Twice A Target (Task Force Eagle) (18 page)

The vehicle nearly sideswiped them as it careened past
on a tidal-wave splash. It vanished behind them down the black road.

“Are you all right?” Holt put his hand on her arm.

“F-fine.” She inhaled to control her tumbling heart.
“Who on earth was that?”

“A damned good question.” He accelerated ahead. “We’d
better get to the house and check things out pronto.”

No porch lights or spotlight by the barn greeted them.
Only an eerie orange glow on the right side of the barn.

Maddy peered into the misty darkness. “What’s that
funny light?”

What had appeared a hazy glow at first, bloomed into
shooting crimson flames. Smoke billowed like a storm cloud. Her pulse kicked
like a maverick.

“Fire!”

Chapter 18

The sight of flames eating through the barn wall and climbing
to the roof stabbed Holt’s chest. He bounded from the truck. “The horses!”

“I’ll get water!” Maddy ran for the hose.

“Too late. Help me with the horses.” He dashed into
the barn and slapped on the lights.

Ears flattened, the three horses whinnied and tossed
their heads. Acrid smoke filled the air and stung his throat. He grabbed the
towel by the utility sink, dunked it in a bucket and held it over his mouth and
nose.

Maddy did the same. They unlatched the stalls and led
each horse out. Screaming and rearing, the terrified beasts allowed the two
humans to herd them away from the billowing smoke and to the corral on the safe
side of the barn.

After the horses were safe, Maddy ran to connect the
hose. She aimed a stream of water at the barn wall, but it barely reached the
flaming roof.

After Holt settled the horses, he used his cell phone
to call for help. Then he clicked on the outside spotlight and joined her.
Neither the rain nor the rush of water from the hose was drowning the fire or
calming the horses’ whinnies at the pungent scent of smoke.

“Too late to save the barn. You’d do better to wet
down the house roof.” A muscle in his jaw spasmed as he gazed around at the
muddy ground. “Bastard couldn’t have picked a better night. The rain’s wiped
away any tire tracks or footprints. Or he parked on the cement by the
bunkhouse.”

Black clouds rolled from the conflagration and were
knocked down and diffused by the return of hard rain. The barn wall and roof
were caving, but the rain seemed to contain the flames to the one building.

Now that the danger was passing, his chest warmed at
Maddy’s courage and strength. “Quick thinking. Thanks for your help.”

“The truck that passed us,” she said, still soaking
the house with the hose. “Whoever was in that truck started this blaze. Thank
God for the rain.”

“Looked like he ignited the hay bales against that
wall. I’ll lose the barn, but insurance will replace it.” Rob had let insurance
lapse, but with the equity loan, the bank had insisted on his reinstating it. Hell
of a thing, being grateful to Edgar Patterson, even for that.

She turned to him as if at a sudden thought. “Bronc!
Where is he? Could he be hurt?”

“He’s not here.” That had been his first concern too. He
jerked a nod toward the bunkhouse. “His truck’s gone. To know that, somebody
was watching the place real close.”

“Not here?” She blinked into the night. The drizzle
had increased to a downpour. “But where could he have gone?”

He had an idea, but heaved a shrug as his only
response.

The last barn wall collapsed in on itself, and the
flames began to sputter in the heavy rain.

“Edgar Patterson will use this to his advantage.”

He nodded. “Endangerment of a minor child or something
like that.”

Maddy shut off the water and wiped her hands on the
wet grass. She started to the porch. “I’ll see if the house is okay.”

“No. Don’t go in by yourself.”

Reaching in the truck for the shotgun he kept in the
gun rack, he drew deep breaths to calm his racing heart and focused on what he
had to do. He climbed the porch steps. Stopped and tried the door. Maddy came
up beside him but he shoved her to one side. “Unlocked. Wait here. Don’t come
in until I call you.”

Bent low, he pushed the door inward until it hit the
wall.

Darkness cloaked the kitchen. Not a light, not even a
faint glimmer from the hallway night lights. Danger pricked the air with dagger
points. “When I give you the word, reach inside and flip on all the lights.”

“Got it.” Her voice was raspy but firm. Good, she’d
hold together.

Holt edged inside. Their unknown assailant was getting
bolder. Thank God Bobby wasn’t here. He held his breath and listened. Nothing.
Crouching, he scuttled to the hallway entrance and listened. “Hit it.”

Clicks while she flicked up all three switches.
Brilliant white flooded the kitchen and hallway.

