When she would have taken off down the hall, Edward stopped her, gently grasping her arm. He shook his head. “He’s already gone. Long gone. Said you were to stay here and he’d be back for you later.”
“He what?!” How could he do this to her? Again! He left her again, just dumped her like an inconvenience to be dealt with later. “I don’t understand. He was supposed to take me with him.”
“He didn’t explain to me, Nevada. Just said I was to keep you safe. You might as well relax and settle in. It could be a long night.” He patted her hand like an indulgent father would a small child. She resisted the urge to pull her hand away, furious at the father as well as the son.
Long night, indeed. Sonofabitch! He’d never intended to take her with him. The firing lessons, the conversations and set up of the location, had all been a way to placate her into thinking she was going to help him. Goddamn him!
“Come, dear, sit down. Dinner will be ready soon.”
“No, thank you, Margaret. I need to stand.” She felt guilty over the biting words, but couldn’t help it.
“You’re angry with him, aren’t you?”
“Beyond the ability to speak,” she ground out. Her chest heaved with the effort to control her breathing as well as her anger. She wanted to scream, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. And she had Margaret to consider.
“I’m sure he did this for your safety, Nevada,” Margaret said, grasping her hand. “And I know you don’t understand it now, but maybe he’ll explain it when he gets back.”
“Maybe.” She’d never understand him. And he’d lied to her again! Fucking bastard! Her heart ached, her body shook with fury and pain and she wanted to scream loud enough to shake the chandelier. Damn him for doing this to her!
“He knows what he’s doing. Don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine. Nothing you could do to help him anyway, so it’s better you’re out of his way.” Edward’s confident voice boomed through the kitchen.
Out of his way. That’s what she was to Edward. In his son’s way. Is that what Tyler thought too?
Margaret returned to her cooking and Nevada flopped in the kitchen chair, utterly defeated.
He’ll explain it when he gets back. If he gets back. Warring with her anger was the overriding fear that he was going out to do this alone. Without her. Without backup.
She was devastated. He thought so little of her abilities to help him, he dumped her on his parents again.
Not this time. He wasn’t going to do this alone. She couldn’t allow it to happen. But she needed a plan. Tyler had already explained the advanced security system here, so just walking out the front door wasn’t an option.
And if she knew Tyler, she also knew he’d briefed his father to hold her virtual prisoner here.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to go upstairs and lie down. I have a raging headache. Do you have some aspirin?” She backed away from the kitchen, working her way down the hall.
Margaret’s face filled with concern. “Of course. Upstairs in the medicine cabinet of the guest bathroom. Go, lie down in Tyler’s room.”
“Thank you. And, I’m sorry, but I’m really not hungry at all, so don’t wake me for dinner. I might just sleep all night.”
Edward shot her a suspicious glance. Nevada prayed he fell for it. The last thing she needed was to have to outwit a military general. Damn Tyler for asking his father to babysit her.
“Are you all right?” Edward handed his empty glass to Margaret and turned to her.
Just how good an actress was she? She was about to find out. “It’s my head,” she said, trying to sound convincingly pained without being melodramatic. “Migraines. They come on me all of a sudden, usually in times of stress.” She made a point to let her anger at Tyler show. “Forgive me, Edward, but your son stresses me.”
That made Edward laugh, and she knew she’d convinced him. “I can understand that, my dear. But you know he’s just trying to keep you safe.”
“I know he is. Tell that to my head.” She rubbed her temples. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll just sleep this off.”
“Good for you,” Edward said. “We’ll let Tyler know where you are when he returns.”
She hated deceiving Margaret. But it couldn’t be helped. She nodded and made her escape up the stairs.
Once she reached the safety of Tyler’s room, she closed the door and bolted it shut, then hurried to the window and opened it as quietly as possible.
She had remembered correctly. There was a trellis right below the window. She’d already pulled Edward’s keys from the kitchen counter and slipped them into her jeans pocket while Margaret’s back was turned. As Tyler told her last time they visited, secondary access to the alarm system was located on Edward’s key fob, and she pushed the button to disable the perimeter alarm.
Slipping the keys in her pocket, she started out the window, praying that the car keys attached to the key ring would fit Edward’s car in the driveway.
Whether he knew it or not, whether he liked it or not, Tyler was going to have her help.
* * * * *
Tyler pulled out his cell phone and contemplated for the hundredth time that day whether or not to make the call. He was realistic enough to know the mission had a slim chance of succeeding without backup. He couldn’t do it alone.
Now that he’d gotten Nevada safely ensconced in his parents’ house, he could focus on bringing down the drug cartel. But that presented another problem. He needed help. But who? His gut told him he could trust Dylan, but what if he was wrong? He could compromise the entire mission as well as his own life.
“The hell with it,” he murmured. His instincts had always been right before. He punched in a speed dial number.
“Yeah.”
“Legend, it’s Midnight.”
“Midnight! Dammit, where the hell have you been?”
“Not now.”
“Yeah, now. Is Velvet all right? Are you okay? We’ve been trying to get in touch with you. Goddamn, you had us worried. What the fuck is going on?”
