The Protector of Ambra (Mercenaries of Fortune, #5) (9 page)

“Find anything?”

When she shook her head, they moved back into the main room. Pierce’s gun was slightly overhead as he looked up the stairwell. “His office must be upstairs.”

“Or down. Next to the product. That’s what I’d do.”

“No shit,” he said, deadpan as ever. “Fine. You win. Again. Follow me.”

The air down here should be rich with the aroma of chocolate. The farm’s small operation was simple and genius in its nature. After harvesting and drying the beans, they would be brought to a building on-site for packaging and then to the bottom floor of this building for mixing, conching and tempering before arriving at her shop. According to Noah, the bottom layer stretched out underground for a quarter mile, eventually rising to a building with a docking area for trucks.

Machines whirred down here. Somewhere. But it was too hot and too quiet. Without people and fresh chocolate, the space was nothing but a massive gray coffin with unused conveyor belts and bare trolleys.

Rows of refrigerated rooms lined the tunneled walkway. She dragged her hands along the warm doors. Every few steps, she’d pop to her tiptoes. Each one just as empty as the last.

Pierce’s shoulder muscles seemed to twitch with every step. The gun never left his hand. “Shouldn’t we have seen something by now?”

“Probably the office is at the end of the...row. This door’s cold.”

He turned and peered inside. “Bundles.”

It took a few jerks and twists, but the door opened, bathing them in frigid air. Inside were stacks of premade chocolate. She put her nose to the crates. “Eww. Where are these from?”

Pierce knuckled some script on the side. “Russia.”

“Russia doesn’t produce chocolate. That’s not me being snobby. It physically can’t.”

He pulled out the knife at his ankle and shaved off a sliver of what sure as crap wasn’t cacao. “Looks like they do.”

She yanked the “chocolate” out of his hand. “This is crap. The same crap they’ve been sending to me for the last two shipments.” She went around to another stack and found a slip of paper stuck between the piles. She held the blue and red printing up to the light. “Sonofabitch.”

“That’s new from you.”

She stomped back over, slapping the paper against Pierce’s chest. “Noah’s been remelting pre-produced chocolate. Bastard.”

“That ain’t all.” Plastic ripped again. This time, Pierce waved a stack of bills pulled from the bundling. “These are great counterfeits. Printing your own money is a lot less work than paying a bunch of farmers.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“You won’t. We’ll do the rest of this somewhat legally. Get out your phone and take some pictures. Then we can go home.”

Damn straight. She’d photograph his ass right into a jail cell. “He’d better not ever come back to the States. My insurance has gotta cover this. Scoot over out of the shot. I want a full view.”

She stepped back to get in as much of the refrigerated unit as possible. She leaned back, when something – someone – grabbed the back of her head. A hand clenching around her throat kept her from screaming. She managed the briefest of whispers. Pierce turning around was the last thing she saw before the wall forcefully introduced itself to her forehead.

T
he second Melody’s skull clunked against the wall, he started counting down. The physician in him needed her up and talking in twenty seconds for assurance that she’d be okay.

Her attacker lunged.

In between counts twenty and eighteen, Pierce shot the guy who’d hurt her with the tranquilizer, then reached around for a more permanent solution in case they met more danger along the way. Anyone who’d go after a woman like that didn’t deserve a second chance.

He took a knee at Melody’s side, positioning himself between her and the door. She groaned at his nudging. A good sign, but he needed more. “Melody? Time to wake up, girl.”

She winced, lids still down. “I’m here.”

“Now get up.”

“Can’t.”

“You don’t have a choice. Doctor’s orders.” He kept his voice as light as he could, careful not to betray his fears. There were three cars in the lot. So far, he’d dropped two men. He tried not to entertain the thought that cars can carry more than one dude at a time.

He bore more of her bodyweight than she did, but at least she was upright, if wobbly. “Get your gun in your hand.”

She straightened a little beside him and rubbed her head. “Concussion.”

Without question. Telling her wouldn’t change anything. If football players could take a hit, so could she. She’d proven herself as tough as any linebacker. He checked her eyes, pinched her arm for response and asked her to follow a basic set of commands. After having her count backwards and repeat a series of words for the third time, he breathed a little easier. “You’ll be fine. Tell me the second you’re not.”

