Fight Fire With Fire - Amy J. Fetzer

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eyes shielded by sunglasses, he adjusted his jacket and sleeves as a uniformed man pulled another man from inside. Barasa’s body blocked a clear view, but his prisoner was hooded and bound.

       The guy from the truck everyone wants . His lower thigh was bloody and crudely wrapped. He was a shaggy blond, a head shorter than the other two and sandwiched between. Barasa’s thug of the day wore the right uniform, but lacked the correct insignia. Knock-offs made anywhere, she thought, but admitted it was clever. It also warned her that he was well prepared for his latest weapons deal. Enough to have help standing by.

      While the pilot had the smoke under control, they weren’t going anywhere without a ride. Barasa led the package toward the opposite side of the lot. She moved to see and thought, now it’s in my court . His familiar navy blue Town Car pulled in, then circled as if to go back out. She drew her single scope monocular to check the plates before the position blocked it. She’d only delayed the inevitable. Barasa had what he wanted.

      She backed into hiding. “Base, you still have the GPS tag on the limo?”

       “Roger that.”

      “Tell me it’s on the east side of the bridge.”

       “Confirmed.”

      She let out a breath, then returned to her position. At least he hadn’t found it yet. “I’ve got visual on his sedan and the chopper.”

       “Your plan?”

      “Don’t have one. You?”

       “I don’t do field work.”

      Safia chuckled to herself, then pulled the silencer from inside her jacket and screwed it into position. Rather the conceal till necessary type, she returned it to the holster, but felt it hit something. She unzipped. The jacket was designed to give her the straight shape of a man, and the padding housed pockets for her favorite tools. It was custom made by Miya’s sister. She found the cell phone from the slop bucket and turned it on. She considered how to use it as a distraction, then arched a brow when the hourglass rolled on the little screen, surprised it worked after swimming with the fish-special.

      She worked to find the last number and nearly jumped out of her skin when it rang in her hand.

      Riley watched her. That he’d been chasing a woman wasn’t so much of a shock. Once he got a good look, he knew the rider was either female or a skinny man. She was a bloody master over that race bike though, but he didn’t have time for games. When he saw the phone in her hand, he took a chance. He could hear the soft ring from here, and hit the speaker on Vaghn’s phone.

      When she looked up, he waved.

      That didn’t go over well, considering he was aiming his .45 at her. He had a good angle, just not a clear shot. She was tight against the shed, but only thirty feet away. She started to draw her weapon, and he shook his head, motioning her to stand and walk left, into the shade and out of plain view. He waited.

      She stood, but didn’t move.

      Instead, she answered the phone. He spoke first.

      “I believe this is what I call a Mexican standoff.”

       “It’s what I call pissing in my yard. Who are you? Maxwell Renfield?”

      Riley frowned. “Clearly your resources are better than mine.”

      From his position, he could see his target several yards upriver. The chopper was empty, but there was movement around it. A uniformed man raced to the docks and dropped into a skiff. Still wearing the crash helmet, the man yanked the pull rope and backed the skiff out, then hauled ass downriver. Where was he going in such a hurry?

      Pocketing the phone, he darted to the next bit of cover, a rusty boat trailer, its cargo a chunk of driftwood that vaguely resembled a sailboat. He ducked low and looked back to see her scramble to his left.

      “Go, shoo. Don’t get involved in this.” She made a face and Riley laid flat on the ground, then shimmied under the boat trailer for a look at the lot.

      Safia moved in closer, kneeling. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something felt suddenly familiar, making her senses keen. “What are you trying to do?”

      Now there’s an interrogator’s question, he thought, hiding his smile. “Find a way to get my prisoner back.”

      “Prisoner?” Oh no he wasn’t.

      He glanced at her. “Yes, you shot the wrong tire.”

      She’d been aiming for the ATV, but at the last moment, they’d moved ahead. She hadn’t meant to crash it, just slow it down. Still, it had the desired effect. Trouble for Barasa, and this guy apparently.

      Riley watched the men milling near the rear of the car. The gag and blindfold first made him think they were holding Vaghn hostage. Vaghn’s family was wealthy, but disowning him after his conviction was a sure bet no one would pay a ransom. If the captors knew anything about Vaghn, it would be his finances, so what’s with the blind and gag treatment? Surrounded, Vaghn would feel isolated, without control. Interesting. The guy normally didn’t know when to shut up.

      “This is a new box of frogs, isn’t it?”

      Safia’s gaze shot to him and she ducked in, her gaze soaking in his face. She experienced a strange sense of dejà vu. “I know you,” she said, frowning.

      He scoffed. “I doubt it.”

      What was it about him? Then she saw him again, younger, bloodied, that teasing smile, and she knew. “Fundraiser. The pilot.”

      His features tightened, and he backed up from under the trailer and sat up. His gaze ripped over her face and she felt devoured by that look.

      “Safia? From Serbia?”

      She smiled, nodded. His shock was adorable. “Nice to have made an impression, Riley.”

      “A lifetime wouldn’t change that day.” Then he grabbed her close, hugged her tight, then laid a deep, quick kiss on her that rocked her to her knees. “That’s a proper thank you.”

      She sputtered, unaccustomed to anyone treating her like that. She didn’t want to dissect the wonderful little spin of heat, but she didn’t back away either.

      Then he said, “So who’s the suit?”

      Moving out of his arms, she crawled to the rear of the trailer and spied around the rotting tire. “Someone to watch carefully. The kid?”

      It amused him that she wasn’t giving up any information. “A parole fugitive.”

      She scowled and glanced. “You’re a chaser?”

      “For this guy, I am.” He drew out his billfold and flipped it open. Diplomatic Security.

      “I thought you’d still be a Marine.”

      “So did I,” he murmured, pocketing it and watching.

      She settled beside him, looking through a monocular. When Barasa ducked into the backseat, she stood and retraced her steps to the bike, but she had company. “It’s great to see you again, Riley, but we part here, and I think you should forget about that kid.”

      “I won’t.”

      And she knew it. He’d gone after his friend in Serbia against direct orders. She wasn’t getting rid of him that easily. She went to her bike, backing it out of hiding, then swung her leg over.

      “You owe me.”

      Gripping her helmet, she tipped her head. “I thought it was you who owed me .”

      “That too. But I won’t go away.”

      Safia knew when she’d hit a brick wall and was about to concede when he scowled suddenly and tipped his head, preoccupied. She realized he was miked up as he strode nearer to the water and looked toward the bridge.

      “I

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