Point of No Return Page 12

  She turned to deal with the other moron and Squeaky’s fist came at her face like a rocket-propelled sledgehammer with no chance to dodge it. She backpedaled and jerked her head but took a glancing clip on the jaw that rocketed her back. She stumbled over Bear and landed on her ass.

  “Just you and me, bitch.” Squeaky was crouched, gripping the knife he’d pitched in the dirt. Really? What kind of crazy juice were these guys on? She pushed to her feet on wobbly legs, rubbing the side of her face, very much aware her vest was no protection from a knife. He licked his lips, tossing the blade from one hand to the other, enjoying his moment of minor success and stupidly giving her time to recover from the hit.

  “Nice knife,” she said in fluent sarcasm.

  “It’ll do for fucking you over,” he said with a nasty smile.

  He should have come after her when he had the chance. She used Bear’s back as a launch base, throwing herself at him. “Didn’t expect that, did ya, bitch,” she growled as their bodies thudded to the ground. Their faces connected and she sank her teeth into his cheek. He howled, pushing at her face. She released him, aiming a punch at his special man place but missed, her fist landing in his stomach. She rolled away before he had a chance to skewer her.

  His hand went to the bleeding parentheses marks on his face. “You bit me.” For a moment he examined the blood on his hand. Then they both scrambled to a wrestling crouch, dancing side to side, looking for an opening to attack.

  He telegraphed a slash and she hopped back. The knife cut the space where her midsection had been a nanosecond before. The next swing he went high, for her neck. She grasped his wrist pushing it away but leaving her open to a slap on the side of her head that cracked liked a suppressed 9 millimeter and filled her mouth with the metallic taste of blood.

  He wrenched his arm free from her grip and came at her again, this time jabbing the knife. She sidestepped the first jab. On the second jab she grabbed his wrist with both her hands and twisted. Her fingers were long and she had more strength in her hands than most men. He grunted from pain. Still he didn’t drop the knife until she slammed his arm against her knee. He hunched reflexively, showing her his back. She jumped him, arms around his neck choking, legs wrapped tight around his middle, squeezing. He clawed at her arms and legs, growling, spinning them in circles to throw her off. That didn’t work and he treated her to a slam against the building. Once, then twice, and again.

  Her insides felt like they were being pulsed in a blender. They were breathing heavy. No matter what kind of shape you’re in, fighting for your life pushes a body to its limits, draining all its energy. Time to end this.

  She let her legs slide and landed a pile driver into his kidney. He attempted to turn on her but his feet tangled, he staggered and went down. Not all the way, but more of a three-point defensive lineman stance. His face was jutting out, right there, a perfect target begging to be hit. So she did. She chambered her arm back and delivered a jackhammer blow to his temple so hard she felt it in her teeth. As he went down for the count, a hand grabbed the back of her pants.

  Ferret Face had come to life with a head full of stupid. She latched on to his fingers, yelled, “Scream if this hurts,” and bent them back until there was a snap, crackle, and pop like you’d hear jumping on bubble wrap. The asshole squealed like one of the three little pigs. She pushed him away, finishing him with a boot to the ribs. And it was done.

  Huffing in breaths, she staggered out of their reach then leaned forward, hands on her knees, and surveyed the scene. Blood leaked from the goons’ mouths and noses, mixing with dirt and darkening their faces. All they needed to complete the team zombie look was green glop. It was good Global had excellent medical and dental. The assholes would be taking full advantage. The company was also going to be looking at replacements for a high-value security job in an undisclosed destination. These morons weren’t going anywhere for a few days.

  Honey wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and spit the blood from her mouth. Sanity and reason seeped back into her brain. These idiots weren’t the only ones drinking the crazy juice. She really needed to look into getting that temper gage fixed. One day it was going to get her in trouble. She straightened. Her legs and ribs ached. She touched her face where she’d taken hits and winced. Fuck. Tomorrow makeup would need to be applied with a putty knife. Pain radiated up her arm. She opened and closed her hand. It hurt like hell from that last punch but wasn’t broken. Twisting side to side produced no sharp pain or cracking sounds. Nothing broken, but after the adrenaline let down there would be pain. She and pain meds would be seeing a lot of each other over the next few days.

