Hot Zone Page 10

  Pulling a five-gallon paint can to the window she tied the shirt around her waist before climbing up on it to slide into the quiet room, hitting the floor with a thud.

  Expecting to see on of the guards any second, she crouched against the wall. After her eyes adjusted, she saw no threat and stood to look around.

  Seeing no sign of torture jump-started her heart, casing it to thud with expectation and fear once again. Where would they keep Jake? Probably the same place they stashed their other detainees.

  She wanted to storm the house and rescue him, but common sense held her back. One beat up woman against a dozen killers that ate bigger breakfasts than her would hardly be the way to go.

  Lifting the tarps, she pumped her fist, shouting under her breath. True to terrorist ways, Azizi stockpiled enough weapons to hold a battalion at bay.

  Her choice for the day looked like a cute little puzzle box that was army green with four big round holes in it. The average person wouldn't even bother picking up the grenade launcher, but Jessica hugged it in her arms.

  Grenades and ammo for their Glock's plus an assault rifle completed her outfit.

  The gear wasn't light, but that didn't matter. She carried it to the double doors and pushed against them. Another break. Not secured. These guys had no respect for her intelligence.

  School is about to start.

  * * * *

  They had beaten the crap out of him, loosening his jaw teeth and breaking his nose. Still, Jake was alert and making notes about the fancy room he'd been dumped in. Tied to a chair, he could see what took place on the veranda through some double doors.

  Damn boring except the cute maid with a great ass eyeing him every time she walked by. Plus, various thugs walked around and stopped in occasionally to hit him someplace new or threaten his life.

  She was never far from his thoughts. Fontana. He believed he'd done the right thing, dumping her from the car. He felt sick, imagining the treatment she'd get in the hands of these savages. Women meant very little to them.

  The shield she wore guaranteed torture and assault, and he felt responsible. If they lived through this little adventure, he'd most certainly loose his job, and never work in any thing related to trust and reliability again.

  Leaving her behind! She'd be helpless out there. He pulled against the thick ropes binding his legs and hands to a straight backed chair. His wrists were raw from trying to work free of the ropes. Aw shit, now the cut above his eye was bleeding again and his vision was dim at best. There were vague images in his mind if being held down while a huge hairy ape stuck a hypodermic needle in his arm.

  Turning his head to wipe the stream of blood on his collar, he noticed a skittering figure flitting past a doorway in the next room. Probably a vision since he was so near passing out.

  But, damn. It had Fontana's face. His chin dropped to his chest.

  Don't go to sleep, man. Get out of this mess and find her.

  "Pssssst!"

  What the hell? He roused and scanned the room slowly, trying to see clearly with one swollen eye. There was something going on. Sure, he was probably dead, just having a rigor mortis dream. He laughed, the deduction too stupid to translate.

  "Pssssst!” A tapping sound came from the doorway. “Over here."

  He finally focused on the privacy screen against a wall where the sounds came from. Nothing. He was losing it fast.

  Then he saw it, an eyeball staring at him through a hole in the fancy wood. It blinked. Trying to not get angry, he pretended ignorance.

  "I didn't see that."

  "Yes you did.” Movement behind the screen alerted him to trouble. His battered nerves prepared him for a fight. They were getting ready to torture him some more.

  Something in white floated toward him. It smelled like April ... apple blossoms. Momentary grief tore his heart out, and he sobbed. “Fontana."

  "I'm here, honey."

  Soft hands touched his head and sweet lips pressed to his. He sat forward, trying to stand. “Where are you?"

  "Here.” She placed him back in the chair. “I brought goodies."

  He cocked his head. What the hell was she talking about? “I'm dead, right?"

  "Not as long as I'm in charge.” She kissed his hand before going to work on the ropes. “Be still for a minute. Your wrists have swollen."

  "Fontana?” Doubting his sensibilities, he had to reassure himself this wasn't a dream. “I'm happy as hell to see you. Uh, what's that?"

  She touched his cheek. “My purse."

  "Damn ugly purse."

