White Hot: A Patrick & Steeves Suspense (9 page)

D
amn her
. Dal watched Emily slip into the building while keeping one eye on the back door of the house. Judging from the noise coming from that direction, the meal was a huge success, probably generously lubricated with
cerveza
and tequila. Loud chatter drifted through the windows punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clatter of pots from the kitchen.

Listening to them was making him hungrier, if that was even possible. His stomach growled so loudly he was sure they’d hear him back on the coast. At least the ibuprofen was working. The kinks and bruises throughout his body less noticeable. He was confident he could move quickly when the time demanded. And the hydrating pills were already taking effect, he no longer felt like a deflated balloon.

Anger surged through him. Emily refused to back down or listen to reason. They were supposed to be a team and she’d made the decision to go down there on her own, leaving him in a very difficult position. What if she was caught? He’d have to figure out a way to rescue her with a single handgun and a pocketful of bravado.

He was thankful for the extra time he’d spent training yesterday. Was it only yesterday? Time had stretched and shrunk into an unidentifiable thing. It seemed like days since they’d crossed the border and barely minutes since they’d crashed in the crevice. Pinning things down was like trying to catch smoke.

Things were quiet in the yard below. There was nothing to see inside the building, only the door open wide and the shock of light shining out. What was she even planning to do with the photographs? Without their phones, they couldn’t send them anywhere.

He’d started counting when she’d stepped into the building, trying to keep some sense of time. He figured she’d been inside now well over five minutes. His heart beat a little faster against his chest. “Come back, come back, come back,” he whispered.

His pleas were interrupted by a burst of noise from the house. Someone turned up the radio and several of the men started singing along to ‘Besame Mucho’. Even Dal knew the words to the famous bolero. Near the end of the song, to a boisterous chorus of protests, the station was switched to a
cumbia
. Moments later, the back door slammed opened and several of the men waltzed outside, singing at the top of their lungs, feet shuffling to the
cumbia
playing at full blast.

With so much noise, would Emily be able to hear him? On the porch, the men danced and sang, drifting in and out of the house, passing around bottles of beer and sharing several quarts of tequila. Blowing off steam before the second part of the action got underway. What was part two he wondered? And when would the guest of honor arrive?

As he watched, one of the men stumbled out of the house, down the stairs and toward the building. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Dal turned toward the open doors and signaled, projecting the sound as much as he could. Damn, he could barely hear it himself over the noise from the house. He tried again. He stared into the light of the open door, but there was nothing to see.

“Rico,” someone yelled. “Your girlfriend is on the phone.”

The pudgy man stopped in his tracks and turned. Someone held up a cell phone. “Get over here and talk to her, she thinks you’re out with your other mistress.”

“What the hell?” Rico hurried back across the yard, one hand gripping the waist of his pants. “Tell her I’m here. What the fuck …”

Dal signaled again, twice in quick succession.

As Rico got to the bottom of the stairs, he caught the cell phone his friend threw him and put it to his ear for several seconds before shaking it in his fist. “She hung up,” he yelled. “What did you say to her?”

The crowd of men laughed and shouted. “Aye
cabrón
,” somebody cried, “you’re too easy.”

“Fuck you,” Rico said. He hurled the phone into the group on the porch and staggered back across the yard.

E
mily was making
her way back toward the door when she heard the hawk signal. She wedged herself behind a stack of boxes off to the side of the entrance. Peeking around the edge, she watched one of the men step down from the porch and start across the yard. She held her breath. If he came alone, she might be able to overtake him or avoid him altogether.

The building was full of boxes except for the aisle running down the center and along the back. She had two options. Get to the back before he arrived or try to crawl on top of the stack nearby. She leaned her weight into the boxes. They were sturdy enough and packed close. Going up was definitely an option.

As she prepared to make her move, the man was called back to the porch. Dal signaled twice more, the cry of the hawk realistic as it floated through the air over the partying and drinking taking place at the house. She crept to the door, careful to stay out of the light, and watched Rico - she recognized the man as much by him holding up his pants, as by his short pudgy stature - return to the porch where one of the men was holding out a phone in his direction.

Seconds ago, she’d been ready to make a clean break for it, but now most of the men had stopped dancing and joking and were watching Rico make his way back across the yard. If they looked beyond him at the wrong second, they’d be sure to see her. She couldn’t risk it.

Rico took the phone, but it had all been a joke. The men laughed and clapped each other on the back, all eyes on Rico as he hopped in place like a caricature of himself, steam practically coming out of his ears. Now or never. Taking a deep breath, she slipped through the door and around the corner into the shadows.

“
W
hat the hell
is going on out here?” Jack stepped onto the porch and suppressed a grin. He might as well have thrown a bucket of cold water over the men. His appearance had the same effect. Which suited him fine.

“We’re just having some laughs, boss,” Miguel said. “You want another beer?”

“Tequila?” Diego, propped up by a post, waved the half-empty bottle in Jack’s direction.

“No more booze,” Jack said. “You’re all
barracho
enough already. It’s time to sober up. We have work to do.”

“Come on,
amigo
,” said one of the men still dancing. “We worked our asses off all afternoon.”

“And,” Jack said, stepping toe to toe with the man who he didn’t recognize, someone brought in last minute to help with the fucking fiasco on the highway, “you’ll work your asses off all night. If you wanna get paid.” He turned and stalked back into the house, ignoring the grumbling behind him.

“Clean up this mess. Come on. Everybody. Get ready.” Walking through the kitchen, he stopped in the doorway, his gaze circling the table to hit every man still sitting there. “Break is over. Back to work.” He was greeted by hard stares and grimaces, but as he turned away he heard chairs being pushed back as the men got up.

Jack couldn’t wait to have this night over. It was his first chance to see who he’d really been working for all these years. Considering everything he’d been through, it really pissed him off to be left in the lower echelons of the organization, being fed information on a need-to-know basis. Fuck that. No man ever accomplished anything great without the ear of the man at the top. And tonight, he intended to get it.

J
ack’s voice
punctuated the night. Emily stopped dead in her tracks, heart in her throat. She’d been seen. Creeping back to the corner, she peered across the yard. No, Jack was dispersing the party, Rico was stumbling back across the yard. Letting out a sigh of relief, she continued down the side of the building, retracing her tracks from the trip down.

“Shit,” Dal hissed. “Talk about a close call.”

She slumped in beside him, taking a moment to catch her breath and accepting the Gatorade he handed her. She drank deeply. “Too close,” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“Did you get what you wanted?”

She nodded. “It’s like Jack told my father. The building is jammed almost to the rafters with boxes and boxes of weapons. But I think there’s something else there too.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure.” Pulling the camera out of her pocket, she scrolled through the photographs she’d taken. “See here, in this corner, there’s something else stacked in there.”

“The boxes are a different size,” he said.

“Yeah, and,” she zoomed in, “there are no markings on the boxes. Plus,” she continued, turning to meet his eyes, “they’re stacked in the corner with nothing blocking access to them.”

“Drugs, maybe?”

She shrugged. She’d considered that. “Or another type of weapon?”

“Well it’s a good thing you got out when you did,” he said, taking the camera from her. “There doesn’t seem to be anywhere to hide. There’s this one central aisle and the space along the back.”

“Good eye. And something else,” she said, reaching over to swipe the photographs forward. “Down here at the back, there’s a hatch.”

He lifted the camera to look more closely at the photograph. “Where does it lead?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you open it?”

She slapped at his hand. “What do you take me for? Of course, I opened it.” She chuckled, releasing some of her earlier tension, and snuggled into the crook of his arm.

“You want to keep me in suspense or what?”

“It leads into a shaft. The ladder looks to be in good condition and recently used. And there are a lot of boxes down there.” She’d been tempted to explore more but the thought of being caught down below had stopped her. “You think it’s a secret tunnel way?”

“Not secret exactly,” he said. “Remember the map that Jill showed us? Underneath the buildings there was a schematic of red lines. I noticed them when she pointed out the opening to the mine. My guess is that there are tunnels that run down from there that connect the main buildings underground.”

“Seriously?”

His shoulder lifted against her. “Why not? If I picture that map in my mind again… I can’t imagine what else those red lines would represent.”

“So,” she started, thinking it through. “That shaft may lead to the house? And to the barn?”

“It’s possible.” He put his arm around her shoulder and she leaned into him. “I was worried,” he said, his lips light as a butterfly on her forehead.

She smiled up at him. “Thanks for standing guard,” she said.

“I noticed you limping on your way down. I should take a look at that leg.”

“Not right now,” she said, leaning back into him. “The Ibuprofen are helping. If we had a little alcohol, it wouldn’t hurt to clean it.”

“You’re sure?” he said, his fingers trailing their way up her shoulder to her neck. She shivered at his touch. “It would be my pleasure to play doctor with you.”

She chuckled and elbowed him in the ribs. He turned her face to his and leaned down, lips brushing hers. Despite the sunburn, it felt good. She trailed her tongue along his lips, delighted at his reaction. He pulled her closer, tightening their embrace, his fingers massaging the back of her neck.

“Dal,” she sighed, breathing in the dusky mustiness of him. A warmth spread through her and she let herself melt into the moment, forget the chaos around them, forget the damn phones, forget that everything was compromised without communications. She simply kissed him back.

W
ith every bone
in his body Dal hated to do it. Reluctantly, he pushed away from Emily. Her brow puckered.

“Someone is coming.”

Shifting, they looked out toward the main road. Sure enough, headlights haloed the distant hills. The vehicle rumbled closer, the roar of the motor magnified by the small hills lining the lane.

“That’s more than one truck,” Em said, her hand still on his arm.

“We’ll know in a minute,” he said, “and look.” He gestured toward the house. The men were piling out like it was on fire, scurrying back toward the warehouse, Jack yelling his head off behind them like a hated, micro-managing soccer coach. Miguel and Diego spilled off the porch, sprinted across the yard and in through the open doors. The other men, taking their lead, followed close behind.

The approaching vehicles slowed and Dal heard them pick their way across the rock-strewn arroyo. The first truck, a chrome-laden SUV, rounded the corner, pulled into the yard and up to the porch. One more followed. A third vehicle labored through the arroyo, the crumbling of the rocks beneath the tires ringing out into the night. Finally, a large cube van lumbered into sight.

“They only brought one big truck?” Emily asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I can’t begin to guess what’s going down here tonight,” Dal said. “Maybe the other trucks are coming in later.”

Below, a pantomime of activity played out before his eyes. Jack came down the porch to greet the new arrivals. A large man, wearing a black leather jacket, jumped out of the first SUV and opened the back door. A tall, balding man in a black suit got out of the SUV and shook Jack’s hand.

“This the guy?” Dal asked, slanting a look at Emily.

“Looks like Jack already knows this guy.”

Jack flung his arm over the man’s shoulder in a half-hug. “Must be Garcia, the middle guy. Where’s the big guy?”

The second SUV flashed its lights against the back of the first and Jack allowed himself to be led toward it. Another large man got out of the driver’s seat and opened the back door. “These aren’t just drivers,” Em said. “Those guys look more like bodyguards.” As she spoke, two more men got out of the SUVs. They were armed, the bulk on their hips evident even from Dal’s vantage point, their eyes sweeping the yard, scanning every nook and cranny.

Jack stepped back as the first man leaned in to talk to Mr. Big, who was still in the truck. Moments later, the big man himself stepped out into the night. Jack moved forward, like he was greeting royalty, as Garcia introduced him to Mr. Big. They stood chatting in the yard for some time while the cube van, under Miguel’s direction, backed up to the warehouse.

Indicating the house with a sweep of his arm, Jack lead the way across the porch. Mr. Big crossed under the overhead light on the porch and Emily jabbed Dal in the side. “Holy shit, look who it is.”

“You recognize him?” He’d already turned and Dal could only see his profile.

“He’s one of the biggest cartel leaders in the country. Notoriously cruel. Filthy rich. He goes by El Pato.”

“Seriously? El Pato? Some say he’s almost as rich as Carlos Slim.”

“Not quite that rich, but yeah.”

The three men left the porch and disappeared inside.

“I’d love to know what’s going on down there,” Emily said. “I can scoot down, try to hear what’s going on.”

“Have you lost your mind?” he said.

“I need to get some video of Jack. I swear to God, if it’s the last thing I do, I need to show my father that he’s wrong about that man. He still believes that animal is my ‘Uncle Jack’, the one who bounced me on his knee when I was a child.”

“Absolutely not,” Dal said. “You’re letting emotion drive your decisions. I’m not going to jeopardize our assignment, so you can prove a point with your father.”

“Come on, Dal, it’s more than that and you know it.” Her voice had an edge he’d never heard before, but he stood his ground.

“I do know, but now is not the time to try to out him. I’d like to know what’s going on down there as much as you would, but we have other things that are more important.”

“What could possibly be more important?”

He looked at her and shook his head. “I’m gonna go with letting our bosses know that El Pato is here. They may know where we are, thanks to the chips, but we need to figure out a way to communicate with Bob so they know what they’re walking into. I mean, that is why we’re here, right? And we need some damn back-up down here.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, their numbers have increased and our number remains the same.” He held up his fingers in a peace sign. “Two.”