanic woman stood at the stove, flipping a tortilla. She called out over her shoulder in Spanish that the food was ready.

A man's voice came from deeper inside the house. From what Sawyer understood, he was telling her to wrap it. He'd take it with him.

The woman filled a tortilla with a scrambled egg and sausage mix, and then folded foil around it. She made two more just like the first and carried them into another room, out of Sawyer's sight.

Sawyer whispered into one of the headsets Lance had outfitted the team with. “I haven't laid eyes on the man of the house, but if it's Ramirez, he's coming out. Be ready.”

“Roger,” Duff responded. “Spotted an empty building two doors down. We can take him there.”

Already on the move, Sawyer crept toward the front of the house, peering into the windows as he went, following the woman's footsteps until they halted and she said something in Spanish that Sawyer couldn't quite catch.

He edged up to the window closest to the front and peered over the ledge into the modest home. The woman handed a woven bag to a man with his back to the window.

Without kissing her or saying another word, he stuffed a pistol under his guayabera, grabbed the handles of the bag and turned toward the door.

Bingo.

The profile of the man matched the one Sawyer had seen in the resort's lobby video. They had their man.

Or rather...they'd located their quarry. They still had to extract him.

Sawyer dropped to his haunches. “It's him.”

“Moving in,” Montana said.

Ducking beneath the window, Sawyer eased toward the door.

Ramirez exited the house, crossed the small yard and opened the wooden gate.

As soon as the gate swung open, Sawyer rushed forward, silent on his feet, and slipped the gun from beneath Ramirez's shirt.

“Huh?” Ramirez glanced downward.

Sawyer took advantage of Ramirez's surprise by grabbing one of the man's arms and yanking it up the middle of his back. Then he shoved Ramirez out into the street and kicked the gate shut behind him.

The SEALs closed in.

Montana slapped a strip of duct tape over Ramirez's mouth.

With Sawyer still twisting the man's arm up the middle of his back and Duff holding him steady, they maneuvered him into the alley, shuffled to the back of the houses and guided him to the abandoned building. Duff used his knife to break through a lock and pushed the door open.

Once inside, Montana secured Ramirez's wrists by taping them together behind him.

Duff called out, “In here.”

Sawyer and Montana shoved Ramirez ahead of them into an office with a table and two rickety wooden chairs.

Sawyer pushed Ramirez into one of the chairs, grabbed the duct tape over Ramirez's mouth and yanked it off with a layer of the man's skin.

Ramirez cried out and cursed in Spanish.

“Where is he?” Sawyer asked.

Their captive squeezed his eyes shut and ran his tongue across his raw lips. When he opened his eyes, his gaze shot daggers at Sawyer. “I should kill you myself,” he said in English with a thick accent.

“Where's Devita?”

Ramirez sneered. “No one knows but Devita. You waste your time.”

“Then we should just kill you.” Sawyer pulled the gun he'd confiscated from Ramirez, cocked it and held it to Ramirez's head.

Montana touched Sawyer's arm. “Let me.” He pulled his knife from the scabbard strapped to his calf, the tip razor-sharp. “I've always wanted to do this.” He shoved the table in front of Ramirez and sat across from him. “Let me have one of his hands.”

Using his knife, Duff sliced through the tape holding Ramirez's wrists together and brought his hands forward. Then he taped one of his wrists to the chair and the other to the tabletop, the fingers splayed out.

Sawyer almost laughed at the maniacal look in Montana's eyes. What Ramirez didn't know was that Montana was an expert with the knife. He'd perfected his skill on hunting trips with his friends in the Crazy Mountains of Montana. When the hunting day was done, they sat around the cabin entertaining each other with knife tricks.

Ramirez stared at the knife in Montana's hand. “What are you going to do?”

“I suggest you remain very still.” Montana's hand shot out, and he planted the tip of the knife in the desk between Ramirez's thumb and forefinger.

Ramirez stiffened, his eyes widening.

“Better start talking.” In lightning-fast movements, Montana stabbed the knife between Ramirez's fingers, over and over, alternating the pattern, never hitting the man's fingers.

Sawyer leaned close to Ramirez's ear. “When he gets tired, he starts to miss.”

Ramirez's eyes grew wider, and sweat beaded on his forehead. “I don't know where Devita is. He sends his people to me.”

Montana stabbed the knife so close to one of Ramirez's fingers, he nicked it, drawing blood.