  She laughed softly, just before he felt a rush of blood shoot through his arms. The ropes were gone. He wanted to stand up, but she pushed him back down. “Stay put. We have company."

  The guard that loved to hit most stood in the doorway and stared menacingly at him. Jake pretended to be blacked out, holding his arms behind him.

  "What you doin'? No sleeping for you, cock sucker."

  The lard-ass lumbered toward him and threatened him with the butt of his rifle. Strange, but the guy lowered his weapon and then fell to the floor. Hey, he was the one bleeding now, all from a nice neat hole in his forehead.

  Was that Fontana? He tried to warn her not to do it, but his vision in dirty clothes floated from hiding to kick the guard, checking to make sure he'd bought the farm.

  "Come on, Claypool. Time to set our perimeters."

  "Whatever you say, Major."

  "Close, but I only made Lieutenant."

  "Fontana. How'd you find me?” He stood, and then leaned against her, trying to steady himself. “Look, I'm sorry about leaving you. I really like you ... a lot."

  She was quiet, holding him up and leading him down a hallway to a door. “Say, Lieutenant.” Oh Christ! More pain than he could remember streaked through his head. “You have a plan?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact I do.” He wanted to chuckle at her soft grunt when they started down some steps. “Claypool, stand here. I have to get the all clear."

  "Happy too, Ma'am.” His head swam, and blood dripped into his ear and into his mouth. “Fontana."

  He couldn't see her, and his hand went to his holster, shaking him to his boot soles. It was gone! He calmed down in the sweet wrap of her perfume.

  "We have about sixty seconds to get to the stable."

  "What's there?"

  "Everything we need to take these goons out. Hang on to me."

  "Hell no. I can walk."

  "Okay. How about you picking up the pace a little?"

  He grimaced but took off as if he felt Aces. “Just how much further is that place?"

  She caught his hand and pulled him along behind her. “Only a few more feet. Come on."

  He wiped his face and eyes with his sleeve. They were blurry but doable. The way she pushed back could only mean trouble. “Jess, where's my iron?"

  "Empty. I'll give it to you when we're in the clear."

  "Fine, but I'll probably minus a leg by then."

  "Shut up and run!"

  He did as told and raced, in his mind, after her slender form. She pulled up short, and he stumbled into her. “Sorry, honey."

  She turned and yanked him toward her. “Honey wants you to go faster."

  "I'm trying.” Damn it. He sounded like a kid. “You say it's not far?"

  "Here, Jake, right here.” He was being unceremoniously pushed into a dark place that smelled like Texas.

  "How'd you get me home?” He chuckled and hugged her tight. “I knew you were a honey."

  They stood in that embrace for several seconds before she got serious again. “I think they may have given you a shit load of heroin from the glaze in your eyes. Or, what I can see of them."

  Heroine? He didn't do drugs. “Hey, honey, I don't think so. I hit my head on that tree. Member?"

  She kissed his cheek, and her sigh sounded weary. “Yeah, I remember. Please don't make any noise. Not yet."

  "Okay.” He was used to waiting for things to happen. “Where you
going?"

  "I'm just looking out the window.” He watched her cross the floor. “I know you want to sit, but I'd really rather you didn't."

  "I'll lean against this couch."

  Jessica lifted the canvas cover. “Yeah, a designer number."

  He grinned. “Yeah? What kind? I have a couch."

  "Product of Iran and Company."

  She wasn't having fun now. The tone of her voice had none of its playful lifts and falls. It was just deep, smooth, calm.

  His jumbled thoughts rolled together, and a single word blazed in his mind. Ambassador!

  "Fontana. We have a problem."

  "I know."

  "We have to locate our mission target."

  Why was he telling her this stuff? She'd been at the meetings. He froze when she flattened to the wall, her eyes narrowed. She gestured at the square thing he had sat on.

  "What?"

  "Get off that. I'll need it in a minute."

  He raised his rear off the metal object. “You set your purse down here?"

  "Yeah. It weighs thirty pounds."

  His brain clicked some information through is head. Sitting on something made of PVC with M260 in faded print on the side. “Hey, Fontana. This dude's kinda old. Has four openings in the side like a ... rocket launcher."

