Thrill Ride (Black Knights Inc. #4)(4)
“And what do we do about Rock?” Ozzie asked, and Vanessa swung her gaze back to Boss. She’d very much like to know the answer to that question herself.
“We find him,” Boss declared, nostrils flaring, “before anybody else does.”
Chapter One
The edge of Monteverde Cloud Forest, Costa Rica
Six months later…
There it was again…
That tingling between his shoulder blades. That tightening of his scalp. Call it instinct or intuition or some sort of gut reaction brought on by a lifetime of looking over his shoulder, but Rock Babineaux knew someone was watching him.
Friend or foe?
Merde. There was really only one option, wasn’t there? Considering he didn’t have any friends left.
Slowly, still sipping his refresco—the fruity drink he’d fallen in love with the first time he’d come to Costa Rica—he quartered the area around the little outdoor cantina while unobtrusively thumbing off the safety on one of his 9mms.
Where are you? Where are… Ah, there you are.
Over in the corner, a man sat at a small table beneath an arched trellis. The thick vines growing over the top of the structure cast the guy in faint shadow, but Rock didn’t need to see him clearly to know he was only pretending to read that book in his hand. In reality, the man was eyeing Rock from behind his mirrored sunglasses. They glinted in the evening sun when he leaned forward to take a bite of ceviche, the citrusy fish dish so popular in these parts.
Jet black hair peeking from beneath a baseball cap and olive-toned skin told the story of the man’s Hispanic heritage just like his slight frame—Rock would bet his favorite pair of alligator boots that the dude weighed no more than a buck and a quarter soaking wet—and a patchy beard told the story of his youth.
Mon dieu. They’re sendin’ babies after me now?
A hard knot of resignation tightened in his belly, and his dinner—the one he’d been so looking forward to since it was the first food he’d eaten in almost a month that hadn’t been picked out of a tree or spooned out of can—turned to bile.
So much for a nice, relaxin’ evening in town.
Throwing a wad of colorful money on the bar, he hoisted his heavy pack onto his shoulders, turned toward the dense green growth of the jungle pushing up to the side of the cantina, and made sure his pistols were within easy reach.
Not that he’d actually use them, of course.
Just because every agent and operator employed by Uncle Sam was green-lighted to put a bullet in his brain, that didn’t mean he’d return the favor. After all, those folks were just following orders, and he knew all about that, didn’t he? It was following orders that’d gotten him into this mess.
Ducking into the jungle, instantly soaked by the warm water clinging to the leaves on the trees, ferns, and vines as he brushed against them, he started up a winding, nearly indiscernible path in the way his father had taught him. Slow, steady, watching where he stepped and how he moved so that he didn’t disturb the forest animals around him. Cocking an ear to the sounds behind him, he listened to the symphony of buzzing insects, calling birds, and the wet drumbeat of water falling from leaf to leaf, waiting for that one note that didn’t quite belong.
But the seconds turned into minutes, and the minutes turned into an hour and still nothing broke the harmony of the forest’s song.
Was I wrong?
The man had been watching him. Of that he was sure. But maybe the guy had just been curious why the tattooed gringo at the bar didn’t look like all the other tourists visiting Monteverde Cloud Forest. Rock’s heavy-duty cargo pants, faded tank top, and well-worn jungle boots certainly weren’t the standard fare of Nike sneakers, jogging shorts, and beer slogan T-shirts. He’d spent the last six months living in the wild…and it showed.
So, oui, maybe it was as simple as that.
Raking in a deep breath of relief, he smiled as a scarlet macaw launched itself from a low hanging vine, flying up into the thick canopy. Its brilliant plumage glinted in a rare ray of sunlight that managed to cut through the treetops, its squawking call echoing down to the forest floor below. Adjusting his pack, Rock wiped a hand over his sweaty brow and stepped off the path.
And that’s when it happened.
A hundred yards behind him, a howler monkey screeched out a warning and all sound in the jungle, save the murmur of steadily dripping water, came to a record-scratching halt.
Man has entered the forest…
And, okay, now was probably not the time to be channeling Bambi.
Rock quickly shrugged out of his pack and leaned it against the wet, ivy-covered base of a massive tree. He covered it with the fronds of a nearby fern before silently moving toward the monkey’s call. Paralleling the trail, he melded into the jungle’s shadows, becoming nothing more than a shadow himself, as the forest slowly came back to life. The insects picked up their droning chorus first, followed by the warbling birds and the grunting chatter of the band of howlers high in the trees.
He hadn’t gone very far when a flash of movement caught his eye. Pressing himself against a tree trunk, breathing in the fresh, earthy smell of the lichen growing near his face, he waited. It didn’t take long since the guy was sprinting up the trail.
In a hurry to kill ol’ Rock, are ya? Well, sorry to say, son, but today is not your lucky day.