Ramirez cried out. “I do not know!”

Montana went faster.

“Por favor!”
Ramirez closed his eyes and sobbed. “
Por favor.
I do not know.”

Sawyer touched Montana's shoulder, and the mountain man slammed the knife into the table one last time, drawing another drop of blood from Ramirez. Then he stood, pulled the knife out of the table and wiped the blood on his pant leg.

Sawyer sat in the chair across from Ramirez. “Tell Devita I'm coming for answers, and he'd better have them. I won't be nearly as neat as my friend with his knife.”

“I will tell him, but he will laugh.” Ramirez's lip curled. “He has many people. You will not get close to him.”

Sawyer stood, his eyes narrowed. Ramirez didn't know anything. He was useless to them. But he might lead them to Devita through his contacts. “Let him go.”

Duff yanked the duct tape off the man's wrists, grabbed him by the back of his collar, jerked him to his feet and shoved him out the door, aiming him away from the road where they'd parked the Jeep. “Run.”

Ramirez took off running and didn't slow down.

Sawyer turned in the opposite direction. “Let's get back to the Jeep.” They'd been gone long enough. He wanted to see Jenna. His instincts were never wrong. They'd saved him in too many operations to count. And right then, they were screaming at him to save Jenna. She was in trouble.

As he sprinted back the way they'd come, he heard the sound of gunfire.

Chapter Eight

Jenna lay on the backseat, peeking out the window every few minutes, counting the seconds until the men returned. Though they'd parked the Jeep in the shade and it was early morning, the outside temperatures were heating up, and so was the interior of the Jeep.

Ten minutes passed and the guys hadn't returned. She stared at her watch as the minutes ticked away like molasses dripping in the wintertime. At the fifteen-minute mark, she bit her lip and dared to look out the window again.

When she popped up, dark eyes stared down at her, and a male voice yelled something in Spanish.

Damn. She's been spotted.

Before she could gather her wits and brandish the gun, three more men appeared, surrounding the Jeep, talking in rapid-fire Spanish. One of them raised a tire iron.

Jenna jerked her hand up and aimed the pistol at the man with the tire iron. “Stop or I'll shoot,” she yelled.

The men laughed and pointed at the gun in her hand. They must have somehow known it was empty.

Jenna's heart sank and her pulse spiked as the man with the tire iron raised it high and slammed it into the passenger window, spewing glass all over the inside of the vehicle.

Jenna dived for the floorboard, where Sawyer had dropped the magazine full of bullets. Where was it?

The man poked the tire iron through the window and used it to clean out the jagged edges of the glass.

Covered in pieces of window glass, Jenna searched feverishly for the magazine, her fingers finally closing around the cool metal. She jammed it into the handle of the pistol and rolled to her back as one of the men reached inside and opened the door.

Jenna pointed at the man's leg and pulled the trigger.

The gun went off, jerking back in her hand.

The man in the door screamed, grabbed his leg and toppled backward, crashing to the ground. The other three men backed away, holding their hands in the air.

Jenna eased up on the seat and waved the gun at the man on the ground. “Take him and go,” she said, her voice shaking almost as much as her hands.

Two of the men rushed forward, grabbed their friend under the arms and dragged him away.

Jenna didn't lower the gun until the men disappeared around the corner. Then she scrambled across the center console into the driver's seat, fumbled getting the key into the ignition, dropped it and had to fish it off the floor. When she finally had the key in the ignition, she twisted it. The Jeep lurched and died.

What the hell? She stared down at the shift on the floor and almost cried. She'd forgotten the vehicle was a standard shift, and she hadn't driven one since she was a freshman in high school and even then only in a flat, empty parking lot.

She glanced around for the men who'd broken the window. When she ascertained the coast was clear, she laid the gun on the seat and gripped the shift, scraping through her memory for how to drive without an automatic transmission.

Jenna placed both feet onto the pedals on the floor, remembering one was the brake, the other the clutch. With the clutch pressed to the floor, she twisted the key in the ignition, and the vehicle hummed to life.

“Oh, thank God.” She shifted the gear into First and eased her foot off the clutch and onto the gas. The Jeep jumped forward, rolling up on the curb and back down, jolting her insides.

If anyone reported the gunshot, it wouldn't be long before the Mexican police arrived. She had to leave with or without Sawyer, Montana and Duff. They were fully capable of finding a ride back to the resort, and Jenna didn't want them to be blamed for her shooting someone. If anyone was going to jail, it would be her.

