Fixed Asset (Downrange), page 20
I wasn’t sure if that was smart. Calista looked like she was ready to put Mason’s bullets to good use.
“No shit, Captain Sherlock. Tell me, did you figure that out all on your own with your superior abilities of deduction or did you need help drawing that very obvious conclusion?”
Mason’s face turned to granite and suddenly this was no longer fun.
“Tone it down, woman.”
Yep. The mood shifted and Mason had gone from being mildly ticked to seriously pissed. It was time for a subject change.
“Did you get anything useful during the car ride down here?” I interjected. “Anything on who Carlos had set a meeting with?”
“You mean, who was coming to buy me?”
Well . . . yeah, but I’d been trying to be sensitive.
She’d made it clear she preferred the direct approach, so instead of beating around the bush, which I figured she’d find insulting, I answered honestly. “Yes.”
“No. Carlos and the woman mostly argued. I wasn’t sure which one of them I wanted to knock out first. Him for being a repulsive human or her for being equally as repulsive but worse, because she was a woman holding other women against their will. I had a lot of time to think on this while they fought about Carlos being a slob, to which he parried with her being a shit cook. Let’s just say the two of them were a match made in hell, and there were times I wished I had an ice pick to drive into my eardrums to silence their stupidity.”
“Which one did you pick?” Mason rejoined with a much calmer manner.
Calista’s attention went to Mason. I had her mostly in silhouette, but I didn’t miss the way she stared at him.
“Her. Women should look out for other women. So if I had to choose between the two of them, I would’ve knocked the bitch out before I strangled the life out of her. In the end, she got what she deserved. Carlos did too.”
I wholeheartedly agreed with Calista.
It was clear Mason did too. Though he didn’t verbally confirm, his nod of approval did the job. However, he did go on to ask, “Why’d you kill Stone and his pals?”
The question was mostly superfluous. One I would’ve asked her myself even though Tom had already told us why Calista had allegedly killed the men, and Jasmin’s husband Lincoln had corroborated Tom’s assertion Stone was a full-fledged douchebag.
Trust but verify . . . as the saying goes.
It was either the droning of the engine or the waves hitting the side of the boat or the rumbling in my stomach or a combination of all three that had me off my game. So, I couldn’t get a read, and Calista’s body language said one thing, but the tone of her voice said another, and her words contradicted both—that being she wore a sneer that clearly stated she gave zero fucks, her tone aggressive, her explanation foul.
“I walked in on him violating a friend,” Calista spat. “I’ve never had a man take me against my will, but still, I can imagine having it done is the worst thing that can happen to a woman. Add in two other men being present, lounging back on a couch like they don’t have a care in the world while you’re begging for help, takes the worst thing that can happen to you and ratchets that shit up a few hundred notches.”
“Jesus fuck, I hope you made it painful,” Pete interjected.
“Unfortunately, no,” Calista told him. “At the time, I was more concerned with getting my friend out of the hell Stone had put her in than I was with making them pay. It wasn’t until I had Diane safely back at her place and I’d spent the next eight hours holding my girl while she sobbed and violently shook in my arms that I wished I’d had time to get creative.”
I seriously liked this woman.
“How’d you get tagged for the murder?”
“I wasn’t exactly careful when I broke a window to gain entry into Victor’s home. I cut my hand on the broken glass. What’s funny—and not in a ha-ha way—is Diane’s DNA was all over Stone, if you get what I’m saying, and the police have never once questioned her. Explain to me how a dead man’s dick can be covered in body fluids and that woman isn’t a suspect, but a random drop of blood found on the floor is.
“Don’t bother taxing your brain, I’ll tell you why. Victor is known to take what he wants, but more, he likes to be watched. The two other men were prominent attorneys. Victor was the aide of a senator, and that piece of shit liked to watch Victor. No one wants the woman connected to those fluids to be found. Hell, I’d bet my savings account the condom I left on his dead dick magically disappeared before the ME was on scene. Now, don’t mistake me. I don’t want Diane anywhere near this. I’m happy she hasn’t been dragged into the fallout.”