“How long until the headache goes away?”

Her words killed him, but he was the professional here and she deserved the best doctor that he could be. “As soon as I can get to my kit. Let’s make that happen.”

“Between this and the back, you owe me big time. Ignore that I brought this on myself.”

“You didn’t, baby.” The blame landed on Noah’s neck. He had half a mind to go back upstairs and finish the job. He took a second to swallow this new rage and focus on the primary objective. Not revenge or even justice, but Melody’s safety. Nothing came before that.

Finally, he eased out of the unit.

At seeing three other guys waiting for him, he eased back in.
Shit
. No amount of bribery he could offer as a promise would overtake the literal pounds of money behind him. “We’re gonna have to shoot our way out.”

“That can’t be the best option.”

“It’s bad in a line of worst ones. Stay behind me. Let me know if something’s coming. Can I count on you?”

Her murmured “all right” didn’t shake his confidence in her. Their reliance on each other was their best chance at success.

“If I go down, you kill every motherfucker who comes near you.”

“That’s not going to happen. You have a duty of care, remember, Doc?”

He sure as hell did. Pierce went out shooting, taking down one man and sending the other two scurrying away. Fine with him. He grabbed Melody’s free hand and together they started running through the complex.

Who the hell knew where this would spit them out, but going back upstairs was signing their own death warrants. Well, death certificates. Given the last few minutes, the warrants were well in place.

The track they were on sloped gently upward. It wasn’t much of an incline, but Melody was slowing down, gasping for breaths. She was perfection, but not suited for a breakneck foot race.

He picked her up. His girl clung to him like a monkey on a tree while he ran. Two minutes into it, his bastard knee gave way. He nearly bit his tongue to keep from crying out. He couldn’t run anymore.

“Why are we slowing down?”

He chanced a kiss, for her sake as much as for his. “We’re going to have to try this position next time.”

“As long as we’re alone. And right now, we’re not. Someone’s running toward us. I hear it as easily as you do. Pierce, put me down, and save yourself.”

Stupid woman. He lowered her, but only to focus on the threat behind them. He was her last line of defense. He’d stay here and hold it down. “Go. Run as fast as you can.”

He tried prying her fingers away from his arm, but she shook her head, digging in. “I’m not leaving you. I can fight.”

“I know that girl, but now I need you to run. Go back to the tree line and wait for me there. If you don’t see me in five minutes, get the hell out of here.”

He bent over, but she pushed him away. “Don’t you dare kiss me goodbye.” 

“I plan on kissing you for a long time to come. Help me out with that. I’m giving you a head start here. Take it. If there’s a chance to get to the car safely, go there instead. My bag of tricks is still there. Extra gun, ammo, bags of emergency water. Here’s my phone. Dial CHURCH in thirty minutes if I still haven’t caught up with you. They’ll help you with the pain killers in the kit and get you out of the country.”

“Don’t tell me what’s in the bag. Show me when you get there. I won’t forgive you if you don’t make it out.”

“I won’t either. All that work for a little statuette I won’t be able to enjoy.”

She slapped him. Kissed him. Then ran, disappearing up the incline and towards the light.

Of course he’d been right. Now that she was on her way to safety, he could better focus on the massive pile of shit he was in. Turns out, it was neck deep. Two voices approached. There was no place to hide. Anyone coming at him had a clear and open shot. Maybe they realized the reverse of that was true too. Their running had slowed to cautious footsteps.

He heard a click. Not a good click, or even a handgun click. This was more of a
clunk.
The kind that accompanied weapons that needed a shoulder to fire. To hell with this. Gingerly, he made his way down. “Friends,” he yelled out in Spanish, “if that sound is what I think it is, you’re going to blow this whole tunnel down on us all. We’re gentlemen here. Let’s fight this out like men.”

The last thing he wanted to do was go back down, but it bought Melody more time. With each step, his eyes watered as the ligaments in his knee ripped apart. Despite the searing pain, he moved sideways to present a smaller target. He slammed his eyes shut and prayed for strength. “I mean, men should be able to shoot each other like men. No?”

A thick guffaw was followed by grunts of agreement.