  Bear moaned and levered himself up on an arm. She walked over and kicked it from under him. “That’s what you get for pissing off Barbie . . . Ken.” She retrieved her gear, gathered all her bravado, stood tall and headed for her car. Hell if she was going to limp or show any weakness. She lifted her arm and waved for the camera, letting her team know she was okay. Then, in a final salute, she made a fist and extended her middle finger, letting everyone at Global know how she felt about them.

  Honey dropped her helmet and vest onto the BMW’s passenger side floor, dry swallowed a couple of 800 ibuprofen and left the lot with tires screaming. She called Kara, who answered on the first ring.

  “Are you on the way to the hospital?” Her voice was two octaves above normal. “Do you want me to call Daddy?”

  “No. And No. I’m okay. Bruised but okay.”

  “My God,” she cried. “How can you be?”

  “Kara.”

  “Why did they do that?”

  “Kara.”

  She snuffled. “Yes.”

  “Put me on speaker,” Honey said, checking the rearview for cars following or more specifically a Hummer. None. She checked her speed and took her foot off the gas. Doing eighty in a ticket magnet car was not a good idea.

  “You’re on,” Kara said.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Got us all,” Gunny said. “Major, confirm your condition.”

  She imagined them wondering what she needed more, a medic or physic eval. “I’m good. What’s going on at Global?”

  “They picked up the three you left in the dust. No chatter we’re privy to,” Coop said.

  “It won’t go anyplace. One woman. Three men. Unlikely they’ll report it,” Gunny said.

  “It was unlikely they’d do it to begin with,” Honey said solemnly.

  Someone said, “Yeah.”

  “Auntie, do you need, want anything when you get home?”

  “Food.” She heard a snort in the background. “Turn up the ice maker.”

  “You got it, ma’am. Anything else?”

  Honey thought a moment. Kara needed calming down but the others would handle that without her asking. There wasn’t anything she needed but time to map out what the fuck the motherfucker Bristol was into, up to and mixed up in.

  “No.” She hung up and called Paul Moore.

  “Where are you?” he snapped.

  “On my way home.” Before she could get another word out he went ballistic, chewing her a new one so expertly she felt like she was at a proctologist appointment. Bristol, of course, had called in his version of the incident. She let Moore rant and was on 495 before he finally asked, “What do you have to say for yourself? You know this looks bad for me.”

  Sure, dude, and thanks for thinking of you. She didn’t answer, considering what bullshit story Bristol fed him. “Have I been relieved of the duty?”

  “What? . . . Relieved of duty? Over a shoving match?” He sounded genuinely confused.

  Honey looked at the phone display on her dash. Shoving match?

  “No. Get back to Global. Bristol is pissed you left. Doesn’t want to delay the report. Wants you back to finish.”

  Yeah, they wanted her back. To finish her. “Sir, with respect, I’m not going back today.” Moore sputtered but she kept talking. “I’m taking the next two days to visit the fa
milies, as you requested. You can put me on leave. Sick leave. Say it’s my special time of the month. You can run me AWOL.” She hung up. “I don’t give a fuck.”

  Seconds later the phone buzzed, she didn’t answer. Her phone hummed and a text from the two-star dick glowed on the phone screen. When will you be back at Global? She ignored the message. She called Ramsey and Saunders, requesting a time to visit. Ramsey agreed to see her that evening and Saunders the next morning. She didn’t call O’Brien. That would be a surprise visit in more ways than one.

  Chapter 13

  The Ramsey home was a well-kept, older, two-story colonial on a cul-de-sac. An over-the-garage addition more than likely added another bedroom. Judging from the stickers and license plates on the cars parked on the street, the majority of the families in the neighborhood were military. Honey parked at the curb and out of habit scanned the unfamiliar neighborhood for bad guys. No men with AKs or rocket launchers. Only a guy next door pushing a mower, wearing headphones, his gray Navy T-shirt dark from sweat. The neighborhood was clear. As she walked the red brick path to the house the smell of cut grass, charcoal and food grilling filled the muggy evening air. A press of the doorbell rewarded her with a chime playing the Marine Corps hymn. A cry of “I got it” was followed with thundering footfalls that sounded like a squad of men. She took a step back as the door opened enough for a skinny dark-haired boy wearing a Nationals shirt and baggy shorts to be seen. He crinkled his nose, squinting at her through thick dark frame glasses and moved his legs around to keep a barking yellow dog from squeezing past. He pushed the glasses to the bridge of his nose with a finger and looked her up and down. “Yeah?” The dog barked and made another escape attempt.