“Even if it means helping you with a defense—”
If Mason meant to say more, he didn’t get the chance before Calista cut him off.
“Revictimize the victim so I get a lesser sentence. No thanks.”
Apparently no one had anything to say to that. After a few beats of silence, Calista said, “I was in a snit when I thanked you all for the save, but I really did mean it. And Catarina, I’m sorry about the whole gun in your face.”
I waved the apology off.
“All in a day’s work.”
I heard Jack growl, and I leaned into his side and tipped my head back to smile at him.
He wasn’t smiling. But he no longer looked red-hot pissed, so I was considering it a win.
“We’re coming up on the bay,” Pete announced.
The boat slowed. Bad news for me and my stomach was, at this new speed, the boat rocked more. The mouth of the bay came into view, no lighthouse to guide vessels into the harbor, just a wide opening with a lonely, low-lit building up on the bluff. A church, maybe. Either that or someone had prime real estate overlooking the water and the village farther off in the distance. And that village was lit up like a beacon in dark moonlight.
“Jack, pull up the map. What’s the terrain north of the pier look like?” Pete asked.
Jack shifted to get his phone back out. He pulled up the map, angling the screen so I could see too. There was a mountain—okay, more like a very tall hill—that cut off the beach from the village proper. It’d be a trek to traverse it, and it would also put us on the only road entering the village. Jack used his finger to move the map south of the pier. More of the same rocky shoreline.
“I think it’s a safer bet pulling into that alcove there.” I pointed at the map. “And coming up from the south. The terrain’s not much better, but we’ll avoid the road. We can stay on the outskirt of town.”
“Too rocky,” Jack denied. “We’d have to anchor and swim in.”
“You got a problem getting wet, sailor?”
“No. I gotta problem with you getting smashed against jagged boulders.”
I had a problem with that too. But it was still the best course of action.
“I can swim,” I told him. “And the water’s calm.”
Though my roiling stomach belied my statement.
“I thought you said you were afraid of sharks,” Mason unhelpfully put in.
“It’s called Bahia Tortuga, not Bahia Tiburón,” I reminded him.
However, I wasn’t sure I wanted to swim with sea turtles either. I’d never seen one in real life, but like two-thirds—that was a rough guesstimate, but I figured it was close enough—of the population had seen them on TV. Those fuckers were huge. I couldn’t remember the size of their mouths, and with a possible dip into the water on the horizon, I wasn’t going to think about it.
“If you looked at the map, would you be able to locate the house Carlos took you to?”
I glanced at Calista. She was nodding and holding her hand out to Jack.
“Here, take my seat,” I offered, so she could sit next to Jack.
As soon as I pushed to a stand, a wave of nausea hit, and I swayed.
“Jesus,” Mason mumbled. “We need to get her off this boat.”
I barely fought back repeating Calista’s earlier retort—no shit, Captain Sherlock. Instead I opted to flip him the bird.
“I’m fine.”
I wasn’t.
I was ready to jump overboard and take my chances swimming with the turtles.
Mason took pity on me and grabbed my arm to steady me. “Here, sit by me.”
Calista moved from the port side to sit next to Jack. Mason guided me starboard. For the record, “guided” was an understatement. He practically dragged me to his side.
Once I was seated, Mason leaned close and whispered, “The trick is to focus on something stationary in the distance.”
The only trick that was going to work was getting off the rocking boat.
I didn’t say that. I stared at the lights coming from the village and breathed deep while I listened to Calista tell Jack about what she saw and what turns she remembered before she’d arrived at Carlos’s cousin’s house. At least, we assumed it was the cousin’s place, though it could’ve been anyone’s. But the bottom line of it was, it was a house we wanted to avoid.
“Water infill,” Jack announced. “The house is on the north end of town.”
I practically groaned my relief.