“You have a sense of humor. Good. Then you can be reasoned with.” Pierce went down a few more nail-laced steps until the gunmen came into view. He was tired of being shocked today. He expected two more Noahs. Instead, he found regular guys. Men who ought to be bowling instead of carrying... “What the fuck? Is that a bazooka? C’mon, fellas. What do I have to pay you to get out of this alive?”

“You’re the one who started the killing.”

Gun in hand, Pierce shook his head. “No, that guy concussed my girlfriend. You hit a woman, you go down. That’s man rule number one. You know this.”

One man’s lips turned down as his eyebrows rose. The universal sign of “I hear you bro.” The other wasn’t quite a convert yet. “And our boss?”

“Your boss is an asshole. I have zero fucks to give about him. Let’s say that I was hired by a consortium of concerned citizens who only want to make an honest living, but instead are seeing their cocoa rot on the vines. I was hired to right this terrible wrong.”

“Blood calls for blood.”

“Unfortunately, your boss is still alive. I tranquilized him. I’m going to wrap him up in a nice little bow for the PFM.” Eyes widened at the name of Mexico’s FBI. “Relax. I’m not the cops. Think of me more as a modern day Joaquin Murrieta. I rob from the rich and give to the deserving.”

These men – their ammo was worth more than their shoes. Though their clothes were clean, each man wore a planter’s hat that had long been bleached by the sun. The non-bazooka guy rotated a thin wedding ring with his thumb. “And what do we deserve,” he asked.

Got him.

“All off this. Take the money. I don’t need it. I’m here to put honest people back to work. I’m here to destroy Noah. My fight isn’t with you.”

Bazooka Joe still hadn’t put down his weapon. “Why shouldn’t we kill you now and take the money anyway?”

Valid point. Really freaking solid analysis of the situation. “You could, but you’re being recorded right now.” Such a lie, but he saw it working as their eyes scanned the length of his body. “It’s right here,” he said, pointing to the button on his lapel. 

“And before you get any ideas,” Pierce continued, “it’s a live feed with a dead man’s switch. Everything happening right now is going to be sent to the PFM and the FBI if I’m not there to stop it. Noah’s done either way. Now he can go down with his money in his lockers, or he can go down without it. I don’t care either way. Just leave a few stacks for evidence.”

Married guy jetted for the cash, but a man with a family was an easy sell. Bazooka Joe, not so much. In order to get the money, he’d have to put down his little toy and he didn’t seem so inclined. He paced, like a nutcracker solider with his weapon firmly in place. “I don’t believe you.”

“Pascal’s wager.”

“What?”

“Pascal’s wager,” Pierce repeated. “He was a mathematician from the 1600s.”

“You don’t have time for storytelling, my friend.”

Pierce tapped his gun against his belt. “There’s always time for storytelling. Oh, you’ll like this one. See, Pascal had this theory. He said people either choose to believe that God is real, or that He isn’t real. And according to Pascal, that’s the reality. Either God exists, or He doesn’t – he’s not sure, but he has a theory. Now if you live a good life and God exists, you win. If you live a good life and God doesn’t exist, you still win. If you live a bad life and God doesn’t exist, you may win or lose. Who knows? But if you live a bad life and God does exist, you’re fucking screwed.”

“So you’re God now?”

“No. If I were God, I wouldn’t be here with you assholes. But the logic remains. Whether I’m telling the truth or not, when you run through all the options, you’re better off believing me and taking the money, than not.”

In the middle of this eschatological debate, wheels screeched behind him. Pierce pivoted with his gun raised as another round of lightning tore through his knee. Headlights blared down on him. He squinted, waiting for his eyes to adjust. “We were just coming to an agreement. Tell your friend in the truck to calm down.”

Bazooka Joe hadn’t answered. He was too busy locking and loading. If Joe was shooting at the driver, then Pierce needed to be shooting at Joe. In one jerky move, Pierce aimed center mass at the man. The bazooka dropped. Pierce made a run for it, leaping over the crumpled man for the weapon.

“Behind you, Pierce!”

Lord love that fucking woman. Melody rolled up in a red half truck, half tractor contraption. His attention wasn’t on her though. Married guy trudged up the gangway, arms loaded with cash. He looked at his groaning comrade and blanched.