Blinking at the brightness, he crouched, listening,
shotgun braced. The house appeared empty. Slapping on lights as he went, he
checked the living room, then the bedrooms.

He returned and uncocked the shotgun. “It’s all right.
They’ve gone.” His surveying gaze cataloged the damage.

She stepped inside and gasped at the devastation.
Drawers lay on the floor, their contents strewn around them. All the cupboard
doors stood open. Cornflakes, rice, and lord knew what else spilled across the
counters. “What on earth?”

Shotgun still in hand, he jerked a nod at the other
rooms. “They hit the living room, but the baby’s room looks untouched. And the
bedrooms. I’ll give them one more look.”

When he returned to the kitchen, he found her on a
chair, hugging herself and rocking. The sight of her pale and strained features
squeezed a band around his chest. She was a sensitive creature of strong
emotions, but he thought of her as indomitable as well.

For so long he’d hated her, hated what she’d done to
his brother, hated his own attraction to her. When she’d first arrived, he
treated her like a rabid coyote, but her bold spirit and generosity gradually
dissipated his misplaced anger.

And now where was he? Married to her. For Bobby. That
was all.

The adrenaline rush of the excitement past, he found
his hands were shaking and his heart doing more than a fast trot. For him, hot
entries and armed targets were the DEA’s normal business. Her adventurous life
had shown her danger, but tonight must have made her feel she’d been tossed
onto a bucking mustang. She looked vulnerable, brave, and beautiful.

He lifted her gently to her feet. For such a tall,
strong woman, she felt soft and delicate in his arms. As always, she fit
perfectly against him. Her head rested against his neck.

“Hell, Maddy, could’ve been worse. The horses are
safe, we can rebuild the barn and he did no real damage in here. He didn’t
slash the mattresses, only those damned ugly chairs and sofa. I hated them
anyway.”

When she gave a watery sigh against his chest, he
continued, “It doesn’t look like robbery. Not that I have anything valuable.
And you had your camera stuff with you.”

Maddy went stiff as a board. “Could he have been after
the pictures?” She sounded skeptical.

“Someone afraid of what’s in your shots of the crime
scene? Doubtful. The destruction looks more like deliberate vandalism than a
search.”

“Maybe.” She clutched his coat like a lifeline. When
at last she stepped back, she pointed to the table. “There’s more. He left a
note.”

His pulse scrambled, and hairs rose on his nape. The
sheet of cream-colored vellum lay flat on the worn wooden surface. The vandal
had written his message in flowing black script.

You have not suffered enough
.

*****

When the sheriff’s men and the fire department left,
it was past midnight. Exhaustion flooded every fiber of Holt’s body. He and
Maddy had risen before dawn.

He tunneled fingers through his hair and massaged his
temples. This was the second attack. He ought to be able to identify the enemy.
“Why? Why set the barn on fire and trash the house just to leave that note? Why
shoot at us?”

Across the kitchen table, she sipped water and sighed.
“The other day, he aimed that first shot at me. Why me unless it’s the
pictures? Even then...” She lifted her shoulders in bafflement.

His lips curved in a wry smile. “So you didn’t buy my
analysis that the shot was to scare us. I can’t make sense out of it. And what
the hell does that note mean? ‘
You have not suffered enough
.’ It sounds
like...like some melodrama or—”

“Foreign phrasing.” She nodded grimly, her complexion
pale ivory. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “And the handwriting, all loopy
with curlicues.”

“Old-fashioned.”

She shook her head as if clearing the cobwebs. Damp
curls from her recent shower clung to her nape and cheeks. His fingers itched
to touch them. “Old-fashioned maybe. Or foreign.”

“What do you mean? Where?”

“It didn’t hit me at first, but now I remember seeing
handwriting like that in Central America.” As if she could sit still no longer,
she carried their glasses to the sink.

Holt’s heart raced, and threads of alarm wound through
his brain.
No, it can’t be.

He rose unsteadily and went to stand beside her. “Central
America. Are you certain?”

“The schools down there stress handwriting. Especially
the older generation writes like that.” She placed the mugs in the drainer and
draped the dishcloth over the faucet. “I spent a lot of time in small villages
in Guatemala and Honduras. People often gave me letters for their relatives in
the next village. It was faster than the postal service.” She smiled, a soft,
sad smile.

