Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(79)

Emm couldn’t understand a thing, but she knew if he succeeded in using her as a shield and got away, she was dead. Her headache was clearing. The blood had stopped, though she felt stiffness on one side of her face and head.

As she walked—slowly, as it still hurt—she knew, Ross or no Ross, she had to make a move before she let Cervantes take her. It was obvious what he did with kidnapped American women.





Outside, Ross ran, his steps firmer as he went. He also checked his clip. Three shots left. He switched it with his full one, saying a prayer for Emm as he ran. He’d heard sirens earlier and saw several emergency vehicles blocking the gate. As he swerved past them, he was relieved to see Yancy’s stretcher being loaded into one of them. Good. She’d be at the hospital before they’d finished mopping up.

The hillside was littered with scrub and rocks that pricked them even through the armor, but he and Chad still went prone, poking their heads up while they assessed the scene below. They both bit off a curse at what they saw. “Goddammit, why didn’t I prepare for this contingency?” Chad groaned.

Below, the general and Abby were being prodded at gunpoint toward a Jeep that had obviously come cross-country in the dark. Three men held machine guns on them, two of them in wrinkled but expensive suits that shone with silk fibers even in the bright moonlight. The third one was a younger Latino who resembled Cervantes.

“That’s Tomás Cervantes. We were so damn busy rounding up the father, we forgot about the son,” Ross bit off quietly.

Abby and the general were both bound with zip ties, their wrists in front. By the looks of him, the general had been roughed up. His holster was empty. Abby’s shirt was missing a couple of buttons at the top and her hair was a bit mussed, but other than that, she looked as calm and rational as usual.

When Tomás surveyed the hillside, his head turning in their direction, they both ducked back down. Chad tried his cell phone several times, then cursed and powered it off again. “No one’s live again yet—they’re still fighting. If we do this, it’s just the two of us.”

Ross nodded grimly. “I can’t ask you to go in without backup, but I have no choice. She’s my woman, Chad.”

Chad grinned, his teeth white against the black powder and grime on his angular features. “I’m just happy to hear those words from you. ’Bout damn time. Besides, one Ranger, one riot, right? We can handle some drug-dealer scum between the two of us.” Chad peeked back over the slope, watching Abby. She was saying something they couldn’t hear, very calmly, to Tomás, her Spanish apparently fluent. He lifted the butt of his machine gun as if to clout her, but when she steadily met his eyes, he dropped the gun and used his voice instead.

Ross smiled, amused even in these extreme circumstances. “Atta girl . . . We time this right and we’ll have backup.” They visually searched every square inch of ground around the oak tree, but if there was a tunnel, it was very well hidden.

Ross switched to watching Tomás and saw that he was now focused intently on a hillock of raised dirt and grass next to the tree. Ross inched back up, resting his Ed Brown, with its night sight, on the slope to steady his aim as he focused on that spot, too.

Tension rippled through him like an electrical current as the two Chechens shoved the general roughly into the back of the Jeep. They were obviously expecting their leader any moment.

Emm . . . come on, baby. Show yourself. Your sister’s safe. Mission accomplished. Time to wrap up these *s.





Inside the dank, dark cavity, Emm’s questing toes finally felt something mushy. Ground. She stopped abruptly, disoriented, for the lighting was even dimmer here. The pistol pressed into her back again, and she almost turned on Cervantes, but the time wasn’t yet right. She moved forward slowly, carefully, following the impatient hand that gestured to the side. Finally, she saw the ladder attached to the tunnel and began to climb. She heard a rush of air and knew he must have released a latch because a widening opening appeared above her head, starlight and even a smiling bright moon peering down.

She climbed faster, hoping, praying Ross and Chad were on the other side of that hatch.





As Chad and Ross watched, Tomás jerked his head at the two Chechens and then went to stand at the side of the tree, tensely staring down. The Chechens poked Abby in the ribs, but she was an experienced operative and knew better than to get into that car, especially when the grounds were filled with US agents. She said something in Spanish, but they answered in Russian, poking her harder in the ribs with their machine gun barrels, hard enough to send her off balance as they tried to force her into the Jeep.

“I’ll take the tall guy in the suit,” Chad whispered.

“I’ll take Tomás,” Ross said. If he was right that Abby was about to make a move, she was closest to the plump Chechen.

She pretended to stumble against the side of the car. Ross saw her gaze sweep the hilltop. He took the chance to wave his arm and thought she must have seen him, even in his camouflage. She seemed to bend over, winded. Ross also saw her reach to the back of her leg for the small pistol he knew she kept there.

As she did so, Emm’s head appeared from a hole in the ground. Tomás slung his gun on the strap over his shoulder to roughly pull her into the open.

Cervantes also clambered out of the hole. His son helped him up the last step and then turned his gun on Emm. Cervantes said something sharply. Tomás let the barrel sag toward the ground. He ran toward the Jeep’s driver-side door, and Ross knew they were about to force Emm into the car, too. But her gaze had gone toward Abby, seeing her bent toward her ankle.