“We’re fine. But we’ve got trouble. I need you to meet me.”
“Anything. Where?”
He gave Dylan a brief recap of what had happened and that he suspected someone in the Agency had sold him out. After he gave Dylan the location in code and that he needed to meet him as quickly as possible, he turned the car in the direction of the meeting spot, a location near the warehouse.
If his instincts were right, things with Dylan were on the up-and-up. He really needed an entire NCA squad for backup, but didn’t have that choice.
His only other alternative would be going in by himself. That put the odds against him higher than he’d like. He’d feel much better with Dylan backing him up.
If Dylan was clean, that is. If he wasn’t, the mission would be compromised.
And Tyler would be dead.
* * * * *
Nevada had never been more pissed off in her life. Anger bubbled up inside her and she wanted to smash something with her fists. That kind of reaction was unexpected, yet it also helped fuel her desire to get to Tyler.
First to help him. After that, she’d kill him.
Maybe killing was too strong a word. Maiming would be good. A well-placed kick to his balls, perhaps. Yes, that gave her a certain sense of satisfaction. The white-knuckled grip she had on the steering wheel lessened and she focused her attention on the road, forcing back the seething rage.
Use that anger on the bad guys, Nevada. There’ll still be plenty left over for Tyler.
She checked her rearview mirror, then moved into the lane that would take her across the river to East St. Louis. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, she realized she barely had time to make it before the scheduled delivery. Visions of Tyler trying to do this alone had her pulse racing. She wished she could call someone at the NCA, but she had no earthly idea who to trust.
Okay, so she wasn’t the best backup Tyler could have, but she was better than no
thing.
* * * * *
“See anything?”
“Not yet.”
Tyler swore, hoping by now some of the major players would have arrived. He looked at his watch. Well after ten-thirty, the ten trucks arrived almost a half-hour ago. They’d positioned themselves behind the camouflaging brush at the top of a small hill in front of the warehouse.
He and Dylan lay on their stomachs watching the warehouse activities through their binoculars. Now that it was apparent Dylan could be trusted, he hoped the real NCA mole would show up.
“If somebody doesn’t come soon, we’ll have to go in and take the trucks and drivers and whoever’s in charge. Even if they’re not the big guns.”
Tyler nodded. “I know. Just a few more minutes.”
The larger trucks offloaded chemicals and equipment, transferring the drug-making supplies into smaller trucks. No doubt they’d be distributed throughout the region. Which meant, in less than a week, an incredible amount of meth would be available on the street.
But not if they could stop it. And they would stop it. Hopefully while doing so, he and Dylan would figure out who the mole was.
“Here comes a car.” Tyler flattened himself into the tall grass and Dylan followed.
A black luxury sedan pulled into the entrance of the warehouse. Tyler lifted his binoculars and focused on the entering vehicle. “Looks like just one person driving.”
“Recognize the person?”
“Not yet.”
Tyler waited impatiently, anxious to get down there.
“Wait. They stopped just inside the door.”
Drawing his binoculars, Tyler adjusted the lenses, then swore when he saw who exited the vehicle.
“Fuck!” Their job just got a helluva lot more complicated.
Dylan dropped the binoculars and looked over at Tyler. “The commander.”
“Yeah.” Disgust filled him. Commander Alan Webster had put both his and Nevada’s life on the line. For what? Drugs? Big money?
His father wasn’t such a good judge of character after all.
“You ready?” he asked Dylan, more determined than ever to bring the bastard into custody.
“Right behind you, partner.”
The odds weren’t good, but they weren’t insurmountable, either. They carried enough firepower to take down everyone in that warehouse and only a handful were armed. The rest were most likely warehouse workers and wouldn’t put up much of a fight. He and Dylan had gone over the plan. God willing, it would all go down fast and without a hitch.
Tyler was just thankful Nevada wasn’t in the middle of all this. Worrying about her was a distraction he couldn’t afford right now.
They crept down the hill, careful to stay low to the ground so they wouldn’t be spotted. The commander was busy in conversation with a tall, thin man with long, stringy grey hair. They spoke together in rapid Spanish. Tyler would bet any money that was Mercado.
He stilled when the commander and Mercado moved, then exhaled when they stepped into the warehouse, the guards following. Tyler motioned to Dylan, who followed close behind him.
When they hit the tar of the road, they edged to the wide entrance, their bodies flattened against the side of the building. Tyler felt for his weapons, making sure they were securely strapped to the harness on his body. They wouldn’t have time to search through a bag of goodies while trying to cover a half-dozen armed men, so they had to be loaded and locked, ready to fire.
Though he was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.
They reached the entrance to the warehouse. Tyler saw the front of the two guards’ feet hovering just inside the entrance.
It was go time. Thankful to have Dylan backing him up, he stepped into the doorway, automatic weapon drawn and pointed at the two guards. “Drop ‘em,” he whispered, his lowered voice indicating he wasn’t going to ask more than once. The guards put their guns down and the warehouse went silent.