Mason chuckled from beside me. “One day you’ll get your sea legs, Kitty Cat.”
When I’d moved to Virginia, the people there had told me my Texan blood would thicken and I’d get used to the cold. That hadn’t happened, so I wasn’t holding out for sea legs.
“Doubtful,” I muttered as I watched the rocky shoreline for the alcove, counting down the seconds before I got to get off this puke bucket.
Thankfully, a few minutes later, Pete was pulling back on the throttle.
Nope. Scratch that, now that the boat was no longer in motion, it was bobbing side to side.
“Everyone ready?” Pete asked.
Hell. To. The. Yes.
“Whoa there, Kitty.” Mason grabbed my shoulder before I could bolt. “Pete goes first. Then you and Jack. Calista and I take up the rear.”
I wasn’t so seasick I didn’t smirk at his comment.
With a shake of his head, Mason cut off my retort. “Don’t.”
I didn’t have time to evaluate Mason’s stern tone before Pete was shuffling forward. Jack and Calista were on their feet, with Jack swinging his dry pack over his shoulder. When Jack had his gear adjusted the way he wanted, he took a step closer to me and offered his hand. Once I was tucked to Jack’s side, Mason got himself ready.
Next thing I knew, Pete was in the water. He dove under and a few seconds later popped back up.
“Maybe ten feet deep,” Pete called back.
“Sit on the edge and push off. Not straight down,” Jack instructed.
I followed his unnecessary orders without comment. Mostly because I was eager to get off the boat but also partly because if he hadn’t told me to push off, I might’ve just dropped straight down.
What can I say? I’m not a boat person.
Seeing as I’d been sitting on the edge when I pushed off, my head barely went under water. But when I popped up, Pete was right next to me with a hand around my upper arm, guiding me away from the boat and the rocks.
Jack jumped in next and came right to me, followed by Calista, with Mason indeed taking up the rear.
“Do you know how to sidestroke?” Jack asked.
“That’s the doggy-paddle thing on your side, right?”
“I thought you said you knew how to swim?”
“Yeah, in a pool.”
Jack let out a string of expletives.
“I’m screwing with you,” I told him.
In the moonlight, treading water, I watched Jack shake his head in exasperation.
“Ready?”
I ignored his question and kept staring.
“Baby?”
The timing was strange, but the feeling wasn’t. It was the kind that dug in and settled deep. The kind that warmed you to your core. Not contentment or happiness or anything as simple as that. It was bigger than that, so huge it filled my lungs and fed my soul.
This was life—my life—it was unpredictable at best. After losing my grandmother and the foundation she’d given me, moving on to not so great until Lina, I’d never been settled. When I got older that had translated into me craving the thrill of the chase. I didn’t know why and it didn’t much matter, I just knew I liked the excitement of the hunt. I liked moving around. I liked knowing I did a job that made a difference. I needed these things to define me. My job was my identity.
But right then, treading water off the rocky shore of a Mexican village, I came to the realization I no longer needed the chase or the rush. I wasn’t ready to give it up, I loved what I did, but I didn’t need it—I wanted to continue because it helped good people who’d found themselves in impossibly heinous situations, but I was more than the human-lie-detector soldier, the agent, the federal law enforcement officer.
I was just me.
Catarina, the friend, the daughter, the granddaughter, Jack’s woman.
There was nothing to prove to anyone.
Not even myself.
I sucked in a breath . . . all mine.
The feeling of freedom I’d discovered all those years back was now accompanied with a sense of completeness.
I was whole without Jack.
But with him, I was complete.
“Ready,” I told him.
It was his turn to stare at me.
“Move it, Donovan. We don’t have all night, and now my jeans are wet and sticking to all the wrong places,” I bitched.
“Catarina—”
“Jack.”
His lips tipped up into a smile.
And there it was again, total and absolute completeness.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The swim to shore was quick and thankfully uneventful.