Still, she didn't want to leave without knowing what had happened. The men could be in serious trouble. They could have run into more of Devita's men than they were prepared to fight off. Perhaps she could drive past Ramirez's house in case they needed a getaway car.

The engine built to a crescendo and Jenna slammed her foot to the clutch, shifted into second gear and popped the clutch loose. The Jeep jerked and trembled, threatened to die, then chugged into second. As she neared the intersection taking her out of the alley, three men skidded around the corner.

Jenna nearly cried with relief.

Sawyer was in the lead.

When she slammed her foot on the brake, the Jeep slid to a halt and the engine died.

Sawyer yanked open the door. “Scoot,” he ordered.

Jenna crawled across the console into the passenger seat while Montana and Duff dived into the backseat.

Sawyer had the car in gear and moving before the doors closed.

Sirens wailed, the sound coming through the broken back window.

Without a word, Sawyer zigzagged through the narrow streets, angling away from the resort.

Jenna gripped the armrest, her body shaking, her breathing ragged.

When the sirens faded away, Sawyer turned back, taking the long way around, but eventually returning to the resort. Finally he turned toward Jenna. “Where's the gun?”

Her eyes widened. For a moment she couldn't remember. Then she became aware of the hard lump under her. She fished the nine-millimeter pistol from beneath her and held it out.

Sawyer pressed his hand against the side of the weapon, pointing it toward the front of the vehicle instead of his head. “Remind me to teach you how to use one of these.”

“I shot him,” she said.

“Who did you shoot?”

She jerked her head toward the broken window. “The man who broke the window. There were four of them, and waving an empty gun didn't impress them one bit.” Jenna glared at Sawyer. “I could have been killed.”

Sawyer reached out and took her hand. “You're right. I should have left the bullets in it.”

Still frowning, she gripped his hand and held on until he had to free himself to shift into a lower gear at a traffic light.

Duff leaned forward. “Did you kill the guy?”

She shook her head. “I don't think so. I shot him in the leg. When his friends dragged him away, he was still conscious and cursing.”

Montana chuckled. “I'd take her on my team anytime.”

Sawyer shifted gears and pulled through the intersection, taking her hand again. “I'm sorry. Leaving you alone was a bad idea.”

Jenna squeezed his hand. “I was the one who insisted on coming along. And besides, I survived.” Now that she wasn't shaking, she could think straight. She'd managed to defend herself and survive. But it could have turned out so much worse. Perhaps Sawyer had been right. Maybe she should have stayed behind. “Did you question Ramirez?”

“We did.”

“And? Did he tell you where to find Devita?”

Sawyer shook his head. “Not exactly.”

Jenna stared at Sawyer's profile as he pulled into the resort parking lot. “What do you mean?”

Duff chuckled. “We planted a tracking device on him.”

“Lance should be picking him up,” Montana added. “Ideally, he'll take us right to Devita.”

“Then why are we going back to the resort?”

Sawyer's lips pressed into a straight line. “To grab the handheld tracker and to drop you off with Lance. Going into Devita's compound will be a lot more dangerous than wading into the dark side of Cancún to catch Ramirez. And despite shooting a guy in the leg at point-blank range, you don't have the combat training or experience.”

“But—”

Sawyer pulled to a halt between two other vehicles and faced her. “Jenna, you'll slow us down. Which puts my guys at risk.”

Her gut clenched. God, she'd been selfish. Her lack of training and experience could cost the lives of these fine men. “I understand. But remember, the man who hired these people doesn't care whether you're brought in dead or alive.”

“I've been in tougher situations.” He gave her a gentle smile. “Situations in which the people I went up against didn't have a choice. Kill me or be killed. At least with these people, I have a fifty-fifty chance.” He winked.

She was sure he had been in tougher circumstances. But she hadn't known him then. Now that she did, she felt connected, as if she had a stake in his life. She wanted him around so that she could get to know him better. And if she wasn't careful, she might even fall in love with the SEAL.

Butterflies fluttered in her belly, and her cheeks heated.
Damn.
Now was not the time to fall for anyone. She was fresh from a colossal jilting, and Sawyer had one of the most dangerous jobs in the world.

Unfortunately, she feared it was already too late.

* * *

S
AWYER
WOULD
WAIT
for only a few minutes. Now that it was broad daylight, he didn't dare walk to the back of the resort where the bungalows were. He'd be a sitting duck for the hired gun waiting to polish him off.