  Her head whipped around, and she stared at him. “You're being choosy?"

  "No, just curious.” He tried to pick it up.

  "Put that down!” She bee lined to him and grabbed the launcher. “I have to know exactly where this is. I'm going out to search for the Ambassador."

  "I'll load up."

  "Stay."

  "Okay."

  He felt the crush of abandonment after Honey shut the door and left him alone. No, not honey, Jessie. The pretty one.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jessica hated leaving Jake alone, even if for only a couple minutes. In his drugged condition, he could easily give away their presence.

  So be it. She had to pinpoint everyone's position. For a few seconds, she pressed her ear to the door. He must be asleep or spaced out completely. That was another thing. She had to figure out what they'd pumped in him.

  Maybe he had only hours to live, depending on what the drug had been. No, she had to get her priorities straight. The mission stated she was to focus her every thought and effort on the rescue the ambassador above all else. Jake was now secondary, no longer an emotional issue.

  She would cross that bridge when she had to, but at the moment, she knew that plan was not going to fly. Leaving Jake was not an option, no matter what.

  The word priority loomed in her brain like a neon light. Find the man you're supposed to be helping. Fear rose up bitter in her mouth, and a huge dose of self-loathing. If the ambassador was still alive, he most likely was in the house too, but first, she'd have a look in all the outbuildings.

  The nearest one was deceptively pretty, pale pink brick and a lovely small porch complete with glider. It was probably a place for the hoods to sleep.

  She scraped the building with her hip as she moved, trying to be invisible. She reached the porch, limping across the smooth flagstone tiles to lean against the door.

  Pushing it open, she waited for the firing to begin. Nothing. Within seconds, her heart pumped again, and she went inside the small house.

  No lights were on, and in the darkness she stumbled over something in the floor. The odor rising from whatever had tripped her sickened Jessica. Blood. Old blood. Damn it!

  Her eyes adjusted to the dim light coming from one uncovered window. A man with silver hair, lay on the floor, his body seeming to be strangely contorted. He appeared to be dead.

  Don't rush to judgment here, Jess. Make sure.

  She slid her hand into his back pocket, hoping to find his wallet. No wallet, probably taken by whoever killed him. His coat pocket might have something to confirm her suspicions.

  The sight was gruesome, but Jessica had seen it all before, except this time there was a new twist. The horrendous gunshot wound to his head was all too familiar. Gripping his shoulder, she rolled him onto his back.

  His head stayed put, still facing downward even though he lay on his back. She stared at the headless torso while trying to restart her heart. Almost to the point of jumping out of her skin, she hurriedly made mental notes, identifying the person as male, dressed well, hair trimmed neatly. She checked his hands noting they were clean and manicured, wearing a heavy gold signet ring. She slipped it from his finger.

  Now what? His jacket pockets had been picked clean. Figuring she'd have to simply guess on his identity, she looked around the place. Something on the floor a few feet away caught her eye. She crawled across the room and picked up a snakeskin wallet, checking out the contents near the window.

  The man had not been robbed, just brutally murdered. In his wallet was almost a thousand dollars in cash and several credit cards bearing the name of Miguel Yaqueros, US Ambassador to Nicaragua. The photo left no doubt in her mind. This was their man, and he was dead. She felt sick with self-reproach. There were no excuses for acting less than professionally.

  Jake!

  Her mind raced with fear and icy anticipation of the hell they might have to go through. If he'd left the small building, she'd go nuts. She wasn't going to lose him.

  Being less cautious now, Jessica peeked out the door and slid through the opening she'd allowed herself. Without looking back, she stuffed the ambassador's personal effects in one of her pockets and shivered. She caught herself falling into one of her many bad habits. Not breathing until she was near passing out. Breathe, damn it!

  Praying for Divine help, she went in the building to find Jake still sitting on the launcher, eyes closed and head bleeding.

  "Jake."

  He instantly opened his eyes, wiping an arm over his face. “Man, I'm glad you're here. I'm needing a pain pill. Got any morphine?"