However, something happened out there in the water. Unfortunately I didn’t have time to ask her about it, but whatever it was looked important—like she’d had a revelation.
But that would have to wait. We had a plane to catch and an uncertain route to get there.
“New grievance unlocked,” Cat started. “Or maybe it’s not a complaint and more of an unhappy observation. Swimming with a vest on sucks.”
Pete was digging through his SealLine pack but looked up at Cat to say, “True story.”
Her expression was comical when she asked, “What, no tough-guy Team Guy recounting of how you swam ten miles upstream in frigid water with a vest and a fifty-pound ruck? All of this before you ate snails for breakfast.”
Pete pulled his phone out and began rolling the top on the pack closed. “Tough guys don’t need to tell fish tales.”
“Why’s that?” she asked.
“Because the shit we do doesn’t require exaggeration.”
“What he means is,” Mase interjected, “the cool-guy shit we do gives regular men boners.”
Fucking Mason.
“Are you always this full of yourself?” Calista inquired.
“If by full of myself you mean confident, then yeah, sweetheart. All the fucking time.” Mason shrugged. “And before you ask, yes, my confidence skirts arrogance, but only because I can back my shit up. Most people like to think they’re better than they really are. I know I’m better—not because of the cool shit I’ve done. Not because I think I’m a tough guy. But because when the call comes, I’m out the fucking door no questions asked.”
Without missing a beat, Calista remarked, “And that’s why Tom sent you to find me, because you wouldn’t ask uncomfortable questions.”
I wasn’t sure if that was an accusation or a statement of fact, but still Mase fielded it. “What questions would Tom find uncomfortable?”
Calista closed down. “Forget I said that.”
“Sure,” Mason magnanimously agreed, even though it was a flat-out lie.
He might drop the line of questioning with Calista, but he wouldn’t forget to dig in when we got home.
“Three missed calls,” Pete announced. “Shep. Fallon. Tom.”
Well, fuck.
Fun-time Mason fled, replaced by pissed-off warfighter.
“Call Fallon.”
Pete didn’t need Mason’s directive. He’d already engaged his phone and was lifting it to his ear.
“You good?” Pete asked into the phone. “Right. Good work.” Pause. “Yeah. We got the package, tangos are down, on the way to the mainland airport now. We’ll debrief when we get on the plane.” Another pause. “Later.” Pete lowered his phone but didn’t look up as he slid his finger across the screen again and told us, “Mission success.”
“Righteous,” Mason muttered, and his shoulders relaxed now that he knew the team was safe.
If they weren’t, Pete would’ve led with injuries.
Pete’s phone was back at his ear. “Whatcha got, Shep?”
Mason’s gaze jerked over his shoulder. Cat’s hand landed on my forearm and squeezed. My other hand shot up to silence Pete.
They’d heard it too. Voices in the distance.
“Yep,” Pete whispered. “We got incoming.”
Cat dropped her hand, and out of the corner of my eye I saw her pull her pistol from her holster as she stepped next to Calista and whispered something to her as I swung my M4 up, the buttstock of the rifle pressed tight against my shoulder, ears straining to hear, eyes scanning the hilly terrain.
Mason had his dry pack hanging from one shoulder. Using his opposite hand, he unzipped and reached into the side pocket, pulling out a pistol. Wordlessly he handed Calista the weapon he’d obviously stowed for the swim. As soon as Calista retrieved her weapon, Mase secured his bag and pulled up his M4.
Without needing verbal commands, Mase moved left, I stepped right, and we took our watch positions, leaving Pete and the women between us.
“Copy that.” Pete spoke quietly, ending the call. Then to the rest of us, “Carlos’s cousin got word Calista escaped, and he knows she had help.”
Fuck.
Not surprising but still fucking hell.
Pete quietly went on. “He knows she fled on a boat and is sending men out on the water. Airport’s gonna be hot.”
No, now fucking hell.
“New exfil?” Mase asked.
“No. Shep said we’d have backup. The plane’s thirty minutes out.”