Montana had texted Lance to meet them in the front parking lot. He should be there any moment.

The sandy-haired SOS agent emerged from the side of the hotel building and jogged across the pavement, searching for them, his head craning, swiveling right and left. When he spotted the Jeep between the other two vehicles, he made a beeline for them, carrying a large satchel.

As he reached the Jeep, Sawyer got out and stood in the V of the open driver's door.

No sooner had he left the vehicle than something plinked against the metal door.

“What—” Jenna cried out.

“Get down!” Duff yelled.

Sawyer ducked back into the vehicle.

Duff opened his door and slid to the middle of the seat. “Get in, Lance!”

Lance dived in, landing in a heap across Montana and Duff's laps.

Sawyer didn't wait for the back door to close. He ripped the shift into Reverse and slammed his foot on the accelerator. The Jeep shot out of the parking space and stayed in Reverse until they reached the road. More bullets pelted the exterior, several hit the windshield, blasting through the interior. Then Sawyer twisted the steering wheel around, spinning the vehicle in the road, and sped away from the resort high-rise.

“Do we have what we need?” Sawyer asked.

“If we don't, it's too bad.” Lance righted himself and pulled the satchel off his shoulder. “You can't go back to the resort.”

Sawyer snorted. “I sure as hell can't take you and Jenna to confront Devita.”

“And we need Quentin in on this operation,” Duff pointed out. “Anyone seen him lately?”

“After you left this morning, he and Jenna's roommate stopped by to see if they could help with anything. He told me to let you know that he and Carly will be at the marina, checking out all the boats, but ready for anything. All you have to do is say the word.”

“Good. We need him now.” Sawyer turned the Jeep toward the marina.

Duff called Quentin's cell phone number and barked, “We'll be there in five.” When he ended the call, he said, “Quentin's ready.”

Sawyer pulled into the marina and parked. His gaze slid over Jenna's chalk-white face. To the men in the backseat he said, “This works out perfectly. While we follow Ramirez, Lance and the ladies should be fine on the boat.”

“I'll have Natalie join them for additional protection.” Duff's lips curled. “She hasn't been too happy about being left out of all the action.”

Montana laughed. “I would have thought she got all the action she wanted when she put herself out there to be sold into the sex trade.”

Duff's lips thinned. “That was a close call. I truly believe she would have found a way out, even without our help. She's that kind of tough.”

“Call her,” Sawyer said. “I'd feel better knowing Lance has some help protecting Jenna and her friend.”

“I can take care of myself.” Jenna held up the nine-millimeter pistol, which wobbled in her hand.

“Hey.” Sawyer grabbed for it and shoved the muzzle toward the front of the vehicle. “Watch where you're pointing that thing.”

Jenna's cheeks suffused with color, making her even more adorable. Sawyer wanted to end this chase and kiss this woman who'd risked her life to save his.

Duff called Natalie and passed on the information she needed. “She'll be here in less than fifteen minutes. She's coming from the airport, after seeing her sister onto her flight back to the States.” Duff shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. “She says she's up for some adventure.”

Sawyer glanced at the look on Duff's face, envying him for having found a woman who was his equal, someone with whom he could potentially spend the rest of his life. And he'd found her in a matter of a couple of days in Cancún.

Frowning, Sawyer nodded to the rest. “Let's get to the boat and make a plan. We don't have much time. If Ramirez really doesn't know where to find Devita, we'll need to follow his contact. And that contact will not have a tracking device.”

The men piled out of the Jeep.

Sawyer rounded the vehicle to open Jenna's door, but she'd already gotten down.

She touched his arm and stared up into his face. “You don't have to provide protection for me. I'm not the one they're after.”

“But you were the one who took the case and you've already been attacked once. The gunman might come back, looking for the case and you.”

“I have it hidden back at the resort,” Lance said. “It's in the rafters of the bungalow. Unless someone is looking straight at it, they won't find the case.”

“Good to know.” Sawyer gave Lance half a smile. “That's one less gun aimed at my head.” He caught Jenna's hand and led the way along the dock to the slip where the yacht was moored.

Jenna's eyes rounded, and she laughed. “This isn't a boat. It's a yacht. Is it yours?”

Quentin, Montana and Duff all laughed as one.

“We wish,” Quentin said. He helped Carly into the boat and entered the glassed-in lounge area, his arm around her, all the way.