He put his hands on her shoulders and kneaded gently,
but he wasn’t sure if it was to soothe the tension he felt in her muscles or if
he needed an anchor in the rock-tumbled rapids of reality. “What about Mexico?”

She tilted her head back and let his hands ease her
aches. “Mexico? I’m sure of it, but I haven’t spent much time there. The drug
cartels. I don’t have to tell you about that.”

He went numb as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into
place. The high-powered rifle. The hired killer. The lack of motive. “No. I
know more than you can imagine about Mexican drug trafficking.”

As if in a video, his last confrontation with El
Águila played out in his head. The bodyguards’ guns shooting at him. His return
fire. The young lieutenant’s body on the ground. The drug lord’s cries of
grief. The hatred in his sunken eyes.

“El Águila.”

Maddy lifted his limp hands from her shoulders. “The
eagle? What are you getting at?”

“I just
got
the message he left.” He wrenched
away from her, his heart a lifeless stone. “I have to make some phone calls.”
He snatched the phone receiver from its base and stalked away to his bedroom.

At the sight of Holt’s grim cop face, laser-eyed and
impassive, Maddy snapped her mouth shut instead of pelleting him with
questions. Though he seemed to have a lead, he wasn’t happy about it. Now that
she’d recovered from the initial shocks, she couldn’t just stand around. She
had to
do
something, so she shrugged into her jacket and went outside.

The past few days had dumped more danger on her than
she’d ever experienced in her eight years of traveling. Even in the Balkans,
she hadn’t felt bull’s-eyes painted on her body. After this Holt would probably
expect her to pack up and run, but she wouldn’t leave him in the lurch. He
needed her. And not just for Bobby.

She jogged to the corral. The scent of smoke, still
rank in the air, continued to spook the animals. Quickstep and Chica rolled
their eyes and tossed their heads, but calmed when she talked to them and
petted them.

Bandito reared and pawed at the air. Maddy was able to
grab his bridle and ease him back down. She walked him around the corral and
talked softly. She gave them all fresh water and hay from a covered stack
outside before returning to the house.

Once back inside, she exchanged her boots for sneakers
and hung her coat on the hook. She washed up while listening for Holt’s voice. Nothing.
She found him sitting on his bed, his head in his hands.

“Holt?”

The eyes he raised to her were as bleak and pale as
November skies in a face ashen with grief. “You know that old saying, ‘Be
careful what you wish for’?” He barked a bitter laugh and passed a hand over
his eyes.

She sat beside him on the bed and curled a hand on his
knee.

“I know now who’s behind it all. But when I searched
for a monster, I should have looked in the mirror.”

His face was a mask of pain, and she ached for him.
Whatever it was, he blamed himself. No surprise in a man who took on the
world’s responsibilities. “Tell me.”

He pushed himself upright and paced the length of the
room. “The message made everything clear. Rob wasn’t killed because his temper
pissed off a cowboy. Or because the Raffertys wanted to buy Ghost Mountain. Or
because a damned hunter shot wild.” He was nearly shouting at her. “He and Sara
were killed to punish me.”

“Who, Holt? Who?”

“El Águila. He’s a Mexican drug lord. Not just drugs,
but illegal arms.” Spitting out the words like bullets, he laid out a tale of
intrigue that would have shell-shocked her if she weren’t already so shaken.

Though she knew such stand-offs went on, to Maddy it
seemed more like Movie of the Week than reality. She shuddered to think of Holt
facing down such a soulless gangster. “And you think this El Águila had Rob and
Sara killed because you killed one of his men, the one the bodyguard carried
off?”

“Not just one of his men—his heir apparent. His
only
son
.” He swore and pounded his right fist against his palm. “Word is he
paid to have anyone close to me killed. So I would suffer.”

“Like he did.” She still couldn’t fathom the
gangster’s long arm of vengeance. For an evil man like him, having Rob and Sara
killed added only one more crime to a long list, but equally monstrous was
saddling Holt with the burden of guilt. “You killed that man in self-defense.
In the line of duty.”

“To hell with the line of duty. Being twice a target
makes it personal. I never dreamed my work could harm my family. I might as
well have put that bullet into Rob instead of into the man in Tijuana. And now
El Águila has taken aim at
you
.” He strode toward the kitchen door. “I
need some air.”

She followed only as far as the door. Coatless,
oblivious to the icy drizzle, he loped to the corral. Repairing tack always
seemed his remedy to a problem. But the tack was gone, all the saddles and
bridles burned or charred unusable in the fire.