  “Captain! Back.” The dog immediately retreated.

  “I’m Major Thornton.”

  A shorter boy looking like a clone of the first, even to the same shirt, expanded the opening.

  “I’m here to see Colonel and Mrs. Ramsey and Jenna.”

  “You’re Major Thornton?” The two exchanged sideways glances.

  “Yes.” Before she could say more, a third, taller clone muscled his way between the two.

  “Let’s see some ID,” the littlest clone said, giving her a pretty good tough-man look.

  The tallest put a hand on little guy’s face and pushed. “Shut up, ass hat.”

  Honey looked down to hide a smile and dug in her purse for the ID.

  “Stand down.” A deep, mature, masculine voice snapped Honey’s attention back.

  The door swung fully open, revealing the clones’ DNA source. The three boys stood aside for a tall, broad-shouldered man with close-cropped dark hair wearing jeans and a button shirt loose at the hips. He gave the boys a look that would send the hardest Marine into submission and tipped his head in a move-it gesture. They retreated.

  “Major Thornton, come in.” Honey stepped into the center hall. “Sorry about that. I’m Mike Ramsey.” He extended a hand.

  Noting the lack of rank in his introduction, she did the same. “Honey Thornton.” She took his extended hand. “Good to meet you.” Though casually dressed and relaxed, Ramsey had a commanding presence. A man in his prime, physically fit and exuding the confidence of a USMC colonel.

  “These are my sons,” Ramsey said, as if there were any question. “Mike Jr., Mason, and Morgan. Guys,” he turned to the boys, “this is Major Thornton, the OIC of your sister’s rescue team. They offered their hands and she dutifully shook. She glanced back to Ramsey. “Sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances.”

  “Honey. That really your name?” The littlest clone fish eyed her.

  Father spun on son “Morgan.”

  Mason coughed. “Name should be moron.” He said behind a hand.

  “Apologize to the Major.”

  The boy dipped his head, his mouth twisted working out the words. “I apologize, Major.”

  “Apology accepted.” Honey said. She got that all the time and it didn’t bother her, but she wasn’t about to get between a man and his son where discipline was involved.

  “In here.” Ramsey extended an inviting arm toward a room furnished in nondescript fit-in-anywhere furniture decorated with what Honey called duty station accessories. Rug in the center of the wood floor from the Middle East, Asian vase lamps, rather nice oil paintings. Military wives were pretty savvy decorators, mixing mementos from frequent moves with regional styles.

  The boys took up positions on the sofa, perched on the edge of the cushions, backs straight and gazes fixed on her. Fuck! She wasn’t at all comfortable with this but understood it was a way for the family to get closure. She sat opposite the boys in a comfortable overstuffed chair. A carved coffee table, like those she’d seen in the Philippines, stood between them.

  The colonel chose to remain standing. “Go ahead,” he said.

  Mike Jr. took in a long breath and straightened his spine. “Major, I’d—” He glanced at his brothers. “We’d like to thank you and the rest of the team for getting our sister out of there.” Mason and Morgan nodded. “She can be a real pain, but . . .” He looked at his shoes and sighed, finally returning his gaze to her. “I love her.”

  “We love her,” Morgan interrupted. He looked at his oldest brother. “And you think she’s a pain because she gives you grief about the girls you date.”

  “Shut up.” Mason put his brother in a headlock and clamped a hand over his mouth. Morgan immediately initiated evasion maneuvers, banging the coffee table with a knee.

  “Enough. Hands to yourself.” The boys froze and Honey reflexively twitched at Ramsey’s I mean business tone. Morgan and Mason slowly did as ordered. Mason put two fingers to his eyes and flicked his hand in Morgan’s direction, giving him the universal I’m-watching-you symbol. “The boys want to ask you about the extraction,” Ramsey said. “Do you mind answering a few questions?”