  "You've had enough."

  Oh, crap. Why did she snap at him? He probably was hurting. “Jake, let's go. I have a ride waiting for us if we can make it."

  "Sure.” His eyes rolled back, and Jessica wanted to cuss. He recovered when she touched his lips. “You're still here? I really like you."

  "Bloody hell.” She picked up the grenades, looping the belt over her head. After stuffing extra rounds of ammo for their Glocks in her pockets, she loaded a full clip in the rifle. “That's about all I can carry, Claypool. Hug my neck, Cowboy."

  This was a far cry from the man she'd made love to only hours ago. Willing to comply with her every command, he was wasted, and that scared her.

  He made no noise and didn't question her when she picked up the box he'd been sitting on. Just kissed her cheek and trudged along beside her.

  Lugging that launcher took every ounce of strength she had left. If she didn't hurry, Azizi would be on his way to his tent on the Riviera. She didn't intend to let that happen.

  "Jake.” She leaned him against the wall. “I'm going shopping. You stay right here."

  "Give me a weapon."

  Could he possibly be coming out of whatever they gave him? Maybe. “I'll only be gone a short time.” She grunted under the weight of the launcher on her shoulder. “Then we're going home."

  "Okay. Strap me, honey."

  There he went with that honey thing again. What the hell? He'd automatically know how to fire the damned Glock, but she wouldn't take the risk. “Here's your weapon, Jake. I'll load it when I get back."

  "Thanks.” He cocked the deadly weapon and held it across his chest, looking as if he'd never been out of his mind, like she knew he still was. “When those bad boys get here, I'll give them a reason to howl.” He grinned. “Hey, honey. Hurry back."

  Out of time, she touched his hand. “I'm gone, Claypool. Stay alert. Watch for me, okay?"

  He saluted, touching his thumb to his nose. “Check."

  Outside, the tension had thickened. Azizi's men had discovered Jake's absence and were beating the brush for him, runni
ng in a pack like hyenas.

  Watching from her hiding place, she figured they would kill her for laughs.

  No time to figure out an escape without a fight. It made no difference. There was no leaving until the mission was complete. She focused on Azizi and the coming end to the horrible saga he'd been living.

  She took several steps, hoisting the launcher up on her shoulder. A sound behind her forced Jessica to quickly look back.

  "Jake!"

  His smile threw her for a loop. Mischievous and pure Jake. He carried the assault rifle she'd found. He rested his hand on the butt of the Glock stuffed into the waist of his torn up jeans.

  "At your service."

  What timing. He'd never looked more heart rippingly sexy before. She gritted her teeth against the absurdity.

  "How's your head? Are you straight?"

  He winked at her, misunderstanding her meaning, obviously. “You know I am.” He winced and rubbed his nose. “Okay, just point me to the pigs."

  Fury and desperation shot through her. “Why didn't you stay put? You'll get us both killed. These guys aren't fooling around, damn it! Just ask the ambassador."

  Shame made her ache for him when Jake hung his head. He nodded and pointed ahead. “I'll wait for your orders, honey."

  She let it go with a quick pat to his shoulder. “I'm going in the house to find that snake.” He perked up, eyes on her face. “We use enough fire power to confuse the idiots and take out Azizi and as many of them as we can."

  "I'll cover your back."

  Okay. He'd do that. She felt a sniggle of worry about his staying close and not trying to converse with the animals trying to kill him?

  "Jake, listen to me.” The damned launcher was cutting into her shoulder. “The second we finish Azizi, we run for the truck parked down the road. Drop that rifle when it's empty. I don't have any more ammo for it. I have another clip for our Glocks. That's it. Okay?"

  "Hell yeah.” He grinned, checking the clip in the rifle. “I'm right behind you."

  "Stick like glue, partner. I'm not going to lose you after what we've been through."

  He moved up to thump her shoulder. “Affirmative, Lieutenant."

  She glanced at him, the mix of humor and fear twisting up to cut deep in her heart. “We'll discuss rank after we clear out of here.” Grimacing hard, she nodded. “Let's go."