Dylan appeared next to him, his gaze trained on the armed men to the right, while Tyler focused on the left. They each had three men in their sights, all of whom pointed their weapons on both Tyler and Dylan.
“Looks like a stalemate to me.”
Tyler froze at the familiar voice as a sharp, metal object poked him in the back. He didn’t need to turn around to know who held a gun on him.
“Evening, Commander. Out to make a bust on your own tonight?”
Chapter Thirteen
Nevada pulled her car into a space away from the warehouse, then gathered her bag and trudged up the hill overlooking the area. When she reached the top, she dropped to a crawl and skimmed her way to the rise.
Grabbing for her binoculars, she focused on the wide entrance. Lights were blazing. Several trucks were parked just inside the warehouse. A flurry of activity surrounded her. She counted around a dozen men, at least seven or eight of them with guns.
Training her binoculars just to the left of the doorway, her breath caught as she spied Tyler and Legend, their hands in the air, and three men with assault weapons pushing them into the warehouse. Standing smugly at the entrance doorway was Commander Webster!
She laid her forehead on the cool grass, focusing on keeping her breathing in check. The urge to hyperventilate and panic was strong and she had to fight it back. This was gut check time. If she ever wanted to be a field agent she had to learn to act cool in a crisis. And this was as close to a crisis as she would probably ever come.
What to do? Going in there on her own would be stupid. Tyler and Legend had been taken, and they were experienced agents. She hadn’t even started her training program, and other than rudimentary skills with a gun and a few of the high-powered rifles, her rushing in there to defend them would be like tossing a snowball into a volcano—useless.
It was obvious that Commander Webster was the NCA mole, but what if there were others? Contacting anyone there, even the assistant commander, could be dangerous.
Which left her with only one option. She didn’t like the idea, but she had no choice. There was only one person she knew she could trust.
She flipped over onto her back and grabbed the bag, searching and finding the cell phone Tyler had given her. She turned it on, hoping like hell that she could get Tyler and Legend some help quickly.
The phone rang once, twice, three times. With each ring she prayed for an answer.
When she heard the voice on the other line, she breathed a sigh of relief and readied herself for some fast and furious explanations.
“This is Nevada. Don’t say a word. I need your help quick!”
* * * * *
This was one fine fucking mess. Tyler grimaced as the rope cut into his wrist. Trying to struggle to loosen the thick twine binding him wasn’t doing any good. He struggled to a sitting position, trying to gauge everyone’s whereabouts.
The cement floor was cold and filthy, smelling like oil spills and chemicals.
At least they were still alive, which led Tyler to believe that he and Dylan were being saved to use as bargaining chips. Mercado and Webster had called for reinforcements, too. Now about twenty men milled around, unloading semi-trailers and reloading smaller trucks. Clangs and clatters ricocheted through the warehouse like metal on metal. It had to be the meth chemicals and supplies.
None of the men were NCA, thankfully. Maybe the mole was limited to one person. Commander Webster sure as hell had all the information he’d ever need at his disposal. Every code he’d given to Nevada, every detail of his work on this case had been read and analyzed by the commander. No wonder he’d never made any headway. Webster had let him take two steps forward and then one step back, making him feel like he was inching his way toward discovery of the kingpins of this operation, only to snatch the rug out from under him and make him work harder than ever.
Carrot on a string, he thought with ironic amusement. He laughed.
“Okay, I give up. You tell me what’s so fucking funny about this.”
Tyler looked over at D
ylan and shrugged. “The way Webster played me on this assignment.”
“Oh, hell. None of us knew he was in on this. Webster’s a decorated veteran, for Christ’s sake. Who would ever suspect him?”
Tyler hadn’t. Nor had his own father and his father wasn’t a stupid man. In fact, Webster probably would have gotten away with it if it hadn’t been for Nevada’s skills in discovering Mercado’s link to the meth production lab. She’d been the one to break the case, a fact not lost on him at the moment.
He hoped he’d live long enough to thank her.
As far as his father, he’d be crushed to learn of Webster’s betrayal. Though he might disagree with his dad’s philosophy on life, he could sure use his help about now. The only relief he felt was knowing that Nevada was safe. If she’d come with him on this assignment, she’d have been caught and facing death like him, or even worse. Bad enough he’d involved Dylan in all this.
“Got any brilliant ideas?” Dylan whispered.
“Not at the moment.” But he sure as hell wasn’t going to sit idly by and wait for Webster and Mercado to decide what to do with them. The two men had their heads buried together, whispering. Webster occasionally glanced over at Tyler with a concerned frown.
Or was that regret? Did Webster have a conscience after all? The two men finally left, entering a door marked “Office” at the back of the warehouse. The guards were busy watching the workers load the trucks, which meant no one watched him and Dylan right now.
Tyler moved his hands and felt behind him for anything that could cut the ropes. He twisted his head around as far as he could, spotting several wood pallets about six feet behind them. The wood had sharp points at the edges. It might work.
He scooted slowly to avoid catching the guard’s attention. Dylan watched, then moved with him. Soon they were backed against the pallets, keeping their eyes on the guards while rubbing the ropes against the sharp edges of the pallets.