  She looked at the man for a sign in his expression as to how much she should, could say. He gave her a nod of approval. She looked at each of the boys and said, “I’ll be glad to answer your questions,” and then looked back to the colonel. “Will Jenna and Mrs. Ramsey be joining us? I understand she was released from the hospital yesterday.”

  All eyes went to the colonel, who scratched the back of his head and shifted his weight from one foot to another.

  “She isn’t here. My wife took her to my parents’ place in Vermont.” The boys’ eyes narrowed.

  “Jenna must be doing well for her to travel.” Honey was sure Ramsey had lied.

  “Yes. Physically she’ll recover.” He perched on the sofa arm and folded his arms over his chest. The conversation about Jenna was now closed.

  She retuned her attention to the young Ramseys and smiled. “What do you want to know?”

  “Tell us everything,” Mason blurted enthusiastically.

  “How many of the bad guys did you kill?” Morgan wasn’t shy.

  Honey looked at the colonel, who gave her another nod. “Jenna told them a lot.”

  She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs, mimicking the boys’ posture.

  “The team was five.”

  “That’s short,” Mike Jr. said.

  “Yes.” Honey was momentarily surprised this was something he would know. “My team had been operating short for a while. We were offered two fill-ins but felt going in short was better than waiting the four hours it would take to get them to our location.” The boys nodded. “We had a ten-klick hike in. The plan was to wait until dead of night, oh-two-hundred. Get in and get out quietly.”

  “But you didn’t wait.” Mason shook his head slowly.

  “No. I made the decision to go right then.”

  “Why?” Morgan pushed his glasses back.

  Honey looked to Ramsey, who closed his eyes and nodded approval.

  “I was in the hills using the glasses, scanning the buildings for Jenna. I focused on a shack with no door and saw a man inside raise and lower his arm. He had a board in his hand and he was cl
early hitting something, someone.”

  Morgan twitched. Mason’s lips clamped together, his eyes narrowed. Mike Jr. hadn’t quite perfected an unreadable expression. His quiet anger was palpable. “Jenna,” he said.

  Honey nodded. “I wasn’t sure it was her at that point. The Tango, that’s our term for the bad guys—”

  “We know,” Mike Jr. said.

  Honey nodded. “Sorry.” She wouldn’t talk down to them again. “The Tango left the building and I saw a figure huddled in the shadows against the back wall. I decided to go in. Whoever it was, I was not leaving them there another moment.”

  “When did you know it was Jenna?” Mason asked.

  “Not until I was crouched in front of her, checking her against the photo I’d been given. She was dirty, thin, sick. Jenna pointed out Kelly Saunders. We had no idea Kelly would be there.”

  “Do you know why they took my sister?” Morgan said.

  Honey read fear in his dark eyes. “No. Not yet,” she said confidently, wanting to give the impression the why and the who would be discovered.

  “Go on,” the colonel urged.

  His tone gave her pause. Unlike his oldest son, he had perfected the unreadable expression. She went on. “Before we could move them we were discovered.”

  “You made the men who took Jenna pay,” Mike Jr. said.

  Honey looked at each boy. “Yes . . . they paid. It was the only way.”

  “But more were coming.”

  “Yes.” The leap ahead allowed her to gloss over details. “Two more vehicles were coming. Luckily from a different direction than we were going. We climbed into the truck we’d commandeered and headed for the border and our ride home. Again, we were discovered and chased. The truck wasn’t in the best shape and was loaded down with seven people, so it was having problems making the hills. We were barely doing twenty and being overtaken . . . fast.”

  The memory of being in the back of that truck came back like a flash flood roaring down a dry canyon. Santiago cradling Kelly and Jenna resting on Buck’s massive body. The Marines doing their best to cushion the girls from the jarring ride. The Land Rovers gaining on them every second. Her decision to stop and fight. The sudden deafening noise and rush of air. Dust billowing around the truck like a dancer’s skirt. The fucking gigantic helicopter with MARINES in huge letters across the side, landing on what passed for a road, between them and the